Interregnum, 854 of the Second Era Options

[Destri Melarg]

CLICK

Two full years have passed since this was last updated! I honestly don’t know what to say about that. Where does the time go?

First, thank you one and all for popping back in here. After so much time it is difficult to jump back into a story already in progress, especially when you have to remember this (convoluted) plot amongst the host of other great stories on this site. I will endeavour to make the transition as painless as possible, without bogging you down with what would amount to a ten page recap just to get to the new chapters.

The new chapters.

As many of you know, my reason for abandoning this story had to do with Bethesda’s change in the lore surrounding the Dragonborn. I have faithfully tried to present this story as history within the Elder Scrolls universe. When that history was altered it rendered much of what I had already written (and much more of what I planned to write) obsolete. I didn’t handle that well, and for that I sincerely apologize.

Interregnum has become my white whale. It is an obsession that simply refuses to die, no matter how hard I try to kill it. What started as a writing exercise has evolved into my pride and joy, and I am diminished when not actively working on it.

So I will diminish myself no longer. The Great War will continue, but at a later date because my heart kept venturing back to 2E 854. Interregnum demands to be finished... in its original form. These characters have spoken, and one does not want to see angry vampiric serpents with katanas in one’s dreams.

Trust me.

* * *

22nd First Seed, 2E 854
The Great Forest, Southeast Colovian Highlands
Evening


Alain reigned his horse. “I think we’ve lost them.”

Valdemar turned in the saddle. His effort to scan the forest was thwarted by the abundant shadows cast by the trees. Still, the sounds of pursuit had long since faded into silence. “We could have taken them, Alain.”

“Perhaps,” said Alain, “but what would killing them have served?”

Valdemar looked to the starless night sky as the first rumble of thunder announced the impending storm. “It would have served to provide a roof over our heads for the night. And it would have saved our horses the exertion. Need I remind you that the Imperial City is still a ways off?”

“Need I remind you that we were tenants of Jehanna’s dungeon of late? I have no desire to sample the accommodations of another city.”

“I was not in the wrong, Alain.”

“Do you believe a magistrate would have shared your sentiment?”

“I was not in the wrong!”

“You struck the first blow,” said Alain. Then he raised his hand against Valdemar’s response. “I believed the man wished you harm, and were I in the same situation I would have responded in kind. But my testimony to the fact is biased in favor of my friend and useless in the eyes of the law.”

Valdemar spurred his horse into a slow walk down their chosen path. “What manner of law binds a man while allowing advantage to any willing to break it?”

“There are those who would suggest that every law fits that description.” Alain’s horse pranced and nodded as if to underscore the point.

“Count me amongst them,” said Valdemar. “In Skyrim a man defines his own honor, and is expected to act when he feels it is being threatened.”

Alain waved his hand to dismiss the assertion. “In Skyrim a man’s honor is threatened by an insult aimed at his horse!”

“That is funny coming from you. I cannot recall, how many kings rule High Rock?”

“I am a child of the Empire now.”

“Oh, a child of the Empire is it? One who still styles himself Sir Alain of Wayrest.”

Alain smiled. “Just as you style yourself Sir Valdemar of Skyrim. That is something that I have always found curious. What prompted the change?”

“There has been no change,” said Valdemar.

“Truly? You were Valdemar of Riverwood when I met you.”

“I was. And then my countrymen foreswore their oaths at Sancre Tor while I alone remained true.”

“So now you see yourself as representing the whole of Skyrim?

The nord nodded. “I do.”

“Even now?” asked Alain.

“You mean even as we overwork our horses to reach the Imperial City in order to join Talos? I stayed true to my oath, Alain, and now that oath is fulfilled. I see no conflict in joining my friend on a quest entered into in defense of honor that he defined for himself... and, by extension, for me. In so doing you have proven my point, while also proving yourself as much a child of Skyrim as you are of High Rock... or this new Empire.”

Alain shifted in his saddle. “I never asked you to foreswear your country, Valdemar.”

“Did you not?” asked the Nord. “The way you were wallowing in that cell I thought I might have to walk the Pilgrim’s Path to stir you from misery.”

“Valdemar...”

“I jest, Alain. Joining you in this endeavour is a choice that I made. My oath stands fulfilled, and I didn’t have anything else vexing my time.”

Alain nodded. Then: “I still do not believe the magistrate of Chorrol would have been swayed by your argument to the point of allowing us to walk freely under the giant oak.”

Valdemar laughed. “It was not the prospect of walking that held my interest, Alain.”

“I am sure we will find another tavern.”

“Mead is easy to find. I was thinking more of the companionship. Other than that serving girl in Jehanna we have been suffering a lamentable drought in that regard since we left Hammerfell.”

