Absolutely magnificent. I've been reading this for a while, and it just gets better...

Epic imagery there !! I love it.

Awesome chapter all up. The machinations you weave are a joy to read.

Remko – Have I said before how much I enjoy writing such intrigues and conspiracies? Well, I do . . . especially when they are so appreciated. Thank you.

mALX – Arctus’ transformation into the Underking is a story for another time. And isn’t the anticipation part of the fun?

hautee – If I had you going before about Arctus’ loyalty to Talos, then I apologize (slightly) for what I am about to do to you now. Don’t worry, Varla will soon make her appearance.

Acadian –I am so glad that the differences between those three characters stood out. A ‘striking contrast’ is exactly what I was going for. And I prepared that meal just for you.

trey – Please see my comments below to SubRosa. Making Talos worthy of the title Emperor is easier than you might imagine. It’s making Varla worthy of the dance with him that has me pulling my hair out!

SubRosa – The line you quoted is my favorite in the whole chapter. It might be my favorite in the whole month!

You and trey have come to the same conclusion about Cuhlecain. His character has emerged differently than I first envisioned. I saw him as short, but not small, the type of man who could take a nation of city-states and forge them into an empire. Somewhere during the telling he turned into Peter Lorre. I don’t know how it happened, but I am determined to run with it now.

And my intention with the word ‘of’ was to give the impression that, instead of merely tasting it, Renald was drawing information from the air around him. Reading it over again I see the point you were making, and I have gone back to clarify it. Thanks yet again.

Linara – A belated welcome to Chorrol. I’m glad that you are enjoying Interregnum. Thank you so much for reading, and for commenting.

Winter Wolf – Thanks. Cuhlecain standing in the tub was an image that took me by surprise in the writing. Once it popped into my head, I knew I had to use it.





7th First Seed, 2E 854
The Waterfront District, Imperial City
Mid-Day


Even without his armor Captain Alorius felt out of place among the teeming, unwashed throng that flocked to the stalls set up along the docks. Voices raised toward shrill annoyance hawked the catch of the day and made show of similar goods to those sold at higher prices in the Market District. Here and there scattered children moved through the crowd with hungry eyes. They cut purses where they could with daggers as sharp as their wits. One of them, a small, wide-eyed Khajiit, used his nascent claws instead of a dagger, and bounded from victim to victim on nimble bare feet.

Alorius smiled and nodded toward the Khajiit, who grinned back before fading into the crowd. Alorius moved to the spot where the Khajiit had been, and from there he spotted his target trying in vain to blend with his surroundings.

If the blue silk robe did not give the mer away, then the perfume that wafted from him did. It caused those standing near to venture no closer than an arm’s length, which only further made the mer stand out. Here we go, Alorius thought and navigated closer before he spoke.

“Is this what you deem discretion, Lord Farenenre?”

“This is what I deem courtesy,” said Farenenre, as he looked down with disdain at those around him. “Make your comments brief, I am due at the Arena.”

“As am I,” said Alorius. Expect hostility, General Talos’ voice echoed in his head, keep him off balance. He placed a hand on Farenenre’s shoulder. “Come with me.”

Farenenre drew back. His hands rose in front of his chest in readiness to form a spell.

“I mean you no harm,” said Alorius. Remain firm, the General had said. “Arctus’ actions were not sanctioned by General Talos, but the battlemage has a formidable network of spies. What I wish to say to you is better done away from prying eyes.”

Farenenre’s eyes narrowed, but he allowed himself to be conducted through the crowd, down a flight of steps, and into an alcove beneath the docks.

“Speak your words,” said Farenenre.

Alorius nodded. Do not rush. “We heard about your encounter with Arctus’ agents this morning. Let me assure you it was not General Talos’ wish that you come to harm.”

“Arctus carries Talos’ banner.”

Agree with him. “So we thought as well. It seems we have all been fooled.” Flatter him. “You are far too important in your position next to the crown. Attacking you only serves to push you closer to the Emperor. We believe that Arctus seeks to remove you to gain access to the throne.”

“What of the guards at the gates, and at the palace?” asked Farenenre.

“They were removed on Arctus’ orders by invoking the General’s name. No one thought to question it. Believe me, if the General sought to send you a message, he would have done it through me.”

Farenenre slowly nodded his head.

“The agent who followed you,” Alorius continued, “and the men who attacked you, had you seen them before?”

“No.”

“That is unfortunate. They are men loyal to Arctus alone. We believe that they will soon make a move against the General. We cannot take action against them if they remain unknown to us. Can you identify them?”

“The leader perhaps,” said Farenenre. “The others kept their faces under hoods.” Farenenre’s eyes grew wide in the realization. “They did not wish to be recognized!”

I have him, thought Alorius. “No they did not, but we will find them just the same. When we do, you have my word that they will be properly dealt with. We don’t know how long Arctus has been scheming, but it appears that he is ready to hatch his plans. The General will have to move quickly to counter them. When he does, he may need your cooperation.”

Farenenre nodded. “He will have it.”

“Good. Until then simply behave as you normally would. Expect no more assaults from the battlemage. General Talos plans to keep him closer than ever.”

“How does he plan to do that?” asked Farenenre.

The General’s final instruction echoed in Alorius’ mind. Appease him. “Arctus will understand that it is to guard against the Emperor’s Tsaesci. In reality it is to keep a closer eye on his activities.” Alorius looked toward the mid-day sun. “You should make your way to the Arena. I will wait until you have left the district before I follow. We will contact you again when we know more.”

Farenenre bowed. “Tell General Talos that I look forward to our next meeting.” He turned and disappeared up the stairs.

Alorius waited with the sounds of heavy footfalls and the cries of desperate vendors muted by the docks above him. Step one completed, he thought to himself. He climbed the stairs and, instead of turning left on the path toward the gates, he turned right. Now for step two. He walked past the point where the crowds and the stalls ended. He stepped from the stone path into the warm grass that led to the water’s edge, and stopped in the shadow of a makeshift tent.

A small Khajiit boy with wide eyes and bare feet vanished into the tent at Alorius’ approach. He emerged a moment later behind the leg of his elder, a slender adult male with long braids that hung down to his shoulders and pulled at the skin of his scalp, which gave his golden eyes a sleepy, half-focused quality.

“We meet again, captain,” said the Khajiit.

“Greetings Dar’Zhan,” said Alorius. “The General has need of your services again.” He looked down at the boy, “and hello to you as well, K’Sharra.”





7th First Seed, 2E 854
Arena District, Imperial City
Mid-Day


The lines of those awaiting entry to the Arena spilled through the gardens and threatened to overlap through the gate to Green Emperor Road. Despite the proximity of the growing crowd, the two guards at the gate clutched at their weapons and cast nervous eyes behind them, at the four Tsaesci that had just passed into the district.

“They gather in numbers to see us fall,” said Eesham, as his forked tongue tasted the air.

“Then they shall be disappointed,” said Chirasch.

“Four centuries we spend defending their shores,” said Xarsien, “without recognition or gratitude. Now they mass in force to see our blood spilled on Arena sand.”

Renald scanned the crowd. “Today is their planting festival. That is why so many are free to gather. We are offered simply as entertainment.” Yet Xarsien speaks the truth, he thought to himself. Why is it that they hate us so much? They quarrel with the Elves, and they take up arms against the Khajiit. Yet they share society with both races. Even the lizards of Black Marsh are assimilated. But we are viewed askance, and given wide berth.

“I have no wish to entertain such as these,” said Chirasch.

“Nor I,” said Eesham.

“The Emperor orders such,” said Xarsien. “Whether we wish it or not, his will be done.”

Renald kept his silence. Is the stunted man who has trouble dismounting his own bathtub truly the Emperor? Or do I sacrifice my syffim to quench a small man’s lust for blood?

Chirasch descended the stairs. “Then let us get on with it.”

“Single file,” said Renald, “Xarsien to the rear guard. Harm no one.”

“Yes, my lord.” They spoke in unison, and then proceeded down the stairs. The crowds parted at their approach. Chirasch’s great height and stout shoulders cowed any who stood in front of them. And Xarsien’s fierce countenance and sharp eyes gave pause to any who followed. Renald tasted the pungent flavor of fear everytime his forked tongue pierced the air. The scent of it covered the aromas springing from the gardens. He could see it in the eyes of those with courage enough not to turn away from his gaze. And he could hear it in the nervous whispers that closed in like a net all around him. In the branches above, children climbed over one another for an unobstructed view.

They reached the Arena’s main gate. More guards appeared and placed themselves between the Tsaesci and the crowd that threatened to follow. Renald looked at the door leading to the spectator’s boxes, and then turned and watched as his syffim moved to the door leading to the bloodworks.

“Syffim,” he said.

As one they turned to face him.

“What is your will, my lord” asked Chirasch.

Renald looked to each of them in turn. “Survive. No matter what it takes, no matter who or what you have to slay in there. Survive!”

Once again, his syffim spoke in unison. “Yes, my lord.”

K'SHARRA - AAAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHHH !!!!!!! I LOVE THIS...AAAAARRRRGGGHHHH!!!!!!


PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE POST THE NEXT CHAPTER !!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAARRRRRRGGGGHHHH!!!!!!


The first time I read this chapter and the next I was leaping out of my chair screaming - I get chills just thinking about the genius in you that thought up the 7th First Seed chapters !!!!!!

ARGH!!!! MORE! MORE!! MORE !!!!

Woo-Hoo! Dar’Zhan and K’Sharra are back! Things are about to get even more interesting.

There were two interior monologues that really made this chapter-

Alorius recalling Talos' instructions on how to deal with Farenenre- and Renald considering that his honor and obligation have caused him to back the wrong Emperor.

The rich descriptions of the docks and of the crowd thronging the Arena really bring the world to life.



That was one inspiring, chilling moment!

There is a grand chessmaster in this story, and I'm having a bit of trouble figuring him/her out.

The most obvious candidate, of course, is General Talos. However, on further consideration, one cannot disregard Arcturus, or Chevalier Renard.

I'm happy to see my favorite young Khajiit again. Though he has but a small part in your story, his connection to Oblivion (and Julian) endears K'sharra to me. Do I sense a foreshadowing of a greater part for him to come?

The more I see of your Tsaesci, the more I enjoy getting to know them. They are complex, more than just three-dimensional, and while I find them exotic, they resonate with me on a deeper level of understanding. Their sense of honor, of loyalty, of duty to each other is admirable.

Alorius is becoming quite the personality - more than just Talos's yes man but also his co-conspirator.

You continue to enthrall me with this epic. It's up there with Robert Ludlum's best.

I also enjoyed the description of the docks area.

Wonderful, flowing dialogue (of course).

Like treydog, my spine tingled over your ending here. I quite like these Tsaesci.

Now if others are pondering things like who is the chessmaster and wondering at the grand machinations unfurling here, you can just imagine poor me. I think I need a sweet roll!

Poor Farenenre, he smells so bad even people at the fish market won't go near him! Alorius played him like a piano, and the entire time, we see the image of Talos standing behind him. Quite a piece of fast work to fix their sticky situation!

And Dar'Zhan and K’Sharra again I see. Now I am wondering if Talos plans to have them wrangle up every rat from the sewer and drive them into the palace!

Finally, off to the Arena we go! Ever since it was mentioned, I have been wondering why Cuchelain would send the Tsaesci to fight in the Arena. My guesses are two. One, he wants to show them off, not only to the city, but especially to Talos. Basically a way of saying "look at what a badass I am with these guys on my team!" Guess #2 is that he wants the other three dead in order to isolate Renald, a first move to making him the replacement for Farenenre.

The comments by the Tsaesci themselves I found most moving of the segment. Their observation that they were being used as entertainment for the lowest common denominator of Cyrodiilic society. It is a real slap in the face after all they have endured for the Empire, and in the end it can only drive them all deeper into the arms of Talos.

