Brilliant- again. I particularly enjoyed the passage where Edward contemplated his life of landed leisure, complete with horses- and mistresses.

And his catalog of misery in the cell was only surpassed by his demonstration that his mother must have been badly frightened by a thesaurus while she was carrying the unborn Edward....

Greetings all, thanks for the comments!!

Gang of Sirens Apprehended!

Today our news comes all the way from the distant port of Anvil, where our correspondent informs us that a notorious gang of sirens was apprehended. While there had been some misunderstanding regarding a certain vagabond male who was initially taken to be the orchestrator of the gang, our correspondent reveals that he was in fact a victim of the women. The guard with whom our correspondent spoke revealed this man's name to be either Edgar or Edmund, but could not remember which.

-- Black Horse Courier, Special News Bulletin

Chapter Fifty-One

Having been utterly defeated by the enormity of such terrible news, Edward had willingly cooperated with the guard. After giving his testimony, the other man ? keeping his end of the bargain ? had retrieved Edward's goods. All of them, that is, except for the amulet. That was, as he'd said, not there.

Edward, swamped in despair, had trudged out of the castle, to find his loyal retainer waiting for him in the courtyard. "Sir!" he greeted. "I'm glad to see you out. I was afraid the interrogation had turned...unpleasant."

Edward stared at him. "What?"

"Well, you were gone for so long," the other man explained.

Edward only grunted a sad, miserable grunt in response.

"Sir? Is everything alright?" the valet asked.

"Alright?" Edward repeated, marveling over the use of the word. "My world has been destroyed, and you ask if everything is alright?"

The other man cleared his throat tactfully. "Well, sir, I wouldn't say that...I mean, those women fooled a good number of citizens. From what I hear, most of the men in town. I wouldn't feel too humiliated, if I were you."

Edward glared at him. "Well thank you for reminding me of that," he snapped. "I hadn't even been thinking of how I was utterly humiliated, made to look a fool before the world. But you would remind me of that, of course."

"Well, sir, I thought..." the valet began, clearly confused. "If you weren't talking about that, then what?"

"My retirement!" the Imperial bemoaned. "My retirement...those women, they stole it!"

His companion stared at him, clearly amazed. His expression seemed to say, "I knew you were capable of all sorts of stupidity, but I never imagined you'd be dumb enough to bring your retirement with you when visiting a remote cabin to see women you had only just met!" Aloud, however, he only said, "You mean, sir...that you took your retirement money with you?"

Edward, having caught the fleeting expression of amazement, stared icily at him. "It wasn't money. It was..." Then he broke off, remembering just in time that he'd lied to his valet about his encounter with the Emperor. As far as the valet knew, he'd never had the amulet. "Well, you see," he said, "I can't tell you about it...it was something that...well, that the Emperor entrusted to me."

The valet's eyes opened wide. "The Amulet of Kings!" he gasped. "I knew you had it!"

Edward stared at him in annoyance. "No, not that one. Another amulet. My retirement." He wanted to add, "The bastard tricked me out of taking the Amulet of Kings," but decided against it. It wouldn't aid his claim that he was the Emperor's son, after all, to go around insulting his "father".

His companion shook his head. "This isn't the time to lie to me, sir. I knew you had it. I understand that you couldn't trust your secret to me, but we've got a serious crisis on our hands. You have to trust me now!"

Meeting these words with a blank stare, Edward declared, "I have no idea what you're talking about." This was, in fact, absolutely true.

"Sir, I'm serious. We need to retrieve that amulet! The fate of the entire empire rests on it!"

"I agree that we need to retrieve it," Edward answered, his anger and apathy fading a bit, "but I'm telling you, it's not the Amulet of Kings. It's just my retirement."

His valet sighed. "Sir, I admit, I had my doubts about you...but if you had really just been planning to pawn it off, you'd have let your greed get the better of you by now. So, I can only come to the conclusion that you've been waiting for the right moment to deliver the amulet to safety. Where is it supposed to go? Who are you supposed to bring it to?"

Edward stared at him blankly. What was his mad servant ranting about now? What part of the truth did the man not comprehend?

"Friar Jauffre!" the valet exclaimed excitedly. "He was the king's secret confidante. You have to take it there, don't you?"

Edward blinked in astonishment. That's what that guard, the bodyguard who'd been escorting the Emperor the day he died, had said, wasn't it?

His change of expression had clearly been enough for his valet, who exclaimed, "Aha! I knew it! Now, sir, come -- you must trust me! If the Emperor trusted you, you must be the right man for the job. But, since the amulet is lost, let me help you retrieve it. As you know, my skills in that department -- shall we say, retrieval of property -- are...well, tuned to a finer extent than yours. So, let me put them to use for you, and the empire."

Edward stared daggers at the other man, and was about to launch into a tirade about the faulty comparison of their thieving skills, when he stopped short. Though he would never admit, he knew beyond a shadow of doubt that his valet's abilities as a thief were by far better than his; and here he was, offering him assistance in retrieving the amulet. "Alright," he thought, "since he's determined to believe that I have that Amulet of Kings or whatever, I might as well let him do the dirty work of retrieving my retirement source." Aloud, however, he replied, "Well, perhaps I might trust you this once...for the good of the empire and all that."

The valet positively beamed. "Thank you sir! Have no fear, you will not regret your faith in me!" Edward resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. "Now, let's see...you say those women took it from you?"

"Well, they must have," Edward shrugged. "They took everything else. And how else could it have disappeared?"

The other man pursed his lips in thought. "They might have taken it, sir, but I doubt they knew its significance." Edward frowned at him, so he hastened to explain. "Riffraff of their breeding could never estimate the true import of such a jewel. They would just think it was some expensive ruby to be pawned off, or something of that ilk." Edward's frown deepened, but the other man was too lost in his own train of thought to take note. "So, they probably put it with their other valuables. Which means..." Here his expression brightened, and his eyes positively gleamed. "One of the guards took it!"

Edward stared at him. How his servant had drawn that conclusion was beyond him. In fact, it seemed downright silly. "What? Why?"

"Because they retrieved all the stolen property in their bust...which means one of the soldiers must have seen it during the raid, recognized that it was very valuable, and so pocketed it when no one was looking."

Edward frowned. "I suppose it might have happened that way."

"I'm sure it did," the other man continued excitedly. "In fact, I got a glimpse of the soldiers who came back from the raid...let me do a little reconnaissance, sir. I'll have your amulet back in a jiffy."

Edward's frown deepened. "And what do I do while you're off reconnoitering?"

"Well, sir, you can make yourself comfortable at Benirus Manor -- my new home -- and wait for me."

'Ineptitude' should be his middle name,
And for his first 'shame'.
'Fool' should be his family name,
For they must be the same.

-- The Song of Edward, Verse Five Chapter Fifty-Two



Edward sighed, settling into the sheets of his warm bed. His valet still hadn't returned, and he was tired and greatly annoyed -- so he had no intention whatever of waiting up for the man. Despite the rather rundown appearance of the house, it seemed warm and pest-free, so he figured he'd be safe enough sleeping there; plus, his servant's cursory repairs and organization had done much to improve the charm of the residence since his first visit, so his mind was easy about settling in for repose.

Sleep came quickly, and Edward soon embarked upon one of his favorite dreams -- where, traipsing merrily through the forest, he happens upon a chest full of priceless gold and gems. He had just reached the point in his dream where, much to his delight, he discovers the chest's peculiar property -- whatever is taken out of it is magically replenished in like kind -- when a strange noise interrupted the serenity of his fanciful, sleep-induced reverie. It was low, sullen, ghoulish and altogether unpleasant.

