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

[D.Foxy]

And Puh-lenteee more to come...

Woo Hoo!

An Emo Emperor ... now that's classic!!!

[Winter Wolf]

"The people," the Emperor scoffed. "What are the people? A bunch of miscreants, peasants, low lives, thieves, murderers, prisoners, greedy priests, conniving noblemen, ambitious officials: riffraff, all of them!" He glanced at Edward. "Look you at this one, and see what I mean!"

You forgot only one thing - dirty poets. *looks at Foxy*

I have always loved that line - Marooned Dragon, ever since I first read it. If there is ever something in the English language that should be trademarked, it is that!! Brilliant. Did you happen upon the idea during the writing of this story or does it predate it?

Like Haute, the image of Edward charging through the dungeon with a trail of enemies behind him is priceless. Swimming in heavy robes was a close second.

[treydog]

As others have noted, Edward’s “tail” is a priceless image. That is especially true for anyone who has played Morrowind, where the cities are not gated. Once you get your character’s speed high enough, you can lead quite an impressive “parade” into the towns and let the guards deal with them.\\

Edward gaped. "You mean, I looted the corpses of magic dead guys?"

For a moment, he wondered why the mythic dawn assassin hadn't attacked him, but then surmised that it must have been because he thought he'd have an easier time taking on the imperial guards. He smiled to himself, and then turned to the emperor.

Here we see the first faint glimmer of Edward's towering ego.

And the whole- “Oh, I can’t carry it; I’m…doing something important- like guarding the body! Yeah, that’s the ticket. However, you, Complete Stranger Who was Just in the IC Prison, you look like someone to whom I should entrust the fate of the Empire.”

The “Emo Emperor’s” verse at the beginning of Chapter 5 had me snortling uncontrollably. (Fine, so I’m reading at work again. I can’t help it.)

It is so much fun to read this all from beginning once more. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

[mALX]

SPEW !!!!! These poems at the beginning of the chapters have got me choking !!!!! "Edwards Musings" - SPEW !!!! I LOVE YOUR MIND !!!!!!!!

[Rachel the Breton]

Thanks all. I must confess, the "tail" and all of that are slightly exaggerated accounts of my first Oblivion attempt.

Winter, some of that predated the writing...came up during the "idea" process. It seemed a fun way to turn a noble Emperor into a worthless, self-centered emo.


A friend in need may be a friend indeed,
But a good plan when in need is good indeed!
-- An old saying, Edward-ized

Chapter Six

Imperial Guard stared across the street at his brother, Imperial Guard. The Guard family was a huge one, going back generations, to the founding of the empire; and, since the appointment of the first Guard as an imperial guard, it was rather a joke in the family to name every son Imperial. Thus it was that guards named Imperial Guard could be found at every gate and patrolling the city.


Imperial shook his head, gesturing at the scraggly, stinking creature that passed between them. He reeked of something awful (what was that smell??), and was completely naked, except for a fancy necklace and a loin cloth. Imperial -- across the street -- shook his head back. The stinky man approached the first Guard, and asked, "Excuse me, could you give me directions?"


Imperial held his nose, and replied, "Yesh."


The bruised man frowned at him, but said, "Where is the nearest inn?" Imperial just pointed with his free hand. The man nodded and set off.


The man was, of course, Edward, whose adventures we've followed thus far; and, now that he knew where to find shelter, he walked in the direction that Mr. Guard had indicated with a lighter step. At least, he would have walked with a lighter step had he been able, because his bare feet were scratched and bleeding after the exhausting climb up the cliff face -- not to mention the hectic escape from prison a few hours earlier. At last, he caught sight of the Tiber Septim hotel. "Oh," he breathed, "thank divines!" The city was a big one, and he was not familiar with all of it; he was glad he had asked directions -- otherwise, he might have spent hours wandering about, searching for shelter.

He pushed open the door, and practically fell inside. An unattractive Imperial glanced up at him, and her expression changed to one of muted shock. "Can I help you...?" she asked hesitantly.


"Who are you?" he asked.


"Augusta Calidia," she answered. "I own this hotel."


"Then, yes, you can help me," he answered. "I need a room. And a meal."


"I see," she replied. "Well, I have food for sale -- you can check out my inventory and decide, and then we'll discuss prices -- and a room for 40 gold per night."


"40 gold?!" Edward demanded, his tone reaching a pitch that he did not think possible. A dozen or so heads turned to him, and expressed the same surprise that Miss Calidia had shown upon his entrance.


"That's right," she answered.


Edward scowled. "But I've only got..." He reached down, to check his pockets, and then remembered that he had neither pockets nor gold pieces -- nor even clothes, for that matter. "Nothing," he finished.


She shrugged. "Well, that's your problem."


His scowl deepened. "Look, surely we can barter!" he declared.


She surveyed the amulet he wore. "Well," she said. "That's probably not worth 40 gold, but I'll let you have the room for it."


He drew back, aghast. "My amulet? Are you mad?? This is pure gold, and one of the finest rubies ever discovered by man!"


She rolled her eyes, saying only, "Sure...not cheap costume jewelry..."


