(LOL, fear not DFoxy, the rotter will soon have other matters with which he must contend, and contend he shall )

Fame, oh joy and bane of man
Desired when not possessed
But despised when had
Fame, ye treacherous beast.
-- Song of the Champions

Chapter Sixty-Three

Edward was seated on a table in the bloodworks, glowering. His Valet and The Gray Prince had just left to fight one another in the Arena, and -- having missed their conversation -- he was furious. "Who does that SOB think he is," he wondered, "running off and getting himself killed instead of being my servant?!" In Edward's mind, there was no doubt whatsoever that his valet would die in this match. "Well, he better not look to me to take care of him if he comes out of there mutilated or half-dead," he decided. "He can go to Oblivion for all that I care, after turning his back on his sacred duty to serve me in order to fight for vain glory." It was for that reason that Edward had not gone into the Arena with the other spectators -- that, and that he'd have to bet on the championship to get in...and, while he wouldn't have minded making a quick buck betting on his friend's certain death, he'd somehow run out of money...again.

And yet, if only for the satisfaction of seeing his valet dragged, a bloody mess, back into the bloodworks, he'd decided to wait until after the fight to leave. He could hear the shouting, cheering and jeering overhead, and the booming voice of the announcer above all that. "Good people of the Imperial City ," it called, "today our match is epic! A pit dog -- that's right, ladies and gentlemen, a pit dog! -- has challenged The Gray Prince himself!" Uproarious laughter, more cheers and more jeers followed. Then the announcer continued. "This will be almost painful to watch...but, in his benevolence, our Grand Champion has obliged the suicidal pit dog. So, without further ado...let the match begin!"

Edward heard the grating of iron as the gates were lowered, but the rest was lost in the tidal wave of excited fans’ cheering. Edward sighed. Was it possible, he wondered, that he was actually worried about his servant? Was it possible that that was the reason that he was waiting? Dismissing the idea with a scoff, Edward's glare intensified. He, Edward, did not worry about servants. Indeed, he had himself wanted to kill his valet on many occasions. So why then was this annoying fear gnawing at his stomach?

It was far beneath a man of his dignity to care what befell his servant, so these apprehensions -- even if he wouldn't acknowledge them -- were downright embarrassing to Edward. His glare and ill humor intensified with every bit of compassion and fear that he felt, so soon he outmatched even the dour Battle Matron and Blademaster with his excessive petulance.

It was impossible to tell over the cacophony of noise above what was happening, so Edward sat in ill-humored silence for several moments. Then, all at once, everything fell silent; and suddenly a collective gasp -- audible even to those in the bloodworks -- rose from the crowd of spectators.

Edward's expression grew darker yet. It was done, then, he assumed. His valet was dead.

And then, as suddenly as the silence had descended, an uproar of cheers and chanting filled the air. "Dragonheart! Dragonheart! Dragonheart!" the crowd seemed to be calling in unison.

Edward's frown shifted, but remained. "Dragonheart?" he wondered. "Who the oblivion is Dragonheart? What about that stupid Gray Prince, and my donkey* servant?"

Then, almost in answer to his pondering, the announcer's voice declared, "Citizens...I am amazed! We are amazed! This upstart, the pit dog, has defeated The Gray Prince!" Edward leapt to his feet in sheer astonishment; but the announcer continued. "This has to be...well, the most spectacular fight I have ever seen, and the most unorthodox path a Grand Champion has ever followed...but...it is my pleasure to announce our City's new Grand Champion: Dragonheart!"

(* In lieu of a word meaning the same that was not acceptable to the forum vocab, lol)

O, o, the valet's valour - or guile - it matters not which
hast put Rotter Edward's musings in such a glitch
And our Rachel, who has to substitute ass for donkey
an' otha words which satisfy the un-hip honkey
Has done it again! She's made our hearts roar in joy
to see the comeuppance again of our favourite boy
Or should I say, the stinker we all love to hate
For such is this rotten, worthless bugger's fate
So let's a-whoop and a-wheee and n'eer hear this stinker's plea
to become rich, fat, and secure with no danger's fee
Instead while laughing, let's wish more rue right true
For Edward alone in all of this novel's sprightly crew!!!

And now Edward will get to enjoy... hmmm, wrong word... the attentions of the Adoring Fan- adoring his servant.

Ah, Rachel, you spoil us so with this story and with your wonderful wit.

What a treat to see the valet sparing the lives of the others- and that nom de combat- "Dragonheart"... But it would be irresponsible to speculate.

Wonderful! I quite enjoyed Edward's internal line of thinking while the Grand Champion match was ongoing. Some wonderful insights woven into a sea of comedy. :goodjob:

(Muchas gracias all! And yes, treydog, that joyous fate is about to befall Edward. But, don't worry...he'll earn it. )

A New Grand Champion Declared: Dragonheart!