“You never even broke words with the serving girl... and I do not recall the waters being overly abundant when we were in Hammerfell.”

“That is because you choose not to swim, Alain! Imagine the sorrow that awaits us all should the clergy discover that thoughts of vengeance will bind a man to celibacy with far more effect than shackles of piety!”

“‘Thoughts of vengeance,’” said Alain, “motivated you as well.”

“And those thoughts were quelled the moment my mace met with that traitorous K...”

“Do not utter his name, Valdemar! Not in my presence.”

“Still?” asked Valdemar. “The man is dead, Alain! If the gods are just, then right now his name flows from the tongues of hungry daedra contemplating their supper. He united us in common cause, and I will give him credit for doing that much right in this world. But whatever power he may have exerted over us is now spent. I say bury the dead, leave judgement to the gods, and let us be about the task of living our lives.”

“Have you buried those that you led into the depths of Pale Pass?”

Valdemar gripped his mace. “You are my friend, Alain, so I will allow that to go unchallenged. But heed my words when I say that I will not suffer you to use their memory to buttress an argument again!”

Alain closed his eyes against his regrettable impulse. “I betrayed a confidence, Valdemar. You have my word that it will not happen again. I apologize.”

Valdemar released his mace. Conversation fell into silence. Raindrops echoed above them even as those same drops doused their cloaks and seeped into the chinks in their armor. Hooves began to sink into the mud with each forward step, and horse’s breath rose like smoke through the falling rain.

Alain’s voice broke the silence between them, but it was at such a low level that it could not find purchase in Valdemar’s ear. He repeated himself, louder this time, and the sound carried over the falling rain but it was still unclear to Valdemar’s hearing. The giant Nord turned in his saddle and his baritone cowed both horse and weather.

“What was that? I did not hear you.”

Alain lowered his head and reached into the deeper portions of his chest. The sound found therein gave rich clarity to his voice... and soothing catharsis to his soul.

“I said the traitor’s name,” said Alain. “I said Kastav.”

_____

24th First Seed, 2E 854
The Arcane University, Imperial City
Morning


Given all that passed before them on a daily basis, it came as a surprise to Casnar that the sight of a Redguard standing in the lobby of the Arcane University was enough to elicit a second glance. Even the sight of the occassional scamp walking amidst the display cases was treated as the most mundane of occurrences. He did not know how to feel about that. Without his armor he did not believe that his appearance was more threatening than any of the robed figures milling about. He had done nothing since his arrival to warrant such scrutiny. Perhaps it was his own unease that made them wary. Despite that however, he was still of the opinion that a living, breathing, mortal soul in their midst should not be subject to more abject disdain than a minion of Oblivion... regardless of that soul’s geographic point of origin.

He flexed his non-sword hand. True, he thought to himself, Not all mages have treated my presence as an affront. I have benefitted from the administrations of the kind mages of Sutch. My left arm scarcely even throbs at this point, even after the hard ride to reach the Imperial City. Still he knew that, to any who bothered to ask, he would claim no use for the Dura-hi practiced here in the east... no matter how secretly grateful he was that his benefactor insisted on his seeking treatment...

“Sir Casnar?”

The sound of his name, even with the discarded honorific, pulled his attention to the robed figure that moved towards him. Though they had never met in person, the sudden interest from those who just a moment before had regarded him with such trepidation told Casnar that he had finally reached his destination.

“Master Arctus,” he said, bowing, “alas, I am no longer a knight. However, it remains a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”

Arctus smiled and placed a hand on Casnar’s shoulder. “Indeed. This is a meeting too long overdue. Come, we have much to discuss.”

Casnar followed the battlemage through the door, down the main steps, and back across the bridge leading to the Arboretum. The gathering clouds in the northeastern sky hinted at the storm to come. Around them spring still reigned, and the sun glanced from blooms that lent color and fragrance to each step. Birdsong provided gentle ease from the silence.

“I was sorry to hear of your leaving Hammerfell,” Arctus began. “I can only imagine how difficult that must have been.”

“It was,” said Casnar, “the most difficult thing that I’ve ever done.”

“I wonder if it was worth it,” said Arctus.

The guards opened the gates, admitting them into the Arboretum where hundreds had already gathered for morning meanderings and meditations. The gardens accommodated their number without complaint but, after the tranquility of the bridge, even their muted conversations were akin to a hard slap against Casnar’s senses. It took him a moment to realize that Master Arctus was still speaking.

“... regarded you as a key asset in Hammerfell. One that I was loath to lose for so trivial a concern.”

Casnar stopped. “Trivial? With respect, Master Arctus, I do not believe that the boy or his family would have considered the situation or my concern ‘trivial.‘ I also believe that you labor under a mistaken impression. I agreed to act as your agent in passing along information to Alain, but that was the extent of our relationship. There was never going to be a time where I acted as an ‘asset’ against my King, my country, or my people. Not as long as I wore the Moon.”

