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

[haute ecole rider]

"Well, sir, I heard you scream for help, and I thought..."

"Scream for help?" Edward repeated. "I did no such thing!"

Then --

"of course I screamed. But I wasn't screaming for help!"

"Oh?"

"I was calling for you to come down here and...admire my handiwork!"

[treydog]

The part where he discovered the map in his pocket was priceless.

"We are a group of assassins!" Lucien spit out at him.

"Ohhh...." Edward said. "Not prostitutes?"

"NO!!" Lucien repeated.

And we see Edward’s misguided assumption that most everything has something to do with people (other than him)- ahh- “getting lucky.”

Then, panic struck again. "Wait a minute! Nevermind where he is...where am I??" he thought, as he realized that he still had no idea where he was, and he'd let possibly the only other human being in the area get away without asking for directions.

The horse reacting violently to Edward, causing him to… have a little accident.

"Yes sir," the innkeeper repeated, his expression unchanging. "But after your bath...there'll be plenty of time left for you to duel your horse then."

And we meet (drum-roll, please)- The Valet! To whom Edward immediately reveals his “secret” mission and his membership in a “secret” society- at the top of his lungs!

(he had flunked Sunday school, after all),

Even knowing some of what is yet to come does not diminish the pleasure of reading all this again. I am still grinning like a lunatic- (must remember to stay away from the Imperial City until that problem goes away.)

[Rachel the Breton]

Thanks all -- and thanks for pointing out favorite pieces. I love to see what in particular everyone likes!!

@treydog

"I am still grinning like a lunatic- (must remember to stay away from the Imperial City until that problem goes away.)"

Haha, nicely done! Someone might just report you to the watch...


The fools did not listen to me and my lady,
And so we went our separate way
Our project of dark justice to oversee
Foolish pleas could not make us stay.
-- Excerpt from The Dark Brotherhood by the Dread Father Sithis, regarding Sithis' split from the eight divines

Chapter Thirteen

Edward rested at the inn of ill omen for half a day. Then, remembering his deadline to get back to Cheydinhal, and not quite sure how much time he'd already squandered, he and the innkeeper set out. The innkeeper -- now Edward's valet -- rode his own horse, and Edward rode the nag he'd stolen from Snak gra-Bura; it might have been difficult for an observer to decide who was less pleased with the idea, the horse or Edward.

Even though it was only the dry, obligatory "Yes sir", "No sir", "Indeed, sir!" and "You don't say, sir?", Edward found that he enjoyed their conversation -- most particularly because, aside from an unbelieving raised eyebrow, the valet did not so much as question even his most absurd claims. So it was that the valet did not dispute the claim that Edward was the honoured user son of the late Uriel Septim, who had been chosen by the dying Emperor as his heir, but who was on the lam from the imperial guards, who sought to assassinate him and put their Pretorian prefect in charge of the empire; nor did he dispute the claim that Edward was a champion of the sufferers, a crusader for the underprivileged, the friend of the downtrodden and the protector of the unprotected.

Many "I see, sir!" and "Oh, you don't say, sir!" and "Indeed, sir!" 's later, the pair arrived in Cheydinhal.

Telling his valet that the meeting place and meeting had to remain a secret, Edward sent the other man to rent a room for them. Thankfully, the valet had brought his own money, and, so far at least, had not asked Edward for any. Watching him go, Edward sighed a breath of relief. He didn't want the innkeeper around, just in case Lucien was as insulting this time as he had been last time. "No sense having the manservant witness his rudeness," he thought to himself with an air of superiority. He'd be willing to bet that that snobby Lucien Lachance didn't have a servant -- even if he could cast really cool spells.

Edward walked up to the door of the abandoned house, and stared at it. It was an old home, with the door and windows boarded over. "How in Oblivion am I supposed to get in there?" he wondered. "Grow big teeth and chew through?!" Sighing, he rounded the house to check for any potential entrances through which he could crawl, duck, slither or otherwise find admittance; there were none. Finally, returning to the front door, he kicked it angrily, thinking what a rotten joke Lucien Lachance must have played on him.

Much to his surprise, the door opened; and, to his even greater surprise, he saw that the boards on the door had been sawed at the door jam, to appear as if they blocked off the door, but doing nothing of the sort. "I say," he thought, "how very clever! Of course, even cleverer of me to see through it, but, still, clever."

Edward stepped inside, and jumped as he heard the door creak shut after him. The house was dark -- very dark -- and his eyes were long in adjusting. Squinting, Edward looked around. All he saw at first were dim outlines, but then things started to appear; old, decayed, abandoned things. He saw crates here, the remnants of furniture there, and junk everywhere. "Great gods," he said to himself, "they don't actually expect me to stay here, do they?"

But, deciding that he'd better have a look around, just in case someone was waiting for him, Edward crept about the room. All at once, he loosed a scream as he plunged headlong down a staircase, smashed into a crate, careened to the side, and plummeted through a hole in what seemed like a basement wall. "Son of a Blade!" he thought, picking himself up and brushing ample cobwebs off his head. "They should have lights in this damn place..." Looking around him, he saw the staircase down which he'd fell, and the crates into which he'd smashed. "Oh, great," he thought, "I can see it when I'm down here, but not until I fall down it." He glowered, and continued his examination. He was in a passage that connected to the home's basement.


Edward frowned, but decided to follow the passage, shivering as he noted that it glowed an eerie red.

This post has been edited by Rachel the Breton: Sep 3 2010, 02:27 AM

[Rachel the Breton]

'Tis Fate's cruel jest,
To promote this jester
He gods have blessed,
For what sadistic joke?
-- Ode to Edward

Chapter Fourteen

Edward stopped at the end of the passage, frowning. Here was another door, but, rather than boards, like on the house's main door, this one was adorned with peculiar carvings. Furthermore, it had no handle; but, he decided, they clearly preferred alternate methods of opening the doors here anyway. "Well," he thought, "better open it." With this, he kicked the door, and hard.

Falling backwards, gasping, whimpering and shuddering, Edward grasped his foot. Not only did the door not budge, but, unlike the front door, this one was made of stone. Tears welling in his eyes, Edward cursed aloud.

Then, forgetting even his agony, he felt a preternatural fear seize him as an eerie voice -- it seemed to come from the door itself! -- asked, "What the hell did you kick me for, you imbecile??"

Edward could only blink in response.

"All you have to do is give me the password," the door continued.

"Password?" Edward managed to croak.

"That's right ... what's the password?"

Edward searched his mind, but couldn't remember Lucien making any mention of a password. And then, another idea struck him. "Mel-lon?" he asked, rather than said.

The door started laughing, so heartily that Edward almost forgot his fear, and almost felt the urge to kick it a second time; almost. Instead, he asked, "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," the door answered. "Nothing at all...oh boy, are you going to deserve what you get!"

"What?"