With heavy heart for he who is passed, and eager admiration for he who has replaced him, it is our duty to report an unusual ? nay, astonishing! ? day at the Imperial Arena. The Gray Prince, whom we have all so long loved as Grand Champion, answered the challenge of a newcomer, a mere Pit Dog! These two met in the Arena this very afternoon, and, in a stupendous clash of daring and virility, the Grand Champion was felled, and the Pit Dog declared the winner ? and our new Champion. Dragonheart ? our Champion's name ? was seen leaving the Arena in the company of many adoring fans. Your correspondent was unable to speak with him, but will continue to attempt to do so in order that the public may ever remain abriast of the goings-on of our glorious city!

-- Black Horse Courier, Special News Bulletin

Chapter Sixty-Four



Edward was greatly annoyed as he and his valet left the Arena. Not only had he wasted his time -- not to mention, soiled his dignity -- worrying about a lowly servant, but the lowly servant hadn't even had the decency to die so that his sacrifice might be worthwhile! Instead, the lowly servant had somehow won the match, and become the new Grand Champion.

"Come on, sir," the valet was saying, "I know it was longer than you wanted to stay. But I had to do that!"

Edward shot him a disparaging look, but stepped aside so that his servant could open the door for him. The valet did so, and Edward stepped outside into the crisp early afternoon air, his head held high despite the internal sting of wounded pride.

To his horror, he found that he'd emerged into a swarm of buzzing, chirping, twittering fans, all screaming for their idol, the new Grand Champion. Edward's lip curled in disgust, and he sneered most disdainfully, "Be gone, vile insects!"

The vile insects, however, had no intention of complying. Instead, they shoved Edward aside and swarmed about his valet. His valet stood heads above the crowd, which seemed to be composed mostly of short Bosmer youth with brightly colored hair and odd hair styles. He, as Edward had been, was somewhat taken aback by the swarm. "Why, umm, thank you," he said as they shouted their salutations.

"Oh, by Azura, by Azura, by Azura!" one voice, higher than all the rest, called, "I can't believe it! It's the Grand Champion! Standing here, next to me!"

Edward, rising haughtily and glaring furiously at the backs of the brightly colored-heads -- which were, at this point, all that was really visible to him -- spoke. "Go away, you filthy children! Go pester someone else!" Still shouting their praises of his servant, the fans ignored Edward entirely. This was particularly horrifying to the Imperial, as he'd not only, most brusquely, been shoved aside in order that these monsters might worship his servant -- his servant! -- but now they completely ignored him, as if he did not even exist!

One voice in particular continued with fervent admiration. "Oh, great and mighty Grand Champion, I'm going to follow you and watch you and worship the ground you walk on!"

Edward pinpointed this voice to a short elf wearing a peculiar, poofy twist of bright yellow hair atop his head. "You! Ice-cream-head!" Edward called, poking the little fellow. "Get! You and your buddies!"

The Bosmer turned about fiercely at this nudge, shoving Edward away savagely. "Stay away from my god!" he snarled.

Edward recoiled a step, surprised by the vehemence of this strange, style-challenged elf. "He may be your god," he snapped, "but he's my servant -- and you're interfering with his duties!"

The Bosmer seemed to ignore his words as an inspired gleam lit his eyes. Spinning about quickly, he declared fervently, "Oh, Grand Champion, let me be your servant! Your slave! I will follow you everywhere, do whatever you require done, and worship you -- always worship you!"

No ingrate so vile as the servant,
Who values not his master’s benevolence
And who respects not his years of service
Who forgets all he owes his gracious master.
-- Excerpt from The Trials of a Nobleman, First Edition

Chapter Sixty-Five

Edward was trying hard, and failing miserably, to remain calm. It had been difficult, but he and his valet had managed to shake the eccentric crowd of fan boys and girls -- all but one. This one, the strange, yellow haired fan, had not relented in his pursuit. Both men, weary by running, dodging and ducking from their pursuers, had eventually given up attempting to shake him, figuring he'd eventually tire of his tedious endeavor.

So far, however, he'd done no such thing. Instead, he had prattled on nonstop about his joy at being near, so near, to his god, the Grand Champion. "Oh, I can't believe this!" he was telling Edward's valet. "You're the best, do you know that? The absolute best! What other Grand Champion would allow me -- me! -- to travel with him? Not that Gray Prince, I'll tell you that much. Oh no, he would chase me off, and threaten me, and he even accidentally pushed me off of a few cliffs...but even then, I never tired of being his happy fan! The Grand Champion needs a loyal subject, an eager, abject slave. And now that you're the Grand Champion, I'm so happy -- because you'll be more careful, won't you? I barely escaped that last accident, you know." Here, the fan broke off to take a deep gasping breath; but, the next moment, he'd continued his monologue.

