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> The Tale of Sudhendra Vahl: Every Day a Walk In The Park...
Wolfie
post May 10 2005, 07:01 PM
Post #41


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that was great biggrin.gif


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D�anaim smaoineamh, d� bhr� sin, t�im ann - Descartes

Only the dead have seen the end of war ~ Plato

Fairy tales do not tell children the dragons exist. Children already know that dragons exist. Fairy tales tell children the dragons can be killed. - G.K. Chesterton

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post May 11 2005, 06:47 PM
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Once again I found myself sailing out of Hla Oad towards Gnaar Mok. I fear I was somewhat short with both the captain of the vessel and the hapless Redoran guard I approached once we’d docked in the fishing village. “They’re often found to the north of the town,” he said in response to my question. “We’ve driven them off a couple of times, but they keep coming back.”

Nodding curtly to the wide-eyed guard, I made my way north, coming to a little promontory of land. Over the expanse of water I could see three Netches drifting backwards and forwards among the trees. Right, I thought to myself, two males and one female and no way of telling which is which. Simple problems require simple solutions. Extending my hand, I concentrated and then said, “chan annwfns fferedig asgre.”

A concentrated explosion of power detonated across the water, greedy tendrils of magic seeking out targets to latch on to and consume. It was overkill, pure and simple, but I wasn’t feeling in a particularly charitable or subtle mood and a little excessive destruction is a wonderful way to exorcise any ill feelings. Besides, if nothing else it would give those priggish Redoran warriors a nasty turn. With a smile, I cast Recall and returned to Fort Moonmoth.

“Well lassie,” Radd said, eying me warily, “are ye feeling a little less out o’ sorts?” I assured him I was, and he visibly relaxed. “I have something else for ye,” he said. “There’s a necromancer, name o’ Skorvild, up in Dagon Fel. Now, I’ve nothing against those who practice necromancy but the locals? Well, as ye probably know, they don’t take kindly tae that business. Now, what I want ye tae do is…. Yes?”

“I’ve already paid a visit to Skorvild the Raven,” I said. “I was up in that part of the world a while ago and somebody complained about him.”

“Ahh,” Radd said, “well, since it’s ye standing there, I dinnae need tae ask how that meeting went. Well lassie, that’s all o’ the business I had for ye. I have here orders from command for ye. They say that Knight Errant Vahl is to report, on the morrow, tae Fort Buckmoth up Ald’ruhn way.”

“Knight Errant?” I said, weakly.

“Aye lassie,” he said. “Seems someone in high command has noticed ye an’ taken themselves a wee interest. Take this chitty tae the quartermaster, he’ll have your stuff ready.”

After exchanging farewells with Radd Hard-Heart, I made my way across to the quartermaster’s stores and presented the slip of parchment. I was instructed to turn in my cuirass and greaves. In return I was given Templar armour. This was the same gilt-coloured armour that General Darius had been wearing and, come to think of it, so had Sellus Gravius. The armour was obviously a custom-made job as it fit perfectly.


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Wolfie
post May 11 2005, 07:50 PM
Post #43


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cool


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D�anaim smaoineamh, d� bhr� sin, t�im ann - Descartes

Only the dead have seen the end of war ~ Plato

Fairy tales do not tell children the dragons exist. Children already know that dragons exist. Fairy tales tell children the dragons can be killed. - G.K. Chesterton

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OverrideB1
post May 11 2005, 07:57 PM
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Since the last one was a bit short...


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OverrideB1
post May 11 2005, 07:57 PM
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Imsin the Dreamer was, as her name implies, a Nord ~ one of those tall, statuesque and achingly beautiful Nordic females that I used to wish disaster and ruin upon whenever they rode through the village. Still, despite her frosty beauty, Imsin seemed pleasant enough, in a softly spoken sort of way. “Hail,” she said as I snapped to attention in front of her. “We dinnae go for that sort of nonsense here,” she admonished, “A simple salute and the occasional ma’am are all ye’ll need here.

“Now, if you’re ready tae do a bit of work, I need someone with a bit of panache. From what I’ve heard, you seem to be lacking in that department but I’m short-handed at the moment so ye’ll have tae do. We have a problem here in Ald’ruhn: there’s a healthy smuggling operation goes on around here and the high command is getting a wee bit annoyed. We suspect a local by the name of Drinar Varyon of being the Mer responsible for getting the goods out of Vvardenfell, but we have no idea how he’s doing it. Nor,” she added with an unmistakable warning in her voice, “do we have an iota of proof. So we cannae just go barging in. If there’s proof tae be found, I want you to find it. And, for goodness sake, don’t go there in uniform.”

