Hi all, this is the first chapter of my comedy fan fiction story, Edward the Imperial. Hope you enjoy it. ~ Rachel


Oh prison really, really svcks,
I should be out making big bucks
Instead I'm rotting in this stinking cell
I just hope my bastard jailer rots in hell!
-- Edward's Lament

Chapter One

Once upon a time, in a far away land, an Imperial named Edward lived in the Imperial Dungeon of the Imperial City. Edward was an average young man, with nothing outstanding about his background, family, life, or appearance. Indeed, he was so ordinary that no one seemed to know anything about him, and he didn't remember anything about his past (at least, that was his story, and he was sticking to it). All he knew was that he was stuck in a jail cell -- and there, across from him, was another prisoner, taunting him. Edward didn't pay much attention to what was said, but he got the gist...the guards were going to torture and kill him, as that's all that happened to prisoners here.

"Funny," Edward thought, "this guy doesn't look like he's been tortured, and, unfortunately, he's still alive, and making a damn lot of noise, too..."

Just then, the distant clinking of armor came to the prisoners' ears.

"Aha, they're coming for you!" the annoying prisoner taunted.

Edward frowned. Maybe, just maybe, he might find out why he was here. It couldn't have been those loaves of bread, swiped from the King and Queen Tavern, could it? Nah, no one saw him, he was sure. What about that beggar...what was his name?...that he'd pickpocketed as he slept in the rain outside the chapel. No, surely, they wouldn't throw a respectable young man like him in prison over a slimy beggar, would they?

He waited, musing these things silently, as the noise grew louder, and then, to his surprise, a group of guards and a very well dressed man came into view. Edward's blue eyes sparkled as he saw the rich robes. "Those must be worth a fortune! And that amulet! I'll bet I could sell that for a lot!"

"Stand aside, prisoner!" an authoritative voice demanded. "Move to the end of the cell, and do not interfere!"

Edward hesitated, his eyes still fixed on the amulet.

"Now! Or we'll make you!" the voice commanded again.

Something in the tone caused Edward to draw his eyes away from the sparkling gem, and to the speaker. Jumping as he did so, he quickly complied; the speaker had been a less-than-friendly, armor clad, weapon wielding warrior, surrounded by two similarly attired, similarly armed, similarly disposed warriors. Edward tripped in his haste to oblige, but pulled himself up quickly. "Why certainly, milady! Happy to be of service!" he declared.

The warrior scoffed at him, and turned to the rich man. "The passage is here, my lord. I don't know why they put a prisoner in this cell; it is always supposed to be off limits."

The rich man seemed sullen, and did not speak.

"Come with us, my emperor; time is pressing!"

"Emperor!" Edward gasped.

"Why?" the Emperor asked, his tone melancholy. "It's no use...nothing is any use anymore."

The warriors exchanged glances, and the apparent leader spoke again. "My lord, let us get you to safety, where you may then contemplate the futility of existence in safety."

Edward hadn't paid much attention to this conversation, though, as he'd found his eyes returning to the amulet. "You know," he thought to himself, "I'll bet an emperor's amulet would sell for a fortune, even if that ruby is fake!" He found himself licking his lips nervously. Here, merely an arm's length away, was probably his fortune made; but his arms were shackled, and three very unsympathetic guards stood between him and retirement.

The Emperor seemed to sense Edward's eyes on him, and he turned. The old man's eyes lit up. "You!" he whispered. "I've seen you in my dreams!"

Edward grimaced. "Sorry, but I don't swing that way."

The Emperor looked at him in puzzlement. "This is fate!" he said at last.

"Sorry," Edward said, stepping backwards. "Not interested." To himself, he wondered at the impertinence of this man. "And, really," he thought, "that's the worst line I've ever heard. 'I've seen you in my dreams'...please!"

"But...the fate of the world rests in your hands! The gods have chosen you to save this empire!"