The Valet, however, ignored him as he prattled on, lost in thoughts of his own. "Hmmm..." he said aloud. "I wonder if he's the reason the Gray Prince asked me to fight..."

Edward stared at the other man. "I thought you challenged him?"

The Valet glanced behind him discreetly, saw that the adoring fan was still prattling on excitedly and paying no mind to their conversation, and then shook his head. "No sir. He said he wanted to stage his own death...something about needing a break from the fame, and to get away from the fans...do you think it might have been...?"

"The annoying twit with the ice-cream twist hair-do?" Edward spit out. "Gee, you think so?"

His valet frowned. "I think you could be right, sir. But then he must have known that he'd start following me." Edward glared at him. "I wonder that he was so dishonest with me!"

Edward hissed in disgust. "What is with you?" he demanded. "Why must you always think that people are nice? Don't you get it? People are looking for the saps, the svckers, the morons -- morons like you, that they can bamboozle without difficulty!" His servant stared at him, but he continued, his tone laced with contempt for both his servant and people in general. "You don't look at life realistically. You see people as these nice creatures, out to do right by everybody. You don't see people for what they really are!"

"And what is that, sir?" the valet ventured.

"Disgusting, grimy, conniving, sticky-fingered, mealy-mouthed filth!" Edward spat out. "Always looking to make a buck at the cost of their fellow man, to advance themselves at the cost of another, to damn the world if it benefits themselves!" The fact that he might have been painting a self-portrait -- albeit a none-too-flattering one -- seemed to escape Edward, who continued in disgust, "They aren't to be trusted! You have to stop thinking that people mean what they say! They don't!"

The valet sighed. "Well, you might be right sir, in some respect anyway. Sometimes I do put too much faith in other people."

"That's an understatement!" Edward hissed. "It's a disease with you!"

"Well, I don't know about that, sir..."

"It is!" Edward insisted. "It's a sickness! There's something wrong with you! You don't have those protective instincts, that natural intuition to mistrust and loathe your fellow man!"

The valet frowned. "Well, I don't think that's necessary, sir."

"Which is exactly why you end up in fixes like this!" Edward declared haughtily, as if he’d, in that single statement, won the argument.

The valet's frown intensified. "Well, sir, you end up in fixes too, sometimes."

Edward gaped at him. "Me? End up in fixes? When?!"

"Well, sir, this whole arena thing, for starters," the valet pointed out.

Edward glared at him. "I was lied to!"

"Well yes sir, I know that," the other man agreed. "But, still, you believed someone when they were lying to you."

Edward's glare intensified. "But I wasn't the one who wanted to stay around and play Mr. Hero with that filthy orc, was I?" he demanded. "And, anyway, everyone's bound to slip up once in awhile...but, unlike you, I don't make a habit of it!"

The valet frowned again. "Well, sir, actually, I think you've been in more fixes than I have."

Edward positively gaped at his insolent servant. "How dare you?!" he wondered at the man's impertinence. "How dare you lie to my face like that?"

"It's not a lie, sir," the valet answered. "In fact, I think, if you were to count the times, you'd agree that you've found yourself in trouble more often than I have."

Edward stared daggers at his companion. "I think not, Mr. Champion. Mr. Champion who owns a haunted manor, I might add!"

"Well, sir, not to put too fine a point on it, but let's not forget about those three women in Anvil..."

Edward's eyes bulged in horror. "Bringing that up is just...just fighting dirty!" he hissed. "Let's not forget that this is coming from the idiot who believed me all that time when I said that I didn't have the Amulet of Kings!"

The valet shrugged. "Not all the time, sir...I did have my doubts. And let's not forget that time..."

So it was that the trio passed through Green Emperor Way, Edward and his valet arguing heatedly about who was more prone to find himself in a fix, and the adoring fan babbling on with his praise as though they were actually listening to him.

Over things large and small, disputes arise among us all,
Friend or foe, we are not immune.
The civilized employ words, in order to resolve their issues
And the uncivilized, they resort to violence.
-- Treatise on Quarrels, Father Agrid


Chapter Sixty-Six

Edward and his valet’s disagreement had descended into a heated, shouted monologue – from Edward. At the moment, he was screaming profanities at his servant, and at the same time demanding an apology. Meanwhile, the adoring fan was furiously defending the Grand Champion, cursing Edward at least as well as Edward cursed the valet.

The only party of the trio not screaming was Edward’s valet, who was making efforts to silence them both. “Please!” he implored. “The Guard will come arrest us all for this racket!”