"I'm going to let you in," the door said. "But you better be sure you know what you're doing." At this, the door erupted in laughter a second time, and opened.

Resisting the renewed urge to kick it, Edward passed the door, and entered a large, pillared chamber. With a shiver, he heard the still laughing door close, and then froze as an armed, animate skeleton walked by him.

"Great gods," he thought, "where am I?"

At that moment, a voice accosted him. "Wow, you made it!"

Edward frowned, and turned to the speaker. It was a man he had never seen before, a dark haired, older looking man, with strangely red eyes and sharp, pointed teeth. "Who are you?" he asked.

"Vicente Valtieri," the other answered, his face expressive of amazement. "But, wow, I'm really surprised to see you here."

Edward's frown deepened. "Why?"

He received no answer, however, as a young woman approached. He was struck immediately by her beauty, and he was suddenly very self conscious. Picking cobwebs from his eyebrows with one hand, he extended the other to her. "Edward," he said, attempting to add a mature depth to his voice, but managing only to sound severely constipated. "Pleased to meet you."

She raised an eyebrow at him, turned her blue eyes to Vicente, and then back to him. "Are you sick?" she asked.

Edward blinked at her. "No, of course not."

"Then what's wrong with your voice?"

Edward frowned anew. This time, Vicente changed the topic. "Now, Edmund, Lucien told us that he had spoken to you. So, you're our new member, eh?"

Edward's frown deepened. "Edward," he said, his tone regular. "And, yes, I am."

Vicente nodded. "I see. Well, we're very pleased to meet you, Edmund. Welcome!" He paused, surveyed Edward's cobweb covered form, and then added, "I hope you didn't have any trouble finding the hideout?"

"Well," Edward answered, having missed the import of Vicente's rather amused glance, "since you mention it, yes, as a matter of fact, I did. For one thing, you really should put some lights in that house. Someone might trip and hurt themselves!" Hearing something like a snicker from the pretty woman, whose name he still didn't know, Edward hurried to add, "That was the first thing that caught my eye -- because, of course, I'm sensitive to the fact that not everyone is as adept and skillful on their feet as I am." Ignoring the raised eyebrows of the man and woman, he forged ahead. "And, secondly, what is the password for that stupid door?"

"The password?" Vicente asked. "You mean, you didn't know? Then how did you get in?"

Edward sighed. "Yes, yes, and the door let me in because of my improvised password."

"I see," Vicente said. "What was the improvised password?"

Edward opened his mouth to speak, but, remembering the door's reaction shut it. After a second's thought, he said, "Nevermind that, what is the real password?"

"Sanguine, my brother," Vicente answered.

[Rachel the Breton]

Mysterious haunting of the Inn of Ill Omen!
It is with a fearful pen that your trusted courier brings you this startling news! The secluded Inn of Ill Omen, according to an eye witness, has been visited by a dark stranger who murdered a patron, known as Rufio. Furthermore, the innkeeper has completely vanished, leading to rumors that the dark stranger was, in fact, a mysterious, malevolent spirit, and his visit was in fact a haunting. Be that as it may, this correspondent will certainly not be patronizing the Inn of Ill Omen any time soon!
-- Black Horse Courier, Special News Bulletin





Chapter Fifteen

"So, you must be a new killer?" the pretty young woman asked of Edward, who was still picking cobwebs out of his eyebrows.

Glancing up from between his unnaturally long, gray eyebrows, Edward smiled at the girl, now very conscious of the webs hanging all over his head. "Yes," he replied. Then, before he could continue, he noticed a spider on one of the webs hanging in front of his eyes. "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" he screamed, running backwards as though to distance himself from the thing. His back meeting sharply with a wall, he found himself running forward, backward, to the side, this way and that, blindly, screaming in terror and flailing his arms wildly as he did so. It seemed all sense had vanished, and all he was left with was a dread panic, only increased by the presence of the spider before and between his eyes, now apparently clinging onto his nose for fear of falling off. Finally, one poorly calculated turn put him in face-to-stone contact with a pillar, which was very quickly followed up by butt-to-stone contact with the floor. Edward lay still for a few moments, and then blinked. His head hurt, very intensely, and his butt wasn't particularly comfortable either. Staring at the stone ceiling above him, he couldn't remember his location or even his name. "Where am I?" he asked, of no one in particular.

"In our hideout," a pleasant voice beside him said. "What happened?"

He was wondering the same thing, and turned to see the speaker. It was a beautiful, blue eyed girl. He smiled at her, "Well, I don't know, but, hey, how would you feel about going out with me this..." He paused, frowning. "What day is it?" After all, it was hard to ask a girl out when you didn't know when you were supposed to go out.

The girl frowned at him, but another voice, a deeper, masculine one, spoke. "What in the name of Mehrunes Dagon's beard was that??"

Edward started, and turned to him. He was an older man, with hard, sharp, prominent canine teeth. "What?"

"That running around and screaming bit," the other man said.

And then, all at once, everything came back to him, and Edward remembered what had caused his fit. "SPIDER!!!!!!!" he screamed.

The pretty girl frowned, and said, "Is that what that splotch is on your nose?" Edward screamed again, but, shushing him, she said, "It's quite dead now. You probably flattened it when you ran into the pillar."

Panting, still terrified, Edward flailed his arms, too frightened to do anything else. "Get it off! Get it off!" he managed to breathe.

The girl's frown intensified, but, cautiously, she leaned forward and wiped something off his face with a handkerchief.

"Arachnophobia," the dour man beside him said, meditatively. "Clear case of it."

"Well," the young woman spoke with a frown, "if you hate spiders so much, why on earth are you using your head as a cobweb duster?"

Edward felt the color rising to his pallid cheek, and he said, "I wasn't using my head as a cobweb duster!" Turning to Vicente, he snapped, "And I don't have arachnophobia, or whatever it was you said!"

Vicente shook his head, saying only, "Oh yes you do. You may not realize it, but I recognize the signs very clearly."

"You? How? What are you, some sort of doctor?"

"No," the woman said, "but he has Alliumphobia."

"And I recognize the signs of phobia in you," the man finished.

Edward frowned. Truth to be told, he was terrified of spiders. "Well," he said, still not ready to concede the point, "are you saying you act like that whenever you see aluminum?"

Vicente and the woman glanced at each other, their eyebrows raised.

"Alliumphobia is the fear of garlic," the girl answered.

"Well, whatever," Edward said, waving aside the correction. "But are you saying you act like I did when you see garlic?"

"Well," Vicente said hesitantly, "I respond in a somewhat more dignified manner, but the fear is similar."

Edward frowned again. Dignified? Who did this dour, stuffed shirt Breton think he was?

"Anyway," Vicente declared, "Enough about that. Welcome to our lair. I am your reference and taskmaster here, and will be for some time."

"Oh," Edward said.

