What a wonderful glimpse into the beginning of the Alessian Revolution!

Better still however, was Lattia's encounter with Iachesis. It is amazing that he has been able to resist the effects of Apocryhpa. It must be as he said, that after reading all the books, he longer has any desire to learn more. I am sure being an ancient Psijic master helps though! I am eager to see where this goes!

I can see the trees, and that is good! The forest eludes me at this point of course, but I expect that is your intent. For I know Alessia and Morihaus primarily from my readings relating to Pelinal Whitestrake. And I know of Sancre Tor. I also know Lattia and seeing her again brought a smile. Why, it seems the last I saw of her, she was in the same place but reciting her name to herself lest she forget. . . . It seems she was not successful?

Reading Interregnum is always a fascinatingly mysterious experience.

“And this thing I have thought of, I have named it, and I call it freedom . . .”
This is great! In fact the whole scene setting the stage for this declaration was very evocative.

Nit? ’ The sharp crack of a whip drew the tiger’s attention. A figure in golden armor waited impatiently just outside the curtain of trees. Its prize forgotten, the tiger bounded to its masters side and disappeared behind the shroud of leaves.’
I suspect you wanted master’s vs masters here?

This post has been edited by Acadian: Aug 27 2011, 01:15 AM

Finally we are finding out what happened to Lattia! ARGH !!! And the beginnings of Sancre Tor - although I liked Remanada's version and the image so clearly depicted of the soldiers (aghast at seeing their leader humping the mound of dirt all night long) - your version does meet the PG rating much better, lol. Awesome Write !!!

“And this thing I have thought of, I have named it, and I call it freedom . . .”

This was one of those gasp and goosebump moments.

I’m glad that Lattia has an ally in Apocrypha. Also a relief that Master Iachesis will not require her to follow his path. I found his admission that the stacks no longer held mystery for him to be quite chilling.

As usual by the time I finished this installment, I had a new reading list. King Hrol grinding himself to death in the dirt was an eye-opener.

Wow. Just wow. That's all I can say. I've been reading this for a few weeks and I'm finally all caught up. I hadn't been too knowledgeable on Tamrielic lore. Truthfully, I still don't know anywhere near everything but this story has been all too worth getting into it. See, it's one thing to play through the game and write stories based on that (which I LOVE just the same!) but it's something entirely different to breathe life into the actual history that makes this stuff so great. Keep. It. UP. Can't wait for more!

PS- I don't comment much at all, but I'll still be around

From a campsite in the Colovian Highlands a few leagues south of Elinhir, Hammerfell


“My friends ... I suppose that introductions, or re-introductions as it were, are in order. My surname is of little account. It is one of the many simple names worn by the fisher folk who infest the docks of Wayrest, and it is there that I chose to leave it many years ago. Those of you familiar with our story have come to know me as Alain...”

“Oh, get to the point Alain!”

“My apologies. At the insistence of my impatient friend and stalwart companion, Sir Valdemar of Skyrim, I come before you now to regale you with the lamentable fate suffered by our inconstant chronicler, Destri Melarg.”

“Inconstant is a diplomatic way to put it.”

“I see no reason to rub a salt pile into an open wound.”

“Then pass the salt!”

“In any event, on the morning of 12 November last Destri was blindsided by an ancient Dragon called Alduin.”

“I believe there is a song about him now. How does it go?

When brothers wage war come unfurled
Alduin, bane of kings, ancient shadow unbound
with a hunger to swallow the world!

”

“Yes, well this was a literal fact in Destri’s case. Not only did Alduin devour the gossamer strands of lore that Destri worked to incorporate into Interregnum, but his appearance and subsequent popularity laid waste to Destri’s desire to remain a citizen of Tamriel. In effect, Alduin swallowed the world for Destri Melarg.”

“And he swallowed us with it! But you and I are proving difficult to digest.”

“Indeed. We have spent nigh unto a year trying to plead, cajole, beguile, and berate Destri into lifting his pen against the monster. He once told us that there is a saying in your world that ‘the pen is mightier than the sword...’

“A ridiculous assertion! Give me a good sword and I will cut down Dagon himself if all he has is a pen!”

“That does not help us in this instance, Valdemar.”

