Interregnum, 854 of the Second Era Options

[haute ecole rider]

This is me. This is me when I saw that Interregnum had been updated. This is me when I realized the update actually contained a full chapter.

Oh, where to begin? Let's start with the one nit I did see:

- turned his head to steal himself from the pain that he was sure would follow.

It seems to me that steel would be a better choice, as it indicates that he was braced for the blow, unless you meant steal in the sense that he would escape the pain.

Now on to the great parts:

From there they used their speed to strike down upon the plodding ogres, whose attempts to grab and bludgeon them were as effective as trying to punch a waterfall.

I loved this simile!

Even if the Tsaesci could gain respite on top of the pillars, the minotaurs had the tools and the brains to simply knock them down.

This is a great example of how one must always assess each and every one of his opponent, as every one is individual in their way of fighting.

The voice that sounded through his ruin of brown gums and stained teeth gave no hint of education, and carried with it such a suggestion of cruelty and distemper that Mero found himself wishing for a sword.

What a clear and concise description that brings to mind a more complete image of the guard than any trite catalogue of his physical features including eye color, hair color, height, etc could conjure up!

The swaying stopped. The forked tongue disappeared into his mouth. His eyes gained sudden clarity and focus. Mero stood transfixed in the Tsaesci’s gaze. Behind those eyes he saw a mixture of defiance, resignation, and indifference. But it was the sorrow that lay underneath that kept Mero’s attention and caused a wave of empathy so sudden and intense that his breath was captured in its wake.

But then it was gone. The Tsaesci’s eyes glazed over and he went back into his sway. His tongue once again danced in the dim torchlight.

So much happens in these brief moments that the reader gains an immediate sense of the relative dominance of these two characters.

I'm with Cap'n Hammer on the passage he pointed out. Very effective.

I'm not going to quote the entire final combat sequence, but I will say that it was outstanding writing and truly inspiring!

[Olen]

Great to see this continued! I love this piece and was missing it. The summary was a good move, you've woven quite a complex story here and it brought me up to speed well.

Those tsaesci are tough... That's there's still four of them after that is impressive.

I like how you're telling this part. Mero is an interesting character, I don't see where he fits in yet but I suspect he has more of a role to play than bringing this out. It's a great way to introduce him.

I want to know what happens next...

This post has been edited by Olen: Mar 22 2011, 06:42 PM

[mALX]

** mALX wakes up from a dead faint ** GAAAAAH !!! The battle ... imprisoned ... the Chevalier Renald ... gobble, gobble ...

[SubRosa]

The second interregnum of Interregnum is over, and the King has returned!

“If it bleeds, it can die,”
Conan imparts his wisdom. Oh wait, that was a different Ahnold character...

Twelve talents of gold could break most men.
Seeing that the Roman talent was 71 pounds, this is literally true!

I loved your description of the prison, and especially of the toothless guard.

If he was without honor then why is his removal considered a crime?
Well put!

the minotaurs were not beggars to their own demise
An excellent phrase!

So now we get down to it. Minotaurs it is. That last one was certainly a surprise, using his hammer one-handed!

The continued onslaughts in the arena make one thing perfectly clear. This is not an exposition, the Emperor showing off his shiny new servants to the public. Rather it is an execution. It is no wonder that Vershu finally reached his limit, slew the priest to show the Emperor what he thought of his honor, and took his rightful place, at the side of his serpents in battle. There is a powerful juxtaposition between the two, revealing the depths of honor that they each possess or lack. On one hand we see that Vershu understands that an oath of allegiance goes both ways between follower and leader. Just as the former is bound to serve the latter, the latter is bound to protect and nurture the first. Emperor Cuhlecain clearly has no understanding of this. Only of murder. If this display of Cuhlecain's total lack of honor does not drive Vershu directly into Talos' camp, nothing will.


nits:
The lamplight reflected off those golden scales accentuated tensed muscle and under slitted eyes a forked tongue darted in and out of his mouth with frantic intensity.
This sentence really goes on. Perhaps you might break it up into two or three smaller sentences?

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Mar 24 2011, 09:34 PM

[Acadian]

Forgive the faulty recollection of our poor sweet roll. I'm unsure whether to blame my age, my elf's hair color or try to concoct a theory that the event of its demise must have been so dramatic that I have blocked out the poignant plight of the poor pastry's pain.

There is always treasure in this story, but not in the form a sweet roll this time. The exquisite gem for me in this episode was found here:
'But it was the sorrow that lay underneath that kept Mero’s attention and caused a wave of empathy so sudden and intense that his breath was captured in its wake.'

And of course a heart pounding scene in the Arena where you so effectively display the power, cunning and speed of the Tsaesci.

So wonderful to have you back!

[Linara]

Ahh...I love reading this. It just gets better. Everyone else has picked out the best passages, but the whole thing overall was brilliant. You have done a good job of giving us a glimpse into the mind and emotions of Vershu, and that only heightened this last chapter. Excellent.

[Grits]

My interest in Mero has been growing with each candlelit chat, but it had been eclipsed by the other characters and fascinating events until the beginning of the Arctus interview. And then on the way through the prison:

If this is who we are, Mero thought to himself, is it any wonder that the Gods choose to hold us at arm’s length?

After that he could stand between Eesham and Xarsien and still be visible. I’m sure Vershu/Renald and the syffim have a lot of stories. I would read every one of them.

Mero turned toward the guard. “I thought there were four.”

Aaaaaah, noooooo!!!

“Other ones’ got a special cell . . . Emperor’s orders.”

Oh. Never mind. I’m a little too close to the edge of my seat!! By the end of this section, I found myself echoing Eesham's whisper.

This post has been edited by Grits: Mar 24 2011, 05:40 PM

[Thomas Kaira]

Book One: Morning Star

I am very much enjoying reading about this important year in Tamriel's history. Your writing reflects just how grand the scale of what is happening here really is.

-We started with a lone mage venturing forth into Oblivion to make a deal with Clavicus Vile. For what, who might possibly know? All we do know is that someone's soul has made the bargain, and knowing that stubby Satyr, it must be someone dear to the mage.