I’d show her, I thought as I made my way along the dusty road that joins Buckmoth to Ald’ruhn. Well, just as soon as I’d found out what ‘panache’ was I’d show her.

I’d changed into a soft robe with the sort of expensive stitching that certainly wasn’t ‘regulation’. To my delight, I found that the guards were quite happy to talk to me and I was soon given directions to Varyon’s hut. The hut itself was simple enough to find ~ opposite the Ald Skar Inn, the one with the cart outside.

“Help you?” the Dunmer inside said, straightening from a potter’s wheel. On seeing me, he rather grudgingly added “ma’am”.

“My, you certainly seem to have been busy,” I said, indicating the pots and jugs that covered just about every surface. “I’m looking for some earthenware and I heard that you were something of a potter.”

“Something of a potter,” he spluttered. “I’ll have you know that I am one of the best in the whole of Morrowind Province. I come from a famous family of artists, perhaps you’ve heard of us?” I shook my head, and he launched into a long and detailed description of his artistic family. I tuned him out as he spoke; my interest had been caught by the glint of crystal on a desk nearby.

“So,” I said, “how much would you want for, let us say, a dozen pots and a like number of platters?”

“Ma’am,” he said with obviously strained patience, “I do not sell my goods on Vvardenfell, they are to go to the finest retailers throughout the Empire.” Yes, I thought to myself as he ushered me out, and now I know exactly how you’re smuggling Dwemeri artefacts off the island. Once I was outside, I retrieved the Ring of Surroundings from my pouch of magical rings and slipped it onto my finger. Once I was wrapped in the Shadow-Weave, I pushed open his door and slipped inside.

“Who’s there?” he said, looking up suspiciously. As he moved towards the door, I slipped around the stove in the other direction and grabbed the Dwemer Tube off the desk. Varyon cursed as his door swung open of its own accord again ~ I had, of course, opened it myself and slipped outside. Maintaining the spell until I was out of sight, I walked down into the dusty main square.

Back at Fort Buckmoth I changed into my uniform before going to see Imsin. She was quick; I’ll give her that. No sooner had I mentioned the fact that I’d found the tube among the pots than she realised how the operation worked. “Excellent work Vahl,” she said, “we’ve been waiting ages to get that snivelling little Scrib bang to rights. And, thanks tae you, we’ve got him. I’ll send a couple of Troopers over there right away. We’ll soon have the names of his accomplices.

“Now, I have another job for you Knight. The Knight Errant Joncis Dalomax was sent tae investigate rumours of cult activity at the Ashurnibibi Shrine near Hla Oad. He was due back yester but there has been no sign o’ him. Our agents in Balmora and Hla Oad report that he hasn’t been seen since he headed towards the shrine. We need you to go to Ashurnibibi and ascertain what has happened tae him.”

It was a simple matter for me to get to Hla Oad, a void-walk to Balmora and then up via the Odai Plateau into the Bitter Coast region. A local kindly pointed out the ruins to me, they are visible from the docks in the village. Casting water-walk, I made my way across the shallow bay and onto the foreshore by the shrine. Pressing myself against a convenient block of stone, I peered around it to scout out the lay of the land. Not that far away from where I stood was the by now familiar oval shape of a doorway into the shrine. Unfortunately, between the door and me stood another all too familiar shape. Tall, feminine, metallic ~ the Golden Saint scanned the surroundings slowly ~ the faint tinny creak of its joints audible even from here.

There was a trick I’d heard of although, admittedly, it was used on wolves rather than Dremora. All I needed was a moment or two of distraction and I could make the door and slip inside. Past experience told me that I could easily secure the entrance against something outside. Careful not to disturb the nearby bushes, I stooped and picked up a stone. Timing things carefully, I threw the stone off to the side as the Golden Saint’s head was turned. Quick as a lightning-flash the head snapped around ~ zeroing in on the source of the sound. To my dismay, the creature made no move to investigate, instead staring carefully towards the spot where the rock had landed. Horror-struck, I watched the head move in a perfect arc ~ tracking the rock’s trajectory back to where I stood. With the famous Vahl battle cry of “Oh Bugger” I drew my axe and raced towards the figure.


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Wolfie
post May 11 2005, 08:09 PM
Post #46


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[quote]With the famous Vahl battle cry of “Oh Bugger” I drew my axe and raced towards the figure. [/quote]
Brilliant biggrin.gif


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D�anaim smaoineamh, d� bhr� sin, t�im ann - Descartes

Only the dead have seen the end of war ~ Plato

Fairy tales do not tell children the dragons exist. Children already know that dragons exist. Fairy tales tell children the dragons can be killed. - G.K. Chesterton

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minque
post May 11 2005, 08:19 PM
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Definitely seconded.... :goodjob:


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Chomh fada agus a bhionn daoine ah creiduint in aif�iseach, leanfaidh said na n-aingniomhi a choireamh (Voltaire)

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Aki
post May 11 2005, 11:16 PM
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I love how you portray the Golden Saints. :goodjob: biggrin.gif


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"You’ve put up a good fight, but I’m through playing. Now I’m going to kick your [censored] and tell of my glory under the next full moon. Die well.”

