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.

* * *

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]

Acadian - A kind word from you is always welcome, my friend. I am glad that you enjoyed it.

_____

1st Sun’s Dawn, 2E 854
The Nameless Tavern, Sentinel, Hammerfell
Evening


For a brief moment the tavern was quiet. Every eye was trained on the airborne sailor who flew in a shallow arc that scraped against the ceiling. His body twitched in mid-air before it was reclaimed by Nirn’s gravity and brought crashing into a table near the door. The table collapsed under the unwelcome weight, throwing half empty tankards of ale and mead like shrapnel at those who stood near. The impact was such that it doused all the candles on that side of the room. In the dim light that remained the sailor’s body lay spread eagle on the table top, which tilted up toward the wall at an angle. His head flopped over the edge near the wall, as if held to the body by the skin of his neck alone. He gave one last spasmodic twitch, and then he moved no more.

As one the remaining heads in the tavern turned toward the direction from which the sailor had come. A giant Nord brandishing a battered silver mace stood before them. Though his features were cast into shadow, his eyes caught the light from the few remaining candles and shined with menace, and amusement.

“Who’s next?” asked Sir Valdemar.

Alain and Casnar rose from the table behind him. They stepped forward, unsheathing their swords.

Bedlam followed, the three knights were silent witness to an explosion of activity. Curses were thrown from the shadows with the same frequency as fists and elbows as more than a dozen sailors scraped, clawed, and fought with each other to be the first to bid a hasty retreat. By the time the dust settled and the sound of churning boots had faded into the night, the number of their assailants had been whittled down to five confused mercenaries whose hands still held to their weapons.

“Five stout-hearted souls,” said Valdemar, “I guess that’s better than nothing.”

“Actually there are six,” said Alain, “if you count the one on the table.”

Casnar addressed himself to the mercenaries. “You men are about to commit an assault against the Crown. I suggest you sheath your weapons and go about your business.”

“Tsun’s shield, Redguard!” Valdemar spat on the floor, “must your kind take the fun out of everything?”

“My apologies, Nord,” said Casnar, sheathing his sword. He turned around and went back to the table to study one of the still full tankards of mead. He waved a dismissive hand toward the mercenaries. “Have at them then.”

Two of the mercenaries backed toward the door, then turned and ran headlong from the tavern.

“We seem to be running out of enemies,” said Alain. His sword was already returned to the scabbard. He looked at the three remaining mercenaries. “I beseech you gentlemen, stay. My friend grows belligerent with lack of exercise.”

The three mercenaries regarded the giant Nord that stood before them. Then, as one, they sheathed their weapons.

“We yield,” said one, through cracked lips in a mouth absent more than a few teeth.

“Damn!” said Valdemar.

“Our quarrel was with the Knight of the Moon,” said another, who peeked with furtive eyes around a tower shield that was larger than he was.

“Yet you chose to attack all three of us,” said Alain.

“Clearly an error in judgment,” said the third who stood closest to the door. He was taller than the rest, but so emaciated that the very sight of him moved one to pity.

“Is there not a worthy opponent in the whole of Hammerfell?” asked Valdemar. “Between the heat, the landscape, and the lack of anything substantial to drink . . . Alduin knows Yokuda must have been the hind end of Tamriel if you Redguards fled from that place and chose this place as the one to settle.”

“Forgive our impertinence,” said the thin mercenary, “we shall take our leave of you now.”

“Not so fast,” said Casnar, rising from the table. “You said your quarrel was with a Knight of the Moon. Threatening a representative of the Crown is still an offence punishable by death.”

“I see no reason to single these men out for punishment,” said Alain. “They are but three when the initial crime was committed by the whole of the tavern.” He winked at Valdemar, “perhaps a fine and a warning would suffice.”

Valdemar turned toward the mercenaries. “You men, leave all the gold you are carrying on the table.” He leveled his gaze upon the smallest mercenary before lowering his mace. “And leave that tower shield as well. Consider it ample payment for your lives.”