-Next, the deal with Mannimarco (and not that idiot wannabe we saw in Oblivion). An afflicted wife drives a man to the blackest depths of Nirn to save her. I really find myself wondering if it is in his best interests to trust the Worm King. He is the most powerful necromancer the world has ever seen (and again I refuse to acknowledge he was defeated in Oblivion), it would be child's play to convert this lonely and desperate husband to a loyal servant.

-The Battle of Black Boot: very well done on this one. Indeed it seems Talos fought this battle mostly for political reasons. Now that he has negotiated peace with Elsweyr after a long conflict, he will be a hero of the people, and practically untouchable. I can certainly see him taking advantage of his celebrity status to usurp the throne. I have a feeling that by the time this tale ends, I will find myself wondering if Talos is worthy of his divinity.

Oh, by the way, is Cyrodiil a jungle or a temperate forest here? I ask because recently, Bethesda decided to bull(censored) ret-con that lore with this:

Originally a jungle, Cyrodiil was changed into a temperate climate by Emperor Tiber Septim.

I really do hope this does not happen here, because even with his status as a Divine, the Aedra never had the capability to alter the land which Lorkhan created. I simply cannot see Talos with his stolen God-hood having such power the Aedra do not.

This post has been edited by Thomas Kaira: Mar 27 2011, 12:24 AM

[Destri Melarg]

Everyone – I am so sorry for all the delays. Some of it I can attribute to RL and scheduling conflicts, and there is a small part of it that I can hang squarely on Bethesda for ret-conning the lore of the Dragonborn (Thanks a LOT, Todd! ) which has resulted in my having to rethink a significant portion of the story. However, most of it is due to author laziness and insecurity. Here at long last is the conclusion of the longest day ever. I hope that this third interregnum of Interregnum proves to be the last.

Captain Hammer – As always you cut right to the heart of the matter. And thanks for the kick in the a$$! If GRRM can finish Dance I can finish Interregnum.

hautee – Hopefully I won’t give you further reason to miss this story so much in the future (but I must say that I loved the emoticons ). I meant ‘steal’ in the second sense (as a way to escape the pain). I liked the play on words and decided to go with it. The description of that guard was my favorite thing in the chapter too.

Olen – Ask and ye shall receive. The fact that you’re posting again means that I need to get off my backside and get to work. You will be seeing more of Mero. He has a vital part to play toward the end of this story.

mALX – One of the most beautiful sounds I can imagine is you gobbling like a turkey! Thank you.

SubRosa – I loved your assessment of Vershu and Cuhlecain. I think that one thing that Talos comes to realize in this chapter is that there is method to the Emperor’s madness, but I don’t want to give too much away.

Acadian –

The poignant plight of the poor pasty’s pain.

That had me on the floor! Tell you what, I won’t mention it if you don’t. I may venture off from time to time, but rest assured I will always return.

Linara – Thank you so much! I only hope that I can sustain your level of enjoyment.

Grits – You have no idea how gratifying your comments about Mero are. Why not? Because, lazy ingrate that I am, I never told you. Well, consider yourself told. That was my exact intent in presenting the narrative through his POV.

TK – A very belated welcome to Interregnum:

- You’re right; it is someone dear to Lattia, though she doesn’t know it yet.
- We see Mannimarco the same way. The KOW is always on the lookout for servants, but he has his eyes on someone else.
- It is my experience that all saints have feet of clay. I don’t see Talos being different.

I honestly haven’t thought too much about the topography of Cyrodiil. But the passage you quote comes from those willing to attribute all sorts of miracles to the benevolent power of Tiber Septim. According to the Pocket Guide, First Edition (written just after the timeframe of this story) Cyrodiil’s center is:

the grassland of the Nibenay Valley, is enclosed by equatorial rain forest and broken up by rivers.

* * *

7th First Seed, 2E 854
The Arena, Imperial City
Mid-Day


A hush fell upon the crowd. The only sounds were the impact of the rain and the louder impact of the minotaur’s hammer as it crashed down upon Chirasch’s motionless body. A blinding flash brought light to the gray, churning sky. For a brief instant it lit the gathered thousands whose attentions were held toward the Emperor’s box. Their faces were frozen in a mixture of horror, shock, and disbelief.

Eesham’s tail did not heed his desire to move. He remained transfixed by the grisly sight unfolding before him. He could hear Xarsien’s cry somewhere behind the falling rain, but it was still off in the distance. Behind that he could hear the heavy footfalls of the third minotaur giving chase, but that didn’t matter. His eyes remained rooted to the minotaur’s savage hammer, and he watched as it met with wet impact against Chirasch’s flesh again, and again.

The sharp whine of Akaviri steel cut through the sound of the falling rain. It was followed by the minotaur’s gurgled cry of pain and surprise. The hammer ceased its destructive rise and fall. The minotaur’s right arm lifted, but the bloody stump that ended it could not check the deep channel that had sprouted on the side of its neck. Blood erupted from the wound, showering the sand with a thick arterial spray. In the left hand the hammer wavered, and then fell from shaking fingers. A soft thump and a golden blur that rolled and uncoiled heralded Vershu’s arrival on Arena sand.

“Eesham!”

The sound of his captain’s voice was attended by the heavy rumble of thunder and the sudden explosion of the crowd. The cheers that had attended their previous displays of skill had transformed into screams and bellowed cries, but the noise was enough to check Eesham’s paralysis. Still, his voice croaked when he tried to speak. “My lord?”

Vershu’s voice was fire and steel. “Blood, Eesham . . . Chirasch must feed. Attend your brother!”

Centuries of training took hold. The order had been given, the order would be obeyed. Eesham’s tail propelled him toward his fallen comrade. Once again he heard Vershu’s voice over the rush of blood in his ears.

“Xarsien, attend Chirasch! This final beast is mine!”

Eesham reached Chirasch’s side. Behind him he heard the last minotaur’s heavy footfall and labored breath. His tongue captured the fresh scent of death in the air, but whether it was from Chirasch’s prone body on the sand before him or from the vanquished minotaur with blood oozing from wounds to its wrist and neck he could not say.