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OverrideB1
post May 12 2005, 06:04 PM
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The Golden Saint manifested a wicked looking sickle that glinted evilly in the sunlight that filtered between the standing stones. With a metallic cry, it rushed towards me. Axe-blade met sickle-blade with a crash and battle was joined. We hacked away at each other, dodging the worst of the blows and hammering home the slightest advantage. The fight was very much like a Bosmer: short, brutal, and nasty.

I was covered with small cuts, a present from the curved sickle-blade, when I finally vanquished my otherworldly opponent ~ sending the essence of it howling back into the void. Gasping, I sank to the ground and opened my pack. Several freshly-created healing potions nestled within, and I grabbed one gratefully. As I drained the acidic potion, I saw a glint of light in the grass. When I had healed, I went and investigated: discovering that the Golden Saint had left the sickle behind when I returned it to Oblivion.

While short-bladed weapons are not my forte, the sickle was obvious valuable ~ the filigreed and inlaid cross-guard and the tiny gemstones set into the handle were what gave me the clue ~ so I took it with a view to selling it to whomever showed an interest. There seemed to be no other guardians outside the ruined Shrine so, taking a deep breath, I approached the oval door.

Stepping through into the cool gloom inside, I carefully made my way down the stairs. Such a stealthy approach was pointless ~ Ashurnibibi was a single square chamber with nowhere to hide. Which meant that the four cultists saw me at pretty much the same time as I saw them. Even though the potion had healed me, I still ached abominably from the fight with the Golden Saint and was in no mood to cross blades, or exchange magic, with these four. Many moons ago, Aryon had given me gloves as a reward for tasks done. I had never used the left-hand glove despite the fact that I wore it still.

The curved and alien runes glowed briefly before my eyes as I concentrated on the spell woven in to the glove. Three swirling vortexes formed in the very air around me and, from each portal, stepped a Dremora. With echoing howls, the Flame Atronach, the Frost Atronach, and the Storm Atronach fell on the nearest cultists, tearing into them ferociously. That left the one at the back for me. With a contemptuous look on his face, he started to cast a summoning spell ~ always a mistake when you’re being stalked by an irate Dunmer female with a quick temper and a quicker sword.

As he choked out the last of his life on the floor, I took a look around. Over in one corner was a steaming pile of meat ~ legacy of the Atronachs. The other two cultists had fared little better. With a shrug, I stepped up to the statue of Malacath and looked at the small chest that rested between its feet. The lock opened easily: revealing two apprentice scrolls and a rusted key.

The key opened the oddly shaped door at the back of the shrine, revealing a dishevelled-looking Breton in Imperial Templar armour. “Joncis Dalomax?” I asked.

“Yes, thank the Divines,” he gabbled, grabbing my shoulder. “I was overwhelmed and they shoved me in here. Arkay alone knows what foul ritual they were planning….” He took several deep breaths, mastering himself. “Thank you Knight,” he said in a much calmer tone of voice. “I will return to Hla Oad and thence to Fort Buckmoth. I shall be sure to relate to Imsin how you helped me.”

I nodded, thanking him softly. I understood his embarrassment: he was an elderly, grizzled warrior who had obviously seen his fare share of warfare. Yet he had been beset by four cultists and captured. Along comes a newly promoted Knight Errant ~ a young, female, Knight Errant ~ who not only sets him free but single-handedly defeated the four who took him captive. Such thoughts engender feelings of mortality in the best of us.

I shook myself as Dalomax left the shrine: maudlin thoughts and sympathy for Imperial soldiers? I’d best watch that tendency lest I start regretting leaving the Empire behind. With a laugh, since that was about as likely as me becoming a hero, I translocated back to Tel Vahl for some well-earned rest and recuperation.

The book, ‘Daedric Shrines of Importance’, proved to be an interesting and entertaining read ~ little did I then know the consequences of such a simple act.


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OverrideB1
post May 12 2005, 06:05 PM
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[quote=Aki]I love how you portray the Golden Saints. :goodjob: biggrin.gif[/quote]
Thank you ~ I see them as sort of a cross between a Predator and a Terminator, and I try to reflect that in my writing.


