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> Interregnum, 854 of the Second Era
treydog
post Aug 7 2011, 03:04 PM
Post #315


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From: The Smoky Mountains



First- let me dance around happily (although slowly, as befits an old doggie) at your return. And what a return it is! Woo Hoo! Just going to highlight a very few moments- else I would have to quote the entire post.

“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.”

Wow.

The rage of Talos… I think Trey can rather relate to that. Must be that rumored “Skyrim blood.”

And you feed far more than our bellies with Varla’s supper.

"He felt his equilibrium shift, as if the rope extended to him had been cut."

I envy and admire the way you can keep the metaphor going- and it fits with how one would expect Zurin to think.

"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."

If I ever grew up- I would love to be able to write like that. But I won't grow up- so I will just have to learn how you do it anyway.

"A single thought ran unbidden through his mind, and he cursed himself again at the simple truth of it.

Now we are three."

And why do I sense a foreshadowing of those who will become the first and finest of the Blades?

Simply wonderful, Destri!

This post has been edited by treydog: Aug 7 2011, 04:11 PM


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mALX
post Aug 7 2011, 04:07 PM
Post #316


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From: Cyrodiil, the Wastelands, and BFE TN



Urgh! I'll bet the spectators will never forget that day in the Arena! Whew !! I am stunned that they fed on their fallen comrade, but Eesham's obedience to command and inner thoughts were powerful! And then the scene in the Royal box !!

QUOTE

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



I'm still unsure of what eventual role Arctus will play in your story because you hinted that you have a twist where he is concerned ... his character seems enigmatic (deceptively so) but the feeling is there is plenty brewing beneath the surface. (Of course there is, this is Arctus!!!)

Oh, and desperately seeking "The Old Way" - I love it !!! And I'd like to be a little bird listening to what is going through Talos' mind right now! Whew !! Awesome Write !!


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Grits
post Aug 8 2011, 07:06 PM
Post #317


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A soft thump and a golden blur that rolled and uncoiled heralded Vershu’s arrival on Arena sand.

If I hadn’t been completely breathless, I would have been cheering. That’s just the soft thump we’ve been waiting to hear. The shallow furrow that Chirasch left in the sand has stayed in my mind. (I’ve read this part several times since Friday. embarrased.gif ) Nothing is as limp as a dead snake, I can just picture Eesham and Xarsien trying to carry him.

And then:

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.

laugh.gif Yay, Spearman Rielus, we know he loves his roast mutton, probably even better when reappropriated with some wine. The sweaty, naked General Talos sitting on the floor is another indelible image, wow. Followed by a delicate dance through the fruit salad. Lady Varla is formidable indeed, it was great to see her from Arctus’ POV.

Back in the Emperor’s box, was that the little smile that destroyed the General’s chamber? I got distracted by the golden snake-man surfing the blood wave in the lightening storm. I confess to picking myself up off the floor several times while reading this.

“What do you think of them?” asked Talos

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


Gasp, what? *Grits goes back to read again from the beginning*

Renald and Chirasch in the cell was simply heartbreaking. I thought that:

Now we are three.

was one of the saddest things I had ever read, and then I got to:

He blinked.

There is a lot of blinking on my side of the screen right now, I can tell you.

This post has been edited by Grits: Aug 8 2011, 07:08 PM


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Destri Melarg
post Aug 26 2011, 09:19 AM
Post #318


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hautee – I am embarrassed to admit the lengths that I went to in order to avoid writing that chapter. I absolutely hated killing Chirasch, but it was essential for what happens next.

Talos’ explosion has been a long time coming. I originally wanted it to occur during the Battle of Fort Black Boot, but there wasn’t a suitable moment for it.

Acadian – That last line was pure serendipity. It came to me on the final rewrite when I recalled Renald’s audience with Cuhlecain (which you so astutely pointed out). Cuhlecain pointed out to Farenenre that he saw great promise for his plans because ‘snakes don’t blink.’ Well, one just did.

‘Rosa – I am so glad that you caught the reference to Reman Plaza! In fact, the house that Talos now occupies undergoes a few centuries worth of additions and a name change as well. You know it as the Tiber Septim Hotel.
QUOTE(SubRosa @ Aug 5 2011, 06:16 PM) *

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?

I think you will find that you are not far off track.

