Interregnum, 854 of the Second Era Options

[haute ecole rider]

Ahhh, a mystery!

I love how you interweave what happened in that box (and kept us hanging concerning what did happen in that box) with the aftermath (the interrogations of the witnesses).

The Arena engagement from the POV of the Tsaesci was awesome - I was there on the sands with them.
The description of the battle with the trolls from the POV of those in the box was also well done - I found myself sitting in the stands watching the action on the sands.

I bet this was a challenge to write, and I think you have risen to it and performed admirably.

SGM!

[Linara]

Yes Interregnum!!! It's been too long... You continue to weave a magnificent story, as we glimpse who the true snakes are. As Rider said, the mixing of 'then' and 'now' provided a captivating piece.

Varla could not help herself. She turned in her chair and glanced toward the back of the Emperor’s box. The Tsaesci captain remained impassive, but Varla could see past the blank look on his face to the growing torrent in his eyes. One golden hand was wrapped around the hilt of the sword at his side, and that hand shook with the emotion that the valiant creature was trying to quell.

Well. My favorite paragraph in a while. It brings out the anger and sadness that runs through the chapter and turns it into us wanting Cuhlecain gone/killed/disappeared. Really makes Cuhlecain seem even more despicable...

On a side note, I finally found out where you got 'Destri' from. Kudos on getting that

[SubRosa]

The trouble with real windows in Oblivion is that the interior of every building is a separate zone. Its door actually teleports you to that zone when you use it. That is why you get that load time whenever you go into a shop. To have real windows, the interior of the building would have to be part of the same zone as the area outside. Cities actually work the same way. The interior is a separate zone from the outside world. That is why the levitate spell was removed from Oblivion. Because if you levitated up from within a city, you would just see an empty world around you.

The model of the house would also require a hole in it where the window is. That would work for an open window. But if you had a pane of glass then you would be in real trouble. To show the texture of the glass, you need a model. But if you have a model covering that space, it is no longer open. The reason we 'see' windows is simply because a picture of a window is laid on top of a solid model.

But, back to the longest day (will John Wayne or Henry Fonda be making an appearance?)

Trolls? I feel sorry for the people who had to capture them and bring them to the Imperial City! Hmm, perhaps you could do it with pits to first catch them, and then use Drain Fatigue spells to knock them out long enough to put them in a cage.

The trolls didn't have frickin laser beams in their heads? Sheesh! what does Cuhlecain pay those people for!

I liked the touch of using talents as a unit of measure for gold. It is not only an excellent bit of flavor, but also firmly establishes the parties involved as ultra-rich.

Two fights? With the second against ogres? (I imagine they trapped those using potato bread as bait...) Now that is just cheating!

This was a very interesting post, given the way it both jumps back and forth in time, and also between characters being interviewed. It must have been very difficult to write. When I came to the first change in pov/time I admit I was befuddled for a moment. But once I saw what you were doing, it all flowed back and forth very smoothly. All in all, an excellent piece of writing!

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Nov 19 2010, 09:49 PM

[Winter Wolf]

Oh no!! I have a lot of catching up to do. Again...Rest assured, my friend, I will eventually make it, your writing is always one of the most thrilling things I have ever read. Lady Direnni, Arctus, the Tsaesci, this is a tale (or is that tail ) like no other.

We, as readers, lose our sense of time and place when we consume Interregnum, such is the talent of your writing. Where is the point that the lore ends and your freelance interpretation begins?? Nobody knows!!
You should put a warning- Do not read while operating moving machinery....lol

[mALX]

GAAAAH!!! The dirty double-crosser! ...and poor Renald !!! ARGH !!!!!! He will never be able to live down his guilt if he loses what remains of his syffim in the Arena! ARGH !!!

[Olen]

Nicely done, that was admirably smooth, the jumping forwards and back was a good way to tell both without either dragging.

As ever the characters were very well done, you certainly have strong ones there and they're engaging in intregue which is hard to write but brilliant when it's pulled off well, and you've certanly done that. I sense that day was somewhat of a turning point in affairs and the soft politicing may be past with the death of the prior. I'll be interested to see how it develops (and I still think Farenenre has it coming sooner or later).

A single candle served as a bulwark against the encroaching darkness inside the Temple of the One.

I liked that line, it sets the scene and mood well as an opener but also serves as a reminder that the dragonfires are out and provides a link to another part of the plot. Loading lines like that makes for tight and exciting reading (and makes me wonder if we might be going to a certain island next).

[Acadian]

I enjoyed the switching between settings as well. Very clever. It was not a quick or light read, but it was very interesting, smooth, creative and enjoyable. As ever, your descriptions and ability to build up a scene with suspense is superb. Well done!