"No!" he shouted, "Not cheap costume jewelry!" She rolled her eyes again. "Look, if you won't give me what my amulet is worth, maybe..." He had been thinking of trading his silk robes, but suddenly remembered that he'd thrown them away. For half a moment, he considered just giving her the amulet, as long as he'd be able to climb into a warm bed; but then he decided to take a different track. "Maybe you could take pity on me?" he asked at last. "I lost everything in my fight to save the emperor!"


This statement drew a few gasps.


"Yes!" he exclaimed, noting her disbelieving expression. "It's true! I was part of his escort this morning, and we were besieged! Fifty assassins came after us; they ambushed us! There were only four of us, but, oh, how we fought! We fought, and fought, but they kept coming! First they got old..." he paused for a second, to think of a name. "Old Garrett!" he decided at last. "Yes, first they got old Garrett. And then they took...Matilda. And then there were just the two of us -- just the two of us!" His voice broke, and, somehow, he managed to fill his eyes with tears. "And still they came! We each took a side of the emperor, me in the front where they were the thickest, and him in the back. Then he came -- the assassin with the mace! I tackled him, and wrestled with him; oh, how long did we struggle? I don't even know! But someone came up behind me, and smashed me over the skull. And then, when I woke up, the Emperor was dead. Oh!" He broke off again. "Dead!" He fell forward onto the counter, sobbing. "I had failed! Failed! Divines forgive me, I failed him!"


A dozen sympathetic voices hurried to assure Edward as he sobbed, telling him that he had not failed and that he had tried his hardest; they had all heard the story the remaining guard had told, and this one seemed to fit the tale, roughly anyway.


"You're right," Edward said, looking up at Augusta as he pushed the sympathizers away. "I don't deserve mercy! I deserve scorn, loathing, mercilessness, contempt! Heap it on me! I should starve, and freeze in the elements, after what I have done!" He continued to sob miserably as he spoke.


His words evoked much renewed sympathy, and all at once people were collecting money, and forcing it upon him; Augusta , perhaps believing his story, perhaps shamed by those who did, assured him that he could eat and stay for free. "And I'll see if I can find any clothes that might fit you," she declared, glancing at him with a still discernible degree of reproach.

[D.Foxy]

And, thus it was, that the head of camel entered the tent.

......



And for those of you who may be tempted to see innuendo in all things Foxy, let it be known, that sometimes a camel is just a camel, and a tent is just a tent.

[Rachel the Breton]

The hands of fate were set in motion,
What was to be would be
Despite the messenger's lack of devotion
For the gods favored me.
-- The Scripture of the 9 minus 8

Chapter Seven

Edward had spent a mostly restful night -- once he finally managed to get to sleep, after eating until the point that every moment induced a panic attack and he feared that he might explode. Augusta was able locate a set of clothes that another visitor had left behind him, and they fit tolerably well; nonetheless, Edward understood why the other visitor had left them behind. They were not comfortable, and were very worn and shabby. "Still," he thought as he put them on, "they're better than running around in a loin cloth...plus, they keep my amulet hidden; and I don't want to walk around showing this thing off to any potential thieves!"


But there were more advantages to the clothes, as Edward soon discovered. When Augusta brought him an extremely generous breakfast, he proceeded to conceal it all in his clothes; when she returned, she was surprised to see that he had eaten it all, but asked if he wanted seconds; he immediately agreed. He repeated this procedure two more times -- until there was nowhere left to store the food, and Augusta had grown too suspicious. Then he ate an inordinate amount, and thanked his gullible hostess. His pockets full of cold hard cash (literally, as this cash was the golden coin variety), compliments of his audience the night before, Edward left the Tiber Septim hotel.


Now that his pockets were full, he was not desperate to find a pawnshop; after all, he could barter with a few pawnbrokers, until he found a good deal. With this idea in mind, Edward stopped a guard, got directions, and then headed for the Market District.


It took awhile, but, after a few wrong turns, a few times retracing his steps, and a few more times of asking directions from men named Imperial Guard, Edward at last made his way into the Market District. He was sweaty and a bit irritable, as the morning was a hot one and his journey thus far had tired him, but, as he surveyed the streets lined with shops, he licked his lips excitedly. Soon, he would have more money in his pockets than he'd ever held! The Emperor's amulet would make him a rich man, and he could retire in style! Or, he thought, maybe he could start a business. "Hmm...that's a good idea...but what kind of business?" He pondered this for a few moments, and then an even more appealing idea struck him. "A crime syndicate!" he thought. "With this money, I could hire some thugs, and we could carry out some minor crimes around the Imperial City . Small time robberies, and that sort of stuff. And then, once we established ourselves, we could move on to the bigger things...major heists...large scale robberies...coordinated operations conducted by a gang of super criminals!" His eyes were positively glistening with the possibilities, and he was licking his lips excitedly, when he felt a suspicious pull at his pocket.


Spinning around, his dreams of the crimes he might commit were interrupted as he found himself the victim of an attempted crime. A dirty, emaciated beggar was quickly retracting her hand, pulling it away from his pocket. "Why, how dare you?!" he demanded. "Of all the nerve, you filthy little thief! How dare you steal from me?"


The beggar scurried to move away quickly, but he put out a hand to restrain her. "Not so fast, you treacherous little filcher! Who are you?"