“It is I who have given the mistaken impression, Sir Knight. Forgive my poor choice of words.”

The battlemage began to walk. Casnar fell into step beside him.

“Your wounds have healed?”

“I am fit, Master Arctus. The mages in Sutch know their trade.”

“Good. Your sword arm may be needed sooner than we thought.”

“Why is that?”

“I think you know, sir knight. You did not venture all this way to become a legionary.”

Casnar smiled.

“I have always admired your loyalty to the Knights of the Moon,” Arctus continued. “Because of that, I feel I must give you fair warning. Your arrival comes at a perilous time. The first arrows have been fired in a war which will decide the fate of an Empire. We need loyalty such as yours, but any who pledge fealty to General Talos become guilty of high treason.”

Casnar lowered his head. The smell of the gardens grew sour, the blooms had suddenly paled, and the birds had grown silent. Somehow the storm seemed closer. “Pledging his sword to General Talos is not high treason for a man without a country. I am a knight. What purpose do I serve if not to serve?”

Now it was Arctus who stopped. He measured the fallen knight. “You are certain? There may come a time when you are called upon to act against Hammerfell. I do not want your sword if your heart remains loyal to the Moon.”

Casnar straightened and regained his bearing. “My sword is my heart, Master Arctus. And it is yours.”

“I do not care how your countrymen see you,” said Arctus. “You remain Sir Casnar.”

He grasped Casnar’s mended arm and continued their walk toward the Green Emperor Road and the promise of angry skies in the distance.

_____

26th First Seed, 2E 854
The Dungeons beneath the Imperial Palace, Imperial City
Morning


The Chevalier Renald hung limp from manacles placed in the ceiling. Only the reflexive movement of his tongue gave evidence that life still flowed. Each time it sampled the stale air it returned with the scent of death to remind him of his failure. Chirasch’s putrid, decomposing body was a ghastley visual clue in the event that his sense of smell began to fail. He had long since passed the point of feeling... the daily ordeal of the lash tearing into him was but a drop in the ocean of agony that each drawn breath made manifest. Even the act of thought was a form of torture. Thought gave life to recrimination and rebuke, and their claws cut deeper than any blade. Blessed silence was broken by the snap of the lash finding the flesh of another tormented soul, and the attendant screams that permeated through the walls. Death was a constant companion. It was embodied by the silent corpse that shared his cell, yet it remained torturously inept at the simple task of putting him out of his misery.

Somewhere in the wash of agonies visited upon him, a new scent rested upon his tongue and lingered. Perfume? Here? it cut through the blood, sweat, bile, and excrement. Somehow, that made it worse than the others. It put him back upon the parapet of the Emperor’s box, With cold rain mixing with the warm blood from the stump of neck still left to the Breton clergyman’s body. His naked blade had never felt lighter. His tail had curled for the jump. Lightning struck. The explosion of light brought with it certainty. He leapt.

And landed in this cell, he thought.

His tongue captured it again. Unmistakeable. Perfume. The Emperor’s pet Altmer! Hatred for any and everything Imperial brought clarity to his senses. Pain lanced through him with each intake of breath. They are getting closer! Despite his best efforts, he could not will weakened muscles to act. He wanted to strike out as a true Tscaesci and slaughter any who stood in the way of his syffim’s freedom. But, when they stopped before his cell, all that the jailor, the Shrine Sergeant, and Lord Counselor saw was a limp snake hanging from manacles in the ceiling.

“Here ‘e is, m’lord,” the jailor announced. He was a squat, full-bellied Breton who sported a skull that was too small, a nose that was too flat, cheeks that were too soft, and a mouth that was too wet... and always open.

“Do you not bathe them?” asked Farenenre. “The smell ...”

“Beggin’ m’lord’s pardon,” said the jailor, “but this ain’t the Hotel Juilek. These men are ‘ere to suffer.”

“The one on the ground is dead,” offered Shrine Sergeant Mero. “His suffering is ended.”

“That ‘e is, sir. And I’ll remove ‘im soon as the Emp’ror gives me leave.”

“Are you saying that the Emperor has ordered this Tsaesci to share a cell with a rotting corpse?” asked Mero.

“No, sir,” said the jailor. “I’m sayin’ that corpse belongs to the Emp’ror, and it ain’t my place to say what ‘e wants done with it.”

“The jailor is right, Sergeant,” said Farenenre, his face obscured by the resourceful agency of a silk glove held over the nose. He looked toward the jailor. “Just clean him up and prepare him for an audience with the Emperor.”

