Edward an Imperial's Story, Coward, bounder, thief, murderer...and hero? Options

[Rachel the Breton]

Through mighty might and righteous right,
Bravely fighting the good, nay the best, fight,
The Imperials broke their chains and reversed their plight
And valiantly stormed the White Gold Tower that joyous night
Victory bound, immortalized for their courage and might
Riding the wave of conquest and history, hail the mighty Empire!
-- Excerpt from a grade school history textbook, chapter The Glorious Fall of the Barbarous Elves, and the Ascension of the Imperials as the Right and Just Rulers of Tamriel

Chapter Sixty

Edward stood, tapping his foot impatiently. The Cinna woman was gabbing ceaselessly with a beggar, who was complaining about some illness that seemed to make him weak and tired. The Imperial sighed. No wonder Umbaccano sent him on this tedious task – clearly the woman was a nitwit, if she preferred babbling with whiny beggars to actual business transactions.

“Take this in two doses – one now, and one in about twelve hours,” she was saying. “It should cure your problems.”

“Ohh, thank you, kind lady!”

“No need to thank me, Fralav. Just make sure you take both doses, and get some rest. You should feel fine in no time.”

“Blessings of Julianos upon you, kind lady!”

Edward rolled his eyes as Herminia dismissed Fralav. “These beggars never switch up their lines, do they?” he wondered.

Glaring down his nose at the other man as he passed, Edward headed over to Miss Cinna when she called, “Next.”

“Good afternoon,” he greeted, with as charming a smile as he could muster when thoroughly annoyed – as he was now, at having to wait as long as he'd had to wait.

She stared at him for a moment, an eyebrow raised. “Are you sure you're homeless?” she asked.

This unexpected and unflattering query took Edward completely aback. “Me? Homeless? What?”

“I'm sorry, sir, but this clinic is only for the homeless and waterfront district residents. You don't look like you're either of those...”

Despite himself, he felt a slight twinge of relief that – mad as she was – she could tell that he was not a lowlife like the creature who had just slunk out. “My dear lady,” he informed her, “I have no idea what you're talking about. Of course I am not homeless. And I most assuredly do not live in the hovels on the waterfront.”

She nodded. “Then this clinic isn't for you.”

He frowned at her. “What clinic?”

It was her turn to frown. “Aren't you here for the free Fredas clinic?”

“What?”

“Oh...I guess not. It's a service I provide to the poor in the Imperial City...free medicine and all of that, for whatever ails them.”

Edward frowned again, feeling annoyed that this crazy woman could have thought that he, Edward the Imperial, had come to beg aid from a batty old collector. “Yes, well, fascinating as that is,” he told her, “I am not here for the clinic. I am here to talk to you about your collection.”

“Ah.” Her eyes lit up. “Well, I would love to have that discussion with you. However, I'm afraid I'm unavailable right now.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I'm running my clinic...”

“But...but surely it can wait! This will only take...”

At that moment, the door opened, and a scraggly beggar walked in. Edward shivered and stepped back involuntarily at the sight of the dirty, bedraggled creature.

“Sorry,” she said. “Another patient. But, if you'd like, you can take a seat in the vestibule, and wait until we're done...”

* * *

Three hours later – and scratching, coughing and feeling himself remarkably lightheaded and short of breath – Edward hobbled over to Miss Cinna. Her clinic had finally ended, and she had declared that she was ready to talk. However, on seeing his approach, she raised an eyebrow. “What's wrong with you?” she asked.

“I think...I caught something,” he admitted. “I'm itching all over.”

She nodded. “It could be fleas or lice,” she told him. “After being exposed to patients with it, you might have picked up a few yourself.”

Edward felt his heart sink. “And...I have this lightheaded feeling. I feel like the room is spinning, and taking my strength with it.” He didn't care that his description of the ailment was exactly what Fralav's had been – he was sure that he had caught it from the filthy beggar, anyway.

She frowned. “It...could be Black-Heart Blight, I suppose. That's one of the symptoms...”

“And then,” he continued, “I have this cough.” He paused to demonstrate. “You see? And I noticed one of those beggars had the same thing. You don't suppose I could have picked it up?”

Her frown deepened. “I've never heard of Swamp Fever taking effect that quickly after exposure...”

“And my leg,” Edward continued, “it hurts, a lot. I can't walk on it. And I saw one of those beggars hobbling around too...”

“Fractured legs aren't contagious...” she informed him dryly.

[mALX]

Or spend some time fixing that ridiculous hair of his?”

SPEW !!! Wait till he sees Docada !!!! ROFL !!!!



[quote]
She nodded. “It could be fleas or lice,” she told him. “After being exposed to patients with it, you might have picked up a few yourself.”

She frowned. “It...could be Black-Heart Blight, I suppose. “

ROFL !!!! Edward with ... lice !!!! SPEW !!!!!

These were great! Ah, I have missed Edward and his valet !!!!



This post has been edited by mALX: Dec 14 2010, 05:51 AM

[Rachel the Breton]

LOL, thanks, mALX -- my favorite part of Edward's hypochondria was the "contagious" fractured leg...I can just see him, sitting there bored, absently watching as people hobble by, scratching/coughing/wheezing, and imagining that he is coming down with everything they have.


Where women are concerned,
A true master of speech and subtlety
Will find it the easiest thing in the world
To bend them to his will.
-- Rough draft of a dating guide, penned by Edward

Chapter Sixty-One

“Fractured?” Edward repeated, standing up straight. “Oh. Well, that's...good...maybe mine isn't...fractured, then.”

“I'm pretty sure it's not,” she told him curtly. “Seeing as how you walked in here fine, and then spent the last two hours sitting...”

“Three,” he corrected.

“What?”

“It was three hours,” he told her. “Not two.” Her annoyed look was quickly becoming a glare. “Not that it matters, of course,” he hastened to add. “I love sitting around and listening to vagrants whine as they spread their germs.” This last part was said with what he hoped was a genuine-seeming smile, but, if her expression was anything to go by, it had missed the mark somewhat.

“What do you want?” she demanded. “You said something about my collection. What about it?”

