The Tale of Sudhendra Vahl: Every Day a Walk In The Park... Options

[jonajosa]

caught you just in time. Thank goodness.

:goodjob:

[minque]

hmm? were you after Mr Override Jona???

Haha I´m looking forward to see Sudhendra rescuing that Jocien...mmm thrilling as always...

[jonajosa]

[quote=minque]hmm? were you after Mr Override Jona???
[/quote]

It's none of your business If you keep asking too many questions ill have to have you "put down" for knowing too much...

[minque]

[quote=jonajosa][quote=minque]hmm? were you after Mr Override Jona???
[/quote]

It's none of your business If you keep asking too many questions ill have to have you "put down" for knowing too much... [/quote]

ok....*crawls back in the dark corner puts a blanket over her head* :blackeye:

[jonajosa]

Do not proclaim me as a woman beater... I do no such thing...

[OverrideB1]

Thanking the young warrior, I headed off into the echoing canyons surrounding the camp. Pretty soon there was a hint of sulphur in the air and I saw the unmistakable roseate glow of lava up ahead. This, then, must be the ‘Stream of Fire’ that the young warrior had alluded to. As I drew closer to the sluggishly flowing molten rock, I spotted a scrap of parchment caught up in some long grass.

Bending down, I examined it ~ it read: Antiochus was certainly one of the more flamboyant members of the usually austere Septim Family. He had numerous mistresses and nearly as many wives, and was renowned for the grandeur of his dress and his high good humour. Unfortunately, his reign was rife with civil war, surpassing even that of his grandfather Uriel II. The War of the Isle in 3E110, twelve years after Antiochus assumed the throne, nearly took the province of Summurset Isle away from Tamriel. The united alliance of the kings of Summurset and Antiochus only managed to defeat King Orghum of the island-kingdom of Pyandonea due to a freak storm. Legend credits the Psijic Order of the Isle of Artaeum with the sorcery behind the tempest.

Standing, I scanned the immediate area and, sure enough, there was another scrap of parchment from ‘A Brief History of Empire’ caught in the gap between two rocks near the path. In this manner, scouting for the loose leaves of the book, I made my way through this rocky patch of the Molag Amur until I came to a deep depression. Skeletal trees poked long-dead branches towards the sky while, from the deep crevasses and cracks in the surrounding ground, rose a thick and stinking roil of steam. Circling the depression, I soon spotted another loose scrap of parchment and, on approaching it; I espied a well-built yurt tucked back against the rocky canyon walls.

With a degree of trepidation I approached the camp, gripping the hilt of my sword as two Ashlander women came out of the yurt and took up positions near the entrance. As I drew closer, the taller of the two pushed back her hood and called, “what do you do here Outlander?”

“I seek audience with the Mabrigash,” I called back, standing still as the other woman strung an arrow in her bow.

“Approach then Telvanni,” the taller woman called, “I will announce your presence.” She vanished into the yurt and I spent an uncomfortable couple of minutes under the watchful eye ~ and drawn bow ~ of the silent Ashlander female. Finally, the taller one came out of the tent and said, “you may enter Telvanni, and Zennammu will speak with you.”

I’d been expecting some wizened old crone but Zennammu was middle-aged, tall and regal. Not pretty, even by the most generous standards, nevertheless she had a certain austere beauty about her. When she moved, she moved like a knife – smoothly, effortlessly, and deadly. I bowed my head, waiting for her to speak.

“I say,” a rich and plumy voice said, “I seem to be in a bit of a bind here. Any chance you could see your way clear to, well, helping me out?”

“Jocien Ancois, I presume?” I said sparing him a glance before turning my eyes back to watch the Mabrigash. She motioned for me to stand upright and looked me square in the eye.

“Why are you here Telvanni,” she asked in a soft voice, “wearing the armour of your enemies?”

I glanced at Ancois and then back at Zennammu. She took the hint and, waving a hand in the Breton’s direction, she spoke a soft word. Instantly, Jocien was asleep on his feet, his soft snores punctuating our conversation. “I seek the knowledge of how my enemies fight,” I replied, “and, to do that, I must move among them unremarked.”

“And so you hide your true hatred from them by masquerading as one of them,” she said. I gave a start: up until that moment I hadn’t considered the fact that my dislike of the Imperial system might be classed as hate. Something to think on. Meanwhile, the Mabrigash was still speaking. “You came seeking the kindly fool.”

