Edward an Imperial's Story, Coward, bounder, thief, murderer...and hero? Options

[Rachel the Breton]

For many, this story is not new, but has been running for awhile on Bethesda. While most of the beginning is not going to be updated, there are points where I'm fixing the grammar/tweaking things...so, if you want to reread, or if you haven't read it yet, please do.
This is a parody, so note that I've taken some rather significant liberties with the story/world...I know some people hate that, so you've been warned.


Oh prison really, really sucks,
I should be out making big bucks
Instead I'm rotting in this stinking cell
I just hope my honoured user jailer rots in hell!
-- Edward's Lament

Chapter One

Once upon a time, in a far away land, an Imperial named Edward lived in the Imperial Dungeon of the Imperial City . Edward was an average young man, with nothing outstanding about his background, family, life, or appearance. Indeed, he was so ordinary that no one seemed to know anything about him, and he didn't remember anything about his past (at least, that was his story, and he was sticking to it). All he knew was that he was stuck in a jail cell -- and there, across from him, was another prisoner, taunting him.


Edward didn't pay much attention to what was said, but he got the gist...the guards were going to torture and kill him, as that's all that happened to prisoners here.


"Funny," Edward thought, "this guy doesn't look like he's been tortured, and, unfortunately, he's still alive, and making a damn lot of noise, too..."


Just then, the distant clinking of armor came to the prisoners' ears.


"Aha, they're coming for you!" the annoying prisoner taunted.


Edward frowned. Maybe, just maybe, he might find out why he was here. It couldn't have been those loaves of bread, swiped from the King and Queen Tavern, could it? Nah, no one saw him, he was sure. What about that beggar...what was his name?...that he'd pickpocketed as he slept in the rain outside the chapel. No, surely, they wouldn't throw a respectable young man like him in prison over a slimy beggar, would they?


He waited, musing these things silently, as the noise grew louder, and then, to his surprise, a group of guards and a very well dressed man came into view. Edward's blue eyes sparkled as he saw the rich robes.


"Those must be worth a fortune! And that amulet! I'll bet I could sell that for a lot!"


"Stand aside, prisoner!" an authoritative voice demanded. "Move to the end of the cell, and do not interfere!"


Edward hesitated, his eyes still fixed on the amulet.


"Now! Or we'll make you!" the voice commanded again.


Something in the tone caused Edward to draw his eyes away from the sparkling gem, and to the speaker.


Jumping as he did so, he quickly complied; the speaker had been a less-than-friendly, armor clad, weapon wielding warrior, surrounded by two similarly attired, similarly armed, similarly disposed warriors. Edward tripped in his haste to oblige, but pulled himself up quickly. "Why certainly, milady! Happy to be of service!" he declared.


The warrior scoffed at him, and turned to the rich man. "The passage is here, my lord. I don't know why they put a prisoner in this cell; it is always supposed to be off limits."


The rich man seemed sullen, and did not speak.


"Come with us, my emperor; time is pressing!"


"Emperor!" Edward gasped.


"Why?" the Emperor asked, his tone melancholy. "It's no use...nothing is any use anymore."


The warriors exchanged glances, and the apparent leader spoke again. "My lord, let us get you to sanctuary, where you may then contemplate the futility of existence in safety."


Edward hadn't paid much attention to this conversation, though, as he'd found his eyes returning to the amulet. "You know," he thought to himself, "I'll bet an emperor's amulet would sell for a fortune, even if that ruby is fake!" He found himself licking his lips nervously. Here, merely an arm's length away, was probably his fortune made; but his arms were shackled, and three very unsympathetic guards stood between him and retirement.


The Emperor seemed to sense Edward's eyes on him, and he turned. The old man's eyes lit up. "You!" he whispered. "I've seen you in my dreams!"


Edward grimaced. "Sorry, but I don't go that way."


The Emperor looked at him in puzzlement. "This is fate!" he said at last.


"Sorry," Edward said, stepping backwards. "Not interested." To himself, he wondered at the impertinence of this man. "And, really," he thought, "that's the worst line I've ever heard. 'I've seen you in my dreams'...please!"

"But...the fate of the world rests in your hands! The gods have chosen you to save this empire!"