“Am I wrong? You can use your pen to try and plead our case to Destri’s readers and we will see if that draws him back to the desk. Give me a sword and I will make our case to Destri in such a way that he dare not refuse!”

“Thankfully that won't be necessary. But, if it comes to that, I will hand you the sword myself.”

“If it comes? How long must we wait before you believe that the thing warrants drastic action?”

“A fair bit longer it seems.”

“Bretons!”

“I will not apologize for having more faith in Destri than you.”

“Do not speak to me of faith, Alain. My soul still lays open after being eviscerated in the last chapter he wrote about us! How long ago was that exactly?"

“It has been awhile.”

“Indeed. Our story has received far more justice by the hand of haute ecole rider than by Destri of late. Imagine the depth of faith that keeps me tethered to a ship in dry dock.”

“In the interest of fairness I must point out that we were in fact dead in haute ecole rider’s story.”

“Undead Alain. Corpses did not cross swords with Julian in those cursed halls.

“Semantics, Valdemar. I seem to remember that being rendered undead is your greatest fear. You would resign yourself to that rather than wait for Destri to be moved by the muse once more?”

“Those should not be my only choices!”

“No, they should not. Yet here we are.”

“Yes, here we are. Far afield of the reason you chose to drag us onto the page today.”

“That is something we agree upon. So, as I was saying, Destri abandoned Interregnum in a fit of pique directed at the developers over at Bethesda who reconstituted the history of our world in order to give it a better foothold for their precious dragons. He went back to writing historical fiction set firmly in your world where the history is at least respected enough not to be changed on a whim ... “

“<Yawn>”

“Yes it did get tedious , sitting there day after day looking over his shoulder at the dreck filling his screen.”

“Actually my yawn was aimed at you, Alain. Nobody wants to hear this. Move on and get to the point.”

“Patience my friend. Where was I?”

“Very close to the business end of a warhammer!”

“Well, despite our constant reminders and lamentations, Destri seemed content to go on like that and to allow the Elder Scrolls to be relegated to one of those many things put aside in favor of more ‘worthwhile’ pursuits. But then, as she was leaving his office one day, the lovely Mrs. Melargi* threw a five word question over her shoulder that has had him kicking himself ever since ...”

“‘... You wrote Interregnum for Bethesda?’ Gods, I could kiss that woman!”

“I don’t imagine that would help you see more light in the story, Valdemar.”

“It would be fun all the same!”

“The point is that, due to his rage at Bethesda, Destri lost sight of why he wanted to write Interregnum in the first place. As I pen these words he sits at his keyboard straining to find the right words to express his remorse and contrition. He has also re-immersed himself into our world in an attempt to continue Interregnum. Valdemar and I have proven difficult to submerge, but the rest of the story is now over a year removed from his consciousness. It will take time for him to rediscover the voices that were pushing him along before, and he doesn't want to write anything new before he has had the chance to catch up on everyone else's stories. But, rest assured, Valdemar and I will make sure that he doesn’t stray again ... with the aforementioned warhammer, if needs be!















* Because of certain contractual obligations and the threat of bodily harm due to couch sores, the name ‘Mrs. Melarg‘ will always be preceded by the honorific ‘the lovely‘ in perpetuity.

Welcome back, old friend! The Imperial City wasn't built in a day so take the time you need. Ever the gracious gentleman, I knew you would catch up with us, even as you apply quill to parchment and resume Interregnum.

Here's a picture of but one of your many friends here who misses you, in hopes it will bring you inspiration - Screenshot

Now THAT is a re-introduction! (And a bow to the lovely Mrs. Melarg ™ ). Welcome back to Destri and Vlademar and Alain and the whole lot of you.

So glad Alduin finally puked you back out to us! And Mrs. Melarg? Congrats are in order, I knew she was a keeper! So glad just to see you here! Congratulations on your marriage!

Although I knew most of the struggle you were having with the above mentioned issues, it would mean a tremendous amount to all of us that care about you to see you overcome whatever changes time and Alduin have done to your story.

If you feel you absolutely need to break off and start fresh with a new story, that is fine too. (My personal vote if you change stories is for Redguard, N'Gasta).

SO glad to see you on here Destri, you have been so missed! <3

Please convey my heartfelt thanks to the lovely Mrs. Melarg for precipitating the reintroduction of the Interregnum.

