When I awoke this morning, I was certainly feeling the effects of my fight with Gothren and the Clan Berne. Every single bone in my body seemed to ache and the fatigue I felt screamed in every fibre of my being. Wearily, I opened a portal to Sadrith Mora and translocated to the market square. Llunela took possession of the book eagerly, summoning one of her seemingly inexhaustible supply of messengers to take it to Baladas Demnevanni immediately. “If you’ll pardon me for saying so Sed Vahl,” she said, after examining me for a moment, “but you don’t seem to be very well.”

“It’s been a hard few days,” I responded. “The fight with Gothren wasn’t easy and somebody neglected to mention that Galom Daeus was crawling with vampires.”

She bit her lip and bowed her head, “I beg your forgiveness Arch-Magister,” she said contritely and formally, “I was unaware that vampires had made Galom Daeus their lair.”

“It’s of no consequence Llunela,” I told her firmly, “what is done is done, and there’s no need to make a fuss about it.”

“Thank you Sudhendra,” she said, relief coming off her like steam. “Have you used a large number of healing spells and potions recently?” she suddenly asked. When I confirmed that this was so, she nodded as if in understanding. “I thought as much. Scrolls, potions and spells can only repair so much damage and they consume a lot of the body’s resources to do so. Perhaps a visit to the Imperial Cult shrine up at Wolverine Hall is in order. Or, if you wish to avoid the Imperials, there are a number of very effective healers in Temple.”

“The Temple?” I asked, remembering the large structures in Balmora and Gnisis. “Do you really think that they can help?”

“I’m sure of it Sed Vahl,” she replied. She promised to keep me apprised of the progress on my stronghold while I made preparations to visit the Temple in Balmora.

It was with fairly mixed feelings that I mounted the sweeping stairs that led to the enclosed Balmoran Temple. On the whole, I tended to avoid religious organisations: mostly because the beating that my foster-father administered were so often given in the name of Stendarr, or Mara, to hammer the sin out of me. Don’t get me wrong, the Imperial Cults have done some sterling work but I was leery of them nonetheless. And this… foreign cult that seemed to dominate so much of Vvardenfell? I knew very little of it other than it controlled the Ordinators and wielded a great deal of power.

“Greetings traveller,” the soft voice of a robed and hooded priest sounded strangely harsh in the austere surrounding of the Temple building. Everybody knew about alien religions: the bizarre graven images, the strange behaviour, the wild chanting to unspeakable gods. Aside from a few wall-hangings and a strange circular pit set into the floor, the building was bereft of the trappings I’d expected. Indeed, the Temple was more austere than any Cult building I’d been in: the only oddity a triangular obelisk with engraved images on the front that stood in one corner. “How may we help you?” the priest continued.

I explained my situation in broad terms, leaving out my position as head of Great House Telvanni since I wasn’t certain what frictions might, or might not, exist between House and Temple. I really shouldn’t have bothered ~ I’d forgotten how gossipy the natives of this small island were, and just how quickly news can travel. “Of course we can help Sed Vahl,” the priest responded.

He led me over to the plinth I’d noticed earlier, asking me for a small donation to maintain the Temple. I handed over twenty-five Septims and, following his instructions, placed my hands on the cool stone and repeated his words, “May the blessings of ALMSIVI wash over me. May the strength of their power cleanse and heal me. May the light of their wisdom guide me now and in all things. The ending of the words is ALMSIVI.”

I gasped as a great power flooded into me, almost blinded by the brilliant sparks that swirled around me. I felt the bone-weariness fall away and the ache I’d woken with dissipate and vanish. Dropping my contact with the stone, I looked at the priest and smiled, “That was amazing.”

“Indeed,” the priest said. Then, in that soft accusative tone that priests seem to specialise in when speaking to their wayward flock, he added, “It has been many years since a member of Great House Telvanni saw fit to grace the Temple with their presence.” Pushing back the cowl of his robe to reveal a strong and handsome face, he added, “Their absence has often been noted by Temple hierarchy and commented upon. The poor grace with which missionaries are greeted in Telvanni lands, and the dearth of established Temples are also well known to us.”

Feeling as though I’d just stepped onto a very dangerous ledge, I said, “While I have the authority, I don’t have the power to compel my fellow Mage-Lords to do things they don’t wish to.”

“This is well known to us Sed Vahl,” he said softly, “we may be insular, but we are aware of Telvanni ways ~ even here in Balmora. That you are a stranger in a strange land and don’t know of our ways is also known to us. That Telvanni mores keep you doubly ignorant grieves us bitterly.”

“So, what would you suggest?” I asked.

“That you join the Temple,” he said simply, “openly and freely.”

“Um, what would that entail?” I asked, visions of being ordered to relinquish my hard-won position in Great House Telvanni floating through my mind.

“Nothing as drastic as giving up your current position Arch-Magister,” the priest said, causing me to shoot him a dark look. “A guess at your thoughts only,” he quickly assured me, reading my look as plainly as a book. “The duties would not be onerous,” he continued, “save that you would be required to undertake some pilgrimages to demonstrate your devotion, and some small tasks to demonstrate your piety. Such things, done without any surety of reward, would make a powerful statement from one in your position.”

And that is how I came to join the local Temple, guided by the subtle hand of that Power which had taken such interest in my dealings of late. Although that fact was not revealed to me until much, much later.

Feldrelo Sadri gave me a book entitled “The Pilgrim’s Path”. “It is the duty of all novices to complete the Pilgrimage of the Seven Graces,” he informed me, the capitals dropping almost audibly into place. “By following in the steps of the Lord Vehk, they demonstrate their devotion to the Temple and to the grace of ALMSIVI. When you have completed the pilgrimage, I will assess you and give you further tasks. Or, if you wish, you can visit Temples elsewhere on Vvardenfell and undertake duties for them.”

Bowing low, Feldrelo Sadri went deeper into the recess of the Temple, leaving me with a book and a pilgrimage to undertake. The book contained details of each of the seven shrines a novitiate needed to visit, along with details of what was required at each of the locations. Some, such as the shrine at the Fields of Kummu, had long and detailed descriptions ~ others, such as something called the Puzzle Shrine, had only the vaguest of instructions for getting to them and no detail at all about what was expected. One, called the Shrine of Red Mountain, was wreathed around with dire warnings about what dangers could be expected there.

Feeling that there was no time like the present, and being only a short distance from the first shrine detailed in the book, I caught the silt-strider to Suran: spending the time reading and re-reading the Pilgrim’s Path. One thing I knew for certain, the cowled, woollen robe I’d been given would take some getting used to after so long wearing fine clothing. Fortunately, the robe was big enough to fit over my armour, although Feldrelo Sadri had disapproved of me keeping it on. Which just went to show how little he really knew of Telvanni ways: the armour and the envenomed blade beneath my pillow were the only things between me and an ‘unfortunate, accidental stab in the dark.’ I’d also insisted on keeping the blade and axe with me, preferring to rely on them rather than the stout wooden staff I’d been given along with the robe.

As I crossed the bridge over the Nabia on my way towards the Fields of Kummu, I realised that the stout staff made an excellent walking aid. The road wended its way through the pleasant Ascadian countryside, the air redolent with the smell of late blooming flowers and the crisp tang of winter’s onset. It wasn’t too long before I’d arrived at the small triangular plinth that marked the shrine. Having had the foresight to purchase a small packet of Muck from the alchemist in Suran, I placed the glutinous substance in the bowl provided and read the stanza engraved on the shrine.

Grace of Humility: "Thank you for your humility, Lord Vivec. I shall neither strut nor preen in vanity, but shall know and give thanks for my place in the greater world."

According to the Pilgrim’s Path, the next nearest shrines (three of them) are to be found in Vivec City. Accordingly, I shall make those my next priority. I returned to Balmora and sought shelter in the Temple, figuring that if the Camonna Tong wished to wreak bloody vengeance on me, the fact I was on hallowed ground might give them pause.

Nice story Override

So Sudhendra joins the Tribunal Temple... *dun Dun DUNNNNN*



Mercy, Mystery, Mastery...

Deciding that, since I had three shrines to visit, I didn’t want to waste time taking the silt-strider down to Vivec City I’d make use of the Guild-Guide service at the Mages Guild to get there instead.

“What do you mean,” I roared in frustration at the sneering mage in front of me, ”you won’t send me to Vivec City?”

“We don’t like your kind Telvanni,” she hissed. “And you can’t compel me to transport you anywhere if I don’t want to.”

“Listen to me,” I said. “If you don’t transport me to Vivec City this very instant I’ll make you rue the day your mother whelped you.”

“Huh,” she said, tossing her braided hair insolently. “You stand in the heart of a Guildhouse and think you can threaten me? Think again Telvanni, my fellow Mages would cut you down before you could form the first syllable of a spell.”

Knowing that to be true, I had to find an alternate method of ‘persuading’ her. In the end it cost me two hundred Septims to persuade her to send me to Vivec City, and that was in addition to the cost of actually using the Guild-Guide service. For which I’m sure I was over-charged. Vowing dire retribution on all members of the Mages Guild, I stormed through the chambers and passageways of the Vivec City Guildhouse, pushing people out of my way. If it takes a thousand years, I thought slamming open the main door and stepping into the Foreign Quarter plaza, I will make those bloody Mages grovel.

I wove through the crowds, barely noticing how they parted before me: so black was my mood. Perhaps it was the scowl on my face, or my religious attire, that made them move out of my way. Whichever, I was still fuming and really didn’t care. Hailing a passing gondola, I instructed the gondolier to take me to the Temple. The journey soothed me somewhat, the gentle splashing of the long pole as it entered the water and the gentle rocking of the flat-bottomed boat combining to lift the black cloud that hovered metaphorically over my head. By the time we arrived at the long wooden stairs that led up to the Temple Canton, I was quite my normal self. Not that I had any less desire to rain death and destruction on the stiff-necked Mages ~ but I had a very long time to plan my revenge.

Ornately carved frescos extended around the raised platform in front of me, repeating patterns of the letters “A”, “S”, and “V” raised up from a dark green band. This pattern was repeated on the doorways and bridges at the main part of the Canton, as well as up the sides of the broad stairs that led to the Temple’s main buildings. The vaulting arches of the main building rose above me, carved and crenulated in fantastic patterns. A broad tunnel led from the front of the building through to the back, giving a fantastic vista of the huge building rising up behind the Temple. Ordinators strutted back and forth in their gilded armour, plumes and capes flapping in the stiff breeze that came from the south. Throngs of pilgrims gathered around vendors selling all manner of religious paraphernalia ~ from ‘genuine pieces of Indoril Nerevar’s robes” to “the Sermons of the Lord Vehk, personally blessed by the Arch-Cannon”.

According to the Pilgrim’s Path, I need to donate a single rising force potion at the Shrine of Daring. Cutting through the crowds, I found a Dunmeri female selling a variety of potions ~ she was doing a fairly brisk business in cheap levitation potions for the Shrine. Purchasing one, I waited in line and approached the flower-strewn block of stone. As soon as the pilgrim in front of me had made his libation to the site, read the inscription and moved away, I stepped forwards. Uncorking the cheap earthenware flask, I poured the contents onto the stone plinth, kneeling to read the inscription.

Grace of Daring: "Thank you for your daring, Lord Vivec. I shall not shun risk, nor hide behind the mask of cautious counsel, for fortune favours the bold."

I rose to my feet and walked away from the shrine, stopping when I heard a gasp from the crowd. I suddenly seemed to be the focus of a good deal of attention and it took me a moment to realise why. I was standing there, in the same cowled robe that many of the pilgrims who’d donated to the shrine were wearing, as were many of those waiting to donate to the shrine. None of them, however, was hovering a foot above the inlaid marble floor of the plaza. Glad that the deep hood of the robe hid my embarrassment, I made a determined effort to keep both feet firmly planted on the ground and lost myself in the crowd.

Once I was in the relative seclusion of the tunnel that joined the front of the plaza to the back, I found a scroll of dispel and cast it on myself. Leaping upwards, I found myself hovering a few inches below the arched roof. With gritted teeth, I made my way back down to floor level and planted myself firmly on the ground.

“If you’re waiting for it to wear off Novice,” an amused voice said, “it could take a while.”

It was the potion-seller, taking a break from selling her wares. Danso Indules introduced herself to me and explained. “That’s the blessing of the Shrine of Daring: a personal indication of favour from the Lord Vehk. Only those who are here on the Pilgrimage of the Seven Graces receive such a blessing.”

“How long,” I asked desperately, “does the blessing last?”

“It varies according to the Lord’s whim,” she said. “It may last four or five hours, it may last an entire day.”

I groaned into my hood, a whole day having to concentrate so that I didn’t float off into the wide blue yonder. I hoped the Lord Vehk had woken this morning feeling out of sorts, perhaps then this ‘blessing’ would be mercifully short.

We spoke for a while, Danso Indules and I, and she gave me some insight into the workings of the Temple as well as some background information on Ayem, Soth, and Vehk ~ better known as Almalexia, Sotha Sil, and Vivec, the three gods of the Tribunal. She also gave me a warning. “Be wary around the city pilgrim,” she commented. “Two Ordinators and five Outlanders have had their throats cut in the last ten days. I hear that the Office of the Watch is looking into it but, until whoever is responsible is caught, take care if you’re travelling in the more secluded parts of the citadel.”

Thanking her, I made my slow and careful way down the tunnel and so caught my first proper sight of the multi-tiered edifice of The Palace of Vivec. Five great bastions of engraved and worked stone rose up in front of me, each tier smaller than the one below it. The final tier was shaped like a smaller version of the main Temple building, only made of a stone that glowed softly in the sunlight. Around each tier ran a water channel and vast plumes of water thundered down from each tier in an artful design that gave the whole building the appearance of something that had just risen from the depths of the ocean. From the plaza level a short flight of stairs led down to the lower level of the Temple Canton ~ a huge flight of steps rose up the face of the Palace right up to the doors at the top.

Have you ever attempted to climb stairs while trying not to float off into the sky? Let me assure you, it is not the easiest of things to do. By the time I reached the top, I didn’t know whether to laugh or scream in frustration. Finally deciding that neither was wholly appropriate for a holy site, I turned to one of the two identical Shrines and made an offering of two hundred Septims.

Grace of Generosity: "Thank you for your generosity, Lord Vivec. I shall neither hoard nor steal, nor encumber myself with profitless treasures, but shall share freely among house and hearth."

Brilliant. Keep it coming

[quote=OverrideB1] Ayem, Soth, and Vehk ~ better known as Almalexia, Sotha Sil, and Vivec, the three gods of the Tribunal. [/quote]
Its Ayem, Seht, and Vehk actually.

Of course, you have just had a typo...

