Interregnum, 854 of the Second Era Options

[Destri Melarg]

To the Reader

This story takes place over the course of one year, 854 of the Second Era. It details the end of interregnum and the founding of the Septim line of Emperors. Inspiration for this story is drawn from two sources. The first is a one line entry in the timeline for the Second Era:

2E 854 - The Emperor was assassinated by a High Rock nightblade who also burned the Imperial Palace to the ground and attempted to kill General Talos.

I have come to believe that history is merely the propaganda of the winning side. This entry tells you what happened, but it doesn’t tell you how or why it happened. I have attempted to address those questions in this story.

For the second source of inspiration I express no embarrassment in saying that the form is blatantly lifted from my favorite of the in-game books, Carlovac Townway’s remarkable 2920: The Last Year of the First Era

Some of the characters you will encounter in this story have been lifted from the in-game books. Others are the product of the author’s imagination. I do not claim to have mastered the lore so if I stray too far from it, please don’t hesitate to call me on it. That said, there are a few ‘liberties’ that I have taken in this story which I feel I must draw to your attention:

- Tamriel is a much larger place than the game world. A day’s journey in game takes a week (weather and terrain permitting) in the story.
- Cities are larger and far more populated than they are in the game.

My deepest gratitude goes out to RemkoNL, mALX, Acadian, hauteecole rider, Winter Wolf, SubRosa, and treydog for their steadfast support of this story. Without you I doubt that it would exist.

As always any comments, criticisms, or suggestions are most welcome.

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Table of Contents

Book One: Morning Star
Book Two: Sun's Dawn
Book Three: First Seed

This post has been edited by Destri Melarg: Aug 14 2010, 12:15 AM

[Destri Melarg]

If you really do want to weigh more heavily on the realness side, then I would put yourself in the shoes of all the characters, and ask yourself "what would I do?" Then ask yourself "Ok, is this person really that smart/professional/experienced?" The more you think critically, the stronger your characters will come across. Some people really are stupid, and will not do the obvious thing (I work with many of them!). Some are just inexperienced (look at Teresa in many aspects). Some can be just plain arrogant, which makes them sloppy (there are plenty examples of that in military history).

Thank you for the advice, I really appreciate the feedback . I do see Nolquinn as being an arrogant character who somehow thinks that he is above the tasks being given. I was hoping that his attitude toward Lorian showed that. Given what happens to the two of them, I didn't want to be too heavy in how realistically I portrayed them. The explanation of Arnand's footsteps in the snow is something that I plan to address as soon as I figure out how best to do it.

You could add a comment or thought from Arnard when he couches over the dead bodies, but it really isn't needed.

Interesting suggestion, Wolf. I can definitely see a thought, but would his comment be addressed to one of the dead bodies lying in the snow?

Hey, what happened to Aradroth btw?

Wow this story is amazing

Lettia seems like a great character to start with, if a little ambitious

You also gave a great representation of Clavicus Vile, although I'm sure he'll get the better end of this deal

Arnand sounds like a classic rogue, I can't wait to read what happens next

Thank you, Fiach! And welcome to Interregnum. I hope you continue to enjoy reading it.

mALX - Isn't the King of Worms one of the coolest characters in the entire Elder Scrolls universe? I took his real name out of this last version of the chapter because in researching the events in Daggerfall I discovered that his name wasn't widely known. Because this story takes place some 400+ years before Daggerfall it stands to reason that most know him simply as the KOW.

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3rd Morning Star, 2E 854
Amber Forest, East of Mournhold
Dawn


The Chevalier Renald poked the fire with a stick that he held in his gold-scaled hand. Sparks rose as the flames seemed to jump up to meet him. He felt the warmth flooding through his arms into his chest and down through his tail. Around him his syffim, four strong now with the death of Akal, coiled under their thick blankets to ward off the cold. The night’s chill was fading; the tops of the trees were visible in the half-light. The leaves falling into the clearing took on the hue for which the forest was named.

I won’t wake them, he thought, not yet. They have journeyed far and deserve their rest. He was enjoying the quiet, the time with his own thoughts. We should reach Necrom by midday; the people there are more accustomed to seeing Tsaesci. We should not be denied a ship as we were in Tear. If all goes well, we could sail on the eventide. Renald’s golden tail uncoiled and stretched him to his full height. He finished the stretch with his arms. From there he looked down on his syffim. I have kept them too long protecting a land not their own. Their loyalty all these years honors me. I will get them home.

Home to Akavir. For centuries the name had been naught but a faded memory for him. Now to be so close, to have the end of his mission decided only by want of a ship . . .

A scent in the air caught his attention. His forked tongue poked through his mouth to capture it. Wild boar, he thought and smiled. They had not fed in weeks. There were no Goblins in Black Marsh and his syffim quickly grew tired of Argonians. Boar was a poor substitute, but its flesh was close to that of man. It would provide them with the strength for the journey to Necrom.

“My Lord?” Eesham’s head poked out from under his blanket. His syffim began to stir.

“Prepare to leave,” said Renald as he pulled on his dagger and katana, “I will return shortly.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Renald slithered into the trees. The scent was faint, but it did not take Renald long to recapture it. He swung into the lower branches. Using his tail and his arms he undulated through the upper terraces silently, with a speed that even birds would envy. A part of him relished this. He loved his syffim; they were his brothers, and his sons. But there was no denying the thrill of a solitary hunt. The pride that attended the silent stalking of his prey. The blood-rush that came at the moment of the kill.