This story is awesome, you are awesome, and reading it makes me want your babies.

I mean, seriously, I could go into a bit more of a detailed breakdown into why I like this so much, but it basically boils down to: well-rounded characters, an intrigue-filled, multifacted and complex plot that manages to be easy to follow even when being written from multiple perspectives, pulse-pounding combat scenes, excellent imagery (had a bit of a wordgasm at; "Talos marked the parabola of his flight, which merged with the torrent of blood erupting from what was left of Prior Sanne. For a brief instant it looked to his eyes as if the Tsaesci rode a wave of blood that crested and then fell toward the sand below." even if it did have a repetition of 'blood') and just generally getting literature right.

Also, my advice on Skyrim is this: Canon is there to be twisted, altered, bent, played with and just plain ignored in favour of whatever you want. That canon is your umbrella seller. Make it sell umbrellas on your behalf, and come crawling back to you on its kness, handing over its profits from selling umbrellas and give it only a tiny margin in return. Forget Skyrim changing the canon up; be the canon's umbrella pimp!

I actually know what you mean... ...

Aaaamywho...

I shall definately follow whatever comes next...Um, welcome back?... ...

And while I seem to be making this an unfortunate habit( ), I second what Mein Colonel said about Skyrim...Just keep going with what yer doing, worry about Skyrim in a few hundred years... ...

Undying gratitude to the lovely Mrs. Melarg for her role in your return.

CLICK

Two full years have passed since this was last updated! I honestly don’t know what to say about that. Where does the time go?

First, thank you one and all for popping back in here. After so much time it is difficult to jump back into a story already in progress, especially when you have to remember this (convoluted) plot amongst the host of other great stories on this site. I will endeavour to make the transition as painless as possible, without bogging you down with what would amount to a ten page recap just to get to the new chapters.

The new chapters.

As many of you know, my reason for abandoning this story had to do with Bethesda’s change in the lore surrounding the Dragonborn. I have faithfully tried to present this story as history within the Elder Scrolls universe. When that history was altered it rendered much of what I had already written (and much more of what I planned to write) obsolete. I didn’t handle that well, and for that I sincerely apologize.

Interregnum has become my white whale. It is an obsession that simply refuses to die, no matter how hard I try to kill it. What started as a writing exercise has evolved into my pride and joy, and I am diminished when not actively working on it.

So I will diminish myself no longer. The Great War will continue, but at a later date because my heart kept venturing back to 2E 854. Interregnum demands to be finished... in its original form. These characters have spoken, and one does not want to see angry vampiric serpents with katanas in one’s dreams.

Trust me.





22nd First Seed, 2E 854
The Great Forest, Southeast Colovian Highlands
Evening


Alain reigned his horse. “I think we’ve lost them.”

Valdemar turned in the saddle. His effort to scan the forest was thwarted by the abundant shadows cast by the trees. Still, the sounds of pursuit had long since faded into silence. “We could have taken them, Alain.”

“Perhaps,” said Alain, “but what would killing them have served?”

Valdemar looked to the starless night sky as the first rumble of thunder announced the impending storm. “It would have served to provide a roof over our heads for the night. And it would have saved our horses the exertion. Need I remind you that the Imperial City is still a ways off?”

“Need I remind you that we were tenants of Jehanna’s dungeon of late? I have no desire to sample the accommodations of another city.”

“I was not in the wrong, Alain.”

“Do you believe a magistrate would have shared your sentiment?”

“I was not in the wrong!”

“You struck the first blow,” said Alain. Then he raised his hand against Valdemar’s response. “I believed the man wished you harm, and were I in the same situation I would have responded in kind. But my testimony to the fact is biased in favor of my friend and useless in the eyes of the law.”

Valdemar spurred his horse into a slow walk down their chosen path. “What manner of law binds a man while allowing advantage to any willing to break it?”

“There are those who would suggest that every law fits that description.” Alain’s horse pranced and nodded as if to underscore the point.

“Count me amongst them,” said Valdemar. “In Skyrim a man defines his own honor, and is expected to act when he feels it is being threatened.”

Alain waved his hand to dismiss the assertion. “In Skyrim a man’s honor is threatened by an insult aimed at his horse!”