Seeing that their conversation had quickly taken a turn for the worse, Edward decided it was time to apply some charm. “Well,” he simpered, “as an amateur student of the Aleyids, I have long desired to meet the most formidable, learned mind on the topic – your reputation is beyond compare. So, when I wanted to locate a particular Aleyid hat for my own private collection, I knew I had to come to you.”

Alas, but Edward's charm had rather the opposite effect than he'd hoped; for, rolling her eyes, she snorted, “Oh, gods, Umbaccano gets more pathetic by the day.”

Edward flushed, stammering. “Umbaccano? What? Who? I don't know what you mean!”

“Save your breath,” Herminia informed him curtly. “Umbaccano's tried every trick in the book to get my crown – except sending a blithering idiot. Until now, that is. It's not for sale. At any price. Now get.”

She gestured for the door, but Edward was too frozen in place by sheer stupefaction to make any move. “But...how did you...”

She sighed. “Look, kid, you're obviously new at this. So let me give you some advice. Don't play over your head. Umbaccano is over your head. I am over your head. He's sent guys a lot smarter and a lot more intimidating over here – and not one of them has had any more of a chance than you do. I'm guessing he sent you here hoping your naiveté and obvious cluelessness would achieve what their cunning could not. You might think this job is your lucky break, but you have no idea who and what Umbaccano is. You wouldn't be the first – and you won't be the last – he's sent to his death over petty treasures and rumors of relics. He's a cold, heartless son of a Dremora – and there is no way, come Oblivion or high water, that he is getting my crown.”

Edward stared at her, too shocked to process half of what she was saying. He was still too lost in his amazement that she had figured out that he wanted her crown to focus on too much else. “But...but surely you could just...”

“No,” she shook her head. “You must not be listening to what I'm saying. The Crown of Nenalata is not for sale. At any price. Ever. Go home, and tell Umbaccano that – for the ten thousandth time – if you will. Or, take my advice, and don't ever go back there at all.”

“But what's the big deal?” Edward persisted. “He's willing to pay an outrageous amount of Septims, and -”

Herminia's glare had returned. “It's not the Septims I'm concerned about. Are you even listening to me? The Crown of Nenalata is a powerful magical device.” Edward raised his eyebrows at her. His valet's madness seemed contagious. “In the wrong hand's – in Umbacanno's hands – it could wreak more havoc than you can imagine.”

Edward sighed. “Come on! It's a hat! What can a hat do?!”

“It's not a 'hat'!” she snapped. “It's a crown!”

“Hat, crown, whatever,” he pooh-poohed her. Herminia's glare was piercing now, but Edward was too annoyed to take note. “I mean, you wear it on your head, it's a hat. You can't seriously believe that the world is going to end because of a hat?!”

“You fool!” she snapped. “Have you no notion of Aleyid magic? This was not just a 'hat'! This was the crown of the last King of the Aleyids.”

Edward sighed. “Yeah, yeah, I know – Umbaccano told me. And so did my servant. I get it. It's a powerful guy's hat.”

“Aleyid crowns were imbued with the power of their kings, and their cities!” Herminia told him. “The last king of the Aleyids was reputed to have lived for hundreds of years; his power was beyond compare in the Aleyid world at that time!”

Edward snorted. “Well, his magic hat didn't do him much good when the Imperials rose up against them, did it?”

“You fool!” she repeated. “Do you know nothing of history? The Aleyids were not a central unit; they were a group of warring, bitter rivals. It was the Imperials' good fortune that they rose up at a time of such bitter enmity between clans...because it was the Aleyids' infighting that was at least as much to blame for their downfall as the revolts of their human slaves!”

Edward yawned. “Look, I'm really not interested in a history lesson, ok? I just need that hat...err, crown.”

Herminia Cinna seemed ready to explode, and at a loss for words all at once. At this last observation, Edward decided this was a good time to bring back the charm factor.

“Come on, honey,” he smiled. “You and I both know that Umbaccano is making an offer you can't resist. Sooner or later, you're going to give in...let's face it, the man is offering an obscene amount of gold for an old hat. No one can hold out against that forever.”

Herminia Cinna's face seemed to alternate hues of purple and red as she took several deep breaths. Edward tried to determine if this was a good or bad thing, and figured it was best to keep talking just in case his charm hadn't had its full effect yet.

“Think of it this way. You can take all the money he's going to pay you, and buy as many hats as you want with it – and, between you and me, our styles are much better than those elves anyway. I mean, you'd look pretty svelte in some of the new styles...but Aleyid hats? Old and stuffy. You need modern and sleek, to match you.” Deciding that he didn't want to overdo the charm aspect – not least of all because he had a hard time flattering such an “old bat”, as he considered her, seeing as how she was a good decade or so his senior – he switched tactics. “And you know Umbaccano's never going to give up – you've said as much yourself. So why not take the money, and save yourself the grief? Not to mention, you'd be doing me a big favor. Umbaccano's going to give me a big bonus if I get this right; and I could really use the money right now. My parents aren't doing so well, and my wife is expecting a kid in two weeks...and our landlord is threatening to evict us if we can't make the new rate...not to complain, or anything...but it sure would be a big favor if you could just sell that hat...”

[Rachel the Breton]

Wisdom teaches, and the wise realize
Women are but pawns in a man's game
A little flattery, a few compliments
And she suddenly sees things his way.
-- Rough draft of a dating guide, penned by Edward

Chapter Sixty-Two

With every new word, a thousand responses flooded Herminia Cinna's mind. Did this crazy Imperial not realize what he was asking? Did he really think his cheap flattery – particularly said with such a forced expression – would persuade her to hand over one of the most powerful ancient artifacts to a man like Umbaccano, a ruthless artifact seeker with an unhealthy obsession with Aleyid power and glory?

By time Edward reached his improvised sob story, Herminia was ready to gag. One phrase, however, stuck in her mind. “Umbaccano's never going to give up.” Pathetic fool that this envoy of Umbaccano's was, he was right on that one point. Today, he might send a nitwit like this to harass her. But tomorrow? He had already resorted to bullying; his thugs had been there more than once, and left singed to prove the fact. She was a good mage, but she was not a great one. What if the next attempt was more successful?

Something else, too, worried her. She had heard that Umbaccano had stepped up the number of treasure hunters he had looking for the High Fane carvings; the fact that he was intensifying the pressure on her indicated that he must be close to finding what he needed. If the rumors were right...

