The Tale Of Sudhendra Vahl: Mad Gods, Being the ninth chapter... Options

[OverrideB1]

Allowing the construct to collapse, I pushed open the door after instructing Alvan to remain outside. There was a very familiar coppery smell in the room, and it didn’t take me long to discover the butchered corpse of the Ordinator that had followed Golena into the manse. I grimaced, I could visualise the scene clearly: the Ordinator badgering the demented woman about ‘it’ and Golena getting more and more convinced the guard was there to confiscate whatever she was protecting. The Ordinator, suspecting nothing of what he was dealing with, would have been easy prey.

The trapdoor in the lower level of Sadri manor led, with a certain inevitability, to a section of the sewers beneath Godsreach. Crumpled in a heap at the bottom of the ladder was the Dunmeri woman who’d led Golena Sadri away. A quick check showed that she was extremely dead ~ whoever had cut her throat had sawn right through to the bone. I checked the local area, the sewer behind me ended in a catchment area, a deep pit with a grate at the bottom through which the sewer-water ran into the lower levels of the sewer.

With a sigh, I made my careful way down the steeply sloping sewer until I reached a flattish area at the bottom. The grated door opened into a dilapidated section of the sewers, an area that I suspected had been long forgotten. Several rock-falls had choked off the lower passageways and I stood there baffled: there was no sign of Golena Sadri. As is my habit, I quickly checked through the contents of the heavy crates that lay scattered around the outlet grate. It was as I was doing this that I realised that there were four crates resting on top of a trapdoor. The crates had been firmly nailed shut and whatever they contained made them far too heavy for me to move successfully. There must be someway of getting through the trapdoor ~ it was the only way that Golena could’ve gone.

It was the damp wood of the crates that told me what the solution was: a sluice nearby could be opened or closed by operating a crank. Casting a water-breathing spell, I turned the crank as hard as I could, hanging on to it as the frothing and foaming water quickly filled up the enclosed sewer. The crates, riding heavily in the water, rose up and freed the hatch. Plunging beneath the surface, I raised the hatch and slipped through into the submerged tunnel underneath.

A short swim down the water-filled sewer brought me to another hatchway, this one leading upwards. As the protective bubble of the water-breathing spell started to collapse in on itself, I put my weight against the hatch and swung it open. Clambering up the ladder, I found myself in a section of the sewer that had almost completely collapsed. Massive chunks of rock blocked off each end of the tunnel but, at the western end of the tunnel section, there was a natural breach in the rock which led through to a narrow passageway.

Crouched almost double, I made my way along the tunnel until I came to another breach in the rock, this one leading into a section of sewer that had long ago been abandoned. A short section of sewer rose up in a sharp incline to my left while ~ directly ahead, the rocky passageway was completely blocked by a rock-fall. To my right, the rocky tunnel meandered away around a sharp bend. Never one to be less than thorough, I headed up the sloping sewer section towards the top.

And stopped suddenly. The upper section of the drain had collapsed and there were hundreds of tons of fallen rock blocking the way. And there, the lids open just enough to show the enticing gleam of gold coins, sat two chests. I crouched down, squatting on my heels as I looked at the strange metallic constructions that had been pushed into the loose rocks near the chests. There was no doubt that these were of Dwemeric make ~ even after these long millennia, there’s no metal on Nirn that looks quite like the alloy they used to construct things. Small, stubby cylinders topped with a crystal dome was how they appeared ~ had it not been for a healthy dose of Telvanni paranoia, I would have taken them for nothing more threatening than some Dwemeric torch or lantern.

The soft pulse of light that had warned me of the presence of these five… devices came again and I pondered what I knew of Golena Sadri. She had approached the Breton mage and asked about Dwemeri artefacts; she had asked increasingly complex questions about focussing and charging magical crystals… It was not too far a reach of the imagination to realise that these things were some sort of Dwemeri weapon.

There were more of these strange cylindrical devices arrayed along the only other passageway. Since I was honour-bond, by my word, to at least try and find Golena Sadri, I took a few tentative steps down the tunnel. As I approached the nearest of the devices, the slow pulsing of the light coming from the crystal increased in speed. Alarmed, I stopped: only to see that the slightly faster pulse of light continued with the same beat. Slowly and carefully I advanced another pace, stopping instantly when the pulsing red light again beat at a fast rate. Nothing, not even the finest shadow-weave spell, seemed to make any difference ~ the closer to the device I drew, the faster the light flashed.

Even though I was expecting it, the powerful energy bolt that exploded from the top of the closest device and sought me out with unerring accuracy, came as a shock. Striking me square in the chest, the powerful bolt threw me down the corridor and bounced me off a rocky outcropping. “Right,” I managed to mutter after taking a fair few minutes to gather my wits about me again. “If that’s the way you want to play it…”

I could, I suppose, tell you how I managed to overcome those infernal Dwemer devices. But, as you no doubt noticed on the approach to my residence, I have not exactly been idle these last few decades. No, a lady has to keep a few secrets. A fact you would do well to remember, Cyrodiil.

Galena seemed to sense my presence, even though I was hidden from mundane sight. With a snarl, she dragged her sword from its scabbard and lunged at me. With a tiny cry of “eep”, I leapt backwards, barely avoiding the sword point. Allowing the cloaking-spell to dissipate, I drew the twin blades I had christened “Grafanc” and “Hysgithr” from their scabbards and crossed them in front of me. “This is futile Golena!” I yelled above the sound of the swirling water that filled this ruined section of sewer. “I am here to help you.”

“Mine!” she screamed, her face hidden in the shadow of the glass helm she wore. With that, the mad-woman rushed at me, slashing and hacking with the blade. I took little satisfaction in cutting her down, but her wild swings and manic approach to combat made the outcome of the fight inevitable. She may have been able to overcome an Ordinator who had his back to her and his weapon sheathed, she may have been able to overcome one poor, unarmoured and unarmed woman; but she was certainly no match for a warrior such as I had become.

The small Dwemer-metal device that hung at her belt proved to be the key to avoiding the devices on the way out ~ apparently they would not discharge their magicka at anyone carrying the device. I took advantage of this fact, adding one to my bulging pack after emptying the contents of the two chests into it.

Golena’s brother was, quite naturally, distraught at the news that his sister was dead but I think he realised she was far too far-gone to be saved. I, meanwhile, returned to the Velas Manor and placed the heavy pack on the table. From it I drew one of the devices that had lined the cavern. Working carefully, I quickly found the small panel on the side, the small recess behind it containing a partially dissolved crystal. Also inside was a small lever, which opened the top of the thing. Gazing at the odd crystalline structures and wires that festooned the interior, I realised that recreating this device was far beyond me. Baladas, however, would have a field day.

[Neck' Thall]

At first i just kept getting hurt and dieing, but then i figured it out. I wont tell but i will PM people if they want to know. At least My way. I Dont know hers. Ohh, and i cant wait to see whats the result of Baladas' Experiments are. Hey that would be a nice mod. Being able to pick one up and bring it to some one whou could make more so i could guard places.

This post has been edited by Neck' Thall: Sep 15 2005, 05:00 AM

[Wolfie]

Another great update Override
and I combine this praise with a query: how do I know if a scroll can be used as an Apprentice Scroll? lol

[OverrideB1]

Much of today was taken up with preparation for the end of year festivals; I ordered several rather rare items to take back to Tel Vahl with me. I did, however, find time to deliver the letter I’d taken from Llethan Manor to Tienius Delitian.

“Most interesting,” he said, reading the letter. “It confirms what we’ve suspected for a long time. And the names of the co-conspirators are not unknown to us. Please wait here a moment.” With that, Tienius Delitian left the royal chambers and left me alone under the watchful eyes of the guards. I tried to strike up a conversation with them but they stared resolutely ahead and wouldn’t even look at me.

“Take these,” Delitian said on his return, thrusting three scrolls into my hands.

“What are these?” I asked.

“Royal Writs of Execution,” he replied. Over my exclamation of “WHAT!” he calmly continued, “the co-conspirators are to be executed by direct order of King Helseth. These Writs will ensure that, should the guards apprehend you, they will not arrest you. Now, listen carefully…

“Forven Berano is known as a devout Mer. My suggestion would be to start at the Temple and work out from there. Hloggar the Bloody’s current whereabouts are unknown. However, there are very few Nords in Mournhold and they tend to use the sewers as resting places. If I were you, I’d start there. Unfortunately, we have no information on Bedal Alen ~ the name is known to us from various Intelligence sources but we have no other information to work with.”

“You have got to be joking,” I said, holding the three Writs out to him. “I’m not going around cutting people down just for you or your precious Helseth.”

“I would reconsider that,” Delitian said, folding his arms. “There is the small matter of your illegal entry into the citadel during quarantine; the killing of two of Helseth’s Altmeri trainers… I’m sure, if I thought about it, I could come up with another couple of charges.”

“You slimy son of a umbrella seller!” I exploded, “after all the help I’ve given you. I’m sure that some of our conversations would raise an advocate’s eyebrows when I related them in court.”

