SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE !!!!!! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT !!!!!!!!!!!!

The Collector !!!!!!!!!!!!! OMG, I am jumping out of my seat now, MORE !!!!! MORE !!!!!!!

What a perfect quest for our avaricious Edward! Can there be a more lucrative quest in all of TES IV? Now if he can just survive the traps of Welke, Wendelbek, et al . . .

Yee Hah!

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: Oct 6 2010, 03:38 AM

OH !!!!!! The valet could negotiate with that Khajiit on the hill...Edward would stiff him...and have another STALKER !!!!!!! WOOOOOOOOOT !!!!!!!!! I can't wait !!!!!!! The other stalker he had - I nearly broke my PC spraying it with coffee !!!!!

I wonder how badly Edward will get hurt and how many time his valet is gonna have to bail him out frm those ruins.... OMG... Edward and dungeondiving....

And Foxy: I really doubt this forum will let you formulate sentences that will get you kicked... even with your Dhirtee Innu Endo eeeuhmmm.... alter ego

QFT



That so perfectly captures Edward- and Rachel's wonderful way with words.

But the crowning achievement is Edward's concept of the sort of "services" creepy old Umbacano seeks.

Oh Rachel the Lovely, you have brightened my morning with these new additions. It will be such a joy to see Edward stumbling and bumbling and griping his way through Ayleid ruins.

Thanks, all! Glad you're enjoying the new chapters!!

@Foxy: Haha, you're right, there is a lot of potential here...don't worry, though, there's more to come.

@mALX: Thanks! I had meant to write this part earlier in the story, and then forgot about it/got distracted by other quests/etc. Then, when I was reposting, I decided to add it after all. (As for the Khajiit -- you're spot on, on both counts...the valet is reasonable enough to negotiate, and Edward would sign his own death warrant by double crossing him if given the opportunity. )

@haute ecole rider: Haha, surviving will be the difficulty. Not to give away too much...but Edward's courageous nature being what it is, I'm not going to be able to get him into too many ruins. There will be a few, though.

@Remko: I haven't kept count so far...but suffice it to say there will be more than one (time that the valet has to bail him out of danger).

@treydog: lol, thanks treydog, glad Edward's fumbling, bumbling and dirty mind made you laugh!!



The man who lives with grudges and hatred
Is slave to the past.

The man who forgets things gone by
Is slave to the past.

Wisdom is the middle ground of these two
Memory but not bitterness.

-- An excerpt from a piece translated in the scholarly work “Writings of Old, Dead People”


Chapter Forty-Two





Edward watched as his servant returned, eying the man with suspicion.

“I found some old, dry branches, sir,” the valet greeted, seeing Edward's eyes upon him. “I think they should last us the rest of the night.”

Ignoring this, Edward demanded, “Lord Umbacano...you said you worked for him, didn't you?”

The valet glanced over from setting down his burden. “That's right, sir. Back in the Imperial City.”

Edward frowned suspiciously. “Why didn't you tell me he was...you know?”

The other man stared at him, questioningly. “Sir?”

“Well, you know,” Edward repeated. The valet still looked puzzled, so he continued, “Interested in...you know.”

“Aleyid artifacts, sir?” the valet asked.

Edward's frown deepened. Was his servant really stupid enough to have missed what he'd picked up on in a few moments? Or was he embarrassed to admit that he had been employed in a profession like that vile Nord's that he'd met a few moments ago? “Artifacts?” he repeated.

“Yes sir,” the valet nodded. “And I did tell you. Don't you remember? That's why he fired me. Because he wanted to spend my wages on acquiring more artifacts.”

Deep frown lines creasing his forehead, Edward paused in thought before speaking. This all sounded familiar...indeed, the pervert had mentioned something about Aleyid artifacts too...at the moment he was wondering whether his servant was talking about the property of old dead guys, or was using some code word that he really didn't want to know about. “Oh?”

“That's right sir...he's an avid collector...he's got a huge collection.”

Edward's frown had lessened, but not disappeared. He still couldn't tell for sure what the other man was talking about.

“He's obsessed. He's got an entire room in his manor full of Aleyid things,” the valet shook his head. “He studies texts about the Aleyids all day long...his only friends are experts on Aleyid culture.” He shook his head again. “I actually feel sorry for him, sir.”

By now, the Imperial was pretty well reassured that his servant was indeed talking about one of the most boring topics in the world – history – and not his former master's sexual exploits and interests. “Well...” he said slowly, “suppose someone...acquired one of these artifacts...do you think he'd be interested?”