Edward shouted something at him, and then turned his attention to the fan. “You can take a flying leap of the White Gold Tower,” he yelled, his face a shade of deep crimson rage. “I’ll talk to my servant anyway I please, you disgusting elf. Go get a haircut, why don’t you?”

Even as the fan launched into a furious tirade at this remark, the valet – earning his title, Dragonheart, yet again for his courage in doing so – attempted once more to intervene.

“Sir, please,” he spoke, “I’m sorry. Please, just let it go!”

Edward was too engaged in his war of words with the Bosmer youth, however, to take note. He was screaming breathlessly, spittle flying from his mouth in a rather deranged fashion, as he exchanged profanities and threats of every sort with the yellow-haired elf.

Touching both men on the shoulder to draw their attention, the valet again implored reason. “Please, let’s just forget this whole unpleasant business!” he pleaded.

The fan, in a cringing, acquiescent manner, desisted immediately, and began to implore the Grand Champion that he might defend his honor; Edward, however, furiously slapped his servant’s hand away, declaring, “Don’t touch me, servant!”

This was too much for the fan, who began to shriek in a furious and affronted way, pointing at Edward as he did so, “Assault! Assault against the Grand Champion! This man struck the Grand Champion!”

A crowd quickly gathered as the little Bosmer continued screaming. The valet attempted to silence the fan, but the fan was too fervently engaged in defending his god’s honor to listen to what his god actually had to say at the moment. “Assault! Assault against the Grand Champion!!”

Edward, furious at the fuss made over so simple a thing, began once more arguing with the Bosmer. “Assault?” he asked. “That wasn’t assault! This would be assault!” He herewith slapped the valet, and hard. “Now there’s assault for you!”

All at once a collective gasp rose from the crowd of onlookers, and a cacophony of mingled voices began to join the fan’s. “Assault! He assaulted the Grand Champion!”

At that moment, a burly Imperial Guard pushed through the assembled crowd. “Who assaulted the Grand Champion?” he demanded furiously.

The crowd responded in unison, pointing at Edward. “He did!”

“Really, it was nothing!” the valet protested.

“Nevermind that, my Champion!” the Guard declared reverently. “I’ll take care of it. You-” He pointed to Edward, and his tone took on an aspect of disgust and loathing. “Scum – you’re under arrest. We’ll see how much you like assaulting the Champion after some time in the Imperial Prison.”

Edward turned open-mouthed to his servant. “Tell him to piss off!” he demanded.

But a strange look had lighted the valet’s eye. “No…no indeed, I will not. The perfect place for you is prison!” A collective cheer rose from the crowd, and the Guard nodded in satisfaction as he surveyed the pleased faces about him. The valet, meanwhile, shot Edward a quick nod and wink, and mouthed “Valen Dreth!” to him.

Edward, however, saw none of this…his senses were too clouded by sheer rage for him to see straight, much less think straight. He lunged for his servants, his fists flying and his tongue lashing out. So great was his fury that it took half the crowd to actually pull him off of the Grand Champion before he was hauled off to prison.

Assault on the Grand Champion!

No sooner than had our mighty, beneficent Grand Champion won his title and exited the Arena, on the very day of his victory, a fiend of the lowest and vilest order attacked him. To his credit, Dragonheart did not do what so many ? including the horde of eager fans who had surrounded him, and your own correspondent ? wished had been done ? beat the miscreant low-life to within an inch of his miserable life for daring to lay a hand on our esteemed Champion. Instead, he handed the vile attacker over to the Imperial Guard, who swiftly carried out justice against the ingrate ? who is now rotting in a dungeon, where scum of his ilk belong. Long live our illustrious Champion, and despair of the worst sort to those would dare to lay a finger on our magnificent fighter!

-- Black Horse Courier, Special News Bulletin

Chapter Sixty-Seven

Edward screamed out a final barrage of the worst profanities he could think of as the heavy prison door scraqed shut. Then he kicked his cell bars, wincing in agony as his foot impacted with the metal.

"Ohhhh, it's you again," a high voice asked.

Edward glanced behind him, still wincing in pain. He started as he saw the speaker. It was the snotty Dunmer who'd been stationed across from him during his first incarceration, so long ago. It was Valen Dreth, the very man he'd come to kill.

"And I see you recognize me as well."

"Of course I recognize you," Edward snapped. "Which is just another reason that this is one of the worst days of my life!"

"Ohh, poor little Imperial," Valen laughed. "How's it feel to be thrown into prison by your own kinsmen? You're an embarrassment to them, you see?an embarrassment to the empire. And we know what happens to embarrassments to the empire, don't we?" He laughed again.

Edward glared at him. He had heard all of this tripe the first time he'd been in prison. "Damned gods!" he cursed. "Not bad enough to be betrayed by my own servant ? slimy ingrate that he is...but now to be the cellmate of this tedious elven beast? How dare they do this to me?"

