Interregnum, 854 of the Second Era Options

[treydog]

Woo-Hoo! Dar’Zhan and K’Sharra are back! Things are about to get even more interesting.

There were two interior monologues that really made this chapter-

Alorius recalling Talos' instructions on how to deal with Farenenre- and Renald considering that his honor and obligation have caused him to back the wrong Emperor.

The rich descriptions of the docks and of the crowd thronging the Arena really bring the world to life.

“Syffim,” he said.

As one they turned to face him.

“What is your will, my lord” asked Chirasch.

Renald looked to each of them in turn. “Survive. No matter what it takes, no matter who or what you have to slay in there. Survive!”

Once again, his syffim spoke in unison. “Yes, my lord.”

That was one inspiring, chilling moment!

[haute ecole rider]

There is a grand chessmaster in this story, and I'm having a bit of trouble figuring him/her out.

The most obvious candidate, of course, is General Talos. However, on further consideration, one cannot disregard Arcturus, or Chevalier Renard.

I'm happy to see my favorite young Khajiit again. Though he has but a small part in your story, his connection to Oblivion (and Julian) endears K'sharra to me. Do I sense a foreshadowing of a greater part for him to come?

The more I see of your Tsaesci, the more I enjoy getting to know them. They are complex, more than just three-dimensional, and while I find them exotic, they resonate with me on a deeper level of understanding. Their sense of honor, of loyalty, of duty to each other is admirable.

Alorius is becoming quite the personality - more than just Talos's yes man but also his co-conspirator.

You continue to enthrall me with this epic. It's up there with Robert Ludlum's best.

[Acadian]

I also enjoyed the description of the docks area.

Wonderful, flowing dialogue (of course).

Like treydog, my spine tingled over your ending here. I quite like these Tsaesci.

Now if others are pondering things like who is the chessmaster and wondering at the grand machinations unfurling here, you can just imagine poor me. I think I need a sweet roll!

[SubRosa]

Poor Farenenre, he smells so bad even people at the fish market won't go near him! Alorius played him like a piano, and the entire time, we see the image of Talos standing behind him. Quite a piece of fast work to fix their sticky situation!

And Dar'Zhan and K’Sharra again I see. Now I am wondering if Talos plans to have them wrangle up every rat from the sewer and drive them into the palace!

Finally, off to the Arena we go! Ever since it was mentioned, I have been wondering why Cuchelain would send the Tsaesci to fight in the Arena. My guesses are two. One, he wants to show them off, not only to the city, but especially to Talos. Basically a way of saying "look at what a badass I am with these guys on my team!" Guess #2 is that he wants the other three dead in order to isolate Renald, a first move to making him the replacement for Farenenre.

The comments by the Tsaesci themselves I found most moving of the segment. Their observation that they were being used as entertainment for the lowest common denominator of Cyrodiilic society. It is a real slap in the face after all they have endured for the Empire, and in the end it can only drive them all deeper into the arms of Talos.

[Linara]

Yay, K'Sharra is back! I must also agree that the Tsaesci are intriguing and complicated characters. I trust they'll smash their opponents into oblivion

[Destri Melarg]

A very special thank you goes out to SageRosa for comments that she made way back at the Battle of Fort Black Boot. Those comments bore fruit in the last chapter with the reintroduction of Dar’Zhan and K’Sharra.

mALX – Sorry for keeping you waiting so long. I tried to condense the next two segments into one post for your benefit, but I was unsuccessful. You’re just going to have to suffer a bit longer.

trey – I was a little worried about the passage that you quoted. I thought that I might be laying it on a bit thick. I am glad that you found it inspiring and chilling. And speaking of interior monologues . . .

hautee – The grand chessmaster of this story has had to improvise as things have gone sideways, but his/her identity remains the same.

I am not surprised to hear that the Tsaesci resonate within you. Reading Julian’s story it is hard not to feel that they are cut from the same cloth.

And K’Sharra’s role, though small, is vital in what lies ahead.

Acadian – The fact that these Tseasci resonate is incredibly gratifying. I said long ago that Renald was my favorite character in this story, and that has not changed.

I must apologize to you because I had it all prepared, but in the writing of this segment I forgot to add your sweetroll!

