[Important Notes:

1. This is not a story of the Ra'jirraverse.
2. Speaking of same, is anyone still reading that crossover, or should I just drop it?
3. I'll have a full list of mods used soon.
4. Food info via Patricia Wells' Bistro Cooking.

Pt. 0. The Same, Eight Seconds Later

My name is Lucius Carus, Clerk to the Empire. That is how I prefer to introduce myself, as it is both honest and indicative of my importance to the smooth running of His Imperial Majesty's government.

And truth be told, it is rather mellifluous, not only in the ears of ladies of quality, but also in my own.

I was born in 3E407 of quality family, to Lord Alosius Carus of High Rock, and was raised to be a respectable scion of a respectable family. I was taught the arts of conversation, negotiation and debate; I was encouraged to exercise at the archery butts; and most importantly, the arts of discretion.

My arrival in the Imperial City was of course on business, in 3E427, representing my father in matters which are not important in this, my memoir, even if oaths did not muzzle me. Let us merely say that I represented him so well, that not only were said matters settled most amicably and to good profit, but I was offered a position of importance in the service of His Imperial Majesty, which I naturally accepted, for to refuse would be an ingratitude to our Emperor.

Accommodation was secured for me in the Imperial City itself, to wit one of the more reputable boarding houses in the Elven Gardens, which are second only to the Imperial Arboretum in loveliness, unless one of my more wastrelsome housemates has paid for his sins upon them.

My modest stipend I kept frugally, and this nest egg I was holding on to in the event of unexpected expenses, as is right and proper in the eyes of Zenithar, while my housemates would weekly fritter theirs away on wine, women or the Arena.

And so I lived a virtuous life, for virtue brings reward.

I habitually sleep with the curtains ajar, so that dawn's light rouses me, or in winter the tolling of six bells; I wash face, hands and neck before dressing; then I repair to the kitchen for a simple breakfast. The tales of lavish breakfasts spun by those writers of septim dreadfuls are mere tales; the new-woke stomach fares best with simple bread, cheese and kahve. By now, it is close on to seven bells, and it is now I leave the house to the care of my housemates, assuming they are sober enough to care about anything.

I take my barbering at gro-Madog's, as he is as fine a barber as any may wish, and not once has his steady hand slipped nor trembled, in my experience; indeed, should you need shaving, or hair cut, or teeth extracted, then seek you Kurad gro-Madog's banner in Alessia Court.

From there I enter Talos Plaza, and cross it into the Temple District, where the Dragonfires burn and the Tax Department's offices reside. There is sense in this, for there is no need for those whose main task, like mine, is the accounting of figures to be tempted by close proximity to that which those figures represent: the life blood of our Empire, which I and my fellows assay, regiment, and deploy unto the service of Gods and Emperor.

And such is my solemn duty from the eight bells of morn to the five of eventide, whereupon I retire for supper, normally at a modest place I know where the cooks excel in a truly Breton table, such as their gratin of ham and cheese; or when the olives come in, a wonderful slaughterfish pissaladiere; and with the local clams, some garlic and parsley, they transport you to the seaports of the Iliac Bay; to say nothing of their wonderful pear clafoutis!

And it is thus that I attend the Temple of the One to give thanks for the day, before retiring, as befits a well-born and civic-minded servant of Empire such as I.

It was not until Morndas of 27 Last Seed, of 3E432, that fortune changed.

Cool!!...I like that muchly...As much as I count towards things... ...

I like the style in which he talks/thinks...Hope you can keep this going...Really is cool...

Nice one... ...



As for the other one...I have to admit, having come to it late...I...Had a moment of..."Erm?"...

Brilliantly written, fantastic, honestly...What I read of it was great...But not for me...As much as I count towards things of course... ...

Other people will have more important weight methinks... ...

Good to see your unique writing style and warped sense of humor once again!