_____

This post has been edited by Destri Melarg: Jan 17 2015, 08:37 AM

[canis216]

I'm so excited to see this story resume that I even bothered to log in! (It's been a while.)

[SubRosa]

Yay! Once more the interregnum of Interregnum has ended, and the king has returned!

I am sure you know what I am going to say next. Forget what Bethesda decided to change/decide about the Dagonborns Dragonborns lore, and go with your own. We all know that writing - and continuity - are not Bethesda's strong suits. The best TES stories tend to be the ones where the writer either ignores Bethesda and recreates the lore, or where they at least add many layers of new material on top of the sketchy info that Beth provides. So far your Talos and company are much more interesting than how Bethesda presents them.

Now on to the tale.

“but what would killing them have served?”
Spoken like a certain Doctor from Gallifrey, or a wandering Chinese-American named Caine.

So now we know how Fort Kastav got its name! Seriously, that was a nice conversation between Alain and Valdemar that subtly brings us up to speed on where we are in the story - or at least in their story. We also see a few more lights shone into the depths of their character, in what defines them, what they value, and how they define themselves. I am still holding out for a love scene between them. I am sure you did not intend it, but they have always come across in your writing as a couple, and really, as two of the best examples of gay men I have ever read.

Now on to the Cas-ster. At first I also was surprised at the reaction to a Redgaurd in the Arcane University. Until I thought back to the rather common prejudice against magic that most Redguards possess. That a Ra'Gada would want to be in the Arcane University is indeed worthy of note.

I gather that Dura-hi is the Redguard word for magic?

My sword is my heart
Now this was a magnificent example of word-smithing. Not to mention once more a very clear declaration of Casnar's character, in keeping with what we also saw between Alain and Valdemar earlier in this post. Now I wonder will a section on Rielius finish out today's episode?

Not Reilly, but Renald. Close.




Nits:
You did not venture all this way to become a legionnary.”
I think that sneaky Eastern battlemage used his Dura-hi to slip an extra 'n' into legionary.

these men are ‘ere to suffer.
Your slovenly Breton jailor forgot to capitalize These men, whom he is so keen on seeing suffer.

Not a nit, but a thought. Rather than Seargeant, you might want to use the original French Sergent. It goes well with the use of Chevalier.

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Jan 16 2015, 11:56 PM

[Acadian]

I agree with the wise SubRosa (always a good idea) regarding using lore as you deem appropriate to support your story - not the other way around. Besides, with a Bosmer named Buffy the Bowgirl, you know that lore doesn't drive my thinking. Other things, like alliteration for example are more important.

First segment:

“In Skyrim a man’s honor is threatened by an insult aimed at his horse!”

I very much enjoyed the knightly banter between Alain and Valdemar as they rode along. You chose the word catharsis well as Alain said Kastav’s name.

Second segment:

Wonderful to see the Arcane University. Your light touches like the matter of fact presence of summoned scamps helped achieve that mystical feel the place so deservedly emanates.

Knights of the Moon – most appropriate here.

Third segment:

’Death was a constant companion. It was embodied by the silent corpse that shared his cell, yet it remained torturously inept at the simple task of putting him out of his misery.’ - - What a well-crafted passage. It is gruesomely evocative as it captures the Tsaesci’s grim situation perfectly.

“Here ‘e is, m’lord,” the jailor announced. He was a squat, full-bellied Breton who sported a skull that was too small, a nose that was too flat, cheeks that were too soft, and a mouth that was too wet... and always open.’ - - Oh my! What a fantastically concise description that tells us everything relevant about the jailor. I use the word concise because this reminds me of a chapter long ago that you opened with words along the lines of ‘Cuhlecain sat in a golden tub and gave distracted audience to a snake.’

Overall: How nice to catch up with some of this story’s characters, even if none of them seem to be experiencing the best of times.


Nits:
’Alain reigned his horse.’ You want ‘reined’ here of course.

’The nord nodded. “I do.” - - Since you capitalize all uses of race consistently elsewhere in the episode (Nord, Redguard, Tsaesci) I expect you wanted Nord here.

’Even the sight of the occassional scamp walking amidst...’ - - Occasional?

’He wanted to strike out as a true Tscaesci and slaughter any who stood in the way of his syffim’s freedom.’ - - I would hate to have to learn and remember how to spell the race of the snakemen! Tsaesci is correct though (and you have it spelled correctly later in the episode).

[Grits]

The new chapters.

“That is because you choose not to swim, Alain! Imagine the sorrow that awaits us all should the clergy discover that thoughts of vengeance will bind a man to celibacy with far more effect than shackles of piety!”

I love this guy. I’ve missed their friendship. And I love the way the starless night turned to rain at just the right moment.

Casnar straightened and regained his bearing. “My sword is my heart, Master Arctus. And it is yours.”