In his dream, Edward frowned. This had never happened before, and he'd had this same dream many times. "Go away," he told whatever it was as he glanced about the forest. "It's mine!" He shivered as the golden sunlight seemed to vanish, and a cold, dark fear settled upon the forest. The green grass and foliage was now a strange grayish black, and the peaceful woodland critters had morphed into terrible shadows and ghoulish apparitions. "No!" Edward called, throwing himself onto the treasure chest. "It's not supposed to be like this! Go away, all of you!" At that moment, a cold hand seized him, sending a spike of icy pain through his body.

Jerking to consciousness with a scream, Edward opened his eyes. To his horror, he found that the ghoulish noises, the terrible pain, and the fearful apparitions were all very much real; the only part of his dream that was not was the lovely, self-replenishing treasure chest. He was at that very moment surrounded on all sides by a small host of glowing, growling ethereal bodies, and he didn't even have unlimited wealth to show for it.

The unfairness of his predicament hit him hard, and he cursed aloud. He'd be willing to face a few ghosts for unlimited treasure, but this...this was just unacceptable. "Go away!" he shouted at the menacing figures, his voice sounding high and whiny to his ears.

Something like a low, rumbling laugh issued forth from the floating specters, and they continued to advance. Edward yelped in fear, and for the first time the peril of his situation weighed more heavily on his mind than the injustice of it. Scrambling as fast as his legs could carry him, he leapt out of bed and toward the door. The ghouls, not having to sidestep the bed as he had to do, floated in front of him to block the door. Edward shrieked again.



By now Edward's screeching had hit a frenzied pitch. He was trapped in a room, unarmed, with a group of terrible, ghostly creatures who clearly meant him harm. "I'm gonna die!" he shrieked. "Oh gods, oh oblivion, I'm gonna die!" There was no escape for him, he could see. There were ghosts to the sides of him, ghosts in front of him, and nothing whatever with which to defend himself -- not that he even had an inkling of how to fight these ghouls anyway. "I'm gonna die," he whined a second time.

The apparitions laughed their grotesque laugh and advanced in response. At the same time, Edward heard a familiar voice. "Hang on sir!" it called.

Of all the times that he'd been glad to hear from his valet, this time he was gladdest. "I'm in here, in the bedroom! Hurry!" he screamed, even as a ghost lurched forward at him, its ethereal arm sweeping toward his head. Edward ducked beneath the ghoul's arm, painfully aware of every second that it took the other man to race up the stairs to his rescue.

The ghosts apparently paid no mind to the advancing valet, for they continued their onslaught. Edward, ducking, dodging, and screaming all the while, was only just able to avoid being pummeled to death by time his rescuer at last appeared. The other man's brown hair seem to stand on end as he burst into the room and beheld the spectral beings, but otherwise he took the random appearance of ghosts in his home in stride. Instantly seizing hold of the silver dagger at his belt, he lunged forward at the nearest ghost.

Edward heard a hellish groan, and then another as the valet struck again; with the second attack, the specter seemed to disintegrate into a slow falling rain of ethereal dust, that collected into a pool on the floor. Neither man spent very long anolyzing the creature's demise, however, as Edward was scrambling for the opening the ghost's death had made, and his valet was leaping forward to do battle with the remaining ghouls.

Not bothering to glance behind him, Edward bolted through the open door, nearly toppling his valet in the process, and down the stairs. Bursting through the closed parlor door, still shrieking as he went, his only thought to exit the premises as quickly as possible. He didn't notice, therefore, the disarrayed furniture until it was too late; and, before he knew what had happened, he found his foot catching on a tipped cabinet, and himself flying through the air.

Fun, fun, fun! Did I say how much fun this is to read?

Your writing is wonderfully clever. Here, I particularly enjoyed you giving us another brilliant scene of Edward bantering with the valet - you portray both of them so very well.

Edit: Oh no! Rachel, I wrote that about chapter 51, not realizing you were having another chapter posting frenzy! I shall go take a break and come back to add more comments on ch 52 and however many more you care to grace us with.

(Sorry about that, Acadian. I try to write in blocks, so that I can post a block of them and still have a block "in reserve" in case I change things as I go, LOL Glad you enjoyed it, though!)


Here Lies a Peasant. ‘Nuff said.
-- Graveyard Memorial in the Serf’s Graveyard of Lord Udicio’s Manor

Chapter Fifty-Three

Edward woke with a groan. His head was throbbing, again, and he was having a bit of difficulty remember what had happened last.

"Sir?" a concerned voice asked.

Suddenly, his recollections flooded over him, and he bolted upright, screaming at the top of his lungs.

"Sir, it's alright! They're dead!" his valet tried to yell over him.

But Edward continued his shrieking, thrashing his arms about wildly in a vain attempt to get up and escape. He was, however, too paralyzed by fright to do more than flail about, screaming.

"Sir!" the valet persisted, grabbing hold of Edward to shake him. "Sir, they're dead!"

These words broke through, and Edward paused. "Dead? You killed them?"

"Yes sir." Then the valet frowned. "But...were you just going to run away and let me fight them by myself?"

Edward blinked. Of course he'd been going to do that. Why was this crazy man even asking him that?

"Or were you coming down here to get your weapons?"

Edward blinked again. Clearly, if one was to judge by the other's tone, the idea that he'd been thinking of -- nay, in the process of -- abandoning him offended the valet’s peculiar sensibilities. While it was the truth, and a darned sensible one too, it might, Edward reasoned, be wiser to lie. After all, if the valet wasn't smart enough to figure it out for himself, there was no sense in him knowing that Edward would abandon him in a heart beat when danger presented itself, was there? "Of course," he replied. "I was -- as you saw -- completely unarmed."

The valet nodded. "I figured as much," he said, his tone expressing a sense of relief. "That's why you didn't just take care of them yourself."

"Umm...exactly," Edward lied. If his retainer wanted to believe that he was willing to jump into the fray with any ghastly apparition at a moment's notice, or return to it to help a friend, who was he to convince him otherwise?

The matter apparently settled to his satisfaction, the valet nodded and said, "Well sir, the bad news is this: I think my house is haunted."

Edward rolled his eyes. "Oh, you don't say?"

"I do...which explains why Velwyn Benirus was in such a hurry to get out of town after I bought it," the other man mused. Then, brushing his reflections aside, he continued, "However, I'm sure I can track him down in the Imperial City and talk to him about it. But, enough about that...time for the good news: I found your amulet. Well, the Emperor's amulet."

"You did?" Edward asked, his eyes wide with joy. He'd all but given up on his retirement plan, and suddenly it seemed as if his sense of desolation may have been premature. "You're sure it's the same amulet? Where did you find it?"

The other man nodded, grinning broadly. "I followed my little hunch, and asked around a bit," he replied. "Sure enough, one of the fellows who participated in the raid -- Maridus -- had a bit of a reputation for taking advantage of his position, sometimes skimming things recovered in busts and all that." Here, he shrugged self-deprecatingly. "The rest was easy...just a matter of trailing him, breaking into his residence when he slept, and lifting the amulet."

Edward felt his jaws clenching. "He's doing it again," he thought. "That pretending-to-be-humble bragging thing..." Speaking aloud, however, he was all good cheer. This was his meal-ticket, after all, and he wanted it back. "Fantastic! I knew I could count on you, my friend!"

The valet smiled what seemed to Edward -- though he was annoyed to admit it -- a genuine smile. "Thank you sir, but I was only doing my part for the empire."

"Yes, well, why don't you hand it to me?"

The valet hesitated. "I don't know about that, sir."

Edward's expression froze. "What?"