Edward blinked. He liked the sound of that, but he was still suspicious about the old man's motives. "How?"

"My sons are dead...my time in this life is at an end," the Emperor said.

"Oh, I see," Edward said, his manner suddenly very engaging and excited. "And you need a good, trustworthy soul to take over the empire after you...expire? And, of course, you recognize the very virtues and character you seek in me?"

The Emperor raised an eyebrow. "No...but I might need you to deliver a message for me, if I expire before I can deliver it myself."

Edward's jaw dropped. "A message? You think my virtues and character are only worthy of being a royal messenger?!"

"Well," the Emperor answered slowly, "not really...but, if my visions are right, you'll be the only one I have left to carry the message when the time comes, so I'll have to take a chance on you."

Edward frowned deeply at the old man. Of all the insolence!

"Are you interested?" the Emperor asked.

"Sorry, Mr. Kingy, but you can take your message and stick it up your..." Edward paused, seeing the warriors suddenly moving at him. "...mailbox?" he finished meekly.

The Emperor shrugged, and started to head down a passage that had, somehow, appeared in Edward's cell wall. "Ah well, suit yourself. Of course, it would have meant that you'd get out of prison, but..."

By now, the guards and emperor had disappeared around a bend in the passage, but Edward lost no time in taking to his heels after them, calling, "Wait! Wait, I've changed my mind!"

Thats really good you should definetly make more

"You can take your message and shove it up your....... mailbox?"

:rofl:

Thanks Dark Fox. Here's chapter 2.

Warriors that come and go,
Dead men that I don't know,
Life is very strange indeed
For a poor Imperial in need.
-- Edward's Lament, Continued

Chapter Two

Edward caught up with the Emperor just in time to hear him declare, in very melancholy tones, "Woe, woe is me!"

"Yes, my lord," one of the guards said. "But, if you'll just come this way..."

"Ahh, but life is such a futile thing!" the Emperor continued to say.

"What a whiner," Edward thought to himself. Aloud, however, he declared, "My lord, I changed my mind! I would be honored to deliver your message!"

"Life!" the Emperor declared. "What is life? This thing, that we love, that we cherish, that we fear so much to lose? What is life, after all?"

One of the guards cleared his throat. "My lord, if we could continue, so that you could contemplate life when yours is not imperiled?"

"This valley of woe, this plain of suffering, this mountain of worry, this world of trouble and hardship...why, why, why do we hold it so dear? Why do we flee, as if staying and risking an end to it, life, would be such a terrible thing? Tell me that!"

The guards shifted their weight. "Well, my lord, the people need their Emperor!"

At this point, Edward tried to interpose, saying, "My lord, I will be your messenger!" But he was ignored.

"The people," the Emperor scoffed. "What are the people? A bunch of miscreants, peasants, low lives, thieves, murderers, prisoners, greedy priests, conniving noblemen, ambitious officials: riffraff, all of them!" He glanced at Edward. "Look you at this one, and see what I mean!"

Edward frowned, about to make some response, but just then a noise distracted all of their attention. Glancing toward it, Edward saw a trio of ferocious, grotesquely armored men who, apparently, spawned out of the thin air. The three warriors charged to meet the would-be assassins, while, in unison, the Emperor and the prisoner let loose a squeal of terror and ran to the furthest end of the room, where they cowered together.

They remained unmoving, their hands over their heads as they huddled, until the fighting stopped. Then they glanced up, to see three slain men in silk robes. "Divines Not-Quite-Almighty!" Edward shouted, staring at the three corpses. "Where did they come from? And where in Oblivion are the other guys?"

The guards stared at him with distaste, but made no response. "Come my lord," the leader declared, turning to the emperor.

The Emperor stood, and Edward marveled at the man's ability to go from cowering wreck to imperious leader in just a second or so. "That," he thought, "is a real leader! Someone who can adapt to the situation! Someone who-"

He was interrupted from his reverie by someone calling, "Prisoner!"