Edward blinked. He liked the sound of that, but he was still suspicious about the old man's motives. "How?"


"My sons are dead...my time in this life is at an end," the Emperor said.


"Oh, I see," Edward said, his manner suddenly very engaging and excited. "And you need a good, trustworthy soul to take over the empire after you...expire? And, of course, you recognize the very virtues and character you seek in me?"


The Emperor raised an eyebrow. "No...but I might need you to deliver a message for me, if I expire before I can deliver it myself."


Edward's jaw dropped. "A message? You think my virtues and character are only worthy of being a royal messenger?!"


"Well," the Emperor answered slowly, "not really...but, if my visions are right, you'll be the only one I have left to carry the message when the time comes, so I'll have to take a chance on you."


Edward frowned deeply at the old man. Of all the insolence!


"Are you interested?" the Emperor asked.


"Sorry, Mr. Kingy, but you can take your message and stick it up your..." Edward paused, seeing the warriors suddenly moving at him. "...mailbox?" he finished meekly.


The Emperor shrugged, and started to head down a passage that had, somehow, appeared in Edward's cell wall. "Ah well, suit yourself. Of course, it would have meant that you'd get out of prison, but..."


By now, the guards and emperor had disappeared around a bend in the passage, but Edward lost no time in taking to his heels after them, calling, "Wait! Wait, I've changed my mind!"




This post has been edited by Rachel the Breton: Aug 25 2010, 01:28 AM

[Rachel the Breton]

There was a time when all the gods were in accord,
But the dark day came when the 8 would no longer heed
They would not listen to Dread Sithis' spoken word
So Sithis and his Lady departed to follow their own way.
-- History of the gods

Chapter Eleven

Edward was not a big fan of baths -- he could never see the point in taking off all that grease and grime, if you were only going to get fresh grease and grime all over you -- but he had to admit that it was refreshing to soak in a tub of hot, sudsy water. And, he was particularly pleased when the innkeeper brought him a fresh set of clothes, and removed his reeking ones.


Drying and dressing, Edward counted his gold. Twenty five gold pieces, and...his eyes lit up. He still had Snak gra-Bura's purse, and he'd not yet opened it! Hopefully, he thought, she would have money in there...lots and lots of money!


He unfastened the tie, and stuck his hand in. Instead of gold coins, he found something soft and fabric-like. Withdrawing it, his puzzled expression turned to one of disgust and horror. He had retrieved a very old, very used, very snotty hanky. Throwing it into the fire, and then spitting on his hand, rubbing the spitty hand against his tunic, and repeating this procedure several more times, Edward exclaimed, "Filthy, unclean, unsanitary orcs! Vile, repulsive, filthy beasts!"


Cursing in this manner, he didn't hear the innkeeper knock, so he was surprised when the other man opened the door and stuck his head into the room. "Sir? Is everything alright?"


"No!" Edward snapped. "Orcs! They're filthy, revolting creatures!"


"Yes sir," the innkeeper said. "Anything else?"


Edward looked up. Perhaps it was the other man's flat tone that roused him from his disgust, but he stared at the innkeeper. There was something peculiar about this man, as though he didn't belong in an old, out of the way inn; as if his refinement of manner and practiced disinterest was out of place here.


"Ah," said the innkeeper. "I see that you're wondering about why I'm here, thinking that it's peculiar that a man of my refinement and manners, my practiced disinterest, is working in such an old, out of the way inn."


Edward could only blink at him. It was like the other man had read his mind.


"Well, sir, you are right. I am not meant for such a degrading life," the innkeeper sighed. "I was born for a higher calling, a nobler, more refined calling." He smiled wistfully. "You see, I was a valet once."


Edward blinked at the man again. "A valet?" he repeated, no great respect in his voice.


"Yes sir," the innkeeper replied, his tone almost reverent as he spoke of his former profession. "I once worked in the mansion of Lord Umbruccano in the Imperial City ."


Edward nodded, taking a little bit more interest in the conversation than he had previously; after all, Lord Umbrucanno was a very wealthy, albeit eccentric, collector of Aleyid artifacts. If this man had been his valet, it was very possible -- nay, probable -- that he would have some valuable information -- valuable for a prospective robber! "I see," he said.


