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]

Of kings and cowards he sings,
Of war and the devastation it brings,
Ode to the warriors and the heroes,
And jeers at Edward and other zeros.
-- Tribute to the Captain of the Blades

Chapter Twelve

After agreeing that, perhaps, maybe just perhaps, he could use a faithful valet -- particularly one with an intimate knowledge of the interior, valuables and security detail of one of the wealthiest manors in the Imperial City -- Edward headed to the cellar. The innkeeper had cautioned him again, although he seemed to have gained some respect for his skills, but Edward had brushed the concern off. Now, however, having crept down the rickety ladder into a dank, poorly lit stone hallway, he was having second thoughts.

"What if this guy is a master warrior?" he wondered. "But, he's an old man...I can easily overpower an old man...all I have to do is..." His mind stopped. What? What would he do? Much as he boasted of his abilities to himself and others, he had never killed anyone before -- except Simplicia, and that was a complete accident. "Well, I could just...I mean, it wouldn't be so hard to...well, how difficult could it be to..." His forehead creased, and he sat down on the cold stone floor to think; he ran over the only death he had to his name, that of Simplicia. "I suppose," he thought uncertainly, "I could try to push him down, too. This floor is hard enough, I think, for an accident. Well, a deliberate accident." His frown deepened. "But what if he didn't go down just right?"

He remained sitting on the floor for several more minutes, attempting to think of a reasonable plan, but having no luck. At last, he decided his best bet was to go with the impulse of the moment; he would confront Rufio, and then do whatever came to mind. "That's it," he thought, "that's the way to go...spontaneous! It's what I live by, and I haven't done so bad yet." He smiled smugly, and headed to the room the innkeeper had mentioned as being Rufio's.

Turning the handle quietly, he tiptoed into the room. There, lying on a bed near the opposite wall, lay an old, white haired man, sleeping. Edward stared incredulously at him. Was this what all the fuss was about? This frail, old creature? He scoffed. Just what kind of weakling did they take him to be, anyway?! All he would have to do was sneak up, take out his sword, plunge it into the old man's heart...

He froze. "Oh, crap! I don't have a sword! I don't have anything, except a few gold pieces!" he thought. "What am I gonna do?!?" He glanced around the room. There was a chair, a small table, some crates ("What kind of lunatic keeps crates in their bedroom, anyway?!"), and a dresser. His eyes lit up. And there, on top of the dresser, was a dagger.

A broad smile spreading over his face, Edward crept to the dresser, seized the dagger, lifted it over the old man, and...froze. "I can't do this!" he thought. "I can't risk getting blood on my new clothes!"

At that moment the old man's eyes opened, and he gasped. "What are you doing?! I haven't done anything!"

Edward didn't know what to say to this, so just shot back, "Yes you have!"

The old man's eyes opened wider. "I thought...I thought no one knew about that!"

"The Dread Father knows everything!" he declared. He wasn't sure why he said it, or who, exactly, Sithis was (he had flunked Sunday school, after all), but it sounded like what the innkeeper had said -- and that was pretty cool sounding stuff, even if it wasn't as cool as what he'd originally imagined!

"Oh dear gods!" the old man screamed, his face white with terror. "It wasn't my fault! She should have known better than to go outside without her veil! My honor was besmirched! I had no choice!"

Edward wrinkled his nose. "She? Veil? What?"

"My daughter!" Rufio answered. "That's why you're here, right? Because of her death?"

"Umm..." Edward stalled, "Maybe."

"Please don't!" the old man begged.

Edward, still busily attempting to figure out what Rufio's confession had meant, didn't notice the old man's hand moving slowly toward the edge of the blanket. All at once, though, Rufio's arm shot up and grabbed the dagger; before he knew it, Edward was locked in a fight for the knife, and feeling his grip loosening. "He's gonna get it away from me!" he thought. "I gotta get out of here!"

Dropping the dagger, Edward pulled hard to get away from Rufio; this action surprised the old man, and he loosed his grip on his would-be assassin. Edward took to his heels, yelling for help, with Rufio hot in pursuit. Unfortunately, Edward ran straight into the chair he'd noticed earlier, flipped over it, and came crashing down. Rufio, just behind him, didn't have time to stop, and careened into his body. Edward heard and felt, rather than saw, this last bit, and could only think that he had to get up and get away before he felt the dagger plunged into his back. He jumped to his feet, but was surprised to see the old man sprawled unmoving on the floor in front of him.

Examining Rufio's body, he gaped. He was dead! Then a smile spread across his lips. "It worked!" he thought. "My plan worked! The murderer is dead!"

At that moment, he heard a clatter in the hallway, and looked up just as the innkeeper burst into the room, a sword in hand. The other man froze, staring at him and the corpse.

"What on earth are you doing??" Edward asked.

"Well, sir, I heard you scream for help, and I thought..."

"Scream for help?" Edward repeated. "I did no such thing!"

"But I heard you scream, sir! So did the traveler upstairs!"

Edward blinked, and then remembered that he had, during his flight, loosed a scream. "Well," he said, a bit flustered, "of course I screamed. But I wasn't screaming for help!"

"Oh?"

"I was calling for you to come down here and...admire my handiwork!"

"Oh, I see," the innkeeper said, his face lighting up. He sheathed his blade, and then bent to admire the corpse. "Amazing, sir, just amazing! You've put an end to a very evil man! I have to say, I half didn't believe you'd be able to do it." Edward frowned deeply, and the innkeeper shot a furtive, apologetic glance up at him. "I mean so neatly, sir. No blood! Would you look at that? Why, if I didn't know better, I would have come down here, seen him lying like that, and said he tripped and hit his head!" Edward shifted uncomfortably, but said nothing. "Tell me, sir, how did you do it?"

Edward flinched at the question. "Well, you, umm, don't expect me to give away trade secrets like that, now do you?"