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 Thirteen: A Night In Rihad

Ravena glared down the dark alleyway leading out from the street. The rank smell of animal carcasses and droppings, mixed with the scent of human refuse, created an invisible miasma that clang to the cramped alley like sweaty clothes to wet skin. A number of overturned whicker-baskets littered the way, along with crates and boxed stuffed with unsavory contents. Along the walls of the buildings that made the lane’s boundaries were set up stalls for the poorer merchants that couldn’t afford space in Rihad’s bazaar. These dingy booths were covered in trash, livestock remains; all set on top of grime-splattered tarps.

Wiggling her nose in disgust, the Ra’Gada woman moved to pass through the alley. The soles of her steel-shod boots made a ruckus as she went, crunching the trash beneath her. Due to the cramped construction of the alley, the saber dangling from her belt clinked against the stalls as she passed, making a dull thump every time it did. Since the streets were deserted, and all people of right morals abed at that hour, the dull thump of her sword seemed to be like a thousand vases crashing to ground in unison to her ears. Taking pity on herself, she drew the light blade from its scabbard, brandishing it before her like a torch to ward off what might lurk in the shadows.

Coming out of the alley, Ravena felt her senses relieved as fresh air, tinged with the smell of the sea, washed over her. After the near-total darkness of the alley, her eyes were also comforted by the reappearance of Masser and Secunda. The new street she had come out into was better lit than the other one she had been sneaking through before, and was even populated, but by those who one would want to meet after dark. A few yards from her position, standing under the lamp of the Crooked Crane stood three rough-bitten men who had the looks of sailors. In one hand, they each held a large bottle of local booze, and used the other to smoke rolled up tobacco-sticks. Now, seeing an armed woman clad in warriors dress, stepping from an alley with her weapon drawn, the thugs went wide-eyed with barely suppressed fear.

Ignoring her observers, Ravena sheathed the glittering blade, and confidently strode towards the door of the tavern. Light, and the noise of loud singing, were spilling from the front windows; a welcoming sight in these dark times. As she neared the door, Ravena noticed the three ruffians step back a few steps, giving her some space. Putting her hand onto the latch, she casually swiveled her face to look at the three thugs. Leaning towards them a bit, she whispered, “Boo!” and felt gratified when the thugs yelped, dropped their drinks, and fled down up the road. Laughing, Ravena wrenched open the door to the tavern and stepped in.

The sight to meet her was a very normal one for Hammerfell’s port cities, and one to gladden her eyes. Dark-skinned, brawny sailors on leave were all over the common room. The sounds of drunken sailors singing sea shanties rose up to the roof, the words so heavily slurred as to be unrecognizable. Near the hearth, a group of men and women were shooting dice for the game of Hazard, and the groans of disappointment or shouts of joy lilted over from that direction occasionally. From behind his bar, the tavernkeep, a short, wane little man with a large, bald head, chatted amiably with his inebriated patrons.

After standing in the doorway, ignored, for a few moments to take in the scene, Ravena moved through the crowd until she reached the bar. There, she pounded on the bar-top to get the tavernkeep’s attention. Turning to the sound of the slamming, the tavernkeep’s eyes lit up with joy.

“Ravena? Well,” the tavernkeep slapped his thigh and stepped towards the woman, “by Dibella’s bosoms it’s good to see ya, girl!”

“It’s good to see you, too, Jons.”

“I heard ya was back in town, and was wondering when ya’d come to see this old man. But I get the feelin’ this ain’t no social call.”

“You would be right,” Ravena responded gravely, “I’m looking for someone.”

“Yer always lookin’ for someone, ya bounty hunter! And you thought that ol’ Jons could help ya out, eh?”

“The thought did cross my mind. The Crooked Crane is the most popular tavern in the city and—,”

Jons interrupted her. “Indeed! Indeed it is, girlie. Took me twenty years to do it, too. Paid me taxes, took the thugs off the street, knew the right,” he winked at Ravena and gave her a sly grin, “And the wrong, people. Now I have the briskest business this side of Hew’s Bane. If there’s someone ya be lookin’ for, good chances I’ve met him!”