"Yes," the other man mused. "Yes, those were the good days. And then..." He shrugged. "And then he decided that he would be better off spending my salary on relic acquisitions." He scowled. "So here I am, wasting away, my talent squandered, my life passing by..."


Edward raised an eyebrow. Somehow, he couldn't see being Lord Umbrucanno's valet as particularly fulfilling, but he made no comment. Instead, he asked, "Now, I was wondering if you could tell me...do you have a gentleman staying here, a Mr. Rufio?"


"Yes sir," the innkeeper replied. "But I do believe calling him a 'gentleman' is an abuse of the word."


"Oh?"


"Yes sir. Unfortunately, he talks in his sleep...and one gets the distinct impression, listening to him, that he's a very evil man. It's a wonder that no one has visited justice upon him yet. I half expect a stranger to show up at any moment, and ask me where he can be found, so that he can end his miserable life."


Edward shifted his weight. "I...see. Well, just out of curiosity now, where is he?"


"In the cellar, sir," the innkeeper replied. "He asked for a room out of the way, and that was the only one."


Edward nodded. "Well, I think I may pay him a visit, if that's alright with you."


"You, sir?" the innkeeper asked. "Well, you're welcome to do so...but, if I were you, I wouldn't advise it, sir."


"Oh?" Edward asked. "Why?"


"Well sir," the other man answered hesitantly. "He does not take kindly to strangers...and, as I say, he is a very evil man...and, if I was to hazard a guess, one very skilled in fighting."


"Oh," Edward said, hesitantly. Suddenly, the idea of killing Rufio had lost some of its appeal.


"I think, sir, he is afraid that someone is coming to kill him. Of course," he said, "he wouldn't worry about that with you."


Edward frowned at him, vaguely sensing that he should be offended by the comment. "Why not?"


"Well, sir, no one would suspect you of being a hired assassin," the innkeeper replied with a smile.


"Because I'm too respectable?" Edward asked, trying to make up his mind whether he had been complimented or insulted.


"Ummm...yes sir," the innkeeper replied, in such a hesitant tone that Edward was certain that it had, in fact, been an insult.


"Well," Edward declared hotly, sick and tired of people doubting his abilities, "I'll have you know that I just happen to be a paid assassin -- a member of the Dark Brotherhood!"


The innkeeper stared at him, expressions of awe and then disbelief cycling on his face. "Are you serious, sir?"


"Quite serious!" Edward snapped. "And, what's more, I've come here to kill that vicious old man!"


The innkeeper's expression turned to one of admiration. "Well, sir, please accept my apologies. A member of the Dark Brotherhood? Well, well! How exciting."


"Yes!" Edward declared. If nothing else, his membership in this apparently legendary band of murderous cutthroats was winning him respect.


"Oh, sir," the innkeeper declared, "this is an honor! To meet a member of that group, face to face -- that group of dark avengers, the hands of justice, of swift retribution for evil, unfailing, unflinching, serving the greater good, disposing of evil mercilessly, serving the Great Avenger, Sithis, and the Lady of Eternal Darkness, the Night Mother; reaping the souls of the cutthroats, the murderers, the evil doers who would destroy the empire!"


Edward shifted uncomfortably. What was this man talking about? Had he misheard him? Was there some other group of people, who called themselves something similar, with whom he was confusing the Brotherhood? The Brotherhood was, after all, a group of murderers, cutthroats, evil doers...wasn't it? "I think there might be some mistake," he said. "I said I was a member of the Dark Brotherhood."


The innkeeper nodded his head excitedly. "Yes, of course," he said. "Everyone knows the reputation of your order, but few have ever met one of you in person! Ohh, you have no idea how exciting this is! To meet someone who embraces justice so much that they will serve the gods themselves to avenge evil, and provide justice for the wronged! Ohh, what an honor it is to meet you!"


Edward stood fixed in place, a quizzical expression on his face. Was this man mad? Or was the Brotherhood really what he described, an organization of avengers who killed evildoers? Somehow, that didn't quite fit the dark, glorious image he'd conjured in his mind. His reflection was interrupted, though, by the continued prattle of the innkeeper.


"I say, sir," he was saying, "please don't think this impertinent of me...but...you wouldn't be looking for a valet, by any chance, would you?"