According to the book, the third shrine was known as the Puzzle Shrine and it was located at “the heart of the palace”. Somehow I didn’t think they meant the actual living quarters of the Lord Vehk besides, the heavily sealed doors kind of told you to keep out. So, I thought, if the heart is the centre of things, then surely the heart of the palace was the middle of the palace? Following that reasoning, I walked ~ or, to be more accurate, bounced ~ down the stairs until I came to the third tier. Two above and two below, I thought, rising up over the handrail and splashing down into the fast running water channel. The grating over one of the spouts opened easily and I scrambled through the opening and into the Palace’s infrastructure.

Spluttering and coughing, I rose up through the murky water and made my way up a ramp to the stone ledge that ran around the channel. From far below I could hear the rumbling of some power ~ presumably what pumped the water up from the canals to the top of the structure. After dealing with the rats that had made themselves quite at home here, I explored my surroundings. I didn’t find a shrine, but I did find another grating that opened easily in the tunnel that connected the two waterways.

This deposited me underwater in a storage chamber of some kind. Breaking the surface, I wheezed for breath as I struggled to the steps that rose up to a sort of platform. Feather-enchanted Daedric armour may be tough and light, but it’s a real bugger when it’s filled with water. The platform, a sort of long bridge that sat flush against one wall and ended jutting out over the water held only one thing of any interest ~ a simple stone shrine. Squelching slightly, I walked over to it and examined it. Unlike the other shrines, this stone block was unadorned and bore no religious iconography. Instead there was a simple brass plaque attached to each of the three faces. They simply said: Breathe the Waters of His Glory and the Way will be made Clear.

A horrible, horrible suspicion stole over me as I stood there contemplating those words. They surely couldn’t mean what I thought they did. I frantically examined the featureless stone walls of the chamber, even going as far as checking out the two tiers above and below this one. The third tier was the only place that had access to this chamber ~ the others were completely shrine-free. My fears were, it seemed, fully grounded in fact.

“You have got to be completely mad Sudhendra,” I told myself as I peeled off my sodden clothing and armour and stood there contemplating the sparkling waters. Taking a deep breath I hoped wouldn’t be my last; I descended the steps and allowed the water to close over my head. The body, Man or Mer, is a wonderful thing and it absolutely will not relinquish its grip on life unless forced to do so. I had steeled myself, or so I thought, for the ordeal to come but the first trace of water down my throat had me threshing about and striking out for the surface where I drew in great gulps of life-sustaining air.

Twice, thrice, four times I tried before dragging myself out of the water onto the cold stone and curling up in a little ball. Rocking backwards and forwards, I let my frustrations out. As I did so, I came to realise the purpose of this step of the pilgrimage and understood that I had been approaching it incorrectly. I had viewed this as an ordeal, something to be gripped by the throat and throttled into submission. I now understood that this was not the case. It was, very simply, a test of a pilgrim’s faith. Or, to be more accurate ~ a test of their Faith.

Standing at the water’s edge, the little ripples playing over my toes, I bowed my head and spread my arms. “My Faith, My Life,” I said, repeating a phrase I remembered from childhood. It seemed, somehow, apt. Eyes firmly forward, I exhaled and stepped quickly into the water. I closed my eyes and opened my mouth; drawing in what I was sure would be my last. Fire bloomed in my chest and my heart hammered as water flooded down my throat, filling lungs never meant to receive it. Thunder roared in my ears as a red-tinged blackness crept into the corner of my vision, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. Had I the air to do so, I would have screamed, instead I clawed at my throat desperate for one last sip, the slightest hint of life-giving air. Up, up and out ~ that was all I could think of but my limbs were so heavy, so heavy. From somewhere there was a peal of thunder.

Suddenly my lungs were full of air and I rose to the surface, breaking the surface like some startled sea-creature. I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or fall on my knees and pray. Walking from the waters, I looked around. I was startled to notice that the bridge seemed to have extended all the way to the other wall and, where there had been featureless stone before, there was now a chamber. Quickly donning my clothing (a tiny part of my mind noting that they were still exactly where I’d left them: disproving any theory I might have had about teleportation) I made my way up the newly revealed stairs and stood facing a Dremora Lord.

My hand dropped immediately to the hilt of my sword but the creature made no move to attack. Instead, it spoke to me, “If you would strike down an unarmed foe, I will not stop you. However, there are weapons in that chest I can defend myself with if you’ll pass me one.”

My eyes alighted on the familiar shape of a stone Shrine at the top of the stairs behind the Dremora Lord. If he wouldn’t attack, I had no need to attack it and I could just walk up to the shrine. The Oblivion-spawn had other ideas. “You may not pass,” it said, moving to block my approach. “Only by killing me may you approach the Shrine.” It then repeated the bit about an unarmed foe. I am Telvanni, and killing to get what you want, or where you want to be, is what we do best: but something about this situation struck me as odd. Here stood a scion of Oblivion, a creature not exactly known for its self-restraint, damn’ near begging me to strike it down in cold blood. Nearby was a chest containing weapons it could use to defend itself. Yet it made no move to obtain a weapon of its own volition, instead asking me to provide it with one.

Turning, I opened the chest and plucked out one of the silver swords that it contained. Throwing it to the Dremora Lord, I drew my own sword and adopted a battle-stance. Effortlessly catching the sword, the creature gave a sardonic bow. “You may now pass and read the inscription,” it said, laying the sword on the ground at its feet and crossing its arms. The name of the Shrine should have clued me in much earlier: the whole thing was a test ~ a puzzle ~ to be solved. A test of faith and a puzzle of a creature that asked for the means to defend itself. Inclining my head, I walked past the creature and read the Shrine’s inscription.

Grace of Courtesy: "Thank you for your courtesy, Lord Vivec. I shall speak neither hurtful nor harsh word, but shall speak respectfully, even of my enemies, for temperate words may turn aside anger."

I turned and strode away from the shrine, seconds later realising that I’d forgotten all about the ‘blessing’ from the Grace of Daring. Hovering a good twenty feet above the floor I realised that there was no way I could continue the pilgrimage until that ‘blessing’ had worn off. Besides, I had much to consider.

Brilliant, as always. This story is such a pleasure to read because you've given so much thought to dissecting the ingame events and their potential consequences.
The more Sudhendra experiences, the more reflective and philosophic he's becoming. Excellent. :goodjob:

Feeling much refreshed, I made my preparations for the day. If all goes well, I should be able to complete my pilgrimage today. To that end, I cast Void-Walk and travelled up to Gnisis. Making my way into the Temple, I was escorted upstairs and shown a mask set on a beautifully embroidered velvet cushion. Ah, I thought, another test.

“Where is the real Ash Mask?” I asked the Temple’s Curate. He smiled and led me up a ramp to a tall three-sided column that supported the bronze roof. There were three panels on the column, but only one of them was decorated with religious symbols ~ in this case a design depicting Saint Veloth leading the Chimer to Vvardenfell. Touching the panel made it slide upwards, revealing another mask hidden inside the hollow pillar. Above it was a plaque bearing the Grace of Justice.

Grace of Justice: "Thank you for your justice, Lord Vivec. I shall be neither cruel nor arbitrary, for fair dealing earns the love, trust, and respect of our people."

Pausing only to purchase the greasy block of Dreugh Wax I’d need at the Koal Cave Shrine, I left the Temple and headed towards the river.

“Erm, excuse me,” a quavering voice drifted up from below as I crested the high bank, “but could you, erm, look away?”

I stifled a giggle; there in the river below was an old Dunmer, pulling down his rough shirt to cover his… fundamentals. His skinny legs showed signs that he’d been standing there quite some times. Suppressing my mirth, I called out to him, “What appears to be the problem Muthsera?”

It turned out that Hentus Yansurnummu had been performing his morning ablutions in the river when Hainab Lasamsi had stolen his trousers. “I’d like them back. Very much,” Hentus bleated in quavering voice. One of the Legionnaires directed me towards Hainab Lasamsi, adding that the young man was an inveterate practical joker. It was the work of but a few moments to convince the youth to hand over the ragged trousers and I carried them back to the riverbank and set them down ~ all the while shielding my eyes so that the Ashlander wouldn’t be any more embarrassed.

“Thank you Ser,” he said, sitting beside me on a rock now that he’d… recovered his modesty. “I’m a poor Nomad and have very few belongings, but I’d be honoured if you’d partake of some of my Hackle-Lo Leaf.”

I demurred but it soon became obvious that the older Mer would be offended if I continued to refuse. So, taking the three broad green leaves he handed me, I tucked two into my pack and copied him ~ folding the leaf and putting it in my mouth. Chewing the leaf released a wonderful flavour, something like the wild mint I used to chew when I was a child but with a hint of something spicy and exotic. I also felt greatly invigorated. Hentus explained that chewing the Hackle-Lo was an Ashlander habit, and that it could keep you refreshed and hydrated on a long journey across the ash-wastes. Making a note to myself that I should get a stock of these in at Tel Vahl (both for myself and my guards), I thanked the old Mer and continued on my way.

Crossing the river, I found myself in some hilly, but pleasant, countryside. Various paths would their way around the bases of the green hills, shaded by the large trees that grew in profusion in this region. There were many intriguing plants growing here, and I stopped quite frequently to pick samples. After about three hours of walking, I could hear the crashing of waves on rock and the countryside started to change subtly. The hills were becoming lower and the rocky outcroppings more common.

With a suddenness that was surprising, I found myself at the lip of a high cliff overlooking a wide bay. Huge rocky ‘teeth’ of stone thrust up from under the water, worn into fantastic shapes by the passing years. A rocky path, bordered by a rope barrier, led down towards a beach. There, nestled at the back of the cove, I found the Koal Caves.

The shrine was just inside the cave entrance, and I placed the Dreugh Wax in the small bowl provided and read the Grace of Valour.

Grace of Valour: "Thank you for your valour, Lord Vivec. I shall not quail, nor turn away, but face my enemies and my fear."

There was more to the Koal Caves, a steep tunnel sloped away from the shrine but, since it was completed flooded and I had neither a spell nor potion that would allow me to breath water, I had to leave it. Sitting on a small nub of rock down by the beach, I took my midday meal in those pleasant surroundings before speaking the words that would send me halfway across the island to Ald’ruhn, “Ex hic absum, ut Ald’ruhn”.

I knew the way from Ald’ruhn to the Ghostgate and, wrapping the cloth I’d purchased back in Maar Gan around my face and chewing on one of my remaining Hackle-Lo leaves, I set off up the steep slopes towards the Temple. Apart from the inevitable Cliff Racer attacks ~ there seem to be more of them on the approaches to the Ghostfence than anywhere else on the island for some reason ~ there is little to report. As I approached the Temple, I did notice that a small Ashlander camp seemed to have sprung up on a nearby ridge since my last visit.

Gripping the shaft of the Last Wish tightly, I reached out and touched the softly glowing triangle set into the plinth before the gate. The rattle of heavy chains followed the soft click as the massive barred iron gate lifted slowly into the air. The dozen or so paces it took me to get to the second plinth seemed much longer. My fingers trembled slightly as I reached out and touched the second switch. With a rumble, the gate behind me descended and, as it thumped into place, the gate in front of me started to rise.

Ducking under the gate as soon as it had risen high enough for me to do so, I stepped out into the region known as The Red Mountain. The sky was oddly coloured, a reddish tinge seeming to suffuse the very air itself. The slopes of the mountain were formed of ancient basalt, slippery and dangerous under foot. Walking carefully to ensure I didn’t fall, and trying to look in three hundred and sixty different directions at once, I edged my way up the slope.

There was an oppressiveness to the region, once that seemed to grow with every faltering step up the mountainside that I took. I found my pace quickening, despite the severity of the slope and the dangerous footing. The flattened plateau to my right was a welcome sight and scrambling up the short path that led there, I came to the Ghostgate Shrine. I’d fetched one of my very limited supply of Soul Stones out of my pack even before I reached the weathered stone plinth. As I drew close, the stone in my hand flared and crumbled to dust. Quickly, breathlessly ~ for the sense of malignant observation was increasing ~ I knelt and read the inscription on the Shrine’s plaque.

Grace of Pride: "Thank you for your pride, Lord Vivec. I shall not doubt myself, or my people, or my gods, and shall insist upon them, and my ancient rights.”

I didn’t plan on lingering inside the Ghostfence for a second longer than I had to so I quickly spoke the cantrip that would translocate me to Balmora.
Feldrelo Sadri welcomed me back to the Temple and congratulated me on completing the Pilgrimage of the Seven Graces. “It is important that you understand the lessons that the Lord Vehk imparts through the pilgrimage,” Sadri said. “For these are the tenants by which the Temple operates. Take them to heart Layman Vahl, for they are important.

“Now, I don’t know if you wish to pursue your devotion to the Temple,” he said after I’d thanked him for the promotion. “If you do, I suggest you speak to the Proctors at Molag Mar or Ald’ruhn for further duties.”

Thanking him, I made my way to Dura gra-Bol’s house and sat there thinking about what Sadri had said. I could understand, now, why there was friction between House and Temple: the ‘rules’ set down by the Lord Vehk were diametrically opposed to the way we Telvanni do things. Still, I was fairly certain that pursuing promotion within the Temple would be a good thing. Firstly it would bring House and Temple closer together and, given the power of the latter, that could only be good for us. Secondly, the priests of the Temple had a great deal of personal power and influence ~ and power and influence was always interesting to a Telvanni.

Unrolling the apprentice scroll I’d picked up during one of my sojourns into a local tomb, I studied it carefully. The spell, ‘Black Scorn’, was a powerful and unpleasant spell designed to maze and confuse an opponent. After several hours of study, I finally understood how to construct and control the spell. Sighing, I retired to bed for the night.

Another day, another problem with those stiff-necked Mage-Guild nincompoops. I arrived, bright and early at the Mage Guildhouse only to have the same stuck-up, snooty Bretonian woman refuse me service again. This time I decided that she could go hang before I’d pay her a single Septim more than standard Guild-Guide fare. I have yet to decide what fate I shall deliver to the Mages Guild, but it will be complex, and horrible, and talked about for a thousand years.

So, instead of entrusting myself to their tender mercies, I stood in the centre of the Guildhouse and, with great delight, opened up a portal and stepped through into the dusty square of central Ald’ruhn. Delas Mrania had no qualms about dealing with me and sold me two additional Void Walk spells (one for the Ghostgate and one for Molag Mar) at a heavily discounted price. While she was preparing the spells for me, we spoke of several inconsequential things ~ including her supposition that the best Blacksmith in the whole of Vvardenfell can be found ‘Under Skar’: Dandra Selaro is his name. I didn’t argue with her, knowing little of the art other than it involves hitting lumps of hot metal with a big hammer. Still, if ever I need repairs to my armour, it’s worth bearing his name in mind.

Molag Mar is similar in construction to Vivec City, although it is about the size of one of the Cantons and the upper plaza is open to the air. There was a small, but very busy, market going on when I stepped onto the plaza ~ lots of bustling about and shouting. And, I noticed, several stern-faced Ashlanders standing in their own pools of silence: being scrupulously avoided by the jostling crowd.

