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

[Rachel the Breton]

Hear the screams,
Scream the alarm,
Alarm the guards,
Guard the Palace!
-- Official Defense Plan for the Imperial City, as transcribed from the Royal Archives

Chapter One Hundred and Seventeen

Dragonheart rounded a bend, his heart feeling very light. At last he was free of the houses that obscured the panorama of colors overhead, and so he would be able to see the sunset -- strangely early as it was -- casting its lovely reddish hue upon the city. Glancing upwards, however, the Imperial froze in horror. It was no sunset lighting the city in hues of red and orange. No indeed; it was a giant spire of flame encircling the lower portion of the White Gold Tower, and climbing higher and higher with every lick of the deadly orange flame tongues.

This -- the Imperial Palace in flames -- was bad enough; but it was worse since the Imperial Guards had commissioned the Bastion -- what had once housed the Imperial Prison -- for their own use, and had transferred the prison to the palace basement about a year earlier.

"My gods," he gasped. "I've sentenced him to death!"

"Oh dear," the adoring fan, almost silent for once, gasped. After a moment, he added, "At least, though, Great Champion, it started before you entered!"

The valet glared at him, a thousand terrors assailing his thoughts. What sort of evil fate had he subjected his friend to, all in his bumbling attempt to assist? Why, why, why had he not trusted to Edward's abilities to hunt Dreth without any interference or assistance from him? How could those fools of Guards let a fire like this start when there were prisoners locked in the dungeons? And was it possible that they had rescued the prisoners?

Staring at the flames as they climbed, engulfing more and more of the palace tower with every moment, Dragonheart felt very sick. He had, he was sure, sentenced his friend to a terrible death; and now he was too late to do anything to help.

Of course, little did he know that, at that very minute, Edward and Valen Dreth were very much alive, and busily beating, kicking and screaming at one another in their individual attempts to get out of their tunnel enclosure before the other. Finally, delivering a good, hard kick to Edward's face, Valen managed to break free of him. The Imperial, however, was hot on his heels as he fled, and scrambled out of the passage only seconds after the elf, careening into him as he leaped from the earthen shaft.

Both men tumbled into a heap at the mouth of the passage, and at once fell to striking each other in their frenzied attempts to get away. A gurgling goblin inquiry from within the tunnel roused them from their senseless endeavor long enough so that they could rise to their feet; and then they took off at breakneck speed, paying no heed to which direction they went, and knowing little except that there was an ever-increasing horde of vile creatures on their tails.

Eventually, screaming and fleeing as they were, Edward lost sight of Valen, and imagined that he must have taken some turn to another side. He honestly didn't care...he was far too worried about the host of furry, biting, hissing, screeching things on his tail to care about the elf -- even if it did mean muddling up his contract. Worse yet for him, though, was the realization that there was no band of Blades waiting at the end of the tunnel to destroy his pursuers. And, perhaps most alarming of all, was the fact that the tunnels were growing increasingly hotter. Was it possible, Edward wondered, that the palace itself had caught flame, and was heating these passages, like a giant clay oven? The thought sent a shiver down his sweating back, and he hurried his frenzied pace.

At last an aperture in the earthen basement opened up, spilling into the stone of the underground palace passes. Edward charged blindly forward, leaping joyfully from the clay oven, only to find with dismay that he'd entered a brick one. "Ye gods!" he gasped, tearing at his clothes and gasping for breath. "It's hot enough to cook something!"

This realization prompted another one, and -- despite toppling at the brink of a terrible death -- Edward was at once aware that all of his exertion had made him terribly hungry.

[Rachel the Breton]

Terrors of the night,
Fears of the ages,
All of these are naught
Compared to him.
-- Song of Edward, Verse Six

Chapter One Hundred and Eighteen

From far and wide, people paused in alarm and dismay that bright afternoon. In horror their eyes turned to the Imperial City, and in horror they watched the iconic White Gold Tower grow red and orange, and seem to dance before them. Mountaineers in the Northern slopes, midland herders tending their flocks, outlaws vanished into the rocky dwellings of the Colovian Highlands, hermit dwellers of the Valus Mountains, boatmen and women in the harbor and upon the high seas, Blades atop their rocky summit of Cloud Ruler Temple, hunters in the Great Forest...all these saw, in horror and dismay, the flaming icon of the Imperial City, indeed, of the Empire itself, glow red and dance its doomed dance against the late afternoon sky. What tragedy, what disaster, what travesty could have brought the Palace to such an end? What cruel whim of the gods had it been to ignite the symbol of the Imperials, of Alessia and the slave-race who threw off the yoke of bondage to destroy their masters and establish themselves in their own right? Was it, the masses whispered in fear and alarm, the fulfillment of prophecy -- that the Dragonblood, once extinguished, had taken with it the greatness of the Empire? Did the burning of the White Gold Tower portend the wrath of the gods and the doom that awaited mankind, people wondered in growing terror?

Of course, little did these speculators realize just how wrong their frightened musings were, and just how far from the reality of the incident their wandering conjecture had strayed. Little did these troubled citizens realize that the burning of the Imperial Palace could not be attributed to any god, or to any stern fate dictated by the divines, but rather to a revengeful Imperial prisoner, whose disastrous supplications to the god of doom had led to a small but containable fire; and whose attempts at putting out that fire had escalated it into the burning inferno that they witnessed now, as it consumed the symbol of their nation's greatness. Little did they realize that, far from the grand and terrible images of powerful, vengeful gods that they conjured up, the actual cause of this disaster was at the moment himself frozen in terror, teetering over the edge of a newly opened fissure-like aperture.

And yet it was so, for Edward, whose bungling had ignited the Imperial Palace, now stood in mortification, overlooking a rift in the Imperial Sewers, no doubt caused by the tremendous crashing and shifting of portions of the palace overhead. It was a steep drop, a good fifty or so feet from where he stood, into a pit -- he knew not how deep -- wherein the contents of the Imperial Sewers had drained. Overhead, the moving and creaking of stone forewarned of imminent danger; and behind him, the hissing, squeaking, gurgling, spitting fury of a mob of monsters bespoke even more immediate menace. And yet, for all this, Edward could not make himself plunge into that horrid, steaming -- literally, as it, like everything around it, had heated up due to the conflagration above -- pool of waste below him.

