Edward an Imperial's Story, Coward, bounder, thief, murderer...and hero? Options

[Lady Syl]

Well, I must admit that I never imagined this being made into satire. I love it! Edward's sarcasm and responses are funny and engaging. I have only just read the first chapter, but I enjoyed it and will continue to read more.

[Rachel the Breton]

@malx, I hear you, sometimes when I'm writing I hear the voices of the actors in those period pieces saying the character's lines, lol. Glad you enjoyed it!!

@haute ecole rider: hehe, glad you're enjoying Edward's bungling

@Lady Syl: welcome to the thread -- I hope you continue to enjoy the story!

Of Cyrodiil and Tamriel we sing
Of merchants, seafarers and a king,
Of thieves, cutthroats and criminal sorts
Of legionnaires and Blades in their forts.
-- Excerpt from Song of Tamriel


Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Seven

It was a bright, sunny day when the pair arrived in Chorrol. Edward's mood had, through the course of their travels, brightened a tad. He had even deigned to share with his valet the details of his task -- that from the Brotherhood, of course, and not that from his god.

He was, he'd told the other man, supposed to pretend to kill a fellow named Motierre. He'd even been given a special knife for the task, which he showed to his companion. "They said it's covered in something that will cause a sort of paralysis that resembles death," Edward explained. "So I stab him with this in front of the other assassin -- who is really planning to kill him -- and it looks like he dies. And, before I stab him, he's going to act like he's really afraid of me. Then, once he's been put in the crypt and everyone thinks he's dead, I use this-" Here, he produced a vial of liquid. "Which is a counteractant that will revive him."

The valet frowned. "But why this charade, sir?"

"Because, it turns out this Motierre fellow was an underground criminal, but, for the right price, he turned, and has since been working with the Imperial Guard as an informant against some rather sinister characters. Now they want him dead. So I pretend to kill him in front of the assassin they've hired, and the assassin doesn't kill him because thinks he's already dead. Consequently everyone thinks he's dead. They just assume I was an assassin hired by someone else he'd informed on -- and, because he's acted afraid of me, the other assassin reports this to his employers. And then Motierre picks up his life somewhere else. You see?"

"I say, that's very clever," the valet agreed. "And, I suppose a bit risky for you, eh? I mean, if that other assassin figures out that you're a fake...or if he wants vengeance since he thinks you took out his mark?"

Edward shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. He hadn't really thought about it like that before. "Well," he replied hesitantly, "I suppose that could happen."

The valet nodded. "Yes sir. Very brave of you to take on a fellow assassin!"

Edward's expression morphed into a glare. Somehow, his servant always had a way of annoying him. "He must do it on purpose," Edward thought. "That innocent nonchalance must be a pretext."

"So, when are you going to do this?" Dragonheart continued.

"As soon as I can get over there," Edward answered. "The Brotherhood had caught wind of a hit placed on him two days before they gave me the assignment. Which means our assassin will be here anytime."

"And if he's watching the house?" the valet mused. "Won't he see you enter?"

"So?"

"Well, won't that weaken your story? I mean, especially if he waits awhile, and you wait until the real assassin arrives to 'kill' him?"

Edward frowned. He didn't like to admit it, but there was some sense in the valet's words. "Hmm..." he said meditatively. "I suppose it might."

The two men walked in silent contemplation for a few minutes, each thinking of solutions to this poser. For his own part, Edward was lost. As it was, if he waited to enter, he'd need to find a quick, sure way to get into the house. What was he supposed to do, he wondered with a scoff...leave getting into the house to chance, and just hang around waiting for the bad guy to show up?

"I've got an idea!" the valet piped up suddenly, interrupting him from his unproductive reverie.

Edward groaned. "Of course he's got an idea..." It was bad enough that his servant could generally come up with a solution to any puzzle thrown their way...and it was worse that it was always a good one.

"Why don't I go to Motierre's house, tell him who I am and how I work for you and how you're working for the Brotherhood and all of that."

Edward rolled his eyes, contenting himself with criticizing the rambling structure of his servant's excited sentences in face of the inevitably good plan that he was about to put forth.

"Then," the valet continued, "he pretends to hire me as his valet, and I start to work for him. This way, when the real assassin breaks in, I can defend him if necessary, and let you in to play your little charade."

Edward frowned. He was searching for some sort of loophole -- anything really -- with which to fault this plan. So far, however, his efforts were meeting with no success. "Well, what if...I mean, suppose..." He growled. "Alright, fine," he said through clenched teeth. "It sounds like a decent plan. I guess."