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minque
post May 12 2005, 08:51 PM
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[quote=OverrideB1][quote=Aki]I love how you portray the Golden Saints. :goodjob: biggrin.gif[/quote]
Thank you ~ I see them as sort of a cross between a Predator and a Terminator, and I try to reflect that in my writing.[/quote]

laugh.gif :lmao: :rofl: :hugesmile:


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Chomh fada agus a bhionn daoine ah creiduint in aif�iseach, leanfaidh said na n-aingniomhi a choireamh (Voltaire)

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post May 13 2005, 05:04 PM
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There were smiling faces at Fort Buckmoth when I returned this morning, Joncis Dalomax had made his way back to the garrison there and reported my (rather self-evident) success. However, Imsin wasn’t going to let me rest on my laurels, she already had a new task for me. “One of the Buoyant Armigers, and please don’t ask which one, is being blackmailed by Varona Nelas. This Armiger gave Nelas an embroidered glove as a token of affection and, needless to say, should this become common knowledge the scandal would be a bitter blow to the Armigers. We… I would appreciate it if you could speak to Varona Nelas and recover the glove.

“We believe,” Imsin continued, the blush on her cheeks very evident given her pale complexion, “that Nelas is in Assumanu: a small system of caverns located southeast of Ald Redaynia.” I assured Imsin that I would be at my most persuasive and, wondering what could make Imsin feel so uncomfortable, I cast the spell that would open a passageway to Dagon Fel.

As I made my way westwards, the Septim suddenly dropped: an embroidered glove. It was hardly the sort of thing that a big, burly male Armiger would give to his paramour. I chuckled uneasily: my upbringing in the more liberal West warring with the more puritanical attitude I had picked up from the Dunmer in the months I’d been here. Well, it really wasn’t any of my concern…

Several hours later I discovered the Sargon caves which was the home of a number of bandits. They were neither good at banditry or fighting. The caves made an excellent place for me to rest and take a meal-break but they yielded little by way of treasure other than an ancient hammer that screamed powerful chords when I took it from the cold, dead hand of the Redguard bandit.

Assumanu: if the conical pile of skulls just inside the cave’s entrance wasn’t a clue to the necromantic nature of the occupants, then their habit of summoning Bone-Walkers was. There were two necromancers ~ surprisingly, both were Dunmeri females ~ inside the cave who decided that the best way to deal with the intrusion was to summon up a Bone-Walker each and sit back and watch the spectacle that would follow. Unfortunately for them, I have found that I am quite proficient as a Summoner and even a pair of Bone-Walkers are no match for a Storm Atronach.

Having cleared those two obstacles, I ventured deeper into the cavern. “Do you have an appointment?” the Bosmer said, stepping out from between two rocks as I approached the wooden bridge that spanned the underground river.

“A what?” I exclaimed, nonplussed.

“I assume you’re here to speak with Mistress Nelas,” the Bosmer said. “If she has asked to speak to you, then you will have an appointment to see her. Regrettably, that means that I would have been informed.”

“Why is it regrettable that you would have been told about an appointment?”

“Ahh, I’m sorry, “ the Bosmer said, pinching the bridge of his nose and looking pained. “Perhaps I should have been clearer. The poor fortune is yours rather than mine. Y’see, I would have been informed if you had an appointment: since I wasn’t, you haven’t. And, therefore, you can’t.”

“Run that past me one more time,” I said slowly.

-Sigh- I wasn’t informed that we were expecting a visitor this day. Therefore my Mistress isn’t expecting you. Therefore you haven’t an appointment. Ergo, you can’t get in to see her.”

“I’m here on important business,” I snapped.

“That’s what they all say,” the Bosmer retorted drawing his short sword. Dwemer metal clashed on Imperial steel as I blocked his blow with the Wish, bringing the blade back in a blow that split the air with a deadly hum. “Whoa!” the Bosmer gasped, leaping backwards agilely.

The blade crashed against my armour as he lunged forward, my retaliatory blow tore a chunk of metal from the bottom of his cuirass. Again and again our blades crashed together, my greater reach and strength finally proving superior. Twisting to avoid a vindictive stab of the short sword, I brought the humming blade of the Wish down on the back of the Bosmer’s head, crushing the back of his skull and putting his lantern out immediately. As he slumped forward, I took several deep breaths to steady myself.

“Who are you, and how did you get past Allimer?” the tall, well-dressed Dunmer female asked as I clambered up the short flight of steps to the raised platform. “You haven’t an appointment, so that means…. DIE FETCHER!

