A Conclave of Princes Options

[Colonel Mustard]

A Conclave of Princes

Part 1-The Call

Azura

Tick

Of all of the many secret places of Moonshadow, the meeting chamber that Azura stood in was the best hidden and least-known, so obscure and unknown it was not even myth.

Tock

Hidden from all prying eyes by spell and ward and ancient ritual, the room was built like an amphitheatre, a great tiered circle of white stone surrounding a single raised dais. Behind the dais was the clock, a ring of brass, silver and pearl, gleaming in the silvery light that illuminated the room. An engraved pendulum swung left and right with the passing of every second, delicate hands clicking as they moved, the cunning of its long-dead artificer and the spells he had laid upon it ensuring that it would keep time with perfect precision until Akatosh himself finally passed.

Tick

The chamber was empty but for one person, a woman clad in shining silver-white hooded robes, the garment woven from moonlight by blind seamstresses. Her face was three faces in one; that of a youthful maiden, of a kindly, smiling mother and of a wrinkled, wizened crone, all three of those at once and yet at the same time none. Her name was Azura, the Lady of Dawn and Dusk, and right now she was waiting and listening to the clock.

Tock

The timepiece itself had been a gift to her, made for her long ago by a Dwemer admirer, a clockmaker and timekeeper with skill beyond repair. She had honoured the generous donation by hanging it within this hall and, when he died, by taking his soul to her realm of Moonshadow that he might continue his craft forever more.

Ti-

The pendulum froze mid-swing, caught in the precise halfway point between one second and another. Azura took a moment to glance at it, and nodded. Her sacred time had come, the precise moment when day turned to a night of a crescent moon, a span of time so short that it could stretch to eternity. With a nod, the doors lined around the hall groaned open, and now that they had been invited to Moonshadow and into Azura’s secret eternity, the cats entered.

Untold numbers of them came, an uncountable army of the animals prowling through the doors. Fat, pampered lazy housecats trotted alongside scarred and battered strays who had lived every day of their lives on the vicious gauntlet of the streets, old cats wheezed their way in whilst kittens rolled and played around their paws. Short-haired breeds from Hammerfell came alongside the thick-haired cats of Skyrim and shared space with the elegant stock bred by the Altmer of the Summerset Isles, while the large desert wildcats of Elsweyr loomed over the animals around them. All of them had come by the secret routes known only to cats and the mistress they served, arriving in the time that was there only for them

Somehow, despite the millions of animals that entered the room, there was no struggle for space. The amphitheatre seemed to grow with its audience, expanding with its crowd as the cats went to their seats and waited. One or two greeted each other by tentative sniffing, and a few old friends that could meet only on this day; on one of the rings, a Hammerfell tom met the Valenwood tabby that he had bumped into in the last meeting, and was introduced to the litter of kitten he had fathered for the first time. There was no yowling, hissing or snarling between them, and even little in the way of normal, conversational mewling, the gathered assembly silent out of respect for their lady and mistress.

One by one, the cats began to form a line, and Azura took a knee as the first one approached. He was an Summerset breed, tall, lithe and proud, his white fur groomed with meticulous care, the tufts of hair on his ears twitching as he sauntered forward, as if speaking to a goddess were something he did every day. Azura bowed her head as he stopped next to her, and as she bowed it, the feline told of her of all the secret things he had seen. Once she had listened to his account, she nodded, and the cat trotted away, back home, and the next one took his place. She had the nervous enthusiasm of a newcomer, and her report was stammered out. As with the first, the Mother of the Rose listened to all she had to say, and when she was done, she dismissed it, briefly stroking her spy behind her ears before she went.

So it went on. Each cat gave their report, and each one was given equal time by Azura, and the lowliest of street cats was listened to with the same care and attention given to the sacred cats of the island nation of Laalket, bedecked as they were in their finery and jewels. Everything the Daedric Prince heard, she remembered and digested, and was added to her great libraries of knowledge, the books and shelves filling up as she listened.

Yet one cat, a feline who said she lived in a temple of the Nine as a mouser, told her something that gave her pause. After a moment, Azura instructed her to stay until her council with the other cats was finished, but all of the other information she heard was received with an uneasy frown. Even though the place she inhabited was timeless, the Lady of Dusk began to feel it drag, and she was glad when the final stragglers gave their news.

As the final cat made her way out, herding her kittens with her, Azura returned her attention to the feline that had given the news to her earlier. She asked the mouser to expand on what it was she had said, to give as much detail as she could remember. Azura quizzed her on where she had heard it, how the overheard conversation had gone, asked her to repeat it word for word to the best of her memory.

