A Champion's Journey, The Imperial Simulacrum Options

[Verlox]

Prolouge

Ernand Leoriane was greeted to his first sight of the Imperial City as he, along with his escort, crested over Brena's Hill, giving them an unparalleled view of the expansive rain-forest of the Nibenay Valley. The colossal Whitegold Tower, its silvered spire shimmering in the sun, gave promise to splendor. As a Junior Councilman of the Elder Council, Ernand would soon be enjoying that most marvelous of settlements. But the Imperial City wasn't the only site to behold in the great valley of Nibenay. From his perch atop Brena's Hill, the young Councilman could make out splendid villas of alabaster and limestone that belonged to wealthy nobles and Senior Councilors. The great Lake Rumare and its artery, the River Niben, could also be gazed at.

Sir Renard Liseux, the captain of Ernand's guards, moved his horse alongside his master's. "Your Grace, Chorrol is only another hour's ride from here. Would it please you if we bedded down there for the night?" Looking up, Ernand could clearly discern Masser and Secunda, and a few of the brighter stars. The Sun was only visible as a sliver of light on the western horizon. Although he would have preferred if they continued on their journey, traveling by torch-light if need be, Ernand knew that while his men would follow him, they wouldn't like him very much afterwards.

"Chorrol should be fine, Renard." Ernand could tell Renard was pleased by the grin that spread across his face. Signaling to the men, Renard spurred his horse back into formation around Ernand, and they proceeded to Chorrol. A Colovian town, Chorrol was situated in the Highlands on the border with Hammerfell. Founded in the 2703 year of the First Era by Kantus Jerril, the town's first Count. The city itself was rustic, to Ernand resembling the town in High Rock he was born in. Its timber structures were simple, square buildings with one or two floors. Silver Mining was Chorrol's primary trade, but the sheep and goat trade was always booming.

Twilight came and went by the time Ernand and his guards passed through the gates of Chorrol. A sleepy guard pointed them in the direction of the town's inn. It was fortunate that Chorrol was a very simple town, and that the inn received such a prominent position; right off the square. Passing up through the lane, Ernand couldn't help but admire the massive oak-tree that overshadowed the largest of Chorrol's buildings. Dismounting and hitching his horse, Ernand watched his guards tramp into the taproom. He followed more slowly, taking a seat in a corner. After the bar-wench had brought him his beverage, he was joined by Renard. "This isn't exactly the finest of places, eh, Renard?"

"No, sir, it is not," Renard indulged his master, feeling that a Councilman would think any place is trash, "Reminds me of home though, does it not?"

"Aye, that's true. Kambria bears a strong resemblance to this place. Chorrol is certainly warmer, though!" Both men laughed. "Do you think it will rain tonight," Ernand asked as he took a sip of his craythur, "Those clouds looked rather mean."

Renard tapped his chin with his forefinger in thought. "It could. We did have a light sprinkle last night, so it wouldn't be strange if we got some of the water up here in the Highlands."

"Should I expect a delay in travel?"

Renard grimaced. He knew Ernand wanted to get to the Imperial City so he could begin his career, and live the life of Nibenean luxury. Damn...I would be impatient, too, Renard thought to himself. As an older man, however, Renard could look on luxury as a reward, where as he saw Ernand as wanting the luxury as an entitlement, he was a member of the Elder Council after all. "Ernand," Renard rarely used his master's Imperialized name, preferring the formal 'sir' or, in private, his given name of Lochlainn, "How old are you?"

Ernand raised an eyebrow, but answered. "Seven-and-Twenty. Why?"

"You got your whole life ahead of you. Don't let a little luxury spoil you to the rest of the world."

"What makes you think it will?" Indignant, a hard edge crept into Ernand's voice, "I can assure you, Renard, that a Nibenean lifestyle will not 'spoil' me, as you put it." He stood from his seat abruptly, "I must bid you goodnight, Renard. I expect to leave early tomorrow, so be ready to leave by sunrise." With that, Ernand turned on his toe and left the taproom, leaving Renard sitting alone.

"Of course, Councilor. Your will is my command."

