The Cover Up, A Sequel to my first fan-fic Options

[Lord Veneficus]

Yet another side project. Enjoy.

The Northern Champion

Cover Up Chapter One


It was a cover up, a scheme. The Elder Council wanted to make sure the Champion of Cyrodiil would have no enemies. They staged his death and had one of their men write a detailed book about what they wanted people to think happened. Only the Council knows that the Champion is in the newly rebuilt city of Kvatch, living in a beautiful manor hidden under Kvatch Castle.

The Elder Council has no idea what is about to come their way. Umaril the Unfeathered has returned and vowed his vengeance and Eric Snowmane will become a hero once more.

+++++++++++

Eric sat in his chair next to the fire place in his quarters, watching the flames lick the fine smelling cherry wood. The small end table next to his silken chair held a silver goblet engraved with the recently created Snowmane crest, a bottle of Tamika’s Wine, and a wooden mask padded with goose down and black velvet is sewn on the front and back; it covered his face fully and blocked view of his face from any angle. He disliked wearing the mask, but knew that if he did not wear it, the people of Kvatch would recognize him.

Only Savlian Matius, Kvatch Count, and the Elder Council knew where he actually was. Eric’s manor laid directly under the Count’s quarters, and was kept sealed by a magical lock that only the count and Eric knew how to open.

A sharp rap at his door shot through the soundless room, giving Eric’s muscles a quick tensing. He grabbed the mask and tied it onto his face, while the steady tattoo continued to move through the warm air. Eric stood, faced the door and stated loudly, “Please, enter.”

Savlian Matius strode into the room, a confident yet powerful aura emanated from his body. His white and black robes whipping around his ankles as he stopped abruptly in front of Eric. “Are you in the mood for a chat?” Savlian inquired. Savlian glanced around the room and saw a silver longsword propped against Eric’s chair, “I see you still have that blade I gave you. It’s nothing compared to that Akaviri katana, though.” Then, Savlian saw the katana hanging above the mantle.

Eric followed the ex-captain’s eyes, feeling a good bit of nostalgia as Savlian mentioned the silver longsword and his eyes held a long shine to them. “Yes, I remember that day. You were a bit of an boat, if I remember correctly. Haha!” Eric laughed, motioning for Savlian to have a seat. The ex-captain sat down, all the while chuckling.

“I was, but things change,” Savlian replied, his hand shot to the inside of his robes and a letter emerged from the within the folds. He wiped his eyes and gave Eric the letter, which was torn open; obviously to be read by the Count.

“What’s this?” Eric asked, suddenly becoming serious.

“Open it. It was sent to me, but I think you should read it, as well.”

Eric unfolded the sealed letter and began to read the smooth and curvy handwriting.

Savlian,

I think you should be aware of what’s happened here. One of my guards has found something disturbing in the chapel. He was on his night watch and entered the chapel to check on the priests and priestesses, but he found them all dead. One was lying inside the center altar. I am in tears now writing this letter.

A man who wishes to call himself The Prophet has been standing out in the garden, babbling on about the coming of some Umaril character. I’m advising you to keep your guards within the temple or the men and women of the Gods will face the same fate mine have.

I bid you farewell,

Millona Umbranox

[Lord Veneficus]

The Cover Up Chapter Three


Eric sat upon the back of Caballus as he neared the Imperial Bridge, gleaming in the morning sun and reflecting the sun’s rays and sending them in every direction, making it all the more beautiful to look at. He sat there, bathing in the warm sunlight, but was quickly removed from his fantasy state when Caballus whinnied with discontent.

“Easy, easy,” He assured the white stallion, patting him gently between the ears. Eric prodded the horse’s side with his boots and it began to move onward.

Traders and well-off merchants could be seen coming his way down the gleaming bridge. They nodded their heads at him as he passed, making Eric feel a bit better since the lying to Cyrodiil’s people and yet they didn’t even know who he was. I’ve got to do something about this. I’ll need to talk to the Council, now.