SageRosa – Are you slowly coming to the conclusion that this is a day that Farenenre should have just stayed in bed?

You are not far off the mark in your speculation about Talos’ plans for Dar’zhan and K’Sharra. And both of your guesses about Cuhlecain’s motives are correct. As for the idea that the Emperor’s actions serve only to drive the Tsaesci into Talos’ arms . . .

Linara – Hopefully this next segment will further complicate the Tsaesci. Smashing opponents into Oblivion is still to come.

* * *

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


Prior Sanne preferred the church as embodied by the Arena to the more conventional Temple of the One. Truth be told, he preferred it over the Chapel of Akatosh in his home city of Kvatch, but he would never admit either of those facts to anyone. His appointment to the council depended on his reputation for piety. A prior with a fondness for gold and a taste for the grape was not the image that he wished to convey. His presence in the Emperor’s box was a duty performed at the Emperor’s request. The fact that he so intently watched the clash of weapons on the sands below him was testament to his willingness to be subjected to the more 'common' forms of entertainment, and had nothing whatsoever to do with the substantial amount of gold that he had wagered on the yellow team.

Seated to his left, Synnius Carbo waved away yet another vintage that had proven to be an affront to his magnificent palate. By this time the beleaguered servants had made eight trips to the Arena’s wine stores, and eight times their choice had been found wanting. This last effort had been positively crippled, lacking in both nose and legs. Worse, the offending libation had been spilled by an incompetent servant, nearly staining to lamentable ruin a green silk outfit that had cost fifty gold in the Market District. Despite suffering the repeated indignities of substandard servants and inferior grape, Carbo’s spirits remained uplifted. Seated in the Emperor’s box he preened for the common folk who, he was sure, paid more attention to him than to the woeful exhibition of soldiery taking place on the sands below. The only thing that could prove dampening to his mood was the storm clouds that gathered in the skies above.

_____

Varla Direnni sat behind the two Councilors and seriously contemplated bloodletting. Not the fierce bloodletting of necessity as being demonstrated by the combatants below her. Or even the satisfying bloodletting gained by throttling the ineffectual fops that shared the Emperor’s box with her. No, her anger was reserved for the brother who had chosen this as the time to make himself absent from his post in Balfiera. Damn him! She thought to herself. How long does he expect me to placate the Emperor? He told me that he could deliver High Rock. Now I am left to stand for his empty promise.

The guards behind her parted to admit Emero into the box. Varla’s eyes met his, and his almost imperceptible shake of head gave new fuel to her ire. Still no word, she thought. Could they have been waylaid on the voyage from Glenumbria? And why make that silly journey in the first place? Nothing that Aran had done of late made any sense to her. Her own actions had been carefully shaped to give her options in the event that she had to choose a side, but her brother was leaving her with scant reason to choose his.

“. . .Lady Direnni?”

The sound of her name pulled her from thoughts of Aran. She looked into the well fed and inquiring face of Synnius Carbo.

“My apologies, Lord Carbo,” Varla said, “I must have been lost in thought.”

“Something quite vexing, I imagine,” said Carbo. “It is shameful to see a brow as beautiful as yours so knit on a day of celebration.”

“Mundane concerns, I assure you. Was your lordship asking a question?”

“I merely wished to know if you were enjoying the match,” said Carbo.

I would enjoy it more if you stood on the sands! “Truthfully, I find it terribly wasteful, my lord.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

Because, unlike you, those men are worth something. “Those men represent the cream of Imperial combatants, do they not? Would they not be of more use in legion armor, instead of raiments of blue and yellow?”

Prior Sanne turned in his chair. “In times of war these men are deployed onto fields of battle. During peace they hone their skill in the Arena, and prove useful entertaining the masses.”

Not to mention lining your purse when they win. “By dying needlessly?” asked Varla.

“By tempering those who survive,” said Prior Sanne. “In war those who have braved Arena sands rarely meet their match on the battlefield. Even your elven blades are forged in fire, Lady Direnni.”

Would that I could have an elven blade in my hand right now! “But the mind is a far more powerful weapon than any sword, my dear Prior. To use your own analogy, I see only waste in burning through a forest of fertile minds in order to forge a single blade.”