*

His entrance into the Imperial City was even greater that he imagined it would be. At the bridge, Ernand and his escort were met by the other two members of High Rock's councilors. They greeted their new compatriot with much warmth, proclaiming that High Rock was well served by having the scion of the Leoriane as a member of the Elder Council. Ernand in turn acknowledged their greetings with a smile, but had to ask where his benefactor, Ria Silmane, was.

"She had business to do for the Emperor, Ernand. As you know, that traitor, Tharn, was executed some months ago. For a time, the position of Imperial Battle Mage was empty, left vacant by Tharn's death. Emperor Uriel, in his wisdom, had Madame Silmane appointed in his place. We hardly see her anymore; always off doing one thing or another for His Majesty." Ernand nodded that he understood, but inwardly he wished that Ria had been their to see his entrance into the Imperial City.

The councilors escorted Ernand and his guard through the streets, giving them a condensed tour of the Imperial City. With the air crisp and cold, the councilors cut the tour short when they arrived in the Elven Gardens District. They pointed out to him the location of the High Rock Councilor's Manor, and then left the younger man for their own villas in the country-side.

"Unpack our belongings," Ernand told his guards, "I'm going to have a rest." The manor was a small, but comfortable, building of three stories. The lowest floor was a large hall made from receiving guests and dining. The second floor was dedicated to housing the occupant’s personal guard. And the third floor was the Councilor's Chamber. It was here that Ernand found himself after he mounted the stairs.

The chamber was very spacious. A large, four-poster bed was against the wall for sleeping. There were numerous coffers and chests, and their was even a writing desk. It was a object on the desk that first drew Ernand's attention, and he moved to investigate. The object was a small letter written on tan paper. Picking it up, Ernand read--

To his most Esteemed Lordship, Councilor Ernand Leoriane
Greetings,

I apologize in advance for not being able to greet you on your entrance into the city. The Emperor had a very important matter for me to look into, and I was unable to get out of it. I promise that we will soon see each other. If not in private than in the Palace.

Your Friend,
Ria Silmane, Imperial Battle Mage

Dated Seventh of Sun's Dawn, 3E 395

Ernand smiled at Ria's letter and put it back onto the desk. Moving over to a nearby shutter, he flung it open to gaze out over the Imperial City. Things were good.

**

This post has been edited by Verlox: Mar 19 2010, 02:40 AM

[Verlox]

I can't honestly say how I feel about this chapter. After a longtime away from the writing process, I won't say I'm dissapointed. No, that would be wrong. But I can't say I'm pleased with it, either. I had a much more different vision in mind when I started this chapter, but I got a little....involved with the goblins. Much to my annoyance. And I couldn't find a good place to stop with my "loving" description of my green friends and their barbarity.

Heck, I was halfway through when I changed the chapter-title to better reflect my goblin apparent obsession. Maybe I should write a goblin soap opera.

But, stick around for the next chapter when Neira infiltrates Stonekeep. METAL GEAR STYLE!!

Yeah, I've been playing A LOT of MGS4. Sue me.

Edit: Wonderful. Umbrella Seller....

Chapter Sixteen: Goblin Drama

The towering edifice of Stonekeep sat along the mountain road as an opulent ruin. A perpetual shroud of dark mist permeated the land and surrounding foliage. Whether it was foul goblin magick, or their cooking, was left up to any passerby subjecting themselves to the dangers of getting too close to the palace’s wrecked gate house.

Being built at the foothills of the Corten Mountain Range, Stonekeep was covered in a light dusting of snow, appropriate to the mild mid-winter the coast of Hammerfell was experiencing. The resident goblins, as was normal for their kind, did not take well to the cold, and numerous bonfires burned in the courtyard, only adding to the black miasma that hung over the palace.

From her perch in a nearby grove of trees, Neira monitored the green-skinned monsters. Like most goblins in western Tamriel, this tribe was relatively organized. Of course, being goblins, that organization was enforced with violence by the bigger ones on the smaller ones. She could see such an act happening in the gatehouse as a small pack of four goblins were squabbling over a slain hare, only for a much larger greenskin to come along, grunt and attack the others, and took the hare to be roasted on one of the bonfires.