"Well," the valet explained, "once Maridus realizes that it's gone missing, he's naturally going to suspect you -- since it was your amulet. Well, he thought it was. So he's going to try to find us -- you."

"Then we can get out of here, right away," Edward argued. "Just hand it over."

Still, the other man shook his head. "Don't you see, sir? He'll never suspect me. He doesn't know who I am. I think it would be much safer if I held on to it, at least until we got to Weynon Priory."

Edward blinked in frustration. "You mean...you hold onto it?"

The valet nodded. "Right...just until we get to the priory, anyway, where we'll know it's safe."

Edward's jaw tightened. "But...it's mine!"

"It's the empire's, sir!" his valet countered in astonishment.

"Curse him!" Edward thought. "He's convinced this is the Amulet of Kings, isn't he? And he's going to be all patriotic and heroic and whatever about seeing that it gets delivered to that stupid monk." Sighing in frustration, Edward realized that he was going to have to at least play along. "Yes, yes," he said, "I know that. I meant that it was my...task! My task."

"Your task, sir?" the valet asked, and, again, his expression conveyed relief.

"Yes," Edward lied. "Personally, from the Emperor in fact!" The other man's eyes seemed to glisten with admiration. "So, you see, you have to give it to me."

Here, the valet hesitated again. "Well, sir, I'll be the perfect courier for you, to make sure that your task goes off without a hitch."

This persistence was too much for Edward. Was it possible that his valet, even if he would not admit it to himself, harbored some faint inkling of Edward's real intent? "It's not the bloody Amulet of Kings!" he snapped. "It's just a stupid jewel that I...got from him for safekeeping."

The valet sighed and shook his head. "Sir, how many times must I tell you that you don't have to lie to me?"

The hands of fate could not slow,
And so the witless messenger continued.
But little did the fool know
The import of the task he'd undertaken.
-- Chronicle of the Oblivion Crisis

Chapter Fifty-Four

Utterly ignoring Edward's repeated entreaties, curses and threats, the valet had gathered up some supplies for them, straightened out the few things that had been knocked over, and been preparing for their departure when he'd stumbled across a strange skeletal hand and note. Not having the opportunity to evaluate either, due to Edward's rantings, he'd stashed them in his pack, and set out, the furious Imperial hard on his heels.

They'd made their way to the stables in much the same manner as they'd left the house: the valet leading, and Edward following, screaming at him all the way. During their journey, they'd twice been stopped by the Anvil Guard to see that all was well, and once threatened with arrest for disturbing the peace. Edward hadn't dared to share his woes with the police, fearing that they would once again seize his precious amulet, but, each time that they were out of hearing, he'd re-launched his verbal assault.

Finally, riding along the road toward Chorrol, the valet turned to Edward. "Sir," he said, "I'm sorry, but you know what I'm saying makes sense. Suppose he pursues us, and we are ambushed. You'll be the one they'll kill. So it doesn't make sense that you should be the one wearing the amulet!"

Edward stared at the other man, as aghast as he was furious.

"No offense, sir," the valet hastened to apologize. "I mean, you and I both hope that that doesn't happen. But we know that it might. So it's much wiser for me to carry it." He shrugged. "And, furthermore, I know the reason you don't want me to carry it."

Edward blinked. "You do?" Up until now, he'd flattered himself that he'd disguised his greedy ambitions rather well. Was it possible that his annoying servant had really deduced his motives?

"Yes sir. You're afraid that I will in someway mess up, and endanger the mission, maybe lose the amulet. But you've just got to learn to put a little faith in me once in awhile! I am not that clueless, sir!"

Edward growled under his breath. This was not going to be an easy journey, and, unfortunately, it seemed as though it would be a journey that he'd have to take. He knew well enough that there was no way that he'd be able to wrest possession of the amulet from his foolhardy valet; nor, apparently, would he be able to convince him either that the amulet was not the Amulet of Kings or that he should have control of it. So he'd have to wait this one out until they got Weynon Priory. "Then he'll hand it over to me, and that idiot monk will tell him that it's not the Amulet of Kings, and he'll leave me the Oblivion alone..." he mused. "And then I'll have my retirement back." As annoyed as he was, he supposed this wasn't as bad as things could get. "Like if the jewel really was the Amulet of Kings, and this moron servant of mine insisted on returning...now that would be something to be upset about!" he consoled himself.

His annoyance thus assuaged, Edward allowed himself to enjoy the ride. It was a beautiful day, free of the rain that had plagued his trip to Anvil. Plus, they were heading toward the midlands, and, to his mind, there was no place so wonderful as the midlands. That was the land of the Imperials, the home of the sophisticated, refined people, and as free of barbarians as one could hope a place to be.

"You know, sir, seeing as how we're going to be right outside of it, we should take the opportunity of visiting Chorrol," the valet spoke at length.

Edward frowned. "Why?"

"Well, it's a beautiful little town, sir. The people are quite congenial, and the architecture is remarkably distinct from that in the Imperial City."

Edward scoffed. "I've no desire to see a bunch of peasant's hovels, thank you very much," he declared superciliously.

The other man grimaced imperceptibly, but said in a tone free of expression, "Oh no sir, no hovels. Very unique, but charming, architecture. I'm sure you'd approve." Edward scoffed again. "And the people really are very nice. As a matter of fact, I've been meaning to get in touch with a friend -- Seed-Neeus -- for some time now, and just haven't had the chance yet."

Edward sighed. His servant always had a bizarre reason for wanting to go to these strange, primitive little towns...to see his fence, to meet a strange stranger, to meet an Argonian...but for him? Well, it always seemed that visiting a new town ended up resulting in an unsolicited tour of the dungeons. "I'd rather skip," he declared. "After all, the Emperor's business cannot be delayed."

"Hmm...true enough, sir," the valet agreed, his tone conveying some disappointment.

"We'll have to make sure to go some other time, though," Edward lied.

The valet smiled and nodded. "Yes, thank you sir."

(Alrighty, I know these chapters have been longer than usual, but I needed to advance the storyline a little bit...so I apologize about that. They should be shorter in the future! )

History was to be made,
By the strangest of all creatures.
And the world to be saved
By the oddest of coincidental accidents.
-- Chronicle of the Oblivion Crisis, continued

Chapter Fifty-Five

Riding for several days straight, only breaking to make camp and eat dried food, Edward's enthusiasm for travel had waned, and then disappeared. His back and neck ached from sleeping on the hard earth, and his bones were thoroughly jarred from the constant riding. He was ravenous for "real food" -- anything other than foraged berries and dried meat -- and he was furious that his servant had still not relinquished possession of the amulet to him. His only consolation was that they had, at last, reached Weynon Priory.

He'd held his peace with his valet up until now, knowing that he could not alienate the man carrying his retirement, but was now eagerly awaiting the moment when, Friar Jauffre dismissing the silly notion that this was anything more than a deliciously expensive ruby, he was free to dispose of his treasure as he saw fit -- and, directly after that, his wayward servant.

Slowing their horses to a steady clomp-clomp along the cobblestone road, Edward and his servant entered the Priory grounds. "Here we are, sir," the valet declared cheerily.

Edward glared at him silently. No matter how sore, aggravated or tired Edward found himself, it seemed that his fool of a servant was, unfortunately, never affected.

His valet seemed not to notice his glare, however, for he continued speaking as though nothing was amiss. "There's the Priory House," he told his master, pointing to a large, elegant building, that seemed a cross between a manor house and a church. "You'll likely find Friar Jauffre in there."

Edward frowned at the other man, assuming a condescending air. "Don't be absurd," he told him. "He's a monk or preacher or bishop or whatever. He'll be in that building." Here, he pointed to the chapel. The other man seemed about to disagree, but Edward cut him off shortly. "Don't argue," he told him. "Just give me the amulet, and take care of the horses."