"Simplicia, sir," she replied, "and I wasn't trying to steal from you, honest!"


"Oh, yes? Then what were you trying to do?"


She stammered for a few moments, but finally responded, "Well, sir, to get your attention!"


"Why?"


"To beg for a coin. You see, I'm so hungry." She paused. "You wouldn't be willing to spare a coin for the infirm, would you, good sir?" she asked.


This was the final straw for Edward, who immediately called out, "Guards! Guards, we've got a pickpocket here!"


"No, no, good sir!" Simplicia pleaded, grasping his coat. "Please, don't call the guards!


Edward furiously swatted her away. "Let go of me!" he demanded, still calling, "Guards, guards!"


But Simplicia did not loose her grip, and instead renewed her pleading, "Oh, sir, please, please don't call the guards!! Please!"


Her behavior only infuriated Edward further, and he shoved her away with all his might, saying, "Get away from me, cur!" He turned to call for the guards again, but stopped as he heard a strange, almost sickening thud. Slowly, almost fearfully, he looked at the beggar.


His face went ashen as he saw the motionless body of the woman, her head resting on the base of a stone pillar. He threw a furtive glance about him, relieved to see that no one was about; and then a strange, rustling sound came to his ears, and he heard an eerie voice whisper, "Your action has been observed by forces unknown..."


Loosing a scream of terror, Edward ran from the spot.

[Rachel the Breton]

In a shocking occurrence, the well-known Market City district beggar, Simplicia (known as "the Slow") was found dead. The cause of death was determined to be an accidental fall, and a blow to the back of the head resulting from said fall. In a strange turn of events, however, a plentiful trail of gold and food was found leading up to the poor woman's corpse. According to an anonymous priest from the temple, this miraculous occurrence was a gift of benevolence from the 8 plus 1, which is to say, The Nine, to thank the good folks of the Imperial City for their kindness to the poor woman in life.
-- Black Horse Courier, Special News Bulletin

Chapter Eight

Edward ran, and ran, and ran, and then ran some more. Finally, he found himself outside the gates of the Imperial City . He collapsed against the stone wall, panting so heavily that he thought his lungs would rend. He was shaking with exhaustion, but, even if he hadn't been exhausted, he would still have been shaking from nerves. He had killed someone! Not that that was such a bad thing, but he had done it in broad daylight! What was worse, someone had caught him. He didn't know who, but he had heard that creepy voice whispering in his ears. He shivered.


What was he going to do? The Imperial Guards would be coming after him soon enough, he was certain. Surely, they would put a bounty on his head; then what?


Still shaking with exhaustion and nerves, he glanced around him. His eyes lit up. There, a little ways away from him, was a stable! Picking himself up, and steadying himself on shaking legs, he walked over to inquire about purchasing a horse. A not-entirely-friendly looking orc, whose name, if the sign at the door was any indication, was Snak gra-Bura, met him. "Excuse me," he said, "but I'd like to purchase one of your horses."


The orc grunted. "For how much?"


"Well..." Edward started, shifting his weight. He wondered for a moment if he could pull his "emperor's guard" bit with her, but, staring into her steely eyes, quickly decided against it. Instead he reached into his pocket to count his gold coins. Much to his horror, he could only find a small handful; and, what's more, he couldn't find most of the food he'd concealed earlier, either. He looked around him in shock and dismay, as if hoping to ascertain the answer to where his goods had gone. Surely the dead beggar woman had not snatched them all? But how else could he have lost them? Had he dropped them while fleeing? He cringed at the thought. He knew that, on occasion, when he was very frightened, he tended to leave a "trail" behind him as he fled, of whatever he was carrying.


"How much?" the orc repeated.


"Umm...twenty-five gold?" Edward asked, counting his remaining gold pieces.


Snak gra-Bura began laughing so hard that Edward thought -- hoped -- she would die. Unfortunately, in his opinion, she did not; instead, when she finally finished, she told him, "Unlikely, mister. I don't sell many horses anyway, and certainly not for 25 gold!" Turning, she started to walk away, laughing anew as she did so.


Feeling his anger rising inside him, Edward glanced about for something -- anything! -- to hit this woman with. His eyes lit upon a wooden chair, and, fury spurring him onward, he seized it and hoisted it above his head. Then, with a heavy thump, he brought it down on the woman's skull. The sneering laughter stopped, but, to his dismay, so too did the woman's standing, and consciousness.


"Oh no!" he thought. "I've killed her too!" But then he noticed that, though she lay unmoving, she still breathed. Collapsing beside her with relief, Edward sat still for several moments; but then his reason returned. What, after all, was he doing sitting here, when such an opportunity presented itself?!


Grabbing Snak's purse, Edward sprinted to the corral. Climbing, with no little difficulty, over the fence, Edward grabbed the first horse he came to -- an ornery, frail looking nag.


After a few failed attempts, Edward successfully mounted the horse; then, tugging on the reins, he managed to bump into another horse, knock down part of the corral fence, take out one of the posts supporting the stable, and then, finally, get out of the enclosure. Smiling at his success, Edward spurred the creature onward; well, not spurred so much as feebly coaxed, then angrily coaxed, and finally savagely kicked the animal onward.