[Rachel the Breton]

One must impress, but never overdo it;
Show interest, but never too much;
Make her laugh, show off your wit;
And if better than the truth, lie, but just enough.
– Rough draft of a dating guide, penned by Edward

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty Eight

Edward glanced out the window. It had been two days since his valet had gone into the 'employ' of Francois Motierre...two long, tedious days of getting himself up in the mornings, fetching and pressing his own clothes, ordering his own food, and, of course, paying for his own room. It was, in a way, amazing to him to realize how much he had come to rely on the services of his valet – the services, and, of course, the ready stream of cash, as the other man had long since ceased asking Edward for money of any sort, and had just made it a habit to pick up the tab or bill wherever they went. These, apparently, he had no difficulty paying, doubtless thanks to his secondary employment in the Thieves Guild.

For his own part, Edward had been staying at the Oak and Crosier inn, which was a nice enough establishment – and not terribly pricey, which suited the stingy Imperial very well indeed. Even the fact that it was run by a barbarian Khajiit hadn't bothered Edward too greatly, for Talasma – the publican – had greeted him with courtesy and remarked on his sophistication and breeding. “I suppose I am a bit overwhelming, compared to the barbarians she must be used to,” he'd thought to himself at the time.

Of course, the reason he was at this particular inn was that it was directly across from Francois Motierre's home, so provided him with a terrific view of the comings and goings of the skittish little Breton. Two wearying days having passed already, Edward had grown less assiduous in his task, going so far as to take long mid-afternoon naps, or grow engrossed in heated discussions and drunken debates with the locals – a “lot of primitive commoners,” as he termed them. At the moment, however, he was engaged in shamelessly flirting with a Breton woman, Estelle Renoit.

“You know,” he was telling her, “you'd almost pass for an Imperial.”

“Oh, umm, thanks,” she nodded, inching a bit further away from him on her stool.

“You don't have all of the features,” he continued, “but you're still a lovely woman.”

“Umm, thanks,” she repeated, edging yet further away.

“And I just can't believe you're still single,” he told her, repeating himself for at least the third time. “I guess it's just because in this little place there's no strong Imperial knight to sweep you off your feet?”

She groaned as he simpered.

“Well, don't you worry about that anymore,” he continued.

Estelle continued her creeping escape, but, all at once, she yelped in surprise as her stool tilted precariously. Reaching out, she grabbed Edward. But it wasn't enough to stop her falling backwards; it just meant that he fell, too.

Too lost in planning his next comments, Edward was just as surprised as she, and went down like a ton of bricks. “Ye gods!” he yelped, falling painfully onto his companion's barstool. “Ouch. That stings.” But, clenching his teeth, he tried hard not to show the pain he was feeling. He rightly suspected that crying wouldn't help him woo his lady-fair.

Rising, she turned to him furiously, and commanded, “Oh, get out of here!”

Still picking himself up, he blinked. “What?” he managed to ask, though it sounded as if he was being strangled in the attempt.

“Go away! I don't care if you think I look like an Imperial! I don't care if you're a knight! I don't care if the Emperor knighted you himself! I don't care how much land you own and how much your estates make a year,” she answered, repeating the lies Edward had told her. “And I couldn't care less if you're single, either!”

“But...but...” the thunderstruck Imperial stammered. “Don't you...I mean, aren't you....?”

“Oh! Idiot!” she growled, brushing past him and storming out of the inn.

He watched her go, his face a picture of astonishment. He had used the best compliments he could think of, going so far as to say that she – Breton though she was – looked like an Imperial; he had told some of his best lies and used his best lines; he had, in essence, done everything right, and still the foolish woman scorned him.

“Excuse me,” the gravely voice of a Khajiit interrupted his astonished reverie, “but please don't do that.”

He glanced behind him to see Talasma. “What?” he asked.

“Drive the customers away by harassing them,” she replied matter-of-factly. “It's not very good for business.”

He clenched his teeth, fighting back a furious remark. He was still staying here, after all, so he thought it better to hold off on insulting his hostess until he was leaving. “I wasn't harassing her!” he told her instead.

“Hmm...” the Khajiit muttered disbelievingly. “Well, whatever you call it, let's not have it happen again, shall we?”

This post has been edited by Rachel the Breton: Apr 18 2011, 05:56 PM

[Rachel the Breton]

It is said 'Never leave a child to his own devices'.
But we say 'Never leave a fool to his own devices'.
For see the harm he's inflicted when not left on his own?
What more if we'd left him to his own devices?
– Official clarification from the Nine, commenting on why they chose Edward to ward off the Oblivion Crisis

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Nine

Edward sighed. He had stomped out of the Oak and Crosier Inn in a huff half an hour earlier, and was now seated on a bench by the tree known as “the great oak of Chorrol”. His mood was dark, and his thoughts ran in the same vein. “I am so sick of barbarians,” he was thinking to himself. “If I was Emperor, I'd banish them all.” Then, glancing at the tree whose branches reached up overhead, he growled. “And what a stupid idea....to build your entire town around a stupid tree. If I was the Countess...well, a Count...I would cut it down, and have a bonfire.” The idea of burning the symbol of Chorrol to ash cheered him a little, and he began to build up fanciful scenes in his mind of how this might be achieved. “I suppose,” he was thinking, “an arsonist might even get away with it...perhaps come by at night with some oil and a torch.”

