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 empire lays on the brink of chaos,
Mehrunes Dagon goes about his merry way
Meanwhile is the amulet bearer at a loss
To understand what he risks with such delay?
-- Musings of Friar Jauffre





Chapter Thirty-Eight

Edward sighed. He was crouched in a stuffy crawlspace, staring at old, fraying rope. What, exactly, he wondered, did that idiot Gromm expect him to do? This would be a two or three man job at least, to lower this head to the ground, replace the rope, and rehang it.

"Oh well," he thought, "it should be easy enough to drop it, at least...it looks like the darn thing might fall at any moment." With this, an idea came to him. "Hmm...suppose I just toy with the ropes a little bit, so that, by this evening -- when Baenlin sits down to drink his wine -- this'll all come crashing down." He smiled devilishly. "And I can just tell that pathetic, groveling servant of his that I'm going to get some fresh rope, and I'll be back later in the evening, once Baenlin is gone to bed." His smile widened, and he moved closer to the ropes.

"Hmm," he mused, seizing it and wiggling it back and forth -- at least, attempting to wiggle it, but not being able to budge the taut rope. At the same time, he heard a suspicious creaking sound, and felt the floor beneath him shift in a decidedly unpleasant fashion. Edward's eyes bulged. "Great gods!" he exclaimed. "Forget the rope...this crawlspace is about to collapse!"

Pulling backwards in order to expeditiously exit the wobbly structure, Edward gasped. His fingers were stuck in the rope. "No!" he thought, pulling violently to be free. The rope would not budge, but the wall to which it was attached shivered. Edward, feeling panic rising in him, began to flail and struggle like a wild animal in a trap. He was kicking and pulling and screaming to be loosed when, all at once, a tremendous groan issued from the wall; the next thing Edward knew, he was being hauled forward and downward, dragged by his fingers, which were caught in the rope – the rope that was attached to the wall, which was pulled downward by the minotaur head.

Certain beyond any hope that he was a dead man, Edward just closed his eyes, and waited for the worst. The worst did not come, however; instead, Edward landed with a crash on top of the wall remnants, which splintered fully on the minotaur head. Aside from decidedly unlucky contact between his head and a board, he was unscathed. That said, it was half an hour before Edward regained consciousness.

When he woke, he found himself in a cold stone cell, with a rough sleeping roll underneath him; he was only vaguely aware of these things as he groaned in agony and attempted to roll onto his side.

"Well," a voice greeted his agonized groaning, "you really did yourself in for some trouble."

Edward attempted a question, just as he attempted to look at the speaker, but he was in too much pain to do either.

"You needn't bother with the sympathy routine," the other speaker informed him matter-of-factly. "Trust me, I've tried it...they don't care here. We're the prisoners -- as far as they're concerned, if we're not suffering, they're not doing their job."

Edward tried to ask, "Whose 'they'?" Instead, he managed to gurgle something that sounded like a cat throwing up.

"'They'," the voice answered, "are the guards. And 'we' are the prisoners."

Edward's contorted face contorted further. Somehow, he knew he would end up in prison, even though he didn't know how or why. It was his luck, or lack thereof.

"I'm in here for theft...but you..." The other prisoner clucked his tongue. "Impersonating the royal decorator? Pulling down half of old Baenlin's house?" He clucked again.

"He's not dead then?" Edward managed to gasp.

"Dead? Well, what else, when a foot longer splinter pierces your head? A piece of your debris went flying into the poor man, and killed him instantly. Gromm would have killed you on the spot, if the guards hadn't heard the noise and come running." The other prisoner laughed. "To think, you're actually safer in here than you would be free." He laughed again.

Edward frowned, but did not dare to move enough to look at the other man; his pain was at a manageable level now, and he did not want to risk exacerbating his problems. "I don't understand; I was only trying to help."

This declaration was met with laughter. "Bah! You were up to thieving!"

Edward groaned again, not from pain this time, but at the realization that he'd missed a golden opportunity to loot Baenlin's home.

"And, sadly for you -- and old Baenlin," the prisoner continued, laughing at his own wit, "you accidentally knocked the old attic down." He repeated his mocking clucking. "Old Baenlin should have taken better care of that place, than to let it rot like that. And you should have been smarter than to try such a lame scheme to infiltrate the house."

At that moment, the outer door to the dungeon scraped open, and light flooded the dark cells and hallway. A gruff voice called out, "Alright, get up...you're free to go."

"Me?!" the excited voice of Edward's cellmate asked.

"No, not you!" came the response. "You've still got six months to go!"

"But...but...this man is in here for murder!" the other prisoner gasped. "How come he goes free, and I stay here?"

"None of your nevermind, that's why!" the guard answered. "And you!" -- this to an unknown newcomer, standing silhouetted in the doorway -- "You collect this lunatic, and get him out of Bruma! Gromm's been pretty forgiving, but you never know, especially if he starts drinking...better to keep the loon out of here for a few months, until things cool down."

"Cool down?" Edward wondered aloud. He had been following the conversation as well as he was able, but the sudden flood of light had sent his senses swimming, and he hadn't been able to make much of anything that had been said since. "You mean, it actually gets colder here than it already is?"

The guard cleared his throat, shook his head, and unlocked Edward's cell. The other, unidentified man, came in, knelt beside Edward, and said in a very low tone, "Come with me, sir -- and please, don't say anything! I got them to let you out, but I had to give a cover story. Don't speak, please!"

Edward blinked in surprise. It was his valet, although, at least to his eyes, the man seemed surrounded by swirls of color...no, that was the entire room. "It's you!" he said. "You should have seen me! I was flying on a giant moose!" He blinked again. Everything was moving so oddly, like when you just wake up in the morning and open your eyes. He smiled. "No, this is a dream, isn't it? I'm not really in prison?"

"Come with me, sir," his valet said, lifting him to his feet. This last bit of movement sent a shock wave of pain through Edward's head, and he lost consciousness.