Yay, K'Sharra is back! I must also agree that the Tsaesci are intriguing and complicated characters. I trust they'll smash their opponents into oblivion

A very special thank you goes out to SageRosa for comments that she made way back at the Battle of Fort Black Boot. Those comments bore fruit in the last chapter with the reintroduction of Dar’Zhan and K’Sharra.

mALX – Sorry for keeping you waiting so long. I tried to condense the next two segments into one post for your benefit, but I was unsuccessful. You’re just going to have to suffer a bit longer.

trey – I was a little worried about the passage that you quoted. I thought that I might be laying it on a bit thick. I am glad that you found it inspiring and chilling. And speaking of interior monologues . . .

hautee – The grand chessmaster of this story has had to improvise as things have gone sideways, but his/her identity remains the same.

I am not surprised to hear that the Tsaesci resonate within you. Reading Julian’s story it is hard not to feel that they are cut from the same cloth.

And K’Sharra’s role, though small, is vital in what lies ahead.

Acadian – The fact that these Tseasci resonate is incredibly gratifying. I said long ago that Renald was my favorite character in this story, and that has not changed.

I must apologize to you because I had it all prepared, but in the writing of this segment I forgot to add your sweetroll!

SageRosa – Are you slowly coming to the conclusion that this is a day that Farenenre should have just stayed in bed?

You are not far off the mark in your speculation about Talos’ plans for Dar’zhan and K’Sharra. And both of your guesses about Cuhlecain’s motives are correct. As for the idea that the Emperor’s actions serve only to drive the Tsaesci into Talos’ arms . . .

Linara – Hopefully this next segment will further complicate the Tsaesci. Smashing opponents into Oblivion is still to come.





7th First Seed, 2E 854
The Arena, Imperial City
Mid-Day


Prior Sanne preferred the church as embodied by the Arena to the more conventional Temple of the One. Truth be told, he preferred it over the Chapel of Akatosh in his home city of Kvatch, but he would never admit either of those facts to anyone. His appointment to the council depended on his reputation for piety. A prior with a fondness for gold and a taste for the grape was not the image that he wished to convey. His presence in the Emperor’s box was a duty performed at the Emperor’s request. The fact that he so intently watched the clash of weapons on the sands below him was testament to his willingness to be subjected to the more 'common' forms of entertainment, and had nothing whatsoever to do with the substantial amount of gold that he had wagered on the yellow team.

Seated to his left, Synnius Carbo waved away yet another vintage that had proven to be an affront to his magnificent palate. By this time the beleaguered servants had made eight trips to the Arena’s wine stores, and eight times their choice had been found wanting. This last effort had been positively crippled, lacking in both nose and legs. Worse, the offending libation had been spilled by an incompetent servant, nearly staining to lamentable ruin a green silk outfit that had cost fifty gold in the Market District. Despite suffering the repeated indignities of substandard servants and inferior grape, Carbo’s spirits remained uplifted. Seated in the Emperor’s box he preened for the common folk who, he was sure, paid more attention to him than to the woeful exhibition of soldiery taking place on the sands below. The only thing that could prove dampening to his mood was the storm clouds that gathered in the skies above.





Varla Direnni sat behind the two Councilors and seriously contemplated bloodletting. Not the fierce bloodletting of necessity as being demonstrated by the combatants below her. Or even the satisfying bloodletting gained by throttling the ineffectual fops that shared the Emperor’s box with her. No, her anger was reserved for the brother who had chosen this as the time to make himself absent from his post in Balfiera. Damn him! She thought to herself. How long does he expect me to placate the Emperor? He told me that he could deliver High Rock. Now I am left to stand for his empty promise.

The guards behind her parted to admit Emero into the box. Varla’s eyes met his, and his almost imperceptible shake of head gave new fuel to her ire. Still no word, she thought. Could they have been waylaid on the voyage from Glenumbria? And why make that silly journey in the first place? Nothing that Aran had done of late made any sense to her. Her own actions had been carefully shaped to give her options in the event that she had to choose a side, but her brother was leaving her with scant reason to choose his.

“. . .Lady Direnni?”

The sound of her name pulled her from thoughts of Aran. She looked into the well fed and inquiring face of Synnius Carbo.

“My apologies, Lord Carbo,” Varla said, “I must have been lost in thought.”

“Something quite vexing, I imagine,” said Carbo. “It is shameful to see a brow as beautiful as yours so knit on a day of celebration.”

“Mundane concerns, I assure you. Was your lordship asking a question?”

“I merely wished to know if you were enjoying the match,” said Carbo.

I would enjoy it more if you stood on the sands! “Truthfully, I find it terribly wasteful, my lord.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

Because, unlike you, those men are worth something. “Those men represent the cream of Imperial combatants, do they not? Would they not be of more use in legion armor, instead of raiments of blue and yellow?”

Prior Sanne turned in his chair. “In times of war these men are deployed onto fields of battle. During peace they hone their skill in the Arena, and prove useful entertaining the masses.”

Not to mention lining your purse when they win. “By dying needlessly?” asked Varla.

“By tempering those who survive,” said Prior Sanne. “In war those who have braved Arena sands rarely meet their match on the battlefield. Even your elven blades are forged in fire, Lady Direnni.”

Would that I could have an elven blade in my hand right now! “But the mind is a far more powerful weapon than any sword, my dear Prior. To use your own analogy, I see only waste in burning through a forest of fertile minds in order to forge a single blade.”

“You give too much credit to their minds,” said Lord Farenenre as he entered the Emperor’s box smelling of perfume and, strangely enough, slaughterfish. “It is my experience that most of these men provide little benefit apart from that which can be gained by use of their sword arms.”

“Indeed,” said Prior Sanne.

Varla’s response was lost in the cheer that erupted from the crowd around them. Looking to the sands, she saw that the blue team gladiator had ended the battle by crushing his opponent’s skull with a very large hammer. Prior Sanne slumped into his chair like a man just told of his imminent demise.

“Better fortune, Sanne,” said Synnius Carbo, laughing.

“I hope that you have some gold on reserve, prior,” said Farenenre. “This next match should prove a far more worthwhile diversion than any you have seen thus far.”

“And why is that?” asked Varla.

Another voice spoke before Farenenre could. “Because the next match features the Tsaesci, Lady Direnni.”

Varla saw the color leave Farenenre’s face. The Altmer turned abruptly and pretended to be occupied viewing the porters in the act of removing the yellow team gladiator from the sands. She turned toward the source of the voice. Zurin Arctus moved past the guards and entered the Emperor’s box. He wore the robe of a mage, but he held himself erect, like a man accustomed to carrying a blade.

Emero stood. “Milady, I have the honor of presenting Master Zurin Arctus, the Imperial Battlemage.”

Arctus bowed his greeting. “It is indeed a privilege to finally make your acquaintance, Lady Direnni.”

Varla favored him with a smile. “I am honored, Master Arctus. I believe you have already met Emero.”

“Earlier, yes,” said Arctus, extending a nod toward Emero. He turned his attention back to Varla. “Your invitation was well-received. I look forward to dining with you this evening.”

“As do I,” said Varla.

“Now please, Lady Direnni,” said Arctus, “allow me the pleasure of introducing you to General Talos Stormcrown.”

Every eye in the Emperor’s box turned to greet General Talos as he entered trailed by Captain Alorius. Talos was resplendent in his armor, and he nodded a short greeting to each of the councilors before his eyes settled on Varla.

“Lady Direnni,” he said, “this meeting is long overdue.”

Varla was at a loss for words. This man exudes power the way that Farenenre exudes scent, she thought. When at last she found her tongue it was only to say, “it is indeed, general.” Why did I not invite this man to dinner instead of the battlemage?

Any answer to that unspoken question was interrupted by the blaring trumpets that heralded the arrival of the Emperor. The crowd craned their necks and lent their eyes to the box for a brief glimpse of the pointed head upon which sat the Red Diamond Crown. Cuhlecain swept into the box dwarfed by his retinue of guards and trailed by the undulating coils of the Chevalier Renald. To a man, the gathered guests stood to mark his arrival, which further shielded him from the view of his subjects.

The Emperor climbed into a raised facsimile of the ruby throne placed in the front center of the box. As he settled into the seat, those seeking his favor scrambled to find accommodation with easy access to the throne. It was a testament to Farenenre’s reflexes and agility that he was able to find himself seated on the Emperor’s right hand. Prior Sanne and Synnius Carbo engaged in a brief struggle whose intensity rivaled any seen thus far on the sands below to gain access to the chair on the Emperor’s left. It was a contest that ended with Carbo flattering the Emperor while Prior Sanne treated himself with a spell of healing and took his place in the seat two places removed.

Varla sat behind the Emperor, with Zurin Arctus to her right, and General Talos to her left. Arctus’ chair placed him directly behind Farenenre and, for the second time, Varla noted the clear discomfort that Arctus’ presence caused the foul-smelling Altmer. Arctus seemed to note it as well, and Varla was struck by the sudden realization that Arctus’ position did not come about by chance. She turned toward General Talos.

“I trust the Castellan is well, milady,” said Talos, in a voice that did not carry past their row of chairs.

Is he? “He is,” said Varla. Why would he inquire about my brother?

“These are dangerous times along the Reach,” said Zurin Arctus. “I hope whatever business drew him there was worth the effort.”

The Reach? What in Dagon’s name is he doing there? Talos and Arctus are formidable indeed if they know more of my brother’s movements than I. I cannot bluff my way past this. “Truth be told, I was unaware of my brother’s presence in the Reach. I cannot imagine what business drew him there.”

“I suspected as much,” said Talos. “A meeting with the King of Worms is not something that one is likely to advertise.”

The King of Worms? Has he lost his mind? She turned toward Emero. The surprise in her eyes was mirrored in his. A thought came upon her then with such intensity that it nearly undid her self-control. She felt her hands begin to shake. Where is Lattia?

“I imagine that is why he travels alone,” said Arctus, “with only a small retainer of guards to attend him.”

Word from Balfiera stated that he took the Pelladil to Glenumbria. If he now travels the Reach alone then he must have left Lattia with the ship. She felt relief flood through her, but it was quickly replaced by even more uncertainty. But the Pelladil has not returned to Balfiera. The question became a knife, stabbing into her mind until want of an answer drew her close to screaming it aloud. Where is my sister?

She felt the touch of Talos’ hand upon her arm. She turned and looked into concerned eyes.

“You have friends, milady,” he said. “Friends who are prepared to act should you find yourself at need.”

For a brief instant she actually believed that Talos could be of dragon blood. In that blood could be the key to saving Lattia . . . if she yet lives. She could not let him see her weakness. Her gaze moved past him towards the Tsaesci captain who was watching their exchange. In a single glance she understood the power that fueled Tsaesci legend. Even though his attention was rooted on General Talos, she was still held transfixed in wonder by the sight of the forked tongue and golden scales. But whereas most felt their own fear embodied in the sight of those slitted eyes, Varla saw past that to a well of sorrow and worry even more profound than her own.

The Emperor’s raised voice broke her from the trance.

“Begin the match,” he said.





For several moments the Emperor’s words could find no purchase in Renald’s ears. The very man that they had traversed through half of Tamriel to find now sat but an arm’s length away, yet Renald was powerless to act. Could the old witch have been mistaken? Renald thought. Is this man the true heir to the Reman Dynasty? He saw the way he interacted with the woman, she trusted him. The Emperor and his toadies did not.

Renald could no longer trust his own judgement. What has my judgement wrought? I nearly killed my syffim in the cold of the mountains, and in the cave with the dragon. Now my judgement leads them to fight for their lives on Arena sands, and I am helpless to lend them aid. A better leader would have seen them to Necrom. He would have secured a ship to carry them back home. He would not have bent to the false hope held in the ramblings of a blind witch in the forest!