One question:

You have Lucius Carus as having been born in 3E407, which puts us into the Septim Era; he has been in the Imperial City since 3E427. Yet you end the story stating that fortune changed in 4E432, over a hundred years later. Do you mean to tell me that Lucius Carus is 125 years old at the beginning of this tale? If he's Breton, shouldn't he be dead by now? The reason I ask is that I have been given the impression that Bretons don't live as long as others, especially Elves. Now if Carus is an Altmer, then yes, I could accept that. After all, a 125 year old Altmer is still a teenager!

So I'm not sure if the switch from Third Era to Fourth Era dating is a missed edit on your part, or if this is artistic license on your part. If it's the latter, maybe expand on it a little bit in your next post?

Nice background for an info dump. Not too much of one, though, and because it is in first person POV, it's a great way for us to see Carus in all his pomposity. I look forward to seeing what happens to him in 3E/4E432!

Thanks for spotting that Mr Rider, I'll fix that.

Also you mention my 'unique writing style and warped sense of humor'; I'm beginning to suspect that's what's been missing from the Ra'jirra and Ernie Show. Too much catch-up being played, I think.

1. An Unexpected Task

That Morndas I woke early, thanks in part to our landlady, who had taken upon herself to conduct a surprise inspection of our abode and the state in which we kept it – to her displeasure. Indeed, what truly awoke me was her most Nord-like bellowing when she found out that one of my fellow-lodgers had not only fallen into the arms of sin, but brought those arms, along with the rest of the wench, to his bedchamber.

Thus it was that I watched at the window as sinner, strumpet, and all his belongings were ejected onto the street, the folly of youth laid bare by his elder and better, for Ma-Riina, even in her silver years, refuses to let her age slow her down – and let it be known that she has a bellow which would put any practitioner of the Thu'um to shame.

Being woken, I saw no reason to return to bed, so I made an early breakfast, before embarking to gro-Madog's. And in truth, despite having to navigate around the wastrel's belongings, it was a most pleasing travel, since the roads were not as packed with travellers, carts, horses and their leavings as is later the case.

On reaching gro-Madog's, I beheld a crowd of onlookers; respectable merchants, commoners, riff-raff and small boys, all watching as that fine barber plied his trade by way of removing a rotten tooth. His patient was held down in the chair by two stout workmen, as well as gro-Madog's knee, while the Orisimer held the man's jaw open with one green hand and wielded the tongs with the other.

“This will hurt,” said he, for like all Wrothgarians he believes in plain speaking and telling of truths, which are good traits for mer who usually carry battle-axes rather than belt knives.

“Yank it out!” chanted the small children.

“Man up mate!” cried one of the workmen.

“An' 'old still,” advised the other.

“Glaarrkkkh,” said the patient.

This went on for maybe five minutes, before with a great pull gro-Madog finally was victorious, and his tongs raised aloft, the offending tooth firmly grasped within, and a great shout of approval arose from us all, and even gro-Madog essayed a little bow, and the workmen congratulated the patient with hearty pats on the back, and the patient himself fainted.

“Black Horse Courier for you all!” came the call from a hawker, “Horrible massacre in Anvil! Chapel of Dibella sacked! Chapel priests all dead! Read all about it!”

At which the fickle crowd immediately turned to this herald, and soon the broadsheets were being passed around, and such a fearful tale was written there as I few could believe. It was the topic of our converse as I submitted to gro-Madog's razor.

“Apparently it was some sort of daedra,” said he, “and they basically attacked everyone inside, but they didn't leave the chapel at all.”

I made agreeing sounds, as his razor was working beneath my chin, and it is best to keep one's jaw still in such conditions.

“And when the guards came in, a slaughter-house! And these ghastly runes around the altar, which nobody knows the meaning of. We live in dark days when not even the chapels are safe.”

And I agreed with him on that, not just because gro-Madog had the razor, but because he was in the right, for if one is not safe in the temples of the Nine, where is one safe?

Thereafter I made my way to the offices, a little late after the excitements of the morn, and was preparing to untangle a knotty affair involving two departments and one fund, when my senior clerk, Seneca Maro, darkened my desk with his presence.

“The manager wants to see you,” said he, “didn't say what it was about.” But I could tell that he thought that I had been caught in some impropriety, and he insisted on escorting me to the office of Caronado, who manages our department, and following me in.