She shivered. If the rumors were right, he would have the secret to unlocking the power of Nenalata – with that, and the crown, he could become the most powerful being on all of Nirn.

She was drawn from her thoughts by the idiot, who was at the moment prattling on about some fictitious wife and offspring.

“And what with little, erm, Timmy's lameness, things are...”

“Oh, that's terrible!” she interjected. Anything, to shut him up; but she couldn't resist adding, “You know, in cases like that, I'd always make an exception, and be glad to see little...what was his name? Timmy? At my clinic.”

Edward stammered out some excuse about not taking advantage of her kindness.

“Oh, not at all! But...”

“Yes?”

“I've been thinking about what you said...and you put it so masterfully, that I'm half inclined to agree. Umbaccano may be an old coot, but it is...just a hat, after all.” Edward nodded eagerly, but she spoke before he had the opportunity to prattle on. “And it is an ancient artifact; aside from me, no one has seen it in how many eras? Surely, even if it did hold power, no one would know how to unlock it...”

“Exactly!” Edward agreed. “You see, that's what I mean. It's just a hat, right?”

She nodded. “And it's been in my possession all this time, and hasn't caused me any harm. Those stories might have even been made up by the Aleyids, or later scholars frightened or ignorant of them.”

Edward nodded, although he seemed a little bored by her delving into any discussion of the historical aspects of the crown.

Smiling, she said, “Very well. I am in agreement with you and your master. I will sell the Aleyid crown.”

Edward was positively beaming, and stumbling out a mass of words to assure her that she was making the right choice and to thank her, all at the same time.

“Yes, well, let me go fetch it for you, will you? I trust, of course, you have the payment?” As he assured her that this was the case, she left for her quarters.

Bolting the door behind her, Herminia opened a heavy wooden trunk, and pulled out two Aleyid caskets. They were bulky, and looked as if they would weigh a lot; and yet they were light as air to lift. Herminia could feel the magic emanating from them, and took care to keep the two caskets away from each other. She had seen the results of placing them too near one another before; even with her skills as a healer, the burns on her hands had taken a week to heal.

Pulling a tiny key from the delicate chain about her neck, she opened one casket, and, with another key, the other. Staring at the two crowns, she smiled. It was a good plan. They were, for all intents and purposes, identical. There were slight decorative differences – with the Nenalata crown bearing more feather impressions than the Lindai crown – but these were subtle. Without the two artifacts side by side to compare, one would hardly know that they were not the same item. And, for all his obsession with the Aleyids, Umbaccano was fixated on Nenalata and its power. He would not have made a study of Lindai.

Too, after Umbaccano's constant harassment over the first crown, Herminia hadn't made the same mistake she made when she retrieved the crown of Nenalata; no one knew that she had gone to Lindai, and no one knew that she had this crown in her possession. Even if anyone took the time to find out that it existed, they would have no idea where it had went.

If Umbaccano was the harmless collector people seemed to believe, selling him the crown of Lindai would be the fulfillment of his lifelong wish; he would think that he held the crown of the last and most powerful of all the Aleyid kings, and that his collection – his obsession – was finally complete. And, if he was the power seeking blackguard that she believed him to be, he would not be able to unleash the monstrous powers of Nenalata, for he would have the lesser crown of Nenalata's rival, Lindai, and his command of the secrets of Nenalata would be useless.

She smiled again. It was a good plan indeed. And the clueless dupe downstairs would be the perfect one to enact it.

[Rachel the Breton]

The fool believes himself wise in comparison to others,
And the wise man knows himself to be a fool compared to his peers.
-- An excerpt from a piece translated in the scholarly work “Writings of Old, Dead People”

Chapter Sixty-Three

Edward smiled congratulatory smiles to himself as he left Herminia Cinna's home. Things might have started out a little rough between them, but, in the end, yet another woman had succumbed to his charms; she had believed everything he'd said, hook, line and sinker. Not that, of course, his reasoning had been flawed; a hat is just a hat, after all, and there's certainly no sense getting all worked up about it – especially when someone is offering you as much gold as Umbaccano was offering!

Half of him almost regretted telling Herminia the stories about his imaginary wife and kids; judging by the way she'd reacted when he turned on the charm, he could see the promise of a future for the two of them. Not that he was keen on the idea of being with an older woman, of course...but...well, this one was not just your average older woman. She was rich – and that did wonders toward erasing the difference of a decade.

Alas, though, it was not to be, for she thought he was already married. “Oh well,” he mused, “at least I got my hat.”

His thoughts turning to the hat, Edward was seized all at once with a desire to see the thing. She had opened the casket, of course, but he had only caught a glimpse of what looked like a funnily decorated helmet.

Casting furtive glances about him, Edward ducked into a side alley. There, he pulled out the key Herminia had given him, and opened the casket. Staring in astonishment, Edward reached in to remove the item he saw inside.

“This?!” he thought to himself. “This ugly helmet with horns is what all the trouble has been about? And so much for my servant and the Cinna woman insisting this was a crown...look at it! Just an ugly, feathery-looking helmet.” Sighing in annoyance at how much trouble he gone through for such a stupid thing, Edward lifted the helmet to his head.

He started as the metal – as light as the casket itself – touched his brow; a sort of energy, or power, seemed to emanate from it. All at once, he didn't feel terribly annoyed, and his hunger seemed to vanish.

Realizing that he was too nice a person – as evidenced by his sudden lack of frustration by the needless hullabaloo over a horned helmet – Edward removed the crown and sighed. He really had to work at that, he decided – otherwise people would continue to take advantage of his kindness and walk all over him.

He felt his annoyance come ebbing back as he replaced the crown in its casket. “That's better,” he thought. He was sick and tired of people ordering him about and making life difficult for him; he certainly didn't want to forgo the right to be furious at them for it.

Stepping out of the alley, Edward set his feet in the direction of Umbaccano's manor. “The sooner I'm done with this absurd business,” he decided, “the better. This elf is really starting to annoy me...making all this trouble over such an ugly hat...and it's not even like he's going to be able to wear the thing – not with that big spike of hair he's got. Although, maybe he'll finally get a decent hair cut now that he's got this.” The idea made Edward chuckle.