Valen clucked his tongue mockingly. "Now, now," he said, "if you're so annoyed with the gods, it might just be that you're praying to the wrong ones!"

Edward's glare intensified. "What do you mean, 'the wrong ones'?" he asked. "I've prayed to all of them! Talons, Macintosh, Julianna, Isabella, Maria, and?" he paused, frowning and counting mentally. "Well, all of them," he repeated.

Valen shook his head, more amused than anything else. "Yes, well, aside from the slight confusion as to their names-" Here he coughed significantly. " It's possible that 'Talons', 'Macintosh' and the rest just aren't the right gods for what you're praying for." Edward frowned at him, still not following. "Maybe you need to pray to a god?somewhat more diabolical."

Edward's expression lightened at this suggestion. "I say!" he exclaimed, suddenly considerably more cheerful, "that's a very good idea! I should be praying to?" Here, he paused and frowned. "?you know the fellow, the one with lots of arms, who, well, hates humans?Marooned Dragon?"

"Mehrunes Dagon?" Valen suggested, sighing.

"Yes, yes!" Edward exclaimed. "He's the one."

Valen shook his head imperceptibly, but only said, "Well, I would not pray to Mehrunes Dagon unless I was serious about?" Then he paused, and a slight smile toyed with the corners of his mouth. "But then, what do I know? He is a Daedric Prince known for his benevolence to all of his followers, even the less than committed ones who don't know how to pronounce his name."

Edward nodded excitedly. "Excellent!" he declared. "Now, how exactly does one go about becoming a follower of this Marooned Dragon fellow?"

There are many who serve the gods;
Some for fame, some for fortune;
Some for glory, and some for vengeance.
But few indeed are they who serve with sincerity.
-- Of the Followers of the Gods, Edition the Third



Chapter Sixty-Eight

Edward kneeled in front of a crescent of lit candles. The candles he’d acquired from Valen Dreth, whom he was currently disposed to think very well of. Dreth, it turned out, was in fact a worshipper of the Daedric prince of doom and despair, and was gladly giving him instruction in how to likewise become a follower.

Edward bowed low before the candles, chanting, “Oh great Prince, Marooned Dragon, hear my pleas, your humble slave awaits your favor. Let me serve you, oh Great One, that I may partake of your noble rewards.”

Valen Dreth, unseen by Edward, was shaking his head at this prayer; but the Imperial kept with it, repeating his supplications over and over. Finally, though, he turned to Dreth. “It’s not working!”

“What’s not working?”

“Well, he hasn’t answered!”

The elf raised an eyebrow. “Well, gods don’t generally just answer us.”

“Then how do we know they’re doing what we want?”

“Well, we see the results of their handiwork in our lives.”

Edward nodded. “So, then, I should experience great fortune soon?”

“Umm, yes, probably,” Dreth answered. To a more perceptive person than Edward, it would have seemed that the Dunmer was just waiting this one out, simply for the amusemant of seeing what would befall his cellmate. Edward, however, not being so perceptive, nodded gleefully, and set about chanting a new prayer.

“Oh great Prince,” he prayed, prostrating himself before the flames, “please give me vengeance against my wayward servant! Please, let him suffer! Let him come to untold harm and agony and misery!”

Dreth shook his head, commenting under his breath, “Isn't it redundant to wish horrible suffering on someone who serves you?"

“Please, my mighty god, do for me what those disgusting, paltry gods would not. Let that servant suffer, please! Kill him for me – but not until after he has been made to pay for his insolence!”

Dreth cleared his throat. “Wow, you’re really upset at this servant, aren’t you?”

Edward’s eyes flashed. “You have no idea what he’s done to me!” he answered. “For months he has treated me with insolence and disdain. Then he tricked me into feeling sorry for him – him, a servant! – because he was going to die, and then he didn’t even die! But worse yet, he had me arrested, and thrown into prison!”

Dreth’s eyebrows rose at the telling, even as Edward’s complexion darkened into a fearful mask of anger and loathing. “And for that you want him to die?”

“Not just die,” Edward breathed maliciously, as if savoring the very thought, “but die terribly!”

Valen Dreth cleared his throat. “Yes, well, I totally get that.” Edward was about to return to his supplications, but the Dunmer, no doubt tiring of the sing-song repetition of his chanting, interrupted, “What is this servant’s name, anyway?”

Edward frowned at this question. “Hmm…” he said, thinking hard. “I don’t know, but I suppose he must have one. I never bothered to ask.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter, what with him just being a servant and all.”

Dreth shook his head, and Edward returned to chanting. Edward’s prayers continued for several minutes, but then a door overhead scraqed open.

“Quick!” Dreth instructed. “The guards are coming! Hide the candles!”