Aahhh, that was just beautiful.

The Chevalier Renald’s tongue segment (of the update) was magnificent. How fitting that scent should bring him back to alertness. That jailor’s too-wet mouth is going to haunt me! Farenenre’s glove over his nose made me think that the stench in there was likely thick enough to chew. *happy sigh*

I’m so delighted to see this story return, Destri. I’m celebrating by reading again from the start, and not for the first time in the last two years.

[Colonel Mustard]

Update, yay!

It's so good to see this again, and after so long. Alain and Valdemar's banter was a lot of fun, and the prison scene with Chevalier Renauld was excellently written. The emphasis on how he perceived the world through scent was a great way to highlight his non-human nature, and the sheer brutality of his situation was excellently conveyed. I'm wondering what the Emperor wants with him; on one hand, I'd expect revenge, but on the other hand on a rereading of the scene in the arena the Emperor was smiling when Prior Penne(?) was killed. It leaves me curious as to what's going to happen to the good Chevalier.

[Destri Melarg]

canis - It’s been a while for me too! Thanks for swinging by to comment, I hope you’ll come back for more.

‘Rosa - Thanks for the vote of confidence. Sometimes we thick-headed types need to be hit over the head more than once to get the point.

- Alain and Valdemar’s relationship remains purely platonic (I think). I love that their closeness resonates with you, and it has caused me to really look at their relationship to see if perhaps there is more to that closeness than merely friendship. It is an interesting idea. BTW that entire conversation was written with you in mind. It took a lot of juggling with the lore and the story, but now you know the name of the Breton who betrayed them at Sancre Tor. That name is important, and not just because it came to be shared by a fort.

- Dura-hi is the Yokudan word for so-called ‘Eastern magic’ represented by the schools of Conjuration, Illusion, Necromancy and, to a certain degree, Mysticism. Casnar may have left Hammerfell, but it seems that Hammerfell has not left Casnar.

- The term Shrine Sergeant comes directly from the ranks given to members of the Imperial Cult in Morrowind. It doesn’t make sense to me that the same ranks wouldn’t be available in Cyrodiil, given that it’s the same religion. Plus I like the idea of the Temple having its own security force, so I simply borrowed it. I like the seperation between Sergeant and Chevalier because one is a rank of the Temple in Cyrodiil, while the other is an honorific taken on by a subject of Akavir. You will find no other Chevaliers in the Empire (well, not in this story anyway).

Acadian - Thank you for having faith in me, even as I tested that faith. Chorrol has always been brighter for your presence, and I stand proud to call you my first reader... and my friend.

- I kept you in mind alot while writing because I didn’t want to weigh you down trying to remember who was who and what was what. I hope i’ve succeeded.

- And, as ever, your keen editorial eye misses nothing! All nits accounted for (I hope).

Grits - I just can’t seem to resist playing with weather for effect can I? I’m so grateful you think enough of this story to continue reading, and the fact that you want to go back and tackle this beast once more from the beginning just has me beaming!

Must’d - Good Gods man! Where have you been? Though I guess that’s a question I should answer first, eh? Thanks for popping back in here... and wonder no longer. Cuhlecain’s motives are finally revealed in this chapter.

* * *

26th First Seed, 2E 854
The Imperial Place, The Imperial City
Midday


This is no better than I deserve, he thought to himself. My pride brought us to this. Was I so blinded by the sanctity of dragon blood that I willingly placed all of our lives into its service? Or was I simply deaf to all save the words of defeated warriors pledging themselves to a man over a thousand years dead? How was our honor in such disrepair that I jumped at the words of a crazed witch simply for the chance that it might be mended? This is what the belief in the sanctity of dragon blood is worth? I was supposed to see them home! I was not supposed to lead them into a fools quest that made them the object of derision on Arena sands!

The Chevalier Renald stood motionless before the Emperor. His golden scales had been scrubbed to the point of glistening, and his sight had finally accustomed itself to the light of Magnus. Though his wrists were bound with heavy shackles, his malevolence filled the chamber... and caused the guards to grip their spears with purpose.

Around him the audience chamber had been cleared of all but the aforementioned guards and Lord Counselor Farenenre whose scent permeated the room even though he positioned himself some distance removed. Above them the galleries were silent. Only the stray breeze that caught and ruffled the dragon banners bore mute witness to the proceedings.

“My apologies,” said the self-styled Emperor whose feet dangled from his perch upon the Ruby Throne. “With the repairs occurring throughout the city you must understand that the cells beneath the Palace receive the least attention from my builders.”

Renald remained silent.

“Given your crimes against the Temple and the Empire,” Cuhlecain continued, “I imagine better accommodations were not to be expected.”