“There would be no trial,” Delitian said softly. “However, such arguments are unnecessary. I am sure that we could come to some suitable arrangement to repay you for the work. You will find Helseth not ungenerous for those that are loyal to him. Here, as earnest of our good intentions, and anticipating your reaction, I had this drawn up.” He handed me another scroll. “It is the rights to Velas Manor, signed over to your name by His Majesty. As a property owner in the enclave of Godsreach, you have the right to travel to your residence at any time you please…”

I nodded, reluctantly taking back the three scrolls from the table. By granting me property rights in the citadel of Mournhold, Helseth had effectively removed me from any threat of prosecution for breaking the quarantine. As I walked downstairs and had the Argonian, Effie-tai, return me to Vvardenfell, I couldn’t help reflecting on life’s little ironies.

I had travelled to Mournhold because someone had set a pack of assassins on my trail. As a result of that visit, I had effectively crippled that cell of the Dark Brotherhood. Now, in one of those little ironic twists that seem to so amuse the Gods, I was being called upon to perform the functions of the Dark Brotherhood. How I was to proceed was a difficult matter to decide, and I had a good many things to manage over the next two days.

[OverrideB1]

Another great update Override
and I combine this praise with a query: how do I know if a scroll can be used as an Apprentice Scroll? lol

I'm glad that you're still enjoying these tales, and I apologies for not responding sooner but the last few days have been hectic (to say the very least).

You can tell an Apprentice Scroll by looking at it (reading it). You are given the option, on closing, to put it away, use it, or learn it. Otherwise, they appear exactly the same as a standard scroll

[Wolfie]

Cool update, no problem taking so long

It's weird, whenever i drop a scroll on my character screen thing (e.g Scroll of Red Despair) it comes up as all the daedric writing. But when i close it, it just closes, that's all

[OverrideB1]

3rd Era ~ Year 428

The festivities had gone well, and Baladas had been delighted with his new toy ~ although he understood the conditions attached to it all too well. In fact, the first thing he asked, after examining it closely, was “How many and how soon?”

There were other matters to occupy my mind this morning however. Galas Drenim, the House representative at the Grand Council in Ebonheart arrived shortly after dawn with a report of the council meeting just concluded.

“House Hlaalu is seeking damages against Great House Telvanni,” she said, sitting opposite me and unrolling a scroll. “They claim that ‘Telvanni’ forces, authorised by the Arch-Magister, intercepted their expedition to the empty building known as Odirniran. They are claiming that they lost two hundred thousand Septims on the cost of the mission, pensions to the spouses, and another similar sum in treasure that they claim was there for the taking.”

“House Hlaalu can just go on claiming,” I responded. “Odirniran is clearly in our territory, we have prior claim to the site, and have had for several decades. Put in a counter-claim of, let’s say, seven hundred thousand Septims for the cost of repulsing Hlaalu incursions into Great House Telvanni territory. Tell the House Father of Hlaalu that, once our claim is settled to our satisfaction, we will settle their claim.”

Galas made a quick note, and then said, “The Mages of the Imperial Guild are not living up to the agreement you brokered that allows us to teach magic unimpeded. Twice in the last month, they closed down Telvanni spell-makers in Sadrith Mora, near Wolverine Hall, and they’ve laid a claim that we are teaching magic without their approval.”

“Gods Falling,” I swore, unconsciously repeating an Ashlander phrase. “Effective immediately, all trade into the Imperial Mages Guildhouse in Sadrith Mora is suspended. No trader is to supply them anything of a magical nature. Additionally, have Master Neloth withdraw their Hospitality Papers and ensure the guards are under strict instruction to detain and fine anyone without a valid set of papers. As to the other problems with them, I will have to give some thought as to how to deal with them. Meanwhile, have a quiet word with what’s-his-name? The Redoran Councillor and mention that the Mages aren’t complying with the wishes of the Vvardenfell Council. We might manage to swing a censure vote against them. Anything else?”

“Two other matters, Sed Telvanni Vahl,” she replied. “There is an Inquisitor by the name of Gandor Amsirva who has been asking for an interview with you. The other matter isn’t, strictly speaking, a House matter but I thought you might be interested. There have been several reports, reliable ones, of a spectral Orc around Seyda Neen.”

“You were right to bring that to my attention,” I said, “Orcs rarely turn up as Ancestral Spirits. As soon as I get a moment, I’ll investigate. As to the Inquisitor, find out what he wants and let me know ~ I’ll decide then whether or not to grant his request.”

We travelled together to Ebonheart and, once we reached the Grand Council Chamber, she immediately broke off and headed towards the Redoran councillor. I made my way over to Asciene Rane and had her return me to the citadel of Mournhold.

“Bedal Alen known to Effie-Tai,” the Argonian courtier hissed in reply to my question. “Many book, much learning, maybe where many book found? This I hope, helps?” I assured the Argonian that it did and left the Royal Palace, heading towards the Great Bazaar. There were several booksellers among the stalls but, if one wanted quality books, Sarothran’s Ancient Tomes was the shop to visit. Ignoring the querulous comments coming from the elderly proprietor, I raced upstairs and came face-to-face with a Dunmer in an exquisite russet and gold robe. “Are you Bedal Alen?” I asked. He nodded.

“I have here a Royal Writ for your execution,” I said.

“Oh sweet merciful Almalexia,” he gasped, his face going pale, “I just knew this was going to happen. I should never have got involved with…”

“Be quiet,” I snapped, cutting him off. “If you value your hide, you will leave Mournhold running and not stop until you reach the border. Then I’d recommend a brisk jog to the nearest town and the next transport of any kind heading west. Don’t stop until you reach the coast.”

“I am amazed,” he said. “Few executioners employed by Helseth would proffer that advice. And it seems like extremely good advice to me. You have shown yourself capable of great honour Muthsera, and I thank you for that. And, whatever happens, I will never breath a word about your generosity. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I feel a sudden urge to go and buy a Divine Intervention scroll from Weerhat.”

I grinned as I made my way through the crowded market towards the Temple Gate. If Delitian thought, for one moment, that I was going to bloody my hands killing these people for him, he had seriously misjudged the situation, and the person he was dealing with. A quick tour of the courtyard brought me to a small secluded glade amidst the trees. There, kneeling before a small shrine was a Mer, deep in prayer. “Are you Forven Berano?” I asked.

“Yes, I am he” he said in a deep voice, rising to his feet and fastidiously dusting the knees of his silken trousers. “What can I do for you Muthsera?”

“Run,” I said. He raised an eyebrow, so I added, “Unless you’d like me to actually execute this Royal Writ?”

To his credit, he didn’t break down or start whimpering. Instead, he clasped my shoulders and said, “Blessings of the Nine, and ALMSIVI, and whatever gods you worship, upon you Muthsera. It so happens I have an aunt living in Glenpoint I haven’t seen in a while. Perhaps I should pay her a visit? I promise, Muthsera, I will never tell another living soul that you’ve done this. I know how risky that would be for you.”

That just left the Nord, Hloggar the Bloody. And I had seen a Nord down in the sewers, in fact only the one Nord down in the sewers. After wading through the rats and slime, I came to the small chamber hacked into the rock and face to face with the grizzled warrior.

“Let me get this straight lassie,” he said, after I’d explained the situation to him a second time. “Ye’ve a chance tae fight wi’ me… but ye’re warning me off instead?” He shook his head as though the concept pained him, and then smiled warmly. “I get it. Ye’re one o’ the good guys, no one o’ them villains that hang around Helseth. ‘Tis a shame tae be leaving such luxurious accommodation but, for the sake o’ my health, I should be getting out o’ here. Fast. I hear the mountains up near Skaven are quite the sight at this time o’ year.”

“All three of them you say,” Tienius Delitian said when I told him that the three traitors had all left town in the last couple of days. He gave me an odd look, and then perked up when I suggested, “there must be another conspirator, one we didn’t know about, right here in the palace.”

“You know,” he said, “I think you’re right. We must track down this traitor immediately. Meanwhile… well, as you can imagine, His Majesty wasn’t best pleased when he read that dreadful little rag “The Common Tongue”. He has tasked me with finding the author of those scurrilous lies and dealing with him. However, I think that finding this fourth traitor is somewhat more important than that. So, you will find the author of The Common Tongue and deal with him.”

“Where do I find the author?” I asked.

“How should I know?” he snapped back. “The man, or Mer, prefers to keep anonymous. It’s not Dwemer technomancy Vahl, just find him and deal with him.”

As I stepped into the courtyard I wondered where to begin. If Tienius Delitian and Helseth, with their network of spies didn’t know where to look for this author, I wasn’t going to have much luck. Perhaps if I tried around the Great Bazaar? There are a few unsavoury types around there who might, for a little coin, tell me something. It was with thought in mind that I headed across the Plaza Brindisi Dorum and to the Market Gate.