Neither of the men seated before him bore a resemblance to the Remans that he had served so long ago. They did not share the Reman’s eye color. They were both of a different size. Even the way that they carried themselves did not match the image of Reman III that Renald still carried in his mind. And neither man wore the Chim El-Adabal, even though the witch claimed that it had been recovered at Sancre Tor. False! Both of them, false! And now my syffim must pay the price for my repeated lapses in judgment!

“Begin the match,” the Emperor had said. Only now did those words ring through Renald’s ears. His tongue captured the scent of the impending storm, and his fingers closed around the hilt of his katana.

As usual, you have me on the edge of my seat routing for Renald. "KillHimKillHim, stab the miserable short little excuse for an emperor through his cowardly heart."

This chapter was not the one I was expecting, but has to be added to my list of favorites - Varla's inner dialogue really plays with the emotions of the reader

- at first bringing laughter, then reeling with her when she hears about her brother and her mind turns to Lattia - (at odds with how they snipe at each other like sisters when together in the early chapters, here is the truth of how deep their kinship runs. Real emotions experienced just reading that section !!

- and then Varla being able to read Renald's emotions in those snake eyes - that was a huge moment !!! My first thought was wondering if he knew she saw that in him? Did he allow her to see his moment of weakness?

I was really surprised at his thoughts, I never expected him to have doubts, or feel he was without power in any situation! Shocking to me, because I thought he was playing them into his own hands till I read that!


Just two of my fave lines:


- "strangely enough, slaughterfish" -

"This man exudes power the way that Farenenre exudes scent"

mALX already quoted two of my favorite lines.

I loved how you set the scene in the Emperor's box before three of the most charismatic actors showed up (Zurin Arctus, Talos Stormcrown, and Chevalier Reynard) - Varla was carrying the whole scene on her own for a while. Her observations of the interplay between Farenenre and Arctus were fascinating. She has truly earned a place among the most interesting characters in this story (and there are not a few of them, so the company is pretty exalted). The fact that the Emperor is introduced almost as an afterthought toward the end of this segment further emphasizes his weak rule.

Please, more.

Synnius Carbo? I think this must be the ancestor of Trooper Carbo, who trained Athlain in Vvardenfell! Yeesh, what a serious cloaca he is too! I would have spilled the wine all over him and his fancy velvet outfit too after 8 trips!

It is good to see Varla again. She and I are of the same mind when it comes to the Arena I see (not to mention concerning the Councilors!). It is a rather sad statement that a high elf from High Rock has more regard for the lives of Imperial soldiers than do the leaders of the Empire.

However, what really strikes me again are her feelings for her sister. Her love for Lattia resonates through every action she takes. That was apparent before, but only reinforced now that she has met Talos and Arctus.

Wow! Just wow!

Your interactions among the players in the Emperor's box was both magnificent and naturally flowing. What a delight to listen in on Varla's thoughts.

I quite adore how you have expanded this dimension of self-doubt in Renald. I find myself agreeing with you about being a favorite character from a cast of many wonderful characters.

Reading your prose is always both humbling and inspirational, my friend!

Everyone else has already voiced my own appreciation for your work, but I must say, Amazing! Varla's dialogue was both entertaining and captivating, as she interacted with various members of the Emperor's box. Once again I felt myself feeling empathetic towards Renald and his syffim, after all they have gone through, and still success grows more distant. A bit of a cliffhanger here, I wait anxiously for the next chapter!

Again, you begin strongly, with brilliant characterizations of a couple of less-than-admirable illustres… And the fact that they are his guests reflects on the Emperor. “You will know them by the company they keep.”

And I cheered Varla’s every unspoken thought.

The wonderfully ironic symbolism of Cuhlecain’s “pointed head” and the fact that everyone in the royal box overtops him was delicious. And it was clearly not lost on Varla.

And another incredible conclusion to match the excellence of the beginning.

Only one nit:



Plural, but not possessive- "Remans."

Remko – Sorry to do this to you, but Renald’s actions are going to have to wait through one more chapter.

mALX – Having grown up around seven aunts (three on my mother’s side, four on my father’s), I know all too well how sisters can snipe at each other. I also know the lengths to which they are prepared to go to protect each other.

I don’t think Renald even noticed Varla. He was too busy fixating on Talos. His doubts concerning his own actions spring from his love of his syffim. vs. his unwavering devotion to duty. Above all else, he wants to do right by both of those imperatives.

hautee – The entire scene in the Emperor’s box was planned to give Varla some weight. As the reader, you have to believe that she is a character who can hold her own in the company of such illustrious men. I am glad that, for you at least, I was able to get that across.

And you absolutely nailed my intention concerning the introduction of the Emperor as an afterthought.

SubRosa – The only thing that Synnius Carbo has in common with Trooper Carbo is a last name. I weep for the Empire if ‘my’ Carbo’s family is set to defend it.

I am not surprised to hear that you share Varla’s sentiments concerning the Arena. In all of your writing about Teresa I think it is only mentioned in passing.

Acadian – Thank you so much! One of the things that first inspired me to write this story was the tale of Renald. Because there wasn’t a lot of information about him in the lore, I was able to project upon him some very human emotion. His self-doubt just makes him more real to me.

Linara –

I could not have said it better than that. Thank you, Linara. You will learn more of Renald and his syffim in this chapter.

trey – I am glad that you caught that ‘pointed head’ line, and the fact that, when all those in the box stand, they block the Emperor from view. I am trying very hard to be even-handed in my portrayal of Cuhlecain, but sometimes I just can’t help myself!

Thank you pointing out the annoying nit. It has been fixed.





Centuries Past
The Imperial Palace, Po’Tun, Akavir
Evening


Three golden serpents kept to the shadows caused by the clouds shrouding the full moon, and waited patiently to begin hunting the king of tigers.

“Now,” Chirasch whispered.

They moved as one, with Chirasch in the lead. Their shadows slithered through the darkness and began to climb the high wall to the Palace courtyard. At the top of the wall Chirasch held them with a raised fist. His forked tongue tasted the shifting wind. There is fear in the air, he thought to himself, can it be they are aware of our presence? His tongue captured a familiar scent, and it drew his mind back to the task at hand.

“Vershu and the others are in position,” he said in quiet tones. “We must be swift.”

Ephirian nodded his solemn understanding. Yviasch smiled and drew his wakizashi.

“I will take the first cut,” he said.

“No brother,” said Chirasch. “In your zeal to dispatch the one, you would leave the other to raise the alarm. We will take them together, as one.”

With two fingers he pointed down the length of the wall. Ephirian turned and began to move into position. Yviasch lingered, the wakizashi clutched in a tightening grip.

“Put it away, now is not the time,” said Chirasch. “The wind lifts the clouds; if light catches your naked blade all could be lost.” His voice softened, “glory shall be yours, brother. But not at the expense of the mission.”

Yviasch returned the blade to his side and moved to join Ephirian. Chirasch watched them glide silently into position before he looked down into the courtyard below.

Two of the Po’Tun guarded the gate directly below them. The rest of the courtyard stood empty, with shadows shrinking from the light of scattered torches along the wall. Chirasch raised his hand and waited . . . then he lowered it with a flourish. As one the three Tsaesci left their perch along the wall and dropped upon the unsuspecting tiger-men below. In a flash of Akaviri steel and the rush of warm blood that pooled black in the moonlight, it was over.

“Open the gate,” Chirasch hissed.

Ephirian and Yviasch unlocked the gate and used their combined strength to pry it open. Eight shadows slithered through the breach and hid themselves in the darkened corners of the courtyard. The ninth shadow wound its way to within an arm’s length of Chirasch before the golden scales were revealed in the light cast by one of the torches.

“The courtyard is secure my lord,” said Chirasch. “I have seen no activity from the palace, but I sense fear in the air. Perhaps our presence has been detected.”

“Perhaps,” said Vershu, in a sibilant hiss that carried softly on the wind. “But it matters not. You have done well.” He turned toward the courtyard. “Usaes, Thoranizon, Shisazu, Musisi, and Fazyit with me. Xarsien, take Akal and Akeshi to the left flank. Chirasch, Yviasch and Ephirian take the right. Swiftness and surprise are our greatest allies tonight; their fear shall be their undoing.”

Again they moved as one, and found silent entry into the palace through untended windows. Through shadowed halls they remained invisible, yet with each forward undulation the unease within Chirasch’s breast grew. He tasted the air, it smelled of fear and death and ash. It cannot be this easy, he thought. Where are the guards? Looking to his left, he could see Vershu’s main force advancing slowly, cautiously. Vershu feels it too. Something is not right.

By the time they reached the throne room the silence had become deafening. The room itself was bathed in darkness. Chirasch led his portion of the syffim along the left wall with his blade drawn, his tongue piercing the air in an attempt to give name to the dread that filled his heart.

A familiar scent froze him a second before Vershu’s raised voice filled the throne room.

“Syffim, move!”

Without thinking, Chirasch dove forward and further to his right. In mid-air his eyes darted left, and he saw a long spear of flame shoot toward the center of their line from the back of the throne room. Vershu’s order was too late, both Tharonizon and Shisazu were caught and engulfed by the blast. The fire filled the room with the light of a thousand torches, and in that light Chirasch saw the coiled, tiger-striped scales that marked the source of the fire.

There are no dragons left in Po’Tun! He thought, as he rose from the floor. He felt a shape on the wall behind him and turned. In the fading light outcroppings appeared on the wall that could provide handholds toward high balconies above.

“Up,” he yelled toward the two who followed him. They executed the order, slithering up the wall. Chirasch watched them disappear into the darkness, then he sheathed his blade and turned back to the center of the room.

The flames had been spent; darkness was swiftly reclaiming the throne room. In the dying light Chirasch could see the tiger-striped scales unwind. It was indeed a dragon, larger than any he had ever seen. Fear closed a taloned hand around his heart and began to squeeze. He launched himself up the wall. Behind him a powerful voice rumbled like thunder through the throne room.

“Behold Tsaesci,” it said, “no longer am I the Po’Tun that you once knew. I shall lead my Empire into a new age that begins tonight with your end. I am Tosh Raka, and Akavir is mine!”

“Syffim, withdraw!” Vershu’s voice carried throughout the room.

While still clinging to the wall, Chirasch saw Ephirian’s shadow leap from the balcony toward the door exiting the room. Yviasch’s shadow lingered, and before the light completely faded Chirasch saw the gleam of his wakizashi.

“Yviasch, no!” The words left his mouth before he could stop them. He turned back to the center of the room in time to see the dragon’s head turn toward the sound. Above him, Yviasch’s shadow took flight.

“For Tsaesci!” Yviasch cried.

Chirasch released his grip on the wall. Time slowed to a crawl. With each pounding heartbeat Chirasch felt himself drop closer to the ground, while above him he saw his brother fly closer to the dragon’s head. He saw the opening of the beast’s jaws and the sharp, glistening teeth within, each one longer than any Tsaesci. No!

Chirasch felt the heat from the dragon’s blast. It scorched his eyes and singed his tongue. It lit the throne room and the roar rendered silent all other sound. He hit the floor and rolled with the impact. He forced his burning eyes to look up. In the space of a single breath his brother was engulfed by the flames and was no more. Chirasch saw the wakizashi bounce off the stone floor like a splinter between giant clawed feet.

Tosh Raka lowered his head and turned toward him. Their eyes locked and the dragon smiled a challenge. Chirasch knew that he could not hope to defeat the creature, but just the same he drew his dai-katana and stood resolved to make a memorable account of himself in his passing.

A katana sprouted like a needle in the side of the dragon’s neck. The dragon turned toward the center of the room where the fading light revealed Vershu waving his arms without a sword. In that same instant, Chirasch felt a strong hand grasp his shoulder. He turned.

“Chirasch! Do not be a fool!” A voice said.

