This is me. This is me when I saw that Interregnum had been updated. This is me when I realized the update actually contained a full chapter.

Oh, where to begin? Let's start with the one nit I did see: It seems to me that steel would be a better choice, as it indicates that he was braced for the blow, unless you meant steal in the sense that he would escape the pain.

Now on to the great parts:

I loved this simile!

This is a great example of how one must always assess each and every one of his opponent, as every one is individual in their way of fighting.

What a clear and concise description that brings to mind a more complete image of the guard than any trite catalogue of his physical features including eye color, hair color, height, etc could conjure up!


So much happens in these brief moments that the reader gains an immediate sense of the relative dominance of these two characters.

I'm with Cap'n Hammer on the passage he pointed out. Very effective.

I'm not going to quote the entire final combat sequence, but I will say that it was outstanding writing and truly inspiring!

Great to see this continued! I love this piece and was missing it. The summary was a good move, you've woven quite a complex story here and it brought me up to speed well.

Those tsaesci are tough... That's there's still four of them after that is impressive.

I like how you're telling this part. Mero is an interesting character, I don't see where he fits in yet but I suspect he has more of a role to play than bringing this out. It's a great way to introduce him.

I want to know what happens next...

** mALX wakes up from a dead faint ** GAAAAAH !!! The battle ... imprisoned ... the Chevalier Renald ... gobble, gobble ...

The second interregnum of Interregnum is over, and the King has returned!

“If it bleeds, it can die,”
Conan imparts his wisdom. Oh wait, that was a different Ahnold character...

Twelve talents of gold could break most men.
Seeing that the Roman talent was 71 pounds, this is literally true!

I loved your description of the prison, and especially of the toothless guard.

If he was without honor then why is his removal considered a crime?
Well put!

the minotaurs were not beggars to their own demise
An excellent phrase!

So now we get down to it. Minotaurs it is. That last one was certainly a surprise, using his hammer one-handed!

The continued onslaughts in the arena make one thing perfectly clear. This is not an exposition, the Emperor showing off his shiny new servants to the public. Rather it is an execution. It is no wonder that Vershu finally reached his limit, slew the priest to show the Emperor what he thought of his honor, and took his rightful place, at the side of his serpents in battle. There is a powerful juxtaposition between the two, revealing the depths of honor that they each possess or lack. On one hand we see that Vershu understands that an oath of allegiance goes both ways between follower and leader. Just as the former is bound to serve the latter, the latter is bound to protect and nurture the first. Emperor Cuhlecain clearly has no understanding of this. Only of murder. If this display of Cuhlecain's total lack of honor does not drive Vershu directly into Talos' camp, nothing will.


nits:
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.
This sentence really goes on. Perhaps you might break it up into two or three smaller sentences?

Forgive the faulty recollection of our poor sweet roll. I'm unsure whether to blame my age, my elf's hair color or try to concoct a theory that the event of its demise must have been so dramatic that I have blocked out the poignant plight of the poor pastry's pain.

There is always treasure in this story, but not in the form a sweet roll this time. The exquisite gem for me in this episode was found here:
'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.'

And of course a heart pounding scene in the Arena where you so effectively display the power, cunning and speed of the Tsaesci.

So wonderful to have you back!

Ahh...I love reading this. It just gets better. Everyone else has picked out the best passages, but the whole thing overall was brilliant. You have done a good job of giving us a glimpse into the mind and emotions of Vershu, and that only heightened this last chapter. Excellent.

My interest in Mero has been growing with each candlelit chat, but it had been eclipsed by the other characters and fascinating events until the beginning of the Arctus interview. And then on the way through the prison:

After that he could stand between Eesham and Xarsien and still be visible. I’m sure Vershu/Renald and the syffim have a lot of stories. I would read every one of them.



Aaaaaah, noooooo!!!


Oh. Never mind. I’m a little too close to the edge of my seat!! By the end of this section, I found myself echoing Eesham's whisper.

Book One: Morning Star

I am very much enjoying reading about this important year in Tamriel's history. Your writing reflects just how grand the scale of what is happening here really is.

-We started with a lone mage venturing forth into Oblivion to make a deal with Clavicus Vile. For what, who might possibly know? All we do know is that someone's soul has made the bargain, and knowing that stubby Satyr, it must be someone dear to the mage.

-Next, the deal with Mannimarco (and not that idiot wannabe we saw in Oblivion). An afflicted wife drives a man to the blackest depths of Nirn to save her. I really find myself wondering if it is in his best interests to trust the Worm King. He is the most powerful necromancer the world has ever seen (and again I refuse to acknowledge he was defeated in Oblivion), it would be child's play to convert this lonely and desperate husband to a loyal servant.

-The Battle of Black Boot: very well done on this one. Indeed it seems Talos fought this battle mostly for political reasons. Now that he has negotiated peace with Elsweyr after a long conflict, he will be a hero of the people, and practically untouchable. I can certainly see him taking advantage of his celebrity status to usurp the throne. I have a feeling that by the time this tale ends, I will find myself wondering if Talos is worthy of his divinity.

Oh, by the way, is Cyrodiil a jungle or a temperate forest here? I ask because recently, Bethesda decided to bull(censored) ret-con that lore with this:I really do hope this does not happen here, because even with his status as a Divine, the Aedra never had the capability to alter the land which Lorkhan created. I simply cannot see Talos with his stolen God-hood having such power the Aedra do not.

Everyone – I am so sorry for all the delays. Some of it I can attribute to RL and scheduling conflicts, and there is a small part of it that I can hang squarely on Bethesda for ret-conning the lore of the Dragonborn (Thanks a LOT, Todd! ) which has resulted in my having to rethink a significant portion of the story. However, most of it is due to author laziness and insecurity. Here at long last is the conclusion of the longest day ever. I hope that this third interregnum of Interregnum proves to be the last.

Captain Hammer – As always you cut right to the heart of the matter. And thanks for the kick in the a$$! If GRRM can finish Dance I can finish Interregnum.

hautee – Hopefully I won’t give you further reason to miss this story so much in the future (but I must say that I loved the emoticons ). I meant ‘steal’ in the second sense (as a way to escape the pain). I liked the play on words and decided to go with it. The description of that guard was my favorite thing in the chapter too.

Olen – Ask and ye shall receive. The fact that you’re posting again means that I need to get off my backside and get to work. You will be seeing more of Mero. He has a vital part to play toward the end of this story.

mALX – One of the most beautiful sounds I can imagine is you gobbling like a turkey! Thank you.

SubRosa – I loved your assessment of Vershu and Cuhlecain. I think that one thing that Talos comes to realize in this chapter is that there is method to the Emperor’s madness, but I don’t want to give too much away.

Acadian –

That had me on the floor! Tell you what, I won’t mention it if you don’t. I may venture off from time to time, but rest assured I will always return.

Linara – Thank you so much! I only hope that I can sustain your level of enjoyment.

Grits – You have no idea how gratifying your comments about Mero are. Why not? Because, lazy ingrate that I am, I never told you. Well, consider yourself told. That was my exact intent in presenting the narrative through his POV.

TK – A very belated welcome to Interregnum:

- You’re right; it is someone dear to Lattia, though she doesn’t know it yet.
- We see Mannimarco the same way. The KOW is always on the lookout for servants, but he has his eyes on someone else.
- It is my experience that all saints have feet of clay. I don’t see Talos being different.

I honestly haven’t thought too much about the topography of Cyrodiil. But the passage you quote comes from those willing to attribute all sorts of miracles to the benevolent power of Tiber Septim. According to the Pocket Guide, First Edition (written just after the timeframe of this story) Cyrodiil’s center is:







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


A hush fell upon the crowd. The only sounds were the impact of the rain and the louder impact of the minotaur’s hammer as it crashed down upon Chirasch’s motionless body. A blinding flash brought light to the gray, churning sky. For a brief instant it lit the gathered thousands whose attentions were held toward the Emperor’s box. Their faces were frozen in a mixture of horror, shock, and disbelief.

Eesham’s tail did not heed his desire to move. He remained transfixed by the grisly sight unfolding before him. He could hear Xarsien’s cry somewhere behind the falling rain, but it was still off in the distance. Behind that he could hear the heavy footfalls of the third minotaur giving chase, but that didn’t matter. His eyes remained rooted to the minotaur’s savage hammer, and he watched as it met with wet impact against Chirasch’s flesh again, and again.

The sharp whine of Akaviri steel cut through the sound of the falling rain. It was followed by the minotaur’s gurgled cry of pain and surprise. The hammer ceased its destructive rise and fall. The minotaur’s right arm lifted, but the bloody stump that ended it could not check the deep channel that had sprouted on the side of its neck. Blood erupted from the wound, showering the sand with a thick arterial spray. In the left hand the hammer wavered, and then fell from shaking fingers. A soft thump and a golden blur that rolled and uncoiled heralded Vershu’s arrival on Arena sand.

“Eesham!”

The sound of his captain’s voice was attended by the heavy rumble of thunder and the sudden explosion of the crowd. The cheers that had attended their previous displays of skill had transformed into screams and bellowed cries, but the noise was enough to check Eesham’s paralysis. Still, his voice croaked when he tried to speak. “My lord?”

Vershu’s voice was fire and steel. “Blood, Eesham . . . Chirasch must feed. Attend your brother!”

Centuries of training took hold. The order had been given, the order would be obeyed. Eesham’s tail propelled him toward his fallen comrade. Once again he heard Vershu’s voice over the rush of blood in his ears.

“Xarsien, attend Chirasch! This final beast is mine!”

Eesham reached Chirasch’s side. Behind him he heard the last minotaur’s heavy footfall and labored breath. His tongue captured the fresh scent of death in the air, but whether it was from Chirasch’s prone body on the sand before him or from the vanquished minotaur with blood oozing from wounds to its wrist and neck he could not say.

“Eesham?” Xarsien had reached his side.

Eesham could not lift his eyes to meet Xarsien’s, nor could he bear to rest them on Chirasch. He looked to the minotaur that Vershu’s blade had vanquished. “Blood, Xarsien. We must risk moving him, the minotaur still bleeds.”

As one they bent to lift their fallen comrade. Chirasch’s scales had grown cold. His limp, broken form left a shallow furrow in the sand as they conducted him the short distance separating them from the dying minotaur.

“His spirit has gone,” said Xarsien, “only the shell remains.”

“Blood will call it back,” said Eesham, some part of him still believed it. “It must.”





7th First Seed, 2E 854
Reman Plaza District, Imperial City
Evening


It took several moments of knocking before Rielus realized that it was the door and not the terrible commotion upstairs that now threatened his repast. In truth the sudden crashing and the yelled curses had dwindled to nothing over the last hour. Rielus saw this as an opportunity to ensure that the provisions on the General’s well-stocked table were not permitted to waste. Now this new knocking claimed his attention and fell upon his nerves with the insistence of the armorer’s hammer. Alorius is late, he thought to himself. He set aside the roast mutton that he had been devouring and took a sip of an amusing High Rock vintage to cleanse his palate.

The door opened on stubborn hinges to admit a gust of wind that carried with it the misty spray of the driving rain. Through the lamplight on the threshold Rielus saw a cloaked figure dripping on the doorstep.

“I am Apelles Mero, Shrine Sergeant of the Temple. I am investigating the death of Prior Sanne this afternoon, and I wish to speak with General Talos Stormcrown.”