While I was wandering around the Bazaar, looking for some information on this anonymous author, I met a young Dunmeri female by the name of Marena Gilnith. She was sitting on one of the stone benches, watching the hustle and bustle of the market with wide and startled eyes. It was a look and an attitude I recognised: I’d been very much the same when I first arrived in a big city.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” I said, gesturing to the crowd working its way through the market.

“It’s certainly… busy,” she replied with a hesitant smile. “Much busier than anything I ever saw in Andrathis.”

“So what brought you from Andrathis to Mournhold?” I asked, sitting on the bench beside her.

“Well, you’ll probably think I’m very foolish,” she said with a sheepish grin, “but I grew up in Andrathis, and my parents took very good care of me. It’s just that, when they arranged my marriage to some greasy Nobleman, I couldn’t take it,” she paused for a little while, and then shuddered. “He was gross Muthsera, overweight and greasy, and, and much older than I was. So I ran away and eventually ended up here in Mournhold.

“I suppose I had some romantic notion that I might find my one true love here,” she sighed. “Only it doesn’t seem to have worked out that way. I brought what money I’d saved. Back in Andrathis it was a large sum ~ here it seems to run away like water.” I braced myself for the inevitable can you loan me some money request. Instead, Marena continued to speak, almost as though I wasn’t there. “I’m determined though. I will not go crawling back to Andrathis and beg forgiveness from my parents… or that loathsome man. So I started to work here in Mournhold: simple stuff, cleaning and the like. Now it’s all I ever do, and I never seem to get a chance to meet any men.”

My thoughts ran back to the recently widowed shop-keeper I’d met when I first explored the Great Bazaar. He’d been moaning about how he’d never meet another woman like his late wife. Perhaps I could persuade him to see Marena, certainly his shop could do with a woman’s touch and ~ located here in the Bazaar ~ earning a living shouldn’t be any harder for two than it is for one. “I might have a solution to both your problems,” I said to Marena. “Wait here and I’ll be back soon.”

Sunel Hlas wasn’t any more cheerful that he had been when I first met him. In fact, if anything, he seemed gloomier than ever. I broached the subject of Marena Gilnith with him and persuaded him to agree to meet her. With his agreement, I went back to Marena and told her I’d someone in mind who might meet both of her requirements ~ a pleasant man who could give her a good standard of living. It took some persuading, but she finally agreed to meet Sunel Hlas.

Back to the shop-keeper I went and gave him the information on where and when to meet Marena. As I left the ship, I couldn’t resist giving him one last piece of advice, “Don't act so depressed. Try and be optimistic. You might surprise yourself.” With an unaccustomed spring in my step, I returned to the Velas Manor.

[Wolfie]

hehe cool
i have yet to actually do that matchmaker quest

[OverrideB1]

First thing this morning I headed to the Wing’d Guar. I had a two-fold purpose, firstly to break my fast and secondly, well it had occurred to me that an Inn was a very likely place to pick up some gossip. And some of that gossip might put me on the track of this anonymous author. And I desperately wanted to find him before Tienius Delitian found out that there was no fourth Mer and turned his attention to the search.

I spoke to a Redguard named Therdon after my meal. He knew nothing about the Mer I sought and seemed more concerned that he had just lost his job. “I don’t know if it’s any help, you being a pillow-fluffer,” I said, suppressing my amusement at this burly Redguard lamenting the fact he’d lost a job making fluffy pillows, “but Bols Indalen ~ the blacksmith at the Craftsmen’s Hall is looking for an apprentice. His last one… left suddenly.”

“Well,” he said, uncertainly, “I really don’t know if I’m cut out for that sort of work.”

“Look at it this way,” I said, tongue firmly in cheek, “instead of folding fabric, you’ll be folding metal.” To my amazement, my sardonic comment seemed to strike a spark of interest in Therdon. “I’ll do it,” he declared firmly as he stood up from the table. “I’ll go and see this Indalen fellow right now.”

That seemed to be the only bit of luck I was going to have at the Wing’d Guar, nobody else knew anything about the mysterious author of ‘The Common Tongue’ either. Or, if they did, nobody was saying anything. Despondently, I made my way back to the Great Bazaar to continue where I’d left off yestere. I’d been asking questions for a while before I went into ‘Ten-Tongue’ Weerhat’s Pawn Shop. The Argonian intimated that, for a price, he could provide useful information.

“Trels Varis… author Common Tongue is,” the Argonian said, making the ten 10-Septim pieces vanish from the counter. “This one not know that one,” he continued, “at Hall of the Craftsmen first Varis heard.

“Now,” Weerhat continued, having apparently exhausted his knowledge on that subject, “this one has scroll for Vahl-Mage. Very good price, very powerful, good-friend-Vahl wishes?” I asked to see the scroll and Weerhat opened a box under the counter and produced a yellowing roll of parchment. Unrolling it, I examined it briefly ~ Weerhat wouldn’t give me long ~ and realised it was a powerful spell indeed: a Sixth Barrier.

“Ssssixty Sssseptims,” the Argonian hissed. I blinked, that was a good price ~ so good, in fact, it was about a tenth of what the scroll was actually worth. I quizzed Weerhat on the provenance of the scroll but all he would say is that it was provided by someone named Ahnia.

“Where do I find this Ahnia?” I asked, but received no reply. I had to make several threats before Weerhat broke down and admitted that this Ahnia was a thief and that he usually met her in the sewers underneath the Bazaar. I have no doubt that Weerhat is adding a very healthy mark-up to the scrolls ~ if I can contact this Ahnia and come to some arrangement well, it can only be to my benefit.

With at least some idea of where to start looking, I headed over to the Craftsmen’s Hall. Therdon had done what he said he would, applied for the apprentice’s position with Bols Indalen. He was delighted to be back in work and gave me a couple of tools by way of a thank you. While I prefer to have someone like Indalen make repairs to my armour and weapons, there is no doubt that sometimes an urgent repair is needed and there is no blacksmith around. For that reason, and that reason only, I have developed some small skill in the art of metal bashing.

The locked door opposite Albrege’s shop intrigued me. It was the work of heartbeats to crack the lock with a quick pulse of magic and, before the guards came back downstairs, I was inside. Inside tuned out to be a small storeroom – several ingots of metal and chunks of raw Ebony festooned the shelves. Of much more import, however, was the securely locked trapdoor ~ well, securely locked to anyone who isn’t a thief or a mage.

The rapidly drawn swords of the three burly men made a very unpleasant hissing sound as I dropped from the end of the ladder into the small office. Several options flickered across my mind: a blatant lie might get me out of here or some violence might be needed. The latter option didn’t seem to be a very good choice as the three heavily built Mer separated carefully from their tight little group, approaching me from the front and both sides. The cool regard of the only Mer in the chamber who hadn’t drawn his sword made me consider the lying option too.

“Are you Trels Varis?” I asked, ignoring the three others and stepping towards the slightly built Mer.

“That would be me,” he responded, adding, “What’s it to you stranger?”

“Are you the anonymous author of ‘The Common Tongue’?”

“I have no comment,” he replied, a faint grin on his face.

“So you are the author I’ve been looking for,” I said. “It would be wise if you stopped printing lies about Helseth.”

“Nothing I’ve printed about Helseth is a lie young lady,” he snapped. “Every word in ‘The Common Tongue’ is the truth. And I intend to keep on printing the truth about Helseth ~ unless you think you can stop me.”

“Oh, I think I can stop you,” I said. As the guards tensed, I continued blithely, “I think you’re a decent Mer and I think a donation of oh, let’s say, three thousand Septims to the local orphans and widows fund would do it.”

“Very clever,” Trels said, waving his guards away from me. “Very clever indeed. I think we’ll have to pack up our presses and move from here to another location. But I accept your donation in the name of ‘The Common Tongue’. I will print nothing new about Helseth ~ unless there are some more conveniently timed deaths by natural causes.”

That seemed to be the best promise I could get from Trels Varis so I agreed, handing over three thousand Septims of my hard-earned cash as I did so. It was with a heavy heart that I returned to the Royal Palace, leaving behind me the noise of several very complex presses being comprehensively dismantled.

“I see,” Tienius Delitian said when I told him what had happened, carefully keeping the name of Trels Varis out of the conversation. “Well, I would have preferred that he’d been dealt with a little more… forcefully but, providing he keeps his word, this is an acceptable solution. You have impressed Helseth, not an easy task let me tell you. He has instructed me to provide you with some money to cover your expenses and a small token of his thanks.”

The purse I was handed contained three and a half thousand Septims, a sum that covered my expenses and gave me a little extra. I had an uncomfortable feeling that Delitian knew far more about my activities the last few days than he was letting on. How else would he have been able to calculate my expenses so accurately? The ‘small token of Helseth’s esteem’ was a sword, of a kind I’d never seen before. Massively long, it was made of the same grey metal as my Daedric cuirass and, like the armour I wore, strange patterns swirled across the surface of the metal. Nor was its length and mass (it was more like a Nordic claymore in length than anything else I could call to mind) the only notable features: it was bound about with some fearsome spells. Etched into the top of the blade were the words “The Oath of the King”.