"Of course, sir," the valet returned. Retrieving the amulet from a pocket inside his jacket, he handed it to Edward. "I do believe, though, sir, that, if I remember correctly..."

Exhaling a loud, vexed sigh, Edward interrupted, "Who spoke to the Emperor? Who was given this quest?"

"You, of course, sir," the other man answered. "I just meant that..."

"Then stop trying to tell me how to do it!" Edward snapped. With this, he slipped out of his saddle in an attempt to imitate the suave, easy dismounting that he'd seen the Imperial Legionnaires do. Instead of landing effortlessly as they did, he fell heavily to the cobblestones and twisted his ankle as he landed. It was only his horse's presence that prevented him from collapsing headlong, and, even so, he found it difficult to stand on his injured ankle. Nonetheless, he was determined to make a brave effort, for he had no intention of diluting the strong, commanding, arrogant front he'd just established with his servant by injuring himself so clumsily in a foolhardy attempt to impress.

As valiant as his efforts were, however, he was unable to change the fact that his progress was slow, and awkwardly reminiscent of an inebriated duck's waddling. Nonetheless, he maintained his courage in the face of his trials, and, at last, reached the chapel. Pushing the doors open with difficulty, he limped inside. No sooner than had he shut the doors did his demeanor change, and all at once he was wailing and cursing in agony.

A rather shocked monk at the far end of the chapel looked up at him. "My good man!" he reproached. "Please, moderate your language. You are in a Chapel of Talos, after all!"

Edward glanced up at him, staring daggers at the man. "Talos be hanged!" he exclaimed. "I'm in pain!"

The monk's eyes widened in shock. "Sir, please!" he spoke. "Take care not to offend the gods, and not here, in our chapel to them!"

Edward's expression darkened, and he shot back, "The gods can go to Mehrunes Dagon for all that I care! And you can go with them, you stuffy little twit." Then, an idea coming to him, his expression froze. "You're not...Friar Jauffre, are you?"

The affronted little monk shook his head. "No, he is in the Priory house. I am Brother Piner. However, if it will cause you to curb your language, I can heal your injury for you."

Edward hesitated. He was in no mood to be courteous to an annoying monk -- and had been just about to tell him off but good, so soon as he'd found out that he wasn't the monk he'd been looking for. But, by the same token, his foot really did hurt...and, he didn't have the skill to heal it. "Alright, fine," he snapped. "Just get on with it."

The monk nodded, and began to chant what seemed to be a ritual prayer. Edward sighed in disgust. If his experience was anything to go by, the gods couldn't possibly exist. "If they did," he thought, "my servant would be fish food at the bottom of the sea right now, and I'd be the richest man in Tamriel." All at once, he felt a strange, cool surge through his ankle. "Ahh!" he screamed, breaking quickly from his reverie and leaping backwards in sheer surprise. "What in Oblivion...?" But, as he landed, he was suddenly aware that he experienced no pain in his injured leg whatsoever. His eyes widened. "You mean...it really worked?" he asked wonderingly.

The monk smiled. "Of course...an easy spell, really. Just asking the right blessing from the gods, you know."

Edward shivered, suddenly feeling not at all comfortable. "Umm...sorry about that, Talons, or Tables or whatever your name is. I didn't mean any of that hanging stuff...and, of course I knew you existed. I, uhhm, well, ahh, thanks."

His shaking continued until he was out of the chapel, and Edward breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped into the afternoon air. It was bad enough to insult the gods, but to insult them in a chapel? "That," he reasoned, "probably wasn't the smartest thing I've ever done." This realization come to, however, he promptly dismissed it in favor of other matters. "Now, that stupid valet was right...he is in the priory house...how the oblivion does that man know things like that?"

Passing the valet without so much glancing at him, Edward marched straight for the house. He might have been right, but Edward had no intention of acknowledging the fact. Reaching the manor, he stepped inside. It was a simply furnished affair, with practical but not terribly fine furniture, and little in the way of finery adorning the walls. "How can these people live like that?" Edward wondered in disgust. "No finery? No riches? Just hewn wooden furniture, and so many books?" He shuddered again, and glanced about quickly. This place made him almost as uncomfortable as the chapel, so the sooner he was out of it, the better.

Seeing no one about, Edward headed upstairs. "Hello?" he asked of no one in particular. "Father Jauffre?"

"I am Friar Jauffre," a strong voice called.

Edward jumped. He had still not seen anyone, and so was unsure of where the voice was coming from. "Where...where are you?"

"Over here, nitwit," the voice answered. This time, Edward followed the direction from where it came, and traveled toward it.

"Ahh," he sighed, rounding a corner and coming across a little enclave that he'd missed before. He was not, then, speaking with some sort of specter.

The Friar, an elderly but burly man seated at a wooden table strewn with books and manuscripts, glanced up at him as he entered, seeming almost annoyed by his presence. "Yes? And how can I help you?"

Edward drew himself up tall, and, assuming his most supercilious tones, declared, "I am Edward, who was hand chosen by the Emperor himself to deliver a message to you."

The Friar's eyebrows rose, and he stared at Edward, as though studying him. Then a light lit his eye. "Oooohhhhhh, you mean the escaped prisoner?"

Edward frowned. "Released, actually," he told the Friar, "by the Emperor himself. And wrongly and most unjustly imprisoned, although what business of yours that is I cannot say."

Friar Jauffre blinked, then apologized, "Well now, I meant no offense. I was just...trying to place you."

"Well," Edward sniffed, taking the amulet out of his pocket, "as I said, the Emperor gave me an amulet --"

He'd not even finished his sentence when Jauffre had leapt from his seat, sprung forward, grabbed the amulet, and returned to his chair, declaring tearfully, "The Amulet of Kings! It's safe at last!"

Edward blinked. The Friar was surprisingly nimble for a man of his age. "Ummm...what are you doing with that?" he asked.

"The Amulet of Kings?" Jauffre answered. "Didn't the Emperor tell you?"

"Umm...not really...you see, the assassin interrupted..."

"Oh, of course," the Friar said, nodding comprehension as Edward's lies trailed off. "Well, he wanted you to bring this to me so that I could find the lost heir and give it to him."

"The lost heir?" Edward asked. "I thought all the king's sons were dead?"

"Well, that's true, but not true."

Edward stared at him. "Monks, politicians and philosophers," he thought. "Only they can simultaneously make two contradictory statements with a straight face." Aloud, however, he said, "Yes, well, is it 'true' as in they are dead, or is it 'not true' as in they are not dead?"

Jauffre shrugged in an explanatory gesture. "Both."

To my delight I discovered that the page update-glitch occured once again
Funny as ever! Bravo! :thumbsup:



Oh, I think I know why

Well, I popped back in to read chapters 52-55 and had just as much fun as ever. Thank you Rachel! :icecream:

Such hilarious new takes on familiar quests!

ARGH! I wish you would post each chapter as you write it, that way I wouldn't be 5 chapters behind if I miss a day or two on here, lol. Awesome as usual!

Deliciously understated. One of the many passages I enjoyed was:

"Well, it always seemed that visiting a new town ended up resulting in an unsolicited tour of the dungeons."

Has Edward managed to miss being imprisoned in any town he has visited? I also love the "bravely running away" from the ghosts and the typically "Edwardian" cursing of Talos (Talons? Tables?) in the god's own chapel.

Can't wait to see how he reacts when Jauffre wants to keep his "retirement fund."

Thank you for your brilliant take on the game.