Rubbing her shoulders to get some warmth into them, Neira stood from her spot and faded back into the brush a ways, where she had tethered her stolen horse. It was a small clearing with stamped down grass covered in frost. It was cold and uncomfortable, but off the road and well-hidden. Flopping down, her back against a tree, Neira hung her head in exhaustion, thoughts racing through her mind.

I’m beginning to think coming here wasn’t such a good idea. But I’d freeze if I tried crossing the mountains, and that Redguard umbrella seller, Neira spat on the ground when Ravenna passed through her thoughts, She’d find me if I went to Rose Guard. And then there is likely the hundred hunters from Taneth to Rihad that would be so eager to skewer me and deliver my head to Taneth. Vultures!.

Raising her head, she gazed at the horse, the beast contentedly chewing on the frosted grass. An image of the Breton she had stolen it from flashed through her mind, and how she had promised to make it up to him. Though in her current situation, she was certain she’d probably never even see the man again.

A pity, she thought with a cat-like smile,He was rather cute.

Getting to her feet again, she moved lithely over to the steed, running her hands over the leather saddlebags. In her hurried flight, she hadn’t had time to rummage through them. But, Neira lifted her head to look at the sun’s position, with Magnus nearing its height, and a small army of goblins occupying her only safe haven, that moment was as good a time as any for a little “counting of the spoils”.

Undoing the straps that kept the bags safely closed, Neira then lifted up the flaps and began to rummage through the Breton’s belongings. She wasn’t impressed with what she found. The first object she pulled out was a heavy wool blanket, not valuable, but needed in the winter. Gingerly wrapping the blanket tightly around her, and leaving her arms still free, she continued her inspection.

Winter clothing, trail rations, a simple dagger, and other traveling gear. Nothing special at all.

With a dissatisfied huff, Neira let the flaps drop back down into place, and she waddled back over to the tree to sit down. Snuggling deeper into the wool blanket, she felt her body warming under the soft material.

Unwilling to doze off, the dark elf passed the time by thinking up numerous contingency plans, for the possible event that she was unable to gain entrance to her hideout in the tunnels beneath Stonekeep. The most obvious plan was to cross the Corten Mountains, but with the mountain roads choked with snow, that would be well-nigh impossible. The other plan was to make a dash for the Brena River, and enter Colovia. It would be tough getting through that bounty hunter-infested area, but if she could pass through it, and get to Valenwood, her troubles would be over.

Hopefully[i], she thought to herself, [i]It doesn’t come to that. The masters always said, “News travels faster than the wind. And bounties even faster.”

The sudden blare of a shrill horn brought Neira out of her musings. The noise not only managed to surprise her, but it also spooked her stolen horse, and it began to fight its tether, straining the thin rope to the breaking point. In a series of quick motions, the dark elf untangled herself from the Breton’s blanket, and sprung to her feet, and she moved to calm the steed down. She was, however, too slow, and by the time she started to move, the equine had already broken the rope and sped off, leaving deep hoof prints in the ground.

Blistering the air with foul, dunmeri curses, Neira stood for a time in the clearing, seething with rage. The horn, for its part, continued to sound out, drowning out the continued screaming of the furious woman.

Having exhausted her vocabulary until she was reduced to mindless sputtering, Neira stopped mid-gibberish. After taking several deep breaths and composing herself, she ran a hand through her hair, mussing it. Lacking vanity in her particular situation, she did nothing to fix it. Spinning on her heel, Neira made her way across the clearing and into the tangle of the wood that separated her from the goblin horde of Stonekeep.

Neira’s perch at the edge of the wood was well-chosen spot. Shadowed by the canopy above, and abundant in ground foliage, she simply had to wiggle her way between three bushes under a great cedar tree to become almost invisible, while also affording her an unparalleled view of the goblin fortress.

Nestling deep into the bushes, and drawing her hood up over her hair to hide the clashing fiery red, Neira slowly parted a few leaves and branches until her view of the gates were unobstructed. Before her, in the bailey of the palace, a great troupe of goblins had gathered. Nipping and shoving each other, it appeared to the Dunmer that they were jockeying for position. Quirking her eyebrow, she wondered why.