Chirasch recognized the speaker. “Xarsien?”

Xarsien nodded once. “We have to leave, now!”

“But Yviasch . . .”

“Gone,” said Xarsien, “he’s gone.”

He felt himself swept toward the exit. In the center of the room he saw Vershu evade the dragon’s jaws to reclaim Yviasch’s wakizashi.

“We must aid Vershu,” said Chirasch.

“Our orders are to withdraw,” said Xarsien, “Vershu can fend for himself.”

They reached the hall. Behind them the dragon’s breath relit the darkened throne room. The rest of their syffim closed around them.

“Where is Vershu?” asked Akal.

Xarsien turned toward the throne room.

“And Yviasch?” asked Ephirian.

“Gone,” said Chirasch, “with Tharonizon and Shisazu.”

“We will continue our withdrawal,” said Usaes. “Move!”

They moved again, with thoughts of light and shadow lost in their headlong flight through the halls. They exited through the same windows that they had used to gain entrance. Once in the courtyard, they each turned back toward the palace.

“By the Great Serpent, was it a dragon?” asked Fazyit.

“It was,” said Usaes. “One larger than any I have ever seen.”

“It shared coloring with the Po’Tun,” said Akal, “it claimed to have been a Po’Tun.”

“Whatever it claims,” said Xarsien, “it is our enemy.”

“Look to the window!” said Ephirian.

A shadow shot through the window an instant before a long column of flame followed, piercing the night sky. In the light provided by the flame the syffim could see the shadow form into golden scales that twisted in mid-air above them.

“Vershu,” said Fazyit, with a voice made quiet in reverence.

The snake captain landed rolling amongst them. He rolled to a stop and rose with his scales smouldering.

“How many?” asked Vershu.

“Three, my lord,” said Xarsien. “Tharonizon, Shisazu . . . and Yviasch.”

“We journey back to Tsaesci,” he said, “the Emperor must be made aware of this.”

As the syffim moved, Chirasch lingered. Vershu moved alongside him.

“I know your mind, old friend,” the snake captain said, “but we could not afford to lose four tonight.” He produced Yviasch's wakizashi. The blade was stained black in the moonlight. It was offered hilt-first to Chirasch. “I drew blood, for Yviasch. His sacrifice made good our escape. Hang this in the halls of Tsaesci, that it may bring peace to his restless spirit.”

Chirasch took the blade and bowed. “Thank you, my lord.”

“Do not thank me, he was also my brother. All three were.”

“I would take vengeance,” said Chirasch.

“And so you shall. But first, we must regroup. And we must regain our numbers.”

“There is no replacing what I have lost this night.”

Vershu placed a hand on Chirasch’s shoulder. “No, there is not. But there is one, barely more than a hatchling, who shows great promise.”

“He will never be Yviasch,” said Chirasch.

“But he will be one of us,” said Vershu. “As such, he will also be your brother. His name is Eesham-Sha.”





7th First Seed, 2E 854
The Arena, Imperial City
Mid-Day


“It’s time,” said the Blademaster.

The scrape of the whetstone against his katana ceased. Xarsien placed the stone on the floor, grabbed his shield, and rose for battle. Next to him, Eesham stretched to his full height and tasted the blood-scented air.

Chirasch wiped the veil of memory from his eyes. It took a moment for him to remember that he sat in the bloodworks of the Imperial City in Tamriel, and not in the courtyard of the Imperial Palace in Po’Tun. He cast a look into the eyes of his syffim, his brothers. We are all that remain, he thought. Vershu cannot stand with us, today it falls to me. He felt the familiar weight of his dai-katana on his back. He reached up to loosen it in the scabbard, and followed his brothers toward the darkened, blood-stained tunnel.

WHEW !!!! And GAAAAH! Where was Renald? Was the plan of this night what drove his turmoil at the Arena? GAAAAH!

I was surprised by the vocal commands for some reason, thinking they would use silent signals - but I guess when facing a dragon the point of silence is moot. - ARGH !!!

Awesome Chapter - I exhaled three minutes after I read the last line !!!!!

Wow! Just wow! I simply LOVE the names of them Tsaeci! No, really! Shizasu, Chirasch Versu... WOW! Been reading any mangas recently?

I also love the way you showed Tosh Raka! Simply astounded, is what I can say to my current predicament. And this chapter is the cause of that! I just love reminiscing, yes?

I hope we see more of this 'backstory', if I may call it that. Yes, I'm eagerly awaiting the next chapter.

Chirasch's reminiscence is straight out of the classic warrior tales of ancient China, Japan and Korea! Whew!

I recall reading somewhere in the Lore of the Po'Tun's transformation into dragon(s), and was delighted to see this here. You have made this come to life out of the mists of time.

Then the transition from a magical time and place of mythical heroism to the gritty reality of the Roman Arena is genius!

Dragons and Tsaesci fighting! Well, almost fighting. It's good to get some more backstory on the syffim. And I agree with h.e.r., the transition was startling, from the lore time to the Arena. I'm betting on the syffim by the way, are they yellow or blue?

One nit:
Tiger-striped perhaps?

Vershu is the Chevalier Renald. He adopted the name 'Renald' after the death of Reman III at the hands of the Morag Tong. My own interpretation of events is that his failure to stop the assassination convinced him that he was no longer worthy of the name 'Vershu'. I am still playing around with the idea that Vershu is a title given to those Tsaesci who show great skill in battle. Sorry for the confusion.

Every time I think you cannot possibly make the Tsaesci more interesting, you prove me wrong. The discovery of the Po’Tun dragon was amazing. That encounter and its aftermath left my heart racing.

Oh noes! You can’t stop there! I absolutely love the history you give to the Tsaesci and the added depth it provides them.

This was a powerful addition to Vershu's history.

One nit noted:



Wrong sort of tail, I believe…

Ok, now I have to go back through and re-read the chapter! Lol. Sorry about that.

Again they moved as one, and found silent entry into the palace through untended windows.
Hey, you cannot go through windows in ES games! You cannot even look through them! They are just graphics painted on the walls.

A very exciting battle. I believe that is the first time I have seen anyone fight a dragon in ES (Not counting the end of Oblivion's MQ of course, but that was a god). It was a neat peek back into the long past of the syffim.

What a magnificent way to provide more depth to the syffim! I quite adore dragons and you certainly portrayed both the Tsaesci and Tosh Raka in their awe-inspiring full glory.

They say there are no more dragons in modern Cyrodiil. How would we know? It has been reported that perhaps they can change shapes and forms.

Absolutely gripping, Destri!

Recently got fully caught up with this.

Let me just add to the choir of praise for the depiction of Cuhlecain, Talos Stormcrown, Zurin Arctus, and the whole political intrigue kettle currently sitting in the emperor's box. You weave threads as nimbly as Mephala herself.

The depiction of the Syffim's failed attack against Tosh Raka is excellent. As always, you weave tangents of canon into an effective and intense story line that not only keeps the characters real and grounded, but makes me wonder if this story will show up as a game book in the next Elder Scrolls game.

Well I've caught up and wow! This is very, very good (like I can think of books I've paid good money for which weren't near as slick and exciting).

You've managed to have multiple plotlines without one coming to dominate the other's too which is great. The politicing around the Emperor is excellent, somehow I sense things are about to go badly for a certain altmer, unless he manages some sweep of genius. Having them all together in the Emperor's box certainly pays off some of the tension which is building.

Renald is an excellent character, I like how you've done the Tsaesci, they work well as characters but are different from humans which isn't easy (and is a big part of the reason I tend towards human characters). But they work and are quite compelling to read, I look forward to seeing where they end up.

Valdemar and Alain are also great, and again quite different. Their interactions are entertaining, certainly you matched them well. I wonder how their hangover is...

So yes I love this piece, intregue, plot, suspense and a mountain of supporting characters all well enough developed to hold their own spin off (I can only imagine...).

SGM

mALX – The syffim maintained silence up until they reached the throne room. Vershu/Renald broke that silence when he sensed the dragon. As you said, at that point the silence was moot.

ureniashtram – I’ve never been a huge fan of mangas or anime. Some of the stories are great, but I just can’t get past the way the characters are drawn. Coming up with the names for the Tsaesci was the single most time consuming part of the last chapter. I’m glad you liked them.

And there may be a few more ‘Tsaesci flashbacks’ in this story.

hautee – My original conception of the Tsaesci is a lot different than what this story presents. Part of the change came in the writing. Another part can be attributed to you for recommending movies like When the Last Sword Is Drawn, which in turn got me re-watching movies like Ten Tigers of Shaolin, The Seven Samurai, and Rashomon. Now the Tsaesci have become a kind of cross between samurai and shaolin monks . . . with forked tongues and slithering!

As I understand it, Tosh Raka was the only Po’Tun who successfully transformed himself into a dragon. Indications are that he continues to rule the Po’Tun to this day.

Linara – I would have to say that the syffim would be part of the yellow team. A blue serpent sounds like he’s either frozen, or under water. As you are soon to discover, betting against the syffim is not wise.

And thank you for pointing out that nit. I found my lost ‘r’.

trey – I have to be careful with the Tsaesci. Every time I write about them I find more to draw my interest. It would be very easy for me to just let them have the reins, but then it would no longer be Talos’ story (if it still is).

Hopefully, this tale doesn’t undulate as much as Chirasch’s tail. Thanks.

SubRosa – I would have thought that someone as well-versed in mods as you would have solved the problem of windows by now. Vanilla’s like me have to rely on imagination.

Unfortunately, I was not able to present much of a battle when the syffim engaged Tosh Raka. I was more interested in communicating the awesome power that a being such as Tosh Raka possesses. Even for a race like the Tsaesci, who had by then hunted most of the dragons of Akavir to extinction, the best option against such power is to run.

Fortunately, I do have one more dragon knocking around in this story, so I still might get another chance.

Acadian - Now you’ve got my wheels turning! The idea that dragons can change their form might go a long way toward explaining some of the events that occur later in this story. I thank you for raising the possibility.

Captain Hammer – Thank you for the compliments. As an in-game book this story would cover about a hundred volumes! I wonder if Bethesda would pay by the volume? If so, I better keep writing.

Olen – Once again welcome back, you have been missed. Things are about to ‘go badly’ for a certain character, but it’s not who you think.

I have given a lot of thought to writing new stories around Renald and the syffim, the four Blades, and even the voyages of the Pelladil. Maybe in five or six years when I finish Interregnum, I will revisit those ideas!

Everyone – Finally we come to the first half of the long-delayed finale to the interminable 7th First Seed!





7th First Seed, 2E 854
The Arena, Imperial City
Mid-Day


Light! Brilliant, blinding and all encompassing, it flooded their consciousness and slit their eyes as they emerged from the tunnel. The cacophony of sound that assailed their ears forced them to use their tongues to measure their surroundings. Captured in that first taste of the air were the familiar scents of sweat, blood, and excrement. Slowly their eyes began to pull familiar shapes from the shimmering blur around them. Thick iron bars caked with rust and dried blood barred their entrance into the Arena. The boisterous crowd around and above them seemed to shift into a single nameless, faceless mass of jeers and threats that loved them not. The heat of the burning sand in front of them beckoned. Above it all banners depicting the flight of vengeful dragons drew Eesham back to a cave in the Shadowgate Pass, and the others to the Imperial Palace at Po’Tun.

“Stand fast,” said Chirasch, he had to raise his voice to be heard. “No needless heroics, no unnecessary risks. We keep watch on each other’s backs at all times. Heed Vershu’s order, survive.”

“What do you suppose awaits us on the other side of those bars?” asked Eesham.

Chirasch shook his head and looked into the crowd. Xarsien raised his shield before his eyes, tightened his grip on his blade, and gazed upon the dragon banners.

“Death,” he hissed.