“Eesham?” Xarsien had reached his side.

Eesham could not lift his eyes to meet Xarsien’s, nor could he bear to rest them on Chirasch. He looked to the minotaur that Vershu’s blade had vanquished. “Blood, Xarsien. We must risk moving him, the minotaur still bleeds.”

As one they bent to lift their fallen comrade. Chirasch’s scales had grown cold. His limp, broken form left a shallow furrow in the sand as they conducted him the short distance separating them from the dying minotaur.

“His spirit has gone,” said Xarsien, “only the shell remains.”

“Blood will call it back,” said Eesham, some part of him still believed it. “It must.”

_____

7th First Seed, 2E 854
Reman Plaza District, Imperial City
Evening


It took several moments of knocking before Rielus realized that it was the door and not the terrible commotion upstairs that now threatened his repast. In truth the sudden crashing and the yelled curses had dwindled to nothing over the last hour. Rielus saw this as an opportunity to ensure that the provisions on the General’s well-stocked table were not permitted to waste. Now this new knocking claimed his attention and fell upon his nerves with the insistence of the armorer’s hammer. Alorius is late, he thought to himself. He set aside the roast mutton that he had been devouring and took a sip of an amusing High Rock vintage to cleanse his palate.

The door opened on stubborn hinges to admit a gust of wind that carried with it the misty spray of the driving rain. Through the lamplight on the threshold Rielus saw a cloaked figure dripping on the doorstep.

“I am Apelles Mero, Shrine Sergeant of the Temple. I am investigating the death of Prior Sanne this afternoon, and I wish to speak with General Talos Stormcrown.”

“The General has retired for the evening,” said Rielus. “Perhaps your interview could be conducted during a regular hour?”

“I am under orders from the Emperor himself to complete my interviews before sunrise,” said Mero. “I am sure that General Stormcrown does not wish to defy his Emperor.”

Rielus moved aside.

Mero entered the residence and removed his cloak. Rielus turned and headed toward the stairs.

“I’ll wake the General,” he said, and then he mounted the stairs, leaving Mero standing on the threshold holding a sodden cloak which dampened the tile floor.

At the top of the stairs Rielus crossed the long hallway and presented himself at the General’s door. His knock was met by an irritated voice from within. “Enter.”

Rielus pushed the door open. The sight that met his eyes caused a gasp to escape his mouth so quickly that he was powerless to stop it. Chairs and tables had been upset and broken. The shrapnel lay strewn about the room. Flames licked along the mantle of the fireplace, and were fueled to that height by stacks of parchment and books that had been consigned therein. Clothing lay torn and trampled on the floor, which could not be seen through the debris that littered it. The curtains had been pulled, no torn, from the windows and draped unceremoniously over the wreckage of furniture. The walls were stained with the contents of shattered wine bottles. The jagged glass on the floor caught the light of the unquenched fire and sparkled. The smell of sweat, smoke, and spilled wine filled Rielus’ nostrils.

In the center of this storm of destruction, the light from the fire gave shape and shadow to the naked heaving form of General Talos, dripping with sweat, and seated on his haunches with his back to the door.

Rielus found his voice. “It’s Rielus, sir . . . Spearman Rielus. I’m sorry General, but there is a Temple investigator downstairs. He wishes to ask you some questions.”

No movement came from the figure on the floor. The only sound in the room was the crackle from the fireplace. Rielus fidgeted in the doorway, unsure as to whether he should repeat himself.

“Very well,” said Talos. He rose and turned toward the door.

Rielus saw the authority which he held in such esteem in the eyes of the man that faced him. Whatever fit of passion or despair that had wrought the carnage around them had been mastered. Talos had returned to himself. Rielus knew that soon the room would likewise be returned to its normal state. A wave of pride replaced the initial shock of having seen the result of such a fugue. As they held each others gaze Rielus knew that he was now privy to a sacred trust. He felt himself privileged to have seen this brief glimpse of the General’s fallibility.

“I will be down momentarily,” said Talos. “Please extend our hospitality to this investigator.”

“Yes sir,” said Rielus.

_____

7th First Seed, 2E 854
The Imperial Palace, Imperial City
Evening


Zurin Arctus prided himself on his singularity of focus. One could not master the arcane arts with a wandering mind. Moreover, one could not ascend to the title of Imperial Battlemage by being prone to easy distraction. Yet sitting in the dining hall across the table from the regal form of Lady Varla Direnni was enough to tax any man’s concentration.

“. . . surprised that you decided to join me for dinner,” she was saying, “after the events of this afternoon I could certainly understand your need to postpone.”

Arctus drew inward, but he could not feel the tingle of magicka working upon him. That musical quality is just a natural condition of her voice, he told himself, not the byproduct of some form of Illusion. He could see why she carried the reputation for diplomacy that she did. He imagined that many important figures were held in thrall by the sound of her voice alone. How many alliances have been achieved by Clan Direnni simply because Lady Varla chose to speak?

Their eyes met across the table, and Arctus could see that Lady Direnni was waiting for his response to something lost in his reverie. He almost laughed out loud at the irony.

“Forgive me Lady Direnni,” he said, “the day’s events have claimed the lion’s share of my attention.”

“Your apology is unnecessary,” she said. “We have all been moved by events today. I am left wondering what will happen to the captive Tsaesci?”

Careful, Arctus told himself, here in the Palace such questions could be treacherous. “That decision belongs to the Emperor.”

A thin smile played at the corners of Varla’s mouth as she nodded. “Yes, I suppose it does.”

Lady Direnni’s attendant, the Altmer called Emero, entered bearing a bottle upon a tray. At Lady Direnni’s nod he began to pour the contents into Arctus’ cup.

“Cyrodiilic brandy,” Varla said, “a most intriguing libation. I am particularly fond of the bottle. Does it not look like those usually reserved for bearing potions?”

Arctus looked at the tilted bottle. It did indeed look like a potion. Then his eyes rested on the label. It was turned toward him and bore a message of four words written with a steady hand meant for his eyes alone.

The walls have ears.

“Yes,” said Arctus tearing his eyes from the bottle, “it does resemble a potion.”