I was still examining the blade when a guard marched in and whispered something to Delitian. Looking up, he passed on the message, his surprise evident in his voice. “The Lady Barenziah wishes to speak to you. Please accompany the guard to her private quarters.”

This post has been edited by OverrideB1: Sep 21 2005, 08:00 PM

[Neck' Thall]

Nice...Im's sry i was gone but i have been grounded. I went for the temple way so i'm wondering how this will work out.

[OverrideB1]

I followed the guard, who took me through a door behind the throne and into the private area of the palace, up the stairs and along a short corridor to a plain door. Snapping to attention, he pushed open the door and said, “In here ma’am.”

Inside the well-appointed chamber, the second oldest Dunmeri female I’ve ever seen met me. However, unlike Therana, the Lady Barenziah was in full command of her faculties. Unsure of the protocol, I bowed my head respectfully before taking a step towards the regal female. The guard, presumably her personal bodyguard, took a menacing step forward. “Oh do go away Alusannah,” she said in a very bored tone of voice. “I’m sure I’m in no danger from this fascinating young lady. Am I?” she added, brightly, speaking directly to me.

“Oh no Your Majesty,” I managed to stammer, “You’re in no danger from me whatsoever.”

“See Alusannah, I told you I would be fine,” she said, “now do be a good girl and go away. A drink?” she said, addressing me as the guard stamped off with obvious bad grace. I nodded, and she poured two glasses of a red liquid and, bringing them over, motioned for me to sit at the table.

“It might surprise you to know that I’ve heard quite a bit about you Sudhendra Vahl,” she said after taking a sip of the wine. “Youngest Arch-Magister of Great House Telvanni, Grand Poobah of the Imperial Legion, killer of a Daedric Prince ~ if stories I hear out of Solstheim are to be believed. Quite the impressive resume, even discounting the rumours I hear out of Vvardenfell.”

I must have looked stunned because she gave a tinkling laugh and laid her hand on my arm in a friendly manner. “Oh my son has his sources but he’s barely ninety years old. I have had many, many years to cultivate… let’s call them ‘sources of information’ shall we? I still have the odd contact at the Imperial Court in Cyrodiil and I was fascinated to learn that a… and please, don’t take this the wrong way… common-born Dunmeri female was being sent to Vvardenfell at the express command of the Emperor. It took some doing, but I have managed to follow some of your exploits.

“Now, tell me what really happened on Solstheim,” she said. Sipping the excellent Valenwood Red, I related the tale of my adventures there ~ omitting certain details that I felt were best left unspoken. “Well, it seems my son underestimated you quite badly,” she said when I’d finished. “A mistake I would never have made. Still, you seem none the worse for wear, a little darker and thinner perhaps, but fitter and wiser, than you were. If you’re looking to make your way here in Mournhold, you might wish to cultivate Fedris Hler, a dreadful little man to be sure, but one of the major movers and shakers here in the Citadel. He and my son are, regrettably, locked in a battle of wit and intrigue. In such an atmosphere it’s sometimes difficult to know who to trust…”

“Who can I trust here?” I asked. “Delitian wants me to spy on the Temple, Hler wants me to spy on the Court, and your son….” I trailed off, suddenly reminding myself just whom I was talking to.

“…May have been behind the Dark Brotherhood’s attempts on your life?” she finished. “Oh yes,” she continued, waving me to silence, “just one of the misguided moves my son has made in his drive to secure the throne. But, back to your question: you can always trust me and I can always trust Plitinius Maro…

“Well, it has been a rare delight to meet you Sudhendra Vahl,” she said, rising from her seat, the interview, or whatever it was, clearly over. “We must try to do this again sometime. Now, remember what I said about Hler and dear old Plitinius…”

As I made my way, unescorted, back into the Throne Room and out of the main buildings into the courtyard, I couldn’t help but surmise that the Lady Barenziah’s sole purpose for the little chat had been to aim me at Plitinius Maro and Fedris Hler. There was also the nagging feeling that I had missed something in the conversation, something very important.

I spoke to Plitinius while I was in the courtyard, and he told me a little about himself and his relationship with the Lady Barenziah. It turns out that the Imperial is an author, the writer of a well-known and quite scandalous work ~ The Real Barenziah. Despite this, he and the Lady Barenziah have become firm friends, and he told me quite a lot about her background. He also repeated the advice that the lady had given me: that I should cultivate Fedris Hler.

Fedris Hler seemed quite pleased to see me, and we spoke at length in quite friendly terms. I still couldn’t bring myself to like the officious Temple official but we were at least on good terms. I could see Barenziah’s point: Hler was perhaps the fourth or fifth most powerful person in Mournhold and by extension the fourth or fifth most powerful in Morrowind Province. Cultivating a friendship with him didn’t cost me much but it could be quite advantageous.

After we’d spoken for a while, Fedris asked why I was at the Temple and I explained that I was looking to perform some charitable acts. He grinned and said that he had nothing but, if I were feeling brave, he would introduce me to the Arch-Canon of the Temple, Gavas Drin.

“Well,” this rotund worthy said, “Fedris tells me that you have been of some assistance, dealing with those Goblins. I may have a small task for you. The Lady…” and I understood that he wasn’t speaking about the Lady Barenziah here “…has advised me that there is an ancient shrine beneath the Temple, a shrine that hasn’t been used for centuries. Now, while we officially frown on ancestral worship, The Lady knows that there is immense power in the shrine and that it can be used for the good of Morrowind.

“To that end,” Drin continued, “the shrine will need to be cleansed and rededicated. We have here a priest… blast it where has the fellow got to now? Fedris, would you go and find young Dulni and bring him back here?” Scant moments later, Fedris Hler returned with a tall, gangling and awkward-looking youth who grinned and bobbed his head to everyone in the room.

“Where was I?” Gavas Drin said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Ahh yes, we have here a priest, Urvel Dulni, who is skilled in the art of shriving. But there is a small problem. The area around the shrine is infested with Profane.” I shivered, the idea of facing these creatures most unsettling. The Profane are skeletal mages of great power who haven’t quite made the transition to being a Lich. And I thanked whatever power there is that I wouldn’t have to face one of those elder nightmares, only the lesser form.

I turned, fully intending to tell Urvel Dulni to accompany me ~ then I thought better of it. The priest looked like a length of twine, with knots for his elbows, Adam’s-apple, and knees. Honestly, I’ve seen more meat on a butcher’s quill. Add to this his profuse sweating, the twitching right eye, and the facial tick and you had a picture of someone you wouldn’t want following you into combat. Oblivion, I wouldn’t want this Mer following me into the Wing’d Guar. “You wait here Urvel,” I said, “I’ll return when I’ve cleared out the tunnels and it’s safe for you.”

“Th-th-thank yuh-yuh-you,” he stammered, “I’m vuh-vuh-very g-g-g-grateful.” I struggled to suppress a grin, this was the fellow that the Temple was pinning its hopes of cleansing the shrine on? With a barely perceptible shrug, I did a quick check to make sure I had everything and then set off to the Temple cellars. There, a trapdoor led down into the upper sewers.

The dark tunnel was deserted, not even the rats that I would normally expect to have encountered scurried through the darkness. Ahead of me I could see one of those collection areas, where several sewers come together and drain into the lower sewer-system. In the centre of this large chamber stood a wavering, semi-transparent figure. Gripping my sword, I approached the spectral Mer.

[Neck' Thall]

Nice writing. I remember the first time i did that quest the dude got in the way and got killed in my first fight.

[OverrideB1]

“Whoooo,” the figure said uncertainly, “tremble mortal for I am the spirit of Variner, foully murdered and condemned to haunt these… these…”

“Cursed chambers?” I suggested, “and probably until you have ‘had your vengeance’.”

“I’m sorry,” the shade of Variner said, “I’m kind of new at this.”

“That’s okay,” I replied, “you were doing very well ~ although the ‘Whoooo’ was a little over the top.”

“You think?” the ghost asked, cocking his head to one side, “it seemed sort of traditional in all the stories I heard. And how come you aren’t trembling?”

“I met Narisa some time ago,” I said, “she told me that you were trying to get a message to her.”

“To anybody really,” Variner’s ghost replied. “I’m stuck here until I get vengeance on the Black Dart Gang. I tried to get Narisa down here ~ I can sort of talk to her in the watches of the night ~ but I think I just succeeded in scaring her.”

“So why the urgency?” I asked. “Sooner or later somebody will come along and avenge you.”

“Why the urgency?” the spirit snapped, eldritch fire swirling around its hands as the face flickered skull-like for a moment. “D’you have any idea how boring being dead is?” I shook my head, grinning. “Well, no, you wouldn’t,” the spirit continued, slightly abashed. “Let me tell you, it’s boring ~ I have no one to talk to except those skeletal fellows down there…” Here the spectre pointed off down one of the tunnels. “And, the last time I went down there, they tried to rip my ectoplasm out.

“And, to be honest,” Variner’s ghost confided, “I’m terrified that I’ll still be here when Narisa dies ~ waiting for someone to avenge me.”