“That is funny coming from you. I cannot recall, how many kings rule High Rock?”

“I am a child of the Empire now.”

“Oh, a child of the Empire is it? One who still styles himself Sir Alain of Wayrest.”

Alain smiled. “Just as you style yourself Sir Valdemar of Skyrim. That is something that I have always found curious. What prompted the change?”

“There has been no change,” said Valdemar.

“Truly? You were Valdemar of Riverwood when I met you.”

“I was. And then my countrymen foreswore their oaths at Sancre Tor while I alone remained true.”

“So now you see yourself as representing the whole of Skyrim?

The nord nodded. “I do.”

“Even now?” asked Alain.

“You mean even as we overwork our horses to reach the Imperial City in order to join Talos? I stayed true to my oath, Alain, and now that oath is fulfilled. I see no conflict in joining my friend on a quest entered into in defense of honor that he defined for himself... and, by extension, for me. In so doing you have proven my point, while also proving yourself as much a child of Skyrim as you are of High Rock... or this new Empire.”

Alain shifted in his saddle. “I never asked you to foreswear your country, Valdemar.”

“Did you not?” asked the Nord. “The way you were wallowing in that cell I thought I might have to walk the Pilgrim’s Path to stir you from misery.”

“Valdemar...”

“I jest, Alain. Joining you in this endeavour is a choice that I made. My oath stands fulfilled, and I didn’t have anything else vexing my time.”

Alain nodded. Then: “I still do not believe the magistrate of Chorrol would have been swayed by your argument to the point of allowing us to walk freely under the giant oak.”

Valdemar laughed. “It was not the prospect of walking that held my interest, Alain.”

“I am sure we will find another tavern.”

“Mead is easy to find. I was thinking more of the companionship. Other than that serving girl in Jehanna we have been suffering a lamentable drought in that regard since we left Hammerfell.”

“You never even broke words with the serving girl... and I do not recall the waters being overly abundant when we were in Hammerfell.”

“That is because you choose not to swim, Alain! Imagine the sorrow that awaits us all should the clergy discover that thoughts of vengeance will bind a man to celibacy with far more effect than shackles of piety!”

“‘Thoughts of vengeance,’” said Alain, “motivated you as well.”

“And those thoughts were quelled the moment my mace met with that traitorous K...”

“Do not utter his name, Valdemar! Not in my presence.”

“Still?” asked Valdemar. “The man is dead, Alain! If the gods are just, then right now his name flows from the tongues of hungry daedra contemplating their supper. He united us in common cause, and I will give him credit for doing that much right in this world. But whatever power he may have exerted over us is now spent. I say bury the dead, leave judgement to the gods, and let us be about the task of living our lives.”

“Have you buried those that you led into the depths of Pale Pass?”

Valdemar gripped his mace. “You are my friend, Alain, so I will allow that to go unchallenged. But heed my words when I say that I will not suffer you to use their memory to buttress an argument again!”

Alain closed his eyes against his regrettable impulse. “I betrayed a confidence, Valdemar. You have my word that it will not happen again. I apologize.”

Valdemar released his mace. Conversation fell into silence. Raindrops echoed above them even as those same drops doused their cloaks and seeped into the chinks in their armor. Hooves began to sink into the mud with each forward step, and horse’s breath rose like smoke through the falling rain.

Alain’s voice broke the silence between them, but it was at such a low level that it could not find purchase in Valdemar’s ear. He repeated himself, louder this time, and the sound carried over the falling rain but it was still unclear to Valdemar’s hearing. The giant Nord turned in his saddle and his baritone cowed both horse and weather.

“What was that? I did not hear you.”

Alain lowered his head and reached into the deeper portions of his chest. The sound found therein gave rich clarity to his voice... and soothing catharsis to his soul.

“I said the traitor’s name,” said Alain. “I said Kastav.”





24th First Seed, 2E 854
The Arcane University, Imperial City
Morning


Given all that passed before them on a daily basis, it came as a surprise to Casnar that the sight of a Redguard standing in the lobby of the Arcane University was enough to elicit a second glance. Even the sight of the occassional scamp walking amidst the display cases was treated as the most mundane of occurrences. He did not know how to feel about that. Without his armor he did not believe that his appearance was more threatening than any of the robed figures milling about. He had done nothing since his arrival to warrant such scrutiny. Perhaps it was his own unease that made them wary. Despite that however, he was still of the opinion that a living, breathing, mortal soul in their midst should not be subject to more abject disdain than a minion of Oblivion... regardless of that soul’s geographic point of origin.