(Thanks for the comments, all. As for Edward being imprisoned, treydog, not yet...he's imprisoned at least once in each town he's visited, lol. You're very welcome, Acadian; and glad you enjoyed the page-update 'glitch' AyumiFan. Sorry about posting so many at once, mALX1, lol, but I tend to write enough in advance so that I know I'm not going to go back and change anything (which I tend to do on occasion, LOL). )

Worlds of doom stirred outside mankind’s door,
So in whose feeble hands did the gods
Place the fate of the world evermore?
In those of one of history’s greatest frauds.
-- Chronicle of the Oblivion Crisis, continued

Chapter Fifty-Six


"You see," the Friar continued, "all of the kings legitimate sons are dead, but there is one...Martin, his illegitimate son."

Edward blinked. "You mean, the Emperor had another son?"

"Exactly. He used to be a monk, under my guidance. As a young man, he grew eager to learn the secrets of the gods, as did many of his fellow acolytes. They threw themselves into study. They hungered to please the divines. Knowledge and servitude were their gods. You can guess the rest. They got in over their heads...too much studying, too much caffeine, not enough sleep. People died. His friends died. He put those days behind him, but the bitter experience drove him from our ranks forever."

Edward stared at him, an eyebrow raised.

"Anyway," Jauffre continued with a sigh, "he was weak. Disappointingly weak. He has since disappeared. We've had no word from him, no sightings of him. For all we know, he could be dead. But now...now we must find him." He sighed again. "And I suppose we must make the weak bastard king."

Edward blinked. "Wait...you mean the empire's only heir is missing, maybe dead?"

"I'm afraid so."

"And that really is the Amulet of Kings?"

"Of course."

"Then why don't I...safeguard it while you search for the missing heir?"

Friar Jauffre stared at him incredulously. "Don't be preposterous," he declared, assuming an almost bellicose air. "You are but one man, whereas I am the Grandmaster of the Blades. We Blades will protect it with our lives, guard it with our souls. Nothing, living, dead or otherwise will so much as lay a putrid finger on it!"

"Hmph," Edward snorted. "Weren't you the idiots who were guarding the Emperor when he got bludgeoned to death? If his brains could be spilled all over the floor while in your hands, I dare say..."

Friar Jauffre's eyes bulged as Edward began speaking, and he instinctively reached for a drawer. In a flash, he'd drawn a nasty silver dagger, and was in the process of rising, when he froze. "Oh," he said, clearing his throat abashedly as Edward trailed off in horror. "Forgive me...habit, you know."

His arrogance melted into fear, Edward decided it would be best to leave this place as quickly as his legs could take him. It was bad enough to be surrounded by potentially hostile gods, but there was no need to add deranged soldier-monks to the list. "Yes, quite alright. Perfectly understandable," he said, trying hard not to roll his eyes or bolt from the spot. "So, I'll just take my leave." Then, an idea struck him, and he added, "If there's no reward for me to collect or anything."

"Yes, you may as well go," Jauffre was saying. "I don't suppose you'd be much help in locating the heir."

Edward frowned. "All this aggravation, and no reward," he thought to himself. "I hope the damn priory burns down while they're all abed." Aloud, however, he said in his most congenial tones, "True. Well, I'll be off now." This said, he took to his heels and practically ran out of the priory house, leaving Friar Jauffre lost in meditation, still toying with his dagger.

Once he was outside, the depressing reality of his situation hit him full force. His retirement was gone, he had not a penny to show for it, and he, Edward, had unknowingly held the Amulet of Kings in his own hands, and had missed the opportunity to make for himself a fortune like no other. And, to top it all off, his servant had been right about everything -- where Friar Jauffre was, what the Amulet was...everything.

It was unbelievable, tragic, and utterly depressing. So, Edward trudged toward the stables, where he assumed his valet would be, with an excessively heavy heart. "At least," he consoled himself, "the gods haven't done anything awful to me, even after I damned them all."

Nearing the stable, he broke from his melancholy reflection and slowed to a halt as he saw his valet and another man -- the stable-hand, no doubt -- gathered about a collapsed equine body. Recognizing the body as that of his horse, he ran forward. "My horse! What happened?" he demanded.

The valet looked up. "I don't know, sir...I can't explain it. The poor thing just suddenly dropped dead, out of nowhere."

Edward stared, open-mouthed. "How?" he demanded. "Horses don't just die out of nowhere! Something must have happened!"

"Well," the third man offered, "I did see...well, not to sound silly or anything...but I could have sworn that I saw...well, a bolt of lightning shoot out of the sky and hit him."

"Come now," the valet scoffed, "it's a beautiful clear day, not a bit of thunder. How could lightning strike this poor horse?"

But to Edward's mind, there was no mystery whatsoever. He began to shake violently. "Quick!" he told his valet. "We need to get out of here!"

?Mehrunes Dagon is a pest,
Mehrunes Dagon is our bane.
Y'all better put him to rest
Before he goes all insane.
-- Music for the Legionnaires, sung by a trio of traveling entertainers from the western provinces



Chapter Fifty-Seven

Edward groaned. The gods weren't just revengeful, they were sadistic. They had not just killed a perfectly obedient and likable horse, but they'd done so in order to saddle him with the first horse he'd ever ridden...that nasty, disagreeable nag he'd stolen from Snak gra-Bura so long ago. The Priory, it turned out, had made an arrangement with Snak gra-Bura whereby she would bring her old horses, and they would send them out to pasture and care for them for what was left of their lives. Having none of the Priory's regular horses to spare for Edward, the stable-hand had given him this one.

So, trudging along slowly, at an unalterable pace determined by his horse, he and his valet had headed toward the Imperial City. The other man had attempted to convince him to visit Chorrol, but Edward was steadfast in his refusal. He was sick of the barbarians and barbarian outposts. He needed to return to the beloved stone walls of his Imperial City, the one civilized place in Tamriel. Plus, he still had a contract on Valen Dreth, and Dreth hadn't been released yet. "I can't wait until we get there," he thought, "so I sojourn once more amongst civilized people...and so I can kill that damned elf."

"So, sir," the valet spoke, interrupting his thoughts. "What did Friar Jauffre say?"

Edward glared at him. While it would never to do acknowledge the actual reason for his anger -- the fact that the valet had insisted on returning the amulet of kings, rather than allowing Edward to use it to enrich himself at the empire's expense -- he was nonetheless furious. "Stuff," he answered.

The valet frowned. "I really am sorry about your horse, sir," he said at length, "but there was nothing I could do...it happened so quickly."

Edward sighed. His valet was an idiot, with the perception of a dead cow...nothing more or less to it, he decided. "He said that he needs to find the remaining heir."

The other man's face brightened. "Then there really is another heir?"

"Of course," Edward retorted. "I told you all about me being the king's son."

The valet frowned at him, an eyebrow raised. "Are you saying, sir, that Friar Jauffre is...searching for you?"

"No," Edward snapped. "The old fool is looking for some twit who used to study under him or something like that, but disappeared a long time ago after a bunch of students died in some warped studying accident." Edward hissed his disgust, taking no note of his valet's expression.

"Indeed, sir?" the other man asked. "Did he give a name?"

Edward frowned, in part in concentration, and in part in aggravation. "He might have...I don't remember it though. And, anyway, what do you care?"

"I might know him, sir," the valet answered. "Are you sure you don't remember?"

Edward's frown deepened. "Quite sure...and don't be pompous...it's very unbecoming."

"Pompous, sir?" the other man asked, taken aback by the accusation.

"Yes, pompous! To pretend that you might know a king or a king's son..." Edward hissed in disgust, but hurried to add, "Other than me, I mean."

You should write comedy for a living. I love the understated humour.