It wasn’t a question, although I treated it as such. “Yes, I came seeking Jocien Ancois,” I replied.

“Those who’s uniform you wear sent you,” she said. Again, this was not a question ~ the words were delivered with the flat conviction of someone who knows they speak the truth.

I nodded, “there are those who are… alarmed by his disappearance and wish him returned. Whatever the cost,” I added.

“We are but simple women-folk,” the Mabrigash said, and it was all I could do to suppress a snort of laughter. I had seen the two women outside moving with a dancer’s grace and I’d seen the controlled movements of the Mabrigash ~ whatever else they were, ‘simple women-folk’ was about as far from the truth as it was possible to get. “We need the kindly fool to do certain tasks, such as hunting and… other things.”

Uh-uh, there was no way I wanted to know what ‘other things’ might cover. However, I had an idea. “Wouldn’t it be better if you had a warrior from the Erabenimsun Camp?” I asked. “Then you need not look over your shoulder for the soldiers who are bound to come if I fail.”

She nodded, “if you can persuade a warrior from the camp to come to us, we will release the kindly fool and return him to you. Assaba-Bentus is a good warrior, young and strong. He will make an acceptable… substitute. Now, you have heard our terms…”

Bowing once more to the Mabrigash, I stepped outside and let out a shaky sigh. The taller of the Meric females regarded me with cool amusement but the younger one said nothing, the edge of her hood down over her eyes. With a polite nod, I made my way back towards the Erabenimsun Camp, rehearsing the words I was going to say.

Assaba-Bentus was a dour-faced young man with sharp, aquiline features and a nice line in ornately decorative facial tattoos. “Why is everyone so afraid of the Mabrigash?” I said to no one in particular as I stood near where he was standing.

“I’m not afraid,” he snapped predictably.

“Oh come on,” I chided. “One elderly woman and two assistants and you’re afraid of them. Big strong Mer like yourself scared of three females.”

“I. Am. Not. Afraid,” he said, emphasising each word.

“Prove it,” I replied.

“Lead me to the Mabrigash,” he snarled, “and I’ll show you who’s afraid of who, Outlander.” Suppressing a smile, I nodded my head and guided Assaba-Bentus through the canyons of the Molag Amur to Zennammu’s camp.

“Yes, he will do nicely,” the Mabrigash said with a lascivious grin. “Take the kindly fool and leave. Now.”

Jocien Ancois scurried out of the yurt after me, offering his profuse thanks. “I have a question,” I asked. “Why do the Ashlanders call you ‘The Kindly Fool’?”

He grinned, rather shame-faced. “I bring them medicines and try to teach them the ways of the Divines. They thank me for the medicines but think I am a fool for giving them away and even more of a fool when I speak of the Divines.

“It’s not easy, trying to get through to them. However…” he straightened and his face took on a determined look, “…I have no intention of giving up on them just yet. Thank you again for rescuing me, but I must get back to the Erabenimsun Camp and continue teaching them the ways of the Empire. Assaba-Bentus shows a great deal of promise… why are you coughing like that?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” I lied before beating a hasty retreat and allowing Ancois to make his own way back to the Ashlander camp. According to my map, the Mabrigash’s yurt isn’t that far from Tel Vahl and I decided that I would walk back. On the way I had a most peculiar encounter.

I was near a tomb ~ the Maran Ancestral Tomb ~ when the door burst open and a Man rushed up to me. “I am Batou,” he screamed, “saviour of Vvardenfell.” I pushed the dishevelled Man away from me and regarded him warily. He raved and ranted about how he, Batou, was going to cleanse Vvardenfell of the ‘Dunmeri taint’ and ‘restore it to the glory that was Resdayn’. When I pointed out that the Dunmer were the rightful inhabitants of Vvardenfell, not the Nords, he went absolutely mental ~ not a particularly long journey I think.

Having already had a run in or two with those whose view of reality has been distorted somewhat by Sheogorath’s influence, I knew it was pointless trying to argue with the Man and retaliated to his attack with my sword. Intrigued by his comments, I ventured into the Card’ruhn and did a little exploration. Inside I found several quite valuable items: the Bloodwurm Helm, a Teal Ioun stone, a pair of shard greaves, an apprentice scroll that teaches Taldam’s Scorcher, and a book. The book, ‘Daedric Shrines of Importance’ looked interesting enough so I added that to the pile.