At this final prodding, the horse took off at a fast pace; so fast, in fact, that Edward had to cling on for dear life, screaming shrilly as the animal thundered blindly onward.

[mALX]

And, thus it was, that the head of camel entered the tent.

......



And for those of you who may be tempted to see innuendo in all things Foxy, let it be known, that sometimes a camel is just a camel, and a tent is just a tent.

ARGH! NO! IT CAN'T BE!!! * mALX's head blew off *

[mALX]

Simplicia the Slow? Why didn't I remember that? ARGH! - I am so glad you are bringing this here so I can re-read - and re-fall in love with it!

[treydog]

This story is always such fun. Everything is brilliantly executed, from the sayings and scriptures that begin each chapter, to the story of the Guard family, and Edward’s inspired(!) story at the Tiber Septim Hotel.

He had killed someone! Not that that was such a bad thing, but he had done it in broad daylight!

Poor Simplicia, to have the questionable distinction of being Edward’s first victim.

Somehow, every time Edward comes up with a plan, I keep hearing- “Wile E. Coyote, Super-Genius,” in my head.

I have less sympathy for Snak- whom he did not murder, though not for lack of trying.

The vision of “Edward the Horseman” was also priceless.

Thank you so much for bringing the wonderful madness that is Edward to us.

Everyone be sure to check out Rachel's sketches of Edward and Martin in the Fan Art forum.

[haute ecole rider]

EDWARD KILLED SIMPLICIA!!!

It's not Imperial Guard et. al. he has to fear, it's TERESA!!

Like I did before, I laughed at the opening paragraph in Chapter Seven about Imperial Guard and his like-named brothers. It was a good thing my tea was safely far away, and my mouth (and bladder) was empty, because I think I laughed as hard the second time around as I did the first.

The whole con scene in the Tiber Septim Hotel is hilarious!

And now Edward has a stubborn nag! His battle of wits with the equine fiend is a whole 'nother ball of laughs in and of itself!

[Rachel the Breton]

LOL, you're right, treydog, he is somewhere on par intellectually with that other "super genius". And yes, I feel less sorry for Snak than Simplicia also...not only is Snak still alive ( ), but she was deliberately offensive...whereas Simplicia was just stealing to survive. Not to imply that Snak's rudeness deserved Edward's response, LOL.

Good point, haute ecole...Edward better stay out of sight when Teresa shows up! As for the Imperial Guards...I always got a kick out of the fact that, no matter how good of friends you became w/the guards (through speechcraft), they were still just anonymous "Guards"...whereas random bandits have names.

mALX, lol, I'm stumbling across things that I forgot all about too...and I wrote it.





We thought god-hood would shut him up,
But it seems his whining just will not stop.
To hell with this damnable fool,
We should've given his assassins his rule!
-- The Scripture of the 8, speaking of the 9th

Chapter Nine

Edward wasn't sure how long he'd ridden, but when, finally, his horse stopped, he practically leaped off its back; which is to say, he would have leaped, if his aching legs didn't hurt so bad. Instead, he half stumbled, half crawled away from the animal, sure that the inside of his thighs were all gone after that ride. The truth was, Edward wasn't much of a horseman; indeed, Edward wasn't a horseman at all. This had, in fact, been his first time riding a horse -- and, if this experience was anything to go by, he was determined that it would be his last!


Whining and dragging himself along in what would have made an outstanding audition for the part of Gollum in the Lord of the Rings, Edward crawled to a tree, sat with his back to it, and cursed his horse. When, finally, he'd exhausted his extensive vocabulary of swear words at the seemingly unconcerned nag, he looked about him.


He had no idea where he was, and could find no clues in his surroundings. They were on a sparsely wooded hillside, with only more hillside, trees and flowering plants in sight. His horse, apparently, had long ago veered off the road, because that, too, was nowhere to be seen.


Wearily, desperately, Edward consulted his map. He wasn't sure how he'd gotten a map, but, apparently, it had been in his pocket, unnoticed, until now. He looked at the parchment with heavy, despairing eyes. He saw the mark representing the stable from where he'd stolen his horse, yet he neither had an idea of how many leagues they'd covered since leaving Snak gra Bura's stables, nor did he even know what direction they'd gone! Shoving the map back into his pocket, Edward felt a deep sense of despair settle over him. Tears filling his eyes, he angrily renewed his verbal assault on the complacent horse, who had set about grazing and ignoring the young man.


He raged for several minutes, until, finally, exhausted, he closed his eyes, leaned back against the tree, and just began to sob.


Several hours later, he woke, realizing that, somehow, he had fallen asleep.


"You sleep soundly for a murderer," an eerie voice declared.


With a shrill scream, Edward jumped to his feet. Then, the sudden movement reawakening the pain of saddle soreness, he groaned, crippling over in agony. Finally, gritting his teeth to overcome the pain, he looked up. There, before him, stood a black robed man. Edward gasped. "Who are you?!" he asked.


"I'm Lucien Lachance," he said. "I'm a speaker for the Dark Brotherhood."


"The Dark Brotherhood?" Edward repeated. He had no idea what or who that was, but there was something catching about the name. "Too bad this guy is already using it," he thought. "It would make a good name for my syndicate!"