Eric made it up to the stables and handed the Orc his reins. He knew of Snak gra-Bura’s nasty habit of eating the horses and he stated humorously, “Don’t eat him, please.” He laughed and strode off, listening to the hateful mumblings of Snak gra-Bura.

The doors to the city were wide open, showing its people running about, nailing announcements to posts, bumping into others, and other things. Eric dreaded entering the city knowing he would have to almost fight his way to the palace.

Ever since the end of the Crisis, a feeling of sadness and anger was clouded above the Imperial City. It always hit Eric the hardest, no matter how many times he walked through its cobble-stoned streets. The people of Cyrodiil had seemed to lose their luster and became hateful shells of their former selves.

He neared the White Gold Tower, where the graves of nobles, warriors, and emperors alike lay next to one another, side by side. Eric went to his “grave” and knelt in front of it, reading the inscription the Elder Council had placed upon it:

Eric Snowmane
3E 413 – 3E 433

This champion was a kind and gentle soul. He fulfilled his duty as a Blade and protected Martin Septim to his last dying breath. May he rest in peace.

Eric shook his head slowly, stood up, and placed his foot upon the magnificent marble tombstone. He pushed with every ounce of strength within his leg and knocked the tombstone over. “I am no dead man!” Eric shouted into the sky. Perhaps the Gods had heard him, as a fierce wind shot through the palace courtyards and blew the trees left and right.

He was fortunate enough to see that no one was roaming the palace grounds, not even the palace guards. Eric flung the mask from his face and sped up the stone steps and flung the palace doors open.

The palace guards did nothing to stop him, seeing as he was wearing their uniform. Eric stormed into the Elder Council Chambers, seeing the surprised looks on their faces.

Chancellor Ocato stood from his chair and announced thusly, “Ah, we were just about to send someone to get you. Please, have a se…”

“No! I’m tired of being your puppet. You made me lie to Tamriel. Have you seen your people out there?” Eric demanded. “They’ve lost their luster. No longer are they happy. No longer do they have a reason to wake in the morning. All of you need to give them someone they can trust. Someone they can depend on. I’m not a diplomat, nor am I a so called ‘hero’. But I have the will to help them, unlike the damned Council! I’ll have enemies, of course. So why did I have to fake my own death just for the Council’s sake? To give you a stronger sense of power?”

There was a silence within the chamber, and the only sound that could be heard was that of Eric’s voice echoing up into the Tower. Chancellor Ocato stood there, like a knot on a log, unable to speak to the enraged Nordic man.

As the seconds melted away, Ocato finally opened his mouth to speak, “Very well. I understand your disgust, but I think you should think before you speak, Eric. This little outburst could have very well cost you your life. But since you are the Champion of Cyrodiil, I’ll let you live. You may continue on with your life and you no longer have to lie to ‘your’ people. Now let us get to the matter at hand.”

“We’ve received reports of the murdering of the priests of Dibella,” Ocato said, taking his seat.

Eric nodded, still overly angry, and said through gritted teeth, “I’ve known about this for some time, now. I will be leaving shortly to investigate what happened there.”

“Very well! Carry on.” Eric spun on his heels and strode from the room, his fury still bubbling inside him. He had so much wanted to lop his head off and relish in the Altmer’s blood. I need to stop these sadistic thoughts. They’ll do nothing but throw me in the wrong direction. He thought, slapping himself on the back of the head.

The brightly lit palace and its crimson red tapestries were soon taken from view as Eric stepped outside, only to be blinded by the light yet again. He shielded his eyes until they adjusted, but until then, he was blind.

*****

Chancellor Ocato called forth one of his guards, “I want you to send one of our scouts to watch him. He just may end up doing something ignorant. I don’t trust him.” The guard nodded and sauntered from the room with a new dignity.

The guard arrived at the palace barracks shortly after and found Heraldus Benolus, scout for the Legion. “Heraldus! Chancellor Ocato wants you to keep an eye on the Champion.”

“Yes, sir!” He said dubiously as he left a rather cramped area of old wooden beds and dirty mattresses and began his assignment.