The Tsaesci’s glare did not waver.

“I am sympathetic to the reason governing your actions,” said the Emperor. “That sympathy is the reason you stand before me instead of my headsman. And it is the reason that I would grant a boon...”

“You would grant?” The Tsaesci’s voice dripped with contempt. “I entered my syffim into your service only to see you use them as fodder for bloodsport to appease your subjects. The only boon you could grant me now is execution.”

“Not true, my friend. While your own execution is an inevitability, I would remind you that two of your syffim yet live. One final service from you would insure their freedom and grant the means to return to Akavir.”

Akavir. Could I still see them home? “Why should I trust the word of one who lacks honor?”

“Watch your tongue, Tsaesci, you address the Emperor of Tamriel!” said Farenenre.

The Tsaesci’s head turned and Farenenre’s next comment was doused like a candle in the maelstrom.

“No,” said Renald, “I address the small man who aspires to such a height, not the underlings who would lift him towards it.”

Cuhlecain leaned forward and punctuated his words with a squat finger. “Silence! Have a care, snake-man. My generosity is not without limit.”

“My syffim has seen the limit of your generosity.”

“And yet you still trust my word because the alternative condemns you all. You trust that keeping it suits my interest in the same way that placing your syffim in the Arena suited my interest. Those games will be spoken of for years to come, staged by the Emperor Cuhlecain. Had you not intervened you would have been granted leave to join your syffim on that ship to Akavir. But those subjects you speak of must see someone pay for murdering a member of the Temple. Once that is done I will have no use for the rest of your countrymen, nor will I feel comfortable with them near the throne. I must either execute them or let them go. Your actions may yet influence that decision.”

Do I dare hope? What does it profit to enter into agreement with such a man? My last acquiescence cost Chirasch his life. But if even the whisper of a chance exists... Renald’s head sagged in defeat. For Eesham and Xarsien. His head lifted. “What service would you have of me?”

The Emperor leaned back on his throne and smiled. “You will be given rest and the opportunity to feed. Tonight your weapons will be restored to you and you will leave the Palace to seek out and assassinate General Talos Stormcrown.”


_____

26th First Seed, 2E 854
Reman Plaza District, Imperial City
Midday


Three men and a cat came to attention at the General’s table. Arctus could see the shock registering in their eyes, even if they were loathe to break the rules of propriety or the chain of command to give it voice. What they had signed up for was finally coming to pass. Was that shock mirrored in his own eyes? True, he had known an attempt was coming, but...

“Why would he choose tonight?” he asked.

“The Amulet,” said General Talos. “It is the key to the next twenty-four hours and beyond. Cuhlecain is no fool. He knows that we have sympathetic eyes and ears in the Palace. The longer he waits to eliminate me the greater the chance that we put those sympathies to use.”

“The Tsaesci?” asked Captain Alorius.

Talos nodded. “The events in the arena have thrust them outside the protection of law. Even now a crowd gathers around the Palace clamoring for the justice of the headsman’s axe. Cuhlecain won’t risk moving them to the Bastion for fear of what the mob may do to them before they’ve served his purpose. For now they remain beneath the Palace, and he will use the threat of execution to coerce one or more into my assassination...”

“Which would give him all the more justification for executing them after the fact. He eliminates you as a rival while also gaining the leave of the entire city to execute those who swore oaths to protect you, all while remaining above suspicion.” Arctus shook his head. “One can almost admire the devious turn of mind that created this opportunity.”

“Cuhlecain may be more comfortable with the axe,” said Talos, “but that does not mean he is a stranger to the dagger.”

“That seems to leave us in an untenable position,” said Rielus, speaking for the first time. “Perhaps we should be looking to spirit you from the city, General?”

Talos looked over at him.

“I agree,” said Alorius.

“This one knows that the sewers are not a dignified way to travel,” offered Dar’Zhan, “but it would be a simple matter to gain the Rumare. A boat could conduct you north from there.”

“Perhaps you should listen to them, General,” said Arctus.

“Why north?” asked Casnar.

“The General’s power base is strongest in Skyrim,” said Alorius.

“And we will need that power base soon enough,” Talos was still looking at Rielus. He smiled. “When this is over, assuming we all survive, we’re going to have to make your promotion to knighthood official, Sir Rielus. However, as much as I grow tired of seeing you in that spearman’s uniform day after day, you will need it for what is to come.”

“Perhaps it is the smell that gives offense, General,” said Casnar, smiling.

“I concur,” said Alorius.

“General,” said Arctus. “The Emperor.”

Talos’ smile faded. He looked across the table and his eyes sought out each member of his small council until they came to rest upon Dar’Zhan. “We were out maneuvered, but your knowledge of the sewers has given us one opportunity to salvage victory in our retreat... as long as we have the courage to chance it.”