"I will be in charge of sending you on tasks, and will pay you upon their completion. But, before we begin, you must meet your fellow guildmates. First," he said, pointing to the young lady at Edward's side, "I'd like to introduce you to Antionetta Marie."

"Charmed," Edward smiled.

"She is a Slayer in the Brotherhood," Vicente informed him.

"Which," Antionetta pointed out, "is a rank higher than a Killer."

"Oh, I see," Edward smiled, quite untruthfully, as he had no idea of the rank system in the Brotherhood.

"Which is your rank," she informed him, smiling for the first time.

"Oh," he repeated, with some degree of clarity. "So you outrank me?"

"You better believe it," she returned with a steely smile.

He frowned, but said nothing.

"Well," Vicente declared, "time to meet the rest of the family."

[Rachel the Breton]

The acolyte entered the sanctuary,
And in his wake left laughter and disdain.
The acolyte went about his tasks,
And the Brotherhood agreed he was a pain.
-- Annals of the Dark Brotherhood

Chapter Sixteen

Edward frowned. He had met a number of new people, and he was trying to keep their names and faces in order in his mind. There was Teinaava, an orcess...no, wait, he was an Argonian, and the orc was...who? Oh, that's right. Gogron gro-Bolmog. And there was the elf, Talldrill. No, wait, that wasn't her name...what was it? Telaendril. Yes, that was it. Plus there was Ocheeva, an Argonian female, and her pet rat, Schemer. And the animate skeleton walking around? He -- or it -- was a Dark Guardian.

"Well, you've met everyone but M'raaj-Dar," Vicente declared.

"Whose that?" Edward asked.

"You'll see," Vicente replied darkly.

Edward shivered as the Breton pushed open the doors to the training room and ushered him inside. "M'raaj-Dar!" Vicente said, "Meet our newest colleague!"
The stern face of a Khajiit turned toward him, cast an appraising yet disparaging glance from his head to toe, and turned away. "Now, M'raaj-Dar," Vicente said, "be polite. Edward here is our newest Killer."

M'raaj-Dar turned again, snickered, and shook his head. Then, he turned back to a dummy, and continued casting spells on it.

"Go on," Vicente whispered. "He's a bit ornery...you need to open up to him, and then he'll open up to you."

Edward grimaced, not very happy about approaching this ornery, apparently powerful, mage, but doing as he was bid nonetheless. "Hey," he started. The cat paused from his practice, turned to him, and raised an eyebrow. Edward gulped, and continued, "Well, umm, nice to meet you." He would have left at that, but could feel Vicente's stern gaze on him. "So, hey, how's it going? I mean, what's up?"

The Khajiit's disparaging eyes held his for a second, and then, glancing about the room, leaned forward, as though readying to impart a secret of some sort. "Well," he said, "since you're asking...I have it on good authority that the newest addition to the Brotherhood is an annoying whelp unworthy of licking my boots. How's that for gossip?"

Edward blinked, and then turned to Vicente for guidance as to how to proceed; but the Breton was laughing heartily. Edward frowned.

"Go on," M'raaj-Dar said, "The guild charter prevents me from killing you, but that doesn't mean I have to like you...now get, you foul-smelling ape..."

Seeing as how Vicente was doing naught but laughing heartily, and the Khajiit had resumed his spellcasting, Edward hastened to comply. The last thing he wanted to do was divert some of those nasty-looking spells his way.

Approaching the Breton, Edward demanded, "What's so funny?"

Between gasps for breath, Vicente explained, "Forgive me, but, well, it's sort of a rite of passage here...M'raaj-Dar's ornery disposition is always a shock to new people, and so much fun to watch."

At these words, he lost himself in laughter again. Edward's frown deepened, and deliberately continued to grow deeper to show clearly his annoyance as the other man laughed, until at last he feared that he might lose his eyes altogether in the frown. Finally, to Edward's great relief, Vicente stopped laughing. Clearing his throat, he once again resumed his formal, dour appearance. "He'd almost pass for the annoying prig he was when I met him," Edward thought, "except for the damned laughter in his eyes." There, he was quite right, because, for all his serious exterior, Vicente's red eyes danced with laughter still.

"Alright, look," Edward said after a few minutes of silence, "I came here to get my next assignment, and then get a good night's sleep." Now, just for good measure, he made a point of mentioning his servant. "My valet already rented us rooms at the inn."

"Oh," Vicente said, "Of course." Edward frowned as he noted that these words were hardly spoken with the respect he'd hoped to inspire. "Well, there's a pirate dog that needs to be sent to the pound." Edward raised an eyebrow as Vicente snickered at his own pun. "Yes, well, there is a vile pirate captain called Gaston Tussaud. His ship is the Marie Elena, harbored at the Imperial City dock."

Edward nodded. "Is that all?"

"Yes," Vicente said. "He's an evil man, you know...he's taken many, many innocent lives. Time to turn the tables on him."

Edward sighed impatiently. "And is there a reward for doing it?"

"Yes, of course," Vicente answered. "Oh! And I almost forgot your reward for killing Rufio. Here." With this, he handed him a purse of gold.

Edward felt a smile appearing on his face, so checked it immediately. "Well," he said, "I'll be going then. My servant probably already has dinner waiting for me." With this, he turned on his heel and left the room.

In the main chamber, he immediately saw Antionetta Marie. Drawing himself up, tall and as stately as he could muster at least, he approached and smiled. "I would love to stay and talk to you," he said, "but I have urgent business taking my attention. A pirate dog needs to be put down; and I'm the pound master." He smiled as he reworked and retold Vicente's joke, but Antionetta only rolled her eyes. "Well, yes, anyway, I look forward to meeting you again."

Antionetta made no comment -- beyond that conveyed by her dismissive expression -- and Edward headed to the door, kicking himself mentally. "Why on earth did I repeat that stupid joke?" he wondered. "I should have tapped my own resources of wit and charm, rather than rely on that bozo's idiotic mutterings!!"

[treydog]

Chapter Thirteen

He'd be willing to bet that that snobby Lucien Lachance didn't have a servant -- even if he could cast really cool spells.

The auto-censor doesn’t care for the term for “illegitimate offspring”:

was that the valet did not dispute the claim that Edward was the honoured user son of the late Uriel Septim,

For future reference, it also dislikes the common 3-letter term for “donkey,” even when used in the zoological rather than anatomical sense. I think SubRosa once did a test to see which words got rendered to what replacements…

Chapter Fourteen

I really want to quote the entire passage with the door- but I will content myself with this one bit:

"That's right ... what's the password?"

Edward searched his mind, but couldn't remember Lucien making any mention of a password. And then, another idea struck him. "Mel-lon?" he asked, rather than said.

But I don’t think Edward is going into the Mines of Moria…

And then there is Vicente’s momentary “surfer-speak”- “Dude- like wow, you made it!”

"Edward," he said, attempting to add a mature depth to his voice, but managing only to sound severely constipated.