And thanks for catching yet another annoying nit.

Cappy – I’m still waiting!! Where’s the next segment of FMBFGFT? *Man, it felt good to be on the other side of that exchange for once!* tongue.gif

I think Talos (like George W.) would wear whatever the circumstance dictated. Need to show solidarity with the troops? Show up on the deck of the aircraft hanger in your flight jacket. Never mind that you intend to go back home and push through legislation to severely cut their medical benefits. Need to appear the man of the people? Do an interview from your ranch . . . Oh, never mind, he isn’t even President anymore!! Besides, Will can say it a lot better than I can! biggrin.gif

Olen – You nailed the central irony of the story. The snakes are the only ones in this cauldron worthy of trust. I wanted to convey the fact that, despite his experience in diplomatic matters, Arctus is not immune to Varla’s considerable charm. However, Arctus didn’t really give away the store with his revelation. Her knowledge of Talos’ true station serves his end as much as it does hers.

More Interregnum coming right up.

trey - I was actually a little worried about that metaphor. I didn’t want to lay it on too thick but, as you said, it fit the way Arctus would think.

And you have nailed the bit of foreshadowing. Though how it happens is a card that I am keeping close to the vest for now.

mALX – I hope that part wasn’t too confusing. The Tsaesci would never feed on a brother. They carried Chirasch to the bleeding minotaur in order for him to feed and (hopefully) regain his strength.

As another who has been swallowed by RL this year, here’s hoping that you find your way free from the belly of that particular whale.

Grits – I hated to hit you with Chirasch's death most of all because you saw it coming in the last chapter. That little exchange between Mero and Talos is exactly how you interpret it. The Shrine Sergeant appears to have chosen a side.

And yes, that little smile did cause the carnage to the General’s bed-chamber. Talos has seen the method in Cuhlecain’s madness. Everyone else will have to wait a little longer because . . .

EveryoneNow that the longest day is over (Thank the Eight!) it’s high time to shift our gaze to some long neglected characters. We’ll get back to the Imperial City in time. I promise.


* * *





???
Apocrypha, Realm of Oblivion
???


Who am I?

At first she had trouble deciphering the lines of old Aldmeris within the borders of the ancient tome. But the lessons of a youth long forgotten are not easily discarded, and soon the book’s mysteries became apparent. With her recognition came the sense of detachment to which she had grown accustomed, dependent. It was followed by acceleration, that sense of traveling through space and time, always ending with the impenetrable mists that swirled around and through her until memory and revelation chose to part them.

This time she stood upon the Golden Hill and watched as thin stalks of flame danced through the trees of the darkened valley far below. Screams, laughter, and the deep rumble of great beasts broke the songs of nocturnal insects and the soft music the wind played as it moved through her hair. A small plume of fire cleared the line of trees and began to climb toward her vantage on the hill. As it grew closer she could see through it to the shape underneath. Realization gave way to revulsion; the scent of burning flesh assailed her nostrils. Rising screams confirmed her suspicion. The flame was not dancing.

It was running!

Where am I?

Her eyes were drawn to the stones that were arranged near where she stood. They formed the foundation of the great city still to come. She heard the Ayleidic words for Golden Hill as if spoken into her mind, though some small part of her knew that somewhere she was reading them on a page.

Sancre Tor.

Her eyes were pulled back into the valley. Behind the burning figure a horror of fangs and claws emerged from the brush. With a roar of triumph it launched itself upon its flaming prey. Steel-shod claws smothered the engulfing flames into submission, and ripped flesh from the tormented soul beneath. Screams gave way to the sounds of breaking bone and the almost gentle play of a harsh tongue over roasted flesh. Through the dying flame she could see the glow of amber eyes, the blood-soaked snout, and striped matted fur.

The sharp crack of a whip drew the tiger’s attention. A figure in golden armor waited impatiently just outside the curtain of trees. Its prize forgotten, the tiger bounded to its master's side and disappeared behind the shroud of leaves. The golden figure lingered and swept long platinum hair away from emerald eyes. Even from her vantage on the hill she could see that the golden figure wore her face.

What am I?

She was not alone on this Sancre Tor. The scrape of soft flesh on stone drew her attention to the foundation behind her. Even by human standards the girl she beheld was small. She wore the weathered rags and manacles of a slave, and her skin was kissed a golden brown by too many days working under the harsh rays of Magnus. Blood oozed from small bare feet and stained the stone she walked upon. It served as eloquent testimony to the frantic nature of her climb to this place.

