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

[treydog]

No worries about the delay- we will always be ready for more of our favorite bounder.

On the letter, I am guessing (without going back and looking) that the original was penned by Jauffre?

"That's what I pay you for!" Edward finished.

The valet coughed. "Oh, about that, sir," he started.

He's a Robber from the Hood, so to speak,

If Edward had ached any less, he would have pretended to be more injured and sore than he already was; as it was, however, he hurt so badly that he could not imagine feigning further injury.

And of course there are Edward's confused (does he do any other kind?) musings on criminality- his own and the generally disappointing nature of criminal enterprise in Tamriel at the end of the 3E....

[Rachel the Breton]

Quite right, treydog...it was none other than the good Grandmaster himself. I thought, upon reflection, it seemed a little...tame for a missive penned by Friar Jauffre.

Those were some of my favorite lines, too, treydog...I always imagine Edward's views of the criminal classes being somewhat like our romanticized view of medieval knights (except focusing on the evil instead of good )...totally skewed by fond memory/imagination, and not really remotely accurate, but hard to shake. Of course, in Edward's case, he imagines a sort of anti-knight, lol, but that's Edward.

mALX: lol, I love the door too...I try to keep cultural references out, lol, but sometimes they creep in...especially LotR ones.



The gods help them whose servants help them.

-- Scripture of the Square Root of Eighty-One, translation funded by the Coalition of the Noble Born


Chapter Twenty-Four



Edward stirred groggily. The unpleasant sensation of rocking, back and forth, back and forth, was interrupting his dream -- and it was too beautiful a dream to be interrupted!

There he was, atop a glorious mountain of gold, reaching forward, forward, forward, just about to seize the largest diamond he had ever seen; and then he would rock backwards, just out of reach. Barely catching his balance before he tumbled down the mountainside -- which seemed to grow steeper with every rocking movement -- he would just steady himself before tumbling forward, just past the diamond. Again, he would be just out of reach of the gem, and would have only enough time to steady himself before he'd plunge backwards.

Finally, unwillingly, angrily, he opened one eye, and then another. As the shadows of dreamland fled, brilliant sunlight assailed his eyes. He blinked rapidly, trying to remember where he was. The last thing he could remember was imbibing an unbelievable amount of really bad wine and beer, and eating more than a little food, before deciding to lay down for just a moment to rest. It had been late in the afternoon then, with dusk settling in on the land.

"Land!" he thought. "That's right -- I'm not on land, I'm on that ship, the Floated Bloat...Boated Foat...Bloated..." His mind froze, mid-thought. The rocking -- it wasn't just in his dream! He really was rocking back and forth; or, rather, he wasn't rocking, but the boat was rocking!

He blinked in amazement. There must be a terrible storm outside, for the boat to be rocking that hard in port!

He frowned. No, it couldn't be storming out -- there was far too much sunlight streaming into his window for there to be a storm. He knit his eyebrows in concentration. If the boat was rocking, and it wasn't because of a storm, what did that mean?

He yelped in fear as the answer struck him. "Ye gods! We've set sail! Nobody told me?! Where are we headed? Will I ever get back? What's going on?" Then, a more terrible thought struck him. "What if...they deliberately didn't tell me? What if they're slavers, and they plan on selling me for a fortune on some distant shore? Is that why they offered me a room, and so much alcohol? To intoxicate me, so that they could get me away silently?" His face grew pallid. "Slavers can probably sum people up easily...they probably realized that they had a goldmine in me...after all, my skills and brilliance would be perfectly suited for anything...scholar, warrior, inventor, gladiator, anything." His train of thought shifted. "Or...or they could be taking me to some far away, exotic land, where they'll sell me to an empress or sultaness, who has been looking for a man like me for years!" His mind filled with images of his marriage to a rich and powerful -- not to mention insanely beautiful -- woman, who had searched the entire globe before finding someone good enough to marry, and make the emperor or sultan of her kingdom -- that someone being him, of course. "Well," he thought, "this might not be too bad after all...I could deal with ruling an empire or a sultanate...is that a word? Well, whatever...and, of course, it wouldn't hurt to have a gorgeous, brilliant woman absolutely, madly in love with me...particularly when she's deliciously rich...and powerful..." He smiled at the idea. He was a sort of Joseph, he decided, except that he wasn't stupid enough to refuse a beautiful woman, her powerful empire, and a life of ease and luxury. Yes, he had certainly been in worse predicaments, he concluded.