“Eep!” I yelped, diving to the side to avoid the sudden explosive conclusion to her unspoken spell. I grabbed the nearest upright wooden pole, using it as a pivot. Spinning around, I waited until the last moment and then thrust outwards with my feet. This had been a useful manoeuvre when I was a child, often ending a fight with one or other of the village bullies. Of course, back then I’d been wearing cheap felt shoes instead of solid Imperial Steel Boots. There was a sickening crunching noise as the soles of the aforementioned boots impacted, cutting short the spell Nelas had been intoning. I didn’t see quite what happened next ~ I was far too busy discovering a little known fact about feather-enchanted armour.

Clinging desperately to the wooden pole to prevent myself from being thrown into the main body of the cave by my momentum, I was dimly aware of a heavy thump somewhere behind me. When I’d got myself back under control, I was able to see that I’d dealt a lethal blow to Varona Nelas. When I’d finished frantically wiping the boots on a nearby rug, I explored the small platform.

I recovered the embroidered glove, a number of utility scrolls (hearth heal and the like) and an apprentice scroll that taught the spell Golnara’s Eye-Maze. Feeling unaccountably weary, I sank down onto the hammock and closed my eyes.

When I woke, about an hour later, I felt full of fizz. I felt fitter than I had in ages and I seemed to have tapped into potential strengths I didn’t know I had. With a broad grin at the way I felt, I left Assumanu and headed back towards Dagon Fel. On my way here I’d passed a Daedric shrine ~ Assurdirapal by name ~ and the name had been nagging at me ever since I’d seen it. My little nap seemed to have jogged the memory loose: the ruins had been mentioned in the book ‘Daedric Shrines of Importance’. I wanted to know why this shrine was so important.

Shrieking, I left the shrine at Assurdirapal, shaken to my core. I’d ventured inside the deserted ruins and explored the various chambers and levels without finding anything of value ~ coming, at last, to the vast central chamber. Dominated by a bronze statue of Malacath, the large open area had yielded nothing by way of treasures or artefacts of power. Standing there, hands on my hips, I had wondered why this was noted as a shrine of importance.

"[size=14]Perhaps, mortal, ‘tis because I reside here,

Dumbly I nodded, the tales of the Elven hero reached far beyond the borders of Morrowind. "[size=14]Know thee, then, that such tales be false!

“Kill him?” I managed to murmur.

"[size=14]Aye,

With a grating noise, the statue turned its head and fell silent. That was the moment I fled the shrine in terror. Daedric Princes speaking out of statues to me ~ not just once, but twice now: no that just wasn’t right. Having composed myself somewhat, I returned to Tel Vahl at all speed.


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Fuzzy Knight
post May 13 2005, 05:31 PM
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Hoohoo nice Override, you've done it again - Please post the next now! :drool:
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Wolfie
post May 13 2005, 05:53 PM
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coooooooooooooooooooooooooool :goodjob:


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D�anaim smaoineamh, d� bhr� sin, t�im ann - Descartes

Only the dead have seen the end of war ~ Plato

Fairy tales do not tell children the dragons exist. Children already know that dragons exist. Fairy tales tell children the dragons can be killed. - G.K. Chesterton

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post May 13 2005, 08:53 PM
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[quote=Fuzzy Knights]Hoohoo nice Override, you've done it again - Please post the next now! :drool:[/quote]

Proof-reading.................... 33% complete :lickinglips2:


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minque
post May 13 2005, 08:58 PM
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Big advantage over me you have!! biggrin.gif You can edit your own....I have to send every part away ...... wink.gif


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post May 13 2005, 09:52 PM
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When I returned to Fort Buckmoth with the news of Varona Nelas’ death, Imsin wasn’t pleased. “That is nae what I sent you tae do,” she complained unhappily. “Ye were simply supposed tae get the glove and return it.”

“My apologies,” I replied, “but Nelas gave me little choice in the matter. Besides, there is no chance of any scandal now… is there?”

“Aye,” she conceded, “but it’s nae the best solution. Still, I thank ye for your devotion to duty Knight. I have two bits of new for you. Firstly, you are tae report with all speed tae Fort Hawkmoth in Ebonheart: Frald the White will be your new commanding officer.

“As tae the second bit o’ news, well: Hawkmoth is a prestigious appointment. Accordingly, Frald has instructed that ye be promoted tae the rank of Knight Batchelor. Take this chitty wi’ you when you go and present it tae the quartermaster.”

As I handed in my steel gauntlets and ‘pot’, I reflected on life’s little ironies. I had joined the Legion for two reasons ~ firstly to improve my fighting abilities and secondly to get an idea of how the Legion operated so that Great House Telvanni would be prepared for any eventuality. Now, here I was wearing the gilded armour of an Imperial Legion Knight ~ complete with the new helm and bracers that the quartermaster had just handed me. I had seen many Dunmer in the Legion: Spearmen, Troopers, even an Agent or two ~ but no Dunmer above those ranks.