Edward looked up.

"If you're coming, let's go!" the guard called to him.

Edward nodded, and fell in line. But then he stopped as he caught site of the corpses, and a thought came to him. "You go on ahead of me," he declared. "I've got a cramp in my leg, and I don't want to slow you down or anything. I'll be along as soon as it's gone, but you need to get the emperor to safety!"

"Safety!" the Emperor exclaimed. "What is safety? Who is safe? And from what? Can we ever be safe? Can anyone ever be safe?"

The guards made no argument with Edward, but quietly, politely and respectfully herded the Emperor, who was still mulling the questions he'd posed, toward a distant passage.

Edward, his eyes gleaming, waited for them to go, and then, when they were out of sight, hurried to the corpses. Whoever these creatures were, their fine robes indicated that they were prestigious -- which meant that they probably carried something of value on their persons! With eager hands, Edward searched their pockets. However, much to his chagrin, he found nothing whatever. "Who in Mehrunes Dagon's name goes around dressed in silk from head to toe, but not carrying anything? Not even a single gold piece?" he wondered. "Worthless bastards...I'm glad you're dead..." Disgusted, he kicked the corpse nearest him and walked toward the passage that the Emperor had disappeared down, but then paused again. "Silk...silk is expensive!"

With this thought, he returned to the corpses and, with much difficulty, proceeded to strip them. Having completed this, he smiled at his handiwork. There, he'd collected three complete silk robes. "Now," he thought. "What am I going to do with them?" He looked at his own clothes, hoping to find a place to store them; but he was wearing typical prison clothes: dirty sack cloth and old sandals. He sighed. No pockets, no secret hiding places.

And then an idea hit him with a flash. Why should he wear dirty, smelly sack cloth, when right there was fine silk?? Smiling and humming to himself, he stripped off his old clothes -- with some difficulty, as he was still wearing his wrist irons -- and slipped into the red robe. Just because he thought it looked especially stylish, he slipped on the silk hood that matched the robe; then, with great joy, he found a compartment in his robe where he could stash the other two. "There," he thought to himself, "All done...now, where's a mirror?" He searched around for a mirror, but found none. "Maybe the Emperor has a mirror," he thought. With this in mind, and dressed in the silk robes of the assassins, he took off in the direction that the emperor had traveled.

An adventurer's life for me,
Rats and goblins to flee!
An adventurer's life for me,
A hero I shall someday be!
-- Excerpt from a childhood poem written by Edward

Chapter Three

Edward reached the door that the Emperor had disappeared into, only to find, to his great dismay, that it was locked. In a panic, he tried the handle again, and found that it was, indeed, fastened on the other side. Fear gripped him, and he began to run about the room wildly, calling for help.

He continued to circle the room screaming for several minutes, stopping only when he tripped over one of the corpses, who now lay in his underclothes staring at the ceiling with dead eyes. Something about this scene was so morbid that Edward pulled himself to his feet, more panicked than before, and ran straight for a hole in the wall that he had not previously noticed.

He didn't see where he was going, and barely noticed the strange goblins and giant rats around him as he plunged deeper and deeper into the musty cellar. He continued running, past chests and skeletons, until he reached an underground opening. He was arrested by the pungent odor of cooking rat, and he stopped running to seek the source; disgusting as it was, he was hungry!

He found a giant rat roasting on a spit, and quickly set about munching on the foul, furry thing. It was then that he noticed a basket of human skulls nearby.
Nearly choking on a mouthful of rat meat, Edward loosed another scream, and took to his heels again. He didn't bother to look where he was going, but ran blindly into whatever tunnel opened up before him. He didn't notice the ever increasing horde of goblins and rats that pursued him.

Finally, much to his relief, he saw the dank dirt of the cellar open into the paved stone of the secret passages that the emperor had traversed -- and, what's more, he heard the sound of the Emperor's voice.