“Well,” I said brightly, “perhaps I can be of some assistance there? Tell me about this Black Dart Gang.”

“Bandits,” the ghost replied promptly. “They dress like beggars but they have these throwing knives: very nasty poison on them, can kill you with one hit. I’m living… well, dead, proof of that. They hang out in the West Sewers,” he continued, “but I know a little secret. There’s an old cleaning system down there, designed to clean detritus out of the sewers. It’s a lever near the main door to that part of the sewers. Pull it, and you’ll flood the whole area.”

“Neat solution,” I commented, “sounds simple enough.”

“Ummm, not that I’m not grateful or anything,” the shade said, “but they have patrols out and, if they see you… Well, let’s just say that your fancy armour won’t save you.”

“Blethu arwisg chan chysgodau,” I chanted, focussing the local flux to construct the spell. As the Shadow-Weave spell enveloped me, the world developed a wavering green tint.

“That is so cool,” Variner’s ghost said, peering at me. “I can’t see anything other than a slight ripple in the air when you move. But you’re still going to have to get out of there when you flood the sewers, otherwise you’ll drown. But hey, on the bright side, you can keep me company if you fail.”

“Let me worry about that,” I suggested as I moved away. As silent as a ghost ~ well, certainly more silent than Variner’s ghost ~ I made my way up the slope the spirit had indicated, coming to a large wooden barrier: one of the gates that control the flow of water in the system. Set into the barrier was a smaller, Mer-sized door and it was this that I swung open.

“THUNK!” I jerked backwards as a finely sprung steel dart hammered into the hardened wood rough level with my face. I froze on the spot as a Mer in tattered clothing moved towards the door, his face a scowl of suspicion.

“Whoooo,” I moaned, pitching my voice as deep as I could. The bandit smirked; obviously Variner’s ghost was no stranger to these murderous cutthroats. Relaxing, he stepped closer to the door and reached up to pull his dart from the wood. I snapped out a hand and grabbed him around the throat, at the same time intoning, “Vomica Cruor.”

The Mer gave a gurgling scream, the insidious power of the spell already shrivelling and consuming his vocal chords before spreading to the rest of his body. As he threshed and writhed in the shallow water of the sewer, I turned my attention to the dart sticking out of the door. It was made of high-grade steel, which had been hammered until it was extremely thin and flexible. The handle, a simple cylinder of steel wrapped around with leather, was integral to the weapon. The flexible dart, which, in truth, did look more like a knife than a dart, had a wickedly sharp point and the edges of the blade were sharpened to the same sort of keenness you get in a razor.

I rolled the now dead bandit over and quickly checked the body. Under the loose rags the bandit wore a shirt of quite high quality and a leather harness over the top of this. There were more of the springy dart weapons tucked into the loops of this harness ~ each loop designed to hold a couple of the throwing-blades. The two pouches that hung at waist level yielded up two small phials ~ one of Black Spider poison and one with a clear liquid that I didn’t recognise. The harness wouldn’t be much use to me, but the darts and the poison certainly would. Gathering everything together and stuffing it into my pack, I ventured deeper into the sewers.

The curving tunnel lead around to a second barrier, this time there was no dart-thrower behind the door. This short, downward sloping, section of sewer was closed off at the other end by another wooden barrier. More interestingly, there was a large rusty lever protruding from the wall. Allowing the Shadow-Weave to collapse, I sprinted down the passageway and hauled down on the lever. With a grinding squeal, the iron bar started to move down the short slot. As the motion cleared the rust, the lever suddenly sank into the lower rebate with a solid clunking sound.

There was a roar, and water came thundering down the slope in a crashing wave, quickly rising up to my knees. Huge grates had opened near the top of the slope and water was thundering through the apertures at an alarming rate. I struggled to walk against the weight of the water as it rose quickly to waist-level. After several more attempts to ascend the slope, I was chest-deep in water and only yards away from the lower door where I’d started.

As the water rose to chin-height, I tipped my head back and shouted the words of the spell that Jaron had taught me, “Na Awyra? Ad 'u anadl ddyfrha.” In seconds, held down by my water-filled armour, I was submerged. With an annoyed shake of the head, I struggled up the sloping tunnel and came to the wooden access door. Huge steel bars now stretched across all three doors ~ presumably some mechanism to prevent careless workers flooding the rest of the sewer-system.

The doors at the bottom of the slope were not barred, and I could go through into another downward sloping section of the Temple sewers. As I shuffled along the now flooded sewer, I spotted a glint of metal on the wall ahead – metal in the form of a wheel. Making my way over to it was easy; actually turning the rusted wheel was a nightmare. Finally, after a good five minutes or so (during which time I had to restore the water-breathing spell), I managed to turn the wheel.

At first I thought it was wasted effort but, as I looked about, I noticed that the murky water was getting lighter. In moments, I could see the surface of the water descending towards me and, shortly after that, my head broke water and I coughed and spluttered as I made the adjustment from breathing water to breathing air. Once the waters had receded, I made my way down the various tunnels ~ encountering the corpses of the Black Dart gang as I did so.

After a couple of hours I was laden down with throwing darts and esoteric poisons ~ many of which were a complete mystery to me. With a smile I returned to the junction where I’d encountered Variner’s ghost, fully intending to tell him that his vengeance had been served. There was no sign of the spectre when I arrived so, wishing him well wherever he now was, I placed a Mark in the tunnels, and made it back up to the surface and squelched my way to Velas Manor.

[Neck' Thall]

Lol "squelched my way to Velas manor." Nice. There is alot of better parts like talking to the ghost and giving hip tips but this is most memorable

[OverrideB1]

Yestere had been an entertaining diversion, but had brought me no closer to locating the lost shrine or defeating the Profane that infested it. After breaking my fast at the Wing’d Guar, I cast Recall and quickly found myself back in the junction of the sewers beneath the Temple. I was determined to find the wrecked Temple today so, with a determined step, I headed off into the darkness.

My wanderings brought me, after a while, to a crude wooden door in a rocky passage off one of the Temple sewers. Making sure that Grafanc and Hysgithr were loose in their scabbards, I blew out the torch I was carrying and muttered the cantrip, “In Obscurum, Visum.” As the blackness gave way to a green-tinged view of the world, I carefully swung open the door and stepped into the dark passage beyond. The short curving passageway hewn into the rock brought me to an arresting sight.

Before me stretched a large chamber, filled to about ankle depth with the cool, clear water that cascaded in from spouts, fantastically carved into grotesque creatures, on two of the walls. Dominating the centre of the chamber was a large dais with exquisitely worked pillars rising up at each of the cardinal points. The remains of a statue, perhaps of whatever deity had been worshipped here, stood in the centre of the dais. The cavern was filled with huge fungal growths: fantastic constructs that would warm the heart of any Telvanni who visited. Other flora grew here too, strange pale flowers with leaves of darkest ebon grew in wild profusion and, here and there, patches of luminescent lichen dotted the walls and boulders.

My reverie was crudely broken by the unmistakable rattle of bone against bone and the Last Wish was unslung from my belt even before the skeletal warrior strode into view. With a yell, I rushed through the water at the creature ~ drawing the axe back in preparation for the blow. The jabbing sword missed, and my axe crashed against its skull, shattering the fragile bone and whatever foul magics powered this creature. Nor was it alone, several other skeletal warriors met a similar fate. With a final glance at the odd beauty of the central chamber, I explored the burial chambers that ranched off it until I found a tunnel that led deeper still into these ancient ruins.

If the previous chamber, what I was now thinking of as The Sunken Garden, had been a place of breathtaking beauty, what awaited me at the end of this tunnel was an edifice to the power and skill of the previous inhabitants of this city. Protruding from the rock that had subsumed this place was the façade of a massive building ~ the carefully painted plaster still in situ. Some form of brazier flickered in some of the niches carved into the façade, casting light by unknown means after untold centuries. Other niches were home to statues ~ most in a state of poor repair but still possessing a sense of patrician sternness. The two masculine figures I didn’t recognise ~ one bearing an axe and the other bearing a sword. The female figure, however, had an odd familiarity ~ one I couldn’t quite place. Of more interest to me, however, was the oval metal door that was set into the frontage of this forgotten temple.

Ancient hinges groaned softly, oxidised metal crumbling as the door creaked open on its hinges. Beyond, visible in the last glimmerings of the fading Night-Sight spell, was a steep ramp of naked stone that led down to a tiled floor. The darkness was rent by a crackling discharge as the robed figure hurled a powerful spell in my direction. Cursing that I’d neglected to grease the hinges of the door before opening it, I threw myself onto the bare rock to avoid the spinning sphere of swirling, spitting energy. The Profane showed little inclination to ascend the slope preferring, instead, to send further bolts of arcane magic thundering into the rocks around me. This suited me fine as I struggled out of my pack and lay it on the ground in front of me.