Now, Destri. . . you know that I am simple writer as well as a simple reader. So. . . if you can pass the test of my reading, then you know you have succeeded. I think you have earned a passing grade here, my friend, but I will let you tell me, based upon what I report:

Prior Sanne was killed up in the Emperor's box. I'm not sure who did it, but I think maybe The Tsaesci captain did.

How did we do? Please take copious credit if my observations are correct. Please be gentle with me if they are not.

[treydog]

The boisterous crowd around and above them seemed to shift into a single nameless, faceless mass of jeers and threats that loved them not. The heat of the burning sand in front of them beckoned. Above it all banners depicting the flight of vengeful dragons drew Eesham back to a cave in the Shadowgate Pass, and the others to the Imperial Palace at Po’Tun.

Another example of Destri's remarkable ability with words.

The interleaving of the battle in the Arena with the much more deadly battle afterwards in the Temple is masterful. You again manage to heighten the tension with spare descriptions and crisp dialogue. Much is revealed by the things the “witnesses” seek to conceal.

Talos froze him with a look. “Despite what you may think, my dear Prior, I do not wager on lives. I leave such pursuits to men like you.”

Again, the characters' actions and attitudes are clearly conveyed by the spare descriptions and excellent dialogue.

And we are left to wonder what colossal error the avaricious Prior committed that saw him dead…

[Captain Hammer]

Hoorah for the return of Interregnum!

Loving this new development. Glad to see our dear Prior is now our dearly departed Prior. The faith's militant arm is a nice touch, particularly with regards to the power struggles they're playing. You get a sense of who is stronger than the Temple, who's weaker, who knows it, who doesn't, and how each party deals with that knowledge.

In particular, though:

Lady Varla Direnni: She already plays a dangerous game, and must avoid making further enemies in the faith. The unstated animosity that holds over from the ancient dispute of the militant Alessian Order that was eventually defeated by the Direnni at Glenumbria Moors is left unstated, but particularly apparent in sub-text. Brilliant.

Councilor Synnius Carbo: A man careful with ensuring that the official record shows what he wants it to show, and in particular, that his answers, and even his very presence, is but a courtesy. Deep down, he knows that Skingrad will pay the appropriate fealty to the Empire, and that the Temple's records may prove an important piece of evidence should His Royal Highness find himself sitting in judgment over the case. A man weaker than he would like to be; a man that knows he's weak on some deep level; a man that wants to shore up every defense he has. More subtle than the others, but one that I can identify with more on a realistic level.

Lord Chancellor Farenenre: One who has the emperor's ear. The faith suspects something, but cannot commit, and Farenenre is careful not to hand out clues that might incriminate him of the less than perfect loyalty that he has towards His Imperial Majesty Cuhlecain. Still, an effective bureaucrat that knows how to bend the privileges of his position to his own ends, and a man just as caught up in the tidal wave of events as the unnamed suspect. Another well-chosen witness.

Lord Zurin Arctus, Battlemage of General Talos: An interesting off-shoot here. We see the first time that our Temple Sergeant is willing to openly admit that Arctus does have more clout, and that Arctus is probably the one witness with little to lose by being interviewed. While the others must all hide or obfuscate some weakness or de facto relationship of power, Arctus truly does have a level of power that the Temple can do nothing but acknowledge. Yet the Temple Sergeant approaches this from a philosophical perspective, preferring to handle the issue more directly, and yet Arctus is still somewhat sideways in his approach. While I have the greatest trouble with Arctus' manner, since it seems much more uncharacteristically flippant from your usual approach to the battlemage, it does provide the most entertaining exchange of the four.

All in all, great character write-ups.

In particular, though, I enjoyed the interspersed scenes of Tsaesci gladiatorial combat with the questioning of each witness. Made me all the more glad that the Prior was dead by the time I got to the end. Do you think they could 'forget' to invoke Arkay's Law for the Prior's body. I've got some characters that want to raise a zombie or skeleton of a particularly old specimen...

Captain Hammer – Thank you for the compliments. As an in-game book this story would cover about a hundred volumes! I wonder if Bethesda would pay by the volume? If so, I better keep writing.

Hey, you never know. Bethesda has hired particularly skilled modders for their game design team. Why not somebody making a great piece of in-game literature? Talk about extra-immersiveness...

This post has been edited by Captain Hammer: Dec 5 2010, 07:44 AM

[Destri Melarg]

Clicky.