"This flight is futile, I tell you, futile! We men are but doomed creatures, doomed at birth to die! What matters it, if today be the day? What matters it, if tomorrow be the day?"

Edward, pausing to regain his breath, suddenly was aware of the creatures on his tail. Screeching with horror, he took once more to his heels, crying, "Your Majesty, protect me!"

He burst into the tunnel, spotted the royal pack, and ran toward them, a hissing, spitting, cursing, furry mob hot on his heels. He ran toward the emperor, and somehow made it past the guards, who apparently couldn't make up their minds if they should attack the robed man or the horde of creatures he'd brought with him.
When the Emperor saw the goblins, rats and other creatures, he ran in the opposite direction; Edward, finding his Imperial shield gone, took off after him. The guards, meanwhile, were already engaged in combat with the creatures, and only heard the frightened shrieks of the two men as they ran down the passage.

Finally, coming to a dead end, the Emperor stopped to look about him. Seeing Edward, his eyes widened with horror. "Assassin!" he screeched, pointing his finger at him.

Edward screamed out loud, and ran to hide behind the Emperor, assuming that the other man had meant that there'd been an assassin behind him. The Emperor let out a terrified yelp at his advance, and threw up his hands defensively. This move surprised Edward, and he glanced over his shoulder. Realizing that there was no one there, and that it was him, Edward, that the Emperor had cowered from, he asked in amazement, "Don't you recognize me, Your Majesty? I'm not an assassin, I'm your messenger, Edward!"

The Emperor peered at him suspiciously, but half raised himself from his frightened crouch. "But...but you're wearing the assassin's robes!"
Edward glanced down at his clothes. "Me? Oh, no, I'm just wearing one of those beautiful silk robes..." he trailed off, his face turning ashen. "You mean...those dead guys...they were assassins?" he asked, comprehending at last.

The Emperor nodded. "Of course...what did you think they were? I don't just keep corpses in my secret passages, you know."

"Yes," Edward said, "but what happened? They had been wearing such scary armor, not these expensive robes!"

The Emperor looked at him quizzically for a moment, and then sighed, as if annoyed by his stupidity. "It was magic! They're Mythic Dawn mages, who can spawn their own armor!"

Edward gaped. "You mean, I looted the corpses of magic dead guys?"

Very good writing! I can actually see Edward and the Emperor cowering together, I also see myself when I first was starting out doing the same thing! :lmao:

Keep up the great work! :rofl:

Thanks Relics...to be honest, my own initial playing served as...inspiration...for some of that, lol

Without fully reading the whole thing, I have to ask. Can't you space it up a bit? It looks like a wall of text to me. When on these forums, it's best to double space, like

so. Makes things easier on the eyes.

Fast progress, welcome to the forums :foodndrink:

First things first, nice work starting with a small, comical poem. It really sets the mood, you can tell this is a comedy throughout. However, let me be the first to tell you that you'll have a much better time seperating each paragraph and dialogue line with a press of the enter key

All of your chapters, as will the rest of the novel, I assume, are comical and thus cannot be graded in the normal sense. Other than what I said up there, nothing really to mention. Aside from teensy grammar mistakes involving use of semi-colons and similar verbal agreement. Very funny.

EDIT: Ah, I see Ambrose took care of the only real advice I gave...Oh well, I reiterate my approval then ^_^

Aha, this is good. Very good. I particularly like "Divines Not-Quite-Almighty!" and "You can take that message and stick it up your... mailbox?" However, I agree with the people above that it would be easier to read if you included a space between each paragraph.

Thanks for the comments and suggestions, all! I will definitely keep the double spacing between paragraphs in mind!