“Of course, sir,” the valet nodded. “When I stole that one from the castle...” Here he glanced up guiltily, but Edward was too curious to be annoyed by his thieving prowess. “When I acquired that statue, I thought of selling it to him...but I decided against it.”

“Why?”

The other man was silent for a moment, and then sighed. “I suppose it's petty, sir, really...but I know how much he likes them...and I guess I was being a little spiteful...”

“Would he have paid well?”

“Of course.”

“Better than your fence?”

“Most likely.”

Edward raised an eyebrow at his servant. “And you passed up the money just to spite him?!”

“Yes sir.”

“Why?!”

“He fired me, sir!”

Shaking his head, Edward clucked his tongue. “My good fellow, you must learn that holding grudges is entirely unhealthy and immature -- particularly when money is involved.”

This post has been edited by Rachel the Breton: Oct 9 2010, 04:35 AM

Loyal like a dog,
And about as intelligent.

-- From the chapter “The Good Servant”, in A Nobleman's Musings on the Serving Class

Chapter Forty-Three

Having explained that he had “business in the City” that he'd delayed until after his Brotherhood mission was complete, Edward had altered their path for the Imperial City. His reward would wait in Cheydinhal, and so too would Antionetta Marie. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” he thought. “It'll do her some good to miss me for awhile.” Meanwhile, though he was still highly suspicious of Lord Umbacano, he was now fairly well convinced that his interest in him – his primary one, at least – was the acquisition of these statues. The fact that his servant had already acquired some of these artifacts made the idea that much more attractive to Edward...if his valet could get his hands on them, they must not be that difficult to find. And, if Umbacano was going to pay well for them...

Edward was grinning devilishly again when he felt the valet's eyes upon him. Wiping away his gleeful, anticipatory expression, the Imperial tried too to drive away thoughts of the mountains of gold he'd be able to gather through his own, and his servant's, moderate labors – to say nothing of the potential opportunities for theft that this arrangement would surely provide. Putting on a thoughtful air, Edward mused, “Tell me...what was Umbacano's collection worth, would you say?”

Raising an eyebrow, the other man asked, “Sir?”

“Your former employer,” Edward explained almost disinterestedly, “you said his collection of Aleyid artifacts was huge...I suppose it must have been worth a fortune?”

“Yes sir,” the valet answered slowly. “But may I ask why the sudden interest in my previous employer?”

Edward frowned. Wasn't it obvious? “Well,” he answered slowly, “I was thinking that it might be good...as you say, he is so obsessed...for his mental health to...relieve him of some of those artifacts...particularly the more expensive ones...all for his mental well-being, of course.”

He'd half expected the other man to whole-heartedly agree, even volunteer his services for this chance to get back at the man who'd fired him. Instead, much to his surprise, the valet reined his horse to a sharp halt. “Are you proposing that we rob Lord Umbacano, sir?”

Edward blinked, himself astonished at the man's clear astonishment. “Umm...yeah.”

The valet shook his head. “No sir,” he said. “You know I can have no part of this.”

Staring at his servant, Edward demanded, “What? Why not?”

“Because I was his valet, once. A master's trust in his valet is a sacred thing. I could never break that!”

The Imperial's eyes expressed the annoyance he was feeling. “But...but you know the security layout of his place...you know what sort of guards he has...you know...”

“Exactly, sir!” his valet agreed. “All of which information was gained while I worked for him. That's the trust of which I speak.” He shook his head. “No matter what, a servant can never betray that trust!”

Edward groaned. “Even if he fires you?”

“Yes sir.”

This post has been edited by Rachel the Breton: Oct 9 2010, 04:41 AM

Nary a creature more vile or reprehensible
Than a man of leisure reduced to servitude.

-- From the chapter “The Worst Servant”, in A Nobleman's Musings on the Serving Class

Chapter Forty-Four

Having (falsely) assured his valet that he had given up on any and all schemes of robbing Lord Umbacano, Edward had been able to convince the other man to continue to the Imperial City. He'd thought it best to hide the real reason for this sudden diversion: Umbacano's job offer...not because he felt guilty about helping a man who had unceremoniously fired a perfectly loyal servant in order that he might acquire more junk, of course, but just because he didn't want to risk explaining away how he was violating any more unwritten tenets of servitude. At least, that's what he told himself.