I apologize to all of my long suffering readers. This short post is not the update that I have been planning, nor is it the one that you have been waiting for. It's just that I feel terrible for not answering your comments to the last chapter that I posted (last year!). Please indulge me while I remedy that.

hautee - Thank you so much! You have no idea how tough this one was to write. The next chapter has been even tougher!

Linara - And now it's been even longer! Sorry about that. The name 'Destri Melarg' seemed like a good fit, so I ran with it.

'Rosa - Sharks with Frickin Laser Beams!

I thought that you of all people would get a kick out of talents as the unit of measure for gold! I am glad that it stood out for you.

Wolf - I can barely read and chew gum at the same time, and here you are operating moving machinery! Brilliant!

mALX -To quote hautee:

'You took the words right out of my thoughts!'

Olen - I honestly haven't decided Farenenre's fate yet. I keep going back and forth betwen three very different ideas. Thank you for pointing out what is my favorite line of the chapter, for all of the reasons that you so ably put to words.

Acadian - I think you've been hanging off that cliff for long enough now, Acadian. It's not really a spoiler if I tell you that you are right.

trey - The late prior's error will be apparent in the next chapter (as soon as I get around to posting it). Thank you for your wonderfully flattering comments!

Cap'n - As I told you I am totally blown away by your character breakdowns. I completely agree with you on the subject of Arctus' flippancy. The intent was to use his manner to show the animosity that exists between the Arcane and the Temple.

_____

Okay, I can't leave it like that. Here for any new readers or those needing a recap (Acadian ) is the story summary that I promised. Enjoy!

The Story So Far:

- The year is 854 of the Second Era and Tamriel is a land divided. In Cyrodiil the fractious clans of Colovians and Nibenese have been brought into an uneasy alliance by the diminutive self-styled Emperor, Cuhlecain. Two years ago his greatest General, a half-breed Atmoran called Talos Stormcrown, defeated a Nord/Breton alliance at the legendary stronghold known as Sancre Tor. The battle itself is shrouded in mystery, but rumors abound that during the battle General Talos displayed the thu’um which caused the Nords allied against him to spontaneously switch sides and secured victory for the nascent Empire. There are also rumors that Talos and his trusted friend, the Imperial Battlemage Zurin Arctus, discovered the long lost Chim-el Adabal, also known as the Amulet of Kings, in the forgotten catacombs of Sancre Tor. There are those who believe that Talos was able to don the Amulet in those darkened halls, confirming his station as dragonborn and true heir to the Ruby Throne of the Empire. In any event, since that battle Talos and Zurin Arctus have actively worked to usurp the throne from Emperor Cuhlecain.

- To the Northwest, in the Illiac Bay, the Isle of Balfiera stands as the last bastion of the High Elves who once dominated all of High Rock, Clan Direnni. From Direnni Tower they are led by the young and energetic Castellan, Aran Direnni, whose dreams of revenge against the descendants of the Slave Queen Alessia are given fuel by news of this fledgling Empire rising in Cyrodiil. To attain his goal of conquest, Aran dispatches his sister Varla, a natural spy and diplomat, to forge alliances with the recently defeated Kings, Counts, and Dukes of High Rock. He then sends her to Hammerfell to propose an alliance with the High King, Thassad. But Hammerfell stands poised on the eve of civil war and will spare no troops to Aran’s cause. As a result Aran forces his youngest sister, a talented mage named Lattia, to open a portal to the daedric realm of Oblivion to secure aid from Clavicus Vile, the Daedric Prince whose sphere is the granting of power through ritual invocations and pacts. To carry out her brother’s wishes, Lattia is forced into a pact with Clavicus Vile that she refuses to speak of. With alliances secured in High Rock and Oblivion, Aran sends Varla to the Imperial City to spy on the Emperor and to further alienate him from Talos and Zurin Arctus. He then accompanies Lattia to Glenumbria Moors on the western coast of High Rock and commands her to use her skill to open a portal through time so that he can witness the battle that cost Clan Direnni its station more than three thousand years before. As a result of his vision, Aran decides that magic will be the deciding factor in the battles to come. He decides to seek out the mysterious King of Worms somewhere along Skyrim’s Western Reach to either learn from him or secure his aid. He sends Lattia on to the Isle of Artaeum, so that she may gain knowledge from the legendary Psijic Order.