This decision, however, was not one he'd have to make for himself, as a screaming, panicked body, appearing suddenly onto the plateau from some side passage, careened into him, hurling both itself and Edward headlong into the pit below.

Terrified as he was, Edward's fury mastered his fear; and as he rose to the surface he was cursing angrily at whoever had been the fool who pushed him in. The fool, it turned out, was Valen Dreth, and he likewise was cursing.

"What the Oblivion did you push me in for??" Edward berated.

"Why in Oblivion did you abandon me??" Dreth demanded at the same time.

Each about to shout denunciations of the charges leveled at his door, and condemnation of the other man, both paused in shock and dismay as they saw two packs of rats, goblins, and other subterranean-dwelling creatures plunge headlong off the miniature cliff in pursuit of their prey -- them. The elf and Imperial screamed in unison, each hastily making for the edge of the pit. Their swim was a long and vile one, and the plop, plop, plop behind them as their pursuers dove in did nothing to ease the disgusting nature of their business. At last, however, thoroughly soaked in the city's waste, they reached the edge of the chasm.

Hesitating not a moment, they scrambled out, noting with only fleeting satisfaction that the numbers of their pursuers had diminished significantly. They glanced about them quickly, and were able to pick out a path that seemed crossable. "Here!" Edward shouted, pointing it out. "We should be able to climb over the rubble!"

Panting, wheezing, cursing and grunting, the two men made haste to do so -- and ignore the awful, nauseating smell of heated septic waste that adorned their bodies, or the ever-increasing temperature that heated the rocks beneath them and the air they breathed.

It was a long climb, and a hard one, but, at last, they reached the summit of the rubble, and were, with much difficulty, able to leap to the other side of the ruined sewer passages. These, at least -- as their passages had drained into the fissure from whence Edward and Valen had just escaped -- were clear of all but a clinging sludge, and a few angry crabs. The crabs -- doubtless because of the heat -- were slower than usual, however, so that even their anger aided them little in their efforts to attack the two fleeing men.

"Die!" Edward cursed as he passed a trio of clack-clack-clacking crabs. "I hope you all bake in here, you bastards!"

[haute ecole rider]

Oh noes! Edward set fire to the White Gold Tower!

Had to laugh at the description of just about the entire population of Cyrodill watching the tower burn from their locations in the surrounding mountains. It's a pet peeve of certain folks on this forum that cities are so close to each other, and that Cyrodill should take more than a day to cross from one end to the other.

Valen and Edward fleeing the goblins was quite funny too.

But funniest of all was Docada's reaction to Norvayne's statement that he had sentenced his vile friend to certain death!

[mALX]

Rachel, I will have to read this tomorrow morning. I have a headache from H (brought on by the rain penning 2 dogs, a cat, a teen, and a husband inside with me all day). I want to enjoy DOCADA's saga, lol.

[mALX]

The vision of Edward running screaming through the tunnels and sewers below the Imperial City will keep me laughing through about anything !!! AWESOME WRITE !!!!

[Rachel the Breton]

@haute ecole rider: thanks, glad you liked the chapters! And I know what you mean about the spacing issue...it seems rather cramped for the heart of the empire.

@malx: Ohhhh, rain and pets is bad enough, but teenagers only make things that much worse, lol. Glad you survived it! As for the story, thanks, I love the image of Edward and Dreth running about...I can just see them losing each other without noticing and then colliding like that, lol.

Sings us a song of cowardice,
And he knows the lyrics well.
Sings us a song of malice,
And he knows it as well.
-- Song popularized after the end of the Oblivion Crisis

Chapter One Hundred and Nineteen

Valen Dreth and Edward crawled out of the same sewer grate that Edward had stepped out of what seemed like ages ago. They were still pursued by an ever diminishing band of creatures, but they were able to secure the grate in such a way that it would prove a daunting barrier to any creature lacking the intellect required to unfasten it. This done, they immediately dove into the cool water, both to soothe their overheated bodies and to remove the vile layer of waste that covered them.

As soon as he'd plunged under water enough times to wash as much filth as possible off of himself, Edward turned his attention to the City, where he was bound. Then, he gasped. "Oh my gods," he sputtered, indignation and rage filling him, "some fool has lit the Imperial Palace on fire!"

Valen glanced first at him, and then at the flaming spire rising high above the city, his expression changing from annoyance to shock to fury; Edward, however, took no note.

"Who would do such a thing?" the Imperial wondered aloud. "What sort of fiend?"

Valen Dreth stared at him, as if attempting to ascertain if he spoke facetiously or not; his angry, annoyed expression morphed into a darker, more annoyed one as he surveyed Edward, who still ranted furiously, bobbing up and down in the water with each proclamation.

"The White Gold Tower!" he was currently exclaiming. "The symbol of Aleyid power, and the symbol of the might of Imperials -- for it was we who took it from the race of filthy elves!"

Dreth shot him a dark look at this mention of elves, but he again took no notice.

"The arsonist should be strung up for this!" Edward roared, floundering to keep himself above water as he exhaled the air from his lungs. "This is treason, treason to the Empire! A slap in the face to history, to Imperials everywhere!"

Dreth stared at him icily, a mixture of amazement and disdain filling his eyes. "Don't you find it oddly coincidental," he asked, "that you lit a fire in the prison underneath the palace, and -- right after that -- some arsonist lit the palace on fire?"

Edward gasped. "You're right!" he exclaimed, pausing for a moment to pull himself up out of the water. "That's a good point! It must have been one of the guards!"

Valen stared at him, too surprised by this conclusion to respond.

"They must have known about the fire in the dungeon, and took the opportunity, when everyone was distracted, to light the palace on fire!"

The elf grimaced at this wanton stupidity, but said only, "Come on, let's get to shore."

Edward didn’t need to be told twice, and both men swam toward the Island city. The Imperial pulled himself out of the water wearily, and collapsed with a heavy thudding sound onto the sandy shore. “It’s amazing, Dreth,” he told the elf, “that we made it out of there! We actually make a pretty good team, you know that?” He didn’t see the Dunmer’s malicious smile, so he continued, “You know – you won’t believe it – but I had come to the city expressly to kill you. But I’m not going to do that now. Vicente be hanged…I could never hurt a pal who helped me escape from prison and saved my life!”