“You give too much credit to their minds,” said Lord Farenenre as he entered the Emperor’s box smelling of perfume and, strangely enough, slaughterfish. “It is my experience that most of these men provide little benefit apart from that which can be gained by use of their sword arms.”

“Indeed,” said Prior Sanne.

Varla’s response was lost in the cheer that erupted from the crowd around them. Looking to the sands, she saw that the blue team gladiator had ended the battle by crushing his opponent’s skull with a very large hammer. Prior Sanne slumped into his chair like a man just told of his imminent demise.

“Better fortune, Sanne,” said Synnius Carbo, laughing.

“I hope that you have some gold on reserve, prior,” said Farenenre. “This next match should prove a far more worthwhile diversion than any you have seen thus far.”

“And why is that?” asked Varla.

Another voice spoke before Farenenre could. “Because the next match features the Tsaesci, Lady Direnni.”

Varla saw the color leave Farenenre’s face. The Altmer turned abruptly and pretended to be occupied viewing the porters in the act of removing the yellow team gladiator from the sands. She turned toward the source of the voice. Zurin Arctus moved past the guards and entered the Emperor’s box. He wore the robe of a mage, but he held himself erect, like a man accustomed to carrying a blade.

Emero stood. “Milady, I have the honor of presenting Master Zurin Arctus, the Imperial Battlemage.”

Arctus bowed his greeting. “It is indeed a privilege to finally make your acquaintance, Lady Direnni.”

Varla favored him with a smile. “I am honored, Master Arctus. I believe you have already met Emero.”

“Earlier, yes,” said Arctus, extending a nod toward Emero. He turned his attention back to Varla. “Your invitation was well-received. I look forward to dining with you this evening.”

“As do I,” said Varla.

“Now please, Lady Direnni,” said Arctus, “allow me the pleasure of introducing you to General Talos Stormcrown.”

Every eye in the Emperor’s box turned to greet General Talos as he entered trailed by Captain Alorius. Talos was resplendent in his armor, and he nodded a short greeting to each of the councilors before his eyes settled on Varla.

“Lady Direnni,” he said, “this meeting is long overdue.”

Varla was at a loss for words. This man exudes power the way that Farenenre exudes scent, she thought. When at last she found her tongue it was only to say, “it is indeed, general.” Why did I not invite this man to dinner instead of the battlemage?

Any answer to that unspoken question was interrupted by the blaring trumpets that heralded the arrival of the Emperor. The crowd craned their necks and lent their eyes to the box for a brief glimpse of the pointed head upon which sat the Red Diamond Crown. Cuhlecain swept into the box dwarfed by his retinue of guards and trailed by the undulating coils of the Chevalier Renald. To a man, the gathered guests stood to mark his arrival, which further shielded him from the view of his subjects.

The Emperor climbed into a raised facsimile of the ruby throne placed in the front center of the box. As he settled into the seat, those seeking his favor scrambled to find accommodation with easy access to the throne. It was a testament to Farenenre’s reflexes and agility that he was able to find himself seated on the Emperor’s right hand. Prior Sanne and Synnius Carbo engaged in a brief struggle whose intensity rivaled any seen thus far on the sands below to gain access to the chair on the Emperor’s left. It was a contest that ended with Carbo flattering the Emperor while Prior Sanne treated himself with a spell of healing and took his place in the seat two places removed.

Varla sat behind the Emperor, with Zurin Arctus to her right, and General Talos to her left. Arctus’ chair placed him directly behind Farenenre and, for the second time, Varla noted the clear discomfort that Arctus’ presence caused the foul-smelling Altmer. Arctus seemed to note it as well, and Varla was struck by the sudden realization that Arctus’ position did not come about by chance. She turned toward General Talos.

“I trust the Castellan is well, milady,” said Talos, in a voice that did not carry past their row of chairs.

Is he? “He is,” said Varla. Why would he inquire about my brother?

“These are dangerous times along the Reach,” said Zurin Arctus. “I hope whatever business drew him there was worth the effort.”

The Reach? What in Dagon’s name is he doing there? Talos and Arctus are formidable indeed if they know more of my brother’s movements than I. I cannot bluff my way past this. “Truth be told, I was unaware of my brother’s presence in the Reach. I cannot imagine what business drew him there.”