Chapter Fifteen

The business with door already had me howling, but then the “Ah, spider! Getitoff! Getitoff!” absolutely did me in. Edmund has claimed his third victim.

Alliumphobia- OK, I admit it- I had to look that one up.

And of course, Edmund (sic) displaying his native wit and charm (/Inigo Montoya) "You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means." (Inigo Montoya/) as he tries to impress the girl.

Remind me to tell you sometime how happy I am to have you and your story here- when I am again capable of coherent speech.

[mALX]

Wait...Manheim is...and helped kill Rufio.... * mALX's head exploded, but there was nothing inside to get all over keyboard *


I LOVE LOVE, and LOVED Edwards time in the Dark Brotherhood!!! (especially as in Edward relating to Vicente, lol)

This post has been edited by mALX: Sep 3 2010, 12:34 PM

[Rachel the Breton]

LOL, thanks for noting that, treydog...honoured user, eh? I'll have to keep an eye out for that and similarly "offensive" words, lol As for the phobias...I admit, I only know them because I wrote a play when I was in 4-H that centered around phobias...and, yes, one of the characters was a vampire, lol.

mALX...quite right, he is and did. As for Vicente, his and Edward's interactions are some of my favorite throughout the story...in fact, I'm working on a way to bring him back into the story (in the later version).


Oh, ye great and glorious king of bunglers,
Who but you could so much mischief make?
Oh, ye chosen and blessed pawn of the gods,
Who but they could choose such a flake?
-- Tribute to Edward

Chapter Seventeen

Edward had left the Dark Brotherhood hideout to reconnoiter with his valet, but, emerging from the abandoned house covered in dust and cobwebs and with his eyes accustomed to the darkness, he stood there and blinked very stupidly for a number of minutes. A guard passed by, glanced at him at first, then paused to eye him with suspicion. Edward stared back, and then remembering his sullied attire, he began to brush himself off vigorously.

"Excuse me, sir," the guard stated, coming nearer, "but is everything alright? You look as though you tumbled down an abandoned staircase covered in cobwebs and dust, or something of that sort."

Edward frowned deeply at the man, declaring rather haughtily, "For your information, I'm an exterminator, and it is my job to crawl into all sorts of nasty places to hunt and exterminate the worst and most dangerous varmints." He wasn't sure where, exactly, that lie had come from, but he certainly didn't want to admit the truth of where he had been and why.

"I see," the guard said, but his air showed plainly that he did nothing of the sort. "So you've been exterminating things?"

"Yes," Edward declared, smiling inwardly as this wasn't, technically, a lie -- although the "things" the guard had in mind were almost certainly not murderers and vagabonds, which he had been exterminating and planning to exterminate.

"I see," the guard repeated. "And in that old house?"

Here Edward hesitated. "Maybe," he declared at last. "I don't see that my business is your business, though."

The guard crossed his arms. "Well," he said, "seeing as how I have the power to throw you into prison for anything I darn well please, I think all business is my business if I choose it to be my business, and I choose that this is my business."

Edward frowned. "Well, when you put it like that," he replied, "I guess it makes sense."

"Precisely. Now, were you exterminating in that house?"

"Sort of," Edward answered, still not sure of how to answer.

"Sort of?" the guard repeated. "What does that mean?"

"Well," he returned slowly, inspiration suddenly coming to him, "I was looking for things to exterminate, but didn't find any."

"Oh," the guard said. "Well, why would you even bother looking in that old dump?"

This was indeed a puzzler, and Edward didn't immediately have an answer. After humming and hawing for a few moments, though, he replied, "Old houses are the best gauge of what you'll find in a town, you see. Oftentimes they're the source. If there are rats in town, likely they came from there. So, if there are rats in town, they'll be there too."

The guard frowned. "Really?"

"Oh, yes," Edward assured him, with as much sincerity as he could muster.

"I've never thought of it like that," the guard pondered.

"Trick of the trade," Edward smiled.

"So," the guard said slowly, "you're saying there are no rats in town?"

Something in the ponderous tone set off an alarm in Edward's mind, and he answered in kind, slowly and thoughtfully. "Well, that remains to be seen. There are no rats there and around here."

"Really?" the guard asked, a little too eagerly for Edward's liking.

"Yes," he said cautiously, adding quickly, "Unless they have another lair."

"Another lair?" the guard asked.

"Yes," Edward repeated.

"But I thought you said that..."

Edward interrupted him. "Oh yes, and that's all very true. But a good predictor isn't a certain predictor, you see?"

The guard frowned, but said nothing.

"Well, if you'll excuse me," Edward said after a few moments of silence, "I'll be on my way."

"Not so fast," the guard intervened. "There are rats in this town. In the castle dungeon, in fact. You make a crazed sort of sense, so I guess you must be what you say you are. Since we don't have an exterminator in town, I'm going to need you to do the job."

"Me?" Edward balked. "No thank you. I'm not interested."

The guard frowned. "Either you're going to go into the dungeon as a rat exterminator, or you're going there as prisoner," he said finally. "Your choice."

"Oh," Edward responded. His brow creased in thought. "Well, I suppose I'll go as an exterminator," he said at last.

"Wise choice," the guard returned sarcastically. "Come along then -- we'll go there directly."

"No!" Edward interjected, hastening to add, "I mean, not today."

The guard's eyes clouded with suspicion and anger. "What? Why?"

"Because...well, because I will have to prepare my tools."

"Your tools?"

"Yes, my tools of...of extermination!"

The guard frowned suspiciously. "How long will that take?"

"Umm...two days?" Edward answered almost hesitantly.

"You've got one," the guard returned. "You better be at the dungeon tomorrow evening at 5:00." He grimaced. "And I mean it! I am so sick and tired of listening to those damned prisoners scream whenever a rat comes into their dungeon that I've half a mind to exterminate them myself -- and I don't mean the rats!!" With this cheery thought, the guard departed, leaving Edward to wonder what, exactly, he had just gotten himself into.

[Rachel the Breton]

The world is boorish and callous,
With no appreciation for my talents
My dark heart and beautiful malice,
Are wasted on this barren planet.
-- Lament of Mehrunes Dagon

Chapter Eighteen

Edward stepped out of the Cheydinhal Bridge Inn disgustedly -- or rather, he picked himself off the stoop of the Inn disgustedly. He had never been so rudely handled in his entire life! "Well, alright," his mind admitted, "there was that time on my last birthday, when I'd had too much to drink...and then that time when I got caught attempting to pick a pocket, and denied it but nobody believed me...and then that time when the priest caught me sticking my hands in the offering box, and didn't believe that my hand full of gold coins was actually an offering...and then..."

"Oh shut up!" another voice, his own again, declared, interrupting his train of thought. Edward frowned. It was bad enough to hear that from other people; he hated when his mind did that to him too.

"You're supposed to be on my side, here," he said inwardly.

To which an inward voice responded, "Then stop babbling like an imbecile and I will be!"