Valen Dreth sneered, and asked, “You, going to kill me? There’s a laugh.”

Edward glanced up, annoyed, but froze suddenly. The elf was toying with a dagger, a dark look in his eye.

“You know,” he told the Imperial, “I didn’t get you out of there for your sake. I told you so from the beginning. But now that we’re out…well, there’s only one person in the world beside me who knows about it.” He smiled, fixing his eyes on Edward’s. “I can’t have that, now can I?”

Edward gaped at the insolence of the man. “You mean…you want to kill me? After I decided to spare your life and everything?”

“’Fraid so,” Valen answered matter-of-factly. “I don’t need any witnesses to our escape. So, you see, you’re putting me in rather a difficult position.”

Edward, however, had heard enough at this point; if the elf’s toying maliciously with his dagger hadn’t convinced him of the sincerity of his words, the cold, calculating gleam in his eyes certainly did. Scrambling to his feet, and loosing a yelp of fear at the same time, Edward sprinted for the cliff face. Even the protests of his weary legs did nothing to slow him. In a moment, he was climbing the rock face, the sounds of the elf quick on his heels driving him ever onward and upward.

“Begone, murderer!” Edward shouted back, desperately clinging and inching higher. “Leave me be!”

He heard Valen laugh behind him, and then felt a cold, clammy hand wrap around his ankle. “C’mon now,” the elf told him, his tone harsh yet almost musical in its cruelty. “You may as well make this easy on yourself.” He tugged downward, hard, on Edward’s leg.

The Imperial was shrieking with fright at this point, and kicking wildly with his unfettered leg. “Let go!” he screamed. “Let go of me!”

He heard Valen laugh, and felt the long, cold fingers of the elf’s free hand brush with his other leg. Flailing it about more violently, he was glad when his heel impacted sharply with the Dunmer’s grasping hand. “Let go!” he repeated, still kicking. He was too frightened to look down, and it was difficult enough to remain in place while Valen pulled on his one leg, and he kicked with the other, without trying to pull himself higher.

But he heard the growl of the elf as his kick found its mark, and he heard him say, “Alright, enough games Imperial twit. Time to die.”

This sent Edward into a new frenzy, and he was all at once screeching as he’d never screeched, and kicking like he’d never kicked. He felt his heels impact with the Dumner several times, and felt the hand on his leg slip away, but he still hadn’t had the courage to look down. Instead, he continued to flail with his lower body, and cling onto the rock cliff face with his upper.

This post has been edited by Rachel the Breton: Mar 31 2011, 05:28 AM

[haute ecole rider]

Let me guess - so Edward Numbnuts managed to kill Dreth after all?

'Tis ironic, isn't it, that he always manages to accomplish every 'mission' he so half-heartedly with multiple misconceptions sets out to do? Though usually in manners unforeseen?

His speech at the burning of the White Gold Tower had me holding my laughter in (which was quite painful) due to the early hour. It would have frightened the cats terribly!

[Grits]

As soon as he'd plunged under water enough times to wash as much filth as possible off of himself, Edward turned his attention to the City, where he was bound. Then, he gasped. "Oh my gods," he sputtered, indignation and rage filling him, "some fool has lit the Imperial Palace on fire!"

And this is where I put my head down on the table and gave in to helpless laughter.

The Adoring Fan will forever be Docada now!

[mALX]

Then, he gasped. "Oh my gods," he sputtered, indignation and rage filling him, "some fool has lit the Imperial Palace on fire!"

the symbol of the might of Imperials -- for it was we who took it from the race of filthy elves!"

"Don't you find it oddly coincidental," he asked, "that you lit a fire in the prison underneath the palace, and -- right after that -- some arsonist lit the palace on fire?"

This chapter never gets old !!! I roared just as hard this read as the first - I LOVE THIS STORY !!!!!!!!

[Rachel the Breton]

@haute ecole rider: lol, quite right -- Edward, with a few notable exceptions, always manages to come away from his tasks successful -- but never through the means one would expect. Glad you liked the White Gold Tower speech; I loved writing it...I could see him bobbing and spluttering in fury at the "assault" on the "symbol of Imperial might".

When trying to figure out the social landscape of the game, I've always sort of seen the Imperial world as being even more of an extension or re-imagining of the Roman world than the game has it, and so attributed a lot of the Roman prejudices toward "barbarians" to the Imperials, toward non Imperials. As I see it, there would be people like the valet, who don't put people in the "barbarian" and "Imperial" camps; these would be the majority of "regular" people. But many of the noble Imperial families, especially, would consider themselves a cut above the regular Imperial "riff raff", and heads and shoulders above the "barbarian" riff raff. Edward, coming from a noble family, as well as being a total snot, would hold these ideas very dear, and would be seeped in the history of the Imperials from a very pro-Imperial viewpoint. So, to him, this tower is nothing more than a symbol of Imperial might -- because the Imperials were able to take even such a prize from the "filthy elves" and make it their own. To see it burn, therefore, would be a terrific blow; alas for Edward, he has no idea that he, himself, is the cause for that blow. (You can see a similar refrain of his bungling leading to a consequence that he would be appalled at in the Felicity subplot that shows up later [which, I think, I started to post on the Bethesda forum?] -- again, if not for Edward's bungling, the entire subplot never would have been introduced. )

Grits: "And this is where I put my head down on the table and gave in to helpless laughter.

The Adoring Fan will forever be Docada now! "

LOL. Thanks, I loved writing this sequence. As for Docada, I'm glad to hear that as well...he was certainly memorably annoying/creepy in the game as the style challenged stalker, so I'm glad Docada captured that as well.

mALX: Thanks, glad that it retains its funniness on a re-read. As for Edward, well, his tact is almost as great as his powers of perception. He's not only dense about his own actions, but he totally misses -- or doesn't care enough to look out for -- the impact of his words.



Fire reaching to the sky,
A thousand voices asking why,
And one elf to die
Just another adventure gone awry.

-- Song of Edward, Verse Seven


Chapter One Hundred and Twenty

Still shrieking and flailing about several minutes later, Edward felt his arms giving out. "Please!" he was pleading. "Please don't kill me! I swear, I'll never tell anyone! Oh please, Dreth, don't hurt me! We serve the same god! We escaped together! I helped you get out! Please, don't kill me!"