“The General has retired for the evening,” said Rielus. “Perhaps your interview could be conducted during a regular hour?”

“I am under orders from the Emperor himself to complete my interviews before sunrise,” said Mero. “I am sure that General Stormcrown does not wish to defy his Emperor.”

Rielus moved aside.

Mero entered the residence and removed his cloak. Rielus turned and headed toward the stairs.

“I’ll wake the General,” he said, and then he mounted the stairs, leaving Mero standing on the threshold holding a sodden cloak which dampened the tile floor.

At the top of the stairs Rielus crossed the long hallway and presented himself at the General’s door. His knock was met by an irritated voice from within. “Enter.”

Rielus pushed the door open. The sight that met his eyes caused a gasp to escape his mouth so quickly that he was powerless to stop it. Chairs and tables had been upset and broken. The shrapnel lay strewn about the room. Flames licked along the mantle of the fireplace, and were fueled to that height by stacks of parchment and books that had been consigned therein. Clothing lay torn and trampled on the floor, which could not be seen through the debris that littered it. The curtains had been pulled, no torn, from the windows and draped unceremoniously over the wreckage of furniture. The walls were stained with the contents of shattered wine bottles. The jagged glass on the floor caught the light of the unquenched fire and sparkled. The smell of sweat, smoke, and spilled wine filled Rielus’ nostrils.

In the center of this storm of destruction, the light from the fire gave shape and shadow to the naked heaving form of General Talos, dripping with sweat, and seated on his haunches with his back to the door.

Rielus found his voice. “It’s Rielus, sir . . . Spearman Rielus. I’m sorry General, but there is a Temple investigator downstairs. He wishes to ask you some questions.”

No movement came from the figure on the floor. The only sound in the room was the crackle from the fireplace. Rielus fidgeted in the doorway, unsure as to whether he should repeat himself.

“Very well,” said Talos. He rose and turned toward the door.

Rielus saw the authority which he held in such esteem in the eyes of the man that faced him. Whatever fit of passion or despair that had wrought the carnage around them had been mastered. Talos had returned to himself. Rielus knew that soon the room would likewise be returned to its normal state. A wave of pride replaced the initial shock of having seen the result of such a fugue. As they held each others gaze Rielus knew that he was now privy to a sacred trust. He felt himself privileged to have seen this brief glimpse of the General’s fallibility.

“I will be down momentarily,” said Talos. “Please extend our hospitality to this investigator.”

“Yes sir,” said Rielus.





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


Zurin Arctus prided himself on his singularity of focus. One could not master the arcane arts with a wandering mind. Moreover, one could not ascend to the title of Imperial Battlemage by being prone to easy distraction. Yet sitting in the dining hall across the table from the regal form of Lady Varla Direnni was enough to tax any man’s concentration.

“. . . surprised that you decided to join me for dinner,” she was saying, “after the events of this afternoon I could certainly understand your need to postpone.”

Arctus drew inward, but he could not feel the tingle of magicka working upon him. That musical quality is just a natural condition of her voice, he told himself, not the byproduct of some form of Illusion. He could see why she carried the reputation for diplomacy that she did. He imagined that many important figures were held in thrall by the sound of her voice alone. How many alliances have been achieved by Clan Direnni simply because Lady Varla chose to speak?

Their eyes met across the table, and Arctus could see that Lady Direnni was waiting for his response to something lost in his reverie. He almost laughed out loud at the irony.

“Forgive me Lady Direnni,” he said, “the day’s events have claimed the lion’s share of my attention.”

“Your apology is unnecessary,” she said. “We have all been moved by events today. I am left wondering what will happen to the captive Tsaesci?”

Careful, Arctus told himself, here in the Palace such questions could be treacherous. “That decision belongs to the Emperor.”

A thin smile played at the corners of Varla’s mouth as she nodded. “Yes, I suppose it does.”

Lady Direnni’s attendant, the Altmer called Emero, entered bearing a bottle upon a tray. At Lady Direnni’s nod he began to pour the contents into Arctus’ cup.

“Cyrodiilic brandy,” Varla said, “a most intriguing libation. I am particularly fond of the bottle. Does it not look like those usually reserved for bearing potions?”

Arctus looked at the tilted bottle. It did indeed look like a potion. Then his eyes rested on the label. It was turned toward him and bore a message of four words written with a steady hand meant for his eyes alone.

The walls have ears.

“Yes,” said Arctus tearing his eyes from the bottle, “it does resemble a potion.”

Emero crossed the table and began to fill Varla’s cup. Her green eyes stayed locked upon Arctus.

“Now it is my turn to beg your forgiveness, Master Arctus. I realize that brandy usually marks the end of a meal, but I have never been one bound by the dictates of tradition.”

Admiration flooded through Arctus. Talos was right, she is formidable! The ‘dictates of tradition’ refers to the Emperor. She is testing me, do I dare trust her?

He made his decision. “Tradition is only something repeated long enough for people to become comfortable with it. In the end, the old is always replaced by the new.”

Varla raised her glass. “Your reputation for wisdom is not exaggerated, Master Arctus.”

“Neither is yours, Lady Direnni. I cannot remember the last time I enjoyed such charming company.”

“Perhaps when the Emperor has decided the fate of these Tsaesci we can look towards making you a more prevalent fixture here in the Palace.”

Prevalent? We? How far is she willing to take this? “I serve at the Emperor’s pleasure, Lady Direnni.”

“Your unquestioned loyalty speaks well of your Emperor,” she said.

Your Emperor! Arctus felt as if the temperature in the room had risen. He imagined himself hanging from a shallow ledge. Across the table Lady Direnni smiled.

“Allow me to express my gratitude for the concern you showed my family earlier.”

She chooses to throw me a rope. She will not push the issue, but now she knows that I know. “Your gratitude is appreciated, but you must know that the friendship of your family is vital to the survival of the Empire. I am hopeful that an alliance between us can be long and mutually beneficial.”

“As am I.” She nodded towards the door. Emero returned bearing a tray filled with assorted fruits and cheeses. He set the tray down upon the table and used a ladle to fill two chilled silver bowls.

“Something to amuse us while we wait for the soup,” she said.

Emero served him a bowl. Arctus looked upon the brilliant colors of a salad composed of grapes, strawberries, diced apples and pears. Running through it were thin, almost translucent slivers of cheese.

“This looks delicious,” he said.

“It is Emero’s specialty.” Emero bowed to the table, turned, and took his leave.

She waited until they were alone. “I was wondering if your knowledge of my family’s movements extended to my sister.”

Now we come to it. Arctus took a bite of his salad. The explosion of flavor from the sweet ripe fruit and the creamy cheese made measuring his words difficult. “We have had no word of Lady Lattia’s movements. Has she gone missing?”

Her self-control was admirable, but Arctus could detect her disappointment.

“I have had no word from her in months. You can understand a sister’s concern,” she said.

“Of course,” said Arctus. “To ease your concern I would be happy to make inquiries.”

“I would be grateful. Are you enjoying your salad, Master Arctus?”

He looked down into the silver bowl. It surprised him that the bowl was half empty. He nearly missed the small square of parchment, stained red and purple by the fruit, resting on the bottom of the bowl. It bore a message of five words, written with a steady hand, meant for his eyes alone.

Can Talos wear the Amulet?

Arctus looked across the table. Lady Direnni’s green eyes searched his for an answer. He felt his equilibrium shift, as if the rope extended to him had been cut. Is this a trap? How far should I trust her? He knew that he wagered all of their lives on the answer.

“Yes,” he heard himself say.





7th First Seed, 2E 854
The Arena, Imperial City
Midday


“Yes!” Prior Sanne bolted from his chair when the minotaur’s hammer made impact with the Tsaesci. He turned toward Synnius Carbo. His mouth stretched into a triumphant smile. “The first Tsaesci falls. I knew it was only a matter of time. Soon the others will fo- . . .”

His finished thought was lost to the whine of Akaviri steel. His head fell forward and his nose thumped upon the silk that swaddled his chest. His neck was gone, the spine severed, and his head was held to his shoulders by a few thin strands of skin and tendon that once formed his throat. The body twitched in spasms of reflex, then fell to its knees as blood erupted from the wound and doused the Emperor’s box.

Thunder shook the Arena, leaving in its wake the hysterical shrieks of Synnius Carbo and Farenenre. Lady Direnni shielded her eyes even as her attendant reached her side. General Talos found himself on his feet, though he could not remember standing. He felt himself bathed in protective light, and turned to see Arctus, hands glowing with magicka, standing behind him. Alorius lurched forward, naked sword in hand, to position himself between the Tsaesci and his General.

But the Tsaesci made no move toward them. He gained the edge of the balcony and, without so much as a backward glance, launched himself skyward. Talos marked the parabola of his flight, which merged with the torrent of blood erupting from what was left of Prior Sanne. For a brief instant it looked to his eyes as if the Tsaesci rode a wave of blood that crested and then fell toward the sand below. He moved to the edge of the balcony. The warnings coming from Arctus and Alorius were a dull buzz at the edge of hearing. He turned back towards them, but his gaze was intercepted when his eyes fell upon the Emperor.

And found him smiling.





7th First Seed, 2E 854
Reman Plaza District, Imperial City
Evening


“What was the Emperor’s reaction to this?” asked Apelles Mero.

Talos sat on the couch opposite him. “The Emperor was conducted from the box by his bodyguard. I never saw his reaction, but I imagine that he was outraged.”

Mero stood. “Thank you for your time, General. I believe I have all I need.”

“Not at all,” said Talos, “I hope I have aided your investigation.”

“The facts of this case appear to be clear. There is no disputing the guilty party.” He turned toward the door.

Talos rose and fell into step beside him. “On that we must agree to disagree.”

Mero stopped. “Off the record, General?”

Talos nodded.

“I believe we agree on the identity of the guilty party. Sanne was many things. A credit to the church was not among them.”

“You’ve spoken to the captive Tsaesci.” It was not a question.

They began to walk toward the door.

“Two of them,” said Mero donning his cloak. “Not Renald.”

“What do you think of them?” asked Talos

“I believe that they would honor any Emperor they served.”

Rielus stood from his post near the door and opened it, startling Captain Alorius who stood dripping on the threshold with his hand near the the latch. Behind him the rain still fell.

“This is my adjutant,” said Talos, “Captain Alorius. Alorius, this is Shrine Sergeant Apelles Mero.”

Alorius nodded a greeting.

“Prepare my carriage, Captain. There is no need for the Sergeant to brave the rain back to the Temple.”

“Yes sir,” said Alorius.

Mero raised his hand. “That will not be necessary, General. I don’t mind the rain. Thank you for your cooperation.”

He pulled the hood over his head and stepped into the storm. Talos watched him disappear into the night.

Alorius still stood on the threshold. “I apologize for the hour sir. Dar’Zhan lost his way in the sewers.”

“Were you successful?” asked Talos

“We searched under both Reman Plaza and the Elven Gardens. We found rats, goblins, and the occasional vampire. But we found nothing like the entrance to an old way into the Palace.”

“Try the Market District and Green Emperor Road,” said Talos. “Keep searching, it is there. Our lives depend upon you finding it.”