Emero crossed the table and began to fill Varla’s cup. Her green eyes stayed locked upon Arctus.

“Now it is my turn to beg your forgiveness, Master Arctus. I realize that brandy usually marks the end of a meal, but I have never been one bound by the dictates of tradition.”

Admiration flooded through Arctus. Talos was right, she is formidable! The ‘dictates of tradition’ refers to the Emperor. She is testing me, do I dare trust her?

He made his decision. “Tradition is only something repeated long enough for people to become comfortable with it. In the end, the old is always replaced by the new.”

Varla raised her glass. “Your reputation for wisdom is not exaggerated, Master Arctus.”

“Neither is yours, Lady Direnni. I cannot remember the last time I enjoyed such charming company.”

“Perhaps when the Emperor has decided the fate of these Tsaesci we can look towards making you a more prevalent fixture here in the Palace.”

Prevalent? We? How far is she willing to take this? “I serve at the Emperor’s pleasure, Lady Direnni.”

“Your unquestioned loyalty speaks well of your Emperor,” she said.

Your Emperor! Arctus felt as if the temperature in the room had risen. He imagined himself hanging from a shallow ledge. Across the table Lady Direnni smiled.

“Allow me to express my gratitude for the concern you showed my family earlier.”

She chooses to throw me a rope. She will not push the issue, but now she knows that I know. “Your gratitude is appreciated, but you must know that the friendship of your family is vital to the survival of the Empire. I am hopeful that an alliance between us can be long and mutually beneficial.”

“As am I.” She nodded towards the door. Emero returned bearing a tray filled with assorted fruits and cheeses. He set the tray down upon the table and used a ladle to fill two chilled silver bowls.

“Something to amuse us while we wait for the soup,” she said.

Emero served him a bowl. Arctus looked upon the brilliant colors of a salad composed of grapes, strawberries, diced apples and pears. Running through it were thin, almost translucent slivers of cheese.

“This looks delicious,” he said.

“It is Emero’s specialty.” Emero bowed to the table, turned, and took his leave.

She waited until they were alone. “I was wondering if your knowledge of my family’s movements extended to my sister.”

Now we come to it. Arctus took a bite of his salad. The explosion of flavor from the sweet ripe fruit and the creamy cheese made measuring his words difficult. “We have had no word of Lady Lattia’s movements. Has she gone missing?”

Her self-control was admirable, but Arctus could detect her disappointment.

“I have had no word from her in months. You can understand a sister’s concern,” she said.

“Of course,” said Arctus. “To ease your concern I would be happy to make inquiries.”

“I would be grateful. Are you enjoying your salad, Master Arctus?”

He looked down into the silver bowl. It surprised him that the bowl was half empty. He nearly missed the small square of parchment, stained red and purple by the fruit, resting on the bottom of the bowl. It bore a message of five words, written with a steady hand, meant for his eyes alone.

Can Talos wear the Amulet?

Arctus looked across the table. Lady Direnni’s green eyes searched his for an answer. He felt his equilibrium shift, as if the rope extended to him had been cut. Is this a trap? How far should I trust her? He knew that he wagered all of their lives on the answer.

“Yes,” he heard himself say.

_____

7th First Seed, 2E 854
The Arena, Imperial City
Midday


“Yes!” Prior Sanne bolted from his chair when the minotaur’s hammer made impact with the Tsaesci. He turned toward Synnius Carbo. His mouth stretched into a triumphant smile. “The first Tsaesci falls. I knew it was only a matter of time. Soon the others will fo- . . .”

His finished thought was lost to the whine of Akaviri steel. His head fell forward and his nose thumped upon the silk that swaddled his chest. His neck was gone, the spine severed, and his head was held to his shoulders by a few thin strands of skin and tendon that once formed his throat. The body twitched in spasms of reflex, then fell to its knees as blood erupted from the wound and doused the Emperor’s box.

Thunder shook the Arena, leaving in its wake the hysterical shrieks of Synnius Carbo and Farenenre. Lady Direnni shielded her eyes even as her attendant reached her side. General Talos found himself on his feet, though he could not remember standing. He felt himself bathed in protective light, and turned to see Arctus, hands glowing with magicka, standing behind him. Alorius lurched forward, naked sword in hand, to position himself between the Tsaesci and his General.

But the Tsaesci made no move toward them. He gained the edge of the balcony and, without so much as a backward glance, launched himself skyward. Talos marked the parabola of his flight, which merged with the torrent of blood erupting from what was left of Prior Sanne. For a brief instant it looked to his eyes as if the Tsaesci rode a wave of blood that crested and then fell toward the sand below. He moved to the edge of the balcony. The warnings coming from Arctus and Alorius were a dull buzz at the edge of hearing. He turned back towards them, but his gaze was intercepted when his eyes fell upon the Emperor.

And found him smiling.

_____

7th First Seed, 2E 854
Reman Plaza District, Imperial City
Evening


“What was the Emperor’s reaction to this?” asked Apelles Mero.

Talos sat on the couch opposite him. “The Emperor was conducted from the box by his bodyguard. I never saw his reaction, but I imagine that he was outraged.”

Mero stood. “Thank you for your time, General. I believe I have all I need.”

“Not at all,” said Talos, “I hope I have aided your investigation.”

“The facts of this case appear to be clear. There is no disputing the guilty party.” He turned toward the door.

Talos rose and fell into step beside him. “On that we must agree to disagree.”

Mero stopped. “Off the record, General?”

Talos nodded.

“I believe we agree on the identity of the guilty party. Sanne was many things. A credit to the church was not among them.”

“You’ve spoken to the captive Tsaesci.” It was not a question.

They began to walk toward the door.

“Two of them,” said Mero donning his cloak. “Not Renald.”

“What do you think of them?” asked Talos

“I believe that they would honor any Emperor they served.”

Rielus stood from his post near the door and opened it, startling Captain Alorius who stood dripping on the threshold with his hand near the the latch. Behind him the rain still fell.

“This is my adjutant,” said Talos, “Captain Alorius. Alorius, this is Shrine Sergeant Apelles Mero.”