The elf, apparently, had no intention of acquiescing, for he made no response; but, even as terrified as he was, Edward was still unable to hold on any longer. Knowing that the fall would mean his death, Edward felt tears streaming down his face as his last vestiges of strength gave out. The next thing he knew, he had fallen, and was covering his head and face with his hands. He felt himself land on something flesh-like and warm, and knew at once that he'd landed on the elf -- who was, he was sure, about to murder him.

"Please!" he screamed out desperately, "Please don't!"

He didn't really expect mercy, but he thought he may as well try as not. To his surprise, however, his entreaty was met with absolute silence. "Valen?" he asked raising his head a bit. Opening one eye just a sliver, he asked, "Valen Dreth?"

The elf was there, all right, but not as Edward had expected. Rather than towering over him ready to strike, the elf lay sprawled out on the shore. The fleshy object he'd felt had been Valen's leg, on which he'd landed. Shrieking anew, Edward jumped up and backwards. The Dunmer was, somehow, lifeless and unmoving. "Is he...can he be...dead?" Edward wondered, terror still toying with him. But he had to know, and so he leaned over the elf.

Gasping, Edward noted with both glee and surprise the trickle of blood running from Valen's head onto the rock on which he lay, and down into the sand of the shore. Had he fallen, Edward wondered, or had one of those kicks pushed him backwards? So lost in panic as the Imperial had been, he'd not even heard a thud or fall...and yet, now, Valen Dreth was dead, his head apparently smashed on the cliff walls of the City Isle.

Edward's eyes bulged in appreciation and joy. "Oh, great Marooned Dragon!" he prayed out loud. "Thank you, thank you, thank you for saving your humble slave from the grasp of this madman! Thank you! Only one of your greatness could recognize the caliber of your loyal slave! Only one of your grandeur could appreciate my value to you!"

Meanwhile, as Edward showered the god of doom and destruction with adulatory worship, his valet was frantically trying to find word of his cremated master, as he thought Edward must surely be by this point. He'd previously learned that the prisoners had been rescued, as had all the inhabitants of the castle and many of the books in the Elder Scrolls Library. Even the Moth Priests had been rescued before the inferno spread to their chambers. But, amidst all the rescued, he could find no trace of Edward.

"Look here," he was telling one of the guards, "you must have some idea of him, and what's happened! I need to know!"

The guard, covered in soot and looking somewhat less than pleased to be harassed in this manner over a mere prisoner, snapped back, "I told you already, I can't find him in the records!"

"Why not?" the valet asked. "He must have been registered, since he was taken right here."

"Maybe he was, and maybe he wasn't," the Guard answered. "But I still can't find no mention of him in the records.

"Why?" Dragonheart demanded to know.

"Because the records is burnt," the Guard answered, guffawing at his own joke. "And you can't find something as is burnt, can you now?"

This post has been edited by Rachel the Breton: Apr 3 2011, 05:15 PM

[Rachel the Breton]

The virtuous seek out the Nine,
But Mehrunes Dagon the swine.
While the Nine seek out the pure,
But the villains Dagon loves for sure.
-- Sundas School lesson





Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-One

Edward had finished scaling the nearly sheer cliff face and was standing outside the walls of the Imperial City . He was hot, tired, and very weary; and his mood was little better than his physical condition. He had just recovered his breath, and was heading toward the nearest gate, when a hand tapped his shoulder.

Jumping in alarm and spinning about, mad images in mind of the furious shade of Valen Dreth pursuing him, he was surprised to see only a red-robed and hooded figure. He stared quizzically at the man before him, whose face was difficult to make out, so hidden underneath his hood as it was. And then his eyes bulged anew, and he felt a scream of panic rising in his throat. This was one of those men, those assassins, who had pursued the Emperor and him during his first escape from the Imperial Prison.

But the robed figure spoke before he could commence screeching. "My dear Edward!" he said, "I am sent to you by our dark Lord and Master, Mehrunes Dagon himself."

Edward paused, the urge to scream momentarily put on hold. "You? What connection are you to my god?"

A smile was visible underneath the hood, and then the lips parted. "Why, I am an agent of the Mythic Dawn, whose mission it is to serve our glorious master."

Edward frowned at him. "Wait, you guys serve the Dragon too?"

"The Dragon?" the agent hissed. "No, we serve Mehrunes Dagon, not Akatosh!"

Edward frowned in confusion at him.

"And our god has heard your pleas, and seen what you have done for us!"

"Oh," Edward declared, his expression brightening a little. He wasn't sure what, exactly, he'd done, but the fact that it pleased a god sounded good enough to him. "I see."

"Indeed. We would like to welcome you into our ranks on behalf of our god, if you would be willing to join?"

Edward positively beamed. "I'd be delighted!" To himself, he thought, "How exciting! Joining a cult of assassins at the invitation of a god himself! Finally, I am getting the recognition I deserve!"

"Excellent! Well, then, initiate, after your glorious work of destruction, we have a task that will seem trivial by comparison. And yet, we hope it may be sufficient to excite your interest, so that you will lend your manifold skills to our endeavors?"

"Of course!" Edward agreed hastily. Whatever it was, he was glad to do it. After all, this god and his followers were the only ones who really, truly valued him for what he was; when was the last time Vicente had spoken of his “manifold skills”, or mentioned tasks that would be “trivial” to him? Never, that's when!

"Wonderful," the robed figure smiled. "Now then, it's a simple task really. We need you to discover the identity of the Emperor's last son, hunt him down, and kill him."

Edward blinked. "What?" he asked, astonishment filling his eyes. "You want me to kill him?"

The robed man nodded. "Yes. Our Lord has faith in you."

Edward's eyes gleamed with sheer pleasure. It was one thing to be sent by a mere band of assassins to kill people; it was another indeed to be hand picked by a god to kill the Emperor's son and heir. "I'll do it!" he exclaimed eagerly.

"Good," the Mythic Dawn agent nodded. "Our god will be proud of you!" Edward's smile grew to positively titanic proportions. "And, once it is done, we will have another task for you."

"Oh?"