Returning to Tel Vahl, I called Kallin Basalius to my chambers and instructed her to keep an eye on the witch Zennammu and, if possible, to befriend her. There had been something about the woman, a sense of controlled power and I’d rather that power was on my side than set against me.

[minque]

Yay..this was an interesting part.....I did like the way Sudhendra dealt with these affairs....

One question...the text on those parchments she found scattered on the ground...what did it come from? I don´t remember there was text on those...when I did this quest quite some time ago...

[OverrideB1]

There isn't, as far as I remember, any text on the scraps of parchment you find ~ the game simple descibes them as [quote]Page from History of the Empire[/quote]
I simply took a scrap of the text from the Imperial Library and quoted it

[Alexander]

[quote=OverrideB1]There isn't, as far as I remember, any text on the scraps of parchment you find ~ the game simple descibes them as [quote]Page from History of the Empire[/quote]
I simply took a scrap of the text from the Imperial Library and quoted it [/quote]

nice idea, it beats whet the devs used simply naming it "page of the....." and that being the end of it

[jonajosa]

So you do favorite quest. and you do it well. I love doing that one

:goodjob:

[OverrideB1]

After quite a bit of searching through various shelves, cupboards, and boxes, I found the skull that I had picked up so long ago. Wrapping it in cloth, I spoke the words of the spell that would transport me to Balmora, “Ex hic absum, ut, Balmora.”

Sharn gra-Muzgob took the skull from me with trembling hands, examining it minutely before locking it into a chest that stood near her desk. Then, turning to me, she said, “you wanted to know something about the Nerevarine Cult?”

I nodded, taking a roll of parchment from my pack and uncorking the travelling inkwell. Dipping my quill in the ink, I transcribed the information the Orc gave me. “Nerevar was a Dunmeri hero, many, many years ago,” she began. “He was a powerful and charismatic leader who forged peace between the Dunmer and the Dwemer. When he died, he was canonised and revered as a saint by the Temple.

“However the Cult that bears Nerevar’s name believes that he will return in the hour of Morrowind’s greatest need. The Temple views this as heresy, believing that the Tribunal have no need of a resurrected hero to protect Morrowind. The Temple calls those who claim to be the Nerevarine (as the Dunmeri call the Nerevar Reborn) ‘False Incarnates’ and prosecutes them with all its might…” there was more to what gra-Muzgob told me but, like Hasphat’s information, much of what she told me was hearsay and supposition. Her final words on the subject, however, were of interest. “The last ‘False Incarnate’ was a Dunmeri woman by the name of Peakstar. She raised quite a commotion among the Ashlanders but vanished ~ presumably the Temple had a hand in that.”

Caius Cosades was pleased to see me and even more pleased with the notes I brought him. “I need some time to consider how this information fits in with what the Emperor has planned for you,” he said, “so I have no other tasks for you at the moment. However, as soon as I have a clearer picture, I will have new orders for you.

“Now, before you go, I have a few things that you might find useful and a little surprise. These scrolls are Divine Intervention scrolls, I assume you know how those work?” I nodded, and he continued, “and the little surprise is a promotion. Effective immediately, you are raised to the rank of Apprentice.”

Thanking Cosades, I took my leave of his hovel and ~ in a very pensive mood ~ made my way back up towards Fort Moonmoth. I hadn’t liked his comment about having more orders for me, although it didn’t surprise me. What was really weighing on my mind was his comment: how this information fits in with what the Emperor has planned for you. That I really didn’t like. What possible connection could there be between a cult that worshipped some long-dead hero, a second cult that planned to overthrow Imperial rule in Morrowind, and a twenty-five year old Dunmeri exile that had never known her real parents? I tried fitting the pieces together as I walked along but really couldn’t see how they would go together.

Moonmoth had all the scurrying business of an anthill that someone has poked with a stick a few times. Several of the guards were hammering on the door to the Arkay Shrine, others were doing that popular impersonation of a headless Scrib ~ running around but not actually accomplishing anything. “What,” I yelled above the din, “is going on here?”