Cursing softly at recalcitrant buckles, I opened the pack and fetched out the two hand-held crossbows. The carefully wrapped package of silver bolts made for me in the Skaal village will occupied the side pocket of the pack and I wasted no time drawing back the crossbows and loading them. As yet another thunderous explosion of magic threw tiny shards of the dark rock up into the air; I raised my head, sighted, and fired. And cursed as the glittering bolt tore through the hood of the robe and clattered harmlessly to the rocks beyond. The second bolt, fired after yet another spitting spell had crashed against the stones of my hiding place, fared far better ~ the skull beneath the robe splintering into innumerable fragments as the silver bolt slammed into it. For a second or so, the Profane stood there ~ then, with a clatter of bone against rock, it simply crumbled and collapsed.

Reloading the crossbows, I rose to my feet and moved carefully down the slope into the main chamber. I didn’t make the same mistake with the door that led into the next chamber ~ I slathered the twin hinges with a liberal amount of Dwemer Grease before even attempting to open the door. The thick and gooey lubricant did its job perfectly, the rusted hinges making not a hint of noise as the heavy oval door swung open. Beyond lay a huge bowl of stone, across the tiled floor of which four more Profane glided with sinister purpose. My skin tingled, there was some extremely powerful source of magic in that chamber.

Yellowed bone exploded as the twin bolts crashed into the skull of the nearest Profane, the ragged black cloth of it’s robe instantly billowing to the floor as the creature inside converted into the dust that should have claimed it centuries ago. There was a moment of eerie silence and then the cavern exploded into starkly light relief as three thunderous bolts of lightening crashed into the walls around me. Strings clicked back into their ratchets, quivering tautly as I slammed two more bolts into place. Snapping off two shots, I drew the Nordic blades and scrambled down the incline and into battle.

Ducking under a grasping skeletal hand, I slashed Grafanc across the chest of the Profane nearest to me, the tattered fabric of its robe giving easily under the blade and scoring across the yellowed bone underneath. My other hand, gripping the hilt of Hysgithr, hammered into that perpetually grinning face; the rounded steel pommel of the blade cracking and chipping the bone. The Profane jerked, an untamrielic groan issuing from it as the spell of another of the profane exploded against its back. I grinned mirthlessly, using the momentary distraction to smash the slender column of bone that supported the skull.

Spinning away as the black robe fluttered to the ground, I snapped off a quick fireball in the direction of the most distant Profane before rounding on the closest. Too slow, far too slow. There was an explosion of pain in my chest as the writhing sphere of arcane power detonated against my armour. The world went grey as I was thrown back to crash against the rocky wall ~ Grafanc and Hysgithr clattering to the floor as I involuntarily lost my grip on the blades.

With a curse that would have startled Gavas Drin, I rolled to the left as another explosion of magical power gouged a small smouldering hole in the tiled floor. Surging to my feet, I grabbed the grinning skull and twisted, pulling as I did so. With a crunch the spinal chord shattered, leaving me with a handful of dust as the Profane dissolved and crumbled. I had no time to express my revulsion, throwing myself behind a handy spire of rock as the last Profane threw a fusillade of spells in my direction.

Would these creatures never run out of magicka I thought as another barrage of spells crashed into the pillar of rock that was providing me with sanctuary. I glanced towards the Nordic blades but they were out of reach ~ and I was rapidly running out of time. The Profane was stalking slowly around the chamber, firing spell after spell and I was rapidly running out of cover. Not really expecting it to work, I extended a hand in the direction of the skeletal mage and snapped, “Narro Haud Magis Veneficus!”

For a brief moment there was exactly what I’d cast for ~ silence. Stepping from behind the pillar of rock, I concentrated before speaking the words of the most powerful spell Jaron Scorchblot had taught me. Instantly the temperature in the chamber plummeted, making me shiver as the swirling column of arcane energy literally sucked every trace of heat from the room. Gritting my teeth, I poured more and more of my magicka into the spell surrounding the Profane. The walls behind the skeletal mage glistened as ice formed on them, faint fingers of frost crawling across the floor as the spell eagerly sought to consume every last trace of heat it could find. “Moloch!” I screamed as the spell’s tendrils wrapped eagerly around my booted feet and started to wind their way upwards. Instantly the column of energy collapsed inward, the frozen air smashing into the transfixed profane like a million hammers, shattering it into fragments.

As the last of the would-be lichs crumbled to dust, I sank onto the stump of a shattered pillar and took several deep breaths. One thing had become remarkably obvious; I needed a better defence against spells than diving for cover behind the nearest rock. Something for me to look into when I returned to the surface. With a groan ~ a bath was something else I’d have to look into ~ I rose to my feet and started to retrace my steps through the caverns and tunnels. As I left the chamber wherein sat the ruined temple, I saw that a section of rock had collapsed to reveal a chamber beyond.

Perhaps, I thought as I detoured towards the exposed cavern, a stray spell had made this section collapse. Whatever it had been, there was a long tunnel that debouched into a chamber. Funerary urns and sarcophagi lined the walls while, just ahead, a short ramp led to an upper area. As I ascended the ramp I shivered, a sudden sense of malignancy suffusing the air.

All tombs are, by their very nature, creepy and unsettling ~ bringing as they do intimations of our own mortality. This chamber, however, had a foul and malevolent air far beyond any I have ever encountered. Even the desecrated shrine with its attendant Undead guardians hadn’t had this… this… air of pure evil. I shivered again, my steps faltering. Suddenly convinced some eldritch horror was creeping up behind me, I span ~ sword extended as if for an attack. Dark, empty, foul: the passageway extended away into the darkness, free of any unutterable horror. But now there was the feeling of something behind me, where before had been nothing.

I was shaking by the time I clambered up the rock out of that loathsome place and back into the tunnels that led to the sewers ~ even though the trip down the ramp and back through the forgotten and blighted catacombs had been done at as fast a run as I could achieve. I sat by the entrance to the new chamber for as long as I could before an indefinable sense of unease made me move away.

My sleep was a poor and fitful thing, twice I woke up convinced that something ~ thing not one ~ was looming over my bed. Finally exhausted, I fell into a deep sleep.

[Wolfie]

Nice update
That thing she went into is the one for that Crimson Plague quest, right?

[OverrideB1]

I made my way back to the Temple after breaking my fast. With the Profane destroyed, guiding Urvel to the forgotten shrine shouldn’t be too onerous a task. Nor was it, unless you counted the times I had to wait while the young Mer picked himself up after once more demonstrating his uncanny ability to trip over thin air. At last we came to the temple and, once he’d picked himself up off the floor, I guided Urvel into the ruined building. “There’s the shrine,” I said, pointing to the canted black stone.

“Stand aside,” the Mer said his voice deep and resonant. Surprised, I glanced back at the lanky and unfortunate young Mer. The stoop and twitch had vanished, there was an odd blankness about his face as he stood there, ramrod straight. He stepped towards the shrine and I winced, turning my back and squinting as sphere of brilliant white light appeared around his hands ~ the actinic glare throwing shadows of deepest black around the chamber. “Glanhawch,” his voice thundered and the light, already at the edge of what was bearable, scaled indescribable heights of brilliance.

“Cuh-cuh-can we guh-guh-go buh-back now?” Urvel Dulni stammered as I blinked away the after-images of that brilliant light. Urvel was stood, stooped and twitching, that odd blankness gone from his face. I nodded, taking him back the way we had come ~ all the while wondering what force had acted through young Dulni.

“You’re back?” Gavas Drin said, the surprise evident in his voice, “and with young Dulni in tow and unharmed, and as clumsy as ever” he added, as there was a clatter from outside and the sound of the stammering youth apologising to an Ordinator. “Well, I expected that to take you much longer than it did ~ perhaps there’s more truth than I expected in what the Lady told me.”

While I was trying to digest that snippet of information, the High Priest left the room after bidding me to wait a while. When he came back, he was carrying a long, leather-wrapped object. “This spear has been especially blessed by The Lady,” he said reverentially. “She has asked that I present it to you.” I took the spear from Drin, marvelling at the lightness of the material and its design. While I prefer to use a sword or axe, I could see the advantage of a spear ~ it could keep your enemies well away from you.

“And, as a personal thank you from the Temple,” Gavas Drin continued as I slipped the spear back into its case, “I am promoting you to the rank of Diviner. Congratulations Sed Vahl. Now, Fedris would like a word with you.”

Slightly dazed by the unexpected promotion, I made my way into the main hall of the Temple and spoke to Hler. “Congratulations Sed Vahl,” he said, “however with rank comes responsibility. The Lady Ayem is well pleased with you, pleased enough to request that you be assigned a most difficult task. Many years ago, a powerful wizard named Barilzar created a ring of great might which he called ‘The Mazed Band’.

“Quite what this ring’s powers and abilities were are unknown to me,” the priest continued. “However, The Lady tells me that the ring is beneath this very Temple in an abandoned crypt. The Lady wishes you to go and recover this ring and return it to us at once.” Fedris hesitated and then, quietly, added, “In fairness I should tell you that we sent one of Her Hands down there to recover the ring. This was several days ago and he has not yet returned.”