Alorius nodded a greeting.

“Prepare my carriage, Captain. There is no need for the Sergeant to brave the rain back to the Temple.”

“Yes sir,” said Alorius.

Mero raised his hand. “That will not be necessary, General. I don’t mind the rain. Thank you for your cooperation.”

He pulled the hood over his head and stepped into the storm. Talos watched him disappear into the night.

Alorius still stood on the threshold. “I apologize for the hour sir. Dar’Zhan lost his way in the sewers.”

“Were you successful?” asked Talos

“We searched under both Reman Plaza and the Elven Gardens. We found rats, goblins, and the occasional vampire. But we found nothing like the entrance to an old way into the Palace.”

“Try the Market District and Green Emperor Road,” said Talos. “Keep searching, it is there. Our lives depend upon you finding it.”

_____

8th First Seed, 2E 854
The Imperial Palace, Imperial City
Dawn


Deep beneath the catacombs that run under the Palace the Chevalier Renald hung from iron manacles set into the ceiling of a darkened cell. His head was lowered, there was no fight left in him. That was not due to the repeated administrations of the Emperor’s more sadistic guards. Nor was it a response to the severity of his so-called crime.

Chirasch lay on the hard stone in front of him. They had not bothered to bind him, for he posed no threat. For hours Renald watched as the life slowly faded from his brother. For hours he pulled and strained at his bonds hoping against all logic that brute strength and willpower could defeat iron chains.

Renald did not hear the bells that tolled the morning. He did not see the sun rise against the dark clouds that marked the night. What he did see was the moment that Chirasch’s light faded, when his noble soul was recalled into the Dreamsleeve. A single thought ran unbidden through his mind, and he cursed himself again at the simple truth of it.

Now we are three.

Looking down at Chirasch’s lifeless body a profound weariness flowed through him, and made the act of raising his head an impossible chore. Hatred filled his heart and threatened to choke off his capacity to breathe. Tears threatened to fall from lidless eyes. To arrest them and to ease his suffering he did the one thing that he had not believed himself capable.

He blinked.

_____

This post has been edited by Destri Melarg: Aug 6 2011, 08:49 AM

[haute ecole rider]

WHOOOOO HOOOOO! Destri the writer is baaaack!

The loss of Chirasch really, really hurts. The violence that accompanied his passing is understandable. I, too, would have slew the despicable Prior when he began gloating over the death of a comrade.

So Talos has his moments too, eh? Somehow the scene you describe fits the nature of Stormcrown as well as I've pictured him. A man with that much self-control has got to explode sometime.

So now Varla and Arctus are in cahoots together? At this point, I still think Arctus is loyal to Talos, but I suspect Varla not so much. She has her own agenda, and will stop at nothing to see it through. I just haven't figured her out yet.

And now we are three, indeed. My heart goes out to Renald and his remaining syffim.

Please, please o mighty Destri, don't keep us waiting so long again! I salute you for another well-written installment!

[Acadian]

Heartpounding action, fury, intrigue. All masterfully told.

'He blinked.'
A powerful ending. Your ability to use understatement to stunning effect here reminds me of another of your passages. You used this one to open an episode:
'In the royal suite of the Imperial Palace, the Emperor Cuhlecain bathed in a solid gold tub and gave distracted audience to a snake.'

Welcome back!

[SubRosa]

Hail to the returning king baby!

I cannot recall if it was there before, but I just noticed this: Reman Plaza District, Imperial City. Why do I get the feeling that in about 39 years that plaza will have a name change?

He felt himself privileged to have seen this brief glimpse of the General’s fallibility.
Indeed, Talos has always been the picture perfect general who knows better than to ever show weakness or uncertainty before his troops. This gives us a glimpse into the true character of the man behind the legend.

Now that was an interesting meal! I wonder, how many calories are there in five words?

So Talos is searching for the Old Way? I wonder if that is so a certain Breton Nightblade can get into the palace at a later date? Or if perhaps he wants in sooner in order to make a grab for the Chevalier?



nits:
He remained transfixed by the grizzly sight unfolding before him
Did you mean grizzly, or grisly?

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Aug 6 2011, 03:19 AM

[Captain Hammer]

Captain Hammer – As always you cut right to the heart of the matter. And thanks for the kick in the a$$! If GRRM can finish Dance I can finish Interregnum.

Don't forget that the Butcher (Jim Butcher, to be precise) finished Ghost Story. But more importantly, Mr. Destri RR Melarg:

Challenge accepted! Next segment of FMBFGFT due shortly. Time I stopped my active lurking and did something.

Now on to you!

“I will be down momentarily,” said Talos. “Please extend our hospitality to this investigator.”
You know how they say what goes on behind closed doors is nobody's business? Definitely true of the Dragonborn. The man-that-is-more-than-a-man has got undeniable style! I bet that if he were alive on earth today, he'd never be seen without either a uniform, combat gear, or a well-cut three piece suit.

The warnings coming from Arctus and Alorius were a dull buzz at the edge of hearing. He turned back towards them, but his gaze was intercepted when his eyes fell upon the Emperor.

And found him smiling.
Smug little b@$tard, in that the emperor is most definitely smug (and the Greek Tragedies tell you what happens when you've got Hubris), undoubtedly little (remind me, did his feet touch the floor when he sat the throne?) and of questionable birth (he definitely ain't Dragonborn!). Just a few more months (in Interregnum time, that is).

Alright, alright, enough from me. I have several stories to comment on, and an installment to write. Till then, enjoy the Bagpipes.

[Olen]

Woo, more Interregnum! I't always nice to see a new part here. Certainly Acadian hit the nail with how well you mix intregue, action and character interaction. The scene between Arctus and Varla was excellent, neither trusts the other and I'm not sure either is wholly loyal to anyone. The word snakes springs to mind, rather ironically given the snake people are the only ones who can be trusted. I await with interest to see if Arctus made the right choice and what the fall out from that subtly important scene is. The salad sounded tasty too, and revealed quite a lot to Varla.