“She, actually.” Dangling from her belt there was a case resembling a small bolt-carrier. Popping open the lid, Ravena pulled out a thick roll of papers. Unrolling them, she leafed through them until she stopped, pulling one paper from the roll. After shoving the others back into the case, she slapped the poster down onto the bar. Reaching for it, Jons turned it around to get a good look. On it was printed an artist’s representation of a pretty Dunmer woman.

[b]WANTED
One Neira Hlallu
For crimes against Taneth
And the garrison of Fort Sandmoth.

WILL ACCEPT DEAD OR ALIVE

Deliver to the office of Sandmoth’s Constable for payment.

Alive: 20,000 Imperial Septims Dead: 7,500 Imperial Septims[/b]

Despite his dusky skin, Ravena noticed how, when Jons read the name of her target, his face blanched. His hand tightened on the poster, his fingers digging into the thin parchment, and Ravena thought that the tavernkeep meant to crumple the paper up until it was unrecognizable.

“Jons?”

Hearing his name, the tavernkeep snapped out of his trance, and loosened his hold on the poster. “I’ve ne-never seen her before in me life,” Jons stammered, “Do-don’t see many dark elves in Rihad these days. This far west, most of them folk are in Wayrest.” He seemed to brighten noticeably then, and regained his composure. Snapping his fingers, he leaned on his elbow into the bar. “Yeah, them dark elves are probably clustered around their queen. Ya should probably head there.”

As Jons thought to turn away, Ravena lashed out and latched onto his arm. Turning to face her again, he noticed the look of suppressed fury in her eyes.

“There’s something you’re not telling me, Jons.”

“I-I don’t know what ya talkin’ about,” Jons squeaked.

Leaning further in, Ravena growled, “I’m going to come back in the morning. By then, you better know what I’m talking about.”

Releasing her grip, Jons stumbled back, grasping his forearm. With one more pointed, threatening look, Ravena turned on her heel and stalked out of the Crooked Crane, shoving out of her way those that blocked her.

As she left, a lithe, hooded figure stood from the dice game, despite the protests of the other players. Ignoring them, the figure moved towards the door, following in Ravena’s footsteps. As it neared the door, it shot a pointed glare in Jons direction, and when the tavernkeep noticed, he quickly busied himself by cleaning an already shining glass.

Out in the warm night, Ravena’s anger drained from her. While she had no sympathy for those who lied to protect criminals, she very well couldn’t blame Jons for trying to protect his life. But, she thought, at least I know who to question. She stopped suddenly, hearing a shuffling sound behind her, almost like a person stopping mid-step. Standing still for a few moments, Ravena continued walking up the lane towards an inn where she had rented a room. After a minute or two of walking, she stopped suddenly, listening for that same shuffling noise. This time it was unmistakable.

Wheeling around, Ravena wrenched her saber from its scabbard in fury. Faced with nothing but the moons-lit streets, she called out through gritted teeth, “Show yourself, or by Dagon I’ll find you myself! Where are you?”

Ravena heard another rustling noise, then heard, spoken right into her hear, “Behind you”. The next thing the Ra’Gada felt was a boot being pressed to her back, and a strong push that sent her tumbling to the ground.

Now fully enraged, Ravena leapt up onto her feet, brandishing her blade in front of her. Now that she could see he attacker, she took the figure in. Her assailant wore a tight-fitting suit of leather armor, and the shapely hips and jutting bosoms confirmed that it was a woman. A sand-colored cloak was draped over her with the hood up, and with a mask, it hid her face completely. The only thing that shown were the wild looking eyes. Red eyes. Dunmer eyes.

“Stendaar’s Justice, it’s you!” Ravena struck out with her blade in a sweeping arc, but the wide blow was easily parried by Neira’s curved dagger.

“Tsk, Tsk,” Neira said as she danced away from the Ra’Gada bounty hunter, “You’ll have to try better than that if you want to fight me, sweet heart.” Stepping back near her opponent, the Dunmer sidestepped Ravena’s attempt to cleave through her hood, then delivered a strike to Ravena’s solar plexus with the pommel of her dagger.