He spoke of fate and dreams,
But I've got other schemes.
The empire may go to hell,
As long as I make out well.
-- Edward's Musings

Chapter Four

The Emperor raised an eyebrow, but Edward didn't make any clarification. He stood, frozen in place, and then began to scream shrilly. There, from out of the wall right behind the Emperor another one of the Mythic Dawn warriors had spawned. "Great Divines," Edward's panicked mind thought, "he heard me! He's coming to get me!"

Still screaming, he watched as the grotesquely armored warrior brought a heavy mace down on the emperor's head, and then rushed forward. Edward closed his eyes, but, to his amazement, the blow did not land; instead, he felt a rush of wind as the assassin raced past him, and heard the sounds of footsteps receding down the passage. He also heard something that sounded like, "Come on, get to work!"

Opening his eyes, he turned to see a clash of armor in the far end of the tunnel. For a moment, he wondered why the mythic dawn assassin hadn't attacked him, but then surmised that it must have been because he thought he'd have an easier time taking on the imperial guards. He smiled to himself, and then turned to the emperor.

His smile vanished as he saw the older man lying on the floor in a pool of blood, the mace still stuck in his skull. Wincing, Edward stepped forward to remove the mace. "That's just undignified," he thought to himself, "to have a mace sticking out of the back of your skull, particularly if you're an emperor or king or whatever..."

He laid the mace down beside the emperor, and, respectfully, pulled his own hood back; it was the closest he could do to removing his hat, after all. Then he turned the emperor's corpse over. He sighed. "Well, you were an arrogant thing, but you sure knew how to act like a king...or emperor, or whatever," he eulogized, his voice laden with great emotion.

All at once, a gleam appeared in his eye. He was staring at the amulet that hung about the Emperor's neck. He glanced about him quickly. He could see the guards -- they were busy fighting the assassin. Quickly, deftly, he reached for the amulet; seizing it, he pulled it from the emperor's corpse and held it up to the torchlight to examine it. He licked his lips excitedly. "That's got to be real!" he thought. "And it's the biggest ruby I've ever seen! Plus it's set in gold!! Ohhh, it's going to bring me a fortune!!"

He was busily calculating how much the amulet might be pawned for when he heard the clatter of armor in the passage. Glancing up, he saw an imperial guard returning; he stashed the amulet in the folds of his robe quickly, and turned to face him. "The Emperor is dead!" he cried. "One of those dirty assassins murdered him! I tried to stop them, but he was too quick for me! He shoved me aside, and managed to get the Emperor; and then he fled into the passage, leaving me to attend our poor sovereign!"

The guard eyed him with suspicion and grief, and turned to kneel beside the emperor. All at once, he started, and glared at Edward. "The amulet! Where is it, you sneaking turd?"

Edward started too, surprised that the guard had even noticed that the amulet was missing. Surely it was just one of many royal trinkets? "He...uhhh...he gave it to me!" he managed to respond.

"Gave it to you?" the guard asked, clearly taken aback. "Why?"

Edward blinked at the question, but thought quickly. "For...safekeeping?"

The guard growled, as if unsatisfied with the answer. "Well..." he said at last, "he did seem to trust you...at least, as a last resort."

Edward frowned, but thought it better not to pick a fight with this heavily armored, extremely proficient warrior. "Yes, quite so," he said instead.

"And," the guard replied, "I suppose this might have been the message he meant you to carry...after all, I can't carry it because I have to tend to his body."

"Yes, exactly!" Edward declared, pressing his advantage.

"And you know where to take it?" the guard wondered, his eyes coloring with suspicion.

"Of course!" Edward snapped back, feigning annoyance. "But don't expect me to tell you -- the Emperor made no mention of trusting you with the secret!"

"Me?" the guard erupted. "Of course the Emperor trusts me! I knew about getting the amulet to Friar Jauffre long ago! It's you I wonder about!"

Edward blinked. Was there really some plan to deliver his treasure to someone, or was this a trap? "Say what you want," he said at last, "but I will not discuss the matter with you, as the Emperor swore me to secrecy!" Perfect! he thought. Secrecy means I can't deny it or confirm it. Genius!