"Yes...the Amulet of Kings has disappeared. We need it."

Edward shifted uneasily. "The Amulet of Kings?"

"Yes...rumor has it that some damned fool picked it up after our Brethren slew the Emperor, and we've not been able to locate it since."

"Ahh," Edward answered. "Well, I, umm, might be able to help in that regard."

"Oh?"

"Yes...I've, umm, heard rumors that, uhh, Friar Jauffre has it."

"Oh?" the Mythic Dawn agent repeated, staring out from under his hood at Edward. "I suppose we should have thought of that...but we trailed that swine Baurus, and he didn't have it..."

"Yes, well, rumors are only rumors," Edward declared. "Still, I'd check it out if I were you." To himself, he thought, "Blast! If only I had known beforehand, I might have saved them the trouble!" But he didn't dare reveal his part in this masquerade, for fear that his shifting loyalties would reflect poorly on him to this agent of his god.

[Rachel the Breton]

The pure of heart
Stands by his friend
Ignoring the faults,
Standing firm to the end.
-- On Friendship

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Two

Edward, now an initiate into the Mythic Dawn, strolled into the city with a glad heart. Sure, he still reeked of sewerage; yes, someone in whom he'd placed his faith -- Valen Dreth -- had betrayed him and tried to murder him; true, his valet sent him to prison; and, granted, the burning White Gold Tower still rose above the city like a giant flaming specter. But things were finally looking up for him, at least on a personal level. The gods -- "Curse all of them, except, of course, the One, True Being, Marooned Dragon" -- had spent years ignoring him and spitting upon him; now, at long last, they were recognizing him for what he was, and what he could offer them. And soon, so soon as he'd completed his task of assassinating the Emperor's heir...well, what rewards could he expect from a god, after all? There were no limits for gods...they could reward the faithful as they saw fit. And surely one of his character would be deserving of ample rewards, wouldn't he?

Frowning as he realized he'd broken into that habit of old of licking his lips greedily at the prospect of wealth or fortune, Edward straightened himself out, and strolled nonchalantly through the town. He didn't even take it personally when people pulled quickly away, wrinkling their noses and staring at him with disdain. He was too lost in scheming reverie to take much note. "Maybe," he was thinking, "my god will make me Emperor! After all, with all the unworthy heirs dead, and the last of the ingrates dead at my hands no less, the mighty Dragon might see that there are none better suited to rule than myself." He was smiling broadly at the prospect, and walking a bit aimlessly, as he wasn't really sure of where he was going or why. He had a vague idea of retrieving his horse from the stables, but was afraid that, if he should pay a personal visit to Snak gra-Bura's stables, she might recognize him. Yet, as much as he despised the beast, he couldn't warm to the idea of traveling on foot. And, with his wayward servant at last cast off like the vile ingrate that he was, he really had no choice but to fetch the horse himself, or to abandon it.

It was then that an annoying voice broke through his thoughts, and he felt his ears practically itching with aggravation. "Don't take it to heart, Champion," it was saying, "it's sad and all that for sure, but he really is unworthy of your concern!"

Edward froze. Was this...could it be? Were the annoying fan and the miscreant servant approaching? His first instinct was to run, as his servant would no doubt try to have him incarcerated again; but the prevailing sensation was to murder the fiend on sight. So, he remained fixed in place, listening as the voice continued to implore its "Champion" to move on and forget the deceased unworthy. There was now no doubt in his mind...in all of Tamriel, he was sure that only the Ice-Cream-Head could babble so incessantly, repeating the same, oftentimes meaningless, things over and over in ever new and different ways.

Soon enough, the voice drawing nearer and nearer, first the taller form of his valet, and then the childlike form of his valet's stalker, rounded a corner, and froze. Edward watched as his servant's eyes grew wide in shock. Just about to engage in a bitter tirade about betting his servant was surprised to see him after his murder attempt, he froze a second time as the other man rushed over and clasped his hands on his shoulders.

"Sir!" he exclaimed. "Oh, sir, you're alive! Oh, thank the Nine -- I was so afraid..."

"That you'd murdered me?" Edward spit out, ignoring the look of relief and joy that spread across the other man's face.

"No sir," the valet answered. "That you'd died in that fire! I'm so sorry that I interfered. I thought I'd give you a shot at Valen, and I almost got you killed."

Edward stared at his valet, who was positively shaking with both remorse and joy, his face a strange, contorted mask of the two. Something in the other man's relieved expression, and the fact that he didn't recoil in disgust though he was grasping reeking clothes, stayed the flow of bitter fury that was about to roll off of Edward's tongue. "What?" he asked.

"My plan -- to get you in with Dreth by having you hauled off to prison," Dragonheart continued. "Some fool started the palace on fire, and you almost got killed."

Edward glared at him furiously, but the words somehow penetrated his barrier of livid unreasonableness. "You mean...that was all a stupid ploy to get me access to Dreth?"

"Of course," the valet nodded. "I didn't suppose anything like that would happen, though."

"You almost got me killed!" Edward roared, understanding simply giving way to a new facet of fury. "How dare you meddle with my work?!"

[mALX]

"Because the records is burnt," the Guard answered, guffawing at his own joke. "And you can't find something as is burnt, can you now?"

Great imagery you created with this guard !!! Perfect rendition of a working class dialogue !!

... the childlike form of his valet's stalker rounded a corner, and froze.

ROFL !!! What a perfect description !!!


And Edward joining the Mythic Dawn - one of my favorite subplots in the whole story !!!! ROFL !!! Awesome Write !!!!

[haute ecole rider]

Why is it every time I read this story, I have a vision of an animated film playing in my head?

A bad animated film, no less. Something along the caliber of Speed Racer from the '70's.

Hilariously funny because the animation is so bad, and even more hilarious because the plot doesn't care how bad the animation is, it's that hysterically good!

And mALX:

QUOTE

"Because the records is burnt," the Guard answered, guffawing at his own joke. "And you can't find something as is burnt, can you now?"


Great imagery you created with this guard !!! Perfect rendition of a working class dialogue !!

Working class dialogue?? The working class doesn't talk quite this way around here! I guess it depends on where you live. So would that be more like ETN dialogue? Around here, it would be more like "'Cause the records are burn," the Guard answered, guffawing at his own joke. "And ya cain't find sumthin' dat's burn, can ya now?"