8th First Seed, 2E 854
The Imperial Palace, Imperial City
Dawn


Deep beneath the catacombs that run under the Palace the Chevalier Renald hung from iron manacles set into the ceiling of a darkened cell. His head was lowered, there was no fight left in him. That was not due to the repeated administrations of the Emperor’s more sadistic guards. Nor was it a response to the severity of his so-called crime.

Chirasch lay on the hard stone in front of him. They had not bothered to bind him, for he posed no threat. For hours Renald watched as the life slowly faded from his brother. For hours he pulled and strained at his bonds hoping against all logic that brute strength and willpower could defeat iron chains.

Renald did not hear the bells that tolled the morning. He did not see the sun rise against the dark clouds that marked the night. What he did see was the moment that Chirasch’s light faded, when his noble soul was recalled into the Dreamsleeve. A single thought ran unbidden through his mind, and he cursed himself again at the simple truth of it.

Now we are three.

Looking down at Chirasch’s lifeless body a profound weariness flowed through him, and made the act of raising his head an impossible chore. Hatred filled his heart and threatened to choke off his capacity to breathe. Tears threatened to fall from lidless eyes. To arrest them and to ease his suffering he did the one thing that he had not believed himself capable.

He blinked.

WHOOOOO HOOOOO! Destri the writer is baaaack!

The loss of Chirasch really, really hurts. The violence that accompanied his passing is understandable. I, too, would have slew the despicable Prior when he began gloating over the death of a comrade.

So Talos has his moments too, eh? Somehow the scene you describe fits the nature of Stormcrown as well as I've pictured him. A man with that much self-control has got to explode sometime.

So now Varla and Arctus are in cahoots together? At this point, I still think Arctus is loyal to Talos, but I suspect Varla not so much. She has her own agenda, and will stop at nothing to see it through. I just haven't figured her out yet.

And now we are three, indeed. My heart goes out to Renald and his remaining syffim.

Please, please o mighty Destri, don't keep us waiting so long again! I salute you for another well-written installment!

Heartpounding action, fury, intrigue. All masterfully told.

'He blinked.'
A powerful ending. Your ability to use understatement to stunning effect here reminds me of another of your passages. You used this one to open an episode:
'In the royal suite of the Imperial Palace, the Emperor Cuhlecain bathed in a solid gold tub and gave distracted audience to a snake.'

Welcome back!

Hail to the returning king baby!

I cannot recall if it was there before, but I just noticed this: Reman Plaza District, Imperial City. Why do I get the feeling that in about 39 years that plaza will have a name change?

He felt himself privileged to have seen this brief glimpse of the General’s fallibility.
Indeed, Talos has always been the picture perfect general who knows better than to ever show weakness or uncertainty before his troops. This gives us a glimpse into the true character of the man behind the legend.

Now that was an interesting meal! I wonder, how many calories are there in five words?

So Talos is searching for the Old Way? I wonder if that is so a certain Breton Nightblade can get into the palace at a later date? Or if perhaps he wants in sooner in order to make a grab for the Chevalier?



nits:
He remained transfixed by the grizzly sight unfolding before him
Did you mean grizzly, or grisly?

Don't forget that the Butcher (Jim Butcher, to be precise) finished Ghost Story. But more importantly, Mr. Destri RR Melarg:

Challenge accepted! Next segment of FMBFGFT due shortly. Time I stopped my active lurking and did something.

Now on to you!

“I will be down momentarily,” said Talos. “Please extend our hospitality to this investigator.”
You know how they say what goes on behind closed doors is nobody's business? Definitely true of the Dragonborn. The man-that-is-more-than-a-man has got undeniable style! I bet that if he were alive on earth today, he'd never be seen without either a uniform, combat gear, or a well-cut three piece suit.

The warnings coming from Arctus and Alorius were a dull buzz at the edge of hearing. He turned back towards them, but his gaze was intercepted when his eyes fell upon the Emperor.

And found him smiling.
Smug little b@$tard, in that the emperor is most definitely smug (and the Greek Tragedies tell you what happens when you've got Hubris), undoubtedly little (remind me, did his feet touch the floor when he sat the throne?) and of questionable birth (he definitely ain't Dragonborn!). Just a few more months (in Interregnum time, that is).

Alright, alright, enough from me. I have several stories to comment on, and an installment to write. Till then, enjoy the Bagpipes.

Woo, more Interregnum! I't always nice to see a new part here. Certainly Acadian hit the nail with how well you mix intregue, action and character interaction. The scene between Arctus and Varla was excellent, neither trusts the other and I'm not sure either is wholly loyal to anyone. The word snakes springs to mind, rather ironically given the snake people are the only ones who can be trusted. I await with interest to see if Arctus made the right choice and what the fall out from that subtly important scene is. The salad sounded tasty too, and revealed quite a lot to Varla.

Seeing Talos lose it, and ina style I would expect from him, was a great bit of character building for him and Rielus. Then moments later he's composed and himself again, quite the formiddable leader, I lok forward to seeing exactly what he's got planned. Whatever it is I suspect it will be surprising when it comes.

Then Reynald in the catacombs. You've done a good job of making a murdering (however much he had it coming), blood drinking snake man into a sympathetic character. I suspect the Emperor may have paid a greater price than he thought with that, though exactly what will happen and when. Well...

I tried it once and it worked... More Interregnum please?

First- let me dance around happily (although slowly, as befits an old doggie) at your return. And what a return it is! Woo Hoo! Just going to highlight a very few moments- else I would have to quote the entire post.

“His spirit has gone,” said Xarsien, “only the shell remains.”

“Blood will call it back,” said Eesham, some part of him still believed it. “It must.”

Wow.

The rage of Talos… I think Trey can rather relate to that. Must be that rumored “Skyrim blood.”

And you feed far more than our bellies with Varla’s supper.

"He felt his equilibrium shift, as if the rope extended to him had been cut."

I envy and admire the way you can keep the metaphor going- and it fits with how one would expect Zurin to think.

"For a brief instant it looked to his eyes as if the Tsaesci rode a wave of blood that crested and then fell toward the sand below."

If I ever grew up- I would love to be able to write like that. But I won't grow up- so I will just have to learn how you do it anyway.

"A single thought ran unbidden through his mind, and he cursed himself again at the simple truth of it.

Now we are three."

And why do I sense a foreshadowing of those who will become the first and finest of the Blades?

Simply wonderful, Destri!

Urgh! I'll bet the spectators will never forget that day in the Arena! Whew !! I am stunned that they fed on their fallen comrade, but Eesham's obedience to command and inner thoughts were powerful! And then the scene in the Royal box !!




I'm still unsure of what eventual role Arctus will play in your story because you hinted that you have a twist where he is concerned ... his character seems enigmatic (deceptively so) but the feeling is there is plenty brewing beneath the surface. (Of course there is, this is Arctus!!!)

Oh, and desperately seeking "The Old Way" - I love it !!! And I'd like to be a little bird listening to what is going through Talos' mind right now! Whew !! Awesome Write !!

A soft thump and a golden blur that rolled and uncoiled heralded Vershu’s arrival on Arena sand.

If I hadn’t been completely breathless, I would have been cheering. That’s just the soft thump we’ve been waiting to hear. The shallow furrow that Chirasch left in the sand has stayed in my mind. (I’ve read this part several times since Friday. ) Nothing is as limp as a dead snake, I can just picture Eesham and Xarsien trying to carry him.

And then:

It took several moments of knocking before Rielus realized that it was the door and not the terrible commotion upstairs that now threatened his repast.

Yay, Spearman Rielus, we know he loves his roast mutton, probably even better when reappropriated with some wine. The sweaty, naked General Talos sitting on the floor is another indelible image, wow. Followed by a delicate dance through the fruit salad. Lady Varla is formidable indeed, it was great to see her from Arctus’ POV.

Back in the Emperor’s box, was that the little smile that destroyed the General’s chamber? I got distracted by the golden snake-man surfing the blood wave in the lightening storm. I confess to picking myself up off the floor several times while reading this.

“What do you think of them?” asked Talos

“I believe that they would honor any Emperor they served.”

Gasp, what? *Grits goes back to read again from the beginning*

Renald and Chirasch in the cell was simply heartbreaking. I thought that:

Now we are three.

was one of the saddest things I had ever read, and then I got to:

He blinked.

There is a lot of blinking on my side of the screen right now, I can tell you.

hautee – I am embarrassed to admit the lengths that I went to in order to avoid writing that chapter. I absolutely hated killing Chirasch, but it was essential for what happens next.

Talos’ explosion has been a long time coming. I originally wanted it to occur during the Battle of Fort Black Boot, but there wasn’t a suitable moment for it.

Acadian – That last line was pure serendipity. It came to me on the final rewrite when I recalled Renald’s audience with Cuhlecain (which you so astutely pointed out). Cuhlecain pointed out to Farenenre that he saw great promise for his plans because ‘snakes don’t blink.’ Well, one just did.

‘Rosa – I am so glad that you caught the reference to Reman Plaza! In fact, the house that Talos now occupies undergoes a few centuries worth of additions and a name change as well. You know it as the Tiber Septim Hotel.

I think you will find that you are not far off track.

And thanks for catching yet another annoying nit.

Cappy – I’m still waiting!! Where’s the next segment of FMBFGFT? *Man, it felt good to be on the other side of that exchange for once!*

I think Talos (like George W.) would wear whatever the circumstance dictated. Need to show solidarity with the troops? Show up on the deck of the aircraft hanger in your flight jacket. Never mind that you intend to go back home and push through legislation to severely cut their medical benefits. Need to appear the man of the people? Do an interview from your ranch . . . Oh, never mind, he isn’t even President anymore!! Besides, Will can say it a lot better than I can!

Olen – You nailed the central irony of the story. The snakes are the only ones in this cauldron worthy of trust. I wanted to convey the fact that, despite his experience in diplomatic matters, Arctus is not immune to Varla’s considerable charm. However, Arctus didn’t really give away the store with his revelation. Her knowledge of Talos’ true station serves his end as much as it does hers.

More Interregnum coming right up.

trey - I was actually a little worried about that metaphor. I didn’t want to lay it on too thick but, as you said, it fit the way Arctus would think.

And you have nailed the bit of foreshadowing. Though how it happens is a card that I am keeping close to the vest for now.

mALX – I hope that part wasn’t too confusing. The Tsaesci would never feed on a brother. They carried Chirasch to the bleeding minotaur in order for him to feed and (hopefully) regain his strength.

As another who has been swallowed by RL this year, here’s hoping that you find your way free from the belly of that particular whale.

Grits – I hated to hit you with Chirasch's death most of all because you saw it coming in the last chapter. That little exchange between Mero and Talos is exactly how you interpret it. The Shrine Sergeant appears to have chosen a side.

And yes, that little smile did cause the carnage to the General’s bed-chamber. Talos has seen the method in Cuhlecain’s madness. Everyone else will have to wait a little longer because . . .

Everyone – Now that the longest day is over (Thank the Eight!) it’s high time to shift our gaze to some long neglected characters. We’ll get back to the Imperial City in time. I promise.







???
Apocrypha, Realm of Oblivion
???


Who am I?

At first she had trouble deciphering the lines of old Aldmeris within the borders of the ancient tome. But the lessons of a youth long forgotten are not easily discarded, and soon the book’s mysteries became apparent. With her recognition came the sense of detachment to which she had grown accustomed, dependent. It was followed by acceleration, that sense of traveling through space and time, always ending with the impenetrable mists that swirled around and through her until memory and revelation chose to part them.