[Rachel the Breton]

Where night forever falls,
Where the sinister spider crawls
The tomb-like city of buried walls
The haunt of the Aleyids appalls!
-- On Unraveling the Secrets of Aleyid Ruins, Edition the First



Chapter Sixty-Four

The elf's eyes lit up as Edward stepped into the room, carrying the Aleyid casket. “Oh my...don't tell me that you have finally persuaded that old toad?!” he exclaimed, leaping out of his seat in pure joy.

Confirming to his employer that he had indeed, Edward remarked to himself that this was, in fact, the first time he had seen Umbaccano leave his seat. “Well, at least I know he's capable of it...” he thought ill-humoredly.

“Ohh!” the elf was practically frantic with delight as he took the casket from Edward's hands.

Watching with a measure of guarded disdain, Edward allowed his employer to take out the crown, examine and exclaim over this detail and that, the beauty of the Elven craftsmanship, the power emanating from the thing, and all manner of other trite collector-speak, before declaring, “Well, since I've procured for you this delightful hat...”

“Oh yes, your payment,” Umbaccano looked up long enough to signal Jollring. “Of course!”

The Nord stepped forward and handed the beaming Edward a bag of gold; so thrilled to touch another thousand Septims – the most money he had ever had in his hands – was he, that the Imperial didn't even notice the other man's expression of contempt.

“Well, if that's all,” Edward smiled, “I've got a fortune to go drink away!”

The Altmer looked up a second time. “Hold on!” he called, stopping Edward in his tracks.

“What?”

“I can't tell you how thrilled I am with this...how did you manage to get Herminia to hand it over?!”

Edward shrugged. “Well, you know...just explained it in a rational manner. And she couldn't refuse, especially with what you were paying.”

The elf nodded. “It was personal, then. I knew it. I figured it just took a fresh face.” Umbaccno smiled. “I thank you.”

Shrugging again, the Imperial declared with mock humbleness, “All in a day's work.”

“Yes...and...I know you want to enjoy the rewards of your labor...”

Edward cringed. The elf was going to offer him another annoying job that paid too well to turn down, wasn't he?

“But...I do have one last proposition, if you're interested.”

Edward sighed, but nodded.

“Good! Now that I have this crown, I need to go to Nenalata itself.”

“Why?” the Imperial asked with a frown.

“Because I am a scholar as well as a collector!” Umbaccano returned. “This crown, and the carving you retrieved, were the last pieces I needed to complete my research, and unravel the mysteries of the Last King of the Aleyids.”

Edward cringed. He hated history buffs. For a moment, he considered turning the offer down.

“I would be – we, if you agree to come as my guard – would be making our way to the throne room,” Umbaccano continued. “And that has not been disturbed for thousands of years...I am there for the history of the place, so whatever treasure you found would be yours...”

All thoughts of abandoning the elf's employ were suddenly as extinct as the Aleyids, and Edward, shaking from pure excitement at the idea of looting an ancient throne room, shook his employer's hand. “It would be a pleasure!”

[mALX]

GAAAH !!! It's almost here...Edward in Nenalata !!! I can't wait !!!

These two parts had me choking! :

"Save your breath,” Herminia informed him curtly. “Umbaccano's tried every trick in the book to get my crown – except sending a blithering idiot. Until now, that is. It's not for sale. At any price. Now get.”

Edward yawned. “Look, I'm really not interested in a history lesson, ok? I just need that hat...err, crown.”

Herminia Cinna seemed ready to explode, and at a loss for words all at once. At this last observation, Edward decided this was a good time to bring back the charm factor.

“Come on, honey,” he smiled. “You and I both know that Umbaccano is making an offer you can't resist. Sooner or later, you're going to give in...let's face it, the man is offering an obscene amount of gold for an old hat. No one can hold out against that forever.”

Getting a new Edward quest from the early days before the valet is revealed - Awesome !!!!! I am loving this !!!!

[treydog]

Haven't caught up yet, but I wanted to comment so you know I am still loving every sigh, every snort, every moment of Edwardian idiocy.

So eager was he to get inside and to find the treasure that he didn't notice the subtle rustle of dry grass on the plateau above the ruin, or the expression of suspicion on his companion's face. Only when his valet reached out and took hold of his arm did he stop – and then it was too late to note the subtle gesture for silence that the other man made. “What?” he blurted out. “What are you...huh? What?” Casting a furtive glance around him, his fear came ebbing back. “What is it?” he whispered hoarsely, in a tone so loud that it surely would have carried to anyone nearby. “What do you hear?”

Ah yes, Edward- stealthy as an elephant in a room full of rice paper.

Edward groaned. “Tell me they're not all tomb robbers?”

His valet frowned. “I would guess they are,” he said. “That's who Maric works with, mostly.”

Edward groaned again, sinking to the floor in a despairing heap. He suddenly seriously regretted insulting Maric at the Tiber Septim Hotel. Now, he found himself alone, in the wilderness, with a pack of sex-crazed...tomb robbers...in pursuit of him. “Oh gods...” he whimpered.

Poor Edward- afraid he will be outraged by the “tomb robbers.” Of course, he tends to be outraged by just about everything.

“I had to agree to giving him a quarter of your cut.”

Edward stood bolt upright. “A quarter of my gold?!” he thundered. “To a dirty cutthroat, and a tomb robber at that?! A Khajiit??”

And there it is. He would rather lose his… honor… than his gold.

It just didn't seem right that he should creep out into the night – particularly if it wasn't fully dark out yet – to fetch the horses and bring them back, all the while remaining undetected, while his servant could his risk his neck doing it for him.

The "Edward Doctrine" at work.

For a moment, the sound, eerie beyond words in the sheer horror it conveyed, was hard to place; and then he realized that it was Edward.

Aloud, he said firmly, “That's all very well and good...but I'm still talking to her. If you're worried about it, go to the temple and ask for hat-dispelling blessings...”

And he has a new title- Edward the Hypochondriac. “Fractured legs aren’t contagious.”

[Grits]

Where night forever falls,
Where the sinister spider crawls

Sinister spider!! Aren't they all.