“Someone broke into the Shrine ma’am,” one of the guards hammering on the door called back. “Now the blasted door is stuck and we can’t get it open.” I walked over and examined the door. It was jammed all right. My guess is that someone had braced the door from the inside with a bench or something.

“How important is it that we get inside?” I asked.

The incredulous look the guard gave me was sufficient answer to that question. Moving all the guards back into the courtyard, I concentrated as hard as I could before launching a fireball at the door. The effects were rather more spectacular than I’d anticipated ~ fragments of wood whickered softly as they whipped across the courtyard in a deadly horizontal hail. “By the Emperor’s Balls,” the guard next to me breathed, taking a step away from me, “nobody said nothing about you being a Battle-Mage ma’am.”

“I’m not,” I snapped curtly as I drew my sword, “and that’s something you’d do well to remember Trooper.”

I barely heard his whispered “Yes ma’am” as I advanced, kicking several smouldering chunks of wood out of the doorframe so I could enter the Shrine. In the antechamber were two dead bodies. The first was that of a priest ~ the front of his long dark robe sodden with blood from the cut that stretched clean across his throat. The second body was clad in dark armour of a design I’d not seen before ~ blackened iron covered with silver metal studs. The cause of death was pretty self-evidence ~ a shard of wood jutted from the centre of the corpse’s chest. Warily, I advanced further into the shine.

The rest of the main shrine was deserted, if you don’t count the slaughtered priests. I got a really bad feeling right about then: all this death and destruction yet, on the shelves of the shrine stood many valuable items. None of which had been taken. If simple theft wasn’t the reason for the slaughter then what was? With a final look around, I moved deeper into the shrine.

The vault behind the shrine was unlocked and, as I slipped through the door, I could hear two things. The first was the crackle of flames, the second was the sound of an aggrieved voice demanding, “where is the hidden chamber, the switch must be here somewhere?”

I strained to hear if there was any reply, perhaps some priest had survived the slaughter in the shrine and was being interrogated. There was no sound. So, someone was talking to a companion, or had the very bad habit of talking out loud to themselves. Either way, if I wished to discover what was going on here, I would need to talk to whoever was in the vaults.

Sword in hand, I advanced into the main room. There stood a Man in a dark green robe and a figure clad in the same studded iron armour as the Man upstairs. Both saw me at the same time. With a bestial roar, the armour-clad figure raced towards me while the robed Man began muttering some arcane cantrip. The disgusting form of a Bone-Walker materialised near him, blank eyes burning in my direction as my sword crashed into the blade the armoured figure was wielding. Ducking under a fierce slicing cut, I planted a foot in the middle of the fighter’s chest and shoved as hard as I could. As he crashed to the floor, I extended my right hand and concentrated on Aryon’s Dominator.

As the Bone-Walker turned on the robed Man, I turned my attention back to the armoured figure ~ now clambering to his feet again. There is a simple rule to combat: magic-users, archers, melee-fighters ~ the Legion drills that into you again and again. Closing my ears to the Man’s pitiful screams as the Bone-Walker tore into him, I hammered my blade down onto the armoured figure’s shoulders as he finally stood upright. With a grunt, the figure stepped back and readied his sword.

I swayed backwards, narrowly avoiding a powerful blow that would have dented my armour at the very least. My retaliatory blow slid past the figure’s defences ~ crashing into his helm and tearing the visor clean off its mountings. No Man this, nor yet a beast ~ some obscene melding of the two. Feral yellow eyes glared at me from a whiskered face as the beastling tore off its helm and readied another blow. Not that I planned to give this creature a chance: stepping back I spoke the words, “Chyffyrddiad chan rhew.”

As shards of ice tore at its now exposed face, I calmly drove the point of my sword into its breast, the heavy iron armour parting like butter before the keen edge of the Ebony blade.

I squatted next to the robed figure and demanded, “What are you doing here?” the Man looked up at me, an already vacant look in his eyes. With an effort, he shook his head, and then closed his eyes. “Don’t you die on me yet,” I snapped, punching him in the ribs. When that had no effect, I drew my dagger from its (very) non-regulation hiding place in my boot, “you and me still need to talk.”