But it was her eyes that held attention, and the way her body shook as if chilled by more than just the cold felt at altitude. This was no terrified mouse caught outside in the storm. This was a vengeful figure whose soul still stood firm long after the point of breaking. She knelt upon the stone and cast her eyes toward the Heavens. She whispered in quiet tones, continuing an interrupted conversation as her entire being continued to shake.

“And this thing I have thought of, I have named it, and I call it freedom . . .”

The wind began to swirl around the Golden Hill. The valley far below fell silent. For a moment she felt as if she were being drawn back to the endless stacks of books still unread. But there was no detachment, no acceleration. The only movement was the swirling wind around her, placed into motion by the words of the slip of a girl who knelt upon the stone. Those words and her form became lost to the stinging, blinding force of the zephyr. Before her vision was completely obscured she saw a figure emerge from the mists and reach out for the girl.

It was an old woman, tall, frail, and cloaked.

Silence fell upon the Sancre Tor. Swirling winds cloaked the girl in a fine mist of dust and soil that surrendered naught but her silhouette to the half-light. The vision of the old woman was gone, replaced now by a faint scrape that grew into a sharp report of steel against the stone. It soon became unmistakable.

Approaching hooves.

The girl’s silhouette shrank away from the sound. A black mass grew in the center of the maelstrom. Through eyes half-closed against the force of the wind she saw the mass take shape before the startled girl. From her vantage point she saw the top of the approaching shadow coalesce into the wide, upturned horns of a bull.

“Peace, girl,” the shadow spoke with the voice of a man. “Shrink not from my voice. Know that your words have not been in vain. Your blood has consecrated this stone, and your voice has moved my Lady to act.”

The girl’s voice was soft against the swirling wind. “What are you?”

“I am promise fulfilled. I am boon made manifest . . . I am Breath-of-Kyne. What are you?”

“I am but a simple slave.”

“Once perhaps, but no longer. What shall I call you?”

“Our masters do not permit us names, my lord.”

“Yet you have taken one, nonetheless.”

The girl hesitated. “Some call me Perrif.”

“Perrif is most appropriate,” said the horned shadow, “for it means ‘first of its kind’ in the elven tongue. I shall call you Paravania, and from this moment forth you shall forever be my Lady of Heaven. You may call me Morihaus, and I make you this promise. As payment for the name deprived you I shall see you wear many before your time is done. Your people shall worship you as I do. They will call you Al-Esh, which is the highest tribute known to their tongue. They will celebrate you as their First Empress, Queen ut Cyrod, Aleshut, Esha . . . Alessia.”


_____



???
Apocrypha, Realm of Oblivion
???


She was back amongst the endless miles of books stacked all around her, and she was not alone.

“It pains me to see one so young so lost.”

The speaker was ancient, even by the standards set by this place. His gaunt form was bent at the waist, and was composed of pale skin stretched to near translucence over gnarled bone. Thin white hair hung like a shroud that engulfed him to the knees. A matching beard did more to obscure his sunken chest than the threadbare cloak that he wore. It also tried in vain to hide the cruel downward turn of his mouth. Amber eyes and pointed ears told of an Altmeri heritage, but time had faded that distinction to make him just another ghost amongst the stacks. She lowered her head.

“Do you hear me, child?” he said.

In the eternity of her existence she had never encountered a voice outside of the ancient tomes. There has been no blessed detachment, she thought to herself, no acceleration or swirling mist. She felt as one dreaming, with no control of event or circumstance. The figure before me could be no more than smoke given form. There is already so much that has been lost. To address the smoke would be to admit defeat.

The gaunt figure spoke again. “But what if I am real, child?”

What if he were real? He could tell me who I am. No, he cannot be. One cannot hold to oneself in this place. He . . .

Her head lifted of its own accord. She met his amber eyes, and was rewarded with a smile that lifted the down-turned corners of his mouth.

“You have not completely succumbed yet,” he said. “That is good.”

“You . . . read . . . my . . . thoughts?” Her voice sounded strange to her ears. She realized that she had no memory of ever using it before.