- In a cave somewhere along the Western Reach the King of Worms has secured the services of a High Rock nightblade named Arnand Desele. In exchange for aid in curing his Altmer wife of vampirism Arnand has agreed to journey to the Isle of Artaeum to steal the Necromancer’s Amulet from the halls of the Psijic Order. After weeks spent on the island of Stros M’Kai Arnand secures passage aboard the Kynreve, a ship captained by the Dunmer pirate Ansu Shin-Ilu. The price he pays for his passage is the rescue of Shin-Ilu’s navigator, an Argonian named Earns-His-Keep, from the Stros M’Kai jail. After a successful escape Shin-Ilu betrays Arnand and leaves him for dead on the Saintsport dock. Arnand is saved by the efforts of Earns-His-Keep, who is indebted to him for the rescue, and the healing skill of Lattia Direnni, whose ship the Pelladil was forced into port at Stros M’Kai by a storm. With Earns-His-Keep acting as the Pelladil’s new navigator, Lattia agrees to take Arnand to Artaeum.

- In Sentinel, the capital of Hammerfell, two knights who stood against General Talos’ army continue to maintain their alliance. Sir Alain of Wayrest and Sir Valdemar of Skyrim know that it wasn’t the thu’um that proved their undoing at Sancre Tor. They know that it was a Breton traitor who removed the magic wards protecting the citadel which allowed Talos and his forces to capture the alliance command and force surrender. Since that day they have tracked the traitor throughout High Rock, desperate to avenge their comrades whose lives were ended at the end of the headsman’s axe. They are in Hammerfell because Alain’s childhood friend, a Knight of the Moon named Sir Casnar, has information on the whereabouts of the one they seek. This information came to Casnar through the auspices of Zurin Arctus, who sees the traitor as the final expendable loose end from Sancre Tor. After a long journey, Alain and Valdemar corner their quarry in the village of Jehanna on the Western Reach. In exacting their revenge an innocent boy is slain by Alain’s hand. To atone for this the two knights resolve to carry out the boy’s wish of venturing south to join the army of their former enemy, General Talos.

- Back in Sentinel Sir Casnar stands as mute witness to his county’s demise. The age old conflict between two groups threatens to tip Hammerfell into civil war. On one side stand the High King’s loyalists, the Crowns. On the other side are the Forebears; descendants of the Ra’Gada or warrior wave that settled Hammerfell after the fall of their original homeland, Yokuda. As a Knight of the Moon it is Casnar’s charge to protect the royal family. But to safeguard a young boy named Cyrus he betrays his knighthood and forces himself into exile. He resolves to travel east, to Cyrodiil, and place his sword into the service of Zurin Arctus and General Talos.

- Far to the East, in the Amber Forest just outside Mournhold, a syffim of four weary Tsaesci are at long last bound for home. They are the immortal, blood-drinking golden serpents of Akavir. For centuries they have acted as guardians to an Empire that no longer exists, bound by oaths made to the Emperor Reman I who spared their lives when Akavir invaded Cyrodiil in the First Era. Vershu, their Captain, has called himself the Chevalier Renald ever since his failure to prevent the assassination of Reman III at the hands of the Morag Tong. In the Amber forest Renald comes across a blind sorceress named Erinwe, who is secretly a manifestation of the Goddess Kynareth. Erinwe tells Renald of Talos and his discovery of the Amulet of Kings. Seeing his oath renewed in the advent of a new dragonborn, Renald and his syffim forego their voyage home and turn west toward Cyrodiil. While journeying through the Valus Mountains, Renald and his syffim encounter Cyrodiil’s last known dragon, Nafaalilargus. Renald enters into a bargain whereby, in exchange for their lives, he and his syffim will introduce Nafaalilargus to the new dragon Emperor. After many weeks of travel Renald and his syffim reach Cyrodiil only to be pressed into service to Cuhlecain, who determines to use them as entertainment for his subjects on the sands of the Arena.

This post has been edited by Destri Melarg: Mar 17 2011, 10:06 AM

[mALX]

YEAH !!!! DESTRI IS BACK !!!!!! WOOO HOOO !!!!!!


WOOOOOOOOOOOT !!!!

This post has been edited by mALX: Mar 17 2011, 12:25 PM

[haute ecole rider]

Welcome back!

Let's hope the act of writing this wonderfully detailed summary of a wonderfully complex story gets the creative juices flowing again. May your well of inspiration fill with the waters of life.

[Grits]

Your story has caused me to return several stacks of library books unread. I’d simply rather spend time with this one. When Arnand slumped to the dock in Saintsport, there was a great deal of shouting, wailing, and slamming shut of laptops in Grits World. I was upset. After a period of sulking, and then mourning I returned to discover I should have just kept reading!! Your story summary makes me want to go back and enjoy it again from the first post. In fact, here I go.