Edward, eager to comply as to not risk further enraging the guards – insulting them, their gods, the dead emperor, their mothers, daughters, sons, fathers, priests, and family pets seemed as far as he should go, to his mind – gathered the candles quickly. Not bothering to extinguish them, he threw them under Valen’s bed, even as the tramping of armored feet grew nearer and nearer.

“You’re supposed to put the candles out!” Valen whispered angrily. But neither man could move now, as the Guards were in sight, and would see them with their contraband if they moved for them.

“Who cares,” Edward hissed back, “they’ll just run out of air and extinguish themselves!”

Valen glared at Edward, but said nothing. The guards, meanwhile, marched slowly down the hall, apparently inspecting the cells. Edward attempted to appear nonchalant as the men passed his cell. He was just about to breathe a sigh of relief, when one guard paused, his nose twitching. “What’s that?” he asked.

Valen and Edward exchanged worried glances. “What?” they asked.

The guard turned to them and seemed about to speak, but froze suddenly, a look of horror coming into his eyes. Edward stared back, puzzled, noticing with only fleeting interest the peculiar red hue of light that reflected on his armor. The guard, his eyes still transfixed on Edward’s cell, tapped a fellow guard, who likewise turned.

The second guard’s eyes bulged as the first’s had, but he seemed to find his voice. “Fire!” he screamed. “Quick, get those two prisoners out of there before they burn to death!”

Edward glanced down the hall, thinking with a feeling of excitement how interesting this all was. Who was it, he wondered, that had a fire in their cell? And how? He frowned as he glanced down the hall, cursing his misfortune that he was not at a proper angle to see the flames from his cell. That, at least, would have made his day a little more interesting.

He noticed only vaguely that the guards seemed to be headed in the direction of his cell, and that Valen Dreth was tugging incessantly at his sleeve. “What is it?” he snapped, spinning about to face his cellmate. “Can’t you see that I’m trying to find the…” He trailed off, a mask of fear covering his face. “Fire!!” he screamed, flailing his arms wildly. “Fire!!” Indeed it was, for the flames he sought were coming from his cell, and Valen’s bed.

Allow me to worship you, my Champion of humorous prose. There were again so many places that made me laugh out loud, that I cannot begin to list them. Edward's mangled names for the gods were a particular treat, especially "Marooned Dragon." Perhaps that missing "R" in Mehrunes name is what has put him in such a foul mood all these years? If not for the want of a simple consonant, he would have been a dragon too, just like Akatosh...

Hmmmm...

If Mehrunes Dagon is Marooned Dragon, then Sheogorath would be... hmmm.... Sheep Gonads??

:rofl:

(LOL, good theories, treydog and DFoxy. )

From a little fire,
Big flames can grow.
And from a fool’s fire,
Well, who can know?
-- Song of Flame


Chapter Sixty-Nine


The guards had, rather brusquely, pulled Edward and Dreth out of their cells, and shoved them aside. “Quick!” one guard was calling, “Get buckets of water!” Another was hastening to comply. Edward glanced about wildly, trying hard to master the panic that flared in him at the sight of the raging flames.

“There, on the table near the lanterns!” His eyes spotted a bucket of water, and his senses seemed to calm. He could help, after all. “Here,” he called, racing for the bucket. Lifting it, he raced back toward the flaming bed. “Stand aside!” he declared.

He heard Valen shout, “No!” but took no heed of him. The Dunmer, he thought, might be too frightened to take action, but he, Edward the Imperial, was not. The elf continued to shout, but Edward concentrated on his task.

So it was that he heard Valen shout, “It’s not water – it’s oil for the lamps!” But he didn’t process the meaning of the words until after he’d chucked the bucket’s contents onto the flames.

Gasping as the import of Dreth’s warning sunk in, he paused. For a second, it seemed as if the bucket full of oil had managed to smother the flames. The next second, however, flames shot up anew, spreading across the floor and climbing the walls and ceiling – everywhere that Edward had splashed with oil.

Edward’s horror turned into full blown panic, and he began screaming wildly in the face of the flames. He could feel the intense heat of the fire several feet away, but he was too panicked even to move from the spot. He could only scream and flail his arms about madly.

He felt a hand pull him away, and he heard voices shouting for the prisoners to be released; for the building to be cleared; and for more water to be brought, as quickly as legs could go. But he was too lost in unthinking, unreasoning fear to do anything beyond scream.

It was only when a hard slap impacted with his face did he rouse himself from the blind horror. All at once, he realized that he was no longer in his cell, but an oddly familiar underground passage of some sort. He paused in his screaming to glance about him.

Valen Dreth was at his side, glaring at him. “You moron!” he said, “Are you trying to get us caught?!”