A loud, brusque thumping on the passage near his door roused him from his reverie. Starting, he crept to his door, wincing as he did so -- he still smarted from his run in with the inn door the day before. He listened for a moment and, hearing nothing, opened the door a sliver. Peering outside, he recoiled in fright as a man outside his door started in surprise. Here was a man he had never seen before!

In unison, both men asked, "Who are you?!"

"I'm Edward," Edward answered, "and I'm sleeping at the inn!"

"I'm Lynch," the other man replied, "and I'm going to lynch you!"

While the Nord laughed at his own joke, Edward thought fast, and slammed his door shut, jamming the bolt in place. "Damn it, damn it, damn it!" he cursed. "They're going to kill me, not sell me to a gorgeous Sultaness to become a rich, powerful and adored Sultan!"

Lynch, meanwhile, was banging at the door, demanding, "Come out, you coward! Come out and get what's coming to you!"

"Why do you want to kill me?!" Edward shouted back. "I don't even know you! I have no idea how we even got afloat! I'm innocent!"

"We're afloat because we set the ship afloat -- and by we, I mean me and the other Blackwater Brigands. And innocence is no excuse -- you're a dead man! And after I finish you, I'm going to finish the stupid orc we locked up!" With this, the Nord renewed his assault on the door.

Edward flinched as every blow landed. The door was strong, but not that strong. It would break soon, and then he -- slightly hung over and completely unarmed -- would have to fight a fully armed brigand. Then, an idea hit him.

Creeping toward the door, cringing every time the wood shivered with a new blow, he seized the handle and the bolt; then, in one fluid movement, he pulled the bolt back and turned the handle just as a new kick was sent forward. Lynch, not meeting with the resistance that he had anticipated, tumbled forward and into the room.

At the same time, Edward sprung forward, and pulled the door closed behind him. Now, holding the handle firmly and bracing himself with his feet against the door jam, he waited for the Nord to attempt to leave the room. He didn't wait long; in an instant, he felt a strong pull from inside. But Edward was ready, and using his legs as much as his arms, he managed to put up a good fight for several minutes.

However, the Nord was considerably stronger than he was, and, even though Edward was fighting for his life, eventually his strength succumbed. His hands slipped from the handle, the door went flying backwards, and he careened into the floor with a horrifically painful crash. Expecting his opponent to rush out and murder him at any moment, Edward lay in place, his eyes closed, grimacing and praying to all the gods he didn't believe in for some sort of miraculous intervention. He promised everything he could think of, from eternal servitude to the sacrifice of his first born children if only they would spare him.

As he lay there, inwardly groveling and praying, it seemed that an eternity of time passed. He had always heard that time stood still when you knew you were about to die, but he honestly never expected it to take this long. In fact, laying in place, aching from his fall, his eyes pressed tightly shut, Edward almost began to wish that his killer would hurry up and finish the job, rather than leaving him in this uncomfortable limbo.

The thump of a heavy footfall overhead, sounding very much in real time, startled Edward, and he opened his eyes. Amazed that there was no sword wielding murderer directly over him, Edward blinked. Surely, this hadn't been a dream, had it? Was he still in his bed, where he had laid down the night before?

He looked around. No, he wasn't in his bed, and, no, this hadn't been a dream. He was lying on his back in a hallway, staring up at the ceiling above, and the door to his room lay in front of him. Cautiously, fearfully, he raised himself upward, looking for his would-be murderer.

Not seeing him immediately, he drew himself up further still. Then, he saw the man. He was lying in a heap opposite him, blood pouring from his head. Over his body, there was a telling patch of red on the corner of the window frame.

Edward stood now, and walked carefully toward the body. "Are you dead?" he asked, not entirely expecting an answer. When none came, he kicked the body, just to make sure. It didn't move. Edward smiled. "Yup." With this, he set about looting the corpse. After all, he needed a weapon; plus, this guy's clothes were pretty nice, so he likely had some money on him, he reasoned.

This post has been edited by Rachel the Breton: Sep 12 2010, 09:13 PM