I have been in stitches all morning catching up with Edward's adventures. Fractures aren't contagious, LOL!! Hilarious, I love it!

[D.Foxy]

Edward, earthward! Down doo de dungeons!!!

Where he will step into, and make his own, doo-doo...

I can't wait!

[Rachel the Breton]

mALX, Treydog, Grits and Foxy -- thanks for the comments!! Glad to see that people are reading and enjoying it!! Hope this isn't too soon after the holidays to start reposting (they seem like a month ago already, so I'm guessing not, but ) -- and I hope everyone had a great holiday season!!!



Frightening is the vale of death,
That world behind a curtain of mist
A veil of shadow to conceal it
And yet, ever in plain sight –
For what else, but Death
Is the focus of mankind's fear?
-- An excerpt from a piece translated in the scholarly work “Writings of Old, Dead People”

Chapter Sixty-Five

Edward tiptoed up the stairs of the Tiber Septim Hotel, toward his room, cringing with every squeak or creak of the boards underfoot. His attempt, feeble as it was, at stealthiness was for naught, however, for his servant was sitting in the hall, waiting for him.

“Sir,” he greeted.

Deciding that the best defense was a good offense, Edward greeted his valet with, “I trust you've seen to the Khajiit matter?”

“You mean, paid him, sir?”

“Paid him, offed him, whatever...”

“Yes sir.” The other man shifted. “However...”

“Yes?”

“I ended up giving him my share of the gold as well.”

Edward blinked, astonished beyond belief. “Your...share? What do you mean, your 'share'?!”

“My cut of the gold. I figured, since he was leaving town, he could use it to get settled somewhere.”

“You...he...my gold?!” Edward sputtered.

“Our gold, sir,” his servant corrected. “I assumed, since you roped me into your work with Umbaccano, you had planned to pay me as well as S'razirr a portion?”

Edward blinked at this query, which seemed suspiciously like an accusation to him. He had had absolutely no intention of cutting his valet in on his take; somehow, though, he thought it wiser to deny that fact. “Well, of course...just...we hadn't negotiated the details...I...”

“Oh, no worries, sir. I ended up splitting it evenly between all three of us.”

“But...you promised that animal only a quarter!”

“Yes sir...but I realized afterwards that that wasn't very fair...without him, we would have a nasty fight on our hands back at Malada. I thought the extra would be a good bonus, for a job well done.”

Edward was turning colors now, so great was his rage that his servant would just nonchalantly throw his money away, and then make excuses for it afterwards.

“I figured you wouldn't mind, especially now that you have this new contract.”

Edward had gone purple by this point. “But...I...that was my gold!” he managed. Half of him wanted to fire his servant on the spot for his impudent behavior; and the other half of him stayed his hand, for fear that he might need him at Nenalata.

“So, sir, are we heading out to Cheydinhal yet today? Or are we staying here for the evening?”

Edward's rage dissipated, and he fought to keep the smile off his face. “No, actually...not quite yet.” He noted with pleasure the flicker of knowing annoyance that crossed his servant's face. “We have one final task from your old master...and then we'll head to Cheydinhal.”

This post has been edited by Rachel the Breton: Jan 11 2011, 05:59 AM

[Rachel the Breton]

Pass the ale, have a draft,
Sing a song, drink along
Drink, until they think we're daft
With taps running, how can we go wrong?
-- From A Life Well Lived, by the Inebriated Odist

Chapter Sixty-Six

After many protestations that Edward didn't realize what he was getting himself into, his valet had finally settled into quiet – though displeased – acceptance. “Very well, sir...if you say Nenalata it is, then Nenalata it must be. However...”

The Imperial sighed. “What now?”

“Can I have some time to read up on the place? I've heard some odd stories...”

Rolling his eyes, Edward agreed, “Fine, do whatever you want – take the rest of the evening off if you like. However – I don't want to hear any of it.”

“But sir -”

“No – not a word! Otherwise, you don't get the time off.”

The other man sighed. “Very well, sir.”

* * *

Edward was enjoying his eighth glass of wine when his servant returned.

“Sir!” he greeted.

Edward rolled his eyes and gurgled through a mouthful of drink at the other man.

Taking no note of this, his valet seated himself across from him. “Sir, I know you don't want to hear any of this...but I just spoke with Herminia Cinna.”

Edward snorted. “That desperate old bat,” he chortled. “What does she have to say?”

His servant stared, a bit astonished at this declaration, but continued with his tale. “Sir, we were talking about Nenalata, and Umbaccano. She thinks...”

Edward, however, interrupted at this point. “Oh, old Umby, eh? History buffs...no wonder he dresses like a clown. No sense of anything. Nose always in a book. Throws his money away on old hats – worse than a woman, that one. At least women spend their money on new hats. And shoes.” Edward shook his head at the idea, and drained his glass. Reaching for the bottle, he turned to his valet. “But what about old Umby? Has he finally decided to get a haircut?” Snorting with laughter, Edward refilled his glass.

“Sir, please,” his valet implored. “This is serious. Herminia thinks Umbaccano is trying to unlock the Last King of the Aleyid's power. He might not realize what he's getting himself into – or, worse yet, he does! Nenalata was a city of...”

“Oh, enough about Nelanata...Nanaleta...Nena...that stupid city!” Edward thundered, as well as one can thunder when slurring words. Slamming the bottle against the table, he paused to hiccup, then continued, “We are going, and that's final! You can save your scary stories and magical hat business, because it doesn't work. Edward the Imperial does not believe in ghosts and haunted hats or anything else like that.” He interrupted his monologue to take a sip of wine, but resumed with, “And another thing...you need to deal with the fact that I'm working for Umby...I don't care if you like it or not. You don't give the orders here – I do. So stop it with all the crap about power and magic and all the rest! You couldn't fool a kid with that crap. I'm insulted that you even...” Breaking off for another sip, he resumed, “try it on me!”

For a moment, his valet stared wordlessly at him as he drained his glass. Then, he said, “Sir, I don't know what you're talking about...this is...”

“Enough!” Edward roared. “Go away! Go read your books; that's what I gave you the night off for...leave me alone!” This last part was said in such a whiny tone that any question as to Edward's state of inebriation were clearly answered; he was good and truly on his way to total intoxication.