“How?” asked Rielus.

Arctus looked at General Talos. “The Amulet.”

Talos nodded.

“It’s too risky,” said Arctus.

“The Tsaesci are worth it.”

“Are they? Even if you could somehow steal the Amulet of Kings which, in itself, is no small feat, there is no guarantee that possession of it will stay the Tsaesci’s hand against you should it come to that. Not when the alternative means certain death for their companions.”

“You underestimate Tsaesci honor, my friend.”

“Or perhaps you overestimate the power of dragon blood, General.”

“Perhaps,” said Talos. “The fact remains that we must make up in skill what we lack in numbers, and Tsaesci skill is unrivaled. We need them.”

“Begging your pardon, General,” said Alorius, “but we need you. Master Arctus is right, it’s too risky.”

“The Old Way into the Palace,” said Rielus. “That’s why you had us searching for it.”

“Indeed.” Talos looked over to Arctus. “Stealing the Amulet will be the easiest part. It is already arranged. Captain...”

Alorius snapped to attention. “Sir.”

“... Farenenre will be waiting for you at the twelfth bell. He will give you access to the vault during the shift change. Your contact will be there as well. Once you secure the Amulet you will follow his instructions to make your escape. Timing is paramount, Captain. You must return the Amulet with all possible haste.”

“Yes sir.”

“And Farenere?” asked Arctus. They are not going to look kindly upon him giving you access to the royal vault. He’s far too calculating not to realize that...”

The sound of gauntlets pounding against the heavy oak front door caught their attention. Both knights at the table reached for their swords. Talos waved his leave for Alorius to attend to it. Alorius left the table and exited the room.

“Farenenre is accounted for,” said Talos. “Sir Rielus, Sir Casnar, you will accompany Dar’Zhan through the sewers into the palace. Arctus, we will need another uniform for Sir Casnar.”

“Of course,” said Arctus.

“Once inside the Palace your uniforms should allow you to move with relative impunity. According to our source, the Emperor is holding two of the captive Tsaesci in cells located in the western block of the old dungeons...”

Alorius re-entered the room and crossed over to Zurin Arctus. He whispered into the battlemage’s ear and Arctus accompanied him back to the front door.

“...When the diversion occurs,” Talos continued, “it should draw enough of the guards for you to liberate the Tsaesci with minimal resistance. You are to escort them back out through the sewers to Lake Rumare where a boat shall be waiting.”

“What is this diversion?” asked Casnar.

“It will be apparent when it occurs,” said Talos.

“Begging pardon, General,” said Rielus, “but this sounds like a task more suited to the Thieves Guild.”

“Why do you think Dar’Zhan is here?”

“Getting to the Palace will not be a problem,” said Dar’Zhan. “This one and the Captain thinned the number of creatures finding the old path. But from the Palace to the Rumare runs deep into the sewers, and there are covens and much worse that call those tunnels home. This one is more than a match for a rat or a goblin, but a vampire, or worse, is beyond this one’s skill.”

“You said earlier that it would be a simple matter to reach the lake,” said Rielus.

“It is,” said Dar’zhan, “from Reman Plaza. This one could avoid the deep tunnels. From the Palace this one must go through them unless he decides to backtrack to Reman Plaza, then make his way from there.”

“You cannot backtrack,” said Talos. “No matter how events play out, Reman Plaza will no longer be safe.”

“Through the sewers then,” said Casnar.

Rielus nodded.

“This one will do his best to show you the way,” said Dar’Zhan. “It is his fervent hope that the Tsaesci’s escape makes them eager to fight. Still, you will only be four swords.”

“Six,” said Arctus.

They turned from the table. Arctus and Alorius stood in the doorway. Behind them stood a Breton in battered armor, and the largest Nord that any of them had ever seen.

Casnar could not contain his smile.

“General,” said Alorius, “allow me to present Sir Alain of Wayrest and Sir Valdemar of Skyrim. Two knights who have travelled far to enter into your service.”

“Travelled from...”

“From the Reach of late, General,” said Arctus.

“I see,” said Talos. He exchanged a look with the battlemage, who nodded. Then he regarded the two knights with an appraising eye.

“We would be of use, General,” said Alain, “if you would have us.”

Talos smiled. “You are most welcome.”

Alain looked across the table. “Casnar?”

Valdemar pushed into the room, smiling. “Good to see that settled. Found the sense to leave that swill-producing sandbox, eh Redguard?”

“I thought I might find and join a better class of people,” said Casnar, clasping the Nord’s offered hand. “Then you show up.”

“Does this mean we need more uniforms?” asked Rielus

“Alain shouldn’t be a problem, but I doubt legion uniforms are made ogrim-sized,” said Casnar.