The three mercenaries stepped to the table. For the next few moments the only sound in the tavern was the ring of gold coins on gnarled oak. Thus unburdened, the three men disappeared into the night.

Casnar sat back down. As he looked at the small pile of gold on the table a smile spread across his lips. “Noble knights, indeed.”

“They’re alive, aren’t they?” Valdemar lifted the tower shield. He ran his hand across the surface, his head nodded at the appraisal.

“Precisely,” said Alain, “they fared better with us than they would have if left in your care. An empty purse is far more forgiving than the headsman’s axe.”

Valdemar lifted a tankard from the table. Alain sat down and bent to the purpose of stacking the coins into three even piles.

“A most charitable attitude,” said Casnar, “especially considering that they had a hand in poisoning your mead.”

The tankard stopped halfway to Valdemar’s lips. He looked down at Casnar. The Redguard gave a simple nod of his head.

“Shor’s tongue!” Valdemar flung the offending tankard across the room. It bounced off the wall and deposited its contents on the inert form of the sailor still spread-eagled on the broken table near the door. “Where is the barman? And that wench?” His hand was white-knuckled around the mace. His face had grown so hot that beads of sweat stood out like a pox upon his forehead.

Casnar bent his thumb to a door behind the bar. “My guess is that they’ve locked themselves in the storeroom. Don’t bother breaking it down. They aren’t blameless, but their actions are understandable.”

Valdemar snorted. “What happened to Sir ‘threatening a representative of the Crown’?”

“That’s just it; I am employed by the Crown, in a Forebear tavern, with a Forebear clientele, in a Forebear city.”

“Things have grown so bad,” said Alain.

Casnar nodded. “The time comes when I will either have to claim my fortune elsewhere, or prepare myself for war.”

Alain slid a pile of coins across the table. “Perhaps this will carry you closer to finding that fortune.”

“Keep it. Consider it payment for coming so far out of your way.”

“Speaking of which,” said Valdemar, “you have information for us?”

“Forgive me, Nord, I had nearly forgotten. Even as we speak the one you seek travels east. If you can gain the Reach before the end of the thaws you will have success around the city of Jehanna.”

“Jehanna,” Valdemar laughed, “along the Reach? The fetcher has courage, I’ll give him that.”

The scowl on Alain’s face stood in contrast to his friend’s amusement. “He continues to hide among those he betrayed.” He looked to Casnar. “We should compensate you for the information.”

“I am only the messenger,” said Casnar, “the one who hired me will see to my compensation.”

“May that compensation include removal from this forsaken place,” said Valdemar.

Alain scooped the coins into his purse and stood. “We should go. Ours is a long journey and time is not with us.” He extended his arm, “may our next meeting occur in happier times, and in a happier place.”

Casnar took the proffered arm. “Good luck, my friend . . . to the both of you.”

Valdemar stepped forward. “About the mead, perhaps all Redguards aren’t cowards. And I have seen many of your women that aren’t uncomely.” He leaned his new tower shield against the table and extended his arm.

Casnar laughed and stood, he clasped the giant Nord’s forearm. “Perhaps all Nords aren’t savage and artless, and I have seen parts of Skyrim where the sun does indeed shine.”

And then Casnar was alone in the tavern. He sat back down and listened to the muted sounds coming from the street. His hand reflexively wrapped around the handle of one of the tankards still on the table. He lifted it toward his lips . . . and stopped himself. He flung the tankard across the room. The sound it made hitting the floor accentuated the emptiness that he felt. He looked around at the broken tables, the upset chairs, and the goblets and tankards that littered the floor.

A smile spread across his face. What fate awaits the one they seek? He thought to himself. He raised his voice in the emptiness, for anyone with ears to hear.

“Is it the policy of this establishment to leave a man thirsty?”

This post has been edited by Destri Melarg: Dec 12 2010, 11:52 AM