Seeing Talos lose it, and ina style I would expect from him, was a great bit of character building for him and Rielus. Then moments later he's composed and himself again, quite the formiddable leader, I lok forward to seeing exactly what he's got planned. Whatever it is I suspect it will be surprising when it comes.

Then Reynald in the catacombs. You've done a good job of making a murdering (however much he had it coming), blood drinking snake man into a sympathetic character. I suspect the Emperor may have paid a greater price than he thought with that, though exactly what will happen and when. Well...

I tried it once and it worked... More Interregnum please?

[treydog]

First- let me dance around happily (although slowly, as befits an old doggie) at your return. And what a return it is! Woo Hoo! Just going to highlight a very few moments- else I would have to quote the entire post.

“His spirit has gone,” said Xarsien, “only the shell remains.”

“Blood will call it back,” said Eesham, some part of him still believed it. “It must.”

Wow.

The rage of Talos… I think Trey can rather relate to that. Must be that rumored “Skyrim blood.”

And you feed far more than our bellies with Varla’s supper.

"He felt his equilibrium shift, as if the rope extended to him had been cut."

I envy and admire the way you can keep the metaphor going- and it fits with how one would expect Zurin to think.

"For a brief instant it looked to his eyes as if the Tsaesci rode a wave of blood that crested and then fell toward the sand below."

If I ever grew up- I would love to be able to write like that. But I won't grow up- so I will just have to learn how you do it anyway.

"A single thought ran unbidden through his mind, and he cursed himself again at the simple truth of it.

Now we are three."

And why do I sense a foreshadowing of those who will become the first and finest of the Blades?

Simply wonderful, Destri!

This post has been edited by treydog: Aug 7 2011, 04:11 PM

[mALX]

Urgh! I'll bet the spectators will never forget that day in the Arena! Whew !! I am stunned that they fed on their fallen comrade, but Eesham's obedience to command and inner thoughts were powerful! And then the scene in the Royal box !!

“Blood will call it back,” said Eesham, some part of him still believed it. “It must.”

I'm still unsure of what eventual role Arctus will play in your story because you hinted that you have a twist where he is concerned ... his character seems enigmatic (deceptively so) but the feeling is there is plenty brewing beneath the surface. (Of course there is, this is Arctus!!!)

Oh, and desperately seeking "The Old Way" - I love it !!! And I'd like to be a little bird listening to what is going through Talos' mind right now! Whew !! Awesome Write !!

[Grits]

A soft thump and a golden blur that rolled and uncoiled heralded Vershu’s arrival on Arena sand.

If I hadn’t been completely breathless, I would have been cheering. That’s just the soft thump we’ve been waiting to hear. The shallow furrow that Chirasch left in the sand has stayed in my mind. (I’ve read this part several times since Friday. ) Nothing is as limp as a dead snake, I can just picture Eesham and Xarsien trying to carry him.

And then:

It took several moments of knocking before Rielus realized that it was the door and not the terrible commotion upstairs that now threatened his repast.

Yay, Spearman Rielus, we know he loves his roast mutton, probably even better when reappropriated with some wine. The sweaty, naked General Talos sitting on the floor is another indelible image, wow. Followed by a delicate dance through the fruit salad. Lady Varla is formidable indeed, it was great to see her from Arctus’ POV.

Back in the Emperor’s box, was that the little smile that destroyed the General’s chamber? I got distracted by the golden snake-man surfing the blood wave in the lightening storm. I confess to picking myself up off the floor several times while reading this.

“What do you think of them?” asked Talos

“I believe that they would honor any Emperor they served.”

Gasp, what? *Grits goes back to read again from the beginning*

Renald and Chirasch in the cell was simply heartbreaking. I thought that:

Now we are three.

was one of the saddest things I had ever read, and then I got to:

He blinked.

There is a lot of blinking on my side of the screen right now, I can tell you.

This post has been edited by Grits: Aug 8 2011, 07:08 PM

[Destri Melarg]

hautee – I am embarrassed to admit the lengths that I went to in order to avoid writing that chapter. I absolutely hated killing Chirasch, but it was essential for what happens next.

Talos’ explosion has been a long time coming. I originally wanted it to occur during the Battle of Fort Black Boot, but there wasn’t a suitable moment for it.

Acadian – That last line was pure serendipity. It came to me on the final rewrite when I recalled Renald’s audience with Cuhlecain (which you so astutely pointed out). Cuhlecain pointed out to Farenenre that he saw great promise for his plans because ‘snakes don’t blink.’ Well, one just did.

‘Rosa – I am so glad that you caught the reference to Reman Plaza! In fact, the house that Talos now occupies undergoes a few centuries worth of additions and a name change as well. You know it as the Tiber Septim Hotel.

So Talos is searching for the Old Way? I wonder if that is so a certain Breton Nightblade can get into the palace at a later date? Or if perhaps he wants in sooner in order to make a grab for the Chevalier?

I think you will find that you are not far off track.

And thanks for catching yet another annoying nit.

Cappy – I’m still waiting!! Where’s the next segment of FMBFGFT? *Man, it felt good to be on the other side of that exchange for once!*

I think Talos (like George W.) would wear whatever the circumstance dictated. Need to show solidarity with the troops? Show up on the deck of the aircraft hanger in your flight jacket. Never mind that you intend to go back home and push through legislation to severely cut their medical benefits. Need to appear the man of the people? Do an interview from your ranch . . . Oh, never mind, he isn’t even President anymore!! Besides, Will can say it a lot better than I can!

Olen – You nailed the central irony of the story. The snakes are the only ones in this cauldron worthy of trust. I wanted to convey the fact that, despite his experience in diplomatic matters, Arctus is not immune to Varla’s considerable charm. However, Arctus didn’t really give away the store with his revelation. Her knowledge of Talos’ true station serves his end as much as it does hers.

More Interregnum coming right up.

trey - I was actually a little worried about that metaphor. I didn’t want to lay it on too thick but, as you said, it fit the way Arctus would think.

And you have nailed the bit of foreshadowing. Though how it happens is a card that I am keeping close to the vest for now.

mALX – I hope that part wasn’t too confusing. The Tsaesci would never feed on a brother. They carried Chirasch to the bleeding minotaur in order for him to feed and (hopefully) regain his strength.