He flexed his non-sword hand. True, he thought to himself, Not all mages have treated my presence as an affront. I have benefitted from the administrations of the kind mages of Sutch. My left arm scarcely even throbs at this point, even after the hard ride to reach the Imperial City. Still he knew that, to any who bothered to ask, he would claim no use for the Dura-hi practiced here in the east... no matter how secretly grateful he was that his benefactor insisted on his seeking treatment...

“Sir Casnar?”

The sound of his name, even with the discarded honorific, pulled his attention to the robed figure that moved towards him. Though they had never met in person, the sudden interest from those who just a moment before had regarded him with such trepidation told Casnar that he had finally reached his destination.

“Master Arctus,” he said, bowing, “alas, I am no longer a knight. However, it remains a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”

Arctus smiled and placed a hand on Casnar’s shoulder. “Indeed. This is a meeting too long overdue. Come, we have much to discuss.”

Casnar followed the battlemage through the door, down the main steps, and back across the bridge leading to the Arboretum. The gathering clouds in the northeastern sky hinted at the storm to come. Around them spring still reigned, and the sun glanced from blooms that lent color and fragrance to each step. Birdsong provided gentle ease from the silence.

“I was sorry to hear of your leaving Hammerfell,” Arctus began. “I can only imagine how difficult that must have been.”

“It was,” said Casnar, “the most difficult thing that I’ve ever done.”

“I wonder if it was worth it,” said Arctus.

The guards opened the gates, admitting them into the Arboretum where hundreds had already gathered for morning meanderings and meditations. The gardens accommodated their number without complaint but, after the tranquility of the bridge, even their muted conversations were akin to a hard slap against Casnar’s senses. It took him a moment to realize that Master Arctus was still speaking.

“... regarded you as a key asset in Hammerfell. One that I was loath to lose for so trivial a concern.”

Casnar stopped. “Trivial? With respect, Master Arctus, I do not believe that the boy or his family would have considered the situation or my concern ‘trivial.‘ I also believe that you labor under a mistaken impression. I agreed to act as your agent in passing along information to Alain, but that was the extent of our relationship. There was never going to be a time where I acted as an ‘asset’ against my King, my country, or my people. Not as long as I wore the Moon.”

“It is I who have given the mistaken impression, Sir Knight. Forgive my poor choice of words.”

The battlemage began to walk. Casnar fell into step beside him.

“Your wounds have healed?”

“I am fit, Master Arctus. The mages in Sutch know their trade.”

“Good. Your sword arm may be needed sooner than we thought.”

“Why is that?”

“I think you know, sir knight. You did not venture all this way to become a legionary.”

Casnar smiled.

“I have always admired your loyalty to the Knights of the Moon,” Arctus continued. “Because of that, I feel I must give you fair warning. Your arrival comes at a perilous time. The first arrows have been fired in a war which will decide the fate of an Empire. We need loyalty such as yours, but any who pledge fealty to General Talos become guilty of high treason.”

Casnar lowered his head. The smell of the gardens grew sour, the blooms had suddenly paled, and the birds had grown silent. Somehow the storm seemed closer. “Pledging his sword to General Talos is not high treason for a man without a country. I am a knight. What purpose do I serve if not to serve?”

Now it was Arctus who stopped. He measured the fallen knight. “You are certain? There may come a time when you are called upon to act against Hammerfell. I do not want your sword if your heart remains loyal to the Moon.”

Casnar straightened and regained his bearing. “My sword is my heart, Master Arctus. And it is yours.”

“I do not care how your countrymen see you,” said Arctus. “You remain Sir Casnar.”

He grasped Casnar’s mended arm and continued their walk toward the Green Emperor Road and the promise of angry skies in the distance.