“Ah, Lucius,” said that good Redguard warmly, “I have an important task for you. Thank you, master Maro,” and here he looked at that worthy hard, “you may return to your duties.”

I have to say that Maro's face was quite disagreeable, and that evidently he had hoped that on my entrance guards would leap from hiding, and place chains and blows upon my person, prior to my removal to the gaol. For I have had it on good authority that he resents anyone else of lesser rank showing signs of aiming for promotion, yet it seems to me that such an attitude in turn crushes his chances of further promotion. For thus do the Nine reward all as they deserve.

“We need a representative to visit some of the smaller and newer towns,” Caronado said once I was seated, and Maro had removed himself, “and attend to several revenue matters which have come to our attention. In particular, Pell's Gate, then Lakeview, Ravenwood, Woodlands, Faregyl, Sutch and Haven Bay.” He ticked them off on his fingers as he spoke, and smiled at me.

I did not smile back. For the last five years, I had happily served the Emperor and lived within his city; for the Imperial City has everything any citizen could possibly need within its sturdy walls, and not once had I felt the need to pass the great gates leading to the outside. The agents of the Black Horse provided all the news of the realm I could possibly need. And here was my superior, effectively sending me into exile, among the wild beasts of the land – both of four legs and two.

Some of this concern made itself evident on my face, for he came next to me and squeezed my shoulder reassuringly!

“Don't worry,” he replied, “A small stipend has been provided, and we will defray your board until your return. Your adventure,” and he smirked at me, since I was apparently still obviously discomfited, “shouldn't take more than a month or two. And the towns are safe havens, after all.”

“But why me?” was all I could say, to which: “Because all of our other agents are currently occupied, and from what we know of your background and skills, you have the makings of a fine Agent of the Empire. Consider this your... shall we say... journeyman assignment before promotion?”

I admit with due humility that the idea of a promotion, and perhaps being revered as a brave Agent of our beloved Imperial Majesty, may have turned my head, for I, strangely, heard Caronado speak accompanied by a stirring theme:

“So pick up your stipend at the entrance, and go now while the day is still young, and may the Nine be with you.”

And in a dream of glory I left the offices with gold in hand, and continued through Talos Plaza, the Elven Gardens, and then I stopped a little while, as the real light of day washed my eyes, and I was afraid.

As have most wives... ...Excellent line though...

I laughed in all the right places and thus was mightily impressed... ...

Very very well done...

Once more I doff my cap to an extroadinarily talented writer...

Nice one!.... ...

I’m still reading Ra'jirra, and will happily read more if inspiration and opportunity to continue should strike you at the same time. I’m already delighted with Lucius.

By now, it is close on to seven bells, and it is now I leave the house to the care of my housemates, assuming they are sober enough to care about anything.

By this time I was laughing out loud and getting looks from the family. And it just kept getting better.

I feel the need for a cup of kahve and some pear clafoutis!

Yup, it's fun to read your writing. It never fails to make me chuckle or even laugh out loud.

Oh, and this:
At first I thought, squeezed where? Then as I read the next paragraph, I - umm - do I need to tell everyone where my mind went? Some of you may not realize that I think much like our vulpine friend of the gutter mind.

Yow! Fixed with two clarifying words.

And as it is, I feel like I'm juggling a few eggs:

1. The Ra'jirra and Haines show
2. Magic, as Opposed to Magic (HP/Ob on fanfiction.net which is proving alarmingly popular)
3. Ghost writing a Halo/FO3 crossover for a Scottish blurt
4. The Elf Life Guide wiki (which I've been neglecting badly)

So I'm a little scattered.

ARGH! You started a new story! I didn't get the email notification, so missed this! A very different writing style than I'm used to seeing from you, very versatile !! Great Write !!

I am going to get back to this fic. But I need to backtrack and actually stop effing playing once I reach a natural breakpoint.

...Looking forward to it...

I like it; an unusual, yet still highly readable, style of writing, more than a fair bit of dry humour and an already well-defined personality for Lucius. So far, I don't really have anything to to critique, but I'll be watching this with interest.