Valdemar eyes settled on Rielus. “Who’s the whelp?”

Rielus stood. “The whelp’s name is Sir Rielus.”

Alain walked over to Rielus and extended his hand. “Alain.”

“Don’t mind the Nord, Rielus,” said Casnar. “He eventually starts to grow on you.”

“Like brain rot?” asked Rielus.

Valdemar laughed. “I like him.”

_____

This post has been edited by Destri Melarg: Jan 29 2015, 11:32 PM

[SubRosa]

So you can take the Redgaurd out of Hammerfell, but you cannot take the Hammerfell out of the Redguard?

I read this on my phone at work this morning. Now I can finally comment. Hopefully I remember enough!

Now we see Emp Cuche's plan coming into focus. He certainly does have our serpentinian chevalier in a tight spot. But the key is obviously the last two surviving Tsaesci. If Talos and company can get to them first, I have no doubt which way Le Chevalier Renald will leap. Though it might change history, since the game says it was a Breton Nightblade who assassinated Cuche, not a Taesci chevalier! But perhaps the Cuchster will not meet his actual end until a later date.

And it is nice to finally see the Fab Four from Sancre Tor finally in the same room together, and Rielius finally getting his promotion to Sirdom! You give the feeling of things in the story finally coming together. Though Lattia and the Breton Nightblade still seem unaccounted for...

This post has been edited by SubRosa: Jan 29 2015, 09:12 PM

[Acadian]

First section:

You always do such a great job when you introduce our favorite (not) self-styled Emperor. In this case, the image of his feet dangling as he sat on his Ruby Throne spoke volumes – as I’m sure you intended.

Renald’s deportment before Cuhlecain is exactly what we have come to expect of the chevalier: “No,” said Renald, “I address the small man who aspires to such a height, not the underlings who would lift him towards it.”

Wow, a deal to assassinate Talos! By the Eight/Nine! Seriously though, the squat little Emperor did a good job of painting our poor noble snake into a corner from which his ‘cooperation’ seemed inevitable.

Second section:

Talos shows he is no slouch as he anticipates Cuhlecain’s assassination plans involving the Tsaesci. This is now feeling like a momentous match between chess masters.

So I see perhaps diffusing Renald’s ‘mission’ by preemptively releasing his countrymen – pretty smart!

And welcome again to Alain and Valdemar.


Nits:
- ’Was I so blinded by the sanctity of dragon blood that I willingly placed all of our lives into it’s service?’ - - Its vs it’s.

- ’Or was I simply deaf to all save the words of defeated warriors...’ - - Not a nit in this passage. In fact I find the use of ‘save’ or ‘all save’ to imply exclusion delightfully refreshing. Memorable also, and therein enters the tiny problem. Two paragraphs later you employed this same distinctive phrasing two more times. Too much of a good thing in such close proximity?

- “I imagine better accomodations were not to be expected.” - - Accommodations.

[Colonel Mustard]

Like Spock, it appears that Cuhlecain has set himself up to be hoisted by his own Picard. I'm pretty sure that's how that saying goes

That said, I'm wondering if Cuhlecain deliberately set up this entire scenario simply so that he would have the service of an exceptionally skilled assassin. With Eesham and Xarsien's lives on the line, Renauld's forced to do what Cuhlecain commands for what is potentially an indefinite period of time, and considering his skill then Talos is in real danger.

Still, seeing as the general has managed to anticipate this, it seems that a lot hinges on springing Eesham and Xarsien before Renauld gets to him. As it is, Renauld seems desperate enough that Talos' dragon blood might not be enough to save him.

[ghastley]

A couple of minor points that bothered me.

"The Chevalier Renald stood motionless before the Emperor" - does "stood" apply? Maybe "remained" would have been better.

"... you will leave the Palace to seek out and assassinate General Talos Stormcrown." Would the Emperor actually say "assassinate", or use some other term, like "execute" or just "kill"?

And if I'm picking nits that small, you can safely assume I liked the rest.

[Grits]

The Tsaesci’s head turned and Farenenre’s next comment was doused like a candle in the maelstrom.

Even readers flinched in anticipation after Farenenre’s remark.

Opportunity to feed… *shiver* Cuhlecain has our Chevalier by the syffim. I’m biting my nails over the fate of Eesham and Xarsien.

The scene with the General’s small council simply sang. What a joy to read. When Valdemar and Alain appeared in that doorway I let out a whoop and did a dance that cannot be described because thankfully there were no witnesses. This is a grand adventure!!

[Winter Wolf]

*wolf pads quietly into the room and settles down*

My plan is to start reading this tomorrow from chapter one, to savor it slowly and give it the respect it deserves. Rest assured, my brother, I will get up to speed soon!