Engaged in this internal dialogue, Edward stumbled through the streets of Cheydinhal without paying much attention to his surroundings.

His vexation, of course, was easily explained. He had stepped into the Cheydinhal Bridge Inn -- which, he observed disparagingly, was located nowhere near a bridge -- and asked for his valet. The proprietress had been extremely insolent, and even implied that he was an impostor and that one such as he would never have a servant. This irritating insinuation drew from him a response that his valet had indeed come to take a room for both of them that very afternoon. The innkeeper merely laughed at him, declaring him to be a liar, and saying that no one had requested a room, much less two rooms. Edward, already irritated by his run-in with the guard, and the way the cobwebs stuck to the perspiration on his skin (thanks to his the nervous sweating that the encounter with the guard had produced), had snapped back some smart reply. From there, the already bad situation had escalated to a worse one, which ended with Edward being seized by several patrons and thrown headlong out of the door. Certainly, he had lunged across the counter at the proprietress, spittle shooting forth from his mouth, and threats to murder her issuing from his lips, but he had never meant to actually murder her. "And, anyway," he wondered, "what ever happened to 'the customer is always right'??" He sighed, as his thoughts came to this milestone. "Customer service has indeed gone downhill," he thought dejectedly.

"And where, exactly, is that damn valet of mine?" he wondered, his mind taking up another train of thought. "I told him to rent rooms for us! If he didn't do that, then where is he? And what are we going to do now that we've been kicked out of that stupid inn?" He loosed another sigh, and continued his pensive, pointless wandering.

"Sir!" a familiar voice called to him.

Edward looked up. It was his valet! "There you are!" he exclaimed. "Where have you been? I thought you were going to rent us rooms?"

"I did sir," the valet answered.

Edward frowned. "But I just spoke with the innkeeper, and she insisted that you had not!"

The valet, in his turn, frowned. "I'm not sure what to say, sir. I've heard that the Newlands Lodge is trustworthiness itself. I am shocked to hear..."

"Wait, what?" Edward interrupted.

The valet stared at him uncomprehendingly.

"Where did you say?"

"The Newlands Lodge," the other replied. "Of course, sir. The only other inn in town is the Cheydinhal Bridge inn, and it is very pricey. Plus this establishment is reputed to..." Here he lowered his voice. "Well, sir, to be very discrete concerning its clients."

Edward grumbled something incoherent. He was kicking himself for not realizing that there might be more than one inn in town. No wonder that arrogant woman had been so...well, arrogant to him.

[Rachel the Breton]

Hear the tolling of the bell,
Hear it sound the death knell.
It must be answered, that bell;
It must be silenced, that knell.
-- Song of the Doomed

Chapter Nineteen

Edward had slept for hours, woken to eat, and then slept again. He was tired, irritated, and not a little sore from his many misadventures. However, now that it was midday on the day after his rendezvous with the Dark Brotherhood, he was growing very apprehensive. He was expected, after all, at 5:00 that afternoon at the castle, and he had no idea how to get out of the predicament. He couldn't see himself as an effective exterminator, yet he couldn't skip town, either. After all, his Dark Brotherhood hideout was here in town, and he would be expected to return here often; if he became an outlaw in Cheydinhal, that would be impossible.

He had thought about consulting his valet, but could not reconcile himself with the idea of seeking assistance from his paid subordinate. Even when his mind had argued that, so far at least, he had not actually paid the man anything, his pride still balked at the idea. No, this was something he would have to face by himself, come what may, he determined. With this determination set in a deep sense of depression, and Edward, feeling sure that his doom was near at hand and that he was likely to spend the remainder of his life in prison after his deceit was uncovered, moped about town.

He had no real or clear idea of where he was going or why in mind, so he walked about aimlessly, growing sorrier and sorrier for himself with every passing minute. After traveling in what must have been circles for what must have been hours, he paused to figure out where he was. There were buildings all around that seemed strangely familiar, but, though he sensed he had been there before, he had no idea when or how he'd got there.

At the same time, he heard the sonorous tolling of a bell.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

"Please, please, please stop!" he pleaded with the bell.

Five, it chimed, oblivious to his supplications.

Edward took to his heels, knowing that he was already late. It didn't matter to him what direction he was he going -- he didn't know anyway -- so long as he was going. He ran to the end of the street, rounded a corner, and came to a sudden, sharp stop as he impacted with what at first he assumed was a giant moving rock, as it didn't budge an inch at the encounter, and seemed solid as stone. Careening backwards, and landing painfully and heavily on his behind, Edward glanced up. The rock was nothing of the sort, but the same armored guard he had met the day before.

"Oh," he said, wincing in pain. "It's you."

"Yes," the guard answered. "And why aren't you at the castle??"

"I'm on my way," Edward replied.

The guard frowned. "You're late."

"So are you," Edward pointed out.

The guard's frown deepened. "Just get a move on it."

"Right," Edward answered, picking himself up with much difficulty. He ached all over, all over again. Glancing around him, he remembered that he had no idea which road would lead to the castle. "Umm...which way are we going?"

"To the castle!" the guard returned, irritably.

"Right, but...well, which way is the castle?"

The guard stared at him, eyebrows raised, and then pointed. "See the giant stone building on the hill? The one with all the walls and towers? With the big gate? That's where we're going."

Edward frowned at the condescending tone, but rightly thought it better not to further irritate the guard. And, beside, he did feel a little silly. "After all," he thought, "the gate should have given away which building it was. Nobody gets to have a gate like that, unless it's on a castle."

The pair walked in silence, each pondering his own thoughts, until at last they reached the castle. "This way," the guard said, taking the lead. Edward followed until they reached the dungeon. He felt the skin on his neck crawl as he glanced around, anticipating the sight of rats. But, much to his surprise -- and relief -- there were none to be seen. "I thought you said you wanted me to kill rats," he said.

"Quite so," the guard answered. "I don't know how you go about this, but I imagine that, if you sit still for a few minutes, and I put out this light..." With this, he paused to douse a torch, and throw the entire dungeon into an eerie dimness. "...well, they should come out in no time. I'll shut the door behind me -- you just knock when you're done, and I'll let you out."

Edward gulped loudly, a thousand fears flooding him; but, before he could collect his thoughts into an even mildly coherent mass, the guard was gone. He heard the door scrape shut, and then the lock grate. Chill dread stole over his entire body, and he slumped backwards against the door, too frightened to speak or move, except to whimper and shake. He, Edward, was alone in a dungeon with prisoners and rats. And, in his state of depression, he'd forgotten to bring any weapons with him. He shook more violently at the thought. He, Edward, was alone and unarmed in a dungeon full of prisoners and rats.

[D.Foxy]

Now make one of the Rats crawl up the Bwiddish Bode of the udder RAT...