“That’s it, child. Hold on to that stubborn defiance of yours, it will serve you well in this place.” He took her by the arm and lifted her from the floor. “I read your thoughts, but your identity does not dwell within them. That is something that we shall have to find together.”

They began to walk. He led her through the endless stacks and past the unmoving ghosts of the readers.

“We?” she asked.

He stopped. “I have wandered among the stacks for years without number, child. Yours is the first living voice I have heard, and it is welcome. You are too young to share my fate or the fates of those who have approached these halls seeking knowledge. If you would have it, then I will aid you in finding yourself.”

She hesitated, and then nodded. “I would have it. Thank . . .”

“Save your gratitude, child. What I propose is no easy task.”

“But you have done it?”

“My path is not to be recommended. I regained my self when the stacks here lost their mystery.”

She could think of nothing to say, so they began to walk again.

He broke the silence. “Yes, child, I have been here long enough to read every tome in this realm, some more than once. By the reckoning of the world we left behind I have been here for several centuries. But time does not exist in this place. You have no memory of a world before this one, yet you have not been here very long.”

“You know how long I have been here?” she asked.

“I do not,” he said. He closed his eyes and took her scent. “You do not smell of dust and ink and ancient tomes. Your grey cloak marks you, and you smell of oassom trees, ocean, and sand. You smell of Artaeum.”

“Artaeum,” she repeated.

“Yes. Does it sound familiar?”

She shook her head.

“You are too young to be a master. And one could not find this place by accident. You were sent here, but why?”

“You know this Artaeum?”

He smiled. “I know it well. I called it home for many years, until my banishment here.” Once again he stopped. “Could you have been sent here to find me?”

“Sent by whom?”

“The Psijic Order, child. The Order to which you belong, and the Order which I led so long ago.”

He left her behind and began to march through the stacks with such speed that she had to run to keep up. She could barely hear his quiet mutterings.

“Could they have discovered Celarus’ treachery? But then why send one, and why a child? Is this Celarus taking pity on his old master? No, too much time has passed. Did she commit some crime? Did she bear witness to something?”

“Please,” she said, panting. “It is hard to follow you.”

He stopped. “I daresay it is, but you must if we are to discover the reason for your presence here.”

“I would be content just knowing my name.”

The smile returned to his face. “Then that is where we shall begin. Introductions. Until we have found your name I shall continue to call you ‘child’ if it pleases you.”

“And what shall I call you?” she asked.

He hesitated, and then nodded as if coming to some understanding. “You shall call me the name reserved for the lips of apprentices and slaves.”

“And what is that?”

“Master,” he said. “Master Iachesis.”


_____



A/N: The lore holds conflicting accounts about the origin of Sancre Tor. According to The Legendary City of Sancre Tor, it was where Alessia received the divine inspiration for her rebellion. However, according to Remanada it did not exist until Alessia’s long dead spirit joined with the mortal King Hrol to beget a golden mound which grew for nine months before giving birth to the infant Reman I. For the purposes of this story (and out of concern for certain child endangerment laws) I decided to go with the first version of events.

This post has been edited by Destri Melarg: Aug 27 2011, 10:30 PM


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haute ecole rider
post Aug 26 2011, 02:56 PM
Post #319


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As soon as I saw that little girl among the foundation stones of Sancre Tor, I knew she would grow up to be Alessia. What a terrific little scene of life before freedom! And I am glad to see how she met Morihaus, the bull.

And Lattia! How wonderful it is to see her again! Though we had to go searching Apocrypha to find her! The fact that Lattia witnesses Alessia's meeting with the Bull has set my mind running in disparate directions! But I will wait to see where you go with this and see which of my anticipations will bear fruit.

One of your descriptions didn't sit right with me.
QUOTE
His gaunt form was bent at the waist, and was composed of pale skin stretched to near opacity over jagged bone.
Skin doesn't become opaque (blocks light and appears solid) when it is stretched, it becomes translucent (light and sometimes shapes can be seen through it, like frosted glass). In very rare cases will it become transparent (absolutely clear to light, like window glass). I would use translucence in place of opacity in this case, if you are trying to convey the impression that his bones were visible through the skin. Also, bone isn't jagged unless it is broken, which would immobilize this gentleman. Instead, the ends of the bones (where skin is most often stretched) making up the joints would be knurled, or knobby, like the end of a mage's well-used staff. Jagged bone would just slice through thin skin.