Once they had arrived in the Imperial City, he had sent his servant to arrange for lodgings whilst he “took care of a few matters.” So it was that he stood, now, outside the comfortable home of Lord Umbacano, cursing his ill fortune that he was not one of the “rich bastards” able to wallow in fortune, but instead must earn his bread “like any common slob.”

Pushing these thoughts aside with a grimace, Edward knocked. After a moment, the door opened. “May I help you?”

The Imperial tried to ignore the fact that a man up to his eyeballs in cash would hire as his door opener one of the ugliest orcs he had ever had the misfortune to lay eyes upon. “I have an appointment with his Lordship. You may tell him that I've arrived.”

“I was unaware of any appointments today,” the orc frowned. “Your name, sir?”

“Edward,” he returned curtly.

“Are you sure your meeting was today?” the orc persisted. “At what time?”

“Of course I'm sure!” Edward snapped. Then, the question actually registering beyond the fact that this ghoulish orc was daring to question him, he paused. “Well, actually, no. There wasn't a time. He just...I'm just supposed to come...whenever.”

Her frown intensified. “One moment, sir,” she said. “I'll be right back.”

This said, the door closed on his scowl. After a moment, it reopened, and the Nord – “the pervert” – stepped into view. Edward felt himself as about as thrilled to see the other man as Jollring was to see him – not at all.

“Oh, so you decided to take up my master's offer after all?” he asked.

“I decided to hear it out,” Edward answered cautiously.

“Then your standards are perhaps not so 'high' after all?” he queried with the slightest hint of a sneer.

Edward glared at him. “Are you going to show me to the Count, or bore me to death with your talking?!”

“His Lordship is a Lord, not a Count,” Jollring corrected. “And, yes, you may as well come in...if your dignity does not object.”

Sniffing a little at this, Edward remarked that he “might as well”, and entered as he was bid. Having missed Jollring rolling his eyes, he took this comment at face value, and was somewhat pacified. The pervert, he thought, was at least attempting to make up for his past behavior.

Edward was awed by the finery around him as he was ushered through well furnished and expensively decorated rooms. Before entering the manor, he had made up his mind that, even if Umbacano's offer was of the less than legal or appealing nature that he had originally thought, this would not be a wasted trip – for he would use the opportunity to scout out the guards and treasures that would await a burglar. Alas, this grand plan was not to be; for, lost in admiring envy as he was, Edward took in none of the important details, and was only aware as they entered Lord Umbacano's sitting room that this man had very good taste in home décor.

“If you'll wait here, sir,” Jollring declared, indicating a seat, “I'll inform his Lordship of your arrival.”

Edward tried to ignore the leering quality of the other man's voice as he uttered the word “sir”, and instead concentrated on the collection of ancient artifacts about him. He had certainly never been one to take history seriously, or to care much for the work of the race of elves who had enslaved Imperials. But this...

He found himself speechless at the sight of such beauty, such finery, such craftsmanship, such wealth as adorned row upon row of shelves and cabinets. He hesitated to even begin calculating all the riches he saw about him, lest he die of envy on the spot. He understood now why Umbacano had fired his servant in order to collect more of these treasures; the man was a decent enough servant, but these...these were beyond superb.

He was lost in such admiring thoughts when a door behind him opened, and Jollring and another man stepped into view. “His Lordship, Lord Umbacano,” the Nord declared.

Edward tried to hide his appalled stare. The man might be a genius regarding his décor and collections, but he was a fool when it came to personal style. He was draped in fine silks and satins and gold braid – all of which were very nice; but, along with these fineries, he had mixed in rough animal furs, lending an unpardonably savage air to what had otherwise been noble attire. To further transgress the boundaries of good taste, the elf had somehow molded his rather lengthy hair into a horrendous vertical cone.

Trying to push aside the thought that Lord Umbacano should add his stylist to the list of those he'd fired, he bowed in a dignified sort of way. “Sir,” he spoke, “your servant tells me you have a matter of business to discuss?” He flushed, and hurriedly added, “Relating to acquiring Aleyid treasures, I believe?” He wanted to make sure there was no room for error or misunderstanding in their negotiations.

The Altmer motioned for him to sit down. “Indeed. I understand you recently sold a statue...” He paused, heading to one of the cases and removing a strange artifact of stone and gems. “This statue, in fact...to a merchant in Bruma. Yes?”

Edward shifted his weight nervously. “My servant sold it, yes...I believe it was that one...or one like it...”