Her question was answered when the horn sounded again, and the great double doors of the keep-proper flew open, and a second, much smaller group, of goblins marched out. Clad in disheveled armor, and carrying heavy, albeit rusted, weapons, these goblins were some of the most fearsome she had ever seen. As big as Orcs, in girth, they were as well.

The Shaman’s guards, Neira thought to herself as she watched the larger greenskins shove their lesser brethren aside, clearing a rather large space in the center of the great group, But where’s the shaman?

Her question was answered when the horn blew a low, almost mournful note, and the creatures in the bailey fell silent. From out of the keep came two goblins, each the size of the Shaman’s guards. On their shoulder, they carried the bloody corpse of a diminutive, wrinkly goblin with numerous crude arrows sticking out of it. With great reverence, they bore their load through the goblins, who parted like water to let them through. When they reached the center of the gathering, they gently laid the body out onto the snow-patched ground.

Then a great, collective, ear-bursting scream came from the goblins in the bailey.

Neira clutched her ears as she reeled out of the bushes and back into the forest. She had never encountered this before. From what she knew of goblins, the cared little for their kind, and were more likely to feast on a fallen comrade than mourn him.

As the screaming subsided, and Neira’s the ringing ceased in her ears, the Dunmer crawled, weakly, back to her perch. She almost regretted it when she saw what the monsters were doing then. With their simple weapons, they were raking the dull blades and rusty nails across their bodies, roaring with primal fury and misery.

From her perch, Neira could only blink in total confusion. Something was wrong with these creatures. “This is too much,” she muttered to herself, “This…this is unnatural.”

The goblins stopped their mutilations, however, when the horn sounded a final time, and six small goblins, clad in dirty rags, and each carrying a staff, marched out of keep. Two of them, the ones in the front, marched with staves much more ostentatious, painted in loud, garish colors, and decorated with feathers, bones, and other baubles. The two goblins in the rear each had a rope in his hand, and between them they pulled a great, unruly goblin into the bailey.

The captive goblin was subjected to kicks, strikes, and furious growls as its captors lead it into the center of the gathering. Undaunted, it snarled and bit back, but bound as it way, it was unable to ably defend itself. Once in the center, the guards wasted no time in shoving their captive to the ground, and began to savagely thrash it with their weapons. The other goblins cheered as their betters did what they all desired to do.

When the captive had been suitably mauled, it was picked up, and thrown into the crowd by two of the guards, where, Neira was sure, it was torn apart quite quickly. When attention was turned back to the staff-carrying goblins, she talked amongst themselves before raising one of the fancier staves to sky, the throwing it to the ground, stomping on it until it was broken into the pieces. Stooping down, one of them scooped up the centerpiece of the staff, a large bird’s skull, and raised it high, and the other goblins cheered. Then, one of the larger goblins began to scream in its guttural language, which Neira could hear quite clearly but couldn’t understand.

When it was finished, the others ran all about the bailey, picking up weapons and half-cooked rabbits. Slowly, they began to trickle back to the gathering point, until once again they were all gathered. Then the tribal staff, the unbroken one, was raised high over the tribes dead shaman, and then more screaming.

But what shocked Neira the most was the relatively ordered march that occurred after the brief funeral for their slain shaman.

“By Almalexia’s left teet! They’re going to war!”

Neira watched, quietly, as the goblins marched south down the mountain road towards Rihad. It took several minutes before the horde turned west, disappearing into the woods in search of their enemy who has assassinated their spiritual leader. But even out of sight, she could still clearly hear their war cries.

Flopping onto the ground, Neira sat for a few moments in utter shock and confusion. Flinging her hood back, she ran her hands through her hair again.

Ok, Neira, calm down. Yes, you just saw what could possibly be the most strange thing you will ever see in your entire life. Getting to her feet, she faded a few feet back into the forest to avoid the sight of any sentries that may have been left behind. Ok, I accept that. Good. Then Neira began to chuckle lightly to herself, marveling at her good fortune. With the horde on the warpath, it would be a much simpler act to penetrate the palace and get to the tunnels below where he hideout was.

And if that bounty hunter happens to run into a few berserk goblins, well, I can’t say I’ll be upset!

This post has been edited by Verlox: Oct 1 2010, 06:59 AM