Interregnum, 854 of the Second Era Options

[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.

[haute ecole rider]

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

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

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

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

Now on to the great parts:

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

I loved this simile!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Olen]

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

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

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

I want to know what happens next...

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

[mALX]

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

[SubRosa]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

[Acadian]

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

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

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

So wonderful to have you back!

[Linara]

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

[Grits]

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

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

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

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

Aaaaaah, noooooo!!!

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

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

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

[Thomas Kaira]

Book One: Morning Star

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Destri Melarg]

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

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

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

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

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

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

Acadian –

The poignant plight of the poor pasty’s pain.

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

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

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

TK – A very belated welcome to Interregnum:

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

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

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

* * *

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


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

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

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

“Eesham!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Eesham?” Xarsien had reached his side.

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

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

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

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

_____

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


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

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

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

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

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

Rielus moved aside.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes sir,” said Rielus.

_____

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The walls have ears.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This looks delicious,” he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Can Talos wear the Amulet?

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

“Yes,” he heard himself say.

_____

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


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

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

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

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

And found him smiling.

_____

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

Mero stopped. “Off the record, General?”

Talos nodded.

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

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

They began to walk toward the door.

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

“What do you think of them?” asked Talos

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

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

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

Alorius nodded a greeting.

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

“Yes sir,” said Alorius.

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

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

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

“Were you successful?” asked Talos

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

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

_____

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


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

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

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

Now we are three.

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

He blinked.

_____

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

[haute ecole rider]

WHOOOOO HOOOOO! Destri the writer is baaaack!

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

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

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

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

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

[Acadian]

Heartpounding action, fury, intrigue. All masterfully told.

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

Welcome back!

[SubRosa]

Hail to the returning king baby!

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

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

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

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



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

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

[Captain Hammer]

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

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

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

Now on to you!

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

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

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

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

[Olen]

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

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

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

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