A Champion's Journey, The Imperial Simulacrum Options

[Verlox]

Prolouge

Ernand Leoriane was greeted to his first sight of the Imperial City as he, along with his escort, crested over Brena's Hill, giving them an unparalleled view of the expansive rain-forest of the Nibenay Valley. The colossal Whitegold Tower, its silvered spire shimmering in the sun, gave promise to splendor. As a Junior Councilman of the Elder Council, Ernand would soon be enjoying that most marvelous of settlements. But the Imperial City wasn't the only site to behold in the great valley of Nibenay. From his perch atop Brena's Hill, the young Councilman could make out splendid villas of alabaster and limestone that belonged to wealthy nobles and Senior Councilors. The great Lake Rumare and its artery, the River Niben, could also be gazed at.

Sir Renard Liseux, the captain of Ernand's guards, moved his horse alongside his master's. "Your Grace, Chorrol is only another hour's ride from here. Would it please you if we bedded down there for the night?" Looking up, Ernand could clearly discern Masser and Secunda, and a few of the brighter stars. The Sun was only visible as a sliver of light on the western horizon. Although he would have preferred if they continued on their journey, traveling by torch-light if need be, Ernand knew that while his men would follow him, they wouldn't like him very much afterwards.

"Chorrol should be fine, Renard." Ernand could tell Renard was pleased by the grin that spread across his face. Signaling to the men, Renard spurred his horse back into formation around Ernand, and they proceeded to Chorrol. A Colovian town, Chorrol was situated in the Highlands on the border with Hammerfell. Founded in the 2703 year of the First Era by Kantus Jerril, the town's first Count. The city itself was rustic, to Ernand resembling the town in High Rock he was born in. Its timber structures were simple, square buildings with one or two floors. Silver Mining was Chorrol's primary trade, but the sheep and goat trade was always booming.

Twilight came and went by the time Ernand and his guards passed through the gates of Chorrol. A sleepy guard pointed them in the direction of the town's inn. It was fortunate that Chorrol was a very simple town, and that the inn received such a prominent position; right off the square. Passing up through the lane, Ernand couldn't help but admire the massive oak-tree that overshadowed the largest of Chorrol's buildings. Dismounting and hitching his horse, Ernand watched his guards tramp into the taproom. He followed more slowly, taking a seat in a corner. After the bar-wench had brought him his beverage, he was joined by Renard. "This isn't exactly the finest of places, eh, Renard?"

"No, sir, it is not," Renard indulged his master, feeling that a Councilman would think any place is trash, "Reminds me of home though, does it not?"

"Aye, that's true. Kambria bears a strong resemblance to this place. Chorrol is certainly warmer, though!" Both men laughed. "Do you think it will rain tonight," Ernand asked as he took a sip of his craythur, "Those clouds looked rather mean."

Renard tapped his chin with his forefinger in thought. "It could. We did have a light sprinkle last night, so it wouldn't be strange if we got some of the water up here in the Highlands."

"Should I expect a delay in travel?"

Renard grimaced. He knew Ernand wanted to get to the Imperial City so he could begin his career, and live the life of Nibenean luxury. Damn...I would be impatient, too, Renard thought to himself. As an older man, however, Renard could look on luxury as a reward, where as he saw Ernand as wanting the luxury as an entitlement, he was a member of the Elder Council after all. "Ernand," Renard rarely used his master's Imperialized name, preferring the formal 'sir' or, in private, his given name of Lochlainn, "How old are you?"

Ernand raised an eyebrow, but answered. "Seven-and-Twenty. Why?"

"You got your whole life ahead of you. Don't let a little luxury spoil you to the rest of the world."

"What makes you think it will?" Indignant, a hard edge crept into Ernand's voice, "I can assure you, Renard, that a Nibenean lifestyle will not 'spoil' me, as you put it." He stood from his seat abruptly, "I must bid you goodnight, Renard. I expect to leave early tomorrow, so be ready to leave by sunrise." With that, Ernand turned on his toe and left the taproom, leaving Renard sitting alone.

"Of course, Councilor. Your will is my command."

*

His entrance into the Imperial City was even greater that he imagined it would be. At the bridge, Ernand and his escort were met by the other two members of High Rock's councilors. They greeted their new compatriot with much warmth, proclaiming that High Rock was well served by having the scion of the Leoriane as a member of the Elder Council. Ernand in turn acknowledged their greetings with a smile, but had to ask where his benefactor, Ria Silmane, was.

"She had business to do for the Emperor, Ernand. As you know, that traitor, Tharn, was executed some months ago. For a time, the position of Imperial Battle Mage was empty, left vacant by Tharn's death. Emperor Uriel, in his wisdom, had Madame Silmane appointed in his place. We hardly see her anymore; always off doing one thing or another for His Majesty." Ernand nodded that he understood, but inwardly he wished that Ria had been their to see his entrance into the Imperial City.

The councilors escorted Ernand and his guard through the streets, giving them a condensed tour of the Imperial City. With the air crisp and cold, the councilors cut the tour short when they arrived in the Elven Gardens District. They pointed out to him the location of the High Rock Councilor's Manor, and then left the younger man for their own villas in the country-side.

"Unpack our belongings," Ernand told his guards, "I'm going to have a rest." The manor was a small, but comfortable, building of three stories. The lowest floor was a large hall made from receiving guests and dining. The second floor was dedicated to housing the occupant’s personal guard. And the third floor was the Councilor's Chamber. It was here that Ernand found himself after he mounted the stairs.