Save that this prey was proving elusive. Twice Renald felt that he had brought the boar to bay, and twice he had lost the scent, only to regain it further into the forest. Stupid pig, thought Renald, you’re proving to be more trouble than you’re worth.

Finally the boar entered a clearing. Half an acre of dried grass, brown with the season, separated it from the tree line. Renald watched from his perch high above. The squat legs propelled the boar forward with purpose, as if driven by the whip of some unseen master. I have to end this, thought Renald as the boar neared the halfway mark, if he reaches the trees I may lose him.

Renald coiled his tail against the trunk of the tree. With a sound that was half grunt and half hiss he pushed off, his tail propelling him through space. For a brief moment he was weightless, the only sound the wind as it rushed past him. His tail slowly waved back and forth, acting as a rudder to steer his descent.

On impact he curled into himself and rolled. His tail coiled and bit into the hard brown grass. He pushed off and was airborne again, less than twenty paces from the startled boar. The smell of fear on his tongue was sweet and he smiled. He drew his katana in mid-air and brought it down in a slash that carried the momentum of his body behind it. The boar screamed in agony as it was nearly vivisected along its flank.

Yet the boar was not dead, nor did it try to defend itself. Renald lifted his katana for the killing blow, and stopped. He watched as the boar labored on its two forelegs, dragging its hindquarters, leaving a trail of blood and entrails that flattened and stained the brown grass. One halting step at a time it pulled itself toward the tree line.

What drives this beast? Renald sheathed his katana. The scent of blood was strong in the air. He couldn’t lose the boar now if he tried. He decided to follow it, keeping a careful distance. He was curious to see what was worth its last measure of strength to reach.

Step by agonizing step the boar continued for the better part of an hour. Renald was filled with admiration. I’ve known knights with less courage than this creature, he thought. They reached the edge of a shallow ravine. As the boar took its first weary step down the slope its legs gave way and it tumbled, rolling to a stop in the shallow water.

Renald eased down the slope. The boar lay on its side. Each labored exhalation caused ripples in the water that was already filling with its blood. With a profound sense of pity Renald unsheathed his katana and prepared to put the great beast out of its misery.

For the second time he stopped. The smell of death was in the air, but it didn’t come from the boar. Renald automatically assumed a guard stance.

“Peace, great warrior.” A female voice heavy with the weight of age and memory said.

Renald spun. How could I have been so reckless? The source of the voice was behind him. An old woman, tall, frail, and cloaked stood on the edge of the ravine. Even under her hood Renald could see that she had no eyes. He could sense the aura of magic that surrounded her.

“You drove this boar,” said Renald.

The old woman chuckled, “I helped.”

“Reach magic!” Renald spat the words. He remained on his guard.

“You are not one to judge, slayer of dragons.”

Renald bristled at the rebuke, “Who are you?”

“My name is unimportant, but if it will ease your mind you may call me Erinwe. I am a humble messenger, great Vershu, come to offer council.”

Vershu? Renald’s tail propelled him out of the ravine. He landed near the Crone. He laid his katana on the side of her neck. “How do you know that name?”

“I know many things, snake-captain. Vershu was the name you wore when you made your vow to Reman I, was it not? It is the name you discarded when the Potentate’s heir was slain.”

Renald removed his sword. “That name is dead.”

“Perhaps,” said Erinwe, “or perhaps it is time to regain your name . . . and your vow.”

“My vow died when the black dart found the neck of Reman III. It was dust when the Dark Brotherhood slew Savirien-Chorak.”

“Then why did you stay? If your oath was void there was nothing to keep you and your syffim here, yet here you remain. Four hundred years driven by duty . . .”

“What do you know of duty, woman?” Renald placed his katana back against her neck. “Here safe in your forest? When we arrived from Akavir my syffim was twelve strong! Now, we are four. My duty is to them!”

“I too know of duty, snake-captain,” said Erinwe. “My duty is to the truth, and the truth is that the wheels of prophecy have begun to turn, but in this you are blinder than I.”

Renald sheathed his sword, “I have no time for prophecy woman, and I must see my syffim home.”

Erinwe placed a hand on his shoulder. “And the Chim-el Adabal?”

The Amulet of Kings, thought Renald. He could still see it on Reman’s neck. “Lost. What of it?”

Erinwe smiled. “News reaches you slowly, my friend. It has been recovered. At Sancre Tor, a dragon blood waits near the throne.”

Renald lowered his head. Could this be true? “I have heard that a man called Cuhlecain styles himself Emperor. He has the Amulet?”

“Yes,” said Erinwe, “and no. The Greybeards of High Hrothgar have set the wheels in motion. Do not trust my word, snake-captain. Let the truth be judged by your own eyes. Go to the White Gold Tower. Seek out the one called Stormcrown; only in him can your oath be fulfilled. I will say no more.”

Renald watched her walk away. Her figure shimmered, and then seemed to dissolve into the trees. He was alone at the edge of the ravine. He looked down at the boar lying dead in the shallow water, its body beginning to swell in the midday sun. I should head back, he thought.

Instead he drew his dagger and went into the ravine. He cut the heart from the boar. Tonight, when they made camp he would burn the heart and set the brave creatures soul free. He would tell his syffim that Akavir would have to wait.

He would not tell them that their fate was chosen by the will of a pig.