Just my B.A. (biology) rearing its ugly head.

Other than that single sentence, I was completely immersed in Lattia's experience of and return from Apocrypha and her encounter with the Librarian. goodjob.gif


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Olen
post Aug 26 2011, 08:09 PM
Post #320


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Hmmm the formation of Sancre Tor, in most pieces I'd think that it was just a conveniant bit of lore to introduce Apocrypha with but it links to other events, and everything is always connected. As ever I find myself fascinated.

And then she meets an old master of the psijic order. I liked how you showed him, he feels like the years spent reading haven't been wholly kind to his sanity. Though he certainly must be very learned by now. And he can read thoughts, this could prove interesting.

The initial confusion blended well into the plot at least appearing, even if she doesn't know any whos or whys yet. Very well written, as ever, and I look forward to the next part.


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SubRosa
post Aug 26 2011, 08:18 PM
Post #321


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What a wonderful glimpse into the beginning of the Alessian Revolution!

Better still however, was Lattia's encounter with Iachesis. It is amazing that he has been able to resist the effects of Apocryhpa. It must be as he said, that after reading all the books, he longer has any desire to learn more. I am sure being an ancient Psijic master helps though! I am eager to see where this goes!


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Acadian
post Aug 27 2011, 01:11 AM
Post #322


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I can see the trees, and that is good! The forest eludes me at this point of course, but I expect that is your intent. For I know Alessia and Morihaus primarily from my readings relating to Pelinal Whitestrake. And I know of Sancre Tor. I also know Lattia and seeing her again brought a smile. Why, it seems the last I saw of her, she was in the same place but reciting her name to herself lest she forget. . . . It seems she was not successful?

Reading Interregnum is always a fascinatingly mysterious experience.

“And this thing I have thought of, I have named it, and I call it freedom . . .”
This is great! In fact the whole scene setting the stage for this declaration was very evocative.

Nit? ’ The sharp crack of a whip drew the tiger’s attention. A figure in golden armor waited impatiently just outside the curtain of trees. Its prize forgotten, the tiger bounded to its masters side and disappeared behind the shroud of leaves.’
I suspect you wanted master’s vs masters here?

This post has been edited by Acadian: Aug 27 2011, 01:15 AM


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mALX
post Aug 29 2011, 02:47 PM
Post #323


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Finally we are finding out what happened to Lattia! ARGH !!! And the beginnings of Sancre Tor - although I liked Remanada's version and the image so clearly depicted of the soldiers (aghast at seeing their leader humping the mound of dirt all night long) - your version does meet the PG rating much better, lol. Awesome Write !!!


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Grits
post Aug 31 2011, 06:12 PM
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“And this thing I have thought of, I have named it, and I call it freedom . . .”

This was one of those gasp and goosebump moments. salute.gif

I’m glad that Lattia has an ally in Apocrypha. Also a relief that Master Iachesis will not require her to follow his path. I found his admission that the stacks no longer held mystery for him to be quite chilling.

As usual by the time I finished this installment, I had a new reading list. King Hrol grinding himself to death in the dirt was an eye-opener. blink.gif


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RainbowVeins
post Sep 4 2011, 09:20 AM
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Wow. Just wow. That's all I can say. I've been reading this for a few weeks and I'm finally all caught up. I hadn't been too knowledgeable on Tamrielic lore. Truthfully, I still don't know anywhere near everything but this story has been all too worth getting into it. See, it's one thing to play through the game and write stories based on that (which I LOVE just the same!) but it's something entirely different to breathe life into the actual history that makes this stuff so great. Keep. It. UP. Can't wait for more!

PS- I don't comment much at all, but I'll still be around smile.gif


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Destri Melarg
post Jan 15 2013, 11:38 PM
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From a campsite in the Colovian Highlands a few leagues south of Elinhir, Hammerfell


“My friends ... I suppose that introductions, or re-introductions as it were, are in order. My surname is of little account. It is one of the many simple names worn by the fisher folk who infest the docks of Wayrest, and it is there that I chose to leave it many years ago. Those of you familiar with our story have come to know me as Alain...”

“Oh, get to the point Alain!”