This time she stood upon the Golden Hill and watched as thin stalks of flame danced through the trees of the darkened valley far below. Screams, laughter, and the deep rumble of great beasts broke the songs of nocturnal insects and the soft music the wind played as it moved through her hair. A small plume of fire cleared the line of trees and began to climb toward her vantage on the hill. As it grew closer she could see through it to the shape underneath. Realization gave way to revulsion; the scent of burning flesh assailed her nostrils. Rising screams confirmed her suspicion. The flame was not dancing.

It was running!

Where am I?

Her eyes were drawn to the stones that were arranged near where she stood. They formed the foundation of the great city still to come. She heard the Ayleidic words for Golden Hill as if spoken into her mind, though some small part of her knew that somewhere she was reading them on a page.

Sancre Tor.

Her eyes were pulled back into the valley. Behind the burning figure a horror of fangs and claws emerged from the brush. With a roar of triumph it launched itself upon its flaming prey. Steel-shod claws smothered the engulfing flames into submission, and ripped flesh from the tormented soul beneath. Screams gave way to the sounds of breaking bone and the almost gentle play of a harsh tongue over roasted flesh. Through the dying flame she could see the glow of amber eyes, the blood-soaked snout, and striped matted fur.

The sharp crack of a whip drew the tiger’s attention. A figure in golden armor waited impatiently just outside the curtain of trees. Its prize forgotten, the tiger bounded to its master's side and disappeared behind the shroud of leaves. The golden figure lingered and swept long platinum hair away from emerald eyes. Even from her vantage on the hill she could see that the golden figure wore her face.

What am I?

She was not alone on this Sancre Tor. The scrape of soft flesh on stone drew her attention to the foundation behind her. Even by human standards the girl she beheld was small. She wore the weathered rags and manacles of a slave, and her skin was kissed a golden brown by too many days working under the harsh rays of Magnus. Blood oozed from small bare feet and stained the stone she walked upon. It served as eloquent testimony to the frantic nature of her climb to this place.

But it was her eyes that held attention, and the way her body shook as if chilled by more than just the cold felt at altitude. This was no terrified mouse caught outside in the storm. This was a vengeful figure whose soul still stood firm long after the point of breaking. She knelt upon the stone and cast her eyes toward the Heavens. She whispered in quiet tones, continuing an interrupted conversation as her entire being continued to shake.

“And this thing I have thought of, I have named it, and I call it freedom . . .”

The wind began to swirl around the Golden Hill. The valley far below fell silent. For a moment she felt as if she were being drawn back to the endless stacks of books still unread. But there was no detachment, no acceleration. The only movement was the swirling wind around her, placed into motion by the words of the slip of a girl who knelt upon the stone. Those words and her form became lost to the stinging, blinding force of the zephyr. Before her vision was completely obscured she saw a figure emerge from the mists and reach out for the girl.

It was an old woman, tall, frail, and cloaked.

Silence fell upon the Sancre Tor. Swirling winds cloaked the girl in a fine mist of dust and soil that surrendered naught but her silhouette to the half-light. The vision of the old woman was gone, replaced now by a faint scrape that grew into a sharp report of steel against the stone. It soon became unmistakable.

Approaching hooves.

The girl’s silhouette shrank away from the sound. A black mass grew in the center of the maelstrom. Through eyes half-closed against the force of the wind she saw the mass take shape before the startled girl. From her vantage point she saw the top of the approaching shadow coalesce into the wide, upturned horns of a bull.

“Peace, girl,” the shadow spoke with the voice of a man. “Shrink not from my voice. Know that your words have not been in vain. Your blood has consecrated this stone, and your voice has moved my Lady to act.”

The girl’s voice was soft against the swirling wind. “What are you?”

“I am promise fulfilled. I am boon made manifest . . . I am Breath-of-Kyne. What are you?”

“I am but a simple slave.”

“Once perhaps, but no longer. What shall I call you?”

“Our masters do not permit us names, my lord.”

“Yet you have taken one, nonetheless.”

The girl hesitated. “Some call me Perrif.”

“Perrif is most appropriate,” said the horned shadow, “for it means ‘first of its kind’ in the elven tongue. I shall call you Paravania, and from this moment forth you shall forever be my Lady of Heaven. You may call me Morihaus, and I make you this promise. As payment for the name deprived you I shall see you wear many before your time is done. Your people shall worship you as I do. They will call you Al-Esh, which is the highest tribute known to their tongue. They will celebrate you as their First Empress, Queen ut Cyrod, Aleshut, Esha . . . Alessia.”





???
Apocrypha, Realm of Oblivion
???


She was back amongst the endless miles of books stacked all around her, and she was not alone.

“It pains me to see one so young so lost.”

The speaker was ancient, even by the standards set by this place. His gaunt form was bent at the waist, and was composed of pale skin stretched to near translucence over gnarled bone. Thin white hair hung like a shroud that engulfed him to the knees. A matching beard did more to obscure his sunken chest than the threadbare cloak that he wore. It also tried in vain to hide the cruel downward turn of his mouth. Amber eyes and pointed ears told of an Altmeri heritage, but time had faded that distinction to make him just another ghost amongst the stacks. She lowered her head.

“Do you hear me, child?” he said.

In the eternity of her existence she had never encountered a voice outside of the ancient tomes. There has been no blessed detachment, she thought to herself, no acceleration or swirling mist. She felt as one dreaming, with no control of event or circumstance. The figure before me could be no more than smoke given form. There is already so much that has been lost. To address the smoke would be to admit defeat.

The gaunt figure spoke again. “But what if I am real, child?”

What if he were real? He could tell me who I am. No, he cannot be. One cannot hold to oneself in this place. He . . .

Her head lifted of its own accord. She met his amber eyes, and was rewarded with a smile that lifted the down-turned corners of his mouth.

“You have not completely succumbed yet,” he said. “That is good.”

“You . . . read . . . my . . . thoughts?” Her voice sounded strange to her ears. She realized that she had no memory of ever using it before.

“That’s it, child. Hold on to that stubborn defiance of yours, it will serve you well in this place.” He took her by the arm and lifted her from the floor. “I read your thoughts, but your identity does not dwell within them. That is something that we shall have to find together.”

They began to walk. He led her through the endless stacks and past the unmoving ghosts of the readers.

“We?” she asked.

He stopped. “I have wandered among the stacks for years without number, child. Yours is the first living voice I have heard, and it is welcome. You are too young to share my fate or the fates of those who have approached these halls seeking knowledge. If you would have it, then I will aid you in finding yourself.”

She hesitated, and then nodded. “I would have it. Thank . . .”

“Save your gratitude, child. What I propose is no easy task.”

“But you have done it?”

“My path is not to be recommended. I regained my self when the stacks here lost their mystery.”

She could think of nothing to say, so they began to walk again.

He broke the silence. “Yes, child, I have been here long enough to read every tome in this realm, some more than once. By the reckoning of the world we left behind I have been here for several centuries. But time does not exist in this place. You have no memory of a world before this one, yet you have not been here very long.”

“You know how long I have been here?” she asked.

“I do not,” he said. He closed his eyes and took her scent. “You do not smell of dust and ink and ancient tomes. Your grey cloak marks you, and you smell of oassom trees, ocean, and sand. You smell of Artaeum.”

“Artaeum,” she repeated.

“Yes. Does it sound familiar?”

She shook her head.

“You are too young to be a master. And one could not find this place by accident. You were sent here, but why?”

“You know this Artaeum?”

He smiled. “I know it well. I called it home for many years, until my banishment here.” Once again he stopped. “Could you have been sent here to find me?”

“Sent by whom?”

“The Psijic Order, child. The Order to which you belong, and the Order which I led so long ago.”

He left her behind and began to march through the stacks with such speed that she had to run to keep up. She could barely hear his quiet mutterings.

“Could they have discovered Celarus’ treachery? But then why send one, and why a child? Is this Celarus taking pity on his old master? No, too much time has passed. Did she commit some crime? Did she bear witness to something?”

“Please,” she said, panting. “It is hard to follow you.”

He stopped. “I daresay it is, but you must if we are to discover the reason for your presence here.”

“I would be content just knowing my name.”

The smile returned to his face. “Then that is where we shall begin. Introductions. Until we have found your name I shall continue to call you ‘child’ if it pleases you.”

“And what shall I call you?” she asked.

He hesitated, and then nodded as if coming to some understanding. “You shall call me the name reserved for the lips of apprentices and slaves.”

“And what is that?”

“Master,” he said. “Master Iachesis.”





A/N: The lore holds conflicting accounts about the origin of Sancre Tor. According to The Legendary City of Sancre Tor, it was where Alessia received the divine inspiration for her rebellion. However, according to Remanada it did not exist until Alessia’s long dead spirit joined with the mortal King Hrol to beget a golden mound which grew for nine months before giving birth to the infant Reman I. For the purposes of this story (and out of concern for certain child endangerment laws) I decided to go with the first version of events.

As soon as I saw that little girl among the foundation stones of Sancre Tor, I knew she would grow up to be Alessia. What a terrific little scene of life before freedom! And I am glad to see how she met Morihaus, the bull.

And Lattia! How wonderful it is to see her again! Though we had to go searching Apocrypha to find her! The fact that Lattia witnesses Alessia's meeting with the Bull has set my mind running in disparate directions! But I will wait to see where you go with this and see which of my anticipations will bear fruit.

One of your descriptions didn't sit right with me. Skin doesn't become opaque (blocks light and appears solid) when it is stretched, it becomes translucent (light and sometimes shapes can be seen through it, like frosted glass). In very rare cases will it become transparent (absolutely clear to light, like window glass). I would use translucence in place of opacity in this case, if you are trying to convey the impression that his bones were visible through the skin. Also, bone isn't jagged unless it is broken, which would immobilize this gentleman. Instead, the ends of the bones (where skin is most often stretched) making up the joints would be knurled, or knobby, like the end of a mage's well-used staff. Jagged bone would just slice through thin skin.

Just my B.A. (biology) rearing its ugly head.

Other than that single sentence, I was completely immersed in Lattia's experience of and return from Apocrypha and her encounter with the Librarian.

Hmmm the formation of Sancre Tor, in most pieces I'd think that it was just a conveniant bit of lore to introduce Apocrypha with but it links to other events, and everything is always connected. As ever I find myself fascinated.

And then she meets an old master of the psijic order. I liked how you showed him, he feels like the years spent reading haven't been wholly kind to his sanity. Though he certainly must be very learned by now. And he can read thoughts, this could prove interesting.

The initial confusion blended well into the plot at least appearing, even if she doesn't know any whos or whys yet. Very well written, as ever, and I look forward to the next part.

What a wonderful glimpse into the beginning of the Alessian Revolution!

Better still however, was Lattia's encounter with Iachesis. It is amazing that he has been able to resist the effects of Apocryhpa. It must be as he said, that after reading all the books, he longer has any desire to learn more. I am sure being an ancient Psijic master helps though! I am eager to see where this goes!

I can see the trees, and that is good! The forest eludes me at this point of course, but I expect that is your intent. For I know Alessia and Morihaus primarily from my readings relating to Pelinal Whitestrake. And I know of Sancre Tor. I also know Lattia and seeing her again brought a smile. Why, it seems the last I saw of her, she was in the same place but reciting her name to herself lest she forget. . . . It seems she was not successful?