The Proctor of the Temple in Molag Mar was a tall Dunmer by the name of Tharer Rotheloth. Unlike most members of the Temple I’d met, Rotheloth wore the hood of his cowled robe thrown back, revealing strong features with more than a hint of Ashlander in them. This was accentuated by the way he wore his hair, long in the back with a topknot ~ a style I’d seen on more than a few warriors in the Zainab and Ahemmusa camps. I got the impression that he wasn’t too keen on me, although he said and did nothing to reinforce that impression.

“So, you’re looking for suitable duties Ser, eh?” he asked when I’d introduced myself to him. “Hmmm, Sadri wouldn’t have sent you here unless you had already completed the Seven Graces. Well, since your feet have been set on Vehk’s Path, I think that I have just the duty for you.” He walked over to a small and cleverly designed chest ~ lifting the lid allowed the front to drop down: thus revealing several deep drawers. From the middle drawer he withdrew a small phial of bluish-white earthenware. “There is a Redguard in Tel Mora by the name of Lette,” he said, passing me the bottle. “She’s suffering from Swamp Fever and there is no Imperial Cult nearby that she can get to and no Temple. Take this potion to her and see that she’s all right.”

Travelling to Tel Mora was simplicity itself for me: I simply opened a portal from Molag Mar to Tel Vos and translocated. The small skiff that plies passengers back and forth between Vos and Tel Mora took me the rest of the distance.

“Why do you want to know?” the House guard asked when I quizzed him about Lette’s location. I looked up at his imposing height, allowing the weak sunlight to penetrate the shadows of my cowl. “Erm, sorry Sed Vahl, she’s over there, on the northern shore, do you want me to escort you?” he gabbled at speed.

Leaving him quivering at attention, I crossed the short stretch of water and approached the woman I could see sitting there. “Are you Lette?” I asked.
“Go away,” she said, not looking up. “Can’t you see I’ve got Swamp Fever?” Indeed, the large purplish splotches that marred her dark skin were clearly visible even from where I stood.

“I’m here to help,” I said, putting my hand under her elbow and lifting her to her feet. “If you have no objections, I have a potion here that will cure you.”

“Oh bless you Ser,” she said, “may ALMSIVI’s light shine on you.” Taking the potion, the Redguard drank deeply. In seconds the splotches had started to fade and her colour, which had been very pale, started to improve.

When I was sure that she’d recovered from the disease, I cast a Recall and returned to the Temple in Molag Mar. Rotheloth was pleased that I’d completed the mission so quickly and said, “I think that you should seek the blessings of Lord Vehk. It is common for those based here in Molag Mar to travel to Mount Kand and seek the shrine there.

“I must warn you, however,” he said, raising a hand as I started to turn away, “that many who visit the caverns of Mount Kand do not return.”

With that warning firmly in mind, I left Molag Mar and headed into the Molag Amur. Fortunately, the road to Mount Kand was clearly signposted and, while steep and often beset with Cliff Racers, it presented me with no great problem other than long stretches of boredom interspersed with frantic hacking and slashing at the annoying avian pests. Before long, the road curved northwards and upwards and I found myself in a wide gully that wended up the mountain side. Near the peak was a cavern door, the weathered sign outside proclaiming that this was ‘The Caverns of Kand’.
With no really clear idea of what to expect inside, I took out one of my torches and incanted a short spell that made it burst into flame. Torch in one hand and the Last Wish in the other, I pushed open the door and stepped into these mysterious caverns. It was a lucky thing that I had several torches in my pack, without one I’d have had to fumble my way through the pitch-black tunnels. Even with the torch providing a warm circle of flickering light, the passageway stretched ahead of me darkly.

I hadn’t gone too deep into the caverns when I became aware of a flickering light ahead. As I drew nearer to the source, I felt the temperature climbing slowly. A Fire Atronach stepped into the end of the passageway, effectively blocking it off. Even as I hefted my sword, it spoke:

I lowered my axe, aware that here was another of those little puzzles that it seems the Temple likes to set for pilgrims. Obviously I was intended to answer the riddle and a moment’s thought gave me the answer. “You may pass,” the Fire Atronach said, shimmering slightly in its own heat haze. Giving the creature a wide berth, I entered the next section of tunnel.

The tunnel wended deeper into the mountain side, a cold breeze coming from up ahead. As the shimmering blue light grew brighter and the air grew colder, the tunnel came to an abrupt end, a stone bridge led from the lip of the tunnel down to the floor of the chamber ~ a floor covered in a thick layer of ice. The reason for the ice was simple: a huge Frost Atronach stood in the very centre of the cave. Knowing what to expect, I clambered carefully down and approached it. In a voice like ice grinding on ice, the Atronach spoke:

This one was a tough one, the answer to the first riddle had been a simple play on words but this one was not. If I told the Atronach the truth, it would use its powers to blast me but, if I lied to it, it would use a sword to fight me. So, if I told it that it would kill me with a spell, I would be… no, wait, that wasn’t right. With a great sigh of relief I heard the Atronach respond, “That response is correct, you may pass,” when I gave it the answer.

I was prepared for the third Atronach, this one a glowering Storm Atronach. As I got close, it raised a massive rocky fist and grated:

Uh-oh. Let me see, the Altmer says the Dunmer did it but if he’s lying then the Dunmer definitely didn’t do it. But, if the Altmer is the one telling the truth, then the Dunmer did do it. The Dunmer says the Khajiit did it so, if he’s lying, the Khajiit didn’t do it: whereas, if he’s telling the truth, the Khajiit did. Erm, so if the Orc is telling a lie, then he did kill the Atronach but if he’s telling the truth, he didn’t. Now, if the Khajiit is lying, then the Dunmer is telling the truth but if the Khajiit is lying, then the Dunmer is also telling the truth. No, wait, that’s not right. Let’s approach this from a different angle.

If the Altmer is telling the truth, then the Dunmer is lying when he says the Khajiit did it; the Orc is lying when he swears he didn’t do it, and the Khajiit is lying when he says the Dunmer is lying. Now, if the Dunmer is the one telling the truth, the Altmer is lying when he says the Dunmer is guilty, the Orc is again lying when he swears he didn’t do it, and the Khajiit is lying when he says the Dunmer is lying. Ahh got it….

“You may pass and read the inscription on the shrine,” the Storm Atronach rumbled, turning away. With a huge sigh of relief, I followed the last few feet of tunnel to the now familiar stone plinth. This one bore no inscription but when I touched it I felt a massive jolt of power surge through me.

I returned to Molag Mar and persuaded Tharer Rotheloth to let me use one of the bunk beds for the night.

Great update again. Nice descriptions on actually solving the riddles ( rather than doing what i did and just using the yellow book of riddles to give me the answers ). However i did notice one minor discrepancy,

Even as I hefted my sword, it spoke:

A metal neither black nor red
As heavy as man's golden greed
What you do to stay ahead
With friend or arrow or steed.

I lowered my axe,[i][/i]

These Telvanni's with their magically changing weapons

[quote=burntsierra]Great update again. Nice descriptions on actually solving

These Telvanni's with their magically changing weapons [/quote]


there, yet another advantage to joining the Great House Telvanni over joining the other two houses


great addition as always OverrideB1

I love this story.............well, maybe love is a bit strong of a word......but you know what i mean....i hope. It's cool

Still pushin for Telvanni huh alexander.

Great next part. Gone into great detail with the shrine visits.

Good job

[quote=Alexander][quote=burntsierra]Great update again. Nice descriptions on actually solving

These Telvanni's with their magically changing weapons [/quote]


there, yet another advantage to joining the Great House Telvanni over joining the other two houses


great addition as always OverrideB1 [/quote]

Another advantage? You mean there are more?

[quote=jonajosa]Still pushin for Telvanni huh alexander.

[/quote]


Always


@Minque:

there are thousands of advantages, well I guess never having been Telvanni never gave you acces to all of our secrets :evil4:

This is great... still nice Override

Tharer seemed rather nonplussed this morning as he handed over a simple note from Llunela Hleran. I could understand why, it was always ~ and still is ~ a mystery to me how that woman could always get a message to you whenever she needed to. The note was brief and to the point: Construction of the final phase of your tower is now complete. Raissu Asserbas will take care of any future additions you wish to make. Fare thee well Arch-Magister, long life and power to you.

Even though I was supposed to be learning humility and piety, I couldn’t stop a feeling of great pride swelling up. Truly, Vvardenfell is a land of opportunity: from stepping ashore as a recently released convict with her only possessions the clothes she stood up in, I had raised myself up to become the head of a Great House. And, I felt certain; I would go on to achieve great things as Head of House.

Tharer and I spoke of my experiences beneath Mount Kand and, even though it might only be wishful thinking on my part, I fancied I felt a softening of his attitude towards me. I was to find out that, even if true, it wouldn’t stop him from giving me the really pleasant jobs. “Somewhat south-east of here, along the coast,” he said, “is the ancient Velothi ruin of Mawia. Word has reached us from… interested parties that a necromancer by the name of Delvam Andarys has taken residence there. It is our earnest wish that you demonstrate your commitment to the ideals of the Temple by remonstrating with him and teaching him the error of his ways.”

Which, I thought to myself as I packed the items I thought I’d need, pretty much tantamount to saying, “Go… kill.”

My journey down the banks of the river was interesting but relatively uneventful. The only thing that broke the journey was my discovery of the Card’ruhn Hlaalu. Oddly, for a tomb that bore the name of one of the most acquisitive Houses in the Province, it contained virtually nothing of any value. Shrugging, I left the crypt and continued on my way.

The coast is every bit as rugged as you’d expect for the Molag Amur: steep cliffs of crumbling black rock, small beaches, and vast spires of unweathered rock sticking up out of the crashing waves. Mawia, I’d been told, was on a small islet off the coast ~ unfortunately, that description covered a multitude of tiny slivers of sand and rock and I had to spend quite some time hopping from islet to islet before I found the right one. The large domed Velothi structure was a clue that I’d found the right place, but the two reanimated skeletal archers that guarded the entrance were an even bigger clue. A couple of well-aimed fireballs soon took care of them.

As I crouched beside the smouldering and blackened bones of the Reanimated, I took a careful interest in their bows. Made of plates of Chitin, bound together with some sort of hard resin, they were incredibly light but a little experimentation soon revealed their basic flaw: they had a very short range. Of much more interest was the pile of arrows each of the skeletal warriors carried. The thick leather quivers had prevented my fireballs from doing too much damage to them, a few singed flight feathers was the extent of the damage. Discarding those, I gathered the steel-tipped arrows together and added them to my rapidly dwindling supply of iron-tipped arrows. Then it was time to investigate the door to the Velothi structure.

Finding the door both unlocked and unwarded, I pushed it open and ventured into the square foyer. I was quickly to find that Mawia wasn’t constructed in the same fashion as the other Velothi buildings I’d been in: Mawia was a simpler structure with a single corridor leading down into the rock of the island and leading to the access chamber for the domed tower. Not that progress along the corridor was easy; the necromancer had obviously been busy resurrecting anything he could get his hands on. Ancestral spirits, Bone-Walkers, Bone Lords, Skeletons of every type: every corner was fraught with danger and unwelcome surprises. There is one good thing to be said about resurrected skeletons: they’re not the strongest of creatures structurally. A good, hard blow with an axe is usually enough to smash vital parts and a couple of good blows can totally shatter a skeleton. Fire-based magic seemed to work remarkably well too.

Delvam Andarys proved to be an elderly Mer with a long white beard. He was a powerful mage but I took advantage of the building’s structure to fight against him. Using the heavy stones of the balustrade around the top of the stairs as a hiding place from the powerful spells that poured forth from the Dunmer necromancer, I took advantage of the large supply of arrows I now had and peppered him with them from a distance. Of course, not being much of a marksman, most of my shots went wide of the mark. However, enough of my shafts found their target that he was forced to concentrate on healing magic rather than offensive spells ~ that was my cue to rush in with the Last Wish and shave his beard. Stepping smartly to the side to avoid the gush of blood that came from his severed jugular, I left him in a widening pool of his own blood while I searched the chamber.

I found some very interesting things in that tower, a cuirass that sang with magic and that I recognised as ‘The Chiding Cuirass’. There was another cuirass in the tower that would provide the wearing with some measure of protection against fire-based spells. In addition, the necromancer himself carried a very powerful artefact called ‘Shimshil’ ~ a dagger that conferred a spell of hiding when the runic power of the blade was invoked. His purse contained over seven hundred Septims and his bookcase two volumes of great interest. There, nestled amidst the usual necromantic volumes, were two red-bound folios entitled ‘Vampires of Vvardenfell Volume One’ and ‘Vampires of Vvardenfell Volume Two’. These seemed to be a semi-scholarly work on the influx of vampires from the mainland ~ especially from the Illiac Bay area. Figuring that these would be of some value, I carefully packed them into my backpack and took them with me when I recalled to the Temple in Molag Mar.

“You have done remarkably well,” Tharer said when I reported my success at Mawia. “And the Temple thanks you for bringing its justice to the necromancer Andarys. I would like to give you more duties, but I have nothing suitable for one of your rank.”

“Well, you could always promote me,” I said hopefully. To my intense surprise Tharer Rotheloth did exactly that: promoting me to the rank of Initiate in recognition of my work for the Temple. Not that that made the blindest bit of difference, Tharer still had no duties for me. He did, however, recommend that I visit the Temple in Ald’ruhn or the High Fane in Vivec City. Resolving to travel to Ald’ruhn on the morrow, I returned to my stronghold at Uvirith’s Grave.

The change was startling. The walls and floor of the mercenaries’ barracks had been put in place and a start had been made on what could only be a watchtower on the northern slopes approaching the Tel. The Tel itself had almost doubled in height and there were metal spheres dotted about the landscape. Even as I watched, one of them unfolded itself and raised its blunt head. I was struck by how ‘alive’ these things looked as the animalcule scanned the area immediately around it before becoming quiescent again. And, on the steep path that led up to the bridge to my tower stronghold, stood the massively bulky form of a Type III, its mace sparking with power. I grinned, recognising that Baladas had been unable to resist adding his own personal stamp to the devices.

The ground level of the tower hadn’t changed much but I soon discovered that there were now storage and display rooms buried beneath the tower where, before, there had only been a rocky corridor. The upper level (now the middle of the tower) was also unchanged apart from an engraved brass portal that had appeared in the corridor leading to the bedchamber. The changes beyond that portal were surprising.

A large dining room and associated kitchen filled the chamber immediately behind the door, while a short corridor led to a chamber lined with bookshelves. From this ‘library’, a curved flight of stairs led up to an upper level. Here there was a fully furnished alchemical lab, the gleaming jars and benches ready for me to start experimenting. A long vertical tunnel led to the next level.

Up here was another small chamber with workbenches and storage chests while, directly opposite was a large chamber-door. Behind this was a master bedroom, with a huge canopied bed and even more storage space in the form of chests-of-drawers and wardrobes. Another engraved bronze door led out onto an observation deck. There, at least a hundred feet above the ashy wastes of the Molag Amur, I stood and looked at the awesome vista of the region that I could see in the gathering gloom.

cool. Why does her tower appear to be so different to mine when i get the third stage finished?

another great addition, and to lonewolf, I think the word there is artistic freedom

I think you are right.....in a way Alex, but I´d like to add another word for Lonewolf...mods!

Our great Override is a very good modder and mod-user, apart from being the great writer.....

S.G.M

The main square in Ald’ruhn was almost deserted this morning when I translocated there. That might have had something to do with the truly ferocious ash-storm that was whistling through the town. Pulling my hood close around my face, I struggled up the steps to the upper square and into the sheltering walls of the Temple. Shaking the ash from my shoulders, I entered the gloomy interior.

“So, you’re Sed Vahl?” the Proctor said, peering up at me. “Well, I’m Tuls Valen and I expect to be obeyed regardless of whether you’re the head of Great House Telvanni or not. This is Redoran country; your rank gives you no privileges here. Still, I understand that Rotheloth was moderately impressed with you and that you’ve done Kand and the Graces?”

I assured him that I had completed the pilgrimages and he nodded thoughtfully. “So, old Rotheloth set you on Vehk’s path did he? Well, it’s as good a route to piety as any other I suppose. Now, let me see, the next step would be compassion. Listen up Initiate.

“The Lord Vehk struck down his opponent and then healed him. Since it would be impious of you to strike down someone just so you can heal them, we’ll have to find something else that fits.” He riffled through a huge collection of parchments until he found something that caught his eye. “Ah yes, this’ll do…”

“I have here a report from the outpost at Ald Velothi. Seems that they turned away an Orcish Cultist from some nearby Daedric shrine: name of Bulfim gra-Shugarz. Erm, that’d be the name of the Orc, not the shrine,” he said, peering at me. “The shrine is Maelkashishi. Now, I’ll warn you that the cultists in the shrine will not be welcoming, oh no, not at all. “

“And neither will this Bulfim gra-Shugarz?” I hazarded.

“Probably not,” he said, sharply adding, “but that’s rather the whole point. Now, take this potion and don’t loose it, we can’t afford any more until we get some donated. Oh, and by the way, she’s suffering from Ash-Chancre.”

I grinned as I left the Temple, I might just have a little surprise for you Valen, I thought. A quick spell later and I was standing in Gnisis, where a legionnaire told me what I needed to know.

“Ald Velothi?” he said, “Hmmm, that’s up by the coast north of here. There’s two ways you can get there Ser. The first is to follow the road northwards and round; it’s fairly clearly signposted. If, however, your mission is urgent, just a short way out of town is a path known as the Old Guar Trail. It’s a fairly steep climb and there are one or two shaky bridges to cross but it is very much shorter ‘cause it goes across the mountains rather than around.”

I soon came to the Old Guar Trail ~ directly opposite it was a large and well-designed building in the Imperial style. According to the notice hanging from the iron fence, the whole building was up for sale by someone named Spencer of Vivec City. The building was located close enough to Gnisis to be useful but far enough away that the hustle and bustle of the town wouldn’t intrude. Wondering if I’d ever be able to afford such a building, I turned onto the Old Guar Trail and headed towards Ald Velothi.

The legionnaire hadn’t been kidding when he’d said that the bridges slung across the ravines were rickety: the first of the rope-bridges creaked and swung alarmingly as I crossed, clinging onto the ropes for grim death. On the other side of the bridge, a couple of Kagouti decided I would make a passable lunch but the Wish and I were able to persuade them that was a bad idea. Deep in the cave they’d used as a lair, I found a plain wooden chest. It contained a Silver Staff of Peace, surely an indication that a Telvanni had passed this way? Glancing uneasily at the piles of gnawed and chewed bone, I quickly backed out of the rocky cleft and continued on my way.

I was at the top of the hill, just cresting it and starting to walk down the other side when I spotted the Man sitting on a rock a little further down the path. He didn’t appear to be dangerous but you never know and I grasped the hilt of my sword as I walked passed the Redguard.

“Buggerit,” he said clearly, “Millennium’s Hand and Shrimp”

“I beg your pardon?” I asked, puzzled by such a nonsensical comment. Now that I was looking at the Redguard, I could see that he obviously wasn’t well – he was shivering despite the heat and great drops of sweat were rolling down his face.

“Sideways!” he exclaimed, waving his hands over his head. “I went and got it installed sideways. Buggerit, buggerit I says.” Seeing my look of total non-comprehension, the Man took a deep breath and, slowly through gritted teeth, ground out, “I got bitten by a Slaughterfish and I don’t feel so well, I think I’m going insane. Going insane? Thank you, I don’t mind if I do.”

Pushing him down onto the rock as he raved, I considered my options. I couldn’t really leave the Man here ~ in his current state he could do himself some real harm. I didn’t know what was wrong with him, and didn’t fancy travelling back to Gnisis to fetch the Man a healer. I had a couple of potions that’d cure common disease or blight but giving him the wrong one might be dangerous ~ besides, I might have need of them before too long. I had a spell that would cure Blight and had been experimenting with a spell that would cure common diseases that I’d picked up from the Tomb of Ancient Wisdom. Taking a chance, I carefully constructed the gleaming white shape of the spell in my mind before chanting, “exsisto rememdium“

Blue-white sparks swarmed around the Redguard like bees, settling on his skin and then sinking slowly beneath. He squirmed and wriggled, but made no move to prevent the spell from working. Quite quickly the colour returned to his cheeks and the profuse perspiration stopped. Shaking his head like someone emerging from a long sleep, the Man grinned and extended his hand in the Western fashion. Grasping it, I helped him to his feet where, after swaying for a moment or two, he could stand easily.

“Thank you ma’am,” the Redguard rumbled, such a surprisingly deep voice from such a small person. “My name is Din, Trooper Din and I was on furlough up near Ald Velothi when I was bitten. I didn’t feel too bad, so I started back ~ after that everything becomes something of a blur. Listen, a Trooper’s pay isn’t great but I’d like you to have this money as a reward for helping me.”

I refused to take his money, adding to his bemusement. Despite the fact he was a soldier of the Empire, we parted on relatively friendly terms ~ with his promise that he’d help me in a similar fashion if he ever could. As he headed off towards Gnisis, I continued to make my way northwards. In this way I travelled over the same route that Din must have traversed and I was amazed that he’d not plummeted to his death off some of the treacherous paths. As the Old Guar Trail came to an end, I saw an amazing sight.

Off in the distance was a Dwemer ruin, perched on the top of a tall spire of rock that had become separated from the rest of the cliff by erosion. This must have happened many years ago because a huge bridge spanned the gap between spire and Cliffside, huge stone arches supporting the massive weight. Unfortunately, the path I needed headed away from the ruins, but I will admit I was sorely tempted to be sidetracked so I could explore. I was so busy looking at the massive stones that I almost walked straight into the woman.

“My apologies,” I said, recovering just in time to prevent myself from sending the slight Breton female over the edge of the path and into a nearby pool.

“Can you help me, kindly pilgrim?” she asked in a soft voice. “I have lost my ring. It slipped off my finger and rolled into yonder pond.”

“And you haven’t retrieved it… because?” I asked. Something about the woman’s fawning attitude made me distinctly suspicious.

“I’m a… dancer, pilgrim,” she said. “I’m due to dance at Ald Velothi this very night. I can hardly go wading around in a muddy pool, my clothes would get ruined.”

I’d caught the slight hesitation when she’d described herself as a ‘dancer’ ~ as I suspected I was supposed to. My paranoia flared full-blown at her explanation. House Redoran was a strict and pious House, and not well endowed with cash since they’d lost the Caldera Mines to House Hlaalu. Add to that the fact that Ald Velothi was a small outpost ~ what would a dancer, even one who didn’t dance, be doing going there? “I’m sorry, but I am engaged on a duty of some importance,” I replied, watching her closely.

She gave a quick glance behind me and I was already moving: spinning away from her as something hummed past me and cut a neat line across the Breton’s upper arm. The robe didn’t hinder me from drawing my sword and, as yet another humming thing sped past me, I stepped neatly behind the slender female and wrapped an arm around her neck: using her as a shield against whoever was throwing shuriken at me.

That someone wasn’t immediately visible, despite my careful search of the area where the darts had come from. Bringing the Ebony blade up, I pressed it against the woman’s throat and hissed in her ear, “Where is your friend?”

The Breton didn’t reply, nor did she have to. Off to my left, a small clump of grass suddenly flattened itself and I fancied I could see a slight shimmer of movement. Thrusting the woman to the left, I dove for the ground as something whipped viciously through the spot my head had been. Even before I reached the dusty path, I was twisting towards the invisible thrower and launched a fireball in that direction. There was a ‘whoomph’ as the fireball detonated against the ground, the splash of liquid flame clearly illuminating the slightly built figure that was now frantically slapping at its armour. With a clearly defined target to aim at, I rushed forward and thrust the blade out.

There was a crunching noise and a section of thin air started to bleed profusely. It was also cursing pretty fluently and that gave me an even better target. From my crouched position, I swung the blade upwards as I straightened, feeling a sudden resistance as a plume of blood, bone, and brains spurted upwards. There was a sudden impact in the small of my back and, staggering slightly, I drove my elbow backwards into the Breton’s midriff. With a sudden exhalation of breath she staggered backwards and, with a sudden wail, vanished over the edge of the path. There followed a loud splash and some vociferous swearing.

Ignoring the cries of “I can’t swim’ (the pool hadn’t looked to be that deep) I searched the area where my invisible foe had been. My fingers brushed a fine chain and the shrill note of illusion-based magic sang in my head. A quick yank and twist, and I was left holding a small silver and jade amulet on a broken silver chain and staring down into the ruined features of a chitin-clad female. The amulet was the only thing of value the bandit carried, and it seemed suitable reward for having been waylaid. The Breton and her ring, if such a ring even existed, I left in the pool.

I had barely travelled a dozen steps when there was the sound of running footsteps behind me. Turning, I extended my hand and spoke the words of the Boiling Blood spell as the Bretonian woman ~ who had, it seems learned to swim very quickly ~ ran right into its nimbus of effect. The result was spectacular, although only from my point of view I suspect. There was a sudden loud hissing, and the red-haired woman vanished into a vast cloud of screaming steam. Try as hard as I could, I couldn’t feel any pity for the Bretonian woman and I spared a quick prayer for those unknown travellers that had been waylaid before I came along.

All too quickly, from my point of view, I found myself approaching Maelkashishi. The buildings were constructed, as are all such ruins, from that black/purple volcanic stone and looked no prettier than any other such ruined shrine I’d seen. In fact, as I drew closer, they seemed to grow even uglier. I flinched as I stepped onto the bottom step of a set of stairs, the building screamed with power ~ so much so that I could actually feel it as a discordant note even through the soles of my shoes. The steps, all odd heights and strange slopes, led up to a flat stone platform that was surrounded by huge square pillars of stone. Oddly shaped panels had been cut into the faces of the pillars and swirling designs decorated the panels. Then there was the door.

It was oval, and seemed to consist of dozens of ‘leaves’ extending from the outer rim to a central point. Slap bang in the middle was what appeared to be a knot of stone, oval in shape and set across the oval of the door. Two depressions, one at the top and one at the bottom, were the only features on the smaller oval. Around the door was a small band of carvings ~ closer examination made me wish I hadn’t examined them any closer, or even notice them in the first place. The ‘knot’ seemed to act as some sort of knob but pulling or pushing against it had no effect on the door. Only when I twisted the knot so the elongated ends were vertical did the door open.

It did so with an unpleasant grating sound, each individual stone leaf seeming to twist impossibly as they folded back into the groove in the door frame. Wishing I didn’t have to enter this ruined shrine wasn’t going to do me any good, so I carefully stepped over the raised lip of the door and into the gloomy interior. My heart leapt straight into my mouth as, grating and grinding, the door slowly sealed itself closed again. A stone brazier, the bowl seemingly chipped and chiselled from the lump of stone, lit a set of stairs heading downwards. Almost on tip-toes, I descended the uneven steps.

An improbably shaped doorway led into the main chamber of the shrine and I quailed when I saw the malignant form of the dapperly-dressed Mad God, cane in hand and blindfold in place, depicted as a huge statue dominating the chamber. Once more I felt that alien regard bearing down on me, that same feeling of being watched by something vast and intelligent, powerful on a level that no mortal could ever aspire to. So forceful was that feeling that I almost missed the shape of a female Orc watching me from the shadows.

“Are you Bulfim gra-Shugarz?” I asked the steel-clad Orc.

“What if I am?” she replied, glowering at me.

“I’ve been sent by the Temple to cure you of the Ash-Chancre you’re suffering from,” I replied.

“Get on with it then,” she snapped. I raised an eyebrow but forbore from making any comment. There was an unsettling light in her eyes, as of madness barely held in check. Not surprising from a cultist of Sheogorath. Licking my lips, I carefully constructed the shape of Aryon’s spell in my mind and let the visualisation of it settle over the hulking form of the Orc.

A spiral of light wound its way around her body, sparkling and wholesome even in the evil atmosphere of this decadent shrine. She stiffened and gasped, the greyish pustules that marred her green skin fading and drying up even as the spell’s light faded. “You are most graciously thanked,” the Orc rumbled, flexing her fingers. “A word of advice pilgrim. I owe you a debt. Because of that I will not rip out your heart and feast on it. I cannot say the same for my fellow cultists.”

I know a warning when I hear one and, barely making a civil response, I fled from the shrine and out into the fresh air. Worried lest Bulfim changed her mind, I wasted little time in chanting the necessary spell and translocating immediately to Ald’ruhn. Tuls was surprised, I think, to see me ~ even more so when I handed him the potion back.

“Well,” he said, looking up at me. “I confess that you have done better than I expected at a mission I thought you’d fail. You have shown remarkable resourcefulness Ser Vahl. I have a book here, one I’ve finished with, that you might find interesting.” With that, he handed me a dog-eared and battered copy of ‘The Four Suitors of Benitah’. Despite the book’s dilapidated condition, it was a valuable reward and I thanked him graciously.

“So,” he said. “We have a problem and, by extension, you have a problem. There is a young Dunmer in Suran claiming to be the Incarnate. This is heresy that the Temple cannot tolerate. Show him the error of his ways and, if you cannot convince him that he is not the Incarnate, he must be brought to justice.”

I returned to Balmora and sat on the bed in the house there. I knew exactly what Tuls Valen meant when he spoke of ‘justice’ ~ it was the justice of the blade. This seemed grievous to me, that a religion that spoke so often about compassion could be so harsh and unforgiving.

So our little lady is in Redoran-country now huh, hmmm good experience though. Very nice description of the redguard suffering from slaughterfish-madness and of the cure .........

erm...S.G.M

I agree minque, I only did that quest once I think, but a nice description of it

Very nice. i liked how you did the lost ring quest. Always doing quests your own way keeps people guessing what might happen next.

If you keep blowing through quests like this you might run out soon

Override run out of quests??? No way...hehe he´ll invent more if he needs to, remember he´s got a lot of mods running, and besides, he´s got a wonderful imagination

Yes but we don't want Override to get lost in that expansive computer world of his. That would be a shame.

The stiff-necked Mages again refused me permission to use the Guild-guide service when I arrived in Balmora this morning. I have no intention of continually having to bribe them to allow me to use the service and I sure as Oblivion am not going to join their little cartel of magic-users. They think that they can dictate terms and conditions to Great House Telvanni? I guess I’m going to have to disabuse them of that notion. Instead of ranting and raving, I just smiled tightly and translocated myself to Ald’ruhn. There I purchased a Void-Walk spell for Vivec City from Delas Mrania.

Arriving on the bridge that leads into the Foreign Quarter Canton, I took a gondola from there to the Temple Canton. The High Fane was easy to find, being behind the only visible access to the Temple structure on the upper level of the Canton. My contact there was an Endryn Llethan.

Endryn was a harried Mer, he ushered me into his office and sat down behind a desk that was filled to overflowing with parchments ~ all of which seemed to involve Temple business. “So, tell me Acolyte Vahl, how do you feel about working with the afflicted?”

“As long as I have an ample supply of potions to prevent myself from becoming diseased I have no problems with that,” I replied frankly.

He nodded. “Well, that won’t be much help here I’m afraid. There’s a pilgrim come in from Mournhold, name of Tanusea Veloth. She’s been making the usual stops around the city ~ the Temple here, the Temple in Saint Delyn’s, Stop The Moon, you know the routine?” I nodded, I did indeed. “Well, it seems that she’s been infected with Corprus. To complicate matters, she’s been blessed by Almalexia and does not show any outward symptoms. We need someone to persuade her that she is infected and convince her to go to the Corprusarium at Tel Fyr.”

“And that someone,” I hazarded, “would be me?”

He just nodded, already distracted by the sheaf of parchment that a page had brought in. Sighing, I stood up and left the High Fane in search of this pilgrim.

“Tanusea Veloth?” the Ordinator said when I asked if he’d heard of her. “No Ser, the name doesn’t ring a bell.”

“She’s here from Mournhold,” I explained, “and there’s a possibility that she’s infected with Corprus.”

“Ahh,” he said, “I’ve heard that there’s some diseased woman wandering around the Arena Canton. Perhaps that’s her? I really couldn’t say; I’ve been busy looking for Moroni Uvelas’ husband. He went missing a couple of days ago and she’s tearing her hair out.” I asked a few additional questions of the Indoril, learning that Moroni Uvelas worked at the Fishmonger’s Guild in Saint Olms. I also learned that, so far, nobody had been apprehended for the killing of the five Outlanders ~ although the Mer seemed much more aggrieved by the failure to capture whoever it was that had killed the two Ordinators ~ and that the Justice of the Watch was seeking any assistance he could get in the case.

Since the Hall of Justice and thus, the Office of the Watch, was directly behind where I was standing talking to the guard, I decided that I should see if there was any assistance I could render. You might wonder why I did that ~ I was an Outlander, working in and around Vivec City and somebody was killing Outlanders in Vivec City. It wasn’t out of any sense of civic duty that I approached the Watch; self-preservation pure and simple was what prompted me.

“You want to help?” Elam Andas asked incredulously. “What on Tamriel for?” I laid out my reasoning for him, pretty much as I’ve explained. He thought on this for a minute or two, and then said, “I don’t see how having you help could do any harm. So, I’ll tell you what we know:

“Two of the victims were found in the Foreign Quarter Canton, a third was found Canalside in the Foreign Quarter. We found one floating face down near the Arena Canton, the fifth we found in a corridor in the Hlaalu Canton. All of the victims were armed but only one of them, a Mage, seems to have put up any struggle. All had their throats cut. The two Ordinators were found near the victim in the Hlaalu Canton.

He cleared his throat, then added, “We’re working on the assumption that the killer is someone very stealthy ~ perhaps a renegade thief or rogue assassin ~ or a very powerful sorcerer. There are no witnesses to the actual killings, but a Dunmeri female with a dagger threatened an Hlaalu servant on the night of the murder there. He didn’t get a good look, but described her as tall and wearing Netch leather armour.”

Somewhat distractedly, I said that I would look into the matter. The reason for my distraction was the extra-ordinary performance of the Mer sitting at the desk opposite the Head of the Watch’s. Throughout my entire conversation with Elam, he had been squirming and twitching in his seat. Now he was standing up and rubbing his back against the frame of the bookshelf with every indication of bliss on his face.

“Excuse me,” I said, “I couldn’t help but notice that you seem to be in some discomfort.”

“Damn’ right I am,” he snapped. “It’s this gods-blasted itch, it’s been driving me mad all morning.”

“I have here some potions that might help,” I said, placing my pack on the desk. “Or I have knowledge of a spell or two that can cure most afflictions.”

“D’you think I haven’t tried potions and magic?” he snapped, before looking at me contritely. “I’m sorry, I know you’re just trying to help. It’s just that this itch…” he spread his hands helplessly. “I’ve had it since last night, didn’t get a wink of sleep. I think it’s because I insulted Trebonius ~ the head of the Mages Guild. Look, do me a favour will you?”

I nodded, and he handed me a book wrapped in waxed parchment. “Take this to Trebonius and apologise for me. Tell him Tarer Braryn sends his apologies and… uhnnnn.” Whatever else he was going to say was lost as he started to scratch frantically at his face. Suppressing a giggle, I left the Office of the Watch and made my way down to the gondola dock on the lower level of the Temple Canton.

As the gondola conveyed me from the Temple to the Arena, I tried to memorise the route. If I am going to be in Vivec City for long, I really need to learn how to get around without relying on the gondolas. Not that they’re terribly expensive or slow. It’s just that, sometimes, they don’t ply the most direct route from one Canton to another.

Tanusea Veloth wasn’t hard to find, she was the Dunmeri female sitting in splendid isolation on the stone benches above the gladiatorial arena. Hundreds of people crowd into the Arena on a daily basis to watch the sparring matches and training sessions that are held every day except for Holy Days. That’s nothing compared to the crowds that flood in whenever there’s a real fight. Today, however, there was a much smaller crowd than normal and a wide circle of empty spaces around the lone woman.

“Are you Tanusea Veloth?” I asked, sitting as close to her as felt comfortable. She acknowledged that she was, and I spoke to her. “You are afflicted with Corprus,” I informed her. “You must take yourself to the Corprusarium at Tel Fyr so that you don’t infect any of these good people.”

She snorted laughter. “Corprus? How can I possibly have Corprus?” She shook her head. “The Goddess herself blessed me, I am not diseased.”

I spent quite a while trying to convince her, but she was having none of it. Finally, she turned away from the fight and said, “I appreciate your intentions Ser, but you are quite mistaken. I am a pious woman, blessed by Almalexia herself. Why, I am willing to wager that you’ve never even read Saryoni’s Sermons.”

There was no answer that I could make to that, for she was quite correct. Bowing to her, I left the Arena Canton and made my way towards the Foreign Quarter. I might not have read Saryoni’s Sermons, but that was a deficiency I could soon remedy.

“Saryoni’s Sermons? Yes, Jobasha have many copies of that book,” the Khajiit said. “Very popular, Jobasha always makes sure he has copies in store.” The thick, vellum-bound book cost me fifty-seven Septims and I sat at a table in the local inn, reading through the sermons as I ate my midday meal. A lot of what was written was confusing and contradictory, but there were several passages I thought might help me convince Tanusea.

Since I was in the right area, I made my way up to the Plaza after lunch and entered the Mages Guild. Trebonius was a large Man ~ large around, not up and down ~ with a most peculiar hairstyle. I presented him with the book I’d been given and, on behalf of Tarer Braryn, made a suitable apology. He nodded, “Here’s a potion that’ll cure Braryn’s rash. Perhaps this will teach him not to meddle in the lunches of Wizards; they’re hungry and quick to take offence. A lesson that you would do well to learn as well young Telvanni.”

I fumed as I made my way back towards the Arena, what an insufferable prig Trebonius was. He’d deliberately cursed Tarer Braryn over some trivial slight and made the Mer grovel. Even though I had no love for guards of any stripe, I was rapidly developing a serious distaste for the way the Mages Guild thought it could ride roughshod over the locals.

Tanusea proved that she was amenable to persuasion as I laced my arguments with texts and quotations taken from Saryoni’s Sermons. Finally she agreed that I might be right and that, as a precaution, she would go to the Corprusarium. I scribbled a quick note for her to give to Divayth Fyr. I wanted to get him to take a close look at Tanusea: I knew he was deeply involved in seeking a cure for the disease and, if he could find what was suppressing Tanusea’s symptoms, it might give him a new direction to try.

When I arrived back at Tel Vahl, Raissu Asserbas was waiting for me with a Dunmeri female. The woman was introduced to me as Farena Arelas, a sorcerer who wished to set up residence here in Uvirith’s Grave. I questioned her as to her abilities, discovering that she was well versed in spells of the schools of Illusion and Alteration. I finished the interview by purchasing a powerful opening spell and welcoming her to my growing estate.

Interesting and amusing as always...wow Sudhendra really don´t give much for the Mages Guild as she thinks herself as a superior Telvanni...how utterly amusing that is...
Must admit I never thought of the Mages Guild as that...... :lmao:

I spent some time asking questions around the Foreign Quarter this morning, finally finding a Mer by the name of Devas Irano who had some interesting news. For some reason he didn’t want to discuss he was down in the Canalworks and saw a Dunmeri female entering the Underworks. Which he considered to be odd, since there’s nothing down there except rats and sewers.

As the wooden cover that gave access to the sewers under the Foreign Quarter crashed down overhead, I carefully made my way down the rusty iron ladder. The sewers were large tunnels with small ledges along each side of the water channel. Dotted along the length of the sewer were lichen encrusted bridges stretching across the dark, greasy-looking water that filled the stone waterways almost to the top. It was extremely dark down here and, dimly, I could hear furtive squeaking and scurrying as news of my arrival spread through the rodent population. I murmured an incantation and the torch I’d been clutching sparked and sputtered alight. The warm circle of light did nothing to alleviate the oppressive feeling of claustrophobia that gripped me: normally I’m unbothered by enclosed underground spaces.

I span, peering down the tunnel as I heard the soft crunch of a footstep on the stone. A dark shapeless form moved beyond the limit of the light thrown by my torch and my heart lurched. As the soft noises continued, the amorphous shape resolved itself into the form of a woman. I sighed in relief, even as various alarums in my head started to scream. Dunmeri female, Underworks, Netch Leather Armour, tall, dagger… I could put a check mark next to each of those things as I looked at the grinning Dunmer that was stalking towards me.

“Outlander,” she said in a thick, choked voice. “The time of the Lost Ones is upon us. The corruption and filth must be cleansed.”

“Damn’” I said, yanking the Last Wish from its straps atop my pack and gripping the handle-grip tightly. From the tenor of her conversation, I guessed that tall, dark, and gruesome here wasn’t exactly going to be swayed by rational argument. With a speed that was scary, the woman lunged forward and it was only the thick Daedric armour that prevented her from inflicting a serious wound. I reeled backwards, a foul smell emanating from the thin liquid that trickled down the front of the cuirass.

Recovering my balance, I swung the Wish around in an arc, causing the woman to lean backwards to avoid the razor-sharp edge. Twisting as the blade reached the end of its arc, I brought the Wish up and over ~ striking downwards as the woman lunged in again with the poisoned dagger. Even given that I wasn’t the greatest axe-Mer on the Grey Maybe (although I was improving by leaps and bounds) it should have been no contest given that the Dunmeri woman was armed with a short-bladed dagger. Whatever drove her also gave her ferocious strength and terrifying speed. Again and again she dodged blows that should have disembowelled her.

My one advantage was the fact she was armed with a dagger, had she been equipped with a weapon with more reach I would have been in serious trouble. As it was, the humming arc of death that the Wish wove as I twisted and spun kept her at bay. Finally, after what seemed an age, the Last Wish made contact with the woman, scoring a thin cut along the front of the leather armour. She screamed as fire bloomed along the length of the wound and, taking advantage of her distraction, I gripped the handle firmly and drove the curved blade forward the same way that you’d thrust with a sword.

Blood frothed at her lips as I drove the edge of the axe deeper. Her crazed crimson eyes never left my face as, with a final gasp, she collapsed limply ~ only the presence of the axe-blade keeping her upright. Yanking it free, I allowed the female to collapse into a heap as the dagger she’d carried clattered to rest next to my feet. I crouched and examined the dagger, careful not to touch it. The blade was black stone, obsidian or basalt at a guess ~ certainly not Ebony ~ that had been painstakingly chipped and worked to a wickedly sharp edge. The handle of the dagger was of blackened Iron, cunningly wrought to resemble a large beetle. The mandibles of the beetle gripped the blade front and back while the forelegs formed the crosspiece.

Using my own dagger, I cut a strip of the tough leather from the woman’s cuirass and dropped it over the blade before picking it up. Wrapping it tightly, I tucked the leather bundle into my belt and straightened up. I glanced around uneasily. Even the rats seemed to have fallen quiet. I shuddered suddenly, there was something foul down here ~ and I didn’t mean the water flowing sluggishly in the channel. Whatever it was, I wanted no part of it and, with a speed that surprised even me, I clambered back up the iron ladder and threw open the wooden cover so that I could scramble into the Canalworks. Every second I expected something to reach up from the darkness and grab me, and drag me screaming into the foul chambers beneath the Canton.

“Well, we’ll send a couple of Ordinators down there to make sure,” Elam Andas said when I reported back to him. “But, based on the description you gave and the information we’ve gathered, I believe you’ve brought the killer to justice. Now, I can offer you a choice of rewards. The first is this rather fine ensorcelled belt and the other is a cuirass and helm of Indoril armour. Just remember that you won’t be able to wear the armour while you’re in Vivec City ~ the Ordinators will take a very dim view of that.”

I decided that I’d take the belt since I didn’t want to run the risk of forgetting I was wearing the armour and incurring the wrath of the Ordinators. “Is there something else, Ser?” Andas asked in a friendly, yet impatient tone of voice when I remained standing in front of his desk.

“I thought you might like to see this,” I said, dropping the leather-wrapped dagger onto his desk. “It’s the weapon the woman was using.”

The effect on Elam Andas when he unwrapped the dagger was electrifying. With a gasp of sheer horror he dropped the blade as though the beetle had come to life in his hands. Rising from his seat, he muttered something about ‘having to see the Arch-Cannon” and fled the office. As he went, I swear I heard him mutter something about a ‘Lost House’. I had just re-wrapped the dagger and was putting it into my backpack when the door to the office crashed open.

“Did you speak to Trebonius?” Tarer Braryn gasped. I blinked: his face was a mass of tiny red pimples that certainly hadn’t been there yester. Nodding I dug the silver and glass flask out of my pack and handed it to him. Ripping out the stopper, he tipped back his head and drained the contents in one long swallow. “Thank ALMSIVI,” he gasped. “That’s the first time I haven’t had an itch somewhere in two days. Bless you pilgrim, bless you.” In fact, he was so grateful he gave me a hundred Septims for my troubles instead of the fifty he’d offered yester. I almost wished I’d waited a couple of days longer ~ I might have been able to retire on the money he’d paid me.

I was in a suspicious frame of mind when I entered Endryn Llethan’s office. Guess whom I’d seen hurrying out of the High Fane as I’d left the Hall of Justice and walked up the stairs to the plaza? None other than the rather harried-looking Elam Andas. There didn’t seem to be any change in Endryn’s attitude to me: in fact, he was very pleased with me.

“You actually managed to persuade Tanusea Veloth to go to Tel Fyr?” he said. “Very, very impressive. Here, I’d like you to have these two potions of Blight cure: no use against Corprus I know, but you might find them handy.

“Now, you have been much more devoted to the Temple than we expected. I’ve been reviewing your file,” here he tapped a bunch of documents that had been fixed together, “and I see you’ve done the pilgrimage of the Seven Graces, the Maar Gan pilgrimage, and the pilgrimage to Mount Kand. And, according to everything I’ve seen, you certainly deserve a promotion. And that’s where there’s a catch…”

“The pilgrimage of Silence,” he said, when I asked him what the catch was. “Officially, it’s called the Sanctus Shrine Pilgrimage. The catch is that the whole thing has to be undertaken under an oath of silence. If you speak whilst on the pilgrimage, you will have failed. And there is only one chance to do this particular quest.”

“By silence, do you mean I can’t speak at all, or just that I mustn’t speak to anyone?”

“Oh, of course, you’re a Telvanni,” he exclaimed. “No, spells are permitted,” he clarified, “but talking to anyone, for any reason, is not. Now, let me mark the location of the shrine on your map.”

The shrine was on a small smudge of land off the western coast of Dagon Fel Island. It was a very long journey, if you didn’t have magic at your disposal. I indicated I was willing and ready to undertake the pilgrimage and Endryn swore me to silence. Stepping outside, I whispered the words that would translocate me north to Dagon Fel. Studiously ignoring the hails of the locals, I struck off to the west in search of the Sanctus Shrine.

Once I was out of Dagon Fel I was relieved of the injunction to silence and was free to swear freely at the hordes of Cliff-Racers that bombarded me from every angle every dozen or so paces. If I didn’t reduce the local population of these flying vermin to zero, I must have brought it very close. Every single flapping, squawking one in the whole Sheogorad region must have decided that today was the day for the Dark Elf blue plate special.

So, as you can imagine, it was with some relief that I came to the western shore of the island. Sliding down the steep cliff, I cast water-walk and made my way to the nearest likely looking clump of rock sticking up out of the water. I had picked wisely; a gravely path led up from the beach to a small sandy plateau. There, tucked in the corner, was the Sanctus Shrine. Eager to complete the pilgrimage, I bent and read the inscription.

Now I was completely free of the imposed silence, I was free to return to Vivec City. Endryn was pleased to see me back, somehow having received word that I’d completed the pilgrimage. In addition to the promotion to the rank of Adept, he also provided me with some books that he said would teach me some important lessons about the Temple.

[quote]I could hear furtive squeaking and scurrying as news of my arrival spread through the rodent population.[/quote].. :rofl:
Very amusing and enjoyable as always.....but what about that poisoned dagger? I there something spooky about it? One wonders..hmm



S.G.M

[quote=minque][quote]I could hear furtive squeaking and scurrying as news of my arrival spread through the rodent population.[/quote].. :rofl:
Very amusing and enjoyable as always.....but what about that poisoned dagger? I there something spooky about it? One wonders..hmm



S.G.M[/quote]
If you've ever done that quest, you know what the dagger is called, and it's possible connections.

I love how it was described, certainly more suiting that dagger in the game (Which used the chitin dagger mesh and texture)

All i can say is SGM

Having spent the last couple of days in contemplation and some exciting dabbling in the world of alchemy; I was in a mood for a little excitement. Sometimes I think I should be more careful what I wish for.

The hammering on the door intruded on my solitary daybreak meal and, when I opened it, I found Raissu Asserbas standing outside. Rather breathlessly, she told me she’d received a note from Llunela Hleran and that I should see it immediately. Assuming that she meant the note, I took it from her and read:

Most people have heard of the Battle-Spire and its strange disappearance in those dark years when Jager Tharn was impersonating the Emperor. If it had made a sudden and unexplained return to the Mundus it certainly was worth investigating. Thanking Raissu Asserbas, I spoke the words of the void-walk spell and soon found myself in the market at Sadrith Mora. From here, the huge piece of earth is plainly visible floating in the sky in an entirely impossible way. There appears to be a citadel built on the flat top of the flying island. Many of the people around me were making comparisons to the Battle-Spire of old and are understandably nervous.

It occurred to me that, if anyone had any knowledge of the strange apparition, it would be Divayth Fyr. With the vast count of his years, he would have seen the original and might be able to tell me if this was it. Summoning every scrap of speed I was capable of, I water-walked to Tel Fyr and made my way inside. Divayth was, as always, engaged in some arcane experimentation but he did put aside some time to speak with me. “I doubt this is the Battle-Spire Arch-Magister,” he said after I’d explained the situation to him. “However, it is a little known fact that there were several prototypes of the ‘Spire built.”

“So this might be one of those?” I asked.

“Indeed,” he replied, stroking his chin. “It is entirely possible. Of course, it’s also possible that it has nothing to do with the Battle-Spire at all. My cousin, Tadas, is recently arrived and was on his way to Sadrith Mora. He may well be able to shed some light on this matter.”

It was pretty obvious that Divayth knew more than he was telling but further questioning earned me only silence or repeated suggestions that I find his cousin. Since I didn’t especially relish the idea of a clash of wills with this ancient and puissant wizard, (mostly because I was pretty sure which of us would be the last Mer standing), I took my leave of him and returned to Sadrith Mora.

The synchronicity between the arrival of Fyr’s cousin and the sudden appearance of the Battle-Spire wasn’t lost on me and, the instant the spell-effect around me had dissolved, I set out to locate the Mer.

“Arch-Magister Sudhendra Vahl,” the Dunmer at the docks said, bowing low before stepping off the odd vessel he was aboard. “I have been looking for you.” Tadas then told me why he was here. Many years ago, he was given the position of caretaker on one of the prototypes for the main Battle-Spire. Since then he had visited each Arch-Magister on their appointment and given them the chance to make the prototype their own. “I have to say,” he finished, “that the last two incumbents of the office failed to seize control of the ‘Spire.”

He offered to transport me to the flying rock. I agreed, and followed him aboard the ship he appeared to be captain of. Since we were at sea level and the lump of rock was several hundred feet in the air, it didn’t come as much surprise to me when the ship took to the air and floated silently up to the promontory of rock protruding from the ‘island’. “Impressive levitation spell,” I called to him over the whistling wind. He just grinned back at me, his long grey hair whipping in the wind. Before more than a few minutes had passed, we were drawing level with the ‘dock’ that stuck out into the air. Tadas threw a rope with expert ease over a stanchion and hauled us alongside.

“I will now tell you what I told Gothren,” Tadas said, holding up a hand as I approached the gangplank. “Once you step off this vessel, you are entirely on your own. You will have to find your way into the Battle-Spire prototype and secure it. I can give you no more help than I have already given. Should you secure the ‘Spire, I will be waiting for you at Tel Fyr. If you decide to leave before the Battle-Spire is fully secured you will not be allowed to enter again. Good luck, Sed Vahl.”

With that he boarded his craft and sailed away from the Battle-Spire down towards Sadrith Mora. Now quite alone, or so I hoped, I turned and surveyed the scene. Off to my right rose a stone cylindrical tower. Affixed to the side by a number of gleaming spikes was a slender column of shining metal ~ the top of which flared and curved so that it looked like the blade of a dagger. The top of the island was covered with softly waving green grass, except for those places where the dark stone path ran. In front of me rose a keep, made of the same darkly gleaming red stone as the path and the tower. A huge arch, over which were inset characters in Daedric script made of the gleaming metal, was the only feature on the front of this edifice. In fact, the only thing missing from the arch was the door ~ featureless stone filled the arch. To either side of the keep stood two towers.

So, the first problem facing me was: how do I get inside? Somehow I didn’t think that standing on the stone plaza in front of the door-arch qualified as ‘securing’ the Battle-Spire prototype. A quick reveal spell on the stone arch revealed precisely nothing, so that wasn’t the way to go. I went part of the way around the keep, but the narrowness of the stone ledge at the rear made me too nervous to go any further. Besides, I could see from my current vantage point that there was no doorway on that side either. So: you can’t get in front or back, underneath isn’t possible because thousands of tons of stone are in the way ~ that just leaves…

A levitation spell lifted me to the top of one of the two towers where I found what I’d expected to find. Namely a trapdoor leading down into the tower. The trapdoor wasn’t locked or warded in any way and opened easily when I grasped the big metal ring set into it. A long metal ladder led down into the interior. At the bottom, I found myself in a corridor that ran across the front of the keep. I tried the huge, arched wooden door that stood in a mirror of the outside arch but wasn’t surprised when it didn’t yield. Ignoring, for the moment, the stairs leading down through the rock, I crossed to the other side of the corridor.

An identical ladder and an identical trapdoor at the top. The only difference here was the gleaming silver and black key hanging on the wall. Mindful of Tadas’ words that ‘if I left the Battle-Spire I wouldn’t be allowed in again’, I didn’t go out through the second trapdoor ~ just confirmed it would open if I needed to get out quickly. Returning to the vast, vaulted central hall, I took a deep breath and descended the stairs.

I found myself in an octagonally-shaped chamber. To my left and right, and directly in front of me, were three etched glass doors, made of a frosted glass in a metal frame. The designs etched into the surface were unfamiliar to me, although I sort of recognised them. It wasn’t the doors or the designs that captured my attention though. In the middle of the chamber stood a tall plinth, also eight-sided. This had been truncated at an angle to create a flat surface: on which a series of runic stones were set. Rising up around the column was a wall of glistening sparks ~ or they might have been descending from the ceiling: their motion was so fast and erratic it was impossible to tell. Moving closer and sensing no magical note from the wall of sparks, I reached out a hand.

“Stupid,” I said to myself as I picked myself up off the floor. My entire right side tingled, the sensation similar to that you get when you’ve kept a limb inactive for a while and then move it quickly. I made myself a mental note not to touch anything else unless I’d tested it first and turned to the doors. It didn’t take me long to realise that the black design etched into the top of the key I’d taken matched the design on the right-hand door. Now all I had to figure out was how to use the key in the complete absence of anything that looked like a key-hole.

I examined the door closely, searching the whole frame and jamb for a key-hole into which I could insert the key. It was while I was doing this that I realised that the ‘glass’ wasn’t glass at all ~ it was some form of crystal. Incredibly tough crystal I quickly discovered as the Last Wish bounced harmlessly of the surface without even leaving a scuff mark. I sat down and metaphorically scratched my head. Okay, door, key, no keyhole. The door cannot be forced (I’d tried), nor can it be shattered. Because there was no key-hole, there was no lock I could pick or magic open. With a grin, I bounded to my feet and approached the door again.

The design etched into the glass glowed briefly as I presented the design on the key to it, and then the doors slid apart with a soft hissing sound, retracting into a slot on either side of the doorjamb. Cautiously I crossed the threshold into the flickering light inside the room. As soon as both feet were across, there was a loud click and the room light came to full brightness while, at the same time, the door slid shut behind me. With a yelp, I presented the key to the design, gasping in relief when the doors slid obediently open. Knowing that I had a way out if I needed it, I went further into the room.

Several things struck me all at once. The first was that this chamber seemed to be some sort of workshop, with a large array of tools hanging on the walls near the forge that dominated the room. The second was the large number of metal kegs that stood in one corner ~ obviously intended as some sort of storage for raw materials. The most pressing thing was the rather sudden appearance of two large and aggressive creatures.

Flames licked and spluttered on their ebony black skin and a flame burned in each eye-socket. Each was armed with a large curved sword made of the same gleaming metal as the Daedric symbols in the main hall and the long lengths of chains they had wrapped around their wrists and ankles. Some sort of fire elemental I decided, ducking under the scything swing of the curved sword. Things got a bit hectic then, I had an axe that would have no effect on them beyond what physical damage it could do and an array of offensive spells ~ most of which were fire-based!

[quote=OverrideB1]
Flames licked and spluttered on their ebony black skin and a flame burned in each eye-socket. Each was armed with a large curved sword made of the same gleaming metal as the Daedric symbols in the main hall and the long lengths of chains they had wrapped around their wrists and ankles. Some sort of fire elemental I decided, ducking under the scything swing of the curved sword. Things got a bit hectic then, I had an axe that would have no effect on them beyond what physical damage it could do and an array of offensive spells ~ most of which were fire-based![/quote]

I don't know about Sudhendra, but my reaction would be,

PANIC

but somehow I suspect she'll keep her head more than I would.

As always, a delight to read, and seeing as I don't play with mods this is completely new to me. Hm, it's like Christmas in April.

[quote=burntsierra][quote=OverrideB1]
Flames licked and spluttered on their ebony black skin and a flame burned in each eye-socket. Each was armed with a large curved sword made of the same gleaming metal as the Daedric symbols in the main hall and the long lengths of chains they had wrapped around their wrists and ankles. Some sort of fire elemental I decided, ducking under the scything swing of the curved sword. Things got a bit hectic then, I had an axe that would have no effect on them beyond what physical damage it could do and an array of offensive spells ~ most of which were fire-based![/quote]

I don't know about Sudhendra, but my reaction would be,

PANIC

but somehow I suspect she'll keep her head more than I would.

As always, a delight to read, and seeing as I don't play with mods this is completely new to me. Hm, it's like Christmas in April. [/quote]

YaY...well said there...Christmas in April...that´s exactly what it is....and a sheer joy :goodjob:

Cool a replica BattleSpire. Can only hope she "secures" it. Could lead to some interesting events if she becomes the proud owner of her very own BattleSpire

Fortunately, Aryon’s glove proved to be effective for short periods of time and I could force the two titanic creatures to fight each other while I got my breath back and whaled on them with the Ebony sword. It wasn’t easy ~ every time I used the glove I could feel the strain of controlling one of the creatures and, I knew, that the glove had only a finite number of charges. It proved to be just enough to get the job done, with a strange noise the two creatures crumbled to ash, the large piles of gritty material suddenly sparking and vanishing ~ leaving behind one of the two large swords.

“Tssss!” I hissed, yanking my hand back from the hilt and sucking on my fingers until the burning sensation went away. Today seemed to be my day for trying unutterably stupid things ~ like trying to pick up a metal sword that was recently carried by a fire elemental. While I waited for the sword to cool down somewhat, I explored the room. The equipment was basic but functional, if you had any clue what to do with the majority of it. Still, the repair tools and the anvil would come in handy; I’d worry about the forge at some other time. There was lots of storage space, and places to hang weapons on the wall, as well as some shelves for smaller items. It was while exploring this shelf that I found another silver and black key and a black leather glove. The glove sang an odd note, deep and sonorous, and it fairly screamed ‘powerful’ despite the fact that it was a plain black glove made of leather with, I now noticed, some silvery threads running across the palm.

I returned to the sword and found, to my consternation, that it was every bit as hot as it had been before. Carefully I probed it for magic but found it completely mute. Too dangerous for me to pick up, I decided to leave it where it was. Exiting the chamber, I returned to the octagonal room and examined the remaining two doors. As I’d hoped, the symbol on the left-hand door matched the symbol on the key. Matching them together caused the door to open and I stepped into the chamber inside.

I was prepared for the sudden increase in light and the way the door hissed shut this time. Standing with my back to the glass, I carefully surveyed the room. Along one side ran a series of shelves, large stone jars sat on each wooden ledge. There was a plaque attached to the front of each of the jars but, at this distance, I couldn’t determine if there was anything written on them. Dominating the back of the room was a large workbench, on the top of which was a complete set of gleaming alchemical apparatus. To the side of the bench was a small bookcase and I could see a small collection of books standing on its shelves. The right-hand wall was lined with boxes, barrels, and crates. Two additional features completed the room’s decoration. The first was an ornate, glass-fronted cabinet right next to the door and, by peering through the green-tinted glass, I could see several phials stacked on the shelves. No cheap potions in earthenware flasks here ~ these were the extremely expensive kind of potion, the sort sold in tiny gold and glass vials. The room’s last feature was a sunken area, again octagonal in shape. I couldn’t make out what was at the bottom of the pit but the sweet smell of growing things gave me a fairly good idea.

I knew that this chamber would have its guardians and standing here with my back pressed to the door wasn’t going to reveal them any time soon. I stepped off the step into the room and suddenly found myself standing shin-deep in icy cold water. Even as the chill sank in, the water rippled and surged, forming a sort of inverted whirlpool. From the aquatic vortexes stepped two more elementals, only this time made of water. I didn’t have the advantage of Aryon’s glove this time: but I wasn’t about to let that slow me down. With a savage yell, I swung the Ebony sword around at the height of the elemental’s head.

With a loud splash I landed in the water, scrambling away as the elemental extended a staff of liquid bound in sparkling light and slammed the end down where my head had been a second before. The second elemental was getting uncomfortably close and, getting to my feet, I lashed my sword towards its chest. The creature never even flinched, not even attempting to stop or block the blow. And I quickly understood why ~ the ebon blade passed harmlessly through the creature ~ having no more effect than a pebble thrown into a pond. Dodging the staff-strike it aimed at my head, I back-pedalled frantically as I launched a fireball at the thing. That had about as much effect as the Ebony sword had had.

Scrambling to avoid them, I launched several more spells but nothing would seem to catch. Finally, I had to use the escape exit provided: presenting the key to the door and diving through as it hissed open. The two elementals stood on the threshold for a moment, and then collapsed in a splashing wave back into the lake that now filled the room. A lake, I despairingly noticed, that didn’t vanish as the doors slid shut.

I was in a quandary, from what Tadas had said, previous Arch-Magisters had taken control of the Battle-Spire and used it as a base of operations. Gothren, and whoever had preceded him, had failed to establish their mastery of the ‘Spire. All I had to do was figure out how they’d failed and the others had succeeded and I was home and dry. Talking of dry, my robe was soaked…

The forge burned merrily, apparently not consuming the tarry black substance that was the source of the flames. It was a matter of minutes before I was dry again… that’s when it hit me: fire and water! Fire dries up water if it’s hot enough so, all I had to do was persuade the two water elementals to come in here and stand in front of the forge for a week or two and I’d be home free. Which was a stupendously stupid idea. What I needed was something like that white-hot sword the fire elemental had dropped. I slapped my forehead in frustration, wishing that I could wind back time and start this day over again.

The black leather glove proved to be magically attuned to the blade, protecting me from the intense heat it generated. Despite the massive size of the sword, it was light as a feather ~ and bloody hot. And it made very short work of the two elementals too. As they finally dissolved back to whatever watery segment of Oblivion they’d come from, the lake of water in the room mysteriously vanished. The only trace of it was the endlessly cycling water of the small fountain that adorned the lush garden at the bottom of the eight-sided pit.

To my dismay, the sword was cooling rapidly: the white hot metal already gone cherry-red. Of course, if I had things figured correctly, it would be of no use to me in the third and final chamber. As if to confirm that the blade had served its purpose, it cooled enough to touch in seconds before becoming as cold as any other blade. But what a weapon it was: still incredibly light with an impressive reach and a razor-sharp edge to the now coldly glinting metal. Placing the sword on the workbench, I picked up the staff the elementals had left when they gone. Like the sword before it, it bore no trace of magical song and required nothing special to handle it. Roughly the length of my arm, the water at the core of the glittering light was the blue of deep oceans ~ and contained the same sense of massive power. The key I needed to open the final chamber was where I expected it to be, on the shelves next to the storage jars.

The third and final chamber was the Battle-Spire’s Master Quarters. There were a large number of shelves and bookcases, some very comfortable looking chairs, a large bed, and two earth elementals. Fortunately, I had the measure of this place now and quickly disposed of my opponents with the water-staff I had obtained in the alchemy chamber. To my unending delight, their demise seemed to be the cue for a subtle shift in the ‘Spire: I could hear several loud clanging noises.

When I returned to the octagonal central chamber, the wall of sparks had vanished and I could now examine the truncated pillar. Etched into the surface was a map of Vvardenfell, the location of several major towns picked out with precious stones. There was also a black stone set into the fascia ~ off to one side and surrounded by several concentric rings of silver. The rune-carved stone currently sat over an emerald on the eastern side of the map.

I made my way out of the Battle-Spire by way of the ladders in the tower. As I levitated down to the large plaza the stood in front of the keep I realised that a wooden door had formed in the stone archway. Tadas had returned in his strange vessel and he greeted me heartily. “Congratulations Sed Vahl,” he called, walking along the dock to where I stood. “The Battle-Spire is yours. Here is a key that will return you to the ‘Spire from anywhere you happen to be. I am at your disposal, and you may have use of my Solar Ship if you need it.”

Tadas led me back into the ‘Spire and showed me how to control it. The odd location on the map proved to be part of the Outer Realms and it was here, in the swirling void, that I decided to park the Battle-Spire ~ I could think of nowhere safer. I was in for another surprise. Inside each of the chambers a new elemental stood, only these showed no desire to attack and, according to Tadas, were ‘servants’. I quickly found that I could summon and dismiss them at will: a discovery that caused me considerable peace of mind.

Cool. I want one of them
But seriously, keep up the good work

What on Nirn would Sudhendra do with a.....Battle Spire?? Must be some weird Telvanni-mystery here

Very thrilling indeed.....what will happen next?

She's gonna go and destroy Cyrodil! MWAHAHAHAHAAAAA!!!! :evil4:

Since Endryn Llethan had said he had no more duties for me to perform at the moment, I decided that I should go to the Temple at the Ghostgate and see if there were any duties that needed performing there. The Temple is in the middle of the building, built in a circular chamber directly above the gated tunnel that leads into the Red Mountain area. The Proctor was a tall Dunmeri woman with long, almost copper-coloured hair. She carried herself in a haughty manner and coldly introduced herself as Uvoo Llaren.

“Do not think that your previous visit here was unnoticed Ser Vahl,” she said. “Ralyn was a good friend, and his loss is sorely grievous. Now, duties: there is an Ashlander who’s set up camp just south of the Ghostgate. He has petitioned for healing and you are to be the instrument of the Temple. Go to the Hansar Camp and cure him. I suppose, in all fairness, I should warn you,” she added, sounding very much as though she didn’t want to, “Ashlanders are often very aggressive, even when they are extremely ill.”

I didn’t think that any explanation I could give Uvoo Llaren about what had happened between me and Ralyn Othravel would suffice to make her any less unfriendly towards me so I just nodded my acceptance of the task and left the Temple. I had noticed the Ashlander camp when last I came here, to perform the Grace of Pride. I’ll admit, I hadn’t considered why such a camp would be set up.

“Peace and prosperity to you Muthsera,” I said, addressing the seated figure in the camp. The Ashlander looked up, sweat pouring down his face and a very unhealthy pallor to his skin.

“Greeting to you,” he replied, struggling to stand. I placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and pushed him down onto the rock that served as a chair. He looked annoyed for a moment, and then started to cough weakly. Crouching beside him I examined his eyes and skin, finally deciding that he was afflicted with Droops.

“Muthsera,” I said, straightening up from my examination, “I would like your permission to cure you.”

He nodded and I stepped back. Hansar’s eyes widened as I concentrated and then spoke the words of a curative spell. Swirling motes of light enveloped the Ashlander and, when they cleared, the colour was already coming back to his cheeks and the filmy cast over his eyes was shrinking even as I watched.

“Thank you Outlander,” he said, rising to his feet and moving around. Looking at me, he narrowed his eyes and added, “You speak with a courtesy not common to the settled people. Tell me priest, have you had dealings with The People before?”

“I thought as much,” he said when I told him I’d had some dealings with the Zainab and the Ahemmusa. “It shows in your speech. A word of caution by way of repayment for your kind deed: it is unwise to lay hands on an Ashlander without his consent.”

Thanking him courteously for his words of wisdom, I left the Hansar Camp and returned to the Ghostgate Temple. Uvoo thanked me for curing the Ashlander and gave me two vials of cheap cure common disease potion, ‘just in case I’d contracted something nasty from that savage’ as she put it.

“While the Temple doesn’t promote a life of solitary contemplation,” she said as Nilvyn Drothan brought in a sack, “we do our best to provide for those that follow that path. One such hermit is Sendas Sathis and it is to him that we want you to deliver some supplies. Sathis can be found on Shuran Island, which is in the Sheogorad region near Dagon Fel. Here, let me show you on this map…” Uvoo pointed out Dagon Fel, and then tracked her hand down the island until she reached a point almost directly south. “Here is the Resdayni fort of Rotheran: Shuran Island is just west of the fort.”

Nilvyn handed me the sack, examination of the contents revealed several Kwama eggs, two flasks of Matze, a bundle of dried meat, and a stack of parchment. I wondered, idly, how frequently the hermit Sathis got deliveries. Either they came on a regular basis, or he was extremely frugal with his supplies. Taking a few steps back from Uvoo’s assistant, I concentrated and then said, “Ex hic absum, ut Dagon Fel”

There are very few Dunmer living in Dagon Fel, so I was intrigued to see one of them remonstrating with the caped Imperial guard. I wasn’t privy to their conversation, but it ended with a very emphatic “No” from the Cyrodiil. The woman looked most unhappy with the results and, out of curiosity, I approached her and asked what the problem was.

“See yonder tower,” she asked, pointing to the top of a Dwemer tower that rose above the steep cliffs to the east. I nodded, and she continued, “there’s a necromancer living in there. And we want him gone ~ his foul practices are a disgrace, and dishonour our ancestors.”

I knew that the Dunmer of Vvardenfell took a very dim view of the Blackest Art; it offended those that still worshipped their ancestors. In the West, necromancy is viewed slightly differently: not exactly benignly, but with a facade of tolerance. Personally, I found the whole concept repugnant and told the woman that I’d take a look at this Skorvild and see if I couldn’t persuade him to relocate elsewhere. Not that I thought I had much chance, but I was willing to give it a try.

The round metal door of the tower swung open under the slightest pressure and I stepped into the gloomy interior. The Man in Bonemold armour spotted me at exactly the same time as I spotted him. As he drew a heavy-looking mace and started to run towards the stairs, I withdrew the crescent-sword I’d taken from the fire elemental and dropped into a combat stance. He batted away my first strike and I had to sway to one side to avoid the crushing blow he aimed at me in retaliation. He wasn’t prepared for the speed with which I responded, the gleaming sword-blade crashing into the shoulder-joint of the Bonemold armour. His eyes glittered behind his helm and he backed off a step or two.

Unfortunately, this put him at a disadvantage since I was now standing much higher up the stairs than he was. In fact, the disparity was sufficient for me to bring the sword around at waist height and neatly separate his head from his torso. As blood gushed out of the slowly toppling body, I gave it a hefty kick. With a series of echoing crashes, it bounced to the base of the stairs. As I hoped, the resounding echoes attracted the attention of the others I suspected were in the tower.

From the right hand corridor appeared a female Summoner, her hands already weaving in the complex patterns of conjuration. From the opposite corridor, a lightly armoured Bosmeri appeared, scrabbling at his hip to unfasten the crossbow that was hanging there. As the pinkish malformed shape of a Scamp appeared in response to the woman’s spell, I extended my gloved hand and concentrated on the runes Aryon had incorporated into the fabric. There was a flicker in my mind and I felt myself connect to the buzzing, fizzing, ever so slightly insane, mind of the summoned Scamp.

With a ferocious snarl, the summoned creature leapt on the Bosmer, gnashing fangs scratching at the Chitin at the Wood Elf’s neck. With a wail, the Bosmer dropped his crossbow and grabbed at the spitting, snarling imp. While he made a spirited attempt to dash what brains the Scamp had out by banging it against the wall, I rounded on the dismayed Summoner.

The blade lashed out in a singing arc, cutting her from hip to shoulder. The back-slash opened a wound across her throat and, gurgling slightly, she sank to the floor. That just left me with the Bosmer ~ now free of the Scamp since its anchor to the Grey Maybe was currently bleeding out the last few drops of her life on the cold metal floor. As he stooped to pick up the crossbow, I put an end to the battle by stepping in close and driving the blade of the sword down and through the middle of his shoulder blades.

I looked at the sword when I’d worked it free from the Wood Elf. The edge of the blade was already dull and there were several nicks in it ~ even though it had only cut through Chitin and Bonemold. So, while the blade was capable of taking a phenomenally sharp edge and was incredibly light and well balanced, it wasn’t particularly sturdy. Since I had neither the tools nor skill to repair and sharpen it here, I slung it from the makeshift hoops I’d attached to my pack and withdrew the Last Wish from the top of my pack.

The lower level of the ruin, which consisted of a corridor running around a central chamber, was mercifully free of any more practitioners of the Blackest Art. The main chamber contained several deformed Dwemeri chairs and tables ~ and it was on one of these I made a remarkable discovery. A large, bulbous flask sat on the table nearest the ladder that led up to an iron trapdoor. It was made of dark clay, expertly and skilfully shaped. Strange designs in dark enamel decorated the surface. Reverently, I picked it up. I had seen Limeware before, in the museum in Cyrodiil City. And this was a finer example than any they had there. I wondered if I could carry this safely ~ there was no problem with the weight, heavy though it was. No, what concerned me was the possibility of smashing this valuable antique. Deciding that the risk was worth it, I carefully wrapped the flask in several layers of cloth (cut from the Summoner’s robe) and placed it in my pack.

The only access to the tower was the metal trapdoor that sat flush with the ceiling of the chamber. Climbing the ladder wouldn’t be problematical and a quick check showed that the trapdoor was unlocked and unwarded ~ so opening it wasn’t going to be a hindrance. No, the problem was that I could see no way of gaining access to the tower that wouldn’t expose me to whatever attack Skorvild wanted to launch. Actually, I might have a way around that… Digging in my pack, I found the little leather sack I use to keep various trinkets I’ve picked up. There, inside, was the strange amulet I’d taken from the camouflaged assassin on the road to Ald Velothi. Dropping the chain around my neck, I clasped the amulet and concentrated on it.

When I opened my eyes, it was as though a thin green veil had been drawn across them ~ the world gone misty and insubstantial. Holding out my hand, I started straight thought the pale and wavering outline at the rivet-studded wall. Clambering to the top of the ladder, I threw open the trapdoor with a crash and waited. And waited while the heavily bearded Man peered down into the lower chamber, calling, “Hlora?”

As he turned away and moved into the chamber at the top of the ladder, I scrambled up and in ~ quickly moving to stand against a wall. The Man stopped and looked around, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. I held my breath as he walked within a few inches of me, his head turning from side to side as he sought the source of whatever was disturbing him. Having stalked the length of the chamber, Skorvild returned to the table and reached inside a drawer. “Infitialis veneficus,“ he yelled, throwing a handful of fine powder into the air.

The amulet pulsed warmly against my chest as the spell I’d woven using it collapsed. Even as the world wavered and returned to normal, I was pushing away from the wall and raising my sword. Skorvild was ready for me, he’d known from the moment that the trapdoor crashed open that someone was in his tower uninvited and his finely honed abilities had sensed the aura of the amulet’s power. “Adficio volo,” he yelled, extending a hand. The air in front of me thickened and hardened, making me feel as though I was rushing through a water-filled chamber. The necromancer was a blur as he drew a dagger from the folds of his robe and sped towards me.

“Brythwch hysbryd, alwa 'ch ata,” I managed to gasp. Metal ground on metal as my summoned creature span its material form from the very walls of the building. As Skorvild turned to deal with this new threat, I felt the world miss a beat and then everything returned to normal speed.

“Tempestas Tectum,” the necromancer screamed as huge bolts of raw energy formed between the Storm Atronach’s fists. A flickering bubble of light enclosed him, and the thunderous energy sloughed off it like water off a stone. Even as he raised his hands to call forth a new spell, I stepped forward and grasped his arm ~ the bubble of light not hindering me in the slightest.

“Vomica cruor,” I said in a commanding tone. The Man’s eyes widened, and then he screamed as the raw power of the spell ripped into him. He managed to gasp the opening syllables of a counter-spell; something designed to halt the fire that was eating him from the inside out. I put paid to that by driving the ebon blade of my Ebony broadsword into his chest. Blood gushed from his lips and, uttering a moan ~ the last sound he would ever make ~ he pitched forwards.

I stood there, shaken to the core. I had thought I was a puissant Mage, yet here was a timely reminder that there were others out there who were much more experienced in the arcane arts than I was. Not for the first time, I resolved that I should do something about that.

My exploration of Skorvild’s tower turned up a couple of interesting books, some of the more difficult to obtain and expensive alchemical ingredients, and the heavy Daedric dagger that he’d intended to use on me. I also found several scrolls and a large round box. Opening the lid, I looked down into the silvery, smiling face of a full-head helm. The power of the item screamed at me ~ a constant humming of atonal chords that denote an item of superior magic. The moustachioed face, with its wide eyes and smiling mouth struck me as vaguely familiar. As I reached down and lifted the helmet from its box, the features rippled and changed ~ transforming themselves into the smiling happy face of a Dunmeri female. That’s when I realised: the features it now wore were a fuller, more idealised version of my face! And the former features? Those had been of a much younger Skorvild.

I fetched a deep breath as I set the helm on the table and gazed into the face it now wore. There was only one item that had this sort of power: the legend of the Masque of Clavicus Vile was known throughout the Empire. The helm, or Masque as it was called, was reputed to make the wearer instantly likeable, wildly desirable, and fantastically popular. Someone who could tap into the power of the Masque could, it was said, command armies. But there was a dark side to this tale ~ those who couldn’t master the Masque of Clavicus Vile were driven insane by its power, even in their despair unable to remove it and condemned to forever be the object of worship of any who met them. Not that someone in those straights would last long ~ unable to remove the Masque, the wearer would soon starve to death.

Not wishing to test the veracity of the tales, I returned the Masque to its storage box: this I securely lashed to the bottom of my pack. The artefact was obviously of great value to a collector and ~ should I ever meet such a creature ~ I was certain to get a good price for the item. Somewhat burdened by the now heavy pack, I left the tower and continued on my way south. I hadn’t gone too far when I came to the entrance to the Senim Ancestral Tomb.

Inside the tomb I found the usual assortment of reanimated skeletons, none of which presented me with a problem. I also found the skeletal remains of someone who rejoiced in the name of Pop Jé when he was alive. Around the mummified neck hung a small ruby-coloured pendant, one of the withered hands bore a ring that sang a sweet note of power. There were a number of scrolls arranged around the corpse, making me think that this Pop Jé had been some sort of Mage. Of all of the scrolls, the apprentice scroll that taught the spell ‘Fire-Guard’ was the only one I took. Leaving the amulet around the corpse’s neck, I carefully removed the ring from the finger. The large purple stone that was set into the white gold of the ring was unknown to me, as was the meaning of the word ‘PHYNASTER’ that embellished the band of the ring. What I did know was that the ring was powerful, and careful probing revealed that it provided some measure of protection against spells, poison, and fire.

It would be nice, I thought as I battered away at another squawking vermin, if I could find a ring that provided some measure of protection against Cliff Racers. I had thought that my last visit to this region had thinned the ranks of these flapping rodents but, it seems, they had grown even more numerous. Having suffered the beaks and claws of outrageously frequent attacks, it was with some relief that I stumbled up the path to a Dwemer ruin. The runes on the door identified it as ‘NCHARDAHRK’ and, once I had cleared out the Spider-Demon Type I animalcules, it made a more than acceptable place to spend the night.

Another great addition. Keep it comin. :goodjob:

I agree, as always excellet work here

Keep up the good work

The ruins hadn’t proven to be the ideal resting place that I’d hoped. Throughout the night the thin groaning of ancient stone pressing down on ancient stone had repeatedly and frequently awoken me. Not exactly conductive to a good night’s sleep. There was one gleam of light to the day ~ the skies above were clear of Cliff Racers. Thick with heavy cloud, but no Cliff Racers.

After a hasty breakfast, I gathered my things and headed southwards once more. I had barely been travelling for an hour when the heavens above opened and the rain came down in torrents. Pulling up my hood, I bent under the weight of the pack and pressed on. It was a relief when I came to the mouth of a deep cave ~ according to the locator stone they were the Surirulk Caves. There were bandits in the cave but I soon dealt with them. Exploring the cavern revealed a veritable trove of treasures, I gathered them together and took them to the mouth of the cave so I could examine them.

I’d separated the items into two piles by the time the rains slowed and stopped, thin golden sunlight breaking through the dark clouds. One pile of items were the things I didn’t need ~ cheap Chitin daggers, common clothing, Skooma, that sort of thing. The other pile, much smaller, contained items I didn’t want to leave behind: a small jar of toxin, a shard bracer, some arrow-heads forged of silver, a pale teal Ioun stone, a magical Thread, and a small and beautifully cut Tourmaline. Packing these things into my increasingly difficult to carry pack, I headed out into the sunshine. The steep path led to the crest of a ridge and there, in the deep shadowed valley below, was the huge bulk of an ancient Fort.

Consulting my map, I determined that there was a small island just to the west, over the ridge by the Fort ress. Levitating over them and the small stretch of water, I soon arrived at the island. The crude wooden hut and small fire were clear indicators that the island was inhabited.

Sendas Sathis was delighted to see me, talking at a rapid clip as he escorted me to his fire. Gratefully accepting the sack I’d carried so far, he looked inside. “Hmmm,” he said, “Kwama eggs and Matze, no surprises there. Oh, and some Scrib-Jerky, just to add some variety.” Leaving him muttering into his beard, I spoke the words and returned to the Temple at Ghostgate.

I left the void and stepped right into the teeth of a terrific dust storm. Coughing and spitting, I rushed into the Tower of Dusk and slammed the door shut behind me. Uvoo was pleased that I’d delivered the food to Sathis and promoted me to the rank of Curate. My pleasure at this unexpected turn of events was quickly tempered by her words.

“Serjo Feril Salmyn hasn’t returned to us,” she said with a worried frown on her face. “He was due back almost a week ago. I want you to go and look for him.”
“Where should I start?” I asked.

“Salmyn was searching for a lost Resdayni Fort known as Kogoruhn,” she said. “He took with him a sacred relic of the Temple: the Hair-Shirt of Saint Aralor. It is important that you find him, dead or alive, and return the relic to us. If he’s still alive, you must persuade him to abandon his quest and return to us. If he’s dead, you must recover the relic and bring it back.”

“Do we have any idea where this Kogoruhn place is?” I asked.

She shook her head, “the only thing I know is that he spoke to the Inn-Keeper in the Tower of Dawn.”

The Innkeeper, Galore Salvi, remembered speaking to Feril Salmyn and told me the same as she’d told him. “I don’t know exactly where it is, Sed Vahl. However, as I told the Ordinator, I have heard that it is somewhere near Maar Gan.”

Since the storm was still howling outside and I didn’t fancy wandering around looking for some ancient Fort in such disgusting weather, I translocated to Balmora and sorted through the items in the house there, and the items in my pack. Having separated out the things I thought I’d need to carry on a regular basis from those I was just lugging about, I loaded several sacks and transferred the spare items to the Battle-Spire. It took several trips, and I was exhausted when I’d finished.

Cool. I like this story in case you havn't noticed yet

oh dear...off to kogoruhn....is it now...Let´s hope things go in her direction


as always a thrilling addition...brrr.....it will certainly be:


S.G.M[u][/u]

Yestere was extremely frustrating. I’d started the day with very high hopes by translocating to Ald’ruhn and accosting passers-by to ask them about Kogoruhn. After an hour of so of this it became apparent that nobody knew a single thing. That meant that I had to travel north to Maar Gan and start asking again.

It was a Redoran guard who told me what I wanted to know, namely that she’d heard of Kogoruhn and thought that it was somewhere in the ash-wastes northeast of the town. Making my way up into the Foyada Bani-Dad, I levitated up and over the Foyada’s eastern wall and set off in a roughly northern direction. Hours later, the end of the day saw me stumbling exhausted up the steps of a Resdayni Fort.

Unfortunately, this was the Fort of Falasmaryon and not Kogoruhn. Still, the strong walls of the Propylon Chamber made a safe enough place to rest over night. This morning I left Falasmaryon and headed west until I caught sight of some Daedric ruins. Not wishing to get too close, I turned southwards and pressed on.

It was late morning when I stumbled through the swirling ash to the top of a high rise that cut across the path I was following. There, on the other side, was the unmistakeable bulk of a Resdayni Fort. It looked as though the place had been left, untouched, as the years since the Nords had been driven from Vvardenfell wound slowly past. Huge drifts of compacted ash climbed the massive stone walls, in places overflowing onto the top of the structure.

Carefully descending the slope, I made my approach to the stronghold, for some reason made uneasy by the looming structure. Walking along the eastern wall, I came to the broad stone steps that led to the main body of the Fort. As with everywhere else, soft drifts of ash had built up and partially obscured the steps. I paused at the base, looking around this gods-forsaken hollow in the surrounding hills.

The hollow shells of several buildings stood south of the stairs, crumbling walls open to the sky. Huge growths of Trauma Bush, those spiky desert plants that seem to be able to survive anywhere in the Molag Amur, dotted the sides of the hills. I shivered; the evidence of life long abandoned making the way the desert was reclaiming the structure stand out starkly. Turning to face the structure, I started my slow and careful ascent of the stairs.

With every step I took, the palpable sense of wrongness increased. By the time I reached the raised ground at the top of the stairs, I fancied I could feel the evil in the air as a living, breathing thing. There was nothing that prompted this feeling, it just filled me and made me deeply uneasy. Almost instinctively I grasped the hilt of my sword as I stepped off the stairs.

I had felt the desolation of this place ever since I’d laid eyes on it and, right up to the moment the naked and screaming Dunmer attacked me, I would have been willing to swear that the Fort was lifeless. As the naked Mer leaked out the last of his life, the thick grey dust drinking greedily of the freely-flowing blood, I looked at the structures that lined the top of this Fort. For, unlike other Fort s I’d seen, Kogoruhn had several structures built atop the huge base. As I turned to examine each in turn, I caught a very familiar scent.

Coughing, holding my hand over my nose, I moved upwind of the corpse of the Ordinator I’d found behind one of the walls. Great rents in his armour revealed the extent of his wounds and his contorted face spoke of the agony he’d been in at the moment of his passing. His mace, broken in three, lay near the two parts of his shield. Next to them lay a small pack, the sort of thing that a traveller would carry.

The pack contained food and water for several days ~ the food long since gone over and stinking in the sun. The water, though tepid, was still potable but I forbore from doing more than wetting my lips for fear that there was some subtle taint I couldn’t detect. At the bottom of the pack, wrapped in fine silk, was the relic I sought: the Hair Shirt of Saint Aralor (Which, sacred relic or not, was exactly as gross as it sounded).

The sun was setting to the west and I desperately didn’t want to be at Kogoruhn when night fell. There was some foulness here, a contamination worse than any I’d felt at Druscashti or Maelkashishi. Since I’d descended the slope and approached the Fort, I hadn’t been able to shake the feeling of being watched: some ancient regard, malevolent beyond comprehension, watching my every move with interest. Slipping the relic into my pack, I slipped the stronghold ring onto my finger and returned to Tel Vahl.