“I suspected as much,” said Talos. “A meeting with the King of Worms is not something that one is likely to advertise.”

The King of Worms? Has he lost his mind? She turned toward Emero. The surprise in her eyes was mirrored in his. A thought came upon her then with such intensity that it nearly undid her self-control. She felt her hands begin to shake. Where is Lattia?

“I imagine that is why he travels alone,” said Arctus, “with only a small retainer of guards to attend him.”

Word from Balfiera stated that he took the Pelladil to Glenumbria. If he now travels the Reach alone then he must have left Lattia with the ship. She felt relief flood through her, but it was quickly replaced by even more uncertainty. But the Pelladil has not returned to Balfiera. The question became a knife, stabbing into her mind until want of an answer drew her close to screaming it aloud. Where is my sister?

She felt the touch of Talos’ hand upon her arm. She turned and looked into concerned eyes.

“You have friends, milady,” he said. “Friends who are prepared to act should you find yourself at need.”

For a brief instant she actually believed that Talos could be of dragon blood. In that blood could be the key to saving Lattia . . . if she yet lives. She could not let him see her weakness. Her gaze moved past him towards the Tsaesci captain who was watching their exchange. In a single glance she understood the power that fueled Tsaesci legend. Even though his attention was rooted on General Talos, she was still held transfixed in wonder by the sight of the forked tongue and golden scales. But whereas most felt their own fear embodied in the sight of those slitted eyes, Varla saw past that to a well of sorrow and worry even more profound than her own.

The Emperor’s raised voice broke her from the trance.

“Begin the match,” he said.

_____

For several moments the Emperor’s words could find no purchase in Renald’s ears. The very man that they had traversed through half of Tamriel to find now sat but an arm’s length away, yet Renald was powerless to act. Could the old witch have been mistaken? Renald thought. Is this man the true heir to the Reman Dynasty? He saw the way he interacted with the woman, she trusted him. The Emperor and his toadies did not.

Renald could no longer trust his own judgement. What has my judgement wrought? I nearly killed my syffim in the cold of the mountains, and in the cave with the dragon. Now my judgement leads them to fight for their lives on Arena sands, and I am helpless to lend them aid. A better leader would have seen them to Necrom. He would have secured a ship to carry them back home. He would not have bent to the false hope held in the ramblings of a blind witch in the forest!

Neither of the men seated before him bore a resemblance to the Remans that he had served so long ago. They did not share the Reman’s eye color. They were both of a different size. Even the way that they carried themselves did not match the image of Reman III that Renald still carried in his mind. And neither man wore the Chim El-Adabal, even though the witch claimed that it had been recovered at Sancre Tor. False! Both of them, false! And now my syffim must pay the price for my repeated lapses in judgment!

“Begin the match,” the Emperor had said. Only now did those words ring through Renald’s ears. His tongue captured the scent of the impending storm, and his fingers closed around the hilt of his katana.

This post has been edited by Destri Melarg: Oct 14 2010, 09:48 AM

[Remko]

As usual, you have me on the edge of my seat routing for Renald. "KillHimKillHim, stab the miserable short little excuse for an emperor through his cowardly heart."

[mALX]

This chapter was not the one I was expecting, but has to be added to my list of favorites - Varla's inner dialogue really plays with the emotions of the reader

- at first bringing laughter, then reeling with her when she hears about her brother and her mind turns to Lattia - (at odds with how they snipe at each other like sisters when together in the early chapters, here is the truth of how deep their kinship runs. Real emotions experienced just reading that section !!

- and then Varla being able to read Renald's emotions in those snake eyes - that was a huge moment !!! My first thought was wondering if he knew she saw that in him? Did he allow her to see his moment of weakness?

I was really surprised at his thoughts, I never expected him to have doubts, or feel he was without power in any situation! Shocking to me, because I thought he was playing them into his own hands till I read that!


Just two of my fave lines:


- "strangely enough, slaughterfish" -

"This man exudes power the way that Farenenre exudes scent"

This post has been edited by mALX: Oct 8 2010, 04:49 AM

[haute ecole rider]

mALX already quoted two of my favorite lines.