“Your servant?” Lord Umbacano asked, a touch surprised. “But I was led to understand that you were...an adventurer who...acquired the item yourself?”

“Oh, yes, quite,” the Imperial hastened to explain. “Naturally. I just...entrust selling certain items to my servant.”

“Ah, I see,” the Altmer nodded. “He must be a good servant, then, if you can trust him so well.”

“Err, yes,” Edward nodded. “He's good enough, I suppose.”

The elf seated himself across from his guest. “As you know – and can see for yourself – I am an avid collector of Aleyid artifacts.” Edward nodded. “Some artifacts are easy to acquire.” He shrugged. “And some are less easy. That is why I depend on the work of enterprising adventurers such as yourself...men who are not afraid of a challenge, particularly when there is a good reward to be had out of it.”

Edward had hesitated at the “challenge” part, but he was all but sold by time the elf had reached the bit about a “good reward”. “Quite,” he nodded hastily.

I LOVE THIS QUESTLINE !!!!!! And I can't wait to see what Edward will do to it !!!!

More than likely lay a swath of absolute and mass destruction on those wonderful, creepy, deadly old Ayleid ruins! Pity the poor archeologists that will stumble upon the remains years later!

Rachel, I loved this: Considering my experiences meeting dogs who were smarter than their owners, I had to laugh at this. Quite the backhanded compliment!

And our perfect Emperor-to-be shows a streak of pettiness!

Watching Edward’s snail-like mental processes as he tried to decide whether “Ayleid artifact collector” was a code phrase….

And then the bit haute quoted was also superb. Another part of the Edwardian Philosophy- “Never let anything as petty as feelings get in the way of money. Nice, shiny money…”

And the valet’s admirable, obtuse, loyalty is am ingrained trait, extending even to his previous master. That is genius.

And your description of Umbacano’s collection, especially Edward’s reaction to it, is wonderful. So too, is your description of the odd Altmer himself.

Thanks, all!

@malx: " And I can't wait to see what Edward will do to it !!!!" Haha, couldn't have phrased it better!

@haute ecole rider: "More than likely lay a swath of absolute and mass destruction..." An accurate estimate of ANY quest that Edward is involved with!

@treydog: "Watching Edward’s snail-like mental processes as he tried to decide whether “Ayleid artifact collector” was a code phrase…." LOL, I grew up with four brothers, all of whom were younger than me by a couple of years minimum. I distinctly remember, as they were growing up, when they hit a certain stage where everything -- no matter how innocent -- could become some sort of dirty, giggle-worthy insinuation. I've tried to recapture some of that...genius.


Listen to him hiss and sputter,
Ever so indignant and affronted,
As his mind wallows in the gutter
Delusions never yet confronted.
-- Author's notes preceding The Song of Edward



Chapter Forty-Five





Edward strolled lazily into the Tiber Septim Hotel, trying to avoid the eye of the publican, Augusta Calidia. He hoped she didn't recognize him. It had not, after all, been so long ago that he had strolled in here with not a scrap of clothing beyond his loin cloth, and spun an incredible tale – one that he rather doubted his servant would believe, not the least of all as it was at odds with the account he'd given that man. That was the one difficulty with lying, wasn't it? You never knew who might hear a different lie than the one you'd told them...to say nothing of the trials of attempting to keep each falsehood straight...

Noting with annoyance that his servant wasn't around at the moment, Edward sifted through his pocket for the coin to purchase a drink. Stifling the curse that almost escaped his lips, he realized he had half the septims he needed. “Where is that fool?!” he wondered, thinking, of course, of his servant. He'd come here to rent rooms...and then what had he done? Didn't he realize his master would want a drink and maybe a bite or two to eat?

Sighing, he plopped down in one of the seats at the far end of the room. There were a few bottles of wine on the table, and he had half a mind to nonchalantly start drinking. If he was caught, after all, he could just instruct Augusta to put it on his tab.

Deciding this was a good idea, he popped the top on one of the bottles, and poured himself a glass. Then, draining it quickly and refilling, he thought of his conversation with Umbacano. All in all, he thought, things had gone exceedingly well. Umbacano had been very impressed with his acquisition of the Aleyid statue – at least, what Edward had led him to believe had been his acquisition. Apparently, his servant had managed a feat that no one else had been able to do in years in stealing that stupid statue. Edward sighed in annoyance. It irked him that his servant was such a good thief – even when that prowess as a thief directly benefited him, as it did now.