As another who has been swallowed by RL this year, here’s hoping that you find your way free from the belly of that particular whale.

Grits – I hated to hit you with Chirasch's death most of all because you saw it coming in the last chapter. That little exchange between Mero and Talos is exactly how you interpret it. The Shrine Sergeant appears to have chosen a side.

And yes, that little smile did cause the carnage to the General’s bed-chamber. Talos has seen the method in Cuhlecain’s madness. Everyone else will have to wait a little longer because . . .

Everyone – Now that the longest day is over (Thank the Eight!) it’s high time to shift our gaze to some long neglected characters. We’ll get back to the Imperial City in time. I promise.

* * *

???
Apocrypha, Realm of Oblivion
???


Who am I?

At first she had trouble deciphering the lines of old Aldmeris within the borders of the ancient tome. But the lessons of a youth long forgotten are not easily discarded, and soon the book’s mysteries became apparent. With her recognition came the sense of detachment to which she had grown accustomed, dependent. It was followed by acceleration, that sense of traveling through space and time, always ending with the impenetrable mists that swirled around and through her until memory and revelation chose to part them.

This time she stood upon the Golden Hill and watched as thin stalks of flame danced through the trees of the darkened valley far below. Screams, laughter, and the deep rumble of great beasts broke the songs of nocturnal insects and the soft music the wind played as it moved through her hair. A small plume of fire cleared the line of trees and began to climb toward her vantage on the hill. As it grew closer she could see through it to the shape underneath. Realization gave way to revulsion; the scent of burning flesh assailed her nostrils. Rising screams confirmed her suspicion. The flame was not dancing.

It was running!

Where am I?

Her eyes were drawn to the stones that were arranged near where she stood. They formed the foundation of the great city still to come. She heard the Ayleidic words for Golden Hill as if spoken into her mind, though some small part of her knew that somewhere she was reading them on a page.

Sancre Tor.

Her eyes were pulled back into the valley. Behind the burning figure a horror of fangs and claws emerged from the brush. With a roar of triumph it launched itself upon its flaming prey. Steel-shod claws smothered the engulfing flames into submission, and ripped flesh from the tormented soul beneath. Screams gave way to the sounds of breaking bone and the almost gentle play of a harsh tongue over roasted flesh. Through the dying flame she could see the glow of amber eyes, the blood-soaked snout, and striped matted fur.

The sharp crack of a whip drew the tiger’s attention. A figure in golden armor waited impatiently just outside the curtain of trees. Its prize forgotten, the tiger bounded to its master's side and disappeared behind the shroud of leaves. The golden figure lingered and swept long platinum hair away from emerald eyes. Even from her vantage on the hill she could see that the golden figure wore her face.

What am I?

She was not alone on this Sancre Tor. The scrape of soft flesh on stone drew her attention to the foundation behind her. Even by human standards the girl she beheld was small. She wore the weathered rags and manacles of a slave, and her skin was kissed a golden brown by too many days working under the harsh rays of Magnus. Blood oozed from small bare feet and stained the stone she walked upon. It served as eloquent testimony to the frantic nature of her climb to this place.

But it was her eyes that held attention, and the way her body shook as if chilled by more than just the cold felt at altitude. This was no terrified mouse caught outside in the storm. This was a vengeful figure whose soul still stood firm long after the point of breaking. She knelt upon the stone and cast her eyes toward the Heavens. She whispered in quiet tones, continuing an interrupted conversation as her entire being continued to shake.

“And this thing I have thought of, I have named it, and I call it freedom . . .”

The wind began to swirl around the Golden Hill. The valley far below fell silent. For a moment she felt as if she were being drawn back to the endless stacks of books still unread. But there was no detachment, no acceleration. The only movement was the swirling wind around her, placed into motion by the words of the slip of a girl who knelt upon the stone. Those words and her form became lost to the stinging, blinding force of the zephyr. Before her vision was completely obscured she saw a figure emerge from the mists and reach out for the girl.

It was an old woman, tall, frail, and cloaked.

Silence fell upon the Sancre Tor. Swirling winds cloaked the girl in a fine mist of dust and soil that surrendered naught but her silhouette to the half-light. The vision of the old woman was gone, replaced now by a faint scrape that grew into a sharp report of steel against the stone. It soon became unmistakable.

Approaching hooves.

The girl’s silhouette shrank away from the sound. A black mass grew in the center of the maelstrom. Through eyes half-closed against the force of the wind she saw the mass take shape before the startled girl. From her vantage point she saw the top of the approaching shadow coalesce into the wide, upturned horns of a bull.

“Peace, girl,” the shadow spoke with the voice of a man. “Shrink not from my voice. Know that your words have not been in vain. Your blood has consecrated this stone, and your voice has moved my Lady to act.”

The girl’s voice was soft against the swirling wind. “What are you?”

“I am promise fulfilled. I am boon made manifest . . . I am Breath-of-Kyne. What are you?”

“I am but a simple slave.”

“Once perhaps, but no longer. What shall I call you?”

“Our masters do not permit us names, my lord.”

“Yet you have taken one, nonetheless.”

The girl hesitated. “Some call me Perrif.”

“Perrif is most appropriate,” said the horned shadow, “for it means ‘first of its kind’ in the elven tongue. I shall call you Paravania, and from this moment forth you shall forever be my Lady of Heaven. You may call me Morihaus, and I make you this promise. As payment for the name deprived you I shall see you wear many before your time is done. Your people shall worship you as I do. They will call you Al-Esh, which is the highest tribute known to their tongue. They will celebrate you as their First Empress, Queen ut Cyrod, Aleshut, Esha . . . Alessia.”

_____

???
Apocrypha, Realm of Oblivion
???


She was back amongst the endless miles of books stacked all around her, and she was not alone.

“It pains me to see one so young so lost.”