A voice echoed from above. It filled the Arena and doused the crowd like water thrown over a flame.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” it said, “by the grace of the Emperor, we dig back into the mists of fabled history for a sight unseen by an Arena audience for more than eight hundred years. In the year 2920 of the First Era, on the occasion of South Winds’ Prayer, the Emperor Reman III thrilled his subjects by allowing his only son, the noble Prince Juilek, to stand alone in single combat against the might of the immortal Tsaesci warlord, Savirien-Chorak. Today, in honor of First Planting, the Emperor Cuhlecain proudly presents not one, but three of the immortal Tsaesci. These great warriors will not be engaged in an exhibition against a single opponent, but will be tested in battle for their very lives against the most fearsome beasts in all of Cyrodiil! Can they survive? Lower . . . The . . . Gates!”





7th First Seed, 2E 854
The Temple of the One, Imperial City
Dusk


A single candle served as a bulwark against the encroaching darkness inside the Temple of the One.

“Good evening, Lady Direnni,” the hooded monk said from the shadows. He motioned her into one of the two chairs set facing each other before the candle. “Please make yourself comfortable. I am Apelles Mero, Shrine Sergeant for the Temple. It has been given into my charge to conduct the interviews for this inquiry.”

“I have already given my sworn testimony to the Watch,” said Varla

“Yes, I am aware of that, and I apologize for the inconvenience. We ask that you repeat your testimony for the Temple. It is not our purpose to search for inconsistencies, milady. Rather, experience has shown us that the Watch is slow to share witness testimony with the Temple. In a matter such as this, when one of our own has been taken from us, we have found it expedient to conduct our own inquiries.”

“Very well,” said Varla. She sat in the offered chair. The dim candlelight accentuated the blood that splattered the left side of her dress.

Apelles Mero lowered himself into the chair across from her. “I understand that you were a guest in the Emperor’s box for the exhibition.”

“I was. Although I believe that calling what took place an ‘exhibition’ is overly generous.”

“What word would you use?”

“Massacre, perhaps. It didn’t turn out that way, at least not in the way that was intended.”

“You believe that the Emperor sought to destroy the captive Tsaesci?”

“They were not captive at the time, and it is not my place to question the Emperor’s intentions.”

“Of course not,” said Mero. “But in any event, tell me why you considered this exhibition to be an intended massacre.”

Varla shook her head. “I would rather not speculate, especially if it is to be for the record.”

“I understand. Let us stick to facts. Where were you sitting, exactly?”

“Directly behind His Majesty,” said Varla. “I do not know how much use I can be to you. The size of His Majesty’s throne blocked my view of most of the proceedings.”

“That is regrettable, milady. However, it is not the activities on the sand, but rather the activities inside the Emperor’s box that warrant my attention. I understand that you sat between General Talos Stormcrown and the Battlemage, Zurin Arctus.”

“That is correct.”

“Where was the accused positioned in relation to where you sat?”

“Just over my left shoulder, near the exit from the box,” said Varla.

“Behind General Talos Stormcrown?” asked Mero.

Varla’s head cocked to one side. She considered the question. “Yes.”

“Thank you, Lady Direnni.”





“Trolls? Why waste warriors such as these in sport against trolls?” Varla kept her voice low, but she could not hide the disdain that flavored her words.

Zurin Arctus leaned forward and surveyed the Arena floor. “I count a dozen of the beasts. The pillars may provide some refuge, but I fear it is only a matter of time before they are overwhelmed.”

“You underestimate Tsaesci prowess,” said Talos. “They may be outnumbered, but they retain the advantage against mindless beasts known only to charge.”

Prior Sanne turned in his chair. “Would you be willing to place a wager on that, General?”

Talos froze him with a look. “Despite what you may think, my dear Prior, I do not wager on lives. I leave such pursuits to men like you.”

Prior Sanne spun in his seat as if he had been slapped. The soft laughter emanating from the Emperor’s chair only served to rub salt in the wound.

“How much are you willing to wager?” asked Synnius Carbo.

“A talent of gold,” said Prior Sanne, the previous insult all but forgotten.

Carbo laughed.

“Two talents!” said the increasingly red-faced Prior.

“Make it three and you have a wager,” said Carbo.

“Done!”

“Silence!” said the Emperor. He leaned forward in his chair. “Now we shall see the truth behind the rumors of Tsaesci skill.”

Varla could not help herself. She turned in her chair and glanced toward the back of the Emperor’s box. The Tsaesci captain remained impassive, but Varla could see past the blank look on his face to the growing torrent in his eyes. One golden hand was wrapped around the hilt of the sword at his side, and that hand shook with the emotion that the valiant creature was trying to quell.

The buzzing of the crowd grew to a roar that pulled Varla’s eyes away from the Tseasci captain to the back of the Emperor’s chair. Battle had been joined on the Arena floor, but it was occurring beyond her line of sight.





Apelles Mero motioned toward the empty chair across from him. “I apologize for the lack of light and the informality of the arrangements, Councilman, but the Temple must hold to its traditions.”

Synnius Carbo sat. “I would have appreciated more time to compose myself. Your request for this audience barely left me time to remove my ruined clothing. I would also have it known that my appearance this evening is a courtesy extended out of respect for the deceased, and is in no way an admission of anything that would compromise the sovereignty of the Council, or the Council’s relationship with Skingrad.”

Mero nodded. “Duly noted, Councilman, I have been given to understand that you engaged in a number of small wagers with Prior Sanne during the matches that led up to the Tsaesci exhibition.”

“That bears no relevance!” Carbo rose from his seat. “I will not sit here and be accused!”

“I am not making accusations, nor is it my intention to cast aspersions on the good Prior’s reputation. I am merely trying to establish the facts. Please sit down.”

Carbo’s scowl remained, even as he once again took his seat.

Mero cleared his throat. “Now I understand that Prior Sanne lost the majority of these wagers, is that correct?”

“I will neither confirm nor deny anything having to do with information of a personal nature.”

“I am afraid that I must insist, Lord Carbo. Did these wagers continue into the Tsaesci exhibition?”

Carbo crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I am sure that you are already privy to that information.”

“I would like you to confirm or deny it, sir.”

Silence followed. Carbo sat with his arms crossed in front of him and with the scowl revealing hints of the latent sweat upon his furrowed brow.

Mero broke the silence. “Lord Carb . . .”

“Yes! The wagers continued into the Tsaesci match.”

“And I am given to understand that Prior Sanne wagered against the Tsaesci,” said Mero.

“Again I ask, what relevance does this have?” asked Carbo.

“Perhaps none,” said Mero, “or perhaps it goes to establish both of your mindsets leading into the incident in question.”

“Once again you come dangerously close to making accusations, Sergeant.”

“I apologize, Councilman. I shall abandon this line of questioning for now. Where were you sitting in the Emperor’s box?”

“On the left hand of the Emperor, between His Majesty and Prior Sanne,” said Carbo.

“Am I correct in surmising that your position in the box placed you directly in front of General Talos Stormcrown, who in turn sat between you and the accused?”

Carbo smiled. “That is correct. Now your questioning begins to bear fruit, Sergeant.”

“Thank you, Councilman.”





The Tsaesci moved as one. From where he sat, Synnius Carbo saw the serpent with the shield move his back to the one wielding the dai-katana. That shield provided the protection, a defensive posture dropped only to dispatch any troll whose charge had been broken against it. With his rear and his flank so protected, the other Tsaesci employed his dai-katana mowing down those trolls who stood before him. The third Tsaesci was a golden blur in their midst as he repeatedly mounted the pillars, his supple body twirling up their length in less time than it took to draw a breath. From that vantage point he launched himself again and again into the dwindling ranks of their opponents, his twin katanas struck down in blinding flashes of Akaviri steel that severed limbs and blooded the sweltering sand.

All too soon it was over. The three Tsaesci clustered together, surrounded by the maimed and bleeding corpses of the trolls that had been sent against them. Their forked tongues captured all the smells wafting in the air, but Carbo knew that the scent of victory on that arid field still eluded them.

The crowd had been dazzled into silence by the display that they had witnessed. So it followed that the plaintive whine of the heavy gate was clearly heard throughout the Arena as it was lowered for the second time. The Tsaesci moved into a wedge-shaped phalanx, and lifted their blades to receive this new threat.





“I trust this interview will be brief,” said Lord Farenenre. “The Emperor expects me back at the palace.”

“I shall be as brief as I can be,” said Mero, covering his nose. “Is it correct that you were present in the box when the Emperor arrived with his entourage?”

“I fail to see how that bears any relevance to the incident in question.”

“I am simply establishing your whereabouts when the Emperor arrived. Were you already present in the box, my lord?”

“I was.”

“Is it not customary for you to accompany the Emperor?”

“Not when I am engaged in official business,” said Farenenre.

“Is this the business that carried you to the Waterfront?” asked Mero.

“Your intelligence network would do the Emperor proud,” said Farenenre. “However, I would caution you to confine your questions to facts relevant to your inquiry. My whereabouts before the incident have no bearing.”

“Forgive me, my lord. I sought only to establish that you were not a member of the Emperor’s entourage when he arrived at the Arena, therefore you could not have been aware of any conversation between the Emperor and the accused while outside of your presence.”

“Be careful, Sergeant. One less forgiving than I could interpret the implication of Imperial malfeasance as a form of treason.”

“Again, I beg your forgiveness, my lord. You were seated to the Emperor’s right, am I correct?”

“Of course,” said Farenenre.

“From that position were you able to hear any conversation between Lord Carbo and Prior Sanne?” asked Mero.

“The entire box was subjected to their conversation. The Prior did not take his losses with the stoic grace taught by this institution.”

“Their conversation revolved around the gold he was losing on the matches?”

“The two men were not friends, to my knowledge. What else would they discuss?”

Mero’s mouth formed a grim line. “You were seated directly in front of Master Zurin Arctus, were you not?”

“Of what relevance is that information?” asked Farenenre.

“I am merely establishing where everyone was in the Emperor’s box, my lord.”

“No,” said Farenenre, “I believe you were leading into some implication involving Master Arctus.” Farenenre rose and began to pace around the room. He nodded once and returned to his seat. “He was not in the box when I arrived. His arrival coincided with the arrival of the Emperor.”

“And with the arrival of General Talos Stormcrown, my lord?” asked Mero.

“Precisely,” said Farenenre.





“Ogres,” said Prior Sanne, he turned toward Synnius Carbo. “I renew our wager, double or square.”

Carbo shook his head. “It hardly seems a fair contest. There are six of the savage beasts. I would need some form of odds to consider it.”

“Odds? I have already given you double or square. You quibble with my own coin.”

Carbo laughed. “When put that way, I can see your point. Fine, done.”

“Your Majesty,” said General Talos, “is it your intention to test these Tsaesci, or destroy them?”

Farenenre turned in his chair. “I fail to see how that is any concern of yours, General.”

“Just as I fail to understand why you choose to answer for your Emperor,” said Talos. “Your Majesty, these Tsaesci would be of better use in the Legion if you will not have them.”

Cuhlecain did not turn, but his voice carried throughout the Emperor’s box. “It would be a tragic waste to place them amongst the rank and file of the Legion. You ask if my intention is to test or destroy them, General. I would have thought that a soldier of your standing would have found my intention obvious. Apparently my faith in Tsaesci prowess exceeds your own.”

Farenenre could not contain the smile that spread across his face. It was a smile that grew when he saw the surprise mirrored in the faces of both the General and the Battlemage. That surprise told more of their overconfidence than words, and made Farenenre’s seat on the Emperor’s right hand appreciate in value.





“I sat to the right of Lady Direnni,” said Zurin Arctus, “directly behind Lord Farenenre. My view of the incident was obscured.”

“Be that as it may, Master Arctus,” said Mero. “You were still close enough to see the incident as it unfolded.”

“I suppose so,” said Arctus.