Sighing, his valet stood. “Yes sir. Very well sir. Have a good evening, then.”

“I intend to!” the Imperial shot back. “As long as I'm not pestered all night...”

“No sir. I'm leaving now.”

“And good riddance!” Edward called after his servant. Then, to the publican, “More wine!”

[Rachel the Breton]

When the party is done,
And morning begins to dawn
The pain closes in all about
Quick, save yourself – have another draught!
-- From A Life Well Lived, by the Inebriated Odist

Chapter Sixty-Seven

Edward woke with what seemed like thunder in his head. He had no idea where he was, or why; all he could remember were terrible dreams of magic hats. Glancing around him, he tried to ignore the agony that pierced his brain as light filtered through the blinds.

The room was vaguely familiar; and, in a moment, he processed his surroundings. He was back in his lodgings at the Tiber Septim Hotel. How, he wondered, had he got there? The last thing he remembered was being in the main room downstairs, drinking...how many bottles had it been?

A knock at the door sounded like the roar of a cannon in his ears, and he covered his head. “Who is it?” he called. Even his own voice sounded harsh to him.

The door opened, sending a wave of blinding white light over his senses. “Sir?” a familiar voice asked.

Edward groaned. It was his servant. “What?”

“Are you alright sir? I have some coffee here...”

Edward groaned again, although he felt some measure of relief as the door closed. Squinting, he was able to make out the figure of his valet approaching, carrying a breakfast tray.

“I thought you would probably have a bit of a headache this morning,” his valet was saying. Edward only groaned in response. “That was a lot of wine you drank last night, sir.” The Imperial glared at his servant. “Augusta Calidia was going to throw you out, because you were snoring so loudly at your table...I was able to get you up here before she could, though.”

Edward grunted a response. He loved to drink, but hated doing it...

“No worries, though...I had her brew this coffee extra strong. You'll be fine in no time.”

The Imperial glowered at his manservant, but took the cup he was offered.

“Now, sir...I'm not sure how much you remember of our conversation last night...”

Edward stared blankly at him. “What conversation?”

“Ah. Well then, better start at the beginning.”

* * *

After having pooh-poohed his servant's fears a second time – this time, while sober – Edward had flatly declared that magic hats or no magic hats, demons and elvish powers or not, even Oblivion itself, would not stop him from fulfilling his contract. “I get to loot the entire throne room!” he had explained.

This promise had left his servant even more suspicious, and he'd lost no time in pointing out that Umbaccano was not the sort of man to let ancient treasures fall into the hands of mere tomb raiders; how many men, he'd pointed out, had he sent in search of things like that, after all?

Edward had paid no attention whatever, however; he was far to mesmerized by the idea of raiding a throne room to take heed of any of his servant's points. So, at length, the two men – by this time, very annoyed with one another – set out.

As they rode, Edward busily calculated how rich he'd be once he'd hauled off all the Aleyid treasure he could carry. It was hard to get an exact estimation, of course, but, by his reckoning, he would end up richer than Ocato himself. This, of course, was all based on his fancy, for he had no clue whatever what awaited him. It made him smile, though, to think of it, and that was enough.

His servant, meanwhile, was going over the list of supplies and weapons he'd brought with them. Silver weapons, for killing undead; an enchanted ring, to protect against evil magicka; and enough supplies to get them to Nenalata and back to the Imperial City – after Edward's last refusal to go to Bravil had left them perilously short of supplies, he was taking no chances this time.

All at once, however, Edward pulled his mount to a sudden stop, exclaiming, “My gold!”

Narrowly avoiding his master, the valet asked, “Sir?”

“My purse! It's empty!”

“Empty, sir? You don't mean...”

“My two thousand Septims! I had them last night! Where are they now?!” Edward's eyes colored with suspicion as he stared at his servant.

“You didn't...you didn't take your entire paycheck with you when you were drinking last night, did you, sir?” the other man asked, astonished.

“Of course!” Edward snapped. “It was all safe in my purse. Where could it have gone?”

His servant sighed. “Sir, you were passed out for an hour...anyone...everyone could have taken whatever they wanted.”

Edward glared at him. “Are you saying this is my fault?!” he demanded.

“Of course not, sir. I'm only suggesting that a more prudent course of action might have avoided the...”

“You are!” the Imperial thundered. “You're blaming me for the sticky fingers of a pack of thieves?!”

“No sir, of course not. All I'm saying...”

“We need to go back!” Edward interrupted. “We need to find my money, and wreak vengeance on the filthy thief who dared to steal from me!”

“That will probably be impossible, sir,” his valet reasoned. “You were passed out...you have no memory of anyone taking it...no one said anything this morning...Augusta Calidia doesn't seem terribly fond of you, so I doubt she would turn the thief in if she knew who it was – and, if she would, she would have done so already.”

“But...but I can't just walk away from my fortune!” Edward protested. He felt shattered at the prospect, so utterly devastated that he might break into tears at the very idea.

“I'm afraid we don't have much of a choice, sir, if we're going to make it to Nenalata in the three days Umbaccano wants us there.”

Edward fought back the tears as he nodded. He knew his servant was right...the thieves wouldn't turn each other in, and Calidia – even if she wasn't guilty – hated his guts. His best shot at wealth was to continue toward Nenalata, and hope that his dreams of the endless treasures that awaited were remotely justified.

[mALX]

Edward fighting tears over losing his Septims - ROFL !!!!

But this is my favorite Edward line in these two chapters (regarding Herminia Cinna) :

Edward snorted. “That desperate old bat,” he chortled. “What does she have to say?”

His servant stared, a bit astonished at this declaration, but continued with his tale.

[Rachel the Breton]

Thanks, mALX...Edward's ego will, ever and again, get in the way of his brain -- what little there is, LOL.

Pride, they say, goes before the fall;
In his case, a plunge from the heights of the White Gold Tower
Would be naught in compare
To the depths that his ego will again and again send him.

-- Author's notes preceding The Song of Edward

Chapter Sixty-Eight

Three long days of travel had, at last, gotten them to Nenalata. Edward was weary and depressed, still not having recovered from the loss of his gold; and his servant was quiet and thoughtful, which only served to annoy the Imperial further.