:thumbsup:

[Rachel the Breton]

Cowardice will never pay,
At least, that's what they say
But see you Edward's tale
And wonder, will the coward fail?
-- Tribute to Edward, author unknown

Chapter Twenty

Edward stirred ever so slightly. He wasn't sure where he was, what time it was, or why he was where ever it was that he was, but he was aware of a vague apprehension. This apprehension, however, was a secondary sensation; the primary sensation he felt was a tickling of his nose. "Almost like cat whiskers, except from a very big cat," he thought absently, still struggling to consciousness. "Or a dog...or a ra..." He was suddenly wide awake, on his feet, and screaming wildly. The room was very dim, but he could make out the shape of the very thing he had feared to find: a giant rat.


He remembered now what had happened; he had collapsed in fear against the door, and somehow, in his terror, lost consciousness. Now the rats had come out, and he was surrounded by them. Edward did not think or reason at this realization. He just screamed and flailed blindly.


He felt teeth bite into his leg, hard, and his mad flailing intensified. He screamed and trashed and cursed and ran and smashed into everything around him. One moment his shoulder was in contact with the wall, the next he felt the cold iron bars of the nearest cell on his face, then the floor underneath him; in an instant, screaming, kicking, punching out wildly, he was on his feet again, and the cycle continued.


"Oh gods," he screamed, "they're gonna eat me! Save me! Save me!"


Almost in answer to his plea, another voice sounded. But this was not the voice of a god, but rather an annoyed inmate. "Will you please stop screaming?!" it asked. "I'm trying to get some sleep! I'm going to the gallows tomorrow, and I want to look my best!"


This other human voice reinstated at least a measure of reason to Edward, and he stopped screaming. "I have to do something," he thought. "I can't be eaten by rats! I can't go that way! How undignified!"


"What are you whining about, anyway?" the annoyed prisoner continued to speak. "It's just a dead rat!"


"It's trying to eat me!" Edward screamed, his control slipping quickly. "What do you mean, 'it's just a dead rat'?? Dead rats can...wait, did you say dead? As in, dead?" His senses seemed to regain a measure of control, and he peered into the darkness. Squinting hard, he was able to make out the slumped form of a giant rat. His eyes grew wide in amazement. "But...it was alive!" he said. "It bit me! It sniffed my face!"


"Yes, and then you kicked it to death," the prisoner added. "So, it was alive, but only until you killed it. You see how this works?"


Edward frowned. Not only did he not like the tone of this man's voice, but he couldn't believe what he was saying. How could he have killed the rat? All he had done was attempt to flee it. In fact, though he was loath to admit it, he had simply panicked. He could vaguely remember flailing about, and kicking and punching wildly, but nothing that would have been effective.


He straightened up in surprise. "Ha!" he said aloud. "It was me! I kicked it to death!!" He started laughing triumphantly. "Guard!" he shouted. "Guard! It's done! Your rat problem is finished!"


All was silent for several moments, except for Edward's gleeful laughter, and then the bolts of the dungeon door slowly scraped open.


The guard peeked his head in, almost suspiciously, blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dimness, and then said in a tone of surprise, "You killed it!"


"Of course!" Edward snapped, none too pleased by the other man's tone.


"But...but how? It sounded like the rat was killing you!" Edward frowned. "I mean, you were screaming bloody murder in here!"


Edward's frown deepened, and he answered in a very condescending tone, "Well, you clearly do not understand the finer points of psychological warfare, so I will not bother to waste my time in an attempt to enlighten and reform your primitive mindset. Suffice it to say, what you heard was all part of the tricks of the trade -- and, as you can see, very effective tricks at that."


The guard took turns between frowning, glaring, and then frowning again. "Alright, alright," he said at last, "I admit, you did a good job."


"Of course," Edward said. "Now, since it is done, let me out of this dungeon."


Now the guard hesitated. "Well..." he said slowly, "I don't know about that...it's a handy thing to have an exterminator on hand."


Edward's anger boiled at this point. It wasn't enough that this guard had threatened him into coming and left him to what was nearly a terrible death of being eaten by a rat, but now he meant to keep him here?! "Listen you," Edward stated, his eyes flaming, "I suggest you take a good look at that rat, because my speciality isn't limited to rats of the animal variety!"


Now, an observer might have thought that Edward was being extraordinarily brazen and betting that his calculated risk would pay off by winning him his freedom; the truth of the matter was simpler and less grand. Edward was furious, and he was doing what he was best at when angered: very sincerely threatening his opponent, without giving any thought to the fact that he was in no way prepared to back up that threat.


Luck, or the gods, or what have you, were on Edward's side that day, however, because the guard blinked at the verbal onslaught, and then declared hesitantly, "Well, I could just lock the door, couldn't I? You couldn't do anything then, could you?"


"Why don't you just see?" Edward demanded menacingly. "I dare you to try, you lily-livered, tin-suited sack of crap!" This last bit of Edward's bluff -- if a bluff it could be called, because, in the heat of the moment,


Edward meant every word he said -- had the beneficial effect of completely demoralizing the guard, who threw open the door and retreated.


"Now, come on," he said as he stood aside, "I was just joking. You know that."


Edward, still furious, considered staying in place and demanding that the coward of a guard return and try, just try, to keep him a prisoner; but then that shred of common sense that managed to save him from situations like this kicked in. Subsequently, Edward made haste to leave the dungeon, leave the castle, and, gathering his belongings and his valet, leave Cheydinhal.

[mALX]

Wow, Edward has shown some real cunning...and has made it without his valet through two really tough spots!!!! I would be impressed if it weren't for his 5-way conversation with himself!!! ROFL !!!!! Very funny, and some things I didn't remember about the beginning of his story in here!

[treydog]

“Edward the Exterminator- to catch a rat, you have to think like a rat.”

He had never been so rudely handled in his entire life!

And Edward begins his tour of the prisons of Tamriel- (soon to be a new series on House and Garden Television).

"

I can't be eaten by rats! I can't go that way! How undignified!"

"So, it was alive, but only until you killed it. You see how this works?"

And now I remember why I became one of your legion of adoring fans.

[Rachel the Breton]

Hi all, and thanks for the comments! Sorry I haven't posted more this week...it's been crazy at work...(working until midnight on Tuesday on a server more ... and that was the good day. After that, one of the apps I "inherited" [not a drop of documentation of course] died, again...so it was a race to figure out how the app worked and then, piece by piece, (band-aid) fix all the problems with the dang thing ... missing stored procedures on one of the four sql servers, connection strings to the primary and secondary sql servers pointing to only the primary sql server (???), wrong password for the website account on one box, etc., etc., etc. ... to say nothing of the error handling that doesn't even tell you that something is wrong [you just figure it out because the data you get is not correct...and this is a production system, in use now])...lol, it's a nightmare... and that's not the half of it...at least now we've got the band-aid fixes in place until we can redesign the system. No wonder that programmer left, LOL...he's just lucky he did before any one took too close a look at what he'd been doing! ) But enough of my griping, LOL...on to the story.