26th First Seed, 2E 854
The Dungeons beneath the Imperial Palace, Imperial City
Morning


The Chevalier Renald hung limp from manacles placed in the ceiling. Only the reflexive movement of his tongue gave evidence that life still flowed. Each time it sampled the stale air it returned with the scent of death to remind him of his failure. Chirasch’s putrid, decomposing body was a ghastley visual clue in the event that his sense of smell began to fail. He had long since passed the point of feeling... the daily ordeal of the lash tearing into him was but a drop in the ocean of agony that each drawn breath made manifest. Even the act of thought was a form of torture. Thought gave life to recrimination and rebuke, and their claws cut deeper than any blade. Blessed silence was broken by the snap of the lash finding the flesh of another tormented soul, and the attendant screams that permeated through the walls. Death was a constant companion. It was embodied by the silent corpse that shared his cell, yet it remained torturously inept at the simple task of putting him out of his misery.

Somewhere in the wash of agonies visited upon him, a new scent rested upon his tongue and lingered. Perfume? Here? it cut through the blood, sweat, bile, and excrement. Somehow, that made it worse than the others. It put him back upon the parapet of the Emperor’s box, With cold rain mixing with the warm blood from the stump of neck still left to the Breton clergyman’s body. His naked blade had never felt lighter. His tail had curled for the jump. Lightning struck. The explosion of light brought with it certainty. He leapt.

And landed in this cell, he thought.

His tongue captured it again. Unmistakeable. Perfume. The Emperor’s pet Altmer! Hatred for any and everything Imperial brought clarity to his senses. Pain lanced through him with each intake of breath. They are getting closer! Despite his best efforts, he could not will weakened muscles to act. He wanted to strike out as a true Tscaesci and slaughter any who stood in the way of his syffim’s freedom. But, when they stopped before his cell, all that the jailor, the Shrine Sergeant, and Lord Counselor saw was a limp snake hanging from manacles in the ceiling.

“Here ‘e is, m’lord,” the jailor announced. He was a squat, full-bellied Breton who sported a skull that was too small, a nose that was too flat, cheeks that were too soft, and a mouth that was too wet... and always open.

“Do you not bathe them?” asked Farenenre. “The smell ...”

“Beggin’ m’lord’s pardon,” said the jailor, “but this ain’t the Hotel Juilek. These men are ‘ere to suffer.”

“The one on the ground is dead,” offered Shrine Sergeant Mero. “His suffering is ended.”

“That ‘e is, sir. And I’ll remove ‘im soon as the Emp’ror gives me leave.”

“Are you saying that the Emperor has ordered this Tsaesci to share a cell with a rotting corpse?” asked Mero.

“No, sir,” said the jailor. “I’m sayin’ that corpse belongs to the Emp’ror, and it ain’t my place to say what ‘e wants done with it.”

“The jailor is right, Sergeant,” said Farenenre, his face obscured by the resourceful agency of a silk glove held over the nose. He looked toward the jailor. “Just clean him up and prepare him for an audience with the Emperor.”




This post has been edited by Destri Melarg: Jan 17 2015, 08:37 AM

I'm so excited to see this story resume that I even bothered to log in! (It's been a while.)

Yay! Once more the interregnum of Interregnum has ended, and the king has returned!

I am sure you know what I am going to say next. Forget what Bethesda decided to change/decide about the Dagonborns Dragonborns lore, and go with your own. We all know that writing - and continuity - are not Bethesda's strong suits. The best TES stories tend to be the ones where the writer either ignores Bethesda and recreates the lore, or where they at least add many layers of new material on top of the sketchy info that Beth provides. So far your Talos and company are much more interesting than how Bethesda presents them.

Now on to the tale.

“but what would killing them have served?”
Spoken like a certain Doctor from Gallifrey, or a wandering Chinese-American named Caine.

So now we know how Fort Kastav got its name! Seriously, that was a nice conversation between Alain and Valdemar that subtly brings us up to speed on where we are in the story - or at least in their story. We also see a few more lights shone into the depths of their character, in what defines them, what they value, and how they define themselves. I am still holding out for a love scene between them. I am sure you did not intend it, but they have always come across in your writing as a couple, and really, as two of the best examples of gay men I have ever read.

Now on to the Cas-ster. At first I also was surprised at the reaction to a Redgaurd in the Arcane University. Until I thought back to the rather common prejudice against magic that most Redguards possess. That a Ra'Gada would want to be in the Arcane University is indeed worthy of note.