[SubRosa]

I honestly haven't decided Farenenre's fate yet. I keep going back and forth betwen three very different ideas.
Let's see #1- Talos kills him. #2- Cuhlecain kills him. #3 - Farenenre drinks this, and his id goes on a rampage that lays waste to the Imperial City. In the end, only this guy can stop him.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Mar 17 2011, 05:54 PM

[Linara]

YEAH !!!! DESTRI IS BACK !!!!!! WOOO HOOO !!!!!!


WOOOOOOOOOOOT !!!!

Pretty much my reaction too. Good to have you back

[Acadian]

I have greatly missed your magnificent talent and graciousness, my friend, and it is indeed a joy to have you once again treating us to Interregnum.

I so appreciate the summary, and shall gratefully refer to it often, I'm sure. As you know, I read from an odd perspective. Interregnum will always hold a special place:

1. The battle did not go well for the cat ones. And there came a time afterward, in the shadow of death, that surrender negotiations took place within a canvas chamber upon a hill. My heart was in my throat as a small and fearful sweet roll witnessed the proceedings. Its poor life was in grave jeopardy the entire time as it was passed around and offered for sacrifice. What a moment of triumph that our beautiful sweet roll survived. I will never forget that.

2. The scent they encountered in the damp still air of the dungeon, although not smelled for ages, was instinctively familiar to the snake men. Bravely, they advanced until the magnificent resident of the dungeon revealed himself. The elf on my shoulder still gets chills to this day as she recalls being sniffed up and down by none other than. . . a dragon. The awe and magnificence of that scene is forever etched in our memories.

My name is Lattia Direnni. My name is Lattia Direnni. My name is Lattia Direnni.

Welcome back, Destri.

Fill our hearts once again with scenes that only you can write.

This post has been edited by Acadian: Mar 18 2011, 02:29 AM

[SubRosa]

And I am still waiting for the Flin Negotiations!

[Winter Wolf]

.....the wolf pads into the room through the open door. Slipping past a dozen legs he spies a place close to the roaring fire. Nobody notices him as he settles down, placing a broad snout onto his paws. The crowd is listening to the bard who sits in the corner. Light and shadow are playing upon the edge of the man's worn cowl as he weaves his tale with a soft yet insistent voice. The wolf closes his eyes, he is content to be at home, his master has returned.....

This post has been edited by Winter Wolf: Mar 18 2011, 11:25 AM

[Destri Melarg]

mALX – Thanks as always for the warm response. And thank you again for the constant pick-me-ups while I was overworked, blocked, and feeling worthless. You ROCK, mALX!

hautee – You know it actually worked! Writing the summary got me back into the ‘voice’ of Interregnum and I was able to finish this chapter that has given me so much trouble. Thank you for the benediction!

Grits – A very belated welcome to Interregnum! I hope your family wasn’t subject to your sulking and mourning. If they were then please express my sincerest apologies. To all of those unread library books I can only say, in all modesty, HA!!!

‘Rosa – It occurs to me that Farenenre’s id doesn’t need much help. But I would pay to see a fight between Godzilla and Nafaalilargus! I haven’t forgotten your bottle of Flin. It is currently aging in a well-appointed wine cellar in Vvardenfell.

Linara – Thank you for the welcome. It feels good to be back.

Acadian – What can I say to that!? I am truly touched by your kind words. So much so, that I barely have the heart to remind you that the poor sweetroll didn’t survive (oops). It met its lamentable end under Lord Ri’Dargo’s fangs. Your comments reminded me of those that I made in your thread upon your return. I would say that we are more than even.

Winter Wolf – No matter how many legs are gathered in the room, there will always be a comfortable place for my favorite wolf near the fire.

* * *

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


The ogres fared worse than the trolls.

Under the rumbling echoes of a darkening sky the Tsaesci split their forces, and each claimed higher ground by climbing up the pillars. From there they used their speed to strike down upon the plodding ogres, whose attempts to grab and bludgeon them were as effective as trying to punch a waterfall. In this manner it took only a few passes up the pillars for the Tsaesci to make short work of their opponents.

In the Emperor’s box, Prior Sanne could not contain his emotions.

“Die, Oblivion take you! Why won’t you die?”

“Perhaps because they are immortal,” said Synnius Carbo. “That is now six talents of gold that you owe me, would you care to try for twelve?”

“If it bleeds, it can die,” said Prior Sanne, “the Tsaesci are not the exception to that rule.”

“Does that mean you renew your wager?”

Zurin Arctus could almost hear the scales balancing in Prior Sanne’s mind. Twelve talents of gold could break most men. But, however conflicted the Prior might be, it was as nothing compared to the war raging in the mind of the Tsaesci standing behind him.