An escaping sigh caused Mero to deflate in his chair. He looked directly into Arctus’ eyes. “I have become an old man, Master Arctus. I lack the energy or the inclination to engage in the show of animosity that has long existed between the Temple and the Arcane. I seek only to know the truth of what occurred in the Emperor’s box today.”

“You already possess that knowledge,” said Arctus, “in the form of what is left of the departed Prior Sanne. You do not seek to know the truth of what occurred, you seek to know the truth of why it occurred.”

Mero nodded, “I hope that you can help me in this regard.”

“Then forgive me for being blunt,” said Arctus. “Prior Sanne died as the direct result of greed that should embarrass this Temple. He allowed his passions to govern him, and he repeatedly drove a lance into the flank of the wrong snake.”

“Could you elaborate, sir?” asked Mero.

“It began even before the Tsaesci were thrust upon the Arena sand. Sanne tried to recoup losses wagered on the preliminary matches by wagering a much greater sum on the fall of the Tsaesci.”

“The Tsaesci are renowned warriors,” said Mero.

“Which is why the Prior continued to lose,” said Arctus.

Ahhh, a mystery!

I love how you interweave what happened in that box (and kept us hanging concerning what did happen in that box) with the aftermath (the interrogations of the witnesses).

The Arena engagement from the POV of the Tsaesci was awesome - I was there on the sands with them.
The description of the battle with the trolls from the POV of those in the box was also well done - I found myself sitting in the stands watching the action on the sands.

I bet this was a challenge to write, and I think you have risen to it and performed admirably.

SGM!

Yes Interregnum!!! It's been too long... You continue to weave a magnificent story, as we glimpse who the true snakes are. As Rider said, the mixing of 'then' and 'now' provided a captivating piece.



Well. My favorite paragraph in a while. It brings out the anger and sadness that runs through the chapter and turns it into us wanting Cuhlecain gone/killed/disappeared. Really makes Cuhlecain seem even more despicable...

On a side note, I finally found out where you got 'Destri' from. Kudos on getting that

The trouble with real windows in Oblivion is that the interior of every building is a separate zone. Its door actually teleports you to that zone when you use it. That is why you get that load time whenever you go into a shop. To have real windows, the interior of the building would have to be part of the same zone as the area outside. Cities actually work the same way. The interior is a separate zone from the outside world. That is why the levitate spell was removed from Oblivion. Because if you levitated up from within a city, you would just see an empty world around you.

The model of the house would also require a hole in it where the window is. That would work for an open window. But if you had a pane of glass then you would be in real trouble. To show the texture of the glass, you need a model. But if you have a model covering that space, it is no longer open. The reason we 'see' windows is simply because a picture of a window is laid on top of a solid model.

But, back to the longest day (will John Wayne or Henry Fonda be making an appearance?)

Trolls? I feel sorry for the people who had to capture them and bring them to the Imperial City! Hmm, perhaps you could do it with pits to first catch them, and then use Drain Fatigue spells to knock them out long enough to put them in a cage.

The trolls didn't have frickin laser beams in their heads? Sheesh! what does Cuhlecain pay those people for!

I liked the touch of using talents as a unit of measure for gold. It is not only an excellent bit of flavor, but also firmly establishes the parties involved as ultra-rich.

Two fights? With the second against ogres? (I imagine they trapped those using potato bread as bait...) Now that is just cheating!

This was a very interesting post, given the way it both jumps back and forth in time, and also between characters being interviewed. It must have been very difficult to write. When I came to the first change in pov/time I admit I was befuddled for a moment. But once I saw what you were doing, it all flowed back and forth very smoothly. All in all, an excellent piece of writing!

Oh no!! I have a lot of catching up to do. Again...Rest assured, my friend, I will eventually make it, your writing is always one of the most thrilling things I have ever read. Lady Direnni, Arctus, the Tsaesci, this is a tale (or is that tail ) like no other.

We, as readers, lose our sense of time and place when we consume Interregnum, such is the talent of your writing. Where is the point that the lore ends and your freelance interpretation begins?? Nobody knows!!
You should put a warning- Do not read while operating moving machinery....lol

GAAAAH!!! The dirty double-crosser! ...and poor Renald !!! ARGH !!!!!! He will never be able to live down his guilt if he loses what remains of his syffim in the Arena! ARGH !!!

Nicely done, that was admirably smooth, the jumping forwards and back was a good way to tell both without either dragging.

As ever the characters were very well done, you certainly have strong ones there and they're engaging in intregue which is hard to write but brilliant when it's pulled off well, and you've certanly done that. I sense that day was somewhat of a turning point in affairs and the soft politicing may be past with the death of the prior. I'll be interested to see how it develops (and I still think Farenenre has it coming sooner or later).


I liked that line, it sets the scene and mood well as an opener but also serves as a reminder that the dragonfires are out and provides a link to another part of the plot. Loading lines like that makes for tight and exciting reading (and makes me wonder if we might be going to a certain island next).

I enjoyed the switching between settings as well. Very clever. It was not a quick or light read, but it was very interesting, smooth, creative and enjoyable. As ever, your descriptions and ability to build up a scene with suspense is superb. Well done!

Now, Destri. . . you know that I am simple writer as well as a simple reader. So. . . if you can pass the test of my reading, then you know you have succeeded. I think you have earned a passing grade here, my friend, but I will let you tell me, based upon what I report:

Prior Sanne was killed up in the Emperor's box. I'm not sure who did it, but I think maybe The Tsaesci captain did.

How did we do? Please take copious credit if my observations are correct. Please be gentle with me if they are not.

Another example of Destri's remarkable ability with words.

The interleaving of the battle in the Arena with the much more deadly battle afterwards in the Temple is masterful. You again manage to heighten the tension with spare descriptions and crisp dialogue. Much is revealed by the things the “witnesses” seek to conceal.



Again, the characters' actions and attitudes are clearly conveyed by the spare descriptions and excellent dialogue.

And we are left to wonder what colossal error the avaricious Prior committed that saw him dead…

Hoorah for the return of Interregnum!

Loving this new development. Glad to see our dear Prior is now our dearly departed Prior. The faith's militant arm is a nice touch, particularly with regards to the power struggles they're playing. You get a sense of who is stronger than the Temple, who's weaker, who knows it, who doesn't, and how each party deals with that knowledge.

In particular, though:

Lady Varla Direnni: She already plays a dangerous game, and must avoid making further enemies in the faith. The unstated animosity that holds over from the ancient dispute of the militant Alessian Order that was eventually defeated by the Direnni at Glenumbria Moors is left unstated, but particularly apparent in sub-text. Brilliant.

Councilor Synnius Carbo: A man careful with ensuring that the official record shows what he wants it to show, and in particular, that his answers, and even his very presence, is but a courtesy. Deep down, he knows that Skingrad will pay the appropriate fealty to the Empire, and that the Temple's records may prove an important piece of evidence should His Royal Highness find himself sitting in judgment over the case. A man weaker than he would like to be; a man that knows he's weak on some deep level; a man that wants to shore up every defense he has. More subtle than the others, but one that I can identify with more on a realistic level.

Lord Chancellor Farenenre: One who has the emperor's ear. The faith suspects something, but cannot commit, and Farenenre is careful not to hand out clues that might incriminate him of the less than perfect loyalty that he has towards His Imperial Majesty Cuhlecain. Still, an effective bureaucrat that knows how to bend the privileges of his position to his own ends, and a man just as caught up in the tidal wave of events as the unnamed suspect. Another well-chosen witness.

Lord Zurin Arctus, Battlemage of General Talos: An interesting off-shoot here. We see the first time that our Temple Sergeant is willing to openly admit that Arctus does have more clout, and that Arctus is probably the one witness with little to lose by being interviewed. While the others must all hide or obfuscate some weakness or de facto relationship of power, Arctus truly does have a level of power that the Temple can do nothing but acknowledge. Yet the Temple Sergeant approaches this from a philosophical perspective, preferring to handle the issue more directly, and yet Arctus is still somewhat sideways in his approach. While I have the greatest trouble with Arctus' manner, since it seems much more uncharacteristically flippant from your usual approach to the battlemage, it does provide the most entertaining exchange of the four.

All in all, great character write-ups.

In particular, though, I enjoyed the interspersed scenes of Tsaesci gladiatorial combat with the questioning of each witness. Made me all the more glad that the Prior was dead by the time I got to the end. Do you think they could 'forget' to invoke Arkay's Law for the Prior's body. I've got some characters that want to raise a zombie or skeleton of a particularly old specimen...



Hey, you never know. Bethesda has hired particularly skilled modders for their game design team. Why not somebody making a great piece of in-game literature? Talk about extra-immersiveness...

Clicky.

I apologize to all of my long suffering readers. This short post is not the update that I have been planning, nor is it the one that you have been waiting for. It's just that I feel terrible for not answering your comments to the last chapter that I posted (last year!). Please indulge me while I remedy that.

hautee - Thank you so much! You have no idea how tough this one was to write. The next chapter has been even tougher!

Linara - And now it's been even longer! Sorry about that. The name 'Destri Melarg' seemed like a good fit, so I ran with it.

'Rosa - Sharks with Frickin Laser Beams!

I thought that you of all people would get a kick out of talents as the unit of measure for gold! I am glad that it stood out for you.

Wolf - I can barely read and chew gum at the same time, and here you are operating moving machinery! Brilliant!

mALX -To quote hautee:


Olen - I honestly haven't decided Farenenre's fate yet. I keep going back and forth betwen three very different ideas. Thank you for pointing out what is my favorite line of the chapter, for all of the reasons that you so ably put to words.

Acadian - I think you've been hanging off that cliff for long enough now, Acadian. It's not really a spoiler if I tell you that you are right.

trey - The late prior's error will be apparent in the next chapter (as soon as I get around to posting it). Thank you for your wonderfully flattering comments!

Cap'n - As I told you I am totally blown away by your character breakdowns. I completely agree with you on the subject of Arctus' flippancy. The intent was to use his manner to show the animosity that exists between the Arcane and the Temple.




Okay, I can't leave it like that. Here for any new readers or those needing a recap (Acadian ) is the story summary that I promised. Enjoy!




- The year is 854 of the Second Era and Tamriel is a land divided. In Cyrodiil the fractious clans of Colovians and Nibenese have been brought into an uneasy alliance by the diminutive self-styled Emperor, Cuhlecain. Two years ago his greatest General, a half-breed Atmoran called Talos Stormcrown, defeated a Nord/Breton alliance at the legendary stronghold known as Sancre Tor. The battle itself is shrouded in mystery, but rumors abound that during the battle General Talos displayed the thu’um which caused the Nords allied against him to spontaneously switch sides and secured victory for the nascent Empire. There are also rumors that Talos and his trusted friend, the Imperial Battlemage Zurin Arctus, discovered the long lost Chim-el Adabal, also known as the Amulet of Kings, in the forgotten catacombs of Sancre Tor. There are those who believe that Talos was able to don the Amulet in those darkened halls, confirming his station as dragonborn and true heir to the Ruby Throne of the Empire. In any event, since that battle Talos and Zurin Arctus have actively worked to usurp the throne from Emperor Cuhlecain.