Reading Interregnum is always a fascinatingly mysterious experience.

“And this thing I have thought of, I have named it, and I call it freedom . . .”
This is great! In fact the whole scene setting the stage for this declaration was very evocative.

Nit? ’ The sharp crack of a whip drew the tiger’s attention. A figure in golden armor waited impatiently just outside the curtain of trees. Its prize forgotten, the tiger bounded to its masters side and disappeared behind the shroud of leaves.’
I suspect you wanted master’s vs masters here?

Finally we are finding out what happened to Lattia! ARGH !!! And the beginnings of Sancre Tor - although I liked Remanada's version and the image so clearly depicted of the soldiers (aghast at seeing their leader humping the mound of dirt all night long) - your version does meet the PG rating much better, lol. Awesome Write !!!

“And this thing I have thought of, I have named it, and I call it freedom . . .”

This was one of those gasp and goosebump moments.

I’m glad that Lattia has an ally in Apocrypha. Also a relief that Master Iachesis will not require her to follow his path. I found his admission that the stacks no longer held mystery for him to be quite chilling.

As usual by the time I finished this installment, I had a new reading list. King Hrol grinding himself to death in the dirt was an eye-opener.

Wow. Just wow. That's all I can say. I've been reading this for a few weeks and I'm finally all caught up. I hadn't been too knowledgeable on Tamrielic lore. Truthfully, I still don't know anywhere near everything but this story has been all too worth getting into it. See, it's one thing to play through the game and write stories based on that (which I LOVE just the same!) but it's something entirely different to breathe life into the actual history that makes this stuff so great. Keep. It. UP. Can't wait for more!

PS- I don't comment much at all, but I'll still be around

From a campsite in the Colovian Highlands a few leagues south of Elinhir, Hammerfell


“My friends ... I suppose that introductions, or re-introductions as it were, are in order. My surname is of little account. It is one of the many simple names worn by the fisher folk who infest the docks of Wayrest, and it is there that I chose to leave it many years ago. Those of you familiar with our story have come to know me as Alain...”

“Oh, get to the point Alain!”

“My apologies. At the insistence of my impatient friend and stalwart companion, Sir Valdemar of Skyrim, I come before you now to regale you with the lamentable fate suffered by our inconstant chronicler, Destri Melarg.”

“Inconstant is a diplomatic way to put it.”

“I see no reason to rub a salt pile into an open wound.”

“Then pass the salt!”

“In any event, on the morning of 12 November last Destri was blindsided by an ancient Dragon called Alduin.”

“I believe there is a song about him now. How does it go?

When brothers wage war come unfurled
Alduin, bane of kings, ancient shadow unbound
with a hunger to swallow the world!

”

“Yes, well this was a literal fact in Destri’s case. Not only did Alduin devour the gossamer strands of lore that Destri worked to incorporate into Interregnum, but his appearance and subsequent popularity laid waste to Destri’s desire to remain a citizen of Tamriel. In effect, Alduin swallowed the world for Destri Melarg.”

“And he swallowed us with it! But you and I are proving difficult to digest.”

“Indeed. We have spent nigh unto a year trying to plead, cajole, beguile, and berate Destri into lifting his pen against the monster. He once told us that there is a saying in your world that ‘the pen is mightier than the sword...’

“A ridiculous assertion! Give me a good sword and I will cut down Dagon himself if all he has is a pen!”

“That does not help us in this instance, Valdemar.”

“Am I wrong? You can use your pen to try and plead our case to Destri’s readers and we will see if that draws him back to the desk. Give me a sword and I will make our case to Destri in such a way that he dare not refuse!”

“Thankfully that won't be necessary. But, if it comes to that, I will hand you the sword myself.”

“If it comes? How long must we wait before you believe that the thing warrants drastic action?”

“A fair bit longer it seems.”

“Bretons!”

“I will not apologize for having more faith in Destri than you.”

“Do not speak to me of faith, Alain. My soul still lays open after being eviscerated in the last chapter he wrote about us! How long ago was that exactly?"

“It has been awhile.”

“Indeed. Our story has received far more justice by the hand of haute ecole rider than by Destri of late. Imagine the depth of faith that keeps me tethered to a ship in dry dock.”

“In the interest of fairness I must point out that we were in fact dead in haute ecole rider’s story.”

“Undead Alain. Corpses did not cross swords with Julian in those cursed halls.

“Semantics, Valdemar. I seem to remember that being rendered undead is your greatest fear. You would resign yourself to that rather than wait for Destri to be moved by the muse once more?”

“Those should not be my only choices!”

“No, they should not. Yet here we are.”

“Yes, here we are. Far afield of the reason you chose to drag us onto the page today.”

“That is something we agree upon. So, as I was saying, Destri abandoned Interregnum in a fit of pique directed at the developers over at Bethesda who reconstituted the history of our world in order to give it a better foothold for their precious dragons. He went back to writing historical fiction set firmly in your world where the history is at least respected enough not to be changed on a whim ... “

“<Yawn>”

“Yes it did get tedious , sitting there day after day looking over his shoulder at the dreck filling his screen.”

“Actually my yawn was aimed at you, Alain. Nobody wants to hear this. Move on and get to the point.”

“Patience my friend. Where was I?”

“Very close to the business end of a warhammer!”

“Well, despite our constant reminders and lamentations, Destri seemed content to go on like that and to allow the Elder Scrolls to be relegated to one of those many things put aside in favor of more ‘worthwhile’ pursuits. But then, as she was leaving his office one day, the lovely Mrs. Melargi* threw a five word question over her shoulder that has had him kicking himself ever since ...”

“‘... You wrote Interregnum for Bethesda?’ Gods, I could kiss that woman!”

“I don’t imagine that would help you see more light in the story, Valdemar.”

“It would be fun all the same!”

“The point is that, due to his rage at Bethesda, Destri lost sight of why he wanted to write Interregnum in the first place. As I pen these words he sits at his keyboard straining to find the right words to express his remorse and contrition. He has also re-immersed himself into our world in an attempt to continue Interregnum. Valdemar and I have proven difficult to submerge, but the rest of the story is now over a year removed from his consciousness. It will take time for him to rediscover the voices that were pushing him along before, and he doesn't want to write anything new before he has had the chance to catch up on everyone else's stories. But, rest assured, Valdemar and I will make sure that he doesn’t stray again ... with the aforementioned warhammer, if needs be!















* Because of certain contractual obligations and the threat of bodily harm due to couch sores, the name ‘Mrs. Melarg‘ will always be preceded by the honorific ‘the lovely‘ in perpetuity.

Welcome back, old friend! The Imperial City wasn't built in a day so take the time you need. Ever the gracious gentleman, I knew you would catch up with us, even as you apply quill to parchment and resume Interregnum.

Here's a picture of but one of your many friends here who misses you, in hopes it will bring you inspiration - Screenshot

Now THAT is a re-introduction! (And a bow to the lovely Mrs. Melarg ™ ). Welcome back to Destri and Vlademar and Alain and the whole lot of you.

So glad Alduin finally puked you back out to us! And Mrs. Melarg? Congrats are in order, I knew she was a keeper! So glad just to see you here! Congratulations on your marriage!

Although I knew most of the struggle you were having with the above mentioned issues, it would mean a tremendous amount to all of us that care about you to see you overcome whatever changes time and Alduin have done to your story.

If you feel you absolutely need to break off and start fresh with a new story, that is fine too. (My personal vote if you change stories is for Redguard, N'Gasta).

SO glad to see you on here Destri, you have been so missed! <3

Please convey my heartfelt thanks to the lovely Mrs. Melarg for precipitating the reintroduction of the Interregnum.

This story is awesome, you are awesome, and reading it makes me want your babies.

I mean, seriously, I could go into a bit more of a detailed breakdown into why I like this so much, but it basically boils down to: well-rounded characters, an intrigue-filled, multifacted and complex plot that manages to be easy to follow even when being written from multiple perspectives, pulse-pounding combat scenes, excellent imagery (had a bit of a wordgasm at; "Talos marked the parabola of his flight, which merged with the torrent of blood erupting from what was left of Prior Sanne. For a brief instant it looked to his eyes as if the Tsaesci rode a wave of blood that crested and then fell toward the sand below." even if it did have a repetition of 'blood') and just generally getting literature right.

Also, my advice on Skyrim is this: Canon is there to be twisted, altered, bent, played with and just plain ignored in favour of whatever you want. That canon is your umbrella seller. Make it sell umbrellas on your behalf, and come crawling back to you on its kness, handing over its profits from selling umbrellas and give it only a tiny margin in return. Forget Skyrim changing the canon up; be the canon's umbrella pimp!

I actually know what you mean... ...

Aaaamywho...

I shall definately follow whatever comes next...Um, welcome back?... ...

And while I seem to be making this an unfortunate habit( ), I second what Mein Colonel said about Skyrim...Just keep going with what yer doing, worry about Skyrim in a few hundred years... ...

Undying gratitude to the lovely Mrs. Melarg for her role in your return.

CLICK

Two full years have passed since this was last updated! I honestly don’t know what to say about that. Where does the time go?

First, thank you one and all for popping back in here. After so much time it is difficult to jump back into a story already in progress, especially when you have to remember this (convoluted) plot amongst the host of other great stories on this site. I will endeavour to make the transition as painless as possible, without bogging you down with what would amount to a ten page recap just to get to the new chapters.

The new chapters.

As many of you know, my reason for abandoning this story had to do with Bethesda’s change in the lore surrounding the Dragonborn. I have faithfully tried to present this story as history within the Elder Scrolls universe. When that history was altered it rendered much of what I had already written (and much more of what I planned to write) obsolete. I didn’t handle that well, and for that I sincerely apologize.

Interregnum has become my white whale. It is an obsession that simply refuses to die, no matter how hard I try to kill it. What started as a writing exercise has evolved into my pride and joy, and I am diminished when not actively working on it.

So I will diminish myself no longer. The Great War will continue, but at a later date because my heart kept venturing back to 2E 854. Interregnum demands to be finished... in its original form. These characters have spoken, and one does not want to see angry vampiric serpents with katanas in one’s dreams.

Trust me.





22nd First Seed, 2E 854
The Great Forest, Southeast Colovian Highlands
Evening


Alain reigned his horse. “I think we’ve lost them.”

Valdemar turned in the saddle. His effort to scan the forest was thwarted by the abundant shadows cast by the trees. Still, the sounds of pursuit had long since faded into silence. “We could have taken them, Alain.”

“Perhaps,” said Alain, “but what would killing them have served?”

Valdemar looked to the starless night sky as the first rumble of thunder announced the impending storm. “It would have served to provide a roof over our heads for the night. And it would have saved our horses the exertion. Need I remind you that the Imperial City is still a ways off?”

“Need I remind you that we were tenants of Jehanna’s dungeon of late? I have no desire to sample the accommodations of another city.”

“I was not in the wrong, Alain.”

“Do you believe a magistrate would have shared your sentiment?”

“I was not in the wrong!”

“You struck the first blow,” said Alain. Then he raised his hand against Valdemar’s response. “I believed the man wished you harm, and were I in the same situation I would have responded in kind. But my testimony to the fact is biased in favor of my friend and useless in the eyes of the law.”

Valdemar spurred his horse into a slow walk down their chosen path. “What manner of law binds a man while allowing advantage to any willing to break it?”