The speaker was ancient, even by the standards set by this place. His gaunt form was bent at the waist, and was composed of pale skin stretched to near translucence over gnarled bone. Thin white hair hung like a shroud that engulfed him to the knees. A matching beard did more to obscure his sunken chest than the threadbare cloak that he wore. It also tried in vain to hide the cruel downward turn of his mouth. Amber eyes and pointed ears told of an Altmeri heritage, but time had faded that distinction to make him just another ghost amongst the stacks. She lowered her head.

“Do you hear me, child?” he said.

In the eternity of her existence she had never encountered a voice outside of the ancient tomes. There has been no blessed detachment, she thought to herself, no acceleration or swirling mist. She felt as one dreaming, with no control of event or circumstance. The figure before me could be no more than smoke given form. There is already so much that has been lost. To address the smoke would be to admit defeat.

The gaunt figure spoke again. “But what if I am real, child?”

What if he were real? He could tell me who I am. No, he cannot be. One cannot hold to oneself in this place. He . . .

Her head lifted of its own accord. She met his amber eyes, and was rewarded with a smile that lifted the down-turned corners of his mouth.

“You have not completely succumbed yet,” he said. “That is good.”

“You . . . read . . . my . . . thoughts?” Her voice sounded strange to her ears. She realized that she had no memory of ever using it before.

“That’s it, child. Hold on to that stubborn defiance of yours, it will serve you well in this place.” He took her by the arm and lifted her from the floor. “I read your thoughts, but your identity does not dwell within them. That is something that we shall have to find together.”

They began to walk. He led her through the endless stacks and past the unmoving ghosts of the readers.

“We?” she asked.

He stopped. “I have wandered among the stacks for years without number, child. Yours is the first living voice I have heard, and it is welcome. You are too young to share my fate or the fates of those who have approached these halls seeking knowledge. If you would have it, then I will aid you in finding yourself.”

She hesitated, and then nodded. “I would have it. Thank . . .”

“Save your gratitude, child. What I propose is no easy task.”

“But you have done it?”

“My path is not to be recommended. I regained my self when the stacks here lost their mystery.”

She could think of nothing to say, so they began to walk again.

He broke the silence. “Yes, child, I have been here long enough to read every tome in this realm, some more than once. By the reckoning of the world we left behind I have been here for several centuries. But time does not exist in this place. You have no memory of a world before this one, yet you have not been here very long.”

“You know how long I have been here?” she asked.

“I do not,” he said. He closed his eyes and took her scent. “You do not smell of dust and ink and ancient tomes. Your grey cloak marks you, and you smell of oassom trees, ocean, and sand. You smell of Artaeum.”

“Artaeum,” she repeated.

“Yes. Does it sound familiar?”

She shook her head.

“You are too young to be a master. And one could not find this place by accident. You were sent here, but why?”

“You know this Artaeum?”

He smiled. “I know it well. I called it home for many years, until my banishment here.” Once again he stopped. “Could you have been sent here to find me?”

“Sent by whom?”

“The Psijic Order, child. The Order to which you belong, and the Order which I led so long ago.”

He left her behind and began to march through the stacks with such speed that she had to run to keep up. She could barely hear his quiet mutterings.

“Could they have discovered Celarus’ treachery? But then why send one, and why a child? Is this Celarus taking pity on his old master? No, too much time has passed. Did she commit some crime? Did she bear witness to something?”

“Please,” she said, panting. “It is hard to follow you.”

He stopped. “I daresay it is, but you must if we are to discover the reason for your presence here.”

“I would be content just knowing my name.”

The smile returned to his face. “Then that is where we shall begin. Introductions. Until we have found your name I shall continue to call you ‘child’ if it pleases you.”

“And what shall I call you?” she asked.

He hesitated, and then nodded as if coming to some understanding. “You shall call me the name reserved for the lips of apprentices and slaves.”

“And what is that?”

“Master,” he said. “Master Iachesis.”

_____

A/N: The lore holds conflicting accounts about the origin of Sancre Tor. According to The Legendary City of Sancre Tor, it was where Alessia received the divine inspiration for her rebellion. However, according to Remanada it did not exist until Alessia’s long dead spirit joined with the mortal King Hrol to beget a golden mound which grew for nine months before giving birth to the infant Reman I. For the purposes of this story (and out of concern for certain child endangerment laws) I decided to go with the first version of events.

This post has been edited by Destri Melarg: Aug 27 2011, 10:30 PM

[haute ecole rider]

As soon as I saw that little girl among the foundation stones of Sancre Tor, I knew she would grow up to be Alessia. What a terrific little scene of life before freedom! And I am glad to see how she met Morihaus, the bull.

And Lattia! How wonderful it is to see her again! Though we had to go searching Apocrypha to find her! The fact that Lattia witnesses Alessia's meeting with the Bull has set my mind running in disparate directions! But I will wait to see where you go with this and see which of my anticipations will bear fruit.

One of your descriptions didn't sit right with me.

His gaunt form was bent at the waist, and was composed of pale skin stretched to near opacity over jagged bone.

Skin doesn't become opaque (blocks light and appears solid) when it is stretched, it becomes translucent (light and sometimes shapes can be seen through it, like frosted glass). In very rare cases will it become transparent (absolutely clear to light, like window glass). I would use translucence in place of opacity in this case, if you are trying to convey the impression that his bones were visible through the skin. Also, bone isn't jagged unless it is broken, which would immobilize this gentleman. Instead, the ends of the bones (where skin is most often stretched) making up the joints would be knurled, or knobby, like the end of a mage's well-used staff. Jagged bone would just slice through thin skin.

Just my B.A. (biology) rearing its ugly head.

Other than that single sentence, I was completely immersed in Lattia's experience of and return from Apocrypha and her encounter with the Librarian.

[Olen]

Hmmm the formation of Sancre Tor, in most pieces I'd think that it was just a conveniant bit of lore to introduce Apocrypha with but it links to other events, and everything is always connected. As ever I find myself fascinated.

And then she meets an old master of the psijic order. I liked how you showed him, he feels like the years spent reading haven't been wholly kind to his sanity. Though he certainly must be very learned by now. And he can read thoughts, this could prove interesting.

The initial confusion blended well into the plot at least appearing, even if she doesn't know any whos or whys yet. Very well written, as ever, and I look forward to the next part.