I loved how you set the scene in the Emperor's box before three of the most charismatic actors showed up (Zurin Arctus, Talos Stormcrown, and Chevalier Reynard) - Varla was carrying the whole scene on her own for a while. Her observations of the interplay between Farenenre and Arctus were fascinating. She has truly earned a place among the most interesting characters in this story (and there are not a few of them, so the company is pretty exalted). The fact that the Emperor is introduced almost as an afterthought toward the end of this segment further emphasizes his weak rule.

Please, more.

[SubRosa]

Synnius Carbo? I think this must be the ancestor of Trooper Carbo, who trained Athlain in Vvardenfell! Yeesh, what a serious cloaca he is too! I would have spilled the wine all over him and his fancy velvet outfit too after 8 trips!

It is good to see Varla again. She and I are of the same mind when it comes to the Arena I see (not to mention concerning the Councilors!). It is a rather sad statement that a high elf from High Rock has more regard for the lives of Imperial soldiers than do the leaders of the Empire.

However, what really strikes me again are her feelings for her sister. Her love for Lattia resonates through every action she takes. That was apparent before, but only reinforced now that she has met Talos and Arctus.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Oct 7 2010, 04:35 PM

[Acadian]

Wow! Just wow!

Your interactions among the players in the Emperor's box was both magnificent and naturally flowing. What a delight to listen in on Varla's thoughts.

I quite adore how you have expanded this dimension of self-doubt in Renald. I find myself agreeing with you about being a favorite character from a cast of many wonderful characters.

Reading your prose is always both humbling and inspirational, my friend!

[Linara]

Everyone else has already voiced my own appreciation for your work, but I must say, Amazing! Varla's dialogue was both entertaining and captivating, as she interacted with various members of the Emperor's box. Once again I felt myself feeling empathetic towards Renald and his syffim, after all they have gone through, and still success grows more distant. A bit of a cliffhanger here, I wait anxiously for the next chapter!

[treydog]

Again, you begin strongly, with brilliant characterizations of a couple of less-than-admirable illustres… And the fact that they are his guests reflects on the Emperor. “You will know them by the company they keep.”

And I cheered Varla’s every unspoken thought.

The wonderfully ironic symbolism of Cuhlecain’s “pointed head” and the fact that everyone in the royal box overtops him was delicious. And it was clearly not lost on Varla.

And another incredible conclusion to match the excellence of the beginning.

Only one nit:

Neither of the men seated before him bore a resemblance to the Reman’s that he had served

Plural, but not possessive- "Remans."

This post has been edited by treydog: Oct 9 2010, 02:23 AM

[Destri Melarg]

Remko – Sorry to do this to you, but Renald’s actions are going to have to wait through one more chapter.

mALX – Having grown up around seven aunts (three on my mother’s side, four on my father’s), I know all too well how sisters can snipe at each other. I also know the lengths to which they are prepared to go to protect each other.

I don’t think Renald even noticed Varla. He was too busy fixating on Talos. His doubts concerning his own actions spring from his love of his syffim. vs. his unwavering devotion to duty. Above all else, he wants to do right by both of those imperatives.

hautee – The entire scene in the Emperor’s box was planned to give Varla some weight. As the reader, you have to believe that she is a character who can hold her own in the company of such illustrious men. I am glad that, for you at least, I was able to get that across.

And you absolutely nailed my intention concerning the introduction of the Emperor as an afterthought.

SubRosa – The only thing that Synnius Carbo has in common with Trooper Carbo is a last name. I weep for the Empire if ‘my’ Carbo’s family is set to defend it.

I am not surprised to hear that you share Varla’s sentiments concerning the Arena. In all of your writing about Teresa I think it is only mentioned in passing.

Acadian – Thank you so much! One of the things that first inspired me to write this story was the tale of Renald. Because there wasn’t a lot of information about him in the lore, I was able to project upon him some very human emotion. His self-doubt just makes him more real to me.

Linara –

Once again I felt myself feeling empathetic toward Renald and his syffim, after all they have gone through, and still success grows more distant.

I could not have said it better than that. Thank you, Linara. You will learn more of Renald and his syffim in this chapter.

trey – I am glad that you caught that ‘pointed head’ line, and the fact that, when all those in the box stand, they block the Emperor from view. I am trying very hard to be even-handed in my portrayal of Cuhlecain, but sometimes I just can’t help myself!