Pushing these annoyed thoughts out of his head, Edward's mind returned to his meeting of a few minutes earlier. Lord Umbacano had given him a copy of a key to some place called, “the High Fang”, or something to that effect. This, he'd told Edward, would likely be called something else now, for that was the name it was known by in the days of the Aleyids. The collector, however, did not know what its present name was. Nor, for that matter, did he know where it was. He had given the key along with a diagram, however, with the promise that, should Edward ever come across a carving like the one depicted, he would be paid handsomely for its retrieval. The Imperial sighed again. It was all well and good to be promised a lot of gold...but did the style-challenged elf really expect him to lug around a chunk of stone?

Alas, yes, for he'd been very insistent that it must be returned to him in one piece, undamaged. “The plaque should be easy enough to remove...understand that I need it intact to read what's written. And, of course, any trouble that that might cause will be amply paid for,” he'd said. Edward lapsed into another sigh, and drained his glass. It really was a long shot, he decided, the more he thought about it. He had never really planned to go traipsing about Aleyid ruins at all...much less so to discover one out of however many there were scattered about the countryside.

“Excuse me, sir,” a voice interrupted his thoughts. “You're sitting at a reserved table.”

Edward flushed, glancing up. It was Augusta Calidia who addressed him. “Oh...I...uhh...”

“And you're drinking someone else's wine.”

His flush deepened. “Umm...sorry, I didn't...”

“Which someone else paid for...”

At that moment, a voice cut in, “It's ok, Augusta...put it on my tab.”

The publican glared at Edward for a moment, then nodded at the newcomer. “Very well, Claude...if you say so.”

The Breton – for that is what the newcomer was – smiled, and replied, “Please. And...should we move?”

She shook her head. “No, that's ok...since you're already there.” Shooting Edward a final suspicious glance, she left.

Much to Edward's annoyance, the newcomer seated himself across from the Imperial without so much as being bade to do so. “I see you're Umbacano's newest plaything, eh?” he laughed. “Well met. I am Claude Maric. I always love meeting my rivals.” Noting Edward's horrified expression, but mistaking the meaning for this sudden contortion of the Imperial's features, he laughed again. “What, did you think you were the only one?” Pausing only to snort in laughter, he added, “Come, let's have a drink together.”

Edward tried to find his tongue as the man leaned over and filled his glass, but was unable to do. It seemed clear to him now that his original suspicion had been correct, and this man must have mistaken him for one of Umbacno's...what had he called them? Playthings?...rather than a hired treasure hunter. Edward sneered in disgust at the prostitute who, laughing all the while, filled their glasses. Did this base creature really think that he, Edward the Imperial, had to sink to selling himself?

“Now,” the Breton spoke again, “I propose a toast...may Umbacano's purse never run dry!”

Edward recoiled. Every word this disgusting Breton spoke filled him a deeper sense of revulsion. How could this vile creature sit here, talking to him as if he was one of his kind, a prostitute – and one so desperate that he would sell himself to an elf at that?! It might suit this Breton, aged and beginning to wrinkle as he was, to sink so low, but how could the fool of a man think that he – he! – had need of such base means of supporting himself?

Claude, however, seemed to take none of this in, for, downing his glass in one quick mouthful, he turned a more serious gaze toward Edward. “I should give you a piece of advice, though...I wouldn't take Umbacano at his word, exactly. Our mutual employer rarely tells us the whole story. But, he pays well.” His serious expression lightened again as he downed another glass. “Not that I should be giving advice to one of my rivals.” Edward cringed as the other man broke into laughter yet again.

“I don't know who you think you're talking to,” the Imperial spoke at last, his voice dripping with disdain, “but you may as well understand that I am not one of your kind. You are...are...well, repulsive! Whereas I am an adventurer!”

The Breton stared at him over his wineglass, an eyebrow raised. “What?”

“You heard me, you disgusting animal!” Edward snapped, rising. “Do not dare to put me in the same category as you and your vile, reprehensible...business...do you understand?! I have no need of your 'advice', nor your drinks, nor your vile company. Keep company with your 'master', and others of your ilk – but keep far away from me, lowlife!”

Lowering his glass, Claude Maric stared at the Imperial, angry bewilderment and ironic amusement written, in equal measures, across his expression. “Well, well,” he mused aloud. “A tomb robber who fancies himself a cut above his fellows.” He smiled, lifting the glass to his lips a final time and finishing its contents in one quick gulp. “Suit yourself, Master Edward. I'll not sully your afternoon by keeping company with you...although I will dearly love to see if you've the wits to figure out the task you're on, or the courage to pursue it.” His brow knitting, he finished, “I rather doubt it...but stranger things have happened.”