- To the Northwest, in the Illiac Bay, the Isle of Balfiera stands as the last bastion of the High Elves who once dominated all of High Rock, Clan Direnni. From Direnni Tower they are led by the young and energetic Castellan, Aran Direnni, whose dreams of revenge against the descendants of the Slave Queen Alessia are given fuel by news of this fledgling Empire rising in Cyrodiil. To attain his goal of conquest, Aran dispatches his sister Varla, a natural spy and diplomat, to forge alliances with the recently defeated Kings, Counts, and Dukes of High Rock. He then sends her to Hammerfell to propose an alliance with the High King, Thassad. But Hammerfell stands poised on the eve of civil war and will spare no troops to Aran’s cause. As a result Aran forces his youngest sister, a talented mage named Lattia, to open a portal to the daedric realm of Oblivion to secure aid from Clavicus Vile, the Daedric Prince whose sphere is the granting of power through ritual invocations and pacts. To carry out her brother’s wishes, Lattia is forced into a pact with Clavicus Vile that she refuses to speak of. With alliances secured in High Rock and Oblivion, Aran sends Varla to the Imperial City to spy on the Emperor and to further alienate him from Talos and Zurin Arctus. He then accompanies Lattia to Glenumbria Moors on the western coast of High Rock and commands her to use her skill to open a portal through time so that he can witness the battle that cost Clan Direnni its station more than three thousand years before. As a result of his vision, Aran decides that magic will be the deciding factor in the battles to come. He decides to seek out the mysterious King of Worms somewhere along Skyrim’s Western Reach to either learn from him or secure his aid. He sends Lattia on to the Isle of Artaeum, so that she may gain knowledge from the legendary Psijic Order.

- In a cave somewhere along the Western Reach the King of Worms has secured the services of a High Rock nightblade named Arnand Desele. In exchange for aid in curing his Altmer wife of vampirism Arnand has agreed to journey to the Isle of Artaeum to steal the Necromancer’s Amulet from the halls of the Psijic Order. After weeks spent on the island of Stros M’Kai Arnand secures passage aboard the Kynreve, a ship captained by the Dunmer pirate Ansu Shin-Ilu. The price he pays for his passage is the rescue of Shin-Ilu’s navigator, an Argonian named Earns-His-Keep, from the Stros M’Kai jail. After a successful escape Shin-Ilu betrays Arnand and leaves him for dead on the Saintsport dock. Arnand is saved by the efforts of Earns-His-Keep, who is indebted to him for the rescue, and the healing skill of Lattia Direnni, whose ship the Pelladil was forced into port at Stros M’Kai by a storm. With Earns-His-Keep acting as the Pelladil’s new navigator, Lattia agrees to take Arnand to Artaeum.

- In Sentinel, the capital of Hammerfell, two knights who stood against General Talos’ army continue to maintain their alliance. Sir Alain of Wayrest and Sir Valdemar of Skyrim know that it wasn’t the thu’um that proved their undoing at Sancre Tor. They know that it was a Breton traitor who removed the magic wards protecting the citadel which allowed Talos and his forces to capture the alliance command and force surrender. Since that day they have tracked the traitor throughout High Rock, desperate to avenge their comrades whose lives were ended at the end of the headsman’s axe. They are in Hammerfell because Alain’s childhood friend, a Knight of the Moon named Sir Casnar, has information on the whereabouts of the one they seek. This information came to Casnar through the auspices of Zurin Arctus, who sees the traitor as the final expendable loose end from Sancre Tor. After a long journey, Alain and Valdemar corner their quarry in the village of Jehanna on the Western Reach. In exacting their revenge an innocent boy is slain by Alain’s hand. To atone for this the two knights resolve to carry out the boy’s wish of venturing south to join the army of their former enemy, General Talos.

- Back in Sentinel Sir Casnar stands as mute witness to his county’s demise. The age old conflict between two groups threatens to tip Hammerfell into civil war. On one side stand the High King’s loyalists, the Crowns. On the other side are the Forebears; descendants of the Ra’Gada or warrior wave that settled Hammerfell after the fall of their original homeland, Yokuda. As a Knight of the Moon it is Casnar’s charge to protect the royal family. But to safeguard a young boy named Cyrus he betrays his knighthood and forces himself into exile. He resolves to travel east, to Cyrodiil, and place his sword into the service of Zurin Arctus and General Talos.

- Far to the East, in the Amber Forest just outside Mournhold, a syffim of four weary Tsaesci are at long last bound for home. They are the immortal, blood-drinking golden serpents of Akavir. For centuries they have acted as guardians to an Empire that no longer exists, bound by oaths made to the Emperor Reman I who spared their lives when Akavir invaded Cyrodiil in the First Era. Vershu, their Captain, has called himself the Chevalier Renald ever since his failure to prevent the assassination of Reman III at the hands of the Morag Tong. In the Amber forest Renald comes across a blind sorceress named Erinwe, who is secretly a manifestation of the Goddess Kynareth. Erinwe tells Renald of Talos and his discovery of the Amulet of Kings. Seeing his oath renewed in the advent of a new dragonborn, Renald and his syffim forego their voyage home and turn west toward Cyrodiil. While journeying through the Valus Mountains, Renald and his syffim encounter Cyrodiil’s last known dragon, Nafaalilargus. Renald enters into a bargain whereby, in exchange for their lives, he and his syffim will introduce Nafaalilargus to the new dragon Emperor. After many weeks of travel Renald and his syffim reach Cyrodiil only to be pressed into service to Cuhlecain, who determines to use them as entertainment for his subjects on the sands of the Arena.

YEAH !!!! DESTRI IS BACK !!!!!! WOOO HOOO !!!!!!


WOOOOOOOOOOOT !!!!

Welcome back!

Let's hope the act of writing this wonderfully detailed summary of a wonderfully complex story gets the creative juices flowing again. May your well of inspiration fill with the waters of life.

Your story has caused me to return several stacks of library books unread. I’d simply rather spend time with this one. When Arnand slumped to the dock in Saintsport, there was a great deal of shouting, wailing, and slamming shut of laptops in Grits World. I was upset. After a period of sulking, and then mourning I returned to discover I should have just kept reading!! Your story summary makes me want to go back and enjoy it again from the first post. In fact, here I go.

I honestly haven't decided Farenenre's fate yet. I keep going back and forth betwen three very different ideas.
Let's see #1- Talos kills him. #2- Cuhlecain kills him. #3 - Farenenre drinks this, and his id goes on a rampage that lays waste to the Imperial City. In the end, only this guy can stop him.

Pretty much my reaction too. Good to have you back

I have greatly missed your magnificent talent and graciousness, my friend, and it is indeed a joy to have you once again treating us to Interregnum.

I so appreciate the summary, and shall gratefully refer to it often, I'm sure. As you know, I read from an odd perspective. Interregnum will always hold a special place:

1. The battle did not go well for the cat ones. And there came a time afterward, in the shadow of death, that surrender negotiations took place within a canvas chamber upon a hill. My heart was in my throat as a small and fearful sweet roll witnessed the proceedings. Its poor life was in grave jeopardy the entire time as it was passed around and offered for sacrifice. What a moment of triumph that our beautiful sweet roll survived. I will never forget that.

2. The scent they encountered in the damp still air of the dungeon, although not smelled for ages, was instinctively familiar to the snake men. Bravely, they advanced until the magnificent resident of the dungeon revealed himself. The elf on my shoulder still gets chills to this day as she recalls being sniffed up and down by none other than. . . a dragon. The awe and magnificence of that scene is forever etched in our memories.

And I am still waiting for the Flin Negotiations!

.....the wolf pads into the room through the open door. Slipping past a dozen legs he spies a place close to the roaring fire. Nobody notices him as he settles down, placing a broad snout onto his paws. The crowd is listening to the bard who sits in the corner. Light and shadow are playing upon the edge of the man's worn cowl as he weaves his tale with a soft yet insistent voice. The wolf closes his eyes, he is content to be at home, his master has returned.....

mALX – Thanks as always for the warm response. And thank you again for the constant pick-me-ups while I was overworked, blocked, and feeling worthless. You ROCK, mALX!

hautee – You know it actually worked! Writing the summary got me back into the ‘voice’ of Interregnum and I was able to finish this chapter that has given me so much trouble. Thank you for the benediction!

Grits – A very belated welcome to Interregnum! I hope your family wasn’t subject to your sulking and mourning. If they were then please express my sincerest apologies. To all of those unread library books I can only say, in all modesty, HA!!!

‘Rosa – It occurs to me that Farenenre’s id doesn’t need much help. But I would pay to see a fight between Godzilla and Nafaalilargus! I haven’t forgotten your bottle of Flin. It is currently aging in a well-appointed wine cellar in Vvardenfell.

Linara – Thank you for the welcome. It feels good to be back.

Acadian – What can I say to that!? I am truly touched by your kind words. So much so, that I barely have the heart to remind you that the poor sweetroll didn’t survive (oops). It met its lamentable end under Lord Ri’Dargo’s fangs. Your comments reminded me of those that I made in your thread upon your return. I would say that we are more than even.

Winter Wolf – No matter how many legs are gathered in the room, there will always be a comfortable place for my favorite wolf near the fire.





7th First Seed, 2E 854
The Arena, Imperial City
Mid-Day


The ogres fared worse than the trolls.

Under the rumbling echoes of a darkening sky the Tsaesci split their forces, and each claimed higher ground by climbing up the pillars. From there they used their speed to strike down upon the plodding ogres, whose attempts to grab and bludgeon them were as effective as trying to punch a waterfall. In this manner it took only a few passes up the pillars for the Tsaesci to make short work of their opponents.

In the Emperor’s box, Prior Sanne could not contain his emotions.

“Die, Oblivion take you! Why won’t you die?”

“Perhaps because they are immortal,” said Synnius Carbo. “That is now six talents of gold that you owe me, would you care to try for twelve?”

“If it bleeds, it can die,” said Prior Sanne, “the Tsaesci are not the exception to that rule.”

“Does that mean you renew your wager?”

Zurin Arctus could almost hear the scales balancing in Prior Sanne’s mind. Twelve talents of gold could break most men. But, however conflicted the Prior might be, it was as nothing compared to the war raging in the mind of the Tsaesci standing behind him.

The Tsaesci had risen upon his tail to a height which dwarfed all others in the box. The lamplight reflected off those golden scales accentuated tensed muscle and under slitted eyes a forked tongue darted in and out of his mouth with frantic intensity.

The sound of the lowering gate drew all attention back to the Arena sand. Three minotaur lords emerged from the pens and lumbered toward the waiting Tsaesci. Each bellowed a challenge through ringed nostrils, and each brandished an ebony warhammer with one hand. The sight of them steered Prior Sanne’s decision, and sealed his fate.

“Twelve talents,” he said.





7th First Seed, 2E 854
The Temple of the One, Imperial City
Dusk


The shadows had lengthened inside the cavernous hall of the Temple. Light from the single shrinking candle only served to accentuate the enveloping darkness beyond the reach of its flickering glow. Apelles Mero used that darkness as a cloak to further darken his pensive countenance. He slowly released the breath that he did not remember willing himself to hold.

“What was the Emperor’s reaction to all of this?” he asked.

“The Throne was silent through all that I have just relayed,” said Zurin Arctus. “I found it strange at the time.”

“At the time, but not now?” asked Mero.

“Do not seek to interpret my words. I still find it strange. However, time and distance have reduced my consternation.”

A half smile formed on Mero’s lips. “I think we are both too old to believe that, Master Arctus. But your feelings in this regard are irrelevant to this investigation, so I shall not press the issue.”

Arctus gave a conciliatory nod.

Mero rose from his seat. “Is it safe to say that General Talos shared your consternation?”

“I find it odd that for so formal an inquiry you would ask such a question,” said Arctus, “I am in no position to speak to the General’s state of mind.”

“That is something else we disagree on, Master Arctus,” said Mero “and this is not the Council Chambers. My choice of question is not bound by protocol.”

“Be that as it may, I still cannot speak intelligently in regards to what the General thought several hours ago.”

“But you can speak intelligently about what you saw,” said Mero. “Would you please continue?”





7th First Seed, 2E 854
The Arena, Imperial City
Mid-Day


Even so far removed Arctus could see that the tactic used to defeat the ogres would have no success against the minotaurs. The height of the creatures, combined with the augmented reach given to them by their warhammers made such a strategy untenable. Even if the Tsaesci could gain respite on top of the pillars, the minotaurs had the tools and the brains to simply knock them down.