Having translocated myself to Vivec City, I had some time to reflect on this as I walked down the coastal road towards the stronghold of Ebonheart. From conversations I’d had with fellow soldiers, I knew that the Legion recruited about twenty-five to thirty percent of its troops locally. However these recruits were usually short-term recruits who gained very little in the way of promotion. The indigenous troopers who signed up for long-term service usually didn’t get promoted much beyond the rank of Spearman. This made my own rapid ascent through the ranks quite the puzzle. The only reason I could think of was that, while I was Dunmeri, I was also ‘Imperial born and bred’ as they say. Somehow, I knew that my promotion was going to get me into trouble.

Frald, a broad-faced and broader-shouldered Nord with only the faintest hint of accent, greeted me warmly as I stepped into the main barracks at Fort Hawkmoth. “Knight Vahl,” he said, extending his hand, “I’ve heard very good things about you.”

“Thank you,” I said, grasping his hand and shaking it in the western fashion. He grinned hugely, taking off his helm and exposing the mass of braided, snow-white hair that had been concealed underneath.

“Now, I’m sorry to throw you in at the deep end, first day here an’ all that. We have a little problem with a Buoyant Armiger by the name o’ Salyn Sarethi up at the Ghostgate. He says the Legion is full of witless bores. He’s… well, he’s sort of challenged us tae a contest of wit and poetry. I’m sort of hoping that you’re going to uphold the Legion’s honour.”

Oh great, I thought to myself as I smilingly accepted the challenge, the honour of the Legion is resting on the shoulders of yours truly. Not, I realised after a moment’s reflection, that I actually gave a damn’. I mentally slapped myself, I’d got myself caught up in the momentum of my promotions and had started thinking like an Imperial officer instead of the head of Great House Telvanni. That was a tendency I’d have to keep a close eye on.

Tendrils of raw magicka discharged into the ground as I dismissed the portal that had carried me from Ebonheart to the Ghostgate. Salyn Sarethi was, according to Frald, in the Tower of Dusk and was expecting me. Making sure I avoided the Temple ~ where, presumably, Uvoo Llaren was still waiting for me to return with her blessed cleaver ~ I entered the Tower of Dusk and made my way down to the offices of the Buoyant Armigers.

“So,” the Dunmer sneered, ”you’re the barbarian they’ve sent in response to our challenge. The rules are simple ~ we kept them that way so that you’d have no problems understanding them ~ we take turns to pose a riddle or conundrum that the other answers. A correct or witty answer wins the point.

There followed quite the battle of wits, Sarethi scoring some early favour with the crowd by using some fairly complex riddles and word-play. But, as I grew more confident, I got more of the assembled crowd on my side of the table as I dredged up fairly complex riddles of my own, adding in some word-play by the renown Cyrodiilic author Octavius Torva. Before too long, the only people on Salyn Sarethi’s side of the table were a couple of grim-faced Armigers, the rest of the crowd was standing behind me. At the end of the allotted time, there was no doubt who was the winner.

Grinning sarcastically at the bewildered Armiger, I bowed to the clapping crowd. “Perhaps, next time you open your mouth,” I told Sarethi, “You’ll consider what comes out beforehand.”

“Lassie,” Frald boomed, “I’d have given a year’s pay to have seen that. Here, I have a little present for you.” Frald presented me with a copy of ‘2920, Second Seed’. I thanked him and, at his invitation, accompanied him to the officers’ mess for a midday meal. While we were eating, Frald broached the subject of Honthjolf.

“He’s a traitor to the Legion, that’s for sure,” Frald said around a mouthful of boiled Scrib-cabbage. “Took himself off and got himself a job with a bunch of cultists. We weren’t happy about his defection, even less so about his choice of people to hang around with. But now, it seems that he’s branched out into petty banditry and extortion. A survivor of one of the raids overheard Honthjolf speaking about a place called Aharnabi.

“We’ve had to be careful in obtaining information,” he continued, leaning forward to whisper confidentially, “That’s Telvanni country out there. Mage-Lords they call themselves and they are as mad as Sheogorath’s tailor they tell me. Still, when you’re dealing wi’ a bunch of people who really don’t like you and can turn you into something small and unnatural… well, it pays to be cautious. I digress; Aharnabi is a cave-system south of an ancient shrine dedicated to Azura. Someone really should take care of the situation before it gets any worse.”

“Really?” I said through gritted teeth. “Perhaps I should go and see if I can resolve the situation?”

“That would be great,” he said, cheering up.

“In fact, I think I’ll depart right now,” I said, standing up, “I seem to have lost my appetite. Oh, by the way, if I need more information ~ who’s our contact out there?”