[Rachel the Breton]

mALX and haute ecole rider: Thanks -- glad you're both enjoying the chapters! Where I live, that's how things get mixed up..."are" is "is" and things of that nature. However, you're quite right...it all depends on location...

Dear Divines,

My name is Edward, and I’m an Imperial living in the Imperial City. I am writing to you this holiday season because I have a request -- two of them, in fact -- and the priest at the temple said that you might answer them if they were good requests. So, you’ll have to take my word on it that these are good requests, because they really are. First of all, please smite my brother. He annoys me. Secondly, could you make me Emperor when I grow up? I hope that’s not too much to ask, but I can’t think of anything else that would make a fitting present for myself.

Yours in subservience and all that,

Edward

-- Childhood letter written to the gods during the winter holiday season

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Three

It seemed to the Imperial that it was a decent trade off...forgiving his servant of lesser crimes than he had originally thought him guilty in order to secure his continued service. And, anyway, it appeared that the valet had already subjected himself to sufficient mental torture over having Edward arrested. The miscreant, apologetic servant once more welcomed into the master's fold, then, Edward wasted no time in giving orders. First, the valet had fetched him new clothes -- at his own expense, of course, seeing as how Edward's "money was all confiscated by those tin-suited baboons!"; this was nonsense, of course, as Edward had had no money, but his servant had not argued. Then, he'd gone to fetch their horses. Edward and the Adoring Fan were waiting outside the city gates when he returned.

"Well now, sir," the valet greeted, "Snak gra-Bura was most obliging. She was glad to see someone was treating this old nag so well."

Edward grimaced. "I need to pray for a better horse," he reminded himself. "It's a disgrace when my god's hand picked assassin is riding around on a horse that has no respect for him!"

"Are you sure," the fan broke in at the sight of his beloved Champion, "that I must wait here for you, oh Great and Glorious Champion?"

"I'm afraid so," the valet nodded. "My friend and I have important, risky work, and we cannot endanger you with it."

"Oh, but, Mighty Champion, I would risk any harm to be near you!"

Edward grimaced, but his servant was quick to silence the fan. "No, no," he said. "You must stay here. That's the wish of your Champion, and you know you cannot violate it."

Assuming a crestfallen air, the little elf nodded. "Yes, my Champion, I will obey. But you will come back, won't you? You're not just lying to me like that other Champion?"

Here, the valet hesitated; but Edward had no compunction in piping up, "Of course he'll be back! Would your Grand Champion abandon you?" He didn't mean a word of it, and knew well enough that his servant didn't either...but, as far as he was concerned, he'd do whatever it took to lose the little blighter -- up to and including bloody murder, if necessary. For now, though, he was content to confine himself to non-violent means...particularly when the eyes of the Guard were so near at hand.

The little fellow's face brightened, and he pressed, "You promise, my Champion?"

The valet hesitated more visibly this time, but again Edward interjected, "Certainly he promises! The Grand Champion is as good as his word, after all!"

Though Dragonheart frowned, the elf was positively beaming now. "Oh, Great Champion," he eulogized, "you are the greatest, the absolute greatest! Words fail me when it comes to expressing your beneficence, your grandeur, your magnificence!" And, despite professing that words had failed him, the fan set about finding ample expressions to convey, in a hundred ways and a thousand glowing tones, just how great were the depths of his adoration.

Edward was positively seething by time they were out of sight of the little fellow, and utterly livid when, some time later, they were out of the range of his vocal praise.

"I really wish you hadn't said that, sir," his valet told him then. "Now I'm obligated to find him when we return."

Edward stared at the other man, his mouth agape. Finally, he stuttered -- so great was his rage that his usual steady flow of words had dissipated, "You wouldn't dare, you...you...you accursed servant!"

Dragonheart turned surprised eyes to him at this tone, but replied, "Well, sir, you gave my word. And, as you know, I can't break my word."

[Rachel the Breton]

Conflagration at the Palace! Destruction of the White Gold Tower!

It is with dismay and consternation of the deepest sort that your correspondent puts pen to paper in order that he may, though words come with difficulty, inform his readers that the White Gold Tower, symbol of our City and Empire's magnificence, is, at the hands of a low, scheming arsonist, no more. Reportedly started by a vile prisoner, who was being held in the dungeons underneath the palace proper, a blazing inferno swept upwards, igniting everything in its path in a devastating and unstoppable orgy of destruction. Alas, but the charred ruins of the tower are all that remains; and even these will, it is rumored, need to be taken down, as they present a considerable safety hazard. This is indeed a dark day for the Empire, and for all who have come to depend on the might, glory and righteous guidance that it provides. With shaky hand and trepidatious heart, your faithful correspondent signs off.

--Black Horse Courier, Special News Bulletin

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Four

All the while vowing that he would unceremoniously disembowel his servant if he ever thought -- so much as thought -- about seeking out his annoying elvish stalker, Edward and his valet made their way to Cheydinhal. Edward's thoughts were that he needed cash, first and foremost to buy a respectable horse; and then for whatever necessity popped up in his hunt for the Emperor's long-lost heir. Somewhere in the back of his mind, though not acknowledged by him, of course, was the fact that our wayward hero had no idea whatever of how to go about seeking out and exterminating the Emperor's son. Neither Friar Jauffre nor the Mythic Dawn agent had given him much to go on. A former monk wasn't a terrific lead, after all.

So, he figured, he'd finish up his business with the Dark Brotherhood, and then...well, he'd see where his path took him from there. Things had a way of falling into his lap, so, at present, it seemed the best course of action to hope that some information would come his way, so that he could get on with the business of murdering his emperor. "Marooned Dragon will understand, I'm sure," he thought. "These things take time and all that."

Of course, he could relate none of the true nature of his task to his foolhardy servant. "The moron will probably go off the deep end," Edward mused, "ranting about honor and duty to the emperor and all that rot." More than rants, however, the Imperial dreaded interference; he doubted very much -- though he'd be the last to admit it aloud -- that he could best his servant in a contest of arms, and so it seemed the far wiser course to avoid such a contest if he was to see to his business.