"Yes," Lucien breathed, obviously savoring just speaking of the Brotherhood. "The Dark Brotherhood. A group of like-minded professionals who serve the Night Mother."


Edward raised an eyebrow. Night mother? "What, are you people some sort of prostitute veneration group, or something of that ilk?" he asked.


Lucien's eyes nearly bulged out of his head. "NO!" he roared. "The Night Mother is our beloved mother, who serves the Dark Father, Sithis!"


Edward stared at him. He wasn't quite sure what this strange man was saying, but it sounded too bizarre for him. "Yes, well, I don't know..."


"We are a group of assassins!" Lucien spit out at him.


"Ohhh...." Edward said. "Not prostitutes?"


"NO!!" Lucien repeated.


"I see...assassins, eh?" Edward repeated. He liked the idea; he could see himself as a cold, ruthless, cunning assassin, deciding the fate of gangs and gang leaders, guilds and guild leaders, maybe even kings and empires -- and collecting a nice, fat paycheck of delicious blood money for doing it! "Now, how does one go about becoming a member of the Brotherhood?" he asked.


Lucien smiled. "That's the spirit!" he said, and then hesitated. For a fleeting moment, Edward had the unpleasant sensation that this man doubted his abilities. "But..." Lucien said slowly, "maybe I should...yes, I will tell you more later. But first, you need to prove your...loyalty...to the Brotherhood."


"Oh? How?"


"There is an old man," Lucien said, "who lives now at the Inn of Ill Omen. His name is Rufio. You must kill him. Then, travel to Cheydinhal. You will find an abandoned home there; rest inside. We will monitor the home for three days; if we see you return within that time, we will contact you. Otherwise, we will assume that you failed your quest or have decided against joining our illustrious band."


"Failed??" Edward repeated, his voice vexed. "Didn't you say he's an old man?"


Lucien nodded. "Old, but not unskilled."


"Bah!" Edward spat. "I'm insulted that you'd give me such a trivial task -- taking out an old, feeble man. I should not even accept!"


Lucien shrugged. "Well, have it your way..."


"But I do!" Edward hastened to add. "Just so that I can show you how easy it was."


Lucien cleared his throat, and said, "Well, alright then. Maybe we'll see you in three days?"


"Of course you will!" Edward snapped. "You'll see me a lot sooner than that, as a matter of fact!"


Lucien nodded. "Very well. Then, I shall depart."


"And good riddance," Edward muttered to himself as he saw the strange man cast an invisibility spell and vanish before his very eyes. He shivered, suddenly forgetting his anger. He'd never seen someone completely disappear before, and it was a creepy sight. He glanced about him, trying to see anything that might give away Lucien's whereabouts; but he could find no evidence of him anywhere, not so much as a footprint. Then, panic struck again. "Wait a minute! Nevermind where he is...where am I??" he thought, as he realized that he still had no idea where he was, and he'd let possibly the only other human being in the area get away without asking for directions.

[Rachel the Breton]

Shocking assault and theft!
It is with difficulty that this agent of the Black Horse Courier finds the words to describe the latest outrage in the Imperial City . But, midday yesterday, the well-known manager of Chestnut Handy Stables reported that someone had attacked her, stolen a horse, and destroyed much of the stable. Ms. gra-Bura could not recall the attacker clearly, as she had not paid him much attention; his outstanding characteristic was that he appeared, in her words, "mouse like" and "weak".
It is the opinion of the city watch that the attacker is a madman, as the wanton destruction and the theft of the oldest and sickliest of Ms. gra-Bura's stock point to a mind imbalanced. The watch advises all citizens to avoid any strange person exhibiting peculiar behaviors, and contact the nearest Guard.
-- Black Horse Courier, Special News Bulletin

Chapter Ten

Edward had been riding for a long time. By now, he had grown numb to the pain, and was simply letting his horse go in whatever direction she felt like going. She, in her turn, was going very slowly, pausing to eat here, drink from the occasional stream, and generally make a leisurely day of it.


Edward had come to the conclusion that, either his horse would lead him to civilization, or he would starve to death in the woods; and Edward had very little faith in his sluggish horse.


This not being a very cheery conclusion, he tried to think of other things; inevitably, however, his mind came back to food. He'd already eaten everything that remained of his stash. And, just as inevitably, his mind would go from food to lack of food, and starvation; and then, from starvation to death; and from death to being eaten by the wolves and crows; and, from the wolves and crows eating him, to food; and so the cycle would begin again.


Somehow -- he wasn't sure how, exactly -- he'd fallen asleep when, suddenly, his mount stopped. So suddenly, in fact, that he went flying over her head, to land face first on the cobblestone path in front of him.


Standing, spitting out a mouthful of blood and cursing, Edward turned furiously to face the horse. Then he stopped. "Cobblestone?" he thought. "And a building! Where am I??" Facing the building, he read the sign. "Inn of Ill Omen." He nearly fell backwards in surprise. Was he dreaming? No, the blood in his mouth tasted too real to be a dream; anyway, who dreams about being thrown from a horse and waking up with a bloody mouth?? "But how, how, could this worthless horse have possibly found the inn??" he wondered.