The chamber was very spacious. A large, four-poster bed was against the wall for sleeping. There were numerous coffers and chests, and their was even a writing desk. It was a object on the desk that first drew Ernand's attention, and he moved to investigate. The object was a small letter written on tan paper. Picking it up, Ernand read--

To his most Esteemed Lordship, Councilor Ernand Leoriane
Greetings,

I apologize in advance for not being able to greet you on your entrance into the city. The Emperor had a very important matter for me to look into, and I was unable to get out of it. I promise that we will soon see each other. If not in private than in the Palace.

Your Friend,
Ria Silmane, Imperial Battle Mage

Dated Seventh of Sun's Dawn, 3E 395

Ernand smiled at Ria's letter and put it back onto the desk. Moving over to a nearby shutter, he flung it open to gaze out over the Imperial City. Things were good.

**

This post has been edited by Verlox: Mar 19 2010, 02:40 AM

[Verlox]

Chapter Four: Delirium

Ernand's assailant glared at his prisoner warily. With the tip of his spear at the Breton's throat, he hardly had to worry about the man doing something rash. But the witchmen of High Rock were said to be a tricky race, able to weave a spell or lay a hex with little physical effort. The Bosmer wasn't about to take any chances, and he slowly began to put pressure on his quarry's throat, eliciting from it a panicked squeak. Laughter began to rise in the elf's throat, and he relaxed some of the pressure just as his compatriots were getting to him.

"What's that you got there, Gerrilgor?"

The Bosmer looked up at the source of the voice, "A Breton, by the looks of it. A nasty looking one, too." Gerrilgor moved his spear to point at the nasty cut, now oozing pus, on Ernand's forehead. "He's pretty beat up. And that cut on his head....I think it's infected." A red glint near Ernand's hand caught the elf's eye. Keeping his eye on his prisoner, he leaned down and scooped up the ruby key. "By Trinimac! Distel, Elphiron, Faldan! Look at this thing." Three Bosmer materialzed at Gerrilgor's side, gazing in awe at the ruby key.

Ernand, weak from his experience beneath Cyrodiil, could only look on weakly as the one of the Bosmer produced a flask of water. Using a piece of wetted hide, they cleaned the grime, blood, and bits of bone accumulated from the key's tenure as a bludgeoning object. Once clean, the polished ruby caught the sun and shone brightly. The elves might of stood staring at the thing for hours had not Ernand moaned, catching the attention of the Bosmer Garrilgor had called Distel.

Tearing her attention away from the key, she moved over and kneeled next to the battered Breton. "Hey, you guys," the other three elves lifted their head in unison to look at Distel, "I don't think this guy is doing very well. He's burning up."

"Good! Let him. He could be a spy from Longvale!"

Distel looked up from Ernand with a look of disgust on her face. "Damnit, Faldan, do you ever think? Where would a spy get a key made from a solid ruby?"

"Payment, obviously." Faldan walked over and poked at Ernand with his foot, "Thought you could come into our woods, eh, Breton? Those damn gold-skins in Longvale pay nice for a little spy work. Too bad you won't be able to enjoy it." Distel stood from Ernand's side and stepped menacingly towards Faldan, saying in no uncertain terms to leave the Breton alone. Having a significant height advantage over him, as well as being armed with a deadly spear, Faldan backed off, but couldn't resist asking, "Why do you care so much, Distel?"

"He's wounded. Do I need more of a reason?" Garrilgor, who seemed to Ernand to be the leader of this little band, noticed that Faldan was about to say something he might regret. Acting quickly to cut the other Bosmer off, he asked Distel what could have battered the Breton up so badly. "I don't know," she admitted, "But I don't want to be around if it comes back. I can tell you that much."

The last elf, Elphiron, chose to speak at the moment. "It's getting dark. Let's just take him back to the camp. If he's a spy, we can hold him there for questioning. If he's not, we can just send him on his way." With that even-handedness that only women have, the conflict was dissolved. Nodding his assent, Garrilgor ordered Faldan to go and get the cart so they could put the Breton in it. Elphiron, noting that he seemed none to pleased by the order, followed after Faldan to make sure he didn't tarry. Distel had turned her attention completely over to Ernand, using what little knowledge she had of the College of Restoration to stabilize the man. After a few minutes, Elphiron and Faldan reappeared, leading a horse and cart. Acting together, they heaved the battered Breton up into it, Distel climbing in with him to make sure he survived the journey back to their camp.

"Alright," began Garrilgor, "Faldan and I will walk along side with the spears, in the event that whatever heaped such abuse on that Breton comes hunting him. Elphiron, you take the reins."

"And try to avoid bumping around too much," Distel said, "If we do that too much, some of the cuts I just sealed could reopen."

Nodding her understanding, Elphiron whipped the horse into the motion, setting it into a canter along a rough track that led through the trees and undergrowth. It was slow going, Elphiron making sure she avoided some of the more prominent holes or bumps in the track. Ernand had completely lapsed into delirium, mumbling and groaning at even the slightest of jarring. Keeping up a stream of quiet, nonsensical sounds, Distel calmed her charge, the way a mother might to her sick child. The sun continued its descent, and it was just disappearing below the horizon when the party halted their journey at the edge of a large clearing. Garrilgor produced a horn and blew on it four times. After a few minutes, a group of Bosmer appeared from the tangle. Greetings exchanged, and the plight of Ernand made known, the new group of Bosmer clustered around the cart as they passed through the clearing and began to climb steadily upward.

As night came on, the troupe of Wood Elves passed through a tight gorge, stopping in front of the entrance into a cavern. The horn was blown again, and numerous faces started appearing from the sheer walls of the gorge. They had arrived at the camp.

**

This post has been edited by Verlox: Jun 2 2010, 03:56 AM