“There are those who would suggest that every law fits that description.” Alain’s horse pranced and nodded as if to underscore the point.

“Count me amongst them,” said Valdemar. “In Skyrim a man defines his own honor, and is expected to act when he feels it is being threatened.”

Alain waved his hand to dismiss the assertion. “In Skyrim a man’s honor is threatened by an insult aimed at his horse!”

“That is funny coming from you. I cannot recall, how many kings rule High Rock?”

“I am a child of the Empire now.”

“Oh, a child of the Empire is it? One who still styles himself Sir Alain of Wayrest.”

Alain smiled. “Just as you style yourself Sir Valdemar of Skyrim. That is something that I have always found curious. What prompted the change?”

“There has been no change,” said Valdemar.

“Truly? You were Valdemar of Riverwood when I met you.”

“I was. And then my countrymen foreswore their oaths at Sancre Tor while I alone remained true.”

“So now you see yourself as representing the whole of Skyrim?

The nord nodded. “I do.”

“Even now?” asked Alain.

“You mean even as we overwork our horses to reach the Imperial City in order to join Talos? I stayed true to my oath, Alain, and now that oath is fulfilled. I see no conflict in joining my friend on a quest entered into in defense of honor that he defined for himself... and, by extension, for me. In so doing you have proven my point, while also proving yourself as much a child of Skyrim as you are of High Rock... or this new Empire.”

Alain shifted in his saddle. “I never asked you to foreswear your country, Valdemar.”

“Did you not?” asked the Nord. “The way you were wallowing in that cell I thought I might have to walk the Pilgrim’s Path to stir you from misery.”

“Valdemar...”

“I jest, Alain. Joining you in this endeavour is a choice that I made. My oath stands fulfilled, and I didn’t have anything else vexing my time.”

Alain nodded. Then: “I still do not believe the magistrate of Chorrol would have been swayed by your argument to the point of allowing us to walk freely under the giant oak.”

Valdemar laughed. “It was not the prospect of walking that held my interest, Alain.”

“I am sure we will find another tavern.”

“Mead is easy to find. I was thinking more of the companionship. Other than that serving girl in Jehanna we have been suffering a lamentable drought in that regard since we left Hammerfell.”

“You never even broke words with the serving girl... and I do not recall the waters being overly abundant when we were in Hammerfell.”

“That is because you choose not to swim, Alain! Imagine the sorrow that awaits us all should the clergy discover that thoughts of vengeance will bind a man to celibacy with far more effect than shackles of piety!”

“‘Thoughts of vengeance,’” said Alain, “motivated you as well.”

“And those thoughts were quelled the moment my mace met with that traitorous K...”

“Do not utter his name, Valdemar! Not in my presence.”

“Still?” asked Valdemar. “The man is dead, Alain! If the gods are just, then right now his name flows from the tongues of hungry daedra contemplating their supper. He united us in common cause, and I will give him credit for doing that much right in this world. But whatever power he may have exerted over us is now spent. I say bury the dead, leave judgement to the gods, and let us be about the task of living our lives.”

“Have you buried those that you led into the depths of Pale Pass?”

Valdemar gripped his mace. “You are my friend, Alain, so I will allow that to go unchallenged. But heed my words when I say that I will not suffer you to use their memory to buttress an argument again!”

Alain closed his eyes against his regrettable impulse. “I betrayed a confidence, Valdemar. You have my word that it will not happen again. I apologize.”

Valdemar released his mace. Conversation fell into silence. Raindrops echoed above them even as those same drops doused their cloaks and seeped into the chinks in their armor. Hooves began to sink into the mud with each forward step, and horse’s breath rose like smoke through the falling rain.

Alain’s voice broke the silence between them, but it was at such a low level that it could not find purchase in Valdemar’s ear. He repeated himself, louder this time, and the sound carried over the falling rain but it was still unclear to Valdemar’s hearing. The giant Nord turned in his saddle and his baritone cowed both horse and weather.

“What was that? I did not hear you.”

Alain lowered his head and reached into the deeper portions of his chest. The sound found therein gave rich clarity to his voice... and soothing catharsis to his soul.

“I said the traitor’s name,” said Alain. “I said Kastav.”





24th First Seed, 2E 854
The Arcane University, Imperial City
Morning


Given all that passed before them on a daily basis, it came as a surprise to Casnar that the sight of a Redguard standing in the lobby of the Arcane University was enough to elicit a second glance. Even the sight of the occassional scamp walking amidst the display cases was treated as the most mundane of occurrences. He did not know how to feel about that. Without his armor he did not believe that his appearance was more threatening than any of the robed figures milling about. He had done nothing since his arrival to warrant such scrutiny. Perhaps it was his own unease that made them wary. Despite that however, he was still of the opinion that a living, breathing, mortal soul in their midst should not be subject to more abject disdain than a minion of Oblivion... regardless of that soul’s geographic point of origin.

He flexed his non-sword hand. True, he thought to himself, Not all mages have treated my presence as an affront. I have benefitted from the administrations of the kind mages of Sutch. My left arm scarcely even throbs at this point, even after the hard ride to reach the Imperial City. Still he knew that, to any who bothered to ask, he would claim no use for the Dura-hi practiced here in the east... no matter how secretly grateful he was that his benefactor insisted on his seeking treatment...

“Sir Casnar?”

The sound of his name, even with the discarded honorific, pulled his attention to the robed figure that moved towards him. Though they had never met in person, the sudden interest from those who just a moment before had regarded him with such trepidation told Casnar that he had finally reached his destination.

“Master Arctus,” he said, bowing, “alas, I am no longer a knight. However, it remains a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”

Arctus smiled and placed a hand on Casnar’s shoulder. “Indeed. This is a meeting too long overdue. Come, we have much to discuss.”

Casnar followed the battlemage through the door, down the main steps, and back across the bridge leading to the Arboretum. The gathering clouds in the northeastern sky hinted at the storm to come. Around them spring still reigned, and the sun glanced from blooms that lent color and fragrance to each step. Birdsong provided gentle ease from the silence.

“I was sorry to hear of your leaving Hammerfell,” Arctus began. “I can only imagine how difficult that must have been.”

“It was,” said Casnar, “the most difficult thing that I’ve ever done.”

“I wonder if it was worth it,” said Arctus.

The guards opened the gates, admitting them into the Arboretum where hundreds had already gathered for morning meanderings and meditations. The gardens accommodated their number without complaint but, after the tranquility of the bridge, even their muted conversations were akin to a hard slap against Casnar’s senses. It took him a moment to realize that Master Arctus was still speaking.

“... regarded you as a key asset in Hammerfell. One that I was loath to lose for so trivial a concern.”

Casnar stopped. “Trivial? With respect, Master Arctus, I do not believe that the boy or his family would have considered the situation or my concern ‘trivial.‘ I also believe that you labor under a mistaken impression. I agreed to act as your agent in passing along information to Alain, but that was the extent of our relationship. There was never going to be a time where I acted as an ‘asset’ against my King, my country, or my people. Not as long as I wore the Moon.”

“It is I who have given the mistaken impression, Sir Knight. Forgive my poor choice of words.”

The battlemage began to walk. Casnar fell into step beside him.

“Your wounds have healed?”

“I am fit, Master Arctus. The mages in Sutch know their trade.”

“Good. Your sword arm may be needed sooner than we thought.”

“Why is that?”

“I think you know, sir knight. You did not venture all this way to become a legionary.”

Casnar smiled.

“I have always admired your loyalty to the Knights of the Moon,” Arctus continued. “Because of that, I feel I must give you fair warning. Your arrival comes at a perilous time. The first arrows have been fired in a war which will decide the fate of an Empire. We need loyalty such as yours, but any who pledge fealty to General Talos become guilty of high treason.”

Casnar lowered his head. The smell of the gardens grew sour, the blooms had suddenly paled, and the birds had grown silent. Somehow the storm seemed closer. “Pledging his sword to General Talos is not high treason for a man without a country. I am a knight. What purpose do I serve if not to serve?”

Now it was Arctus who stopped. He measured the fallen knight. “You are certain? There may come a time when you are called upon to act against Hammerfell. I do not want your sword if your heart remains loyal to the Moon.”

Casnar straightened and regained his bearing. “My sword is my heart, Master Arctus. And it is yours.”

“I do not care how your countrymen see you,” said Arctus. “You remain Sir Casnar.”

He grasped Casnar’s mended arm and continued their walk toward the Green Emperor Road and the promise of angry skies in the distance.





26th First Seed, 2E 854
The Dungeons beneath the Imperial Palace, Imperial City
Morning


The Chevalier Renald hung limp from manacles placed in the ceiling. Only the reflexive movement of his tongue gave evidence that life still flowed. Each time it sampled the stale air it returned with the scent of death to remind him of his failure. Chirasch’s putrid, decomposing body was a ghastley visual clue in the event that his sense of smell began to fail. He had long since passed the point of feeling... the daily ordeal of the lash tearing into him was but a drop in the ocean of agony that each drawn breath made manifest. Even the act of thought was a form of torture. Thought gave life to recrimination and rebuke, and their claws cut deeper than any blade. Blessed silence was broken by the snap of the lash finding the flesh of another tormented soul, and the attendant screams that permeated through the walls. Death was a constant companion. It was embodied by the silent corpse that shared his cell, yet it remained torturously inept at the simple task of putting him out of his misery.

Somewhere in the wash of agonies visited upon him, a new scent rested upon his tongue and lingered. Perfume? Here? it cut through the blood, sweat, bile, and excrement. Somehow, that made it worse than the others. It put him back upon the parapet of the Emperor’s box, With cold rain mixing with the warm blood from the stump of neck still left to the Breton clergyman’s body. His naked blade had never felt lighter. His tail had curled for the jump. Lightning struck. The explosion of light brought with it certainty. He leapt.

And landed in this cell, he thought.

His tongue captured it again. Unmistakeable. Perfume. The Emperor’s pet Altmer! Hatred for any and everything Imperial brought clarity to his senses. Pain lanced through him with each intake of breath. They are getting closer! Despite his best efforts, he could not will weakened muscles to act. He wanted to strike out as a true Tscaesci and slaughter any who stood in the way of his syffim’s freedom. But, when they stopped before his cell, all that the jailor, the Shrine Sergeant, and Lord Counselor saw was a limp snake hanging from manacles in the ceiling.

“Here ‘e is, m’lord,” the jailor announced. He was a squat, full-bellied Breton who sported a skull that was too small, a nose that was too flat, cheeks that were too soft, and a mouth that was too wet... and always open.

“Do you not bathe them?” asked Farenenre. “The smell ...”

“Beggin’ m’lord’s pardon,” said the jailor, “but this ain’t the Hotel Juilek. These men are ‘ere to suffer.”

“The one on the ground is dead,” offered Shrine Sergeant Mero. “His suffering is ended.”

“That ‘e is, sir. And I’ll remove ‘im soon as the Emp’ror gives me leave.”

“Are you saying that the Emperor has ordered this Tsaesci to share a cell with a rotting corpse?” asked Mero.

“No, sir,” said the jailor. “I’m sayin’ that corpse belongs to the Emp’ror, and it ain’t my place to say what ‘e wants done with it.”

“The jailor is right, Sergeant,” said Farenenre, his face obscured by the resourceful agency of a silk glove held over the nose. He looked toward the jailor. “Just clean him up and prepare him for an audience with the Emperor.”