Wonderful again, Rachel!

"so I sojourn once more amongst civilized people...and so I can kill that damned elf." :rofl:

"And I suppose we must make the weak bastard king." Like seeing Oblivion as never before!

(Thanks all, glad Edward continues to amuse )


Where blood is let and lives are ended
Where wagers are made and lost
Where many aspire and few succeed,
The Arena!

-- Song of the ArenaChapter

Fifty-Eight

Edward was overjoyed to finally be within the walls of his beloved Imperial City, safe from the barbarian hordes and their fledgling outposts and primitive towns. So glad was he that he forgot aggravation with his valet, the terrible loss of his retirement, or any of the other myriad things that plagued his mind. "Now," he said to his valet as they strolled through the Market District, "We've just got to go hunt Valen Dreth down. Well, I've got to."

"Yes sir," the valet replied nodding. "But, before you do, do you mind if I run into this shop?" Here, he pointed to Jensine's "Good as New" Merchandise.

Edward frowned, feeling somewhat annoyed. "Why? Have some hot merchandise to unload?"

"No sir. Jensine isn't a fence. I heard a rumor about a warblade, however, and I wanted to check it out..."

Edward sighed in aggravation. "Oh hurry up, if you must!" he snapped. His return home had put him in too good a mood to quarrel. Nodding his thanks, the valet disappeared. Edward, still annoyed, hopped onto a wooden barrel near the shop to wait for his valet to return.

His aggravation soon ebbed, however, as he gazed about the city. He was, he told himself, a great adventurer, like those of old, who had endured trials and tribulations in far-distant corners of the world, suffering at the hands of barbarians and fiends...but now the hero had returned home to his beloved city. He sighed contentedly.

So lost in thoughts was he that he didn't notice the cracking sound underneath him. All at once, however, the wooden top of his barrel seat collapsed, and he found himself rudely jerked into reality as he plunged downwards. Before he knew what had happened, Edward found himself half inside and half outside of his barrel, his head, hands and lower legs protruding, while his torso and upper legs were securely, and most uncomfortably, wedged inside the barrel. Feeling a thousand painful sensations at once, Edward tried to scream; but his compressed lungs had had most of the air squeezed out of them. Instead of a shout, he managed a pitiful squeak.

Powerless to move, and having extreme difficulty even breathing, Edward felt panic rising in him. Circulation in his extremities protruding outside of the barrel seemed to be cut off, and the rest of him, stuffed into a small space without regard to the proper working of his spine and body structure, seemed alive with pain.

Suddenly, just as unexpectedly as the fall had been, he felt the barrel tip, and could only watch as it came crashing down. "You there? Are you alright?" he heard someone ask. He couldn't see the speaker, nor could he even respond as the limited air in his lungs had been knocked out of him a second time in the crash. "Hold on a second! I'll get you out!" the voice continued.

Gurgling in fright, Edward was powerless to do anything except watch as the barrel rose into the air, and tipped upside down. For a moment he stared at the cobblestones underneath him. Then, all at once, he felt the barrel fly upwards sharply. He gurgled again, just as the barrel came downwards. He flew downwards in a flash, sure that -- he knew not how -- he was being propelled face first into the cobblestones. Instead, however, just as suddenly as he'd gone down, he went up again.

Feeling his brain bouncing up and down in his skull in a most frightening manner, he was still somehow able to make limited sense of what was happening. Something -- surely it couldn't be a someone -- was shaking the barrel up and down in an attempt to oust him. This something had apparently not taken into account what he, Edward, could see only too clearly -- that, should he shaken out, he would be propelled face-first into the cobblestones below. Each shake of the barrel knocking whatever breath he was able to gather out of him, however, he was unable to scream out for his would-be rescuer to desist.

It was no surprise, therefore, to him when the inevitable happened: after one particularly brain-jarring shake, he felt his body wrench free from its confinement and fly downward.

The next thing he was aware of was opening his eyes painfully, staring up into the blue sky overhead, the greenish face of an orc and the small, wedge-like face of a Bosmer. "Oh, great heavens," the Bosmer declared, "I thought Grul had killed you for sure!"

The orc flinched at the words. "Sorry about that," he said to Edward, shrugging apologetically. "You just looked like you needed help."

Edward blinked at them, slowly processing what had happened. "Who are you?" he asked at length.

The Bosmer gestured toward the orc. "This is Grul; Grul gro-Barak," he answered. "He's my servant. We were walking through town looking for...well, it doesn't matter. We were walking through town, and happened to see you fall into the barrel. Grul here tried to shake you out. Then you landed on your face and seemed to get a bit woozy. But now you're coming around."

Edward nodded slowly, wincing as the motion seemed to jiggle his already shaken-about brain painfully. In a warped way, things made sense to him now. "Who are you?" he asked the Bosmer.

"Name's Hundolin," the little man with bright hair answered. "I work at the arena." All of a sudden, staring at Edward, his eyes lit up. "I say, I think you're the one!"

Edward blinked. Maybe, he thought, he wasn't all there yet after all...how else could he explain what this little fellow was babbling about?

"I was going through town looking for...well, someone to fight in the arena."

"A champion," Grul enjoined.

"Yes, yes, a champion!" Hundolin agreed. "You see, we have a fight scheduled at the arena, but we ran out of-"

"Champions," the orc interjected hastily. "Great champions."

"Yes, exactly!"

Edward blinked again. He understood what the Bosmer was saying, but he failed to see how it related to him. "And?"

"And you're the one! The champion I was looking for!"

"I am?" Edward asked, feeling by now quite baffled.

"Of course! Look at that...that physique!" the Bosmer answered.

Edward glanced down at his still crumpled and cringing form.

"And the...the strength, the determination, the courage that just radiates from you!" the elf continued eagerly.

Edward blinked again. Did his inner character, his courage, his magnificence really shine forth so brightly, even when he was injured and weak, that this little Bosmer could recognize it so clearly, he wondered? He shrugged a little, as if embarrassed. "Well, I'm sure you're exaggerating," he replied, attempting modesty. His flattered, glowing tone, however, gave away the insincerity of his words.

The Bosmer exchanged a fleeting smile with the orc. "Not at all!" he hastily assured Edward, sounding only slightly more genuine in his praise that Edward had moments earlier.

"Indeed," the orc agreed. "Look at the way you handled falling into a barrel, with only your head and arms and feet sticking out!"

The Bosmer shot the orc a glaring glance of disapproval, but Edward didn't notice it. "The courage!" Hundolin hurriedly explained. "The steadfastness! Not a sound! Not a peep did you utter!"

"Not even when your face smashed into the cobblestone!" the orc agreed, earning himself a second glare.

But Edward was too lost in musing the Bosmer's words to notice. "Hmm," he said at length, "I suppose you're right...I do have that air of a champion, a warrior."

"A god amongst men!" Hundolin assured him.

Edward smiled. "I say, you're quite the intuitive chap!" he told the elf.

"Not at all," the other man assured him. "I only recognize greatness when I see it!" Edward's smile broadened, and he attempted to nay-say this praise in a most pompous manner. The elf ignored this, and pressed his advantage quickly. "So you will fight in the arena then?"

The vagabonds set on fame,
The fools who know naught their own inabilities;
The criminal who lusts for blood,
These are the snared who are lured to the Arena.
-- From Arena & Contestants, Edition the First

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Edward blinked anew, this time in surprise. "The arena?" he asked incredulously. All this praise was one thing, but actually fighting?

"Of course!" Hundolin exclaimed in most animated tones. "I can see it now -- the new Grand Champion of the arena! You'll be a star! The city will cheer you, love you, adore you!" He paused, glancing at the orc, who was standing about in a most uninterested manner. "Can't you, Grul?"