His eyes snapped open as I applied the point of my dagger to the gaping wound in his chest, a wheezing moan coming from him as I felt the point scrape along a rib. He shook his head, blood frothing on his lips as he tried to scream. I can be very persistent and, despite the distasteful task, I had no qualms about torturing this Man ~ he had, after all, been responsible for the death of a number of unarmed priests. I must have stroked something that really, really hurt ~ despite his wounds and his near-death state, he let out quite an energetic scream. I poked whatever it was a couple more times, encouraging him to talk. Turning his head, he spat out “Crn spas osim ako mene,” and then died. I had heard those words before and, after a moment’s thought, it came back to me: the woman in the shrine to Kynareth had spoken those very same words.

[Fuzzy Knight]

Ahh... Nice, very nice... I'm learning as I'm reading right now - Great Override! :goodjob:

[minque]

Aaaarrrggghh..I must partly quote burntsierra (from the ES forums) here

[quote]Cruelty, thy name is Minque[/quote] but insert OverrideB1 instead of Minque...


Such cliffies are agonizing....pleease tell us what those words meant....by another installment that is..

A great part, especially the description of the breaking into the shrine....I wonder..is it a mod involved here? I can´t remember that event from my game hmmmm :ashamed:

[Fuzzy Knight]

Agonizing... Means that they are "painfull" for example to walk up that road is agonizing..

Pinefull, pinefult in Norwegian

[OverrideB1]

The shrine described here is one of Jeremy's Knights of Tamriel mods ~ in this case, the armour of the Knights of the Circle, the military arm of the Divine Order of Arkay.

Jeremy's armour mods can be downloaded from Rethan Manor

[Wolfie]

I must findout what happens!!!!!

[OverrideB1]

Lord Zumars, I thought to myself as I stood up. The mysterious Lord behind the attack on the Kynareth shrine was behind the attack on this one. Why, I wondered as I searched the corpses, was he so anxious to get his hands on armour from one of the Orders? Finding nothing of value, I continued through the vaults until I came to a spiral staircase leading upwards. Following the stairs, I came to a roughly hewn doorway that led into a natural cavern. Beyond it I could make out a small bridge across a natural chasm and a passageway that led into another smaller chamber. Of much more concern were the two iron-clad figures patrolling the bridge.

The slighter figure was carrying a torch, and this made an excellent focus for my softly murmured spell. As before, I could see the faint wisps of greenish vapour rising from the torch as the figure patrolled up and down the bridge. It didn’t take too long for the virulent toxin I had unleashed to take effect: clutching at their throats, the two figures thrashed and convulsed before collapsing out of sight behind the wall that topped the sides of the bridge.

A bridge that led to nowhere, apparently. The small chamber at the far end was empty apart from a couple of heavy sacks ~ the only feature a heavily locked wooden door that, if memory served me correctly, led out into the Foyada Mamaea. I grinned as I examined the contents of the one sack: the soft glint of Imperial silverware told me that Zumars’ men weren’t above a little petty larceny. The other sack contained a shield: black as midnight and edged with worked silver in the form of a twisted rope, the heavy shield bore the device of the Order of the Circle. Hmmm, shield but no armour. I remembered the words of the first of these interlopers; he’d been looking for the armour too and had said something about a hidden chamber.

Since there was obviously nothing here, I made my way back into the vault and studied the place carefully. I was just about to return to the shrine and search there when I spotted something out of place: on one wall was an ornately embossed plaque, its decoration a pair of skulls. Similar plaques decorated the whole of the shrine and vault but this was the only one I’d seen with two skulls on the plaque. One of the skulls depressed when I pushed on it and, with a heavy grating noise, a superbly hidden door swung open to reveal a smaller chamber. There, arrayed on a stand, was the remaining armour of the Order of the Circle.

“Lassie,” Radd Hard-Heart boomed when I walked into the keep carrying a sack full of armour, “heard ye got Ancois back from some witch-woman out Molag Amur way? That was a canny bit o’ work from what I hear. I spoke tae General Darius up Gnisis-way, he speaks highly o’ you. Take this chit tae the quartermaster.”

The Moonmoth quartermaster was a wizened old Cyrodiil who took the chit from me and then gruffly requested my size. Digging about under the counter, he came back up with a pair of steel pauldrons and a pair of boots. I felt odd wearing the boots, odder still with the shoulder-guards in place. I winced as my footsteps echoes in the halls as I made my way back to where Radd stood ~ sneaking up on anything in these boots would be damn’ near impossible.