The mind given to learning,
The mind eager to know new things
The mind full of ideas
Is the best mind in the world.
-- An excerpt from a piece translated in the scholarly work “Writings of Old, Dead People”




Chapter Forty-Six

Edward was seated on a bench in the hallway outside of his room, his brow knit in a thoughtful manner, when his valet returned. He'd been sitting this way for some time – ever since he'd left the main room downstairs, and “the prostitute”, behind him – and he'd been pondering a monumental thought.

He considered himself no stranger to street slang; indeed, he flattered himself that his regular vocabulary was only just larger than his vocabulary of vulgarity. So, what, then, had the prostitute meant when he'd called him a “tomb robber”? In all his studying of slang, indeed, his mastering the art of foul language, he had never heard of a term like this one...in fact, none even remotely resembled it. So what, then, he had wondered all this time, had the repulsive Breton been insinuating?

Having arrived at no satisfactory answer – no answer at all, in point of fact – he determined that he would humiliate himself by asking this question of his servant. He hated to admit that there was some phrase that he, as world-wise and knowledgeable as he was, was ignorant of...but he hated worse not knowing.

“Good afternoon, sir. How did your business go?”

Ignoring this greeting and query, Edward sighed. He had no choice but to ask. “Tell me,” he asked, “what does it mean to call someone a 'tomb robber'?”

The other man blinked at him. “Sir?”

“Well?”

“Well, sir, it means...someone who robs tombs.”

Edward frowned. This terminology, too, was completely unknown to him. “Well, of course, but...that is...tell me what it means in plain words, man!”

“Someone who takes from the dead.”

“Takes from the dead?” Edward bolted upright, his face a mask or horror and disgust. “You mean, a necrophile?!” he demanded.

The valet stared at him. Then, a light of understanding shone in the other man's eyes.“Oh, you mean a necromancer, sir? Well, I suppose you could call them tomb robbers, because they are robbing the graves of the dead, but the general usage...”

“No! I don't mean necromancers!” Edward interrupted. “I mean...whatever 'tomb robber' means!”

His servant frowned at him. “I'm not sure I'm following, sir.”

Edward sighed in frustration. Either the man was so stupid that he couldn't understand him, or he was as clueless on the topic as he was – and either possibility annoyed him. The first for obvious reasons, and the second because, if his servant was unable to help, he'd just confessed his own ignorance for no good reason. “What I'm saying,” he snapped, “is that someone called me a 'tomb robber' earlier...now, what did he mean by that?!”

“Ohh,” the valet nodded. “I see. Well, he was probably insulting you, sir.”

“I knew it!”

“By insinuating that you'd stoop to plundering graves.”

Edward growled under his breath. How, he wondered, could his servant be so witless? It was clear, at any rate, that the other man would be no help...no, he'd just have to find the answer elsewhere. Maybe if he could find the latest copy of the Encyclopedia of Slang at First Edition, he might actually solve this mystery...

Thank the Divines so mighty for such knowledge,
The tomes and the tenets and wisdom of eras long expired
Rules to guide and ways to live and cures to know
And thank the gods that someone else cares enough to read them.
-- Unknown author


Chapter Forty-Seven



Edward traipsed into First Edition shortly after he'd parted company with his valet. He was still intent on finding out just what type of lowlife, exactly, Claude Maric took him to be.

He grimaced as he entered the doors. It was such an unpleasant, stifling place – there were books everywhere! “Almost as bad as a library,” he thought with a shiver.

“May I help you, sir?” a voice asked.

Edward glanced toward the speaker, a Redguard of forty or so. “Yes,” he sniffed. “I'm looking for a book...sort of a gag gift, actually.”

The Redguard nodded. “I've just the thing,” he declared, indicating a small, far shelf. “That bottom one, right there. You see it? It's full of false histories, slang dictionaries, crazy guidebooks to foreign provinces, parodies...”

Edward nodded. That was just the thing. Heading over quickly, he began to sift through the titles. “Trails of St. Alessia, a Hiker's Guide...Manual of Arms...” Edward frowned. That was a real book, wasn't it? Not that he had ever read it, but he could have sworn he'd seen the title before. Momentarily distracted from his purpose by curiosity, he drew out the volume.