The other man's voice roused him from his reverie. "I'm actually surprised that you wanted to head out so quickly, sir," it was saying. "I would have thought you would have wanted to stay around to find the fiendish arson who destroyed the Palace."

Edward scowled at the mere thought of the blaggard who would torch the Imperial Palace, the symbol of the might of Imperials. "I would," he admitted, "except that I have such urgent business to attend." To himself, he thought, "I suppose working for a god does trump even an insult of that magnitude." It was one thing, to Edward's mind, to kill the emperor; the emperor was just a man, and any man -- him, for instance -- would be as good a ruler as the next. But the White Gold Tower? That symbolized everything that was great and glorious about the Empire and Imperials, from their conquest of the Aleyids up until the present day. The destruction of that symbol had been not just a slap in the face to the emperor, but to the Empire and every Imperial -- Edward included. It was personal to him, and he could picture a slinking, unwashed barbarian -- sometimes an elf, sometimes a Khajiit, sometimes a Nord, sometimes an Argonian...it didn't really matter which -- skulking about the palace, lighting the fires that had turned into the all-consuming conflagration he'd witnessed.

"Urgent, sir?" the valet asked, his brow wrinkling. "I thought you were just reconvening with the Dark Brotherhood?"

"Umm, yes," Edward stammered, "That's true, but, I, ahh, also, umm..."

"Ohhhh..." the valet nodded, a knowing gleam in his eye. "Another secret mission?"

Edward flushed, but nodded. "That's right."

"Then Friar Jauffre didn't send you away without a task?"

Edward blinked. "Jauffre?" he repeated, suddenly feeling very guilty. He had, after all, practically sentenced the old man to his death, hadn't he?

"I knew it!" the valet continued obliviously. "He may be a grumpy old coot...well, not to put too fine a point on it, but a regular old nutter...but he's not foolish enough to let the man who retrieved the Amulet of Kings -- who was charged by the Emperor himself with returning it! -- slip through his fingers without roping him into service!" He was beaming proudly now. "You are an asset to the Empire, sir!" he told Edward. "A real asset. I mean, your Dark Brotherhood service was noteworthy enough, but this! Retrieving the Amulet of Kings, and now..." His eyes bulged. "Finding the heir!" he exclaimed, interrupting his own speech. "That's it, isn't it?"

Edward started. It was bad enough to have his fanciful servant imagining him on the side of the Emperor and working with Jauffre...but this?

Dragonheart beamed at Edward's reaction. "Ahh, I knew it!" he repeated. "I must say, sir, I am proud -- proud! -- to be working with you, and for our Empire!"

Edward nodded guiltily, the faintest twinge of remorse toying with his heart. It was too late to turn back from his chosen quest, however...and, right or wrong, it still held true that a god had more power of reward than a mere mortal Emperor. Thus, though touched by some pangs of conscience, he was not too sorry for his alliance.

[Rachel the Breton]

The palace has fallen,
Gutted by a little fire
The Imperials are bawlin'
At the work of a liar.
-- Lyrics penned by Mankar Camoran

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Five

The ride to Cheydinhal had been uneventful, and -- so far at least -- nothing had dropped into Edward's lap as he'd been planning. He was hardly bereft of hope, however, and so he swaggered with a new-found ease into the Dark Brotherhood headquarters. None of the paltry peasants with whom he was about to associate, he knew, were working at the direct mandate of a god; even if Sithis and the Night Mother existed, these people were the nobodies at the end of their long chain of command -- whereas he was the servant and ambassador of the great Marooned Dragon. These thoughts so impressed upon his mind, he carried himself with an even greater air of arrogant superiority than before. All eyes turned as he passed, and doubtless a number of stomachs proportional to the ratio of eyes-to-stomachs present.

Vicente was standing in the main chamber as he entered, and turned to stare daggers at him. "Edward!" he barked.

His fierce tone jarred the Imperial's stony insolence, but not as much as the fact that, for the first time since their acquaintance, the Breton had used his actual name in addressing him. Edward suddenly felt very meek as he stared into the furious red eyes, managing, "Yes, Mr. Valtieri?"

"So you're back?"

"Ummm...yes?"

The Breton glared at him. "Is that an answer, or a question?"

"An...answer?" Edward stuttered, realizing too late that his answer regarding his answer to a perfectly obvious question was posed so timidly that it, too, sounded like a question.

Vicente's icy glare seemed to freeze the very marrow in his bones. "Do you have any idea what you've done, Imperial fool?"

"Umm...no?"

"Are you answering me, or asking me?" Vicente demanded, his tone powerful and fierce even as his eyes burned a furious red.

"Answering!" Edward shouted, taking care not to repeat his previous slip up.

"You've just committed an act of treason, of war in fact, against the Empire! And did so as an agent of the Dark Brotherhood!"

Edward felt the blood draining from his cheeks, and imagined that he must look paler than Vicente himself. "Ye gods!" he thought. "How could he possibly know?"

The Breton apparently took this guilty reaction as acknowledgment of his crime, so he continued. "After what you've done, if there was anything -- anything! -- that I could get you on, by the gods, I'd do it!" he snapped. "Unfortunately, as the only person you actually killed was Dreth -- your mark -- I can't find anything..."

His eyes were blazing with fury, and Edward felt himself quaking. "I understand you don't approve," he managed in a half-whispered tremor, "but I thought..."

"Thought?!" Vicente demanded, interrupting. "How could you possibly justify that?!"

Edward shrugged, realizing that it was likely better to avoid elucidating his process of rationalizing. "Well, at least I didn't actually kill him," he explained. It made no never-mind to him that he still planned to; just so long as the Breton's fury was redirected long enough for him to make his getaway...

Vicente blinked at this defense, demanding, "Kill him? Kill who?"

"The Emperor," Edward explained. "Well, the heir to the throne."

Vicente's eyes opened wide. "What in blazes are you talking about?" he demanded.

The blood drained from Edward's face a second time. Was it possible, he wondered, that Vicente was speaking of some other transgression, and not his plot to murder the Emperor? But what? Certainly he had committed his share of misdemeanors and crimes in his day, but few -- except for his plot to kill the Emperor -- amounted to treason. "Well," he thought, "maybe stealing the Amulet of Kings could be construed as such...but could he possibly know about that?"

"Well?" Vicente prompted.

