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]

The rivers turn to ice,
And the mountains shiver and frown
But the people are nice,
In this faraway and foreign little town.
-- Ode to Bruma

Chapter Thirty-Six

As stupid as his valet's suggestion had seemed to him at first, the more Edward thought about it, the more it sounded like the only logical way to go about the matter. After all, Vicente had practically forbade him to kill Gromm; and, by all accounts, Gromm was hardly someone Edward would want to -- indeed, could -- fight. Furthermore, Baenlin was a murderer, and a cruel and callous one at that. He had killed his own brother, hadn't he, to steal his property -- and rob his own nephew in the process? He might be old, but that didn't necessarily mean he couldn't fight. "After all," Edward thought, "this is a land of barbarians...these primitives are killing each other before they crawl...they probably don't age like normal, civilized people, either...they probably don't grow into nice, mildly annoying, partially deaf people who cut in front of you in line after you've been waiting for forty-five minutes just to buy one stinking roll, then take the last roll in the whole damn bakery, and then can't even hear you when you cuss them out!" Edward broke off from that train of thoughts, realizing that his teeth were clenched and his hands were instinctively clutching out and throttling the thin air in front of him. He blinked, straightened his ruffled outfit -- his clothes had been mussed in his murder of the phantom elderly man he'd imagined -- and resumed his original line of thought. "Anyway, in this primitive place, the old men are probably a bunch of hardened warriors who would as soon slice you in two as look at you." He sighed. "The only possible thing for me to do is kill 'im without him suspecting...and that minotaur head sounds as good as anything else." He frowned. "But how oh how am I going to loose it without him knowing??"

Edward's frown intensified. "Well," he mused, "I suppose I should do a little reconnaissance. If I could just get into the house under some innocent pretext..."

Then Edward's face lit up as an idea struck him. He would go to Baenlin's house, pretend to be a repairman, gain access to the trophy, and drop it then. Smiling at his own brilliance, Edward donned his coat and headed out of the inn. No sooner had he done this than he regretted the action; a cold, wintery blast of air greeted him in the traditional Bruma way. "What kind of savages could live here?" he wondered, shaking immediately. "And what is it with naming inns for things that they're not near and can't be seen from? Jerall View Inn my foot! You can't see the mountains from here!" Shaking his head in distaste at the stupidity of these foreign primitives, he set out for Baenlin's house.

"If I built an inn," he thought as he trudged along, "I would call it something interesting, something important...like the Prince Edward Inn ...or the Royal Family Suites...something that makes sense, not something like 'Jerall View Inn' when you can't see the darned mountains from the stupid inn!"

He had trudged about for several minutes, shivering all the while, when he stopped, realizing that he had no idea where he was going. "Where is this Baenlin, anyway?" he wondered, frowning. There were houses all around him, and nothing to denote who lived where.

He reached a shaking hand into his pocket to retrieve a map, which he unrolled. He had marked the spot of Baenlin's house with an x, but it didn't help him much as he didn't know where he was in relation to anything else on the map.

"Excuse me sir," a voice interrupted his thoughts. Edward started, glancing up at the passing guard who was addressing him. "But can I help you?"

"Well, umm, yes, actually," Edward said, swallowing his fear of discovery. "You see, I was hired by, umm..." He froze, his mind blanking for an instant. "Gromm! Yes, Gromm -- you know, Master Baenlin's hired man -- to repair something ..."

"Oh!" the guard exclaimed. "You must be talking about the minotaur head trophy!"

Edward blinked. "Yes, that's right."

"Yes," the guard nodded. "Old Gromm's been quite upset about it...so he finally got someone to take a look at the thing, eh?"

Edward nodded weakly. If this was such a well known problem that a random guard knew about it, maybe dropping the head on Baenlin wasn't the wisest choice.

"Good, good," the guard continued, even as Edward continued to shiver violently. "He was telling old Ognar about it this morning, and Ognar happened to run into Arnora, and she happened to run into my missus, and, well..." Here he paused to laugh. "The rest is history."

"Yes, well, erm, that's very interesting," Edward managed.

"But, seeing as how you're looking at that map, you must be trying to find Baenlin's place?"

Edward nodded meekly. He had been hoping to find an excuse to slip away quietly, but that was impossible now.

The guard laughed uproariously at this. "You must be a foreigner, right?" He looked Edward up and down, "Yup, 'course you are...you've got that persnickety air and prissy fine skin, unused to the rigorous mountain winds and cold. No offense intended, of course."

Edward only chattered his teeth in response.

"Well, anyhow, you're standing in front of old Baenlin's place."