This proved to be a mistake, however, for the cover was grotesquely illustrated to depict all manner of severed arms -- human, mer, daedra, etc. Yelping in disgusted horror, Edward thrust the book back, quickly, and tried to ignore the shopkeeper's snicker of amusement behind him.

Sorting through the titles brusquely, he again resumed his original purpose. “Lightest Lightness...Gods and Blasphemy...ah! Encyclopedia of Slang!” With this thought, he withdrew the volume, and eagerly flipped through the pages for entries beginning with 't'. Once he found this, he then moved down the page to the spot where 'tomb robber' should have been, had it, indeed, been a slang term.

Exhaling loudly in an expression of his annoyance, Edward slammed the book shut. Not even the Encyclopedia of Slang had 'tomb robber'.

“Are you buying that book, sir?” the shopkeeper inquired.

The Imperial snorted. “This outdated piece of junk? Not likely...”

“Then, perhaps, you might treat it with more care,” the Redguard pointedly suggested, “seeing as how someone else might want to buy it...”

Sighing, Edward put the book back on the shelf. He clearly wasn't going to get any help here. Rising, he winced as his knee impacted sharply with the bookshelf. Cursing, he withdrew, even as several books fell all around him. He could feel the glaring eyes of the shopkeeper boring into his back, and that, combined with the agony of his knee, only served to further annoy him.

Stooping to pick up the books, lest the Redguard expect him to pay for them, he growled into the thin air. One by one, he returned the books to the shelves, but froze as he lifted the last volume. “Cleansing of the Fane.” He frowned, trying to remember why that sounded so familiar. Then, it hit him. “Of course...it must be a stupid parody of that book that Umbacano said might be helpful, Cleansing of the Fang.”

Sighing, he cast a furtive glance at the still glaring Redguard, rose, and quickly absented himself from the bookstore. He was now more convinced than ever that booksellers, bookstores and books in general were utterly worthless, and a complete waste of his time. Even the Encyclopedia of Slang had fallen from its pedestal in his eyes. He sighed again, and set his footsteps toward the Tiber Septim Hotel.

This post has been edited by Rachel the Breton: Oct 12 2010, 03:49 AM

Tomb robber? Or tomb raider?

What if Lara Croft in all her gravity-defying glory were to appear in front of Edward, say, in Malada?

Would Edward be able to figure out what tomb robber really means?

Hi Rachel. I was going to wait until I was fully caught up before I commented, but I just can’t help myself. I have just finished Chapter Twenty Three. You had me way back in the Imperial Subterrane when Edward burst through the door leading every rat and goblin in the Natural Caverns behind him. I could just imagine the look on Glenroy and Baurus’ faces! From there I followed Edward through his inspired bit of improvisation in the Tiber Septim Hotel, and his less than inspired treatment of poor Simplicia. His decision to lay the mallet to Snak gra-Bura only to pilfer the most ridiculous horse in the entire stable had me in stitches. The meeting with Lucien LaChance was almost as hilarious as the fact that the aforementioned horse knew his (or her, I don’t think it was ever established) way around Cyrodiil enough to bear Edward to the Inn of Ill Omen!

I think it might have been inside the Inn that Edward really found his stride. The execution of Rufio was exactly what I have come to expect, but his comments to the stalwart Mannheim (again, I am assuming) were absolutely sublime!

Now, after meeting with his wonderfully dysfunctional new family in the Dark Brotherhood, and after admirably playing his role as exterminator by killing one rat in the dungeons under Castle Cheydinhal, I have dutifully followed Edward to the Waterfront of the Imperial City where he is supposed to exercise his skill as an assassin by ridding the world of Gaston Tussaud. Too bad he chose to rest at the Bloated Float.

I’ll comment further once I have caught up. . . but, so far, I am loving this!

These three chapters were Awesome !!! Too many places to quote! The First Edition - SPEW !!! Cleansing of the Fang!!! Sitting down and drinking someone else's wine - and getting caught by Augusta Calidia!!! AWESOME !!!!! MORE!!!!

And then Claude Maric arrives to reinforce Edward’s misapprehension about Umbacano. The only thing that is more difficult than getting an idea into Edward’s empty head is to get one out once it has taken hold.

The whole scene with Claude brought tears to my eyes. You painted it so beautifully, Edward’s disgusted denouncement and Claude’s bewildered response.

“Tomb robber.” This one left me speechless.