“Well Champion,” he said, “I’ve got another wee rescue mission for ye. A traveller by the name o’ Dandsa has been captured by bandits near Gnaar Mok. Intelligence says they’re holed up in a cave-system called Abernanit.”

“Wait…” I said, “What’s this ‘Champion’ bit?”

“Did ye no know lassie,” Radd Hard-Heart said, grinning. “I’m givin’ ye a promotion. Nay, no less than ye deserve,” he said when I started to protest. “Besides, d’ye ken how much paperwork is involved in revoking a field promotion?”

I shrugged, if the Imperial Legion was going to persist in promoting me, who was I to argue? Besides, elevated rank has its privileges: greater access to important briefings and the like. Leaving the Fort, I made a brief detour to Dura gra-Bol's house and dropped off the Arkay armour I’d taken from the shrine before heading out of town and along the banks of the Odai to the plateau. The Hlaalu manor stood deserted, and I cut through the courtyard and through the eastern gate into the Bitter Coast region.

It was early afternoon by the time I arrived in Hla Oad, but not too late to arrange for a fishing vessel to run me up to Gnaar Mok. Unfortunately, it was quite late when I arrived in the small village of Gnaar Mok and there was no room at the inn ~ no Inn either, for that matter. With a good deal of grumbling about parsimonious Redorans, I set up my tent just a little way outside the village and settled down for the night.

[Wolfie]

cool. But what's she gonna do with the armour? i must know!!!

[OverrideB1]

After several hours of hacking my way through the heavy undergrowth of the Bitter Coast, I came to a deep and unpleasant–looking pool that had spread out in front of a cliff. There, on the opposite side of the pool were the Abernanit caves. Unfortunately, there was no way into the caves that didn’t involve wading across the pool. Removing my boots and rolling up my robe, I tentatively stepped into the murky waters, making a moue of disgust at the slimy touch of the water.

As you can imagine, I wasn’t best pleased by the time I’d waded waist-deep in the pool in order to reach the cave-entrance. The tunnel behind the entrance sloped gently downwards to a small wooden door, which was unlocked. Some sense made me hesitate before opening the door and a quick reveal spell showed that it was warded in some way. The faint runes that crawled across the surface were gone too quickly for me to get much of a sense of what the warding-spell was other than that it came from the school of illusion. Since there are few offensive spells in that school, my best guess was that it was a cantrip of silence. Backing away, I spoke the words, “Ysbryd ddwylaw.”

Again there was that curious doubling effect and I instructed my ghostly self to open the door. There was a flare of green and my magical construct collapsed, its form disrupted by the spell’s discharge. Not that that was a great worry to me, I still had full command of my magical abilities. And an axe that was ready to make someone pay for the brackish water that had drained from my robe and was now sloshing about in my boots. Beyond the door, the tunnel sloped downwards until it opened out into a large cave ~ across the water-filled floor, wooden decking had been constructed.

My entrance into the cave hadn’t gone unnoticed; a raised wooden platform gave the Dunmer standing there a clear view of anyone entering the cavern. With a cry of “prepare to die fetcher,” he thundered down the stairs to get at me. Now, anyone will tell you ~ if they have an ounce of common sense ~ that the high-ground is always preferable in combat: it gives you many advantages. One thing you do not do is rush down a set of open wooden stairs when there is a very annoyed person underneath them.

As the fool came down the steps, I rushed forward and sliced my axe across the backs of his knees ~ rather effectively severing the tendons there and sending him crashing down to the floor with a shriek of agony and a very nasty cracking sound. A couple of swift kicks convinced me that the fool had broken his neck in the headlong tumble down the stairs. His noisy demise had served another purpose: from the corridor to the right I could hear the sound of metal-clad feet rushing towards the chamber. Calmly, I unhooked one of the crossbows from my back and loaded it.

The ring-mail clad Nord came pounding into the chamber and came to a sudden shocked halt. Part of that might have been the sight of me standing there ~ mostly it had to do with the bolt that suddenly lodged itself in his right eyeball. Quickly, I scouted down the corridor he’d emerged from ~ finding a vast water-filled chamber at the far end. The archer who stood on the wooden platform that extended into the cave died in the same ignoble manner as his Nordic friend. I smirked as I returned to the main part of the caves ~ acquiring these crossbows might have been one of my smarter moves. Easier to handle than a longbow, they had awesome stopping power over short distances: easily able to punch through most armour.