Thank you pointing out the annoying nit. It has been fixed.

* * *

Centuries Past
The Imperial Palace, Po’Tun, Akavir
Evening


Three golden serpents kept to the shadows caused by the clouds shrouding the full moon, and waited patiently to begin hunting the king of tigers.

“Now,” Chirasch whispered.

They moved as one, with Chirasch in the lead. Their shadows slithered through the darkness and began to climb the high wall to the Palace courtyard. At the top of the wall Chirasch held them with a raised fist. His forked tongue tasted the shifting wind. There is fear in the air, he thought to himself, can it be they are aware of our presence? His tongue captured a familiar scent, and it drew his mind back to the task at hand.

“Vershu and the others are in position,” he said in quiet tones. “We must be swift.”

Ephirian nodded his solemn understanding. Yviasch smiled and drew his wakizashi.

“I will take the first cut,” he said.

“No brother,” said Chirasch. “In your zeal to dispatch the one, you would leave the other to raise the alarm. We will take them together, as one.”

With two fingers he pointed down the length of the wall. Ephirian turned and began to move into position. Yviasch lingered, the wakizashi clutched in a tightening grip.

“Put it away, now is not the time,” said Chirasch. “The wind lifts the clouds; if light catches your naked blade all could be lost.” His voice softened, “glory shall be yours, brother. But not at the expense of the mission.”

Yviasch returned the blade to his side and moved to join Ephirian. Chirasch watched them glide silently into position before he looked down into the courtyard below.

Two of the Po’Tun guarded the gate directly below them. The rest of the courtyard stood empty, with shadows shrinking from the light of scattered torches along the wall. Chirasch raised his hand and waited . . . then he lowered it with a flourish. As one the three Tsaesci left their perch along the wall and dropped upon the unsuspecting tiger-men below. In a flash of Akaviri steel and the rush of warm blood that pooled black in the moonlight, it was over.

“Open the gate,” Chirasch hissed.

Ephirian and Yviasch unlocked the gate and used their combined strength to pry it open. Eight shadows slithered through the breach and hid themselves in the darkened corners of the courtyard. The ninth shadow wound its way to within an arm’s length of Chirasch before the golden scales were revealed in the light cast by one of the torches.

“The courtyard is secure my lord,” said Chirasch. “I have seen no activity from the palace, but I sense fear in the air. Perhaps our presence has been detected.”

“Perhaps,” said Vershu, in a sibilant hiss that carried softly on the wind. “But it matters not. You have done well.” He turned toward the courtyard. “Usaes, Thoranizon, Shisazu, Musisi, and Fazyit with me. Xarsien, take Akal and Akeshi to the left flank. Chirasch, Yviasch and Ephirian take the right. Swiftness and surprise are our greatest allies tonight; their fear shall be their undoing.”

Again they moved as one, and found silent entry into the palace through untended windows. Through shadowed halls they remained invisible, yet with each forward undulation the unease within Chirasch’s breast grew. He tasted the air, it smelled of fear and death and ash. It cannot be this easy, he thought. Where are the guards? Looking to his left, he could see Vershu’s main force advancing slowly, cautiously. Vershu feels it too. Something is not right.

By the time they reached the throne room the silence had become deafening. The room itself was bathed in darkness. Chirasch led his portion of the syffim along the left wall with his blade drawn, his tongue piercing the air in an attempt to give name to the dread that filled his heart.

A familiar scent froze him a second before Vershu’s raised voice filled the throne room.

“Syffim, move!”

Without thinking, Chirasch dove forward and further to his right. In mid-air his eyes darted left, and he saw a long spear of flame shoot toward the center of their line from the back of the throne room. Vershu’s order was too late, both Tharonizon and Shisazu were caught and engulfed by the blast. The fire filled the room with the light of a thousand torches, and in that light Chirasch saw the coiled, tiger-striped scales that marked the source of the fire.

There are no dragons left in Po’Tun! He thought, as he rose from the floor. He felt a shape on the wall behind him and turned. In the fading light outcroppings appeared on the wall that could provide handholds toward high balconies above.

“Up,” he yelled toward the two who followed him. They executed the order, slithering up the wall. Chirasch watched them disappear into the darkness, then he sheathed his blade and turned back to the center of the room.