The style-challenged elf awaited them, and so too did a familiar, unwelcome face. Claude Maric stood waiting for them, smiling broadly in welcome. “Ahh, old friend!” he greeted Edward. “You are looking well...”

The Imperial grunted at him in response.

“Although,” Maric continued with a toothy, self-satisfied grin, “a little light of purse.”

Edward and his valet started at this, and the former demanded, “What?! It was you, then?”

“Me? I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about, old friend. I just note that you walk like a man whose purse is not burdened with Septims.” He smiled again, even as Edward reached for his sword.

Umbaccano, however, ambled over just in time, declaring, “Ahh, you arrive at last!” He paused to stare in surprise at Edward's valet. “Norvayne! Whatever are you doing out here?”

With a stiff, formal air, the valet nodded a greeting. “Sir. I'm accompanying my master.”

Umbaccano uttered a short laugh, and gestured toward Edward. “You mean him? Poor chap, you have gone down in the world. No matter. After today – provided your employer intends to share with you – you'll be rich enough to employ half a dozen menservants of your own.”

Both Imperials frowned at the elf, but Umbaccano seemed to take no note. “Now then, are we ready? I'm going to need you two – three, rather – to clear the way for me. I know right where the throne room is, so I can direct you...but I'll let you handle the fighting.”

“Speaking of that,” the valet interjected, “what exactly do you need in the throne room?”

Umbaccano raised an eyebrow and stared at the valet. Then, turning to Edward, he queried, “And you put up with this?”

Edward turned red at the implication that he would let his servant second guess him. “No, of course not!”

“Good...because I certainly don't. My subordinates do not question me. And most certainly my subordinates' subordinates do not!”

“No sir,” Edward agreed, flushing again and throwing a furious glance at his valet.

“Good...now, let's head out.”

“Yes sir,” Maric said, smirking at Edward. “I'll let Master Edward lead the way since he apparently has so much experience with these Aleyid ruins.”

“Me? What? No!” Edward protested.

“Oh, my mistake then,” Maric smiled. “I thought you were supposed to be quite the adventurer.”

“I am!” Edward snapped. “I just meant that I would allow you the honor of going first.”

Umbaccano sighed in frustration. “One of you get in there first!”

“I'll go,” Edward's valet volunteered, stepping forward.

Maric snickered, and, flushing, Edward snapped, “No you won't! If this coward won't take the honor of first blood, I will gladly go!” Pushing past his servant brusquely, Edward stormed into the ruin.

[Rachel the Breton]

A barbarous climate, death of the civilized man
Designed with one purpose in mind –
A home for a people as uncivilized as it
And in this the gods could not have been more successful.

-- A Study of the Social Evolution, Customs and Building Practices of the Nordic Tribes, ordered by High Chancellor Cicero

Chapter Sixty-Nine

Edward cringed as the stone door of Nenalata slid closed behind him. Suddenly, his world was plunged into a veritable darkness, with only the distant, eerie bluish light leaking out of the occasional chamber to illuminate his way. In his mind's eye, he could see spiders lurking here and there, waiting to ambush him. A more pressing fear, however, preyed on his mind – and that was being seen standing still, just behind the door, when the cowardly Breton and the pompous elf entered the ruin; and that fear drove him onward.

So, his heart hammering out a fast paced rhythm, he crept forward. The ruin was silent – frighteningly so. The rush of blood as it thundered past his ears seemed to be the only thing he could make out at the moment.

His eyes didn't offer many more clues, either; he was surrounded by old stone, aged by many long years of disuse and neglect, and covered in layers of dust and spiderwebs. Eerie greenish-blue gems cast pockets of light here and there, but Edward half would have preferred the darkness to that creepy glow. “How could these elves lived like this?” he wondered in disgust. “Underground, like animals; cold, dank halls...no wonder the Imperials overthrew them...”

Lost in these thoughts, Edward began to take less and less note of his surroundings. He had followed a hall, and was now descending a staircase. He imagined Umbaccano and his valet must be somewhere behind him, but didn't stop to look; he didn't want to give the impression, no matter how accurate, that he was in the least frightened.

All at once, however, the Imperial heard a sound that made his blood curdle; it seemed like the rattle of bones and chains, and the screech of a dimension beyond earthly reckoning. To his horror, as he stood, frozen in place, it seemed to come closer.

And then, there it was. A skeleton – not of the proper variety, long buried and forgotten, but of the animate, undead sort. This horror, come straight from the pages of stories Edward had long disbelieved, stared with empty eye sockets at him, and then opened a skeletal mouth to let loose another hellish shriek.

And that was the last thing that Edward saw, before he collapsed into a heap on the ground.

* * *

The brush of a bony finger on his cheek roused Edward from his faint, and all at once the full terror of his situation came back to him. He was in an Aleyid ruin – a haunted Aleyid ruin; and that bony hand could only be...

Edward leaped to his feet, shrieking in absolute terror. In doing so, he collided full force with the skeletal creature that had, a moment earlier, been examining him; but overpowering fear blinded his senses and dulled his thoughts. He knew one thing, and one thing only...and that was that he must escape.

The bony fingers of the apparition clung to him as he attempted flight, but Edward would not be stopped; with one hand, he seized his attacker's skull, and with the other, its ribs. In an instant, he had, in a burst of unknown strength, pulled the skeleton's skull from its torso, and the thing collapsed to the ground in a heap of dust and bone.

But Edward did not take a moment to think about his situation, or plan any defense or attack; he was still in the full grip of terror, and terror drove him on, deeper into the ruin.

Rounding a bend, he found himself face to face with a ghastly, ghostly spirit creature. Numbly, as if by instinct – for no thought went into the action – he seized hold of the thing nearest him. It was a spiked metal light fixture, but it might well have been a vase of flowers for all that Edward took note; nonetheless, he plunged it through the creature, who let loose a hellish shriek and seemed to turn to a wisp of glowing powder before Edward's eyes. This bizarre encounter only heightened the Imperial's sense of desperation...and on he drove.

Every new encounter left some creature, some undead beast, dead – torn to pieces, impaled, crushed, smashed into a thousand fragments of bone. Finally, Edward had run the length of the ruin, and he stood now, in a large room, with nowhere else to run. Shaking, panting, and utterly terrified, he collapsed to the floor.