Finally, once she was satisfied that she had heard everything from it that she possibly could. She permitted it to leave. She watched it scurry out of one of the doors, back to the warmth of its basket by the hearth. For a few moments, Azura lingered in the chamber, debating her options. There only really one to take, she knew, but though it was necessary it did not make it one she wished to do so.

A gesture of a hand and a doorway appeared before her, gnarled oak in a white frame. She turned the knob, stepped through it, and disappeared. There was work to do on this night.

-ck

Behind her, the pendulum of the clock swung into motion once more.




So what's this? A 3-part story, each part divided into 18 chapters, each chapter following a Daedric Prince and one other mystery entity. Each part is a short one, between 900 and 1500 words (so I can hopefully update at a reasonable pace) and if you think of it as something like a shorter version of the Canterbury tales set in the planes of Oblivion you've got something akin to the right idea.

Do enjoy, do leave any comments or critique that you think are useful and do have a lovely day, my dear readers.

This post has been edited by Colonel Mustard: Mar 10 2013, 10:28 PM

[Colonel Mustard]

Elizabeth Hollow: I was creeped out by it. Does that count?

I was trying to go for something creepy, there; I wanted him to be disgusting in appearance, but I thought the robes and staff would be good to give him a more sinister, cultish appearance as well, one that was kind of Lovecraftian.

Ghastley: Eh? Electrons are fundamental particles, along with quarks; the only thing they're made up of, as far as we know, is electron. And considering that Azura is a being for whom physics is something that is entirely optional,

McBadgere: Nah, don't worry about it. I was just joshing you.

The place with the dinosaurs and the place with lasers and radiation were actually separate areas. If you want to get a placing for it, well, just remember that some things never change.

Pleased you liked the Apocrypha and Hermaeus Mora; I was trying for something that was still fairly true to its depiction in Dragonborn, which I thought was fantastic, but I wanted my own spin on it, especially with Hermaeus Mora. The particle physics bit was fun, and I'm pleased you liked it. Still undecided on Michell Williams, though. Hmm.

Destri: Thanks!

I never really saw Hircine being the sociable type beyond those he'd view as pack members, and so I tried to write him as a sort of hermit for whom social niceties (even amongst Daedric Princes) would be something rather unimportant. Hence why he was more interested in the amoebas and rather disinterested in having a chat. On the it thing, I considered giving the werebeasts 'he' and 'she' pronouns, but ultimately I preferred the use of 'it' as it helped emphasise their more monstrous nature.

As for Azura stealing that book, it was to keep Hermaeus Mora from doing anything with what she's learned before the other Princes might keep him and each other in check; while it's a very big deal, it's not so much earth-shattering as it is a pretty damn big deal, and one that some of the Princes, Hermaeus Mora included, would exploit for themselves before the others knew about it, if they could.

And what happens next? Why, this does...


Sanguine

Azura wrinkled her nose at the pungent scent of sex, blood, sweat and rose petals that assaulted her nostrils as she stepped into the pink liquid air of Sanguine’s realms. Around her, lazy red bubbles floated and bloomed, each one a tiny pocket universe created by the Duke of Debauchery. She peered into one out of curiosity, seeing a group of mortals writhing together with such enthusiasm that they seemed one single mass of ecstatic flesh. Another was a crowd draining wine, puffing from pipes and feasting from a heavily laden table, stumbling around one another and laughing, paying no heed to a pair of elves copulating on a bench just off to the side.

“Well look who it is!” a figure declared, stepping out from a bubble. He, or perhaps she, bowed, one arm raised high, teeth flashing in a perfect smile. “Dear Azura, come to pay me a visit! Looking for a good time, oh star in my sky?”

“I’m here for business, Sanguine, not pleasure,” Azura replied.

Sanguine grinned at Azura, her perfect, sexless face illuminated by the easy grin between his full lips.

“Please, my dear,” she said. “Pleasure is my business.”

Azura rolled her eyes.

“We need to talk in private,” she said. “And for goodness’ sake, put some trousers on, will you?”

“What?” Sanguine asked, his eyes widening in mocking, innocuous look. “You interrupted me in the middle of something. Well, the middle of someone, really. Two someones, in fact. Very fun.”

Azura glared at him, and Sanguine shrugged. With a wave of her hands, his lower body was clothed in trousers of such tight leather that they may as well have not been there.

“You need to relax, Azura,” the Princess of the Perverse said. He gestured to her perfect, sculpted physique. “Come on, don’t tell me that there’s nothing about this body you find appealing.” His form began to change, becoming more muscular and distinctively masculine. “That more to your taste, perhaps?” She changed again, adopting the curves of a female form that an artist would have killed to put to canvas. “Or this?”

“Sanguine, I’m not here for-” Azura began.