I gather that Dura-hi is the Redguard word for magic?

My sword is my heart
Now this was a magnificent example of word-smithing. Not to mention once more a very clear declaration of Casnar's character, in keeping with what we also saw between Alain and Valdemar earlier in this post. Now I wonder will a section on Rielius finish out today's episode?

Not Reilly, but Renald. Close.




Nits:
You did not venture all this way to become a legionnary.”
I think that sneaky Eastern battlemage used his Dura-hi to slip an extra 'n' into legionary.

these men are ‘ere to suffer.
Your slovenly Breton jailor forgot to capitalize These men, whom he is so keen on seeing suffer.

Not a nit, but a thought. Rather than Seargeant, you might want to use the original French Sergent. It goes well with the use of Chevalier.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Jan 16 2015, 11:56 PM

I agree with the wise SubRosa (always a good idea) regarding using lore as you deem appropriate to support your story - not the other way around. Besides, with a Bosmer named Buffy the Bowgirl, you know that lore doesn't drive my thinking. Other things, like alliteration for example are more important.

First segment:

“In Skyrim a man’s honor is threatened by an insult aimed at his horse!”

I very much enjoyed the knightly banter between Alain and Valdemar as they rode along. You chose the word catharsis well as Alain said Kastav’s name.

Second segment:

Wonderful to see the Arcane University. Your light touches like the matter of fact presence of summoned scamps helped achieve that mystical feel the place so deservedly emanates.

Knights of the Moon – most appropriate here.

Third segment:

’Death was a constant companion. It was embodied by the silent corpse that shared his cell, yet it remained torturously inept at the simple task of putting him out of his misery.’ - - What a well-crafted passage. It is gruesomely evocative as it captures the Tsaesci’s grim situation perfectly.

“Here ‘e is, m’lord,” the jailor announced. He was a squat, full-bellied Breton who sported a skull that was too small, a nose that was too flat, cheeks that were too soft, and a mouth that was too wet... and always open.’ - - Oh my! What a fantastically concise description that tells us everything relevant about the jailor. I use the word concise because this reminds me of a chapter long ago that you opened with words along the lines of ‘Cuhlecain sat in a golden tub and gave distracted audience to a snake.’

Overall: How nice to catch up with some of this story’s characters, even if none of them seem to be experiencing the best of times.


Nits:
’Alain reigned his horse.’ You want ‘reined’ here of course.

’The nord nodded. “I do.” - - Since you capitalize all uses of race consistently elsewhere in the episode (Nord, Redguard, Tsaesci) I expect you wanted Nord here.

’Even the sight of the occassional scamp walking amidst...’ - - Occasional?

’He wanted to strike out as a true Tscaesci and slaughter any who stood in the way of his syffim’s freedom.’ - - I would hate to have to learn and remember how to spell the race of the snakemen! Tsaesci is correct though (and you have it spelled correctly later in the episode).

“That is because you choose not to swim, Alain! Imagine the sorrow that awaits us all should the clergy discover that thoughts of vengeance will bind a man to celibacy with far more effect than shackles of piety!”

I love this guy. I’ve missed their friendship. And I love the way the starless night turned to rain at just the right moment.

Casnar straightened and regained his bearing. “My sword is my heart, Master Arctus. And it is yours.”

Aahhh, that was just beautiful.

The Chevalier Renald’s tongue segment (of the update) was magnificent. How fitting that scent should bring him back to alertness. That jailor’s too-wet mouth is going to haunt me! Farenenre’s glove over his nose made me think that the stench in there was likely thick enough to chew. *happy sigh*

I’m so delighted to see this story return, Destri. I’m celebrating by reading again from the start, and not for the first time in the last two years.

Update, yay!

It's so good to see this again, and after so long. Alain and Valdemar's banter was a lot of fun, and the prison scene with Chevalier Renauld was excellently written. The emphasis on how he perceived the world through scent was a great way to highlight his non-human nature, and the sheer brutality of his situation was excellently conveyed. I'm wondering what the Emperor wants with him; on one hand, I'd expect revenge, but on the other hand on a rereading of the scene in the arena the Emperor was smiling when Prior Penne(?) was killed. It leaves me curious as to what's going to happen to the good Chevalier.