The last of the bandits inhabiting the cave was a deeply worried Mer. His three companions had, presumably, been set in the caves to prevent exactly what was happening now ~ namely him having to face up to a warrior determined to reach their prize. “You… you’d better t-t-turn back now,” he stuttered as I stepped into view.

I arched my eyebrow at him, mentally calculating what his response was likely to be, and what options I had. At the back of this chamber, the small figure of a Redguard female struggled against the ropes that tied her to one of the massive support beams. Her close proximity to the sweating Dunmer precluded the use of any of the more devastating spells but contact spells? Those would be fine, although probably unnecessary. “And if I don’t go away?” I asked.

“Th-th-then you’ll d-d-die,” he stammered.

With a grin that made him gulp, I nodded and said, “let’s dance.”

The axe whistled through the air, tearing a hole in his leather armour and making him squeal. Effortlessly dodging his return blow, I used the butt of the axe to break his nose before bringing the blade up and round in a sweeping arc that buried the sharp edge deep in his stomach. He sank to his knees and, as he desperately tried to stuff his intestines back into the gaping stomach wound, I stepped passed him, bringing the axe around in a decapitating arc that did its job neatly and easily.

“Damn,” I commented as the headless body thumped to the floor behind me, “I think I’ve just chipped a fingernail.”

“Was that really necessary?” Dandsa asked as I untied her. I grinned and nodded. “Well,” she snapped, “I’ve had enough of this damn’ island. I’ve been attacked by weird flapping monsters that seem to appear out of nowhere, every damn cave has rats, the whole place stinks, and I’ve never met a less friendly group of people in my entire life. Get me out of this damned cave… RIGHT NOW!”

I winced; her captivity didn’t seem to have affected her voice at all. With a sardonic smile, I ushered her forwards towards the caverns entrance. As she went passed, I couldn’t help but comment, “Some people might be grateful after having been saved from a bunch of bandits. Some people might have the common decency to say a simple ‘thank you’.”

She ignored that but I had the satisfaction of seeing her blush. Taking the lead, I lead the ungrateful wretch out the way I’d come and took a great deal of delight in watching her struggle with the concept that she’d have to wade across a pool of stinking water to get away from the cave. While Dandsa waded away through the pool towards whatever future awaited her, I turned around and made my way back into the now unpopulated caves. There had been a large number of very interesting boxes and barrels inside the hideout and I wanted to see if there was anything that might be useful. As, indeed, there was.

I found several bundles of golden-coloured arrow-shafts: extremely light and tough and a silver rapier. Nor was that the limit of what Abernanit had to offer. In fairly short order I’d discovered a linked artefact called ‘Dmitri’s Mixing Glove’, a couple of Ioun stones, some shard boots, and a little under four hundred Septims in coins. So, my returning to the caves hadn’t been a complete waste of time.

I cast Recall and returned to the Moonmoth Fort where, by the usual lightning-fast method, Radd Hard-Heart already knew that I’d managed to rescue Dandsa. However, it seemed that my visits to the Bitter Coast, and Gnaar Mok in particular, hadn’t finished.

“I’m sorry tae do this tae ye lassie,” Radd said. “But I’ve just got this report from Gnaar Mok. The locals are having a wee bit o’ a problem wi’ a pair of Netches. Seems ‘tis the season for them to make jolly, if ye ken what I mean…” I nodded, I had the general idea. Radd continued, “When they get frisky, Netches tend tae get aggressive too. Seems this pair keeps drifting in tae town and causing all sorts o’ problems.”

“Not a problem,” I said sweetly, even though I was seething inside. “I’ll deal with it on the morrow.” And, with that, I flounced out of the Fort and returned to Tel Vahl. I wasn’t angry at the task Radd Hard-Heart had given me, menial though it was. No, I was annoyed because I knew damn’ well he’d had that report on his desk when he’d sent me to rescue Dandsa ~ I could quite easily have taken care of both problems at once. Now, instead, I had to go back to that fetid little hole of a place to hunt down a couple of Netch.

[minque]

[quote]“Damn,” I commented as the headless body thumped to the floor behind me, “I think I’ve just chipped a fingernail.” [/quote]
Now wasn´t that a crying shame????

oh yay this was most amusing, and the fighting-scenes outstanding as usual....