In the row in front of him Prior Sanne began to fidget in his chair.

“My fortune turns,” said the Prior, “Tsaesci skill cannot hope to defeat the brute strength of the minotaurs. You may yet leave here emty-handed, Carbo.”

Arctus turned his attention toward the throne next to the two prattling councilmen, but if the Emperor gave any thought to their exchange it was hidden from view by the back of that enormous chair. Directly in front of Arctus Lord Farenenre’s attention had been drawn to the Tsaesci standing in the back of the box. The Altmer’s forehead glistened, and his eyes were transfixed upon the golden serpent that towered above them all.





7th First Seed, 2E 854
The Imperial City Prison, Imperial City
Evening


The guard that led him down the hall walked with a limp, and had used mint and lavender to try and mask the smell of cheap wine that emanated from him. The voice that sounded through his ruin of brown gums and stained teeth gave no hint of education, and carried with it such a suggestion of cruelty and distemper that Mero found himself wishing for a sword.

“Don’t get a lotta you Temple types in here,” he was saying. “Even with all the prayin’ goin’ on the Gods don’t give this place no never mind.”

Mero could understand why. Staggered torchlight only seemed to accentuate shadows that embraced him with a sudden chill. The dim light reflected off of substances on the ancient stone that attested to generations of torture and despair. The air reeked of blood, sweat, bile, and filth. In the cells they passed pale, bent, and broken figures huddled on ruined cots awaiting further torment. If this is who we are, Mero thought to himself, is it any wonder that the Gods choose to hold us at arm’s length?

“It is not the Gods who sentence men to prison,” he found himself saying. “Prayers of the penitent are always heard, and they are always met with favor.”

“That’s good to know,” said the guard, “’cause this place is just filled with penitents, I see to that.”

“I have no doubt. And I am sure that the Gods will reward your efforts accordingly.”

They stopped at the end of the hall. Both of the facing cells held a sight alien to Mero’s eyes. Neither the dim torchlight nor the clinging shadows could obscure the brilliant glow of the Tsaesci’s scales. They sat, if one could use such a word, in the middle of their respective cells facing each other across the width of the hallway. Their tails were folded and coiled underneath them, and they held their chests erect and defiant. Each of their torsos swayed to and fro in silent meditation. Forked tongues danced under open, yet unfocused, slitted eyes.

Mero turned toward the guard. “I thought there were four.”

“Other ones’ got a special cell . . . Emperor’s orders.”

Mero regarded the two captive serpents. “I’ll speak to this one. Open his cell.”

“Begging pardon, priest,” said the guard, “these ain’t Argonians. A Tsaesci could wrap itself ‘round you and choke you out before Mara’s name was off your tongue. They live off blood. They could sink those fangs and drain you dry quickier’n I could mention it. Then I’d have two fresh Tsaesci wandering my hall. You can ask your questions through the bars, sir.”

“In that case I would appreciate some privacy,” said Mero.

The guard snorted something unintelligible and stalked back down the hall. Mero turned toward the closed cell, and the Tsaesci meditating within.

“I am Apelles Mero, Shrine Sergeant for the Temple. I am investigating the death of Prior Sanne. May I ask you a few questions?”

The Tsaesci continued to sway.

“Your name is Eesham-Sha, is it not?”

The swaying stopped. The forked tongue disappeared into his mouth. His eyes gained sudden clarity and focus. Mero stood transfixed in the Tsaesci’s gaze. Behind those eyes he saw a mixture of defiance, resignation, and indifference. But it was the sorrow that lay underneath that kept Mero’s attention and caused a wave of empathy so sudden and intense that his breath was captured in its wake.

But then it was gone. The Tsaesci’s eyes glazed over and he went back into his sway. His tongue once again danced in the dim torchlight.

Mero sat on the stone floor. He faced the Tsaesci and silently cursed the heavy iron bars that separated them.

“My Gods are not yours,” he said, “I am in no position to judge you in that regard. Nor could I possibly understand the sacrifices that you and your fellows have made in a land so far removed from your own. I seek only to understand why your Chevalier Renald chose to commit such a crime.”

“Crime?” the Tsaesci was staring at him. “You consider Vershu’s actions to be a crime?”

“Eesham!” the Tsaesci behind Mero whispered. The sound caused the priest to jump.

Mero kept his focus on Eesham. “Vershu?”

Eesham’s tongue darted from a closed mouth. A long silence passed before he spoke. “How did you know my name?”

“I know that both Renald and Chirasch were taken to a special cell by order of the Emperor. I had a one in two chance of guessing which of you was which.”

Eesham nodded. “The Chevalier Renald is a name of his choosing, though it demeans him. To me he is my lord, my captain, Vershu . . . and I will suffer none to see him differently. If you can understand that, then you can understand us, and your question is answered. Are you willing to indulge a question of mine, priest?”

“Of course,” said Mero.

“The one who was slain wore vestments identical to yours, yet you do not mourn him. If he was without honor then why is his removal considered a crime?”

Mero’s silence in the darkened hall was more eloquent than words.

“I see,” said Eesham. “You do not believe that a crime was committed.”

“Will you tell me what you saw from the sands?” asked Mero.

“To what end? Despite your personal feelings you are still forced to conduct your investigation. You lack the power to influence events on your own behalf, how can we expect you to influence them for us?”

“I seek only to know the truth,” said Mero.

Eesham’s eyes moved beyond Mero to the cell across the hall. The priest turned and saw the eyes of the other Tsaesci regarding him.

“Xarsien?” Eesham asked.

Xarsien addressed the priest. “You have shown us a respect that we do not often receive from your kind. More importantly, you represent an Empire that we are still bound by oath to serve. Tell him Eesham.”





7th First Seed, 2E 854
The Arena, Imperial City
Mid-Day


“On me,” said Chirasch.

Eesham and Xarsien formed around Chirasch, and faced the oncoming minotaurs. Each of them dug their tails into the bloodstained sand in anticipation of the assault to come.

“We should not bunch together,” said Xarsien. “If we allow the creatures to surround us we are doomed.”

“Agreed,” said Chirasch. “What do you suggest?”

“We must determine the battlefield. The Arena floor is vast; let us use that to our advantage . . . three of them, three of us.”

Chirasch nodded. “Eesham?”

“I will take the ugly one on the left,” said Eesham.

“And I will take the one on the right,” said Xarsien.

As one the three Tsaesci used their tails to propel them from their position on the sand. The boisterous Arena crowd was witness to the flight of three golden serpents. Chirasch’s leap carried him backwards, and he landed near the gate from which they had entered. He used the point of his dai-katana to form a thin trench in the sand before him, and bellowed a challenge to the oncoming minotaurs. The flights of Eesham and Xarsien carried them to opposite sides of the Arena floor. They turned and slithered toward each other, closing the minotaurs within the vise.

But, unlike the trolls and the ogres, the minotaurs were not beggars to their own demise. Two of them turned and charged toward Eesham, raising those heavy hammers with an ease that would give even the stoutest heart pause. The third turned his attention to Xarsien.

Chirasch did not hesitate. With a speed that rendered the crowd to admiring silence he slithered toward Eesham’s position, but the angle was wrong. Before he had covered even half the distance Eesham knew that he could not arrive in time. Chirasch wound up the span of a pillar that loomed in the sand before him. He used his tail to gain flight just as a finger of lightning rent the gray sky above him, and gave all those gathered a fleeting view of Aetherius hiding behind the shroud of the mundas.

Eesham turned his attention to the first of the two minotaurs. The creature brought his warhammer down in a crushing blow. Eesham contorted himself to an impossible angle to avoid being crushed while landing a slashing riposte with his twin katanas to the minotaur’s exposed flank. The maneuver was extraordinary in its boldness, which was evident by the collective gasp elicited from the crowd, but it left Eesham off balance. The second minotaur was bearing down on him, his warhammer already beginning to swing. In that fearsome piece of metal Eesham saw his own destruction. He raised his katanas in what he knew was a feeble attempt to block, and turned his head to steal himself from the pain that he was sure would follow. His eyes closed against the impact.

The sky emitted a rumble that shook the whole of the Arena. Beneath that sound was the high whine of Akaviri steel. As the rumble subsided Eesham felt a warm rain pelting his scales. There was a loud thud in the sand behind him, as if a boulder had been dropped from a great height. He opened his eyes.

The minotaur crumpled to his knees not two paces in front of him. The creature’s cry of anguish could be heard throughout the Arena, and caused the crowd to explode in a frenzy of cheers and whistles. Eesham saw that the minotaur clutched at a right wrist that ended in a stump. Blood showered from the wound and covered them both in a torrent of red. Eesham turned. Behind him the head of the warhammer was half-buried in the sand. A giant, gnarled hand still clung to the up-raised handle and dripped blood to a spreadind stain below. To his left Eesham heard the sounds of battle. He turned toward the sound and saw that Chirasch’s dai-katana dripped blood, and that he had already engaged the other minotaur.

Adrenaline caused a rush of relief and euphoria to flood his system. Eesham lifted his head and gave voice to the sensation, but the sound was lost in the din of the crowd. His katanas felt like feathers in his hands. His darting tongue tasted the sweet ambrosia of blood which further quickened him. To his left Chirasch was dodging the minotaur’s winding blows. Eesham felt the impact of the minotaur’s hammer whenever it found purchase in the sand. Euphoria gave way to determination, and the adrenaline propelled him toward the fray.

Eesham leaped upon the exposed back of the minotaur and wound his way toward the creature’s head. While Chirasch redoubled his attack from the ground Eesham wrapped his tail around the minotaur’s neck and began to squeeze. The creature could find no adequate defense against either assault and bellowed with rage and frustration. Eesham raised his katanas and brought them down into the minotaur’s exposed shoulder blades. There was a brief instant of jarring impact before the thick flesh gave way and the blades sunk deep. He lifted them out of the minotaur’s flesh and forced them home again, and again. The creature’s ragged breathing produced blood bubbles from both nose and mouth. Its legs gave way and collapsed the behemoth to the sand. Eesham squeezed with all of the strength he could muster. The cheering crowd was reduced to a muffled roar at the edge of hearing. Black spots began to play at the corner of his vision.

The veins in the minotaur’s neck ceased to pulse beneath his tail. The eyes and tongue bulged from a heavy head rendered lifeless. The strain of exertion and the attendant rush of blood through his head made Eesham giddy. He felt the cool shower of falling rain that washed the minotaur’s blood from his scales. Chirasch loomed before him with a lowered sword. Eesham slowly began to uncoil and grinned up at his brother.

Chirasch’s eyes narrowed, and he moved with such speed that Eesham could not follow him. He felt the impact of Chirasch’s hands against his chest and then he was airborne. Behind him he heard the grim impact of heavy metal against flesh. For a brief moment sky and sand seemed to switch places. His flight reached painful conclusion with the taste of bloody sand. He heard Xarsien’s cry from far off to his right. He turned and saw Xarsien moving toward them with a frantic haste, his own minotaur all but forgotten. He turned away from Xarsien, back toward Chirasch. The surging crowd engulfed all sound, but through the misty haze before his eyes Eesham saw a blood-soaked minotaur pounding a heavy warhammer into a prostrate golden figure nearly buried in the sand. Two hands held the hammer, even though the creature’s right arm ended in a stump.

Screams of shock and anguish resounded from the Emperor’s box. Movement from that direction lifted Eesham’s eyes to the sky above. Through stinging raindrops he saw a golden figure framed against the angry clouds. The figure was using his tail to steer his descent, and his drawn katana dripped blood.

“Vershu!” Eesham whispered.

Destri's Back! Huzzah for the return of Interregnum!

Just wanted to point out one thing:



Tsaesci mind-set at its finest. A recognition of the harsh realities of the world.