"Oh, umm, yeah, definitely," the orc answered in a tone that conveyed at least as much boredom as his expression.

The Bosmer seemed annoyed, but hurried on with his tale of the grandeur that awaited Edward. "Imagine it! You will be the star of the Empire! You'll have fans following you non-stop, at your beck and call, worshiping you, doing your every bidding!"

Edward hesitated. This sounded very pleasant, after all...and maybe this elf knew what he was talking about. Maybe Edward had that Champion blood in him, born to greatness that had just, somehow, eluded him up until now, and disguised itself in embarrassing incidents like the barrel episode of moments earlier. "Well..." he mused. "Would there be any money in it for me?"

"Money?" the Bosmer repeated, scoffing as though the answer was obvious. "Of course! More money than you could use in a hundred life-times! Why, a Champion of your caliber would end up richer than...than the Emperor himself!"

Ignoring the fact that the Emperor was dead and buried, Edward thought about these words for a few moments. "Well, it does sound rather tempting," he said at length. "I mean, I know I have what it takes..."

"Of course!" Hundolin assured him. "And this -- this is the perfect time for you to make your entrance!"

"Why?"

"Well, because...because there are so many people who have already bet on this match, and our other pit dog-"

"Champion!" the orc interrupted.

"Yes, Champion...pit dog is...well, arena speak for Champion, you understand?" the elf explained.

Edward nodded.

"Anyway, our other Champion had a terrible accident and died."

Edward flinched. As appealing as this all sounded, he still didn't relish the possibility of accidents and death. "Died?"

"Yes, but it was a silly accident," Hundolin hurriedly explained. "He...he..."

"Jumped into a pit of minotaur lords!" Grul interjected.

"Yes, exactly," Hundolin agreed.

Edward grimaced. "Why would he do something like that?" he wondered.

"He was...drunk!"

"Ohhh, I see," Edward nodded.

"Anyway, as long as you don't get drunk and go jumping into the minotaur cages, you'll be just fine!" the elf continued. "And, since we have this match all set up -"

"And stand to lose a lot of money," the orc muttered, which earned him yet another furious glare from Hundolin.

"This would be the perfect time to make your debut," the Bosmer finished. "You see?"

Edward nodded excitedly. "Yes, yes I do!"

"Excellent!" Hundolin exclaimed. "Then we'll see you at the arena in...oh, about half an hour?"

Edward nodded again. "Yes indeed! I've just got to collect my valet, and we'll be right over!"

The elf and orc nodded and made their farewells, assuring Edward yet again that he was destined for greatness, fame and wealth. Then they turned and headed toward the arena, talking quietly amongst themselves. Edward, in his excitement, heard little of what they said, although he did catch Hundolin's voice saying, "There's one born every minute."

Edward, for his part, hoped that this was not true. "How will my greatness stand out if Champions are born all the time?" he wondered.

Rachel, you little minx!

Just when I think you can't top yourself, you pull another rabbit out of the hat...

:rofl:

A request.

PLEASE PLEASE please make this rotter edward lose control of both his bowels and sphincter in the ring as he runs, make his opponent slip in the odure, and stab himself with his own sword...thus making Edward the winner by dungdrop!

:rofl:

Rachel, wonderful as always.

I shall never look at a barrel in the game the same way again.... :lmao:

Edward in the Arena. I think my mind just officially boggled. Please, look away- it is not a pleasant sight, a boggled doggie...

Your creativity is matched only by your wicked wit. Fortunately, I was observing the "No Liquids Rule," so I was safe.

Am I the only one who is reminded of the story, "Don Quixote" when reading this story?

I happened upon these forums while searching the internet and I have to tell you: I only signed up as a user to compliment your wonderfully written story.

Bravo, madame, bravo.

Thanks very much for the comments everyone -- and glad you found the story, Jamesmc!! Sorry, DFoxy, but I have an even more inauspicious win awaiting our befuddled hero.

Where fools become kings,
And the worst are the greatest
Heroes of which the bard sings,
Come, but only if you're a sadist.
-- Song of the Arena, continued

Chapter Sixty

Edward had excitedly dragged his astonished valet to the arena, explaining in rambling, self-congratulatory platitudes what had happened. Incredulous, the other man had questioned the veracity of Edward's story, pointing to his bruised features and wondering if, perhaps, the event had been a product of injury-induced hallucinations. This theory had been met with great disdain and annoyance by Edward, but, hurrying to his certain fame and glory, he'd had little time to set the miscreant servant straight.

Arriving at last at the arena, he was greeted by none other than the little Bosmer. "Ahh, the Champion approaches!" Hundolin exclaimed.

The valet stared at him openmouthed, but Edward took no notice. "Indeed, one Champion, as promised!"

"Excellent, excellent!" the elf returned. "They are waiting for you below!"

Edward nodded, and hurriedly headed in the direction the Bosmer had indicated. His valet trailed behind him, a confused expression on his face.

Edward's step was light, though he was still sore from his misadventures earlier. Suddenly, the world seemed very bright to him -- even if he was traversing a blood stained stone hall, that reeked in a most offensive manner. He would soon be a Champion, wealthy, respected and admired.

"Ahh, the new pit dog!" a burly Redguard greeted him as soon as he emerged into the dark, stuffy chamber below.

Nodding proudly, Edward declared, "You better believe it!"

The Redguard stared at him strangely, and then turned to an older Imperial woman. "It's illegal for us to send mentally challenged guys up there, isn't it?"

She shrugged. "Well, whose to say we knew? Hundolin sent him here, anyhow."

The Redguard grunted acquiescence, and then turned back to Edward. "Alright, pit dog, suit up." This said, he tossed him a suit of armor. A very heavy suit of armor.

Edward caught it, but, not expecting something so weighty, fell forward with it. Picking himself up gingerly, and laughing abashedly at his own clumsiness, he said, "Well, umm...that's a bit heavy, isn't it?"

"We're out of light armor," the Redguard sneered. "So you'll have to make due. Not that it's gonna matter anyway...you'll be dead soon enough."

Edward blinked at these words. "Dead?" he asked.

"What do you think?" the Redguard laughed.

"Wait, you mean...people die in these fights?"

The old woman and the Redguard exchanged glances again. "Maybe this is too cruel," she commented ponderingly.

"We've got a lot of money riding on this fight though," the man pointed out.

"True..." she mused.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Edward interrupted. "Nobody said anything about people dying!"

The two turned to him. "It's an arena!" the woman snapped. "Fights to the death!"

Edward balked. "To the...death?"

"Of course!"

"But...but I thought it was just...you know, until somebody surrendered."

The Reguard and the Imperial woman turned to each other again, bursting out in laughter simultaneously. "Surrender?" the Redguard managed to repeat through his laughter. "Nobody surrenders in these fights...you die, or you kill. Nothing more, and nothing less!"

Edward, meanwhile, had turned a chalky white. At this point, his valet interjected, "Look here, I believe my friend was misinformed about this arrangement. As he understood it, he was coming here to -"

"Don't figure it matters what he understood or didn't," the woman interrupted. "He's here, we've got a lot of money riding on this show, and we need a warm body up there."

Edward began to shake. "But they didn't say anything about dying!" he protested.

"That's right," the valet agreed.

The two Arena keepers shrugged. "So?"

"Well, my friend was lured down here under false pretenses, that's what!" the valet answered.

The Redguard laughed. "Look here," he said, "I don't give a sewer rat's tail about how he was or wasn't lured down here. After that last idiot got his brains pummeled fighting with the Yellow Team, we need someone in the show. So, unless you're volunteering to take his place, he'd better get up there -- and you'd better shut up!"