Edward seemed to shrink with every word the Breton spoke, and he wanted this interview to be over with as soon as possible. He was, to put it bluntly, scared nigh unto death. "I...I have no idea," he lied. "I just...what are you talking about?"

"Your stunt in the Imperial City!" Vicente roared.

Edward blinked in surprise. "Is that all?" he wondered to himself. Aloud, he said, "Look, I'm really sorry about that, but the provocation was too great...and, seriously, it's not like it's a big deal." Vicente's pallor seemed to redouble for instant, and then the Breton flushed red with fury. "I mean," Edward hurried to explain, "that's what I thought then...but now I see how, umm, wrong I was."

"Gods know," Vicente muttered under his breath, "if there was even the faintest technicality, I'd make short work of you..." His tone reaching a more audible note, however, he said, "But you completed your contract, and broke none of the tenets. So I've no choice but to give you the pay you were promised."

Edward took the bag of gold he was offered, but frowned. "Don't I get...like a bonus or something?" he asked. If it was true that he hadn't broken any rules, then it only seemed fair that he be rewarded accordingly. Vicente Valtieri's eyes flamed a shade of red that might well have come from the deepest reaches of Oblivion, and Edward at once fell to trembling. "Just kidding!" he yelped hurriedly.

"Let me make something clear to you," the Breton growled, "if you ever, ever do something like that again -- rules or no rules -- I'll personally drain you of the last drop of your blood, you worthless maggot!"

Edward blinked at the sheer fury the other man displayed. This really was too extreme, he thought -- but wisely kept to himself -- for something as simple as slapping the Grand Champion about a bit. Aloud, however, he said, "Yes sir. Now, as far as a new contract?"

"You'll be dealing with Ocheeva from here on out," he returned through clenched teeth. "I'd just as soon make a meal of you as not, but she says I can't...still, I'll have nothing further to do with you."

[Rachel the Breton]

Knowledge is crucial to man's success
Without it, he is ignorant.
But wisdom is more important yet
For without it, he is a fool.
– An excerpt from a piece translated in the scholarly work “Writings of Old, Dead People”

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Six

A very depressed Edward slunk out of the Dark Brotherhood shortly after his meeting with Vicente. His conference with Ocheeva had gone little better than that with the Breton, although, at least, the Argonian didn't threaten to eat him. She had brusquely told him that his "reprehensible behavior" had put him in a bad spot with the Brotherhood, and -- should it ever happen again -- something "unpleasant" was sure to befall him. That said, she had given him his next contract, noting that he had officially been one mission away from working with her full-time, but that his actions had disgusted Vicente so much that he refused to work further with him.

So, given the details of his latest assignment -- to fake a death -- he left quickly. He hadn't, he noted sadly, even seen Antionetta.

His valet was waiting patiently for him at their inn, and was surprised to see the glare with which he was greeted. To Edward, of course, that made perfect sense -- because, in his mind, he was being castigated for striking his servant, the Grand Champion, rather than burning down the White Gold Tower, which he was utterly unaware that he had done.

"Back already, sir?" the valet greeted, deciding it was best to ignore the ill-humors of his master. "I take it then you must have a new contract?" Edward merely growled at him. "Well then, are we going to be spending any time here, or are we setting out at once?"

As much as he wanted to ignore his servant, this question gave Edward pause. The day was still young, and they had plenty of time to head out...but the thought of lazing about for a day or two was also an alluring one. "But the Dragon's business cannot be delayed," he told himself. By which, of course, he meant Mehrune Dagon's business. "Alright," he snapped, "we're heading out."

"Ahh, very good thing that I didn't rent us rooms yet," the valet observed. "I saw that the place was mostly deserted, so figured I'd wait..."

"And what in Oblivion makes you think I care?" Edward interrupted. "Do I tell you the details of my business? No! So what makes you think I want to hear the details of a servant's business? Just do your job, and shut up -- and we'll both be happier!"

The other man blinked at these venomous words, but, clearing his throat, returned quickly, "Yes sir. Of course sir. My apologies."

Edward glowered again. He hated that polite, up-tight attitude his servant took on when he was being...well, unreasonable. He said nothing, however, and the two trudged toward the city stables in silence.

At last, however, Dragonheart interrupted the gloomy quiet. "So, sir, where are we headed?"

"Chorrol," Edward snapped.

"Oh, very good!" the other man returned, his tone cheery. "So you decided to go there after all, sir?"

Edward snorted. "I didn't decide...that's where my next contract is. Plus, I have a few more questions for that stupid monk."

"Friar Jauffre, you mean, sir?"

"Yes, him."

"Ahh...you mean to aid you in your quest for..." Here, he glanced about and whispered in a conspiratorial tone, "the long lost heir?"

Edward glared at him. "Yes."

"How exciting!" the valet commented, apparently forgetting or ignoring the other man's glum mood. "I suppose, for starters, you'll want to know his name?"

This post has been edited by Rachel the Breton: Apr 5 2011, 04:19 AM

[mALX]

mALX Where I live, that's how things get mixed up..."are" is "is" and things of that nature. However, you're quite right...it all depends on location...

Oh, I'm sure location does matter. I wasn't referring to modern times working class dialogue at all - more like from a period historical movie about Great Britain or the very early Americas or something, lol. I ... watch a lot of period movies, lol.


GAAAAH! SPEW !!! Mankar Camoran's poem !!! ROFL !!!!

BWAAAAHAAAA !!! The whole conversation between Vicente and Edward - that is another one that never EVER gets old !!! I roared through it the first time and was anticipating it this time so I could roar through it again !!! I LOVE the back and forth between them in this scene !!!!

-- should it ever happen again -- something "unpleasant" was sure to befall him.

ROFL !!! AWESOME WRITE !!!!!!

[haute ecole rider]

Things had a way of falling into his lap, so, at present,

QFT!

Again I really enjoyed the hilarious slapstick and Marx Brothers-style dialogue you write so well. As a matter of fact, this could have been a Hollywood comedy filmed back in the '30's with Groucho, Harpo, et al. Oh and let's throw in Laurel and Hardy while we're at it.

In thinking back, I realize now that the scene in Nenalata is pure Abbott and Costello! :facepalm:

Keep it up, I'm enjoying this!