“A Dunmer by the name of Rolis Garvon, native of Sadrith Mora,” Frald responded without a moment’s hesitation. After all, why should he hesitate? Wasn’t I a fellow officer, trustworthy and dedicated to the Empire’s cause? The fact that I intended to have the traitor’s head on a pike before sundown had probably never occurred to Frald the White ~ it had occurred to me though…

“Rolis Garvon,” I snapped at Kallin Basalius, having used the stronghold ring to get to Tel Vahl, “has been feeding information to the Legion. I want the whole of Sadrith Mora turned upside down until you find him. Close the bridge to Wolverine Hall so he can’t run to his Imperial masters ~ nobody goes in or out of that pile of bricks until Rolis Garvon is caught. If you can’t find him in the next six hours, I want the head of the Sadrith Mora Morag Tong here in seven hours.”

“Yes ma’am,” Kallin replied, casting me a worried look before rushing out of the chamber. I sighed, I realised that I was jeopardising my position in the Legion by acting on the information Frald the White had given me: after all, he didn’t need an Imperial degree in advanced mathematics to add two and two and get ‘Vahl’ as the result. But I couldn’t risk leaving Rolis Garvon alive ~ to date he hadn’t given the Legion my name or position but it was a risk I couldn’t take. Leaving my able staff to take care of the matter, I struck out in a vaguely easterly direction from the stronghold.

Turning southwards after reaching the coast, I made my way through increasingly rougher terrain towards Aharnabi. I was beginning to regret my response to the information that Frald had given me; my actions were hasty and ill advised; placing my position within the Legion at risk. I was tempted to return to Tel Vahl and rescind my orders but…

“Dinsalipal Dun-Ahhe is waiting for you in the main hall,” Raissu Asserbas said with a hint of smugness. “Kallin Basalius and I suspected that you’d change your mind when you’d had a little time to consider things so we called him straight away.”


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Food, Slave, Telvanni ~ Take your pick.
The Coalition of Evil Geniuses: Overlord of Boom
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Wolfie
post May 13 2005, 09:55 PM
Post #58


Mage
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Joined: 14-March 05
From: Dublin, Ireland



At last her loyalties to house Telvanni conflict with the intersts of the Legion biggrin.gif


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D�anaim smaoineamh, d� bhr� sin, t�im ann - Descartes

Only the dead have seen the end of war ~ Plato

Fairy tales do not tell children the dragons exist. Children already know that dragons exist. Fairy tales tell children the dragons can be killed. - G.K. Chesterton

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Aki
post May 13 2005, 10:40 PM
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[quote=OverrideB1][quote=Aki]I love how you portray the Golden Saints. :goodjob: biggrin.gif[/quote]
Thank you ~ I see them as sort of a cross between a Predator and a Terminator, and I try to reflect that in my writing.[/quote]

Heh, interesting concepting of a Golden Saint.

Given their metallicness tohugh, its understanable. biggrin.gif

[quote]As I made my way westwards, the Septim suddenly dropped: an embroidered glove. It was hardly the sort of thing that a big, burly male Armiger would give to his paramour. I chuckled uneasily:[/quote]

Heh, i'm going to have to disagree with Sudhendra on that one. Armiger's, being Vivec's boys, are Warrior-poets like him. Its why they're less uptight than the Ordinators. wink.gif

[quote]“Rolis Garvon,” I snapped at Kallin Basalius, having used the stronghold ring to get to Tel Vahl, “has been feeding information to the Legion. I want the whole of Sadrith Mora turned upside down until you find him. Close the bridge to Wolverine Hall so he can’t run to his Imperial masters ~ nobody goes in or out of that pile of bricks until Rolis Garvon is caught. If you can’t find him in the next six hours, I want the head of the Sadrith Mora Morag Tong here in seven hours.”
[/quote]

And someone's head is going to roll... :shocked:


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"You’ve put up a good fight, but I’m through playing. Now I’m going to kick your [censored] and tell of my glory under the next full moon. Die well.”

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OverrideB1
post May 14 2005, 09:20 AM
Post #60


Finder
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From: The Darker side of the Moon



“And here I am,” said a voice right behind me ~ almost causing me to swallow my tongue. Kallin and Raissu both made “eeking” sounds as the well-dressed Dunmer stepped noiselessly out of a pool of shadows and bowed low. Only iron-willed stubbornness prevented me from yelping and leaping ten feet into the air. “It has been some considerable time since Great House Telvanni called for our services Arch-Magister. How may the Servants of Mephala be of service?”

“I see,” he said smoothly after I’d explained the situation. “One assumes that, as well as dealing with the traitor to your House, this is intended to be a lesson to those that consider similar paths?”