He hardly remembered his flight, and certainly not slaying the things he had slain. All he knew was that there was nowhere left to go, no escape – and a ruin full of hell spawn behind him.

Fortunately for the Imperial, however, the hell spawn had all already been slain in his frenzy, and the only living creatures, beside himself, in Nenalata were Umbaccano and his entourage. At that very moment, in point of fact, they were traversing the halls wonderingly, stopping to marvel at Edward's panicked handiwork as they came across it.

“Amazing,” Umbaccano said. “I wouldn't have thought he had it in him!”

The valet snorted. “You have a habit of underestimating people.”

“What's that smell?” Maric wondered, covering his nose. “It smells like urine!”

That was quite right, for, in his fearful state, Edward had somehow lost control of his bladder – and, along with the trail of destroyed undead, left a trail of urine as well.

[D.Foxy]

“What's that smell?” Maric wondered, covering his nose. “It smells like urine!”

That was quite right, for, in his fearful state, Edward had somehow lost control of his bladder – and, along with the trail of destroyed undead, left a trail of urine as well.


Ah...Edward and mALX.... siblings in pissing!!!

[Rachel the Breton]

Justice will, in the end, be meted out
And the guilty shall find the Fate they have made for themselves.

-- An excerpt from a piece translated in the scholarly work “Writings of Old, Dead People”

Chapter Seventy

As his senses began to ebb back, Edward, reeking and trembling, finally picked himself off the floor. He had no idea what he was going to do, or where he would go. Would they come looking for him? He doubted it. Umbaccano was hardly the heroic type, and Maric would love nothing better than to see him fall to the undead. As for his servant...well, the man was a servant, after all; and they were notorious for their disloyalty.

“I'm doomed,” he whispered to the silent stone around him. “They've all abandoned me to die here.”

This, of course, was not the case, for his companions were, at that moment, just two rooms away, and making their way steadily toward Edward. His trail of urine had proved effective at preventing them from making wrong turns; following that, they were able to retrace exactly the path he had pursued.

Edward had half made up his mind to attempt to find his way out of the ruin when he heard the voices of his party. Maric was complaining about stench, his valet was noting that, for all the Breton's complaints, he had not ventured into the ruin alone, and Umbaccano was prattling on about the history of the city.

The Imperial found himself a mixture of both relief and annoyance at the same time; he was relieved not to be alone to face whatever existed in these ruins, but annoyed to have this irksome bunch as his companions.

“Edward!” his valet greeted. “There you are!”

“We were about to drown in this trail of piss you left, you filthy animal!” Maric put in.

“This is it! The throne room of Nenalata!” Umbaccano offered, ignoring the conversation of the others.

Edward glanced around him, suddenly forgetting his fear altogether. This? This was the throne room of Nenalata? This barren stone room, this featureless ancient monstrosity? Where was the treasure? Where were the piles of gold and gems that Umbaccano had promised – or, at least, allowed him to dream of?

“Right past here,” the elf declared, his voice reaching a fevered pitch. He brushed past Edward, only slightly wrinkling his nose at the odor, and headed for a cutout in the stone wall.

The Imperial frowned to himself. He had, somehow, missed it; but what could its significance be, anyway?

As if in answer to that query, Umbaccano pulled out the stone carving from Malada, and inserted it into the cut-out, chanting in a high pitched tone, “Av Auri-El ye Tamri-El dellevoy an Arpen Aran tarnabye!”

Edward was more amazed by the realization that the elf had been able to lug that stupid chunk of stone all this ways without it affecting him than that the entire wall shivered, and then collapsed downward.

His valet, meanwhile seized his arm. “Sir...did he just say 'grant the King passage'?”

Edward stared at him. Did he really expect him to understand the elf's mad ramblings?

Umbaccano stepped into the newly revealed room, and the group followed; to his dismay, Edward saw no treasure here, either. “I thought you said this had never been looted?” he demanded of the elf.

Umbaccano smiled at him, and took what seemed to be a helmet of some sort from the bag he carried. “The real treasure is about to be revealed. Prepare for the glorious rebirth of Tam Riel!” Donning the helmet, the elf strode forward.

“Sir, Herminia was right. We have to stop him!” Norvayne shouted.

Claude Maric, however, stepped forward and seized the valet's arm. “What do you think you're doing?”

At that moment, though, Umbaccno seated himself in the throne of Nenalata, and began again to chant. “Av Sunna Tam Riel arctavoy an Arpen Aran malaburo!”

“He's trying to resurrect the power of the Aleyids!” Norvayne shouted. With a swift blow to the side of Maric's head, he knocked the other man to the ground and raced forward. “We've got to stop him, sir, before he unleashes -”

A blast of lightning split the room, leaping from the four corner pillars, and a thunderous noise rent the air. The valet jumped backwards just in time to avoid the scorching jolts, and Maric let out a yelp of fear. For his part, Edward stood dumbfounded, too frightened to say or do anything.

Above all of this noise, though, came the elf's shrill scream of pain; for the lightening had descended on him from the four corners of the room. For a moment, he struggled to pull off his helmet...and then, in the next, he slumped forward. As suddenly as it started, the blasts ended.

Edward tried to ignore the trickle that ran down his legs, vowing never to drink so much before entering a ruin again. His valet carefully headed for the lifeless body on the throne; and Claude Maric remained on the floor, curled in a ball.

[haute ecole rider]

A trail of piss! I see Buffy's not the only one!

What? No piles of gold? No heaps of gems? Just a bunch of lifeless stones and cobwebs and mold?

Whoops.

I had to laugh at the vision of that Maric curled up into a ball on the floor! He sure had that coming. In the game, if he survived Malada, he certainly was of no practical use in Nenalata!

[mALX]

Chapter 68: SPEW !!! ROFL !!!
Chapter 69: SPEW !!! ROFL !!!
Chapter 70: SPEW !!! ROFL !!!

Edward leaves a trail of pee all the way through Nenalata and is still peeing while he stands there at the end - three full chapters of pee ... BWAAAHAAAA!!!!! Hilarious !!!! Great Addition, I am so glad you gave us this bonus segment with Umbacano !!!!