The Tsaesci had risen upon his tail to a height which dwarfed all others in the box. The lamplight reflected off those golden scales accentuated tensed muscle and under slitted eyes a forked tongue darted in and out of his mouth with frantic intensity.

The sound of the lowering gate drew all attention back to the Arena sand. Three minotaur lords emerged from the pens and lumbered toward the waiting Tsaesci. Each bellowed a challenge through ringed nostrils, and each brandished an ebony warhammer with one hand. The sight of them steered Prior Sanne’s decision, and sealed his fate.

“Twelve talents,” he said.

_____

7th First Seed, 2E 854
The Temple of the One, Imperial City
Dusk


The shadows had lengthened inside the cavernous hall of the Temple. Light from the single shrinking candle only served to accentuate the enveloping darkness beyond the reach of its flickering glow. Apelles Mero used that darkness as a cloak to further darken his pensive countenance. He slowly released the breath that he did not remember willing himself to hold.

“What was the Emperor’s reaction to all of this?” he asked.

“The Throne was silent through all that I have just relayed,” said Zurin Arctus. “I found it strange at the time.”

“At the time, but not now?” asked Mero.

“Do not seek to interpret my words. I still find it strange. However, time and distance have reduced my consternation.”

A half smile formed on Mero’s lips. “I think we are both too old to believe that, Master Arctus. But your feelings in this regard are irrelevant to this investigation, so I shall not press the issue.”

Arctus gave a conciliatory nod.

Mero rose from his seat. “Is it safe to say that General Talos shared your consternation?”

“I find it odd that for so formal an inquiry you would ask such a question,” said Arctus, “I am in no position to speak to the General’s state of mind.”

“That is something else we disagree on, Master Arctus,” said Mero “and this is not the Council Chambers. My choice of question is not bound by protocol.”

“Be that as it may, I still cannot speak intelligently in regards to what the General thought several hours ago.”

“But you can speak intelligently about what you saw,” said Mero. “Would you please continue?”

_____

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


Even so far removed Arctus could see that the tactic used to defeat the ogres would have no success against the minotaurs. The height of the creatures, combined with the augmented reach given to them by their warhammers made such a strategy untenable. Even if the Tsaesci could gain respite on top of the pillars, the minotaurs had the tools and the brains to simply knock them down.

In the row in front of him Prior Sanne began to fidget in his chair.

“My fortune turns,” said the Prior, “Tsaesci skill cannot hope to defeat the brute strength of the minotaurs. You may yet leave here emty-handed, Carbo.”

Arctus turned his attention toward the throne next to the two prattling councilmen, but if the Emperor gave any thought to their exchange it was hidden from view by the back of that enormous chair. Directly in front of Arctus Lord Farenenre’s attention had been drawn to the Tsaesci standing in the back of the box. The Altmer’s forehead glistened, and his eyes were transfixed upon the golden serpent that towered above them all.

_____

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


The guard that led him down the hall walked with a limp, and had used mint and lavender to try and mask the smell of cheap wine that emanated from him. The voice that sounded through his ruin of brown gums and stained teeth gave no hint of education, and carried with it such a suggestion of cruelty and distemper that Mero found himself wishing for a sword.

“Don’t get a lotta you Temple types in here,” he was saying. “Even with all the prayin’ goin’ on the Gods don’t give this place no never mind.”

Mero could understand why. Staggered torchlight only seemed to accentuate shadows that embraced him with a sudden chill. The dim light reflected off of substances on the ancient stone that attested to generations of torture and despair. The air reeked of blood, sweat, bile, and filth. In the cells they passed pale, bent, and broken figures huddled on ruined cots awaiting further torment. If this is who we are, Mero thought to himself, is it any wonder that the Gods choose to hold us at arm’s length?

“It is not the Gods who sentence men to prison,” he found himself saying. “Prayers of the penitent are always heard, and they are always met with favor.”

“That’s good to know,” said the guard, “’cause this place is just filled with penitents, I see to that.”

“I have no doubt. And I am sure that the Gods will reward your efforts accordingly.”

They stopped at the end of the hall. Both of the facing cells held a sight alien to Mero’s eyes. Neither the dim torchlight nor the clinging shadows could obscure the brilliant glow of the Tsaesci’s scales. They sat, if one could use such a word, in the middle of their respective cells facing each other across the width of the hallway. Their tails were folded and coiled underneath them, and they held their chests erect and defiant. Each of their torsos swayed to and fro in silent meditation. Forked tongues danced under open, yet unfocused, slitted eyes.

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

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

Mero regarded the two captive serpents. “I’ll speak to this one. Open his cell.”