I'm so excited to see this story resume that I even bothered to log in! (It's been a while.)

Yay! Once more the interregnum of Interregnum has ended, and the king has returned!

I am sure you know what I am going to say next. Forget what Bethesda decided to change/decide about the Dagonborns Dragonborns lore, and go with your own. We all know that writing - and continuity - are not Bethesda's strong suits. The best TES stories tend to be the ones where the writer either ignores Bethesda and recreates the lore, or where they at least add many layers of new material on top of the sketchy info that Beth provides. So far your Talos and company are much more interesting than how Bethesda presents them.

Now on to the tale.

“but what would killing them have served?”
Spoken like a certain Doctor from Gallifrey, or a wandering Chinese-American named Caine.

So now we know how Fort Kastav got its name! Seriously, that was a nice conversation between Alain and Valdemar that subtly brings us up to speed on where we are in the story - or at least in their story. We also see a few more lights shone into the depths of their character, in what defines them, what they value, and how they define themselves. I am still holding out for a love scene between them. I am sure you did not intend it, but they have always come across in your writing as a couple, and really, as two of the best examples of gay men I have ever read.

Now on to the Cas-ster. At first I also was surprised at the reaction to a Redgaurd in the Arcane University. Until I thought back to the rather common prejudice against magic that most Redguards possess. That a Ra'Gada would want to be in the Arcane University is indeed worthy of note.

I gather that Dura-hi is the Redguard word for magic?

My sword is my heart
Now this was a magnificent example of word-smithing. Not to mention once more a very clear declaration of Casnar's character, in keeping with what we also saw between Alain and Valdemar earlier in this post. Now I wonder will a section on Rielius finish out today's episode?

Not Reilly, but Renald. Close.




Nits:
You did not venture all this way to become a legionnary.”
I think that sneaky Eastern battlemage used his Dura-hi to slip an extra 'n' into legionary.

these men are ‘ere to suffer.
Your slovenly Breton jailor forgot to capitalize These men, whom he is so keen on seeing suffer.

Not a nit, but a thought. Rather than Seargeant, you might want to use the original French Sergent. It goes well with the use of Chevalier.

I agree with the wise SubRosa (always a good idea) regarding using lore as you deem appropriate to support your story - not the other way around. Besides, with a Bosmer named Buffy the Bowgirl, you know that lore doesn't drive my thinking. Other things, like alliteration for example are more important.

First segment:

“In Skyrim a man’s honor is threatened by an insult aimed at his horse!”

I very much enjoyed the knightly banter between Alain and Valdemar as they rode along. You chose the word catharsis well as Alain said Kastav’s name.

Second segment:

Wonderful to see the Arcane University. Your light touches like the matter of fact presence of summoned scamps helped achieve that mystical feel the place so deservedly emanates.

Knights of the Moon – most appropriate here.

Third segment:

’Death was a constant companion. It was embodied by the silent corpse that shared his cell, yet it remained torturously inept at the simple task of putting him out of his misery.’ - - What a well-crafted passage. It is gruesomely evocative as it captures the Tsaesci’s grim situation perfectly.

“Here ‘e is, m’lord,” the jailor announced. He was a squat, full-bellied Breton who sported a skull that was too small, a nose that was too flat, cheeks that were too soft, and a mouth that was too wet... and always open.’ - - Oh my! What a fantastically concise description that tells us everything relevant about the jailor. I use the word concise because this reminds me of a chapter long ago that you opened with words along the lines of ‘Cuhlecain sat in a golden tub and gave distracted audience to a snake.’

Overall: How nice to catch up with some of this story’s characters, even if none of them seem to be experiencing the best of times.


Nits:
’Alain reigned his horse.’ You want ‘reined’ here of course.

’The nord nodded. “I do.” - - Since you capitalize all uses of race consistently elsewhere in the episode (Nord, Redguard, Tsaesci) I expect you wanted Nord here.

’Even the sight of the occassional scamp walking amidst...’ - - Occasional?

’He wanted to strike out as a true Tscaesci and slaughter any who stood in the way of his syffim’s freedom.’ - - I would hate to have to learn and remember how to spell the race of the snakemen! Tsaesci is correct though (and you have it spelled correctly later in the episode).

“That is because you choose not to swim, Alain! Imagine the sorrow that awaits us all should the clergy discover that thoughts of vengeance will bind a man to celibacy with far more effect than shackles of piety!”

I love this guy. I’ve missed their friendship. And I love the way the starless night turned to rain at just the right moment.

Casnar straightened and regained his bearing. “My sword is my heart, Master Arctus. And it is yours.”

Aahhh, that was just beautiful.

The Chevalier Renald’s tongue segment (of the update) was magnificent. How fitting that scent should bring him back to alertness. That jailor’s too-wet mouth is going to haunt me! Farenenre’s glove over his nose made me think that the stench in there was likely thick enough to chew. *happy sigh*

I’m so delighted to see this story return, Destri. I’m celebrating by reading again from the start, and not for the first time in the last two years.

Update, yay!

It's so good to see this again, and after so long. Alain and Valdemar's banter was a lot of fun, and the prison scene with Chevalier Renauld was excellently written. The emphasis on how he perceived the world through scent was a great way to highlight his non-human nature, and the sheer brutality of his situation was excellently conveyed. I'm wondering what the Emperor wants with him; on one hand, I'd expect revenge, but on the other hand on a rereading of the scene in the arena the Emperor was smiling when Prior Penne(?) was killed. It leaves me curious as to what's going to happen to the good Chevalier.

canis - It’s been a while for me too! Thanks for swinging by to comment, I hope you’ll come back for more.

‘Rosa - Thanks for the vote of confidence. Sometimes we thick-headed types need to be hit over the head more than once to get the point.

- Alain and Valdemar’s relationship remains purely platonic (I think). I love that their closeness resonates with you, and it has caused me to really look at their relationship to see if perhaps there is more to that closeness than merely friendship. It is an interesting idea. BTW that entire conversation was written with you in mind. It took a lot of juggling with the lore and the story, but now you know the name of the Breton who betrayed them at Sancre Tor. That name is important, and not just because it came to be shared by a fort.

- Dura-hi is the Yokudan word for so-called ‘Eastern magic’ represented by the schools of Conjuration, Illusion, Necromancy and, to a certain degree, Mysticism. Casnar may have left Hammerfell, but it seems that Hammerfell has not left Casnar.

- The term Shrine Sergeant comes directly from the ranks given to members of the Imperial Cult in Morrowind. It doesn’t make sense to me that the same ranks wouldn’t be available in Cyrodiil, given that it’s the same religion. Plus I like the idea of the Temple having its own security force, so I simply borrowed it. I like the seperation between Sergeant and Chevalier because one is a rank of the Temple in Cyrodiil, while the other is an honorific taken on by a subject of Akavir. You will find no other Chevaliers in the Empire (well, not in this story anyway).

Acadian - Thank you for having faith in me, even as I tested that faith. Chorrol has always been brighter for your presence, and I stand proud to call you my first reader... and my friend.

- I kept you in mind alot while writing because I didn’t want to weigh you down trying to remember who was who and what was what. I hope i’ve succeeded.

- And, as ever, your keen editorial eye misses nothing! All nits accounted for (I hope).

Grits - I just can’t seem to resist playing with weather for effect can I? I’m so grateful you think enough of this story to continue reading, and the fact that you want to go back and tackle this beast once more from the beginning just has me beaming!

Must’d - Good Gods man! Where have you been? Though I guess that’s a question I should answer first, eh? Thanks for popping back in here... and wonder no longer. Cuhlecain’s motives are finally revealed in this chapter.








26th First Seed, 2E 854
The Imperial Place, The Imperial City
Midday


This is no better than I deserve, he thought to himself. My pride brought us to this. Was I so blinded by the sanctity of dragon blood that I willingly placed all of our lives into its service? Or was I simply deaf to all save the words of defeated warriors pledging themselves to a man over a thousand years dead? How was our honor in such disrepair that I jumped at the words of a crazed witch simply for the chance that it might be mended? This is what the belief in the sanctity of dragon blood is worth? I was supposed to see them home! I was not supposed to lead them into a fools quest that made them the object of derision on Arena sands!

The Chevalier Renald stood motionless before the Emperor. His golden scales had been scrubbed to the point of glistening, and his sight had finally accustomed itself to the light of Magnus. Though his wrists were bound with heavy shackles, his malevolence filled the chamber... and caused the guards to grip their spears with purpose.

Around him the audience chamber had been cleared of all but the aforementioned guards and Lord Counselor Farenenre whose scent permeated the room even though he positioned himself some distance removed. Above them the galleries were silent. Only the stray breeze that caught and ruffled the dragon banners bore mute witness to the proceedings.

“My apologies,” said the self-styled Emperor whose feet dangled from his perch upon the Ruby Throne. “With the repairs occurring throughout the city you must understand that the cells beneath the Palace receive the least attention from my builders.”

Renald remained silent.

“Given your crimes against the Temple and the Empire,” Cuhlecain continued, “I imagine better accommodations were not to be expected.”

The Tsaesci’s glare did not waver.

“I am sympathetic to the reason governing your actions,” said the Emperor. “That sympathy is the reason you stand before me instead of my headsman. And it is the reason that I would grant a boon...”

“You would grant?” The Tsaesci’s voice dripped with contempt. “I entered my syffim into your service only to see you use them as fodder for bloodsport to appease your subjects. The only boon you could grant me now is execution.”

“Not true, my friend. While your own execution is an inevitability, I would remind you that two of your syffim yet live. One final service from you would insure their freedom and grant the means to return to Akavir.”

Akavir. Could I still see them home? “Why should I trust the word of one who lacks honor?”

“Watch your tongue, Tsaesci, you address the Emperor of Tamriel!” said Farenenre.

The Tsaesci’s head turned and Farenenre’s next comment was doused like a candle in the maelstrom.

“No,” said Renald, “I address the small man who aspires to such a height, not the underlings who would lift him towards it.”

Cuhlecain leaned forward and punctuated his words with a squat finger. “Silence! Have a care, snake-man. My generosity is not without limit.”

“My syffim has seen the limit of your generosity.”

“And yet you still trust my word because the alternative condemns you all. You trust that keeping it suits my interest in the same way that placing your syffim in the Arena suited my interest. Those games will be spoken of for years to come, staged by the Emperor Cuhlecain. Had you not intervened you would have been granted leave to join your syffim on that ship to Akavir. But those subjects you speak of must see someone pay for murdering a member of the Temple. Once that is done I will have no use for the rest of your countrymen, nor will I feel comfortable with them near the throne. I must either execute them or let them go. Your actions may yet influence that decision.”

Do I dare hope? What does it profit to enter into agreement with such a man? My last acquiescence cost Chirasch his life. But if even the whisper of a chance exists... Renald’s head sagged in defeat. For Eesham and Xarsien. His head lifted. “What service would you have of me?”

The Emperor leaned back on his throne and smiled. “You will be given rest and the opportunity to feed. Tonight your weapons will be restored to you and you will leave the Palace to seek out and assassinate General Talos Stormcrown.”





26th First Seed, 2E 854
Reman Plaza District, Imperial City
Midday


Three men and a cat came to attention at the General’s table. Arctus could see the shock registering in their eyes, even if they were loathe to break the rules of propriety or the chain of command to give it voice. What they had signed up for was finally coming to pass. Was that shock mirrored in his own eyes? True, he had known an attempt was coming, but...