Edward blinked at him, trying to piece together what had happened during the lapse of his reasoning. The last thing he could remember was throwing a large bucket of oil onto the fire in their cell. Now, here he was in the underground passages leading from the prison, where he and the Emperor had traversed so long ago. He gasped out loud. “That’s it!” he said. “This is where we are, in the passage leading from that cell!”

Valen continued to glare at him. “Of course it is! Why do you think I dragged you down here? So we could escape!”

“Really?” Edward asked, somewhat taken aback. Here he had been sent to kill this elf, and he was helping him to escape.

“Yes. You know how to get out of here,” Valen explained. “And I don’t want to go exploring on my own.”

“Oh, I see,” Edward nodded. Not as kind of him, then…but they still got out, at least.

“I was able to pull you out without the guards noticing, since they were so busy putting the fire out and getting the other prisoners away before they burnt to death. Of course, your screaming like a little girl didn’t help me any…”

Edward shifted in place, shrugging apologetically. “Well, sometimes I just…panic,” he explained.

The elf’s expression of disgust unchanged, he sighed but said, “Alright, let’s gets going. You lead.”

Edward swallowed hard. He could still remember the creepy, grabby, unwashed hands of the goblin creatures that infested these tunnels -- not to mention the assassins who seemed to materialize out of nothing. "Me?" he asked. "Are you sure you want me to lead?"

Valen glared at him again, demanding, "Yes! Now move!"

Sighing and shivering a bit, Edward gingerly stepped forward, peering into the scantily lit chambers and passages around him. They were, he reckoned, about half way through the tunnel...soon, they would reach the door that had been locked last time, and the underground, goblin-infested passage. "It's this way," he declared, pointing down the passage.

"Alright," Valen nodded. "Lead on."

Edward flinched, but -- truth to be told -- he was at least glad to have this elf with him as he traversed these lonely stone halls. "It's a shame I'm going to have to kill him," Edward thought. "He seems a nice enough chap to me."

Edward's antics never fail to amuse me... :rofl:

(Glad to hear that, RemkoNL! )

Goblins, goblins so sweet
Goblins, we love goblin meat
Goblins, goblins to eat
Goblins, send us goblins we entreat.
-- Song of the Goblins, popularized version of a favorite song of the inmates at Woodmeadow Lunatic Asylum

Chapter Seventy


Edward and his companion had traveled together in silence, each dreading an encounter with anything -- man or beast -- that might inhabit the desolate passages they traversed. At last, however, they reached the wooden door that had, on Edward's last passage, been locked.

Testing the handle, Edward groaned.

"What is it?" Valen whispered, glancing about. "What's the matter?"

"The door is locked," Edward explained.

"Locked?" Valen gasped. "Well, what now? Oh, wait! There's a passage, over there. You see?" He pointed to the earthy opening in the stone walls.

Edward frowned, but then an idea struck him. "Oh, really?" he asked, his tone expressing surprise. "Well, why don't we check it out?" Staying back just long enough so that the elf would unconsciously take the lead, Edward smiled to himself. The last time he'd gone through this terrible, stuffy underpass, it had been heavily infested with goblins. This time, at least, someone else would take point.

Meanwhile, just as Valen and Edward were stepping into the musty caverns underneath the Imperial Prison, the Grand Champion was telling his adoring fan, "Now, I'm very serious. I have to go see my friend in prison!"

To which the style-challenged elf protested, "But, Great Champion, surely he does not deserve to bask in the glow of your presence after his insolence?"

The valet sighed. Aside from the impracticality of attempting to make the little Bosmer understand, he couldn't reveal his actual motivations in having Edward sent to prison, as that would endanger his friend. So, unable to explain that he'd been facilitating a Dark Brotherhood execution, he had to make due with convincing the fan that Edward was, in fact, worthy of his assistance. So, on this pretext, he told the Bosmer that he'd forgiven his friend, and so was going to plead with the Guards for his release. He did not doubt that his clout would win Edward's freedom, just as it had earned him imprisonment; so, a quick talk with the guards, maybe signing a few autographs or so, and Edward would be free -- and after he had an opportunity to scope out the prison, locate Dreth, and maybe already dispose of him.

"Now," Dragonheart told his follower, "let's have no more of this talk. I'm going. And, if you want to come too, you have to be polite. Do you understand?"

The fan sighed deeply, but said, "Yes, my Champion, for you, anything -- even be nice to that...that...that fiend!"

Rolling his eyes, the valet continued toward the palace, hoping that the fan would soon -- very soon -- tire of trailing him.

At the same moment, Edward and Valen were creeping through a damp, musty crawlspace. "Shhh!" Edward hissed. "I think I heard something!"

Valen froze, and they listened for several minutes in silence. Yet no sounds came to their ears. "You must have imagined it," the elf told him.