“My apologies. At the insistence of my impatient friend and stalwart companion, Sir Valdemar of Skyrim, I come before you now to regale you with the lamentable fate suffered by our inconstant chronicler, Destri Melarg.”

“Inconstant is a diplomatic way to put it.”

“I see no reason to rub a salt pile into an open wound.”

“Then pass the salt!”

“In any event, on the morning of 12 November last Destri was blindsided by an ancient Dragon called Alduin.”

“I believe there is a song about him now. How does it go?

When brothers wage war come unfurled
Alduin, bane of kings, ancient shadow unbound
with a hunger to swallow the world!


“Yes, well this was a literal fact in Destri’s case. Not only did Alduin devour the gossamer strands of lore that Destri worked to incorporate into Interregnum, but his appearance and subsequent popularity laid waste to Destri’s desire to remain a citizen of Tamriel. In effect, Alduin swallowed the world for Destri Melarg.”

“And he swallowed us with it! But you and I are proving difficult to digest.”

“Indeed. We have spent nigh unto a year trying to plead, cajole, beguile, and berate Destri into lifting his pen against the monster. He once told us that there is a saying in your world that ‘the pen is mightier than the sword...

“A ridiculous assertion! Give me a good sword and I will cut down Dagon himself if all he has is a pen!”

“That does not help us in this instance, Valdemar.”

“Am I wrong? You can use your pen to try and plead our case to Destri’s readers and we will see if that draws him back to the desk. Give me a sword and I will make our case to Destri in such a way that he dare not refuse!”

“Thankfully that won't be necessary. But, if it comes to that, I will hand you the sword myself.”

If it comes? How long must we wait before you believe that the thing warrants drastic action?”

“A fair bit longer it seems.”

“Bretons!”

“I will not apologize for having more faith in Destri than you.”

“Do not speak to me of faith, Alain. My soul still lays open after being eviscerated in the last chapter he wrote about us! How long ago was that exactly?"

“It has been awhile.”

“Indeed. Our story has received far more justice by the hand of haute ecole rider than by Destri of late. Imagine the depth of faith that keeps me tethered to a ship in dry dock.”

“In the interest of fairness I must point out that we were in fact dead in haute ecole rider’s story.”

“Undead Alain. Corpses did not cross swords with Julian in those cursed halls.

“Semantics, Valdemar. I seem to remember that being rendered undead is your greatest fear. You would resign yourself to that rather than wait for Destri to be moved by the muse once more?”

“Those should not be my only choices!”

“No, they should not. Yet here we are.”

“Yes, here we are. Far afield of the reason you chose to drag us onto the page today.”

“That is something we agree upon. So, as I was saying, Destri abandoned Interregnum in a fit of pique directed at the developers over at Bethesda who reconstituted the history of our world in order to give it a better foothold for their precious dragons. He went back to writing historical fiction set firmly in your world where the history is at least respected enough not to be changed on a whim ... “

“<Yawn>”

“Yes it did get tedious , sitting there day after day looking over his shoulder at the dreck filling his screen.”

“Actually my yawn was aimed at you, Alain. Nobody wants to hear this. Move on and get to the point.”

“Patience my friend. Where was I?”

“Very close to the business end of a warhammer!”

“Well, despite our constant reminders and lamentations, Destri seemed content to go on like that and to allow the Elder Scrolls to be relegated to one of those many things put aside in favor of more ‘worthwhile’ pursuits. But then, as she was leaving his office one day, the lovely Mrs. Melargi* threw a five word question over her shoulder that has had him kicking himself ever since ...”

“‘... You wrote Interregnum for Bethesda?’ Gods, I could kiss that woman!”

“I don’t imagine that would help you see more light in the story, Valdemar.”

“It would be fun all the same!”

“The point is that, due to his rage at Bethesda, Destri lost sight of why he wanted to write Interregnum in the first place. As I pen these words he sits at his keyboard straining to find the right words to express his remorse and contrition. He has also re-immersed himself into our world in an attempt to continue Interregnum. Valdemar and I have proven difficult to submerge, but the rest of the story is now over a year removed from his consciousness. It will take time for him to rediscover the voices that were pushing him along before, and he doesn't want to write anything new before he has had the chance to catch up on everyone else's stories. But, rest assured, Valdemar and I will make sure that he doesn’t stray again ... with the aforementioned warhammer, if needs be!