He shrugged. It didn't matter. After all, it meant that he wouldn't be starving to death, and his shriveled remains wouldn't end up wolf or crow food. This thought filled him with so much joy that he turned, seized the horse's face, and kissed it. Neighing furiously, the horse reared up on its hind legs, and brought her hooves dangerously close to Edward's face before crashing to a stand, and shaking her mane to display her disgust at his kiss.


Edward, pale as a ghost at his near encounter with death, understood perfectly, and backed away from his ornery horse. Apparently, having done her job, the creature wanted nothing more to do with him. Edward, wondering how a strong urine odor had suddenly assailed his nostrils, pondered why he seemed to have that effect on people and animals: the more they knew him, the less they wanted to do with him.


Sighing, he pushed open the door. The inn was poorly lit, and there were only two people in sight; although one was male, neither was old or feeble looking. "Excuse me," Edward said, addressing himself to the man.


"Are you the innkeeper?"


"I am," the innkeeper replied, wrinkling his nose and glancing about. "Are you interested in a room?"


"Yes," Edward said, "but not until I meet with someone."


The innkeeper nodded, now pinching his nostrils. "Perhaps you'd like to take a bath first, though, sir?"


Edward stared at him, a puzzled expression on his face. "I beg your pardon?"


"Well, sir," the innkeeper said, retreating a step, "it was just a thought."


Edward observed the man with a wary expression. "Well," he said, "now that you bring it up, you might consider giving this inn a good scrubbing down! The place smells like piss!"


The innkeeper, still blocking his nose, raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you sure it's the inn, sir?" he asked.


"Of course I'm sure!" Edward snapped. "I smelled it as soon as..." He stopped suddenly, and glanced downwards at the revealing dark strips running down his pants. "Oh," he said, his face flushing. "That stupid horse must have scared me so bad..."


"Yes sir," the innkeeper replied, clearly not interested in the story of Edward's scare, "but perhaps you'd like a bath?"


Edward nodded. "Yes, I suppose I must," he declared. "But I'm going to kill that horse."


"Yes sir," the innkeeper replied.


"If she doesn't kill me first," Edward added.


"Yes sir," the innkeeper repeated, his expression unchanging. "But after your bath...there'll be plenty of time left for you to duel your horse then."

[Rachel the Breton]

There was a time when all the gods were in accord,
But the dark day came when the 8 would no longer heed
They would not listen to Dread Sithis' spoken word
So Sithis and his Lady departed to follow their own way.
-- History of the gods

Chapter Eleven

Edward was not a big fan of baths -- he could never see the point in taking off all that grease and grime, if you were only going to get fresh grease and grime all over you -- but he had to admit that it was refreshing to soak in a tub of hot, sudsy water. And, he was particularly pleased when the innkeeper brought him a fresh set of clothes, and removed his reeking ones.


Drying and dressing, Edward counted his gold. Twenty five gold pieces, and...his eyes lit up. He still had Snak gra-Bura's purse, and he'd not yet opened it! Hopefully, he thought, she would have money in there...lots and lots of money!


He unfastened the tie, and stuck his hand in. Instead of gold coins, he found something soft and fabric-like. Withdrawing it, his puzzled expression turned to one of disgust and horror. He had retrieved a very old, very used, very snotty hanky. Throwing it into the fire, and then spitting on his hand, rubbing the spitty hand against his tunic, and repeating this procedure several more times, Edward exclaimed, "Filthy, unclean, unsanitary orcs! Vile, repulsive, filthy beasts!"


Cursing in this manner, he didn't hear the innkeeper knock, so he was surprised when the other man opened the door and stuck his head into the room. "Sir? Is everything alright?"


"No!" Edward snapped. "Orcs! They're filthy, revolting creatures!"


"Yes sir," the innkeeper said. "Anything else?"


Edward looked up. Perhaps it was the other man's flat tone that roused him from his disgust, but he stared at the innkeeper. There was something peculiar about this man, as though he didn't belong in an old, out of the way inn; as if his refinement of manner and practiced disinterest was out of place here.


"Ah," said the innkeeper. "I see that you're wondering about why I'm here, thinking that it's peculiar that a man of my refinement and manners, my practiced disinterest, is working in such an old, out of the way inn."


Edward could only blink at him. It was like the other man had read his mind.


"Well, sir, you are right. I am not meant for such a degrading life," the innkeeper sighed. "I was born for a higher calling, a nobler, more refined calling." He smiled wistfully. "You see, I was a valet once."


Edward blinked at the man again. "A valet?" he repeated, no great respect in his voice.


"Yes sir," the innkeeper replied, his tone almost reverent as he spoke of his former profession. "I once worked in the mansion of Lord Umbruccano in the Imperial City ."


Edward nodded, taking a little bit more interest in the conversation than he had previously; after all, Lord Umbrucanno was a very wealthy, albeit eccentric, collector of Aleyid artifacts. If this man had been his valet, it was very possible -- nay, probable -- that he would have some valuable information -- valuable for a prospective robber! "I see," he said.


"Yes," the other man mused. "Yes, those were the good days. And then..." He shrugged. "And then he decided that he would be better off spending my salary on relic acquisitions." He scowled. "So here I am, wasting away, my talent squandered, my life passing by..."