He was positively grinning now – a broad, toothy, malicious grin – when a passing, patrolling Chorrol guard cleared his throat and asked, “Excuse me sir...everything alright?”

Edward flushed guiltily. “Of course!” he snapped. “I'm just sitting here...enjoying the sunlight.”

“Ahh, yes...beautiful day, isn't it?” the guard answered.

“It could be,” Edward returned, his mind still following the thoughts of a few seconds ago.

“Could be?”

"Uhh, is,” he hastened to correct himself.

“Yes indeed,” the guard nodded. “Well, you have a fine day then, sir.”

Edward nodded and returned to his malicious reverie, when all at once he saw the door to Francois Motierre's home open. He bolted upright as his servant's head poked out, and then an arm gesturing for him to enter hastily.

Racing across the plaza, Edward nearly tripped over his own feet as he dashed into the building. His valet jumped back just in time to admit him, but another man – who he did not at first see – was not so fortunate. Edward careened into him, and both fell to the floor in a heap.

“Hey!” a lizard-like hiss exclaimed. “Who are you?”

Edward jumped to his feet to see a scaly Argonian – the individual with whom he'd collided.

“I am...” Suddenly, he paused. What cover story was he going to give? He and his valet had never really discussed that...just that he would pretend to kill Motierre in the other man's presence. So, he settled for the truth. “I am Edward, and I am an agent of the Dark Brotherhood. Go away – he's my victim.”

The lizard sneered. “Ohh, Motierre, you have been a naughty boy, haven't you? Oh well...as much as I'd love to see someone slit this treacherous filcher's belly open, I'm afraid I'm the one who has to do it, Imperial.”

Edward cringed at the description of the death the Argonian had prescribed, but, mustering all his pomposity, declared, “I'm afraid you're not. I was sent here to do a job, and I shall do it.”

“Look here, Imperial,” the Argonian retorted, clearly annoyed, “Hides-His-Heart does not take to being trifled with. He's no disagreement with the Brotherhood, so go in peace and live.”

Edward frowned at him. “What do I care for Hides-His-Heart? I'm talking to you!”

The Argonian grimaced. “I am Hides-His-Heart, fool.”

Edward's frown deepened. “Don't refer to me as a fool, insignificant lizard. Now, go away before I skin you and make a pair of boots out of your hide. I've business with this cockroach!” With that, he spun around to face his valet and another man, who he recognized from his surveillance efforts as Francois Motierre. Drawing the poisoned dagger from a sheath in his belt, Edward sprang forward. The little Breton gasped as the knife plunged deep into his heart; and then he fell forward, quite dead.

Edward smiled triumphantly, and at the same time heard his servant and Hides-His-Heart gasp. Turning to face the Argonian, he said, “Now, have you anything else to say, lizard?”

Hides-His-Heart cringed, and replied quickly, “No, no, nothing at all. It will be enough for my employers to know that he is dead after his betrayal. As I said, Hides-His-Heart has no quarrel with the Brotherhood.” Saying this, he quickly absented himself from the premises.

Edward grinned triumphantly. “Well,” he thought, “I taught that Argonian to mind his manners when addressing an Imperial, didn't I?” Then, turning to his valet, he said, “That turned out rather well, don't you think?”

He was surprised to see the other man had grown ashen white.

This post has been edited by Rachel the Breton: Apr 18 2011, 05:56 PM

[mALX]

SPEW !!! ROFL !!! Stabbed him in the heart, leave it to Edward to do the right thing the wrong way !!!! ROFL !!!!

[mALX]

I miss you TONS Rachel, and I miss Edward and his mess-ups! Come home, dear Rachel !!!!! <3

[Rihanae]

Thank you for bringing this to my attention mALX with your latest comment!

I had absoloutley no idea this existed, but seeing as the last chapter had me in absoloute hysterics methinks I might need to read the whole thing

[mALX]

Thank you for bringing this to my attention mALX with your latest comment!

I had absoloutley no idea this existed, but seeing as the last chapter had me in absoloute hysterics methinks I might need to read the whole thing

It is well worth it !!!! I don't drink or eat ANYTHING while reading Edward or my monitor gets sprayed.

[Grits]

I love this story, and I've thought about it lots. mALX is right, this humor presents a choking hazard! Put down that drink!