“Begging pardon, priest,” said the guard, “these ain’t Argonians. A Tsaesci could wrap itself ‘round you and choke you out before Mara’s name was off your tongue. They live off blood. They could sink those fangs and drain you dry quickier’n I could mention it. Then I’d have two fresh Tsaesci wandering my hall. You can ask your questions through the bars, sir.”

“In that case I would appreciate some privacy,” said Mero.

The guard snorted something unintelligible and stalked back down the hall. Mero turned toward the closed cell, and the Tsaesci meditating within.

“I am Apelles Mero, Shrine Sergeant for the Temple. I am investigating the death of Prior Sanne. May I ask you a few questions?”

The Tsaesci continued to sway.

“Your name is Eesham-Sha, is it not?”

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

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

Mero sat on the stone floor. He faced the Tsaesci and silently cursed the heavy iron bars that separated them.

“My Gods are not yours,” he said, “I am in no position to judge you in that regard. Nor could I possibly understand the sacrifices that you and your fellows have made in a land so far removed from your own. I seek only to understand why your Chevalier Renald chose to commit such a crime.”

“Crime?” the Tsaesci was staring at him. “You consider Vershu’s actions to be a crime?”

“Eesham!” the Tsaesci behind Mero whispered. The sound caused the priest to jump.

Mero kept his focus on Eesham. “Vershu?”

Eesham’s tongue darted from a closed mouth. A long silence passed before he spoke. “How did you know my name?”

“I know that both Renald and Chirasch were taken to a special cell by order of the Emperor. I had a one in two chance of guessing which of you was which.”

Eesham nodded. “The Chevalier Renald is a name of his choosing, though it demeans him. To me he is my lord, my captain, Vershu . . . and I will suffer none to see him differently. If you can understand that, then you can understand us, and your question is answered. Are you willing to indulge a question of mine, priest?”

“Of course,” said Mero.

“The one who was slain wore vestments identical to yours, yet you do not mourn him. If he was without honor then why is his removal considered a crime?”

Mero’s silence in the darkened hall was more eloquent than words.

“I see,” said Eesham. “You do not believe that a crime was committed.”

“Will you tell me what you saw from the sands?” asked Mero.

“To what end? Despite your personal feelings you are still forced to conduct your investigation. You lack the power to influence events on your own behalf, how can we expect you to influence them for us?”

“I seek only to know the truth,” said Mero.

Eesham’s eyes moved beyond Mero to the cell across the hall. The priest turned and saw the eyes of the other Tsaesci regarding him.

“Xarsien?” Eesham asked.

Xarsien addressed the priest. “You have shown us a respect that we do not often receive from your kind. More importantly, you represent an Empire that we are still bound by oath to serve. Tell him Eesham.”

_____

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


“On me,” said Chirasch.

Eesham and Xarsien formed around Chirasch, and faced the oncoming minotaurs. Each of them dug their tails into the bloodstained sand in anticipation of the assault to come.

“We should not bunch together,” said Xarsien. “If we allow the creatures to surround us we are doomed.”

“Agreed,” said Chirasch. “What do you suggest?”

“We must determine the battlefield. The Arena floor is vast; let us use that to our advantage . . . three of them, three of us.”

Chirasch nodded. “Eesham?”

“I will take the ugly one on the left,” said Eesham.

“And I will take the one on the right,” said Xarsien.

As one the three Tsaesci used their tails to propel them from their position on the sand. The boisterous Arena crowd was witness to the flight of three golden serpents. Chirasch’s leap carried him backwards, and he landed near the gate from which they had entered. He used the point of his dai-katana to form a thin trench in the sand before him, and bellowed a challenge to the oncoming minotaurs. The flights of Eesham and Xarsien carried them to opposite sides of the Arena floor. They turned and slithered toward each other, closing the minotaurs within the vise.

But, unlike the trolls and the ogres, the minotaurs were not beggars to their own demise. Two of them turned and charged toward Eesham, raising those heavy hammers with an ease that would give even the stoutest heart pause. The third turned his attention to Xarsien.

Chirasch did not hesitate. With a speed that rendered the crowd to admiring silence he slithered toward Eesham’s position, but the angle was wrong. Before he had covered even half the distance Eesham knew that he could not arrive in time. Chirasch wound up the span of a pillar that loomed in the sand before him. He used his tail to gain flight just as a finger of lightning rent the gray sky above him, and gave all those gathered a fleeting view of Aetherius hiding behind the shroud of the mundas.