I made one minor change here...this letter was a little too polite for who I originally had writing it, so I changed the author...I doubt anyone remembers the original, but, if you do, you'll know why it was too polite.



Dear Brother Clarence:
Blessings and the mercy of the square root of eighty-one upon you. I write to you in distress, brother. Since the grievous news of our beloved emperor's death, I have heard nothing from the chosen messenger. Baurus -- our brother, who was the last living Blade to see the Emperor -- writes to tell me that His Majesty chose a man, an escaped prisoner, to deliver the amulet to me. He did not say so directly, but his tone made clear his apprehension. I do begin to fear that our Emperor made a most grievous mistake in his last moment of desperation, in entrusting so precious an amulet to an unknown. Pray, good brother, that the 10 minus 1 remember us in these troubled times!
Yours,
Brother Piner
-- Letter from Brother Piner to a fellow Blade

Chapter Twenty-One

Edward sighed, thinking despondently that, whatever city he came to, he always seemed to end up in the dungeons. "Well," he thought, "at least so far I've been able to get out each time!" Nonetheless, he was none too keen on the idea of returning to the Imperial City . He still remembered the cell he'd been in, and he had no desire to return; and, after all, his mission was that of an assassin -- even if a justified assassin -- and so he was, technically, on the wrong side of the law. Not that, truth to be told, he was ever technically on the right side of the law. After all, even if his prison break had been pseudo-legal, he had fled the scene of the accident with Simplicia, he had struck and robbed Snak gra-Bura, he had illegally killed the murderer Rufio, and he had joined a brotherhood of assassins! "Hard to get less legal than that," he thought, "unless I joined the Thieves Guild too, or something like that."


This idea, that he was not behaving as illegally as he potentially could, and consequently, if caught, would not face as much trouble as he might otherwise, cheered him somewhat, so he continued with a lighter heart.


He and his valet rode in continued silence for several minutes, until, passing through the city gates, the latter spoke. "Sir," he said, "not meaning to put too fine a point on it or anything, but...well, I read the Black Horse Courier, and I did happen to read something about a theft here in the Imperial City ...a theft of a horse..."


"Oh?" Edward asked, a sense of trepidation swarming him. "Really?"


"Yes sir," the other man continued, clearly hesitantly. "Well, sir, the thing that really stood out was that this was the theft of a very old and stubborn horse."


"Really?" Edward repeated.


"Yes sir. A horse like yours, sir."


Edward blinked. "Really?"


"Yes sir. And I think, sir, it might be advisable, seeing as how like your horse this horse was, that you do not ride your horse in the city. Otherwise, people might -- preposterously, of course -- assume that you were...well, the thief."


Edward blinked again. The valet's words, as insincere as they had been regarding the other man's belief in his innocence, made sense. "Damn it, man!" he cursed, glancing about him, "Why not mention this before we enter the city? Now how am I supposed to get rid of this stupid horse, in the middle of the city, without attracting too much attention?"


"I have a plan, sir," the valet replied.


Edward rolled his eyes, so thoroughly annoyed that the fact that his valet's plans were almost always good ones made no nevermind to him.


"I will take your horse," the other man said, ignoring the show of displeasure, "and you will take mine. I will bring your horse to the Imperial Watch, and say that I found it abandoned in the woods and, hearing about the theft, assumed that this was probably the stolen horse."


"Well, why don't I just do that? Why switch horses?" Edward asked.


"Because, sir, they might bring me to see Snak gra-Bura."


"Oh, right," Edward said. "But...well, of course, I'm not the thief."


"No sir, of course not. Still, better to let me...take care of the dirty work."


"Yes," Edward agreed, more enthusiastically this time. "No sense me wasting my time on trivial things like that. You can take care of it."


"Yes sir."


"That's what I pay you for!" Edward finished.


The valet coughed. "Oh, about that, sir," he started.


Edward flinched. As of yet, he still hadn't paid his valet any wages. "Later, man, later! We have important business that needs attending to."


"Yes sir."

This post has been edited by Rachel the Breton: Sep 11 2010, 04:12 AM

[Rachel the Breton]

He whose name is forgotten,
We had something to say about him,
But we're not quite sure what it was,
Because it seems we've forgotten.
-- Tribute to the Gray Fox




Chapter Twenty-Two

In the end, Edward's valet had taken both horses. It turns out that there was a city ordinance that you could not ride a horse inside the city gates. "Stupid ordinances," Edward thought. "They should make sure people know things like that!"

While Edward, now on foot, set off to find the Marie Elena, his valet set off to stable his own horse, and to return Snak gra-Bura's horse. Neither noticed the cowled figure that had observed their entire conversation, and then took off after Edward's valet.

So it was that Edward, who seemed to lack any sense of direction, headed into the city and, after much exploring, many wrong turns, and infinite retracing of his steps, eventually made his way to the water front. "Ahh," he thought, "the sea! I love the sea!" Breathing deeply -- so deeply, in fact, that he broke into a violent coughing fit -- he walked toward the docks. He smiled as he neared them.

"Pirates, cutthroats, murderers, smugglers, thieves, villains of the worst sort!" he thought admiringly. "I could have ended up working here...how in Oblivion did I end up on the other side?!" He frowned, but remembering his earlier reflections, took solace. "At least," he thought, "I'm still on the wrong side of the law, even if I am working for justice and the greater good or whatever."

With this cheering thought, he focused on finding the Marie Elena. There were two vessels docked in the harbor, and so, having no way to distinguish between them, Edward headed to the ship on his left. "Hmm," he thought as he neared it, "I wonder how you tell what a ship is named?"

At that moment, an ecstatic voice interrupted him from his reverie. "Sir! Sir!"

He turned to see his valet running toward him. Staring in frank surprise at the other man, he asked, "What's the matter with you? Can't you see that I'm busy?"

"Yes sir," the valet replied, coming to a stop and panting heavily. "But -- you'll never believe this, sir! -- but the Grey Fox himself has invited me to join the Thieves Guild!!"

Edward just blinked at first, the words making little impression. "You? The Grey Fox? Why?"

"He heard our conversation, sir, and he said that my loyalty to my friend -- you -- impressed him, and that he needs thieves with honor to join his ranks!"

Edward frowned. "Honor? But why? They're thieves!"

"Oh, yes sir, but good thieves. You see, the Grey Fox is a thief who robs from the rich to give to the poor. The beggars and the unemployed, they're all dependent on him!"

Edward's frown intensified. "What sort of criminal..." he began, but was interrupted.

"Oh, it's very simple, sir. He lives among the poor; he knows what they suffer! He's a Robber from the Hood, so to speak, who robs the rich stuffed shirts to feed the poor and downtrodden."

Edward's frown continued to intensify. "And he asked you, and not me?"

"Yes sir," the valet said, adding quickly, "but I'm sure that's only because he knew you were already busy!"