Edward raised an eyebrow. Somehow, he couldn't see being Lord Umbrucanno's valet as particularly fulfilling, but he made no comment. Instead, he asked, "Now, I was wondering if you could tell me...do you have a gentleman staying here, a Mr. Rufio?"


"Yes sir," the innkeeper replied. "But I do believe calling him a 'gentleman' is an abuse of the word."


"Oh?"


"Yes sir. Unfortunately, he talks in his sleep...and one gets the distinct impression, listening to him, that he's a very evil man. It's a wonder that no one has visited justice upon him yet. I half expect a stranger to show up at any moment, and ask me where he can be found, so that he can end his miserable life."


Edward shifted his weight. "I...see. Well, just out of curiosity now, where is he?"


"In the cellar, sir," the innkeeper replied. "He asked for a room out of the way, and that was the only one."


Edward nodded. "Well, I think I may pay him a visit, if that's alright with you."


"You, sir?" the innkeeper asked. "Well, you're welcome to do so...but, if I were you, I wouldn't advise it, sir."


"Oh?" Edward asked. "Why?"


"Well sir," the other man answered hesitantly. "He does not take kindly to strangers...and, as I say, he is a very evil man...and, if I was to hazard a guess, one very skilled in fighting."


"Oh," Edward said, hesitantly. Suddenly, the idea of killing Rufio had lost some of its appeal.


"I think, sir, he is afraid that someone is coming to kill him. Of course," he said, "he wouldn't worry about that with you."


Edward frowned at him, vaguely sensing that he should be offended by the comment. "Why not?"


"Well, sir, no one would suspect you of being a hired assassin," the innkeeper replied with a smile.


"Because I'm too respectable?" Edward asked, trying to make up his mind whether he had been complimented or insulted.


"Ummm...yes sir," the innkeeper replied, in such a hesitant tone that Edward was certain that it had, in fact, been an insult.


"Well," Edward declared hotly, sick and tired of people doubting his abilities, "I'll have you know that I just happen to be a paid assassin -- a member of the Dark Brotherhood!"


The innkeeper stared at him, expressions of awe and then disbelief cycling on his face. "Are you serious, sir?"


"Quite serious!" Edward snapped. "And, what's more, I've come here to kill that vicious old man!"


The innkeeper's expression turned to one of admiration. "Well, sir, please accept my apologies. A member of the Dark Brotherhood? Well, well! How exciting."


"Yes!" Edward declared. If nothing else, his membership in this apparently legendary band of murderous cutthroats was winning him respect.


"Oh, sir," the innkeeper declared, "this is an honor! To meet a member of that group, face to face -- that group of dark avengers, the hands of justice, of swift retribution for evil, unfailing, unflinching, serving the greater good, disposing of evil mercilessly, serving the Great Avenger, Sithis, and the Lady of Eternal Darkness, the Night Mother; reaping the souls of the cutthroats, the murderers, the evil doers who would destroy the empire!"


Edward shifted uncomfortably. What was this man talking about? Had he misheard him? Was there some other group of people, who called themselves something similar, with whom he was confusing the Brotherhood? The Brotherhood was, after all, a group of murderers, cutthroats, evil doers...wasn't it? "I think there might be some mistake," he said. "I said I was a member of the Dark Brotherhood."


The innkeeper nodded his head excitedly. "Yes, of course," he said. "Everyone knows the reputation of your order, but few have ever met one of you in person! Ohh, you have no idea how exciting this is! To meet someone who embraces justice so much that they will serve the gods themselves to avenge evil, and provide justice for the wronged! Ohh, what an honor it is to meet you!"


Edward stood fixed in place, a quizzical expression on his face. Was this man mad? Or was the Brotherhood really what he described, an organization of avengers who killed evildoers? Somehow, that didn't quite fit the dark, glorious image he'd conjured in his mind. His reflection was interrupted, though, by the continued prattle of the innkeeper.


"I say, sir," he was saying, "please don't think this impertinent of me...but...you wouldn't be looking for a valet, by any chance, would you?"

[Rachel the Breton]

Of kings and cowards he sings,
Of war and the devastation it brings,
Ode to the warriors and the heroes,
And jeers at Edward and other zeros.
-- Tribute to the Captain of the Blades

Chapter Twelve

After agreeing that, perhaps, maybe just perhaps, he could use a faithful valet -- particularly one with an intimate knowledge of the interior, valuables and security detail of one of the wealthiest manors in the Imperial City -- Edward headed to the cellar. The innkeeper had cautioned him again, although he seemed to have gained some respect for his skills, but Edward had brushed the concern off. Now, however, having crept down the rickety ladder into a dank, poorly lit stone hallway, he was having second thoughts.

"What if this guy is a master warrior?" he wondered. "But, he's an old man...I can easily overpower an old man...all I have to do is..." His mind stopped. What? What would he do? Much as he boasted of his abilities to himself and others, he had never killed anyone before -- except Simplicia, and that was a complete accident. "Well, I could just...I mean, it wouldn't be so hard to...well, how difficult could it be to..." His forehead creased, and he sat down on the cold stone floor to think; he ran over the only death he had to his name, that of Simplicia. "I suppose," he thought uncertainly, "I could try to push him down, too. This floor is hard enough, I think, for an accident. Well, a deliberate accident." His frown deepened. "But what if he didn't go down just right?"