I pondered this as I made my way down into the lower levels of the Temple ~ the Ordinators of Mournhold were, from what I had learned, the elite of the elite. Well versed in many forms of combat, with excellent magical skills: they were not to be trifled with. And now one of these well-trained guards had vanished whilst undertaking the very task that now lay before me. It certainly wasn’t an encouraging sign.

“Excuse me Sed,” a voice said, cutting across my chain of thought. “Are you here to deliver the potions?”

“I’m afraid not,” I replied, “I am on my way into the sewers.”

“Ahhh,” the woman said, frowning deeply, “that’s a shame. I’ve had a couple of cases of an odd disease, one I don’t recognise. I was hoping that you could deliver a potion for me.”

Leaving the woman, I made my way into the cellars and, from there, down into the sewers. The directions that Fedris had given me were scrawled on a scrap of parchment, and I used this as a guide to get me to the North-West Sewers.

There were definite signs that there had been a good deal of work done here ~ a doorway that I had vague recollections of passing had been removed from its hinges and the neatly stacked piles of stone in the sewer tunnel showed that the passageway beyond had been cleared. Ducking below the protruding rock above the lintel of the door, I entered the passageway and made my way across the uneven floor. A short way in, the floor became leveller and smoother and I was able to proceed with greater ease. Not that that stopped me from exhibiting a fair degree of caution ~ whatever had prevented the High Ordinator from returning could be lurking around anyone of these corners.

Nor was my nervousness assuaged as I pushed deeper into the tunnels: the skeletal remains of several previous adventurers littered the tunnels. Non-ambulatory skeletons are not a problem; even skeletal guardians are fairly easy to overcome. The skeletal figure in the chamber at the end of the tunnel was a different matter. Fortunately, I spotted the creature before it spotted me and quickly drew back into the shadows. “Lich,” I breathed, for there was no mistaking the nature of the creature that prowled in the semi-darkness.

[OverrideB1]

The spell exploded in the darkness of the chamber, its violet light clearly outlining the figure of the long-dead magician as it drained the magicka from it. As the robe collapsed in on itself, there was a faint tinkling sound as a simple silver band dropped to the floor. Nor was the now vacant robe the only thing sagging, the spell had been remarkably complex to cast and had left me with the thumping headache that is the result of running your magicka reserves almost completely dry. With a sigh I drained the restore magicka potion I’d taken from my backpack and dropped the silver-wrapped phial back inside, ready to be refilled.

The silver band proved to be a circlet of the kind worn by nobles long ago: it’s heavily tarnished surface some indication of the length of time it had encircled that bony globe. The tattered black robe had a greasy, unpleasant feel and I quickly dropped it before scrubbing my hand against the cloth of my own robe. Shuddering, I took careful stock of my position ~ I had a shuttered lantern (unlit) hanging from my pack along with a few simple torches. Several carefully wrapped restorative potions nestled in my pack along with a selection of darts and poisons. Added to this was the mass of the Last Wish atop the pack and the reassuring weights of Grafanc and Hysgithr at my waist. Slung over my shoulder was the Guar-leather quiver, loaded down with a goodly number of arrows.

All very well and good, except that the Lesser Lich that had prowled this chamber wasn’t alone. A fact that became very apparent as I rounded the corner of the tunnel that led out of the room and came face to face with a grinning visage. I back-pedalled rapidly as the Lich raised its hands and hurled an impressively glowing globe of spitting energy at me. Some fancy footwork prevented me from meeting an ignoble end at that moment and I dived for cover behind the central pillar as a second bolt of energy hurled itself towards me. As the report of its explosion echoed around the chamber, I realised I was getting pretty sick and fed up of hiding behind bits of scenery. Time, I thought, to go on the offensive.

“A ddyhea-cama at gwna 'm caseion alaetha!” I intoned, rising to my feet. Instantly there was a sensation of weight in my outstretched right hand as, amidst a storm of swirling yellow motes, a massive great-bow took shape. Reaching into the quiver, I selected one of the heavy black-tipped arrows I’d found on Solstheim. Knocking the heavy arrow in the strangely-patterned Daedric bow, I took a deep breath and stepped from cover as another thunderous explosion shook the chamber, drawing back on the bowstring as I did so. Exhale ~ and…. Fire. The ebony-tipped arrow made a peculiar screaming noise as it tore through the air and punched through the robe of the Lich.

Grinning ~ for it could do nothing else ~ the Lich reached down and grasped the arrow… just as the intricate spell woven into that ebon arrowhead discharged. Imagine one of the Ehlnofey coughing, and then magnify that sound a million fold. For a wonder, the spell did not bring down the roof of the cavern, nor bring this tale to a premature ending. It certainly made very short work of the Lich, the outcropping of rock upon which it had been standing and introduced me to the wonders of a short, horizontal and decidedly unmagic flight.

How long I lay crumpled at the foot of the wall which had interrupted that experience, I cannot say. What I can say is that I very carefully took the four remaining ebony-tipped arrows from the quiver and examined them with great care. They had struck me as being wholly unmagical and, probe as hard as I might ~ in truth not as hard as I could for fear of triggering that spell with me in closer proximity ~ I could detect no trace of magic within them. I was tempted to leave them there but the fear that some other adventurer might come this way and discover them prompted me to return them to the quiver.

The caverns surrounding the chamber I was in were labyrinthine, winding round and about each other in a confusing maze. I realised this, quite quickly, when my travels brought me to a ruined wall that I could have sworn I’d passed before. The mark I’d left on my second visit was still there on the third and fourth visits. I was beginning to despair when I realised that the lower chamber had an exit I’d overlooked ~ a narrow crack at the back of a long fry fountain. This narrow passageway led to a chamber, in the centre of which was a Lich.

No lesser creature of magic this, this Lich was a creature of age and power. Its raiment may have been tattered and rotting, but the decaying Cyrodiilic silk was of high quality and the coldly glowing crown atop that bony brow left me in no doubt that I faced a being of great age. “Barilzar I presume?” I said, bowing low while keeping a careful eye on the Lich.

In a voice like the dust of ages, a voice that made my skin crawl, the Lich replied, “Verily that is how I be called. Why doest thou mine domain disturb?”

“I seek a ring, the least little thing,” I stated, “called The Mazed Band.”

“NEVER!” the Lich roared, “never that shall I relinquish, for it hath great power.”

“Then we have a problem my lord,” I responded, dropping my hands to the hilts of my swords while I hurriedly began constructing the counter-magic spell in my mind. “For I am instructed by the Goddess Almalexia to recover it at all costs.”

“Thou hast a problem, mortal,” the Lich said, reaching out and clasping a darkly glowing staff. “The whims of the witch-queen to me matter not.”

“Narro Haud Magis Veneficus!” I spat, feeding the spell as much arcane power as I dared. To my horror the swirling green light of the spell failed to envelope Barilzar ~ instead seeming to be absorbed by the staff he carried. Some slight edge of the cantrip seemed to get through, yellowish bone took on a darker hue and the garments seemed to rot and decay a little more. But it was far too little to destroy the Elder Lich and, with a dusty roar, he swung the staff at me ~ forcing me to dance backwards as I quickly drew Grafanc and Hysgithr.

I had no idea how long the spell I’d cast would prevent Barilzar from casting and the reach and heft of the heavy staff made it difficult for me to get close enough to him to do damage. In addition, despite my speed and prowess with the twin Nordic blades, those few blows that did get through did very little harm to the Lich. To add to my consternation, the vindictive spells woven into the blades only served to fuel Barilzar further, making the magical being nimbler and stronger.

Quickly disengaging, I let Grafanc and Hysgithr fall to the floor while I grabbed The Last Wish from its strap on my pack. The heavy Dwemer blade made a satisfying thrumming noise as it cleaved the air, the golden-coloured blade clanging against the heavy staff and knocking it aside. Barilzar’s eye-sockets flared with a dark light as I swung the Dwemer axe, and his attacks became more cautious.

The staff whipped across, the heavy end slamming into me and making me stagger. As I struggled for balance, the dark staff sliced my feet from under me, sending me crashing to the floor. Looming over me, the Lich raised the staff like a spear and prepared to plunge it into me. Desperately I swung the Last Wish, the wickedly curved blade slamming into the Lich’s right thighbone. There was a sharp cracking sound and Barilzar staggered the tip of the staff striking sparks from the rock as the now unaimed tip slammed down next to my ear.

Bleeding from where the stone chips had cut me, I drew my left foot up and kicked the Lich in the midsection as hard as I could. Even though there was no accompanying crack of breaking bone, the force was enough to make Barilzar stagger backwards. A protruding rock, slightly above knee-height, pitched the crowned skeleton over as I scrambled to my feet. Light flared in its sockets as I stood over it, axe raised. “Oh bugg…” the Lich boomed as the axe descended, cracking the fragile cranium like a Kwama egg.