“It’s intended to be a lesson all right,” I replied, grimly.

“Yet some degree of discretion is required…” the assassin mused. “We believe we have the ideal solution Arch-Magister. And yours for but one thousand Septims.” Instructing Raissu Asserbas to pay the assassin, I left the tower and headed back to the spot I’d been at before I’d had second thoughts.

The terrain got increasingly more rugged and, before too long, I had to divert inland instead of following the coastline. One such diversion brought me close to a huge statue: weathered and dirt-encrusted, it was still recognisable as Azura. Since I had read the book ‘Daedric Shrines of Importance’, I had been having nagging feelings about the shrines it had mentioned and felt strangely drawn towards the statue. Perched on a rock that jutted out over steep cliffs, I realised that the statue guarded the entrance to the shrine. For there, down a path that had seen far better days, lay the unmistakably warped shapes of a shrine-platform. Scrambling down the path, avoiding looking at the dizzying vista that lay on the right-hand side, I reached the platform. The door yielded easily to my touch and, glad to be off that exposed and crumbling entrance, I stepped inside.

This was not the first Daedric shrine I’d ever been in but it was certainly the most atypical. I could still feel the sheer power of the place rising up through my feet but, unlike other shrines, there was a… serenity and harmony to the power. That feeling was reinforced by the shrine itself ~ no strangely angled corners or warped walls here. A soft blue light suffused the shrine and it took me a moment or two to realise it was emanating from the tall silver statue standing at the back of the ruin. I felt no overwhelming fear as I approached the statue ~ despite my experiences in the other shrines. As I drew nearer to the statue, the blank metal eyes flashed azure for a moment.

“[size=14]Beloved,

“[size=14]Now that time doth come to an end and still Rayna Drolan doth pray. The Mad One, Sheogoraph, hath determined to cheat to prove his case. Beloved of Azura, I beseech thee; bring me proof of the Mad One’s meddling that I may give him the lie direct. In this task thou shall be well rewarded. Have a care, thou must not disturb my priestess in any wise…

The voice faded to silence and the indefinable sense of Azura’s presence faded with it. I blinked… that voice was familiar. I knew that I had heard it before but couldn’t place it. I sat for a while, partially to puzzle over this conundrum and partially to soak up the ambiance of the place. Feeling calmer and more focussed than I had in several days, albeit no closer to remembering where I had heard that voice, I left and continued my way southwards.

The door to Aharnabi led me into a steeply sloping tunnel hewn from the rock. As I walked carefully down the slippery passage, an Altmer walked around the pillar of rock at the bottom of the tunnel. With a curse, she raised her hands and spat a short phrase. I jerked backwards, my feet slipping out from underneath me as a hissing sphere of purple light whizzed over my head. Arresting my slide, I raised my hand and responded with a spell of my own, “Chyffyrddiad chan rhew.”

The High Elf’s scream was cut short as the spell worked its gruesome way with her, leeching the heat from her body. By the time I had regained my feet, she was dead, her golden skin dusted with speckles of ice. The tunnel continued downwards, taking quite a sharp rightward bend before continuing down some more. Here it entered a cavernous space, high up on the wall of the vaguely spherical chamber. A wooden walkway led to a ladder that went down to a lower level.

Of course, the Dunmeri sorceress who was walking along the lower part of the wooden construction wasn’t particularly happy to see me, or so I assumed by the Bone-Walker she summoned. I drew my crossbow ~ already loaded and ready ~ as the misshapen fiend scrambled up the stairs. “Hey, Muthsera!” I yelled, leaning over the railing. As the Mer looked upwards, I fired downwards. There was a satisfying spurt of blood as the bolt took her right in the centre of the forehead. The Bone-Walker, which had its damn clawed hands close to my neck ~ far too damn’ close if you ask me ~ sparkled with yellowish light and faded from view before it could reach me.

I had a choice of directions when I reached the lower level of the wooden construction. Lacking any clues (and with the usual unerring instinct for walking into trouble) I chose to go to my right. Another Dunmeri sorceress joined the growing tally of the dead littering these caves as, after a brief exchange of magic, I took advantage of my position behind a rocky outcrop to reload my crossbow and fire at her.

This left the left-hand passage and, this time I seemed to have made the right decision. The wooden walkway led through an arch that had been hacked into the stone, opening up a water-filled cavern beyond. The wooden platform continued out over the water, massive wooden pilings sunk into the silt-covered floor of the cave. Several platforms were attached to the walkway ~ all but one was deserted. With a sardonic laugh, a tall and untidy-looking Nord sauntered arrogantly down the steps from the furthest platform and stood there looking at me.


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Food, Slave, Telvanni ~ Take your pick.
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