“Why would he choose tonight?” he asked.

“The Amulet,” said General Talos. “It is the key to the next twenty-four hours and beyond. Cuhlecain is no fool. He knows that we have sympathetic eyes and ears in the Palace. The longer he waits to eliminate me the greater the chance that we put those sympathies to use.”

“The Tsaesci?” asked Captain Alorius.

Talos nodded. “The events in the arena have thrust them outside the protection of law. Even now a crowd gathers around the Palace clamoring for the justice of the headsman’s axe. Cuhlecain won’t risk moving them to the Bastion for fear of what the mob may do to them before they’ve served his purpose. For now they remain beneath the Palace, and he will use the threat of execution to coerce one or more into my assassination...”

“Which would give him all the more justification for executing them after the fact. He eliminates you as a rival while also gaining the leave of the entire city to execute those who swore oaths to protect you, all while remaining above suspicion.” Arctus shook his head. “One can almost admire the devious turn of mind that created this opportunity.”

“Cuhlecain may be more comfortable with the axe,” said Talos, “but that does not mean he is a stranger to the dagger.”

“That seems to leave us in an untenable position,” said Rielus, speaking for the first time. “Perhaps we should be looking to spirit you from the city, General?”

Talos looked over at him.

“I agree,” said Alorius.

“This one knows that the sewers are not a dignified way to travel,” offered Dar’Zhan, “but it would be a simple matter to gain the Rumare. A boat could conduct you north from there.”

“Perhaps you should listen to them, General,” said Arctus.

“Why north?” asked Casnar.

“The General’s power base is strongest in Skyrim,” said Alorius.

“And we will need that power base soon enough,” Talos was still looking at Rielus. He smiled. “When this is over, assuming we all survive, we’re going to have to make your promotion to knighthood official, Sir Rielus. However, as much as I grow tired of seeing you in that spearman’s uniform day after day, you will need it for what is to come.”

“Perhaps it is the smell that gives offense, General,” said Casnar, smiling.

“I concur,” said Alorius.

“General,” said Arctus. “The Emperor.”

Talos’ smile faded. He looked across the table and his eyes sought out each member of his small council until they came to rest upon Dar’Zhan. “We were out maneuvered, but your knowledge of the sewers has given us one opportunity to salvage victory in our retreat... as long as we have the courage to chance it.”

“How?” asked Rielus.

Arctus looked at General Talos. “The Amulet.”

Talos nodded.

“It’s too risky,” said Arctus.

“The Tsaesci are worth it.”

“Are they? Even if you could somehow steal the Amulet of Kings which, in itself, is no small feat, there is no guarantee that possession of it will stay the Tsaesci’s hand against you should it come to that. Not when the alternative means certain death for their companions.”

“You underestimate Tsaesci honor, my friend.”

“Or perhaps you overestimate the power of dragon blood, General.”

“Perhaps,” said Talos. “The fact remains that we must make up in skill what we lack in numbers, and Tsaesci skill is unrivaled. We need them.”

“Begging your pardon, General,” said Alorius, “but we need you. Master Arctus is right, it’s too risky.”

“The Old Way into the Palace,” said Rielus. “That’s why you had us searching for it.”

“Indeed.” Talos looked over to Arctus. “Stealing the Amulet will be the easiest part. It is already arranged. Captain...”

Alorius snapped to attention. “Sir.”

“... Farenenre will be waiting for you at the twelfth bell. He will give you access to the vault during the shift change. Your contact will be there as well. Once you secure the Amulet you will follow his instructions to make your escape. Timing is paramount, Captain. You must return the Amulet with all possible haste.”

“Yes sir.”

“And Farenere?” asked Arctus. They are not going to look kindly upon him giving you access to the royal vault. He’s far too calculating not to realize that...”

The sound of gauntlets pounding against the heavy oak front door caught their attention. Both knights at the table reached for their swords. Talos waved his leave for Alorius to attend to it. Alorius left the table and exited the room.

“Farenenre is accounted for,” said Talos. “Sir Rielus, Sir Casnar, you will accompany Dar’Zhan through the sewers into the palace. Arctus, we will need another uniform for Sir Casnar.”

“Of course,” said Arctus.

“Once inside the Palace your uniforms should allow you to move with relative impunity. According to our source, the Emperor is holding two of the captive Tsaesci in cells located in the western block of the old dungeons...”

Alorius re-entered the room and crossed over to Zurin Arctus. He whispered into the battlemage’s ear and Arctus accompanied him back to the front door.

“...When the diversion occurs,” Talos continued, “it should draw enough of the guards for you to liberate the Tsaesci with minimal resistance. You are to escort them back out through the sewers to Lake Rumare where a boat shall be waiting.”

“What is this diversion?” asked Casnar.

“It will be apparent when it occurs,” said Talos.

“Begging pardon, General,” said Rielus, “but this sounds like a task more suited to the Thieves Guild.”

“Why do you think Dar’Zhan is here?”

“Getting to the Palace will not be a problem,” said Dar’Zhan. “This one and the Captain thinned the number of creatures finding the old path. But from the Palace to the Rumare runs deep into the sewers, and there are covens and much worse that call those tunnels home. This one is more than a match for a rat or a goblin, but a vampire, or worse, is beyond this one’s skill.”

“You said earlier that it would be a simple matter to reach the lake,” said Rielus.

“It is,” said Dar’zhan, “from Reman Plaza. This one could avoid the deep tunnels. From the Palace this one must go through them unless he decides to backtrack to Reman Plaza, then make his way from there.”

“You cannot backtrack,” said Talos. “No matter how events play out, Reman Plaza will no longer be safe.”

“Through the sewers then,” said Casnar.

Rielus nodded.

“This one will do his best to show you the way,” said Dar’Zhan. “It is his fervent hope that the Tsaesci’s escape makes them eager to fight. Still, you will only be four swords.”

“Six,” said Arctus.

They turned from the table. Arctus and Alorius stood in the doorway. Behind them stood a Breton in battered armor, and the largest Nord that any of them had ever seen.

Casnar could not contain his smile.

“General,” said Alorius, “allow me to present Sir Alain of Wayrest and Sir Valdemar of Skyrim. Two knights who have travelled far to enter into your service.”

“Travelled from...”

“From the Reach of late, General,” said Arctus.

“I see,” said Talos. He exchanged a look with the battlemage, who nodded. Then he regarded the two knights with an appraising eye.

“We would be of use, General,” said Alain, “if you would have us.”

Talos smiled. “You are most welcome.”

Alain looked across the table. “Casnar?”

Valdemar pushed into the room, smiling. “Good to see that settled. Found the sense to leave that swill-producing sandbox, eh Redguard?”

“I thought I might find and join a better class of people,” said Casnar, clasping the Nord’s offered hand. “Then you show up.”

“Does this mean we need more uniforms?” asked Rielus

“Alain shouldn’t be a problem, but I doubt legion uniforms are made ogrim-sized,” said Casnar.

Valdemar eyes settled on Rielus. “Who’s the whelp?”

Rielus stood. “The whelp’s name is Sir Rielus.”

Alain walked over to Rielus and extended his hand. “Alain.”

“Don’t mind the Nord, Rielus,” said Casnar. “He eventually starts to grow on you.”

“Like brain rot?” asked Rielus.

Valdemar laughed. “I like him.”

So you can take the Redgaurd out of Hammerfell, but you cannot take the Hammerfell out of the Redguard?

I read this on my phone at work this morning. Now I can finally comment. Hopefully I remember enough!

Now we see Emp Cuche's plan coming into focus. He certainly does have our serpentinian chevalier in a tight spot. But the key is obviously the last two surviving Tsaesci. If Talos and company can get to them first, I have no doubt which way Le Chevalier Renald will leap. Though it might change history, since the game says it was a Breton Nightblade who assassinated Cuche, not a Taesci chevalier! But perhaps the Cuchster will not meet his actual end until a later date.

And it is nice to finally see the Fab Four from Sancre Tor finally in the same room together, and Rielius finally getting his promotion to Sirdom! You give the feeling of things in the story finally coming together. Though Lattia and the Breton Nightblade still seem unaccounted for...

First section:

You always do such a great job when you introduce our favorite (not) self-styled Emperor. In this case, the image of his feet dangling as he sat on his Ruby Throne spoke volumes – as I’m sure you intended.

Renald’s deportment before Cuhlecain is exactly what we have come to expect of the chevalier: “No,” said Renald, “I address the small man who aspires to such a height, not the underlings who would lift him towards it.”

Wow, a deal to assassinate Talos! By the Eight/Nine! Seriously though, the squat little Emperor did a good job of painting our poor noble snake into a corner from which his ‘cooperation’ seemed inevitable.

Second section:

Talos shows he is no slouch as he anticipates Cuhlecain’s assassination plans involving the Tsaesci. This is now feeling like a momentous match between chess masters.

So I see perhaps diffusing Renald’s ‘mission’ by preemptively releasing his countrymen – pretty smart!

And welcome again to Alain and Valdemar.


Nits:
- ’Was I so blinded by the sanctity of dragon blood that I willingly placed all of our lives into it’s service?’ - - Its vs it’s.

- ’Or was I simply deaf to all save the words of defeated warriors...’ - - Not a nit in this passage. In fact I find the use of ‘save’ or ‘all save’ to imply exclusion delightfully refreshing. Memorable also, and therein enters the tiny problem. Two paragraphs later you employed this same distinctive phrasing two more times. Too much of a good thing in such close proximity?

- “I imagine better accomodations were not to be expected.” - - Accommodations.

Like Spock, it appears that Cuhlecain has set himself up to be hoisted by his own Picard. I'm pretty sure that's how that saying goes

That said, I'm wondering if Cuhlecain deliberately set up this entire scenario simply so that he would have the service of an exceptionally skilled assassin. With Eesham and Xarsien's lives on the line, Renauld's forced to do what Cuhlecain commands for what is potentially an indefinite period of time, and considering his skill then Talos is in real danger.

Still, seeing as the general has managed to anticipate this, it seems that a lot hinges on springing Eesham and Xarsien before Renauld gets to him. As it is, Renauld seems desperate enough that Talos' dragon blood might not be enough to save him.

A couple of minor points that bothered me.

"The Chevalier Renald stood motionless before the Emperor" - does "stood" apply? Maybe "remained" would have been better.

"... you will leave the Palace to seek out and assassinate General Talos Stormcrown." Would the Emperor actually say "assassinate", or use some other term, like "execute" or just "kill"?

And if I'm picking nits that small, you can safely assume I liked the rest.

The Tsaesci’s head turned and Farenenre’s next comment was doused like a candle in the maelstrom.

Even readers flinched in anticipation after Farenenre’s remark.

Opportunity to feed… *shiver* Cuhlecain has our Chevalier by the syffim. I’m biting my nails over the fate of Eesham and Xarsien.

The scene with the General’s small council simply sang. What a joy to read. When Valdemar and Alain appeared in that doorway I let out a whoop and did a dance that cannot be described because thankfully there were no witnesses. This is a grand adventure!!

*wolf pads quietly into the room and settles down*

My plan is to start reading this tomorrow from chapter one, to savor it slowly and give it the respect it deserves. Rest assured, my brother, I will get up to speed soon!