Eesham turned his attention to the first of the two minotaurs. The creature brought his warhammer down in a crushing blow. Eesham contorted himself to an impossible angle to avoid being crushed while landing a slashing riposte with his twin katanas to the minotaur’s exposed flank. The maneuver was extraordinary in its boldness, which was evident by the collective gasp elicited from the crowd, but it left Eesham off balance. The second minotaur was bearing down on him, his warhammer already beginning to swing. In that fearsome piece of metal Eesham saw his own destruction. He raised his katanas in what he knew was a feeble attempt to block, and turned his head to steal himself from the pain that he was sure would follow. His eyes closed against the impact.

The sky emitted a rumble that shook the whole of the Arena. Beneath that sound was the high whine of Akaviri steel. As the rumble subsided Eesham felt a warm rain pelting his scales. There was a loud thud in the sand behind him, as if a boulder had been dropped from a great height. He opened his eyes.

The minotaur crumpled to his knees not two paces in front of him. The creature’s cry of anguish could be heard throughout the Arena, and caused the crowd to explode in a frenzy of cheers and whistles. Eesham saw that the minotaur clutched at a right wrist that ended in a stump. Blood showered from the wound and covered them both in a torrent of red. Eesham turned. Behind him the head of the warhammer was half-buried in the sand. A giant, gnarled hand still clung to the up-raised handle and dripped blood to a spreadind stain below. To his left Eesham heard the sounds of battle. He turned toward the sound and saw that Chirasch’s dai-katana dripped blood, and that he had already engaged the other minotaur.

Adrenaline caused a rush of relief and euphoria to flood his system. Eesham lifted his head and gave voice to the sensation, but the sound was lost in the din of the crowd. His katanas felt like feathers in his hands. His darting tongue tasted the sweet ambrosia of blood which further quickened him. To his left Chirasch was dodging the minotaur’s winding blows. Eesham felt the impact of the minotaur’s hammer whenever it found purchase in the sand. Euphoria gave way to determination, and the adrenaline propelled him toward the fray.

Eesham leaped upon the exposed back of the minotaur and wound his way toward the creature’s head. While Chirasch redoubled his attack from the ground Eesham wrapped his tail around the minotaur’s neck and began to squeeze. The creature could find no adequate defense against either assault and bellowed with rage and frustration. Eesham raised his katanas and brought them down into the minotaur’s exposed shoulder blades. There was a brief instant of jarring impact before the thick flesh gave way and the blades sunk deep. He lifted them out of the minotaur’s flesh and forced them home again, and again. The creature’s ragged breathing produced blood bubbles from both nose and mouth. Its legs gave way and collapsed the behemoth to the sand. Eesham squeezed with all of the strength he could muster. The cheering crowd was reduced to a muffled roar at the edge of hearing. Black spots began to play at the corner of his vision.

The veins in the minotaur’s neck ceased to pulse beneath his tail. The eyes and tongue bulged from a heavy head rendered lifeless. The strain of exertion and the attendant rush of blood through his head made Eesham giddy. He felt the cool shower of falling rain that washed the minotaur’s blood from his scales. Chirasch loomed before him with a lowered sword. Eesham slowly began to uncoil and grinned up at his brother.

Chirasch’s eyes narrowed, and he moved with such speed that Eesham could not follow him. He felt the impact of Chirasch’s hands against his chest and then he was airborne. Behind him he heard the grim impact of heavy metal against flesh. For a brief moment sky and sand seemed to switch places. His flight reached painful conclusion with the taste of bloody sand. He heard Xarsien’s cry from far off to his right. He turned and saw Xarsien moving toward them with a frantic haste, his own minotaur all but forgotten. He turned away from Xarsien, back toward Chirasch. The surging crowd engulfed all sound, but through the misty haze before his eyes Eesham saw a blood-soaked minotaur pounding a heavy warhammer into a prostrate golden figure nearly buried in the sand. Two hands held the hammer, even though the creature’s right arm ended in a stump.

Screams of shock and anguish resounded from the Emperor’s box. Movement from that direction lifted Eesham’s eyes to the sky above. Through stinging raindrops he saw a golden figure framed against the angry clouds. The figure was using his tail to steer his descent, and his drawn katana dripped blood.

“Vershu!” Eesham whispered.

This post has been edited by Destri Melarg: Mar 22 2011, 07:48 AM

[Captain Hammer]

Destri's Back! Huzzah for the return of Interregnum!

Just wanted to point out one thing:

“The one who was slain wore vestments identical to yours, yet you do not mourn him. If he was without honor then why is his removal considered a crime?”

Mero’s silence in the darkened hall was more eloquent than words.

“I see,” said Eesham. “You do not believe that a crime was committed.”

Tsaesci mind-set at its finest. A recognition of the harsh realities of the world.