The flames had been spent; darkness was swiftly reclaiming the throne room. In the dying light Chirasch could see the tiger-striped scales unwind. It was indeed a dragon, larger than any he had ever seen. Fear closed a taloned hand around his heart and began to squeeze. He launched himself up the wall. Behind him a powerful voice rumbled like thunder through the throne room.

“Behold Tsaesci,” it said, “no longer am I the Po’Tun that you once knew. I shall lead my Empire into a new age that begins tonight with your end. I am Tosh Raka, and Akavir is mine!”

“Syffim, withdraw!” Vershu’s voice carried throughout the room.

While still clinging to the wall, Chirasch saw Ephirian’s shadow leap from the balcony toward the door exiting the room. Yviasch’s shadow lingered, and before the light completely faded Chirasch saw the gleam of his wakizashi.

“Yviasch, no!” The words left his mouth before he could stop them. He turned back to the center of the room in time to see the dragon’s head turn toward the sound. Above him, Yviasch’s shadow took flight.

“For Tsaesci!” Yviasch cried.

Chirasch released his grip on the wall. Time slowed to a crawl. With each pounding heartbeat Chirasch felt himself drop closer to the ground, while above him he saw his brother fly closer to the dragon’s head. He saw the opening of the beast’s jaws and the sharp, glistening teeth within, each one longer than any Tsaesci. No!

Chirasch felt the heat from the dragon’s blast. It scorched his eyes and singed his tongue. It lit the throne room and the roar rendered silent all other sound. He hit the floor and rolled with the impact. He forced his burning eyes to look up. In the space of a single breath his brother was engulfed by the flames and was no more. Chirasch saw the wakizashi bounce off the stone floor like a splinter between giant clawed feet.

Tosh Raka lowered his head and turned toward him. Their eyes locked and the dragon smiled a challenge. Chirasch knew that he could not hope to defeat the creature, but just the same he drew his dai-katana and stood resolved to make a memorable account of himself in his passing.

A katana sprouted like a needle in the side of the dragon’s neck. The dragon turned toward the center of the room where the fading light revealed Vershu waving his arms without a sword. In that same instant, Chirasch felt a strong hand grasp his shoulder. He turned.

“Chirasch! Do not be a fool!” A voice said.

Chirasch recognized the speaker. “Xarsien?”

Xarsien nodded once. “We have to leave, now!”

“But Yviasch . . .”

“Gone,” said Xarsien, “he’s gone.”

He felt himself swept toward the exit. In the center of the room he saw Vershu evade the dragon’s jaws to reclaim Yviasch’s wakizashi.

“We must aid Vershu,” said Chirasch.

“Our orders are to withdraw,” said Xarsien, “Vershu can fend for himself.”

They reached the hall. Behind them the dragon’s breath relit the darkened throne room. The rest of their syffim closed around them.

“Where is Vershu?” asked Akal.

Xarsien turned toward the throne room.

“And Yviasch?” asked Ephirian.

“Gone,” said Chirasch, “with Tharonizon and Shisazu.”

“We will continue our withdrawal,” said Usaes. “Move!”

They moved again, with thoughts of light and shadow lost in their headlong flight through the halls. They exited through the same windows that they had used to gain entrance. Once in the courtyard, they each turned back toward the palace.

“By the Great Serpent, was it a dragon?” asked Fazyit.

“It was,” said Usaes. “One larger than any I have ever seen.”

“It shared coloring with the Po’Tun,” said Akal, “it claimed to have been a Po’Tun.”

“Whatever it claims,” said Xarsien, “it is our enemy.”

“Look to the window!” said Ephirian.

A shadow shot through the window an instant before a long column of flame followed, piercing the night sky. In the light provided by the flame the syffim could see the shadow form into golden scales that twisted in mid-air above them.

“Vershu,” said Fazyit, with a voice made quiet in reverence.

The snake captain landed rolling amongst them. He rolled to a stop and rose with his scales smouldering.

“How many?” asked Vershu.

“Three, my lord,” said Xarsien. “Tharonizon, Shisazu . . . and Yviasch.”

“We journey back to Tsaesci,” he said, “the Emperor must be made aware of this.”

As the syffim moved, Chirasch lingered. Vershu moved alongside him.