Edward's shaking renewed. "I won't go!"

"You'll go," the woman told him, rising and lifting a menacing looking sword.

"Or you'll die right here and right now," the Redguard finished, drawing a sword of his own.

Taste the fear,
Fear the steel,
Steal the lives,
Live after the fight!
-- In the Arena!

Chapter Sixty-One

Edward's valet grimaced. He couldn't believe it. Not only had Edward been foolish enough to get himself into a fix like this, but now he had to save his neck...again. At least, he thought, the arena keepers -- Owyn the Redguard and Ysabel Andronicus the Imperial -- had let them go as a team. Indeed, the suggestion had been met with surprised pleasure by the two, who had easily been able to convince the Yellow Team -- which, apparently, they were about to fight -- to throw another pit dog into the arena.

Half wondering if it wouldn't have been easier just to take on Owyn and Ysabel, he sighed. Even if they had fought the two battle hardened former gladiators, no one would have taken their word that they were being kept prisoner in the arena bloodworks. "Oh well," he thought, "this is the only way to do it I guess."

Meanwhile, Edward was shaking so forcefully that his armor was rattling in a sound reminiscent of chimes in a fierce wind. "We're going to die..." he was whimpering.

The valet sighed. "Of course we're not, sir. All we've got to do is win this fight, and then we'll be free to go."

Edward shot him a disparaging look. "Well, in that case..." he mocked. Then, whining again, "We're going to die!"

"Only if we have attitudes like that, sir!" the valet cheerily returned. "I know this head-on combat thing isn't your forte, but all you've got to do is your best. There's only going to be two or three of them, and they're just pit dogs!"

"Just pit dogs!" Edward gasped. He still hadn't realized that pit dog was not, in fact, a compliment.

"That's right. So, we've just got to work together, and all will be well."

Edward felt faint and queasy. But there was no time to argue. All at once, a booming voice declared, "Good people of the Imperial City ! Welcome to the arena! Today our entertainment is provided by two packs of pit dogs: on the Yellow Team, a Bosmer, an Imperial and an Argonian. And on the Blue Team, two Imperials. Can these two Imperials hope to stand against so many? We shall see! Let the games begin!" With that, the iron grate came down.

Edward stood, shaking, watching the Yellow Team combatants enter the arena. "Come on, sir," his valet whispered. "We can take them!" With these words the other man ran forward, his blade flashing.

Edward was too frightened to move. He could only watch as his valet charged valiantly into combat, ducking the fists of the Argonian and the blade of the Imperial. He saw him charge up to the Bosmer, who had loosed two arrows -- loosed, and missed both times -- and was fiddling with a third. He watched as his servant brushed aside the bow, and brought the hilt of his sword down upon the Bosmer's head with a heavy crash. Then he watched as the little elf collapsed to the ground, not dead -- so it seemed, at least -- but unconscious.

By now the Argonian and Imperial had advanced upon his valet, and Edward cringed as a heavy, scaled fist impacted with his teammate's side. The valet went down, but only in order to sweep the legs out from under his attacker. Somehow, this scene roused Edward from his indolence, and he found himself charging into battle. It might have been the fact that the Yellow Team had their backs to him, or it might have been some rare shred of courage or loyalty that prompted him to advance. Either way, advance he did, and before he knew it, he was in the thick of battle.

He was amazed to see that his valet was not fighting the Argonian, who relentlessly pursued him, but rather dodging his blows. Likewise, he was not attempting to kill the Imperial swordsman, but rather to disarm him. Scoffing, Edward readied his sword, and charged forward. He was not above killing these men, even if his foolish servant was willing to risk his life.

The Argonian, however, must have sensed his presence, because -- just as Edward was readying to plunge his sword into the other man's back -- he swung about, planting a hard fist into Edward's jaw. Edward's senses reeled, and then he went down.

Fight, like you've never fought before.
Fight, if you want to fight some more.
Fight, because they'll laugh if you die.
Fight, and don't dare pause to ask why.
-- The Gladiator's Song



Chapter Sixty-Two

When Edward awoke, he was back in the bloodworks. The Battle Matron was leaned over him, apparently tending a wound on his head. "Ahh!" Edward screamed at the sight of her. His last memories of the woman, after all, were her sending him to his death.

"Relax, pit dog," she was saying. "After what your friend did up there, I guess you've earned our respect."

"Friend? What?" Edward wondered. The last thing he remembered was a scaly fist impacting sharply with his jaw.

"Your friend...the one who spared the Yellow Team combatants. After that fight, half the team chickened out of their contracts, and left the arena," she answered.

From somewhere to the side, he heard the Redguard laugh. "It will take them weeks to recover from that," he said.

Edward blinked uncomprehendingly. "Left? Why?"

"Because they saw how easy it was for a real fighter to kick their lily-livered behinds -- without even killing them," the matron answered. "Now, for the love of Talos, stay still! How am I supposed to clean your cuts out, if you don't?"

Edward groaned. He still wasn't sure of what had happened, but he'd got the general idea. But where was his valet now?

"And don't worry about him," she continued, "He made it out fine. He's talking with The Gray Prince now."

This was quite true, for, at that very moment, Edward's valet and the Arena Grand Champion, an orc known as 'The Gray Prince', were deep in conversation. "I have to say," the orc was saying, "I was quite impressed with you up there...risking your own neck to save those guys, instead of just taking them down, when you could have easily done so..."

The valet shrugged. "Well, I never intended to be an Arena fighter, you know. I didn't want to kill anyone or anything. Just to win the match and get out."

The Gray Prince nodded, watching the Imperial for a few minutes. "I say," he said, "you seem to be a good sort of person. Can I ask you to do me a favor?"

"Of course," the valet nodded.

"How would you like to fight me?"

"Fight you?" the Imperial repeated in surprise.

"Yes, fight me," the orc answered. "Not really...I mean, just go into the Arena, and pretend to kill me."

"Pretend to kill you?" the valet asked, his brow creasing perplexedly. "But...why?"

Agronak's eyes darted about quickly, as if he was afraid of being overheard, and he answered in a low, ponderous tone, as though he was choosing his words carefully. "I'm tired of...the fame. You know...media, screaming fans...all of that. I want to start my life over, in private. If the Gray Prince dies, Agronak gro-Malog can be reborn...a simple orc, living his life in private and quiet."

The Imperial frowned. "I see what you're saying," he said. "But won't they -- the fans and whatnot -- follow me instead?"

The Gray Prince shook his head. "No, no," he answered. "They follow me because I've spent years building my reputation as the Grand Champion. You'll just be a lucky lug who happened to get a good strike in."

The Valet continued to frown in concentration. "Alright," he said at last, "I can't see any harm in doing it."

The Gray Prince positively beamed, and grabbed the other man's hand to shake it vigorously. "Thank you!" he declared. "Thank you very much!"

Meanwhile, lying still as a stinging ointment was applied to his wounds, Edward sighed inwardly. "Why," he wondered, "am I such a caring guy? Why do I always have to put my own life on the line for inept idiots like that servant of mine? When will I ever learn to ignore the peons in order to keep myself out of scraqes like this?!"

ARRRGH!!! NO, NO, NO!!! You can't make the rotter go blotto with only one socko!!! I want the absconder bounder to flounder and flounder in the Arena, and get a rocking of a whopping before the enemies get their topping!!!

*where's a 'dance up and down and wave fists' emoticon when you need one - or twenty one?*

And now I see Rachel the Breton, a Queen at keepin' the heat on', has put up another post while I'm typing, and leavin' my post a hype-ing!!!

:meh: