Antonia Otranto pt. 6: The Cult of Oluhan
I found the rock before sunset. Not interested in hobnobbing with savages, I simply deduced that the stone would be relatively easily found. And it was: westward, in a foyada that bordered the Grazelands.
As I crossed a saddle, the change was almost abrupt: grass petered out into greys. The stone, however, was clearly unusual, carved and pocked. I placed the ring into a hole and wasn’t too surprised to find myself in a damp tomb being attacked by rats.
The damp was all-pervading, and I soon realised this was the first test. The only way to exit was to flood the chamber and rely on one’s speed and endurance — and access to water breathing magics — to escape.
Beyond was a statue of Sheogorath. Well, that fitted; Morth had said they were crazy. But something about the unhealthy golden glow about it and the book on the lectern made me pause.
I am not stupid. I had read the sorry tale of Prince Sadim as a child, and realised that I needed to find something, or several somethings, to open a door with a queer lock. So once more I got wet (and bitten); nearly sliced in two; and the less said about the slow-moving skeletons, the better. Simple copper rings, touched to the statue, turned into gold; the door opened, leading to a simpler puzzle. And at last I entered the stronghold of Oluhan.
I had been directed to someone called Gulville Dralas, a fellow Dunmer who almost immediately drew my dislike. “So, you passed our tests,” he began, “except one. This gauntlet will prove if you are worthy, and can take our Lord’s divine pain.”
“Fine,” I said a little tartly, and pulled on the iron glove. “So wha—”
The glove began to shrink — that is what it felt like — crushing my hand. The fucker was smirking. I could feel tears of pain filling my eyes, and I did my best to blink them away and just glare at him. I was doing well until I fainted.
The next thing I know, he was helping me up, one arm behind my back and the other… it hadn’t always been on my belly, I could feel that. Bastard.
“You are truly deserving of service to our Lord,” and he went on like that. The n’wah was a fanatic, no doubt. I more or less tuned him out until he asked my path. I took the Path of the Magus without a second thought, and was directed to the master, a Francois DuPont. That made sense. Bretons were good magi, and I had been brought up in the Breton ways.
Then I wondered if the DuPonts had been involved in my downfall. I couldn’t remember. Or were they allies? I wondered, swallowed my fears, and entered.
DuPont was a gentleman, and he was less concerned with a pretty Dunmer lass in his presence than in serving this Oluhan of theirs. The presence of one of the local guardsmen — he called them Inquisitors — probably helped.
“Go see Am-Jush, initiate,” he told me, and so I did. Am-Jush promptly told me off to deliver some “potions of truth” to the prison over the other side of the complex. Maybe my father was in there? I doubted it.
“I’ve heard tales of such potions,” I said thoughtfully, “but all were quite fanciful. But these truly work?”
Am-Jush just smiled and his eyes creeped me out. “Let us simply say, initiate, that truth-telling is a great antidote, preventing further need for Am-Jush’s fine potions, yes?”
I smiled and agreed and got the hell out of there. Some sort of painful poison then. I hustled past meatheads in what I vaguely recognised as Dwemer armour to the dungeons.
“There was someone sniffing around the stone,” I said as I delivered them, and gave the same description that Huloan in Suran had given me, “Anyone like that in custody?”
The jailer, a brutish Redguard named Jamin, shook his head. “Nobody like that in ages. If he was lurking around, did he see you? Did he follow you? Why’re you asking?”
“Pity,” I replied, “I was hoping to get some answers out of the bastard myself. Oh well, I’ll just have to keep an eye out and catch him myself.”
Jamin grunted, and eyed me suspiciously. It was a close thing, and I realised that Oluhan’s people were not only far from sane, but would turn on me in a trice if they thought I wasn’t faithful. I hurried back to report success to DuPont, who promptly told me back off to Am-Jush again.
“The initiate did deliver from Am-Jush,” the Argonian began, “Now the she brings to Am-Jush. I am making health and magicka potions for the upcoming battles, yes, and poor Am-Jush needs ingredients.” He ticked them off on his hands. “Two each, he needs, of wickwheat, marshmerrow, frost salts, and daedra hearts. But Am-Jush is too important for Oluhan to let him out into the world, so he sends an underling, yes?”
“Of course,” I responded, thinking all the while that the list was rather small, and two items would be damn difficult to get. Now I look back, I suspect I was being tested again.
“Good!” He looked pleased. “Take this amulet to find your way home, and to leave speak with Melie Fralinie in the commercial district. Do hurry back, yes?”
Not likely, I thought to myself. First I would hang around the Grazelands, stomping grounds of the Telvanni and gather plants. The other two would be a pain; to get them required either money or molesting deadra, who wouldn’t like that at all. After returning home for a rest, I was heading out of Sadrith Mora to get ingredients and explore.
In my travels, I saw a ship in the distance, not just aground, but actually high on the side of an island. Inside, I found striking treasures, and took the quick route to get to Balmora.
In Balmora I tried to wash my experiences with the Cult of Oluhan out of my mind by distracting myself at the House of Strange. I stood and looked long and hard at a skeleton claimed to be the Bones of Lord Nerevar. Lies, of course. I still felt unclean, however, and headed back to Vivec, where I managed to get my required frost salts, and then to Mournhold.
It was then that I remembered a chance encounter from last time; some tom-fool of an Orc looking for perfume for his wife. Hells, that was over a fortnight ago! So you can imagine my surprise that he was still in the Mall of Amalexia, looking if anything more hag-ridden than before. “Here again?” I asked him in a surprised tone, “How is your wife?”
He just groaned. “I waited for you,” he said a tad reproachfully, “but when you didn’t return, I just went and got what I thought was nice. She didn’t agree, but at least we’re still together, but I had to come back, and it all started again… what’s that?”
“Noble sedge,” I told him, “maybe your wife will like this more.”
He popped the stopper and sniffed, then smiled. “That’s it! Much better. Noble sedge,” he repeated to himself, “not golden, noble. Oh! here’s something for your thoughtfulness. And… next time, when you promise to do odd jobs for strangers, try to be less tardy, eh?”
Tardy! At least Am-Jush wasn’t expecting me back soon. Then again, I seemed to be being spoiled by the apparent lack of urgency that affected Morrowind. And with that I did a tad more sightseeing and went home.
Posted in Articles (Fanfic,Morrowind) by R Cruickshank 02/03/08 05:20 PM Tags: antonia otranto, fanfic, fiction, morrowind
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