"Well," Edward shot back, "you're busy too! You work for me!"

"Yes sir," the other man said a bit hesitantly, "but, well, you don't always have need of my services!"

"Yes, but I don't employ you so that you won't be available when I do need you!"

"No sir," the valet agreed. He seemed to hesitate, and then brighten immediately, as if a flash of inspiration hit him. "But one of the perks of being a member of the thieves guild is that I get to sell stolen goods to various fences, since no one else buys them. That means that I can be your door to the fences! I can resell any goods that you come across!"

Edward stared at him, feigning shock. "What do you take me for?!" he demanded. "Do you really assume that I would stoop to robbing people, and reselling their property through you?! And, anyway, you'd probably charge an outrageous fee for the service..."

"No sir!" the valet exclaimed. "Not a penny! It would be my show of appreciation to you for allowing me to take this second job."

Edward frowned, but didn't dismiss the idea outright. After all, it would be good to have an outlet to sell his stolen property. Plus, it would be good if his valet was actually earning Septims; so far, Edward hadn't made a whole bunch of money, and he seemed to lose more than he earned, anyway -- it was hard to forget the loss of all his swindled gold after his accident with Simplicia. Not only would it be impossible to pay his valet's wages at this rate, but he might not be able to afford basic supplies with a similar stroke of bad luck. "Well," he answered slowly, "I don't want to hamper your prospects...if I was sure that you would be around when I needed you..."

"Oh, yes sir, absolutely sir!" the valet responded.

"Alright," Edward agreed. "You may as well."

In a flurry of profuse thanks, the valet disappeared. Edward sighed. "Damn Gray Fox," he thought. "How dare he ask my servant, and not me? And what is it with these criminals now, anyway?! The assassins go around killing murderers, the thieves go around feeding the poor, and the real bad guys are a disgusting, pathetic lot that no self respecting criminal would want to associate with!" He sighed again. "Criminals these days just aren't what they're cracked up to be..." he thought despondently.

This post has been edited by Rachel the Breton: Sep 11 2010, 04:20 AM

[Rachel the Breton]

When in trouble, when in doubt,
Run in circles, scream and shout.
-- Edward's motto, borrowed from a popular rhyme

Chapter Twenty-Three

After realizing that he had in fact chosen the wrong ship, and was at the Bloated Float Inn rather than the Marie Elena, Edward sat down to think. It seemed reasonable to him that he take a moment to think through what, exactly, he was going to do. He considered that, so far, he had been fairly successful. He had located the Marie Elena, which is more than he had done fifteen minutes earlier. From there, his next step was simple enough: get inside and locate Gaston. It was at this juncture, however, that things began to grow foggy. What did he do when found Captain Tussaud? Should he say something to him? He smiled at the idea. Something witty, something to show off the brilliance of his masterful mind -- that would be good. "Unfortunately," he thought, "the only one to hear it will be the stupid pirate -- and just before I kill him." Somehow, the idea lost some of its appeal, and he found himself wishing he could have an invisible audience to admire his eloquence and wit.

"Of course," he thought, "I had better think of what I'm going to say...hmm...how about 'Alright, Pirate dog! Time to go to the pound!'...hmm...yes, I like it!" He smiled at his own genius. "Gad, but I am brilliant," he congratulated himself.

At that moment, he heard hinges creek and felt a heavy wooden object impact sharply with his back and behind. He found himself flying forward, and landing face first on the dock in front of him.

He heard someone gasp, and then footsteps run toward him. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry," someone said. "But I didn't see you from inside the inn! You must have been sitting in front of the door!"

"Ash a matter of facsht," Edward replied as he struggled to rise, his lower lip already having swollen to the point that he was finding it difficult to articulate his thoughts, "I wasch."

"That's a dangerous spot to be sitting!" the speaker, who extended his hand to assist him up, said. "You can't be seen from inside, so someone can open the door and smack you with it."

"Oh, really?" Edward asked, grimacing in agony as he finally was able to raise himself to his feet. "You don't shay..."

He saw his inadvertent assailant and eager assistant for the first time now. He was an orc, with large teeth, green skin and not a lot of hair. "I'm Graman gro-Marad," he introduced himself.

"I would shay pleashed to meet you," Edward said, spitting blood out of his mouth, "but shum pleashures go a long way..."

Graman shifted his weight, seeming very apologetic. "Look here, I'm terribly sorry," he repeated. His expression brightened. "Say, maybe I can make it up to you!"

"I doubt it," Edward replied, trying to determine what hurt more -- his swollen and swelling face, his battered and aching back, or his wounded and stinging pride. "Very musch..."

"Well, I work at the inn here, and I'm sure I could get you a room, so that you can rest up for a bit," Graman told him. "And of course we can get you whatever food or drink you need, too."

Edward scowled -- at least, as best as he could when his face was inflated and stiff -- at the eager orc. Nonetheless, though he hated to lessen Graman's guilt, the offer seemed like a good one. "Alright," he said. "Schince I'm nearly dead, I schuppose I have no choisch..."

The orc flinched at his words, but gently led him into the inn. If Edward had ached any less, he would have pretended to be more injured and sore than he already was; as it was, however, he hurt so badly that he could not imagine feigning further injury.

Graman got the door for him, led him inside, spoke a few hurried words to the publican, an Altmer named Ormil, and then led him to a room off to the left. On the way, Edward noted that the inn had a fair selection of foods, and a goodly supply of alchol.

"Now," Graman said as he opened the door and stepped aside to let Edward into the room, "is there anything that I can get you?"

"Schomething to dull this pain," Edward moaned. "Do you have any liquor?"

"Oh, yes, of course," Graman answered. "I'll get it right away."

"And!" Edward exclaimed, stopping the orc in his tracks. "And schome food...lotsh of food."

"Food?" the orc asked. "Are you sure you'll be able to eat?"

"Of coursh!" Edward snapped. "I have to eat to...to regain my shtrength!"

"Oh, yes," Graman replied. "I see."

"And bring lotsh of alcohol," Edward called after the orc. "I'm in scho much pain!"

[treydog]

No worries about the delay- we will always be ready for more of our favorite bounder.

On the letter, I am guessing (without going back and looking) that the original was penned by Jauffre?

"That's what I pay you for!" Edward finished.

The valet coughed. "Oh, about that, sir," he started.

He's a Robber from the Hood, so to speak,

If Edward had ached any less, he would have pretended to be more injured and sore than he already was; as it was, however, he hurt so badly that he could not imagine feigning further injury.

And of course there are Edward's confused (does he do any other kind?) musings on criminality- his own and the generally disappointing nature of criminal enterprise in Tamriel at the end of the 3E....

[mALX]

ARGH !!! Treydog quoted my fave lines already !!!!!!! I had to go back and re-read Edward's experience with the door of the sanctuary - that is almost one of my fave chapters in his DB experiences, lol.