"No," Edward told him. "I don't think so. I think it was one of the goblins."

"Goblins?" Valen asked, turning horrified eyes toward him.

Edward flinched. "That's right," he thought, "I haven't told him about the goblins yet, have I?" Aloud, he said, "Umm, yes, goblins...don't you remember me telling you how they infested these tunnels?"

Valen glared at him. "No!"

"Oh...well, I did," Edward assured him, most insincerely.

"You liar!" the elf charged.

Edward stared at him in affected shock at this effrontery. "How dare you!?" he demanded. "I never lie, elf!"

Valen stared daggers at him. "Just wait until we're out of here, Imperial!" he growled. "You'll pay!"

Edward rolled his eyes, and shook his head in a taunting, mock frightened manner. "Since we're on the topic, elf, I've got a score to settle with you, too, once we're out of here."

"Good!" Valen sneered. "Now I'll have a chance to kick your -"

At that moment, both men froze as a pair of glowing yellow eyes peered into the darkness at them from the rear end of the tunnel. They turned at a peculiar angle, as if the head that contained them had pivoted in a quizzical manner. Then it cooed in a high, sinister manner. Both men began to scream in a hysterical, panicking way. Valen started kicking and scrambling to be free of the passage; being in the lead, however, his kicks ended up finding their way into Edward's face and torso.

Furiously, frantically, meanwhile, the Imperial was grabbing and pulling, likewise attempting to crawl out of the damp, dark pass; his efforts, however, did little but hamper his companion’s ability to flee.

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

Chapter Seventy-One

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Seventy-Two


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What a wonderful, creative way to destroy the Imperial Palace. Hmmm- that didn't come out right... unless I was speaking in my Marooned Dragon persona...

Your comic timing and genius, your portrayal of the Adoring Fan, Edward's single-minded idiocy- all baked into a pie.

Baked into a pie!
Faked into a lie!
Imperial pig in his sty,
here's mud in your eye!
O my, o my o my!!!

:rofl:

(Thanks treydog and DFoxy ... I was afraid that I might have gone too far in having him burn down the palace. )

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

Chapter Seventy-Three


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Edward, however, had heard enough at this point; if the elf’s toying maliciously with his dagger hadn’t convinced him of the sincerity of his words, the cold, calculating gleam in his eye did. Scrambling to his feet, loosing a yelp of fear, Edward sprinted for the cliff face. Even the protests of his weary legs did nothing to slow him. Soon he was climbing the rock face, and could hear the elf at his heels.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hi Rachel,

I have been dropping in to skim over bits and pieces of Edward for a while now, but I have never had the time to read more than a little bit until today. My goodness, Edward really is dumber than a post! I do believe he could not pour urine from a boot in the instructions were written on the heel! The whole business with the Imperial Palace on fire, and him thinking, "well, the guards must have done it!" oi! Magnificent!

(Glad you're enjoying Edward's adventures, SubRosa! )

Fire reaching to the sky,
A thousand voices asking why,
And one elf to die
Just another adventure gone awry.
-- Song of Edward, Verse Seven

Chapter Seventy-Four

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Meanwhile, Edward's valet was frantically trying to find word of his cremated master, as he thought Edward must surely be. He'd learnt that the prisoners had been rescued, as had all the inhabitants of the castle and many of the books in the Elder Scrolls Library. Even the Moth Priests had been rescued before the inferno spread to their chambers. But, amidst all the rescued, he could find no trace of Edward.

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

The guard, covered in soot and looking less than pleased, snapped back, "I told you already, I can't find him in the records!"

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

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

"Why?" Dragonheart demanded to know.

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

(Ok, time for the storyline to progress a little...expect the unexpected )


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

Chapter Seventy-Five

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Edward frowned in confusion at him.

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

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

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

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

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

"Of course!" Edward agreed hastily. Whatever it was, he was glad to do it. After all, this god and his followers were the only ones who really, truly valued him for what he was.

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh?"

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

Edward shifted uneasily. "The Amulet of Kings?"

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

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

"Oh?"

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

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

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

*sings to the tune of 'Frere Jacques'*

Fri-ar Jauff-re,
Fri-ar Jauff-re

Watch out there!
Watch out there!

Edward's coming your way
Whack him in the door-way

Bing-bang-bom!
BASH-BANG-BONG!!

Kudos to you Rachel on this hysterical piece. It gets better and better with every addition. I just love the fact that he's bound to ruin everything for everyone and still end up breathing.

Every time you post, Edward does something I just did not see coming. I know the world revolves around him, I know he's so dense he couldn't hit water if he fell out of the boat, but still, good ol' Edward manages to surprise me time after time.

So, did his parents commit suicide or just lose their minds?