Neira stood over her foe as Ravena collapsed to the ground, the breath knocked out of her. With her foot, the elf kicked away her hunter’s saber before kneeling down next to the gasping woman. “I’m sorry I had to do that,” she whispered sweetly, “But you didn’t leave me any choice. I don’t like being hunted.”

“You murdered a man,” Ravena gasped between breaths, “And injured others. What did you expect?”

“Hmph,” Neira snorted indignantly, “What you call murder and assault, I call self-defense. If anyone ever touches me like that again,” she raised her hand, and extended her index finger. Then, with her dagger, she made the motion of chopping it off, then balled her fist, “I’ll do something worse than kill him and beat up his thugs.” Neira was about to continue when she heard the sound of footsteps and people coming up the lane. Getting to her feet, the Dunmer gave one more dismissive look to her adversary before sheathing her dagger, then took off running up the lane, her cloak billowing out behind her.

Fleeing down and alley, kicking the trash out of her way, Neira emerged into a dimly-lit square. By now, she could hear the sounds of the alarm being raised by the men who, doubtlessly, stumbled upon Ravena gasping for air. Casting her eyes calmly about the square for a fast way out, Neira’s eyes landed on a man and his horse.

Outside the dimly lit traveler’s stop, a common sight in western Hammerfell, a young man was brushing down his steed as it drank for a water trough. With his cowled cloak, and his back turned to her, Neira couldn’t determine what race the man was. However, by appearance he wasn’t very tall, and despite the curved sword hanging from his hip, he didn’t seem very threatening either. Moving quickly on her toes, the Dunmer woman snuck quietly up behind the man as he ran his hands through his horse’s mane. Not noticing her, she took her chance and slipped her dagger around his neck, and with her free-hand, twisted his sword arm behind his back.

“Hey…What-what’s going on?” He struggled for a bit, but quickly stopped when he felt Neira’s knife prick his throat. “What do you want?” he asked in a much more serious tone, “Let me guess, my money or my life?”

Laughing gently into his ear, Neira cooed, “Oh my, nothing so low as that, darling. I just want your horse. Now we can do this the easy way,” she started to loosen her grip on the man’s arm, “Or the hard way,” and then she promptly applied more pressure, eliciting a soft yelp from her target.

“Well, as much as I’m a – ow – glutton for punishment, I think I’ll take the easy way.” Released from Neira’s grasp, the man turned to finally face his mugger.

Seeing his face for the first time, the Dunmer forgot she was likely being pursued. “Long way from home, aren’t you, Breton?”

The Breton flashed a white smile. “You could say that, yes. And now that you’re taking my horse I’ll--” The man stopped speaking; cocking his head to the side as if listening for something. “Did you hear that? Sounds like people coming.” When he turned his attention back to the girl, he found that she was no longer standing beside him, but was already mounted up on the massive horse.

“I’m really sorry about this,” Neira said as she wheeled the horse north, “If I ever meet you again, I’ll make it up to you.”

“Hey-whoa, wait! What did you do?” But before he could fully complete the question, Neira had kicked at her mount’s side, spurring it north, towards the only gate that was open at night. Left alone in the dust, the Breton slumped forward and frowned. “Well that was rude.” The man was soon joined by a crowd of people wielding numerous weapons and carrying torches. At the head of this mob was a furious Ra’Gada woman holding in her hand a saber.

“You there,” she called in a voice as enraged as she looked, “Identify yourself!”

The Breton backed up some, putting his arms out in front of him as if to ward off evil. “Whoa, whoa, calm down. If you’re looking for--”

“I said identify yourself,” the Ra’Gada roared again.

“Er-Ernand Leoriane.”

Satisfied, the mob surged into the square and spread out into all direction. The woman, for her part, walked up to Ernand. The look on her face was not one to give him any comfort, but at least she didn’t seem intent on killing him.

“Where did she go? Ravena whispered fiercely, “We know she came in here. Did you see her?”

See her?” Ernand almost laughed, “I did more than see her. She nigh broke my arm and stole my horse. That Dunmer is likely almost to the gate by now.”

A crestfallen look replaced Ravena’s angry one, but only for a few moments. Then, murderous rage.

“Damnit. Damnit! DAMNIT!”


This post has been edited by Verlox: Jun 2 2010, 04:04 AM