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 Seven: Culture Clash

Seeing the breton's approach, Bragor ended his conversation with a fellow elf and welcomed Ernand with expansive arms. "Ah, dear friend! It is good to see you up. I see our girl Distel found for you garments." When Ernand nodded, Bragor put his arm around the human's shoulder and drew him aside. "There is someone I would like you to meet." Guiding him over to a pair of Bosmer indulging in nature's bounty, Bragor introduced the councilor to Elphiron and Faldan. "These two were with the party that found you out in the forest, damaged as you were."

The one named Elphiron stood from his food, and greeted the pair solemnly. “It is good to see you alive, Sir Breton. When we found you out in the wilds, we fretted greatly over your wounds.”

Faldan gave a comic snort. “Elphiron downplays, as always. Close to death you were. A few hours longer out there and you would have found yourself a tasty meal for a beast.” The look of horror on Ernand’s face caused the company to laugh heartily. When a comely elven woman came by, bearing drinks, the Breton snatched one up and drank deeply before he found his voice.

"I thank you both kindly. I am also grateful for your defense of me. I understand quite a few people wanted be hanged?”

“A few?” Faldan burst out laughing, “More like half the collective! Y’ffre, Gerrilgor wanted to skewer you back in the forest.” When Elphiron turned on a hard gaze on Faldan, the Bosmer shrugged, “What? I would think the Breton has the right to know.”

“Please, do call me Ernand.”

The three Bosmer exchanged puzzled looks, and a mutual thought ran through their minds, what a strange name. A brief silence followed, which was quickly broken by Elder Bragor. “Where is Gerrilgor, anyway?”

“Well, he was apart of the hunting party,” Faldan began, “He’s probably getting ready to carry the meat in.” As Faldan finished speaking, a horn was sounded. As a few Bosmer went around quenching torches, until only the bonfire burned, the rest of the elves quieted down. Nudging Ernand in the ribs, Faldan whispered, “Watch. This is the best part.”

A flame flickered in the gorge, and the sound of chanting voices echoed down the stone. At first it was like a slow moan, but as the voices grew louder, Ernand was able to make out the words “Gwledda , gwledda , gwledda. Ad 'r boblogi gwledda. Chan 'n cas , gwnaethom ced. Mai 'n hwy chig sate ni , a 'n hwy chrau ddiffodd 'n sycheda.” This haunting chant grew louder until it filled entire area. A slight chill went down the councilor’s spine, and he found himself trying to block out the rising chant. When the troupe of Bosmeri finally appeared, he found himself shocked at their appearance. Naked except for short loin-cloths, twigs and leaves adorning their heads like crowns, and markings painted onto their faces with a green substance.

At the head of this group marched a short elf, his red hair spiking out in all different directions. “Gwledda , gwledda , gwledda,” he called out to his assembled kinsmen. In return, the crowd called back with “Ad 'r boblogi gwledda.”

Turning his head to Faldan, Ernand whispered, “What is being said? I do not understand.”

“Gerrilgor, that’s him at the front,” Faldan pointed a lean finger at the wild looking Bosmer, “Is saying ‘feast, feast, feast’. He’s calling us to the feast, you see.” Gerrilgor called out the chant again and the crowd answered back. “When he says that, we call back with ‘let the people feast’.”

“Ahhh, I see. We have a similar custom in High Rock. But it’s not quite like this.”

Behind Gerrilgor, from the gloom, appeared four groups of three elves each. On their shoulders, they carried long poled from which dangled large chunks of raw meat. From his waist, Gerrilgor produced a small flask. Stepping up to the bonfire, he threw this container into the fire, and it exploded with renewed strength. With great ceremony, the four groups stepped forward and set the poled on stout holders so that the meat might cook properly. When all four had done this, a great cheer went up through the crowd, and the solemnity of the event ceased, with chaos in its wake.

Muscling his way through the maddened crowd, Gerrilgor found his friends. With a big grin on his face, he asked, “So, how’d I do?”

“Eh,” Faldan shrugged, “A little too much theatrics for me. I don’t see why we require such a thing to just eat.”

The wilder Bosmer frowned, “It’s tradition.” Finding Faldan a less than appropriate source of praise, he was turning to talk to Bragor and Elphiron when his eyes found themselves looking at the chest of a much taller person. Tilting his neck, he saw Ernand’s face and scowled. “What is he doing here?”

“Gerrilgor,” Bragor admonished, “Do not be rude. He is newly recovered, and I have invited him to feast with us tonight.” Bragor’s words carried weight, and Gerrilgor refused to prod the issue further.

Despite Bragor’s defense, Ernand felt it best if he did not stay in close proximity to Gerrilgor. If there was anything the Breton knew, it was people and their reactions to things they don’t like. Politely excusing himself, Ernand moved from outside the circle to its center, until he could feel the white-hot heat of the bonfire on his face. In his mind, he could pretend that this was just like any other hearth-fire back in Gauvadon. These thoughts brought on more troublesome ones. When he had left his home in High Rock not seven months ago, he hadn’t expected to find himself in Valenwood, an unknown criminal, and the only apparent person to stand against the usurper of Tiber Septim’s dynasty, Jagar Tharn. He had expected to live out the rest of his days in opulence, a rich and respected member of the Elder Council. A private villa in Nibenay, maybe a harem…

Ernand was shook out of his thoughts when one of the elves that had been apart of the ceremony grasped him on the shoulder. “You look distracted, Breton. Here,” the near-naked elf pressed a chunk of roasted flesh into Ernand’s hands, “Eat.”

Looking quizzically at the meat, he raised it to his nose and took a few sniffs. It smelt faintly of pork. Assuming that it was some sort of boar, Ernand bit off a bit and chewed. Finding that the taste was much more powerful than the smell, the councilor consumed the rest of the meat. “I say, that was fine cut. What is it?”

The elf pounded his chest, “Us.”

Ernand raised an eyebrow, “I don’t understand…”

The Bosmer grinned, “We were out keeping watch on our borders this morning when a party from Longvale came into our territory. We made the rest of the short lives hell.”

“Ok, I understand that. But what do you mean by ‘us’?”

The elf tilted his head, “You sure don’t know much, do you? When we kill one of our own kind, we eat him.”

At first, Ernand thought he had heard wrong. Asking for the huntsman to repeat himself, Ernand found himself confronting a rather unpleasant fact. He hadn’t misheard. The shock was so great that he stood rooted for a few moments before he paled quite noticeably. Doubling over, Ernand stuck his fingers down his throat in an attempt to gag himself into puking. This proved unnecessary, for his body rejected the meat without much interference.

“Why in the name of Talos did you let me eat that?”

The hunter looked confused. “What? I don’t understand.”

Now it was Ernand’s turn to look confused. “You see nothing wrong with eating your own people?”

“Should I?”

Putting his palm to his face, Ernand shook his head. “It’s like I’ve stumbled into a bad horror tale,” he muttered. Turning his back on the still confused hunter, he stalked off back to Bragor.


This post has been edited by Verlox: Jun 2 2010, 03:58 AM