“I know your mind, old friend,” the snake captain said, “but we could not afford to lose four tonight.” He produced Yviasch's wakizashi. The blade was stained black in the moonlight. It was offered hilt-first to Chirasch. “I drew blood, for Yviasch. His sacrifice made good our escape. Hang this in the halls of Tsaesci, that it may bring peace to his restless spirit.”

Chirasch took the blade and bowed. “Thank you, my lord.”

“Do not thank me, he was also my brother. All three were.”

“I would take vengeance,” said Chirasch.

“And so you shall. But first, we must regroup. And we must regain our numbers.”

“There is no replacing what I have lost this night.”

Vershu placed a hand on Chirasch’s shoulder. “No, there is not. But there is one, barely more than a hatchling, who shows great promise.”

“He will never be Yviasch,” said Chirasch.

“But he will be one of us,” said Vershu. “As such, he will also be your brother. His name is Eesham-Sha.”

_____

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


“It’s time,” said the Blademaster.

The scrape of the whetstone against his katana ceased. Xarsien placed the stone on the floor, grabbed his shield, and rose for battle. Next to him, Eesham stretched to his full height and tasted the blood-scented air.

Chirasch wiped the veil of memory from his eyes. It took a moment for him to remember that he sat in the bloodworks of the Imperial City in Tamriel, and not in the courtyard of the Imperial Palace in Po’Tun. He cast a look into the eyes of his syffim, his brothers. We are all that remain, he thought. Vershu cannot stand with us, today it falls to me. He felt the familiar weight of his dai-katana on his back. He reached up to loosen it in the scabbard, and followed his brothers toward the darkened, blood-stained tunnel.

This post has been edited by Destri Melarg: Oct 15 2010, 02:24 AM

[mALX]

WHEW !!!! And GAAAAH! Where was Renald? Was the plan of this night what drove his turmoil at the Arena? GAAAAH!

I was surprised by the vocal commands for some reason, thinking they would use silent signals - but I guess when facing a dragon the point of silence is moot. - ARGH !!!

Awesome Chapter - I exhaled three minutes after I read the last line !!!!!

[ureniashtram]

Wow! Just wow! I simply LOVE the names of them Tsaeci! No, really! Shizasu, Chirasch Versu... WOW! Been reading any mangas recently?

I also love the way you showed Tosh Raka! Simply astounded, is what I can say to my current predicament. And this chapter is the cause of that! I just love reminiscing, yes?

I hope we see more of this 'backstory', if I may call it that. Yes, I'm eagerly awaiting the next chapter.

[haute ecole rider]

Chirasch's reminiscence is straight out of the classic warrior tales of ancient China, Japan and Korea! Whew!

I recall reading somewhere in the Lore of the Po'Tun's transformation into dragon(s), and was delighted to see this here. You have made this come to life out of the mists of time.

Then the transition from a magical time and place of mythical heroism to the gritty reality of the Roman Arena is genius!

[Linara]

Dragons and Tsaesci fighting! Well, almost fighting. It's good to get some more backstory on the syffim. And I agree with h.e.r., the transition was startling, from the lore time to the Arena. I'm betting on the syffim by the way, are they yellow or blue?

One nit:

In the dying light Chirasch could see the tiger-stiped

Tiger-striped perhaps?

[Destri Melarg]

WHEW !!!! And GAAAAH! Where was Renald? Was the plan of this night what drove his turmoil at the Arena? GAAAAH!

Vershu is the Chevalier Renald. He adopted the name 'Renald' after the death of Reman III at the hands of the Morag Tong. My own interpretation of events is that his failure to stop the assassination convinced him that he was no longer worthy of the name 'Vershu'. I am still playing around with the idea that Vershu is a title given to those Tsaesci who show great skill in battle. Sorry for the confusion.

[treydog]

Every time I think you cannot possibly make the Tsaesci more interesting, you prove me wrong. The discovery of the Po’Tun dragon was amazing. That encounter and its aftermath left my heart racing.

Oh noes! You can’t stop there! I absolutely love the history you give to the Tsaesci and the added depth it provides them.

This was a powerful addition to Vershu's history.

One nit noted:

yet with each forward undulation of his tale

Wrong sort of tail, I believe…