He remained sitting on the floor for several more minutes, attempting to think of a reasonable plan, but having no luck. At last, he decided his best bet was to go with the impulse of the moment; he would confront Rufio, and then do whatever came to mind. "That's it," he thought, "that's the way to go...spontaneous! It's what I live by, and I haven't done so bad yet." He smiled smugly, and headed to the room the innkeeper had mentioned as being Rufio's.

Turning the handle quietly, he tiptoed into the room. There, lying on a bed near the opposite wall, lay an old, white haired man, sleeping. Edward stared incredulously at him. Was this what all the fuss was about? This frail, old creature? He scoffed. Just what kind of weakling did they take him to be, anyway?! All he would have to do was sneak up, take out his sword, plunge it into the old man's heart...

He froze. "Oh, crap! I don't have a sword! I don't have anything, except a few gold pieces!" he thought. "What am I gonna do?!?" He glanced around the room. There was a chair, a small table, some crates ("What kind of lunatic keeps crates in their bedroom, anyway?!"), and a dresser. His eyes lit up. And there, on top of the dresser, was a dagger.

A broad smile spreading over his face, Edward crept to the dresser, seized the dagger, lifted it over the old man, and...froze. "I can't do this!" he thought. "I can't risk getting blood on my new clothes!"

At that moment the old man's eyes opened, and he gasped. "What are you doing?! I haven't done anything!"

Edward didn't know what to say to this, so just shot back, "Yes you have!"

The old man's eyes opened wider. "I thought...I thought no one knew about that!"

"The Dread Father knows everything!" he declared. He wasn't sure why he said it, or who, exactly, Sithis was (he had flunked Sunday school, after all), but it sounded like what the innkeeper had said -- and that was pretty cool sounding stuff, even if it wasn't as cool as what he'd originally imagined!

"Oh dear gods!" the old man screamed, his face white with terror. "It wasn't my fault! She should have known better than to go outside without her veil! My honor was besmirched! I had no choice!"

Edward wrinkled his nose. "She? Veil? What?"

"My daughter!" Rufio answered. "That's why you're here, right? Because of her death?"

"Umm..." Edward stalled, "Maybe."

"Please don't!" the old man begged.

Edward, still busily attempting to figure out what Rufio's confession had meant, didn't notice the old man's hand moving slowly toward the edge of the blanket. All at once, though, Rufio's arm shot up and grabbed the dagger; before he knew it, Edward was locked in a fight for the knife, and feeling his grip loosening. "He's gonna get it away from me!" he thought. "I gotta get out of here!"

Dropping the dagger, Edward pulled hard to get away from Rufio; this action surprised the old man, and he loosed his grip on his would-be assassin. Edward took to his heels, yelling for help, with Rufio hot in pursuit. Unfortunately, Edward ran straight into the chair he'd noticed earlier, flipped over it, and came crashing down. Rufio, just behind him, didn't have time to stop, and careened into his body. Edward heard and felt, rather than saw, this last bit, and could only think that he had to get up and get away before he felt the dagger plunged into his back. He jumped to his feet, but was surprised to see the old man sprawled unmoving on the floor in front of him.

Examining Rufio's body, he gaped. He was dead! Then a smile spread across his lips. "It worked!" he thought. "My plan worked! The murderer is dead!"

At that moment, he heard a clatter in the hallway, and looked up just as the innkeeper burst into the room, a sword in hand. The other man froze, staring at him and the corpse.

"What on earth are you doing??" Edward asked.

"Well, sir, I heard you scream for help, and I thought..."

"Scream for help?" Edward repeated. "I did no such thing!"

"But I heard you scream, sir! So did the traveler upstairs!"

Edward blinked, and then remembered that he had, during his flight, loosed a scream. "Well," he said, a bit flustered, "of course I screamed. But I wasn't screaming for help!"

"Oh?"

"I was calling for you to come down here and...admire my handiwork!"

"Oh, I see," the innkeeper said, his face lighting up. He sheathed his blade, and then bent to admire the corpse. "Amazing, sir, just amazing! You've put an end to a very evil man! I have to say, I half didn't believe you'd be able to do it." Edward frowned deeply, and the innkeeper shot a furtive, apologetic glance up at him. "I mean so neatly, sir. No blood! Would you look at that? Why, if I didn't know better, I would have come down here, seen him lying like that, and said he tripped and hit his head!" Edward shifted uncomfortably, but said nothing. "Tell me, sir, how did you do it?"

Edward flinched at the question. "Well, you, umm, don't expect me to give away trade secrets like that, now do you?"

[SubRosa]

"I can't do this!" he thought. "I can't risk getting blood on my new clothes!"
Classic Edward!

[D.Foxy]

I sTILL am gigGlinG about how eDwArD mixed up the Dark Bubbahood with an order of prostitutes....

[mALX]

I have so missed Edward's shrieks! Here is a rare example of him actually thinking quickly:

"I was calling for you to come down here and...admire my handiwork!"

I love it!

And I LOVE the drawing you did of Maxical!

This post has been edited by mALX: Sep 1 2010, 12:49 PM

[Remko]

Yay You found your way here too.
Can't wait to see how it continues. I have really missed Edwward's shenanigans.