As the creature’s tenuous hold on the Mundus faded, the clothes rotted almost instantly to mush and the gold of the crown took on the tarnish of untold ages. There was a flare of light from the now relaxed right hand as the ebon staff fizzled and sparked. Bending down, I grabbed it and found that it was no more than a simple rod of age-blackened iron: whatever magical powers it had possessed had obviously come from Barilzar rather than some enchantment woven into the staff. Of more interest was the gleam of gold around the skeleton’s left ring-finger.

The ring I took from the Lich Barilzar seemed unremarkable ~ a plain band of gold with no stones or decorative work. I probed it carefully and, finding no enchantment upon it, scanned it fully. Despite my best efforts, the ring remained exactly what it appeared to be: a plain band of age-tarnished gold. There wasn’t even the faint echo of expended magic from the ring. Puzzled by this, for it had been described as a puissant artefact, I returned to the Temple and presented the ring to Fedris Hler.

“This is it?” he asked, obviously as puzzled as I had been. “Gavas would like a word with you. Please,” he handed the ring back to me, “take this with you.”

I made my way up to the offices of Gavas Drin where he was waiting for me, seated behind his desk and looking somewhat annoyed. “Fine,” he said, most ungraciously when I told him I had the Mazed Band. “It is to be presented to the Lady Ayem immediately. You will find the door to the High Chapel unlocked.”

This post has been edited by OverrideB1: Sep 29 2005, 07:09 PM

[Wolfie]

Hehe, he was gonna say oh bugger
But i thought that was the Vahl battlecry or something?

[OverrideB1]

So that was it, I thought as I walked to the plain wooden door that would lead me into the High Chapel. Gavas was out of sorts because he had wanted to present the ring ~ instead that task had fallen to me. And I wasn’t too sure how I felt about it…

I had been brought up a Stendarrite, not through choice but because the people who’d adopted me had followed Stendarr. As a young child I was exactly as devout as I needed to be to avoid getting into trouble with my ‘parents’. For the first couple of years after my departure, religion was the last thing on my mind and, to be honest, I’d pretty much fallen out of the habit of attending whichever Cult Shrine happened to be close by. Then I’d come to Morrowind Province and come into contact with my House.

There I had been exposed to the old ways, the worship of the Daedric Princes. Not in the wide-eyed insane manner of the cultists who infested many of the ruined Daedric Shrines ~ although that was debatable in Therana’s case ~ but in a quiet, personal way. The fleeting contacts I’d had with these alien avatars of power had affected me deeply ~ in a childhood of quiet devotion no single Divine had ever made its presence known to me in the manner Sheogoraph, Azura, and Malacath had.

Then there was my time with the Temple, the quietly devout zealots who worshipped the Tribunal. From these people I had absorbed a deep sense of awe concerning Vehk, Seht, and Ayem. It was difficult for me to reconcile the attraction I felt towards the worship of the Daedric Princes with the profound sense of awe I got from contemplating living gods that moved among the people. And now, beyond the door that stood in front of me, was one of these gods, a living, breathing entity with powers beyond anything I could imagine.

Trembling, I opened the door and stepped into the High Chapel. Guards stood around the walls, Her Hands arrayed in their full glory. In the centre of the circular chamber was a raised platform, bounded by pillars of Gold, Adamantium, Silver, and Ebony. The chequered pattern decorating the floor of the dais was comprised of rare stones and delicate scents drifted from the braziers burning at the foot of the four pillars. High overhead, the roof of the chamber gleamed with the muted and unmistakable glister of pure gold reflecting the fires beneath.

Yet all of these glories faded into insignificance before the slender feminine form that floated above the dais. Her skin was golden ~ not the yellowish gold of the Altmeri but the burnished metallic glow of pure gold. Tresses of thick black hair cascaded around the naked shoulders, partially obscuring the swirling tattoos that covered the woman’s arms. Her chest was uncovered but she wore a tabard around her waist identical to those worn by her Ordinators. Bangles and bracelets clinked softly around her wrists and ankles as she lowered her arms and raised her head, sinking slowly to the floor.

I gasped, taking a step back as those eyes ~ black as midnight ~ turned on me and the corners of the mouth turned up in a faint but welcoming smile. The eyes, black, on black, on black, regarded me coolly and I could see the power of the female warrior-god crackling in the ebon depths of that regard. Dumb-founded, I held my hand out with the Mazed Band sitting on the palm. The smile grew warmer and the ring floated from my hand and swooped across the room to drop into Almalexia’s outstretched hand.

“DRAW CLOSE,” a soft chorus of voices sang, “FOR I WOULD REWARD THEE FOR THY VALOUR.” I blinked, moving towards the figure of the Goddess without volition on my part. Ayem inclined her head, speaking without moving her lips, that soft chorus of voices speaking for her, “YOUR PART IN THE RECOVERY OF THE MAZED BAND IS KNOWN TO ME MY CHILD, AND FOR THAT I THANK AND REWARD THEE...” as she spoke these words, I felt a strange sensation: the sort of all-over tingle you get when you have been out in the sun for a long while, “…I SHALL HAVE FURTHER TASKS FOR THEE ANON.”

I stumbled from the High Chapel in a daze, awed by the sheer power of the Goddess Almalexia. My state might explain why I almost stepped into the Healer Nerile Andaren as she hurried along the hall. Fortunately, she understood my slightly bedazzled state and was quite forgiving ~ although she did repeat her request that I deliver some potion.

“Of course,” I replied, “where do I need to take it?”

“To Geon Auline,” she replied, “He has a small place in Godsreach.” Taking the plain ceramic vial from her, I left the Temple and made my way towards the residential quarter. I hadn’t noticed it on my way to the Temple this morning but the streets were… less crowded that usual. Oh, for sure there were still plenty of people going about their business, but the usual crowds seemed oddly thinned.

Auline’s residence was easy enough to find and, receiving no answer when I knocked, I went in. Geon Auline was in a very bad way, a very high temperature and huge splotches of crimson on his face and exposed arms. I blanched, stepping back from the infected Cyrodiil, and then laughed. It had been such an instinctive reaction to the disease that I had reacted without thinking ~ the disease was, of course, no danger to me. Crossing to the bed, I helped the Man into a sitting position and carefully poured the sickly-smelling tonic down his throat.

It didn’t take long for the elixir to work: his stentorian breathing, laboured and rasping, was the first thing to clear up, the angry-looking crimson splotches starting to fade away at the same time. After three or four minutes, he seemed to be completely cured, albeit still very weak. “Thank you,” he husked, sitting on the edge of the bed ~ about as far as he had been able to get. “I feel much better now.”

“You’ll feel even better when you get back into bed,” I said kindly. Ignoring his protests, I pushed him back into his bed and went into the small food-preparation area of his domicile. A while later, Geon Auline was sitting up in bed and sipping hot vegetable broth from a bowl and seemed much better.

“Thank you for the soup,” he said, “it’s really quite good. Let me ask you something, can I impose on your good nature a little more?”

“That would depend,” I replied.

“I am a collector,” Auline said, pointing towards a heavily locked cabinet on the wall. “I have been collecting Lesser House blades and I came to Mournhold simply to get my hands on a House Droth Dagger. There’s a lady named Arnsa Thendas whose husband, recently deceased, was a fellow collector. I know he had the dagger I’m looking for but, in my current state, I can hardly approach Thendas. Could I prevail upon you…?”

I shrugged, it was hardly a difficult task and Thendas Manor was scarcely more than a hundred paces away from Auline’s rented accommodation. Arnsa Thendas proved to be a much younger woman than I’d anticipated, but the Legion shield and ‘pot’ told me all I needed to know about her husband’s death. “Forgive me for intruding,” I said, “but I am interested in purchasing something from your late husband’s collection.”

“Did you know my husband?” she asked, looking at me closely, “you have the look of the Legion about you.”

It would have been easy to lie, to claim kinship with her husband in the hope of securing a favourable response. “I’m afraid I never had that privilege,” I replied. “He and I must have been stationed at different garrisons.”

“Oh,” she said, looking slightly crestfallen. Then she asked, “What was it from my husband’s collection you were interested in?”

“A House Droth dagger,” I replied. She nodded, crossing to a small flat box and unlocking it. From within the chest, she brought out an ancient Chitin dagger, the handle of which was decorated with inlaid glass ~ the decoration taking the form of a clenched fist.

“I was about to put the whole estate up for auction,” she said, “before I return to Tear. I don’t see that there would be a problem with selling this separately. My husband prized it highly, and valued it at six hundred Septims. I suppose I could…”

“Six hundred Septims will be an acceptable price Muthsera Thendas,” I interrupted. Opening my purse, I took out six of the huge 100-Septim coins and placed them on the table. She nodded her thanks and, picking up the coins, passed me the dagger. Geon Auline’s face lit up when I showed him the dagger and, without even blinking when I told him I’d paid six hundred for it, he made me an offer of eight hundred Septims.

Two hundred Septims better off; I made my way through the quiet streets to Velas Manor. Twice I could have sworn I heard quiet laughter from behind me but, when I turned around, there was no one to be seen. By the time I reached the manse, I was deeply uneasy and I planned to speak to the Temple Healer on the morrow.