_____














* Because of certain contractual obligations and the threat of bodily harm due to couch sores, the name ‘Mrs. Melarg‘ will always be preceded by the honorific ‘the lovely‘ in perpetuity.


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Acadian
post Jan 16 2013, 12:03 AM
Post #327


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From: Las Vegas



Welcome back, old friend! The Imperial City wasn't built in a day so take the time you need. Ever the gracious gentleman, I knew you would catch up with us, even as you apply quill to parchment and resume Interregnum.

Here's a picture of but one of your many friends here who misses you, in hopes it will bring you inspiration - Screenshot


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Lycanthropic-Legend
post Jan 16 2013, 12:14 AM
Post #328


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Joined: 30-June 12



QUOTE(Acadian @ Jan 16 2013, 12:03 AM) *

Welcome back, old friend! The Imperial City wasn't built in a day so take the time you need. Ever the gracious gentleman, I knew you would catch up with us, even as you apply quill to parchment and resume Interregnum.

Here's a picture of but one of your many friends here who misses you, in hopes it will bring you inspiration - Screenshot

hubbahubba.gif


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"The speed and strength of the beast. The thrill of the hunt. The triumph of the kill. This is our purpose, our way of life."-Majni.
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treydog
post Jan 16 2013, 12:28 AM
Post #329


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From: The Smoky Mountains



Now THAT is a re-introduction! (And a bow to the lovely Mrs. Melarg ™ ). Welcome back to Destri and Vlademar and Alain and the whole lot of you.


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The dreams down here aren't broken, nah, they're walkin' with a limp...

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mALX
post Jan 16 2013, 01:09 AM
Post #330


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From: Cyrodiil, the Wastelands, and BFE TN



So glad Alduin finally puked you back out to us! And Mrs. Melarg? Congrats are in order, I knew she was a keeper! So glad just to see you here! Congratulations on your marriage!

Although I knew most of the struggle you were having with the above mentioned issues, it would mean a tremendous amount to all of us that care about you to see you overcome whatever changes time and Alduin have done to your story.

If you feel you absolutely need to break off and start fresh with a new story, that is fine too. (My personal vote if you change stories is for Redguard, N'Gasta).

SO glad to see you on here Destri, you have been so missed! <3


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SubRosa
post Jan 16 2013, 01:10 AM
Post #331


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Please convey my heartfelt thanks to the lovely Mrs. Melarg for precipitating the reintroduction of the Interregnum. smile.gif


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Colonel Mustard
post Jan 17 2013, 01:55 PM
Post #332


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From: The darkest pit of your soul. Hi there!



This story is awesome, you are awesome, and reading it makes me want your babies.

I mean, seriously, I could go into a bit more of a detailed breakdown into why I like this so much, but it basically boils down to: well-rounded characters, an intrigue-filled, multifacted and complex plot that manages to be easy to follow even when being written from multiple perspectives, pulse-pounding combat scenes, excellent imagery (had a bit of a wordgasm at; "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." even if it did have a repetition of 'blood') and just generally getting literature right.

Also, my advice on Skyrim is this: Canon is there to be twisted, altered, bent, played with and just plain ignored in favour of whatever you want. That canon is your umbrella seller. Make it sell umbrellas on your behalf, and come crawling back to you on its kness, handing over its profits from selling umbrellas and give it only a tiny margin in return. Forget Skyrim changing the canon up; be the canon's umbrella pimp!
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McBadgere
post Jan 17 2013, 02:17 PM
Post #333


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QUOTE(The oft praised Destri)
It will take time for him to rediscover the voices that were pushing him along before.


I actually know what you mean... kvleft.gif ...

Aaaamywho...

I shall definately follow whatever comes next...Um, welcome back?... biggrin.gif ...

And while I seem to be making this an unfortunate habit( tongue.gif ), I second what Mein Colonel said about Skyrim...Just keep going with what yer doing, worry about Skyrim in a few hundred years... biggrin.gif ...
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Grits
post Jan 17 2013, 03:32 PM
Post #334


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Joined: 6-November 10
From: The Gold Coast



QUOTE(Destri Melarg @ Jan 15 2013, 05:38 PM) *

the lovely Mrs. Melarg

biggrin.gif cake.gif
Undying gratitude to the lovely Mrs. Melarg for her role in your return. smile.gif


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