And then you manage to out-do yourself with Edward’s unsuccessful mission in the First Edition. I can’t decide which I liked best- Lightest Lightness or Manual of Arms.

What fun to have completely new Edwardian idiocy to enjoy! Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Wow...it's been a long time since I've posted. (My work schedule has shifted, hopefully temporarily, so I'm working much later...which means I seem to get up, go to work, get home, go to sleep ... with no time for writing). However, getting over a stomach flu and feeling pretty sorry for myself because of said flu ( ), I somehow started thinking of Edward. There's no connection between the self-pity and thinking of Edward, I'm sure. ;P Anyhow, I started writing again, and here we go. But first, thanks to all who commented.

@haute ecole rider: lol, Edward will be meeting people at Malada alright, but they won't be Lara.

@Destri: I'm so glad you're enjoying this! I agree, I think it was around the time of the Rufio execution where I sort of figured out where Edward was going as a character. I hope you enjoyed the rest!!

@malx: Glad you enjoyed it! I sort of envisioned Edward's idea of "Cleansing of the Fang" something like brushing your teeth.

@ treydog: "The only thing that is more difficult than getting an idea into Edward's empty head is to get one out once it has taken hold." You are so right about that!! I'm glad you enjoyed the "Manual of Arms", too...I could just imagine Edward shrieking in horror as he pulled that out





It's Dawn that brings the light that shines,
The light that cleanses and heals,
The light that washes away the imperfections
The light that blinds the unbelievers,
And it's Dawn we aim to meet, my brothers and sisters!
-- Excerpt from a sermon by Mankar Camoran




Chapter Forty-Eight

Edward had just made up his mind to give up the whole scheme of working for Umbacano when he had an idea. He would ask his valet if he had ever heard of any "High Fang"...after all, the man had the odd talent of being useful here and there. This just might be one of those times. So, he asked, "I suppose being this close to your old employer's house is a little disconcerting for you...I mean, you used to live there, right? And here we are, just across the street."

The valet frowned at him. "Remember your promise, sir. No robbing him..."

It was Edward's turn to frown at his valet. "I wasn't proposing that we rob him, you stupid servant...I mean, my good man. I was just trying to be polite!"

"Oh...my apologies, sir."

"Never mind," Edward assured him quickly. There was no point making too much of this when he needed the other man's help. "Anyway, I suppose you must be rather an authority on Aleyid artifacts and ruins and whatnot, what with having worked for a collector for so long?"

The other man shrugged. "I know a little, sir, but not too much."

Edward sighed. All his pretense of friendliness had been wasted...his servant, yet again, had let him down.

"Why?"

"Never mind," he snapped. "I was just hoping you knew something about the High Fang."

"You mean, Fane?"

Edward glared at him. "That's what I said – Fang."

The valet frowned. "Are we talking about Malada, sir?"

"What?"

"The High Fane is what we used to call it, I believe, but we call it Malada nowadays. That is, if we're talking about the same thing?"

Edward nodded slowly. "You mean the ruin?"

"Yes sir...the one east of Bravil, I believe it is?"

The Imperial frowned. East, west, it was all the same to him; and, he supposed, regardless of where it was, it had to be some point relative to Bravil. And "east" sounded as good as any to his mind. "Err, yes, I believe that's the one."

"Right. What did you want to know about it?"

Edward frowned. Where did he start? "Well, how to get there, for starters. Could you show me the way?"

"I've never been there myself, sir, but I'm pretty sure I could find it."

Grimacing to himself, the Imperial tried to hide his annoyance. "You're 'pretty sure'?" he repeated. "How sure is 'pretty sure'?"

The valet frowned to himself and shrugged, as if trying to measure his degree of sureness. "Fairly confident...I've seen it on the map...just a matter of plotting the right course and..."

Edward groaned. The outcome of this adventure was looking bleaker by the moment. Not only was he in a race with a pervert to find an ancient, probably long-destroyed, carving, he was entrusting his life to his servant's doubtless flawed navigation abilities. Images of starving to death in the wilderness played in his mind, and he made a mental note to pack a concealable dagger; cannibalism wasn't his first choice, but if his valet was leading him to a death of starvation in the wilds, he would be prepared for any eventuality.

AWESOME !!!!!! YOU'RE BACK !!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I'm sorry to hear you have the stomach flu - but will wish it on your repeatedly if it brings updates !!!!!!

Awesome chapter !!!!!!!


YOU HAVE BEEN SO MISSED !!!!!!!!!