“Wait,” Sanguine interrupted. There was a grin on his face, one that held more malice than mirth. Her form began to change once more, skin turning golden, features becoming familiar. “How about a fling with an old flame, huh?”

Azura’s palm slapped across his cheek. Sanguine cursed, reeling back, and scowled at her.

“Fine, fine!” he said, rubbing the side of his face, the blemish already faded. “If you want to talk, then let’s talk. We’ll go somewhere comfortable, shall we?”

She turned around, and with a flick of finger called a bubble to him. She tapped it, and it expanded, the shimmering membrane growing large enough for entrance, and as he stepped through, muttered; “Frigid old cow.”

The small pocket dimension he lead Azura to seemed to be nothing more than a single large, spacious room, decorated with thick red drapes and a lush carpet. There were well-stuffed leather chairs around a crackling fireplace, and a bar to one side, as well as a bookshelf set into one of the walls. Azura ran an eye over the titles; The Lusty Argonian Maid, Love in the Time of the Blight, Lady Chattelia’s Lover. Typical.

“Welcome to my dear little cubby hole,” Sanguine said as she made his way to the bar. “Where I retreat to when I need a little privacy. Drink?”

Azura shook her head.

“Suit yourself. Please, have a seat,” Sanguine said. She reached beneath the bar, pulling out a long, all glass and several bottles. After a moment, he took a few more from the shelves behind him. “So, what are you here for?”

“I’m calling a meeting,” Azura said. She sat and watched as Sanguine got to work, juggling and pouring from the bottles with the deftness of a court jester.

“A meeting, you say?” Sanguine asked as she sprinkled a dusting of fine white powder into the drink. “Something like that hasn’t occurred in an age, all of us gathering under the roof. What’s the occasion?”

“Bad news,” Azura said.

“It’s never for something good, is it?” Sanguine said. He placed a cap on top of the glass and began to vigorously shake it. “You know, I’d love, just once, to have a little social gathering. Have a bit of fun, everybody relaxing, good food, good drink, all of just enjoying ourselves.”

“You’d just be there to try and sleep with everybody,” Azura said.

Sanguine shrugged as she placed the glass back down on the table.

“What can I say?” he asked. “I’m the curious type. You ever wondered what Mehrunes Dagon is like under the sheets? I mean, think about it; he always takes that big, muscled form, so he’s got have something that scales with that, right? And imagine what Hermaus Mora could do with all those tentacles!”

“I’d rather not,” Azura said.

“Prude,” Sanguine muttered. She snapped his fingers together and a flame danced into life on the tip of one of them. It brushed the surface of her drink and a small column of fire roared upwards for a moment like the hawked magma of a volcano. “Would you look at that? Magnificent.”

“So will you be coming?” Azura asked as Sanguine sipped his drink.

“Mmm, that is good!” Sanguine declared. “You sure you don’t want one? Oh, sorry, yes, Moonshadow. I’ll come; nice place, and your average Winged Twilight is good company as well.”

“So you’ll come, then?” Azura asked.

“Will there be wine?”

“I’ll accommodate you all the best that I can,” Azura replied.

“Sounds good to me,” Sanguine said. “Then I’ll come, in return for one little favour.”

“You’re going to benefit from attending, Sanguine.”

“I know, I know,” Sanguine said. She pinched his fingers together. “It’s just one thing. One tiny, tiny thing, and I think you’ll like it.”

“What’s that?” Azura asked.

“You come here,” Sanguine began. She saw Azura’s frown and held up a hand as if to try and mollify her. “Hear me out, hear me out. You come here, I meet you, and we have ourselves some dinner together, and maybe a little wine. We’ll go somewhere nice, one my little places or maybe we can find somewhere pleasant with good food over in Mundus. Just enjoy ourselves a while.”

“And what’s brought on this sudden act of generosity?”

Sanguine shrugged.

“You always seem busy,” he said. “I thought you might want to unwind; it’d be good for you.”

“And this has nothing to do with getting into my pants?” Azura asked.

“Well, getting yourself shagged silly now and again is always good for you as well, I’d say,” Sanguine grinned. “What do you say? It’ll be fun.”

“I suppose there isn’t much to lose,” Azura said. “You have yourself a deal.”

“Knew you couldn’t resist!” Sanguine said. “And with that little transaction concluded, our deal is complete; I will see you in Moonshadow.”

He raised his glass in a mock toast to Azura as she stepped through the looking glass. She was but moments into Oblivion a fine, sharp cord looped around her neck and pulled tight.

“So,” a voice hissed in Azura’s ear. “What have you been up to?”

This post has been edited by Colonel Mustard: Mar 22 2013, 03:59 PM