"Well," the other man growled, "you just see that you get it there...the fate of the entire empire rests in your grubby mitts! And, as far as I'm concerned, you're probably just as liable to pawn the bloody thing off for a few gold as to deliver and save the empire..."

Edward stared blankly at the man, amazed by his powers of perception. At last, however, he roused himself, and sniffed, "Say what you will. As I said, I will not discuss it with the likes of you!"
The guard rolled his eyes, and said, "Alright, then, get on with it!"

Edward stood, and cringed as the Emperor -- who had still been resting on his legs -- crashed to the floor. Clearing his throat, he glanced at around at him, ignoring the guard's glare. "Yes, well..." He frowned, and began to walk about the room looking for an exit. He tried to carry himself with a knowing air, but rightly imagined that he failed, and that his bewilderment showed. Finally, in desperation, he turned to the guard. "How do I get out of here?" he asked.

The other man rolled his eyes, but stood and walked to the wall. Pushing what seemed to be just another rock, but what was apparently a lever of some sort, the guard opened a passage in the wall. Edward cringed as he realized that this was the same one that the assassin had stepped out of. "You don't suppose...well, you don't suppose you could accompany me, just to make sure that nothing happened to me? I mean, so that the Emperor's last wish could be carried out and all that?" he asked.

The guard just glared at him, and declared, "You can take care of yourself. I must tend to the Emperor's body."

Wrinkling his nose in distaste at the guard, Edward gingerly stepped into the narrow passage.

Before my death they called me an emo,
But those fools didn't know what I know.
You can bet they too would be depressed
If they knew in whose hands the fate of the empire rests.
-- Emperor Uriel Septim

Chapter Five

Edward growled as he stepped into the sunlight. To any observer, that might have been a strange reaction for a man who had just stepped out of a sewer pipe; but, had that observer known the reason, he might have been more sympathetic. Or, he might just have laughed heartily. But, whether falling into and nearly drowning in rivers of septic waste, being chased by giant crabs, gnawed on by enormous rats, beaten senseless by headless zombies, bitten mercilessly by humongous slaughterfish and cussed at by one very foul tempered (and mouthed) urchin who'd made the sewers his home is a matter to laugh about or sympathize over, such was Edward's ordeal. And so it was that, when he emerged -- stinking of sewerage, covered in rat and fish bites, bruised and bloody from his beatings, and smarting inwardly at the urchin's insults -- he was not baby faced, and he most certainly did not look like a girl! -- he growled at the sun, cursed the dead emperor, wished he could strangle that blasted guard, and finally swore at anything and everything about him. Then, and only then, did he plunge into the river to rinse some, at least, of the stinking sewerage from his body.

Swimming to the shore opposite him, gasping for breath, he managed to pull his dripping body out of the lake. "Great Divines!" he cursed. "Who knew swimming in an ankle-length robe could be so damned difficult?!" He squeezed and wrung the robe out as best as he was able, and then sighed and resigned himself to walking about in soggy clothes.

A sudden thought struck him. "I wonder if being soaked in sewerage will bring the value of these robes down?" He frowned. "Maybe I can just wash them really well." He glanced around him, and his eye caught sight of a flower. "Perfect!" he thought. "Flowers! Flowers smell nice! After I wash them, I can soak them in water and flowers, so the sewerage smell will be drowned by pretty flower smells!"

Smiling to himself at his diabolical cleverness, he set about picking all the flowers he saw. How long he spent thus engaged he wasn't sure, but, when he glanced up, he noticed that the sun was setting. At the same time, he heard his stomach growl, and felt just how very uncomfortable he was in the heavy wet clothes. "Damn it!" he thought. "I need to get to somewhere where I can dry off, eat something and sleep in a nice, warm bed!"

Glancing about, he realized that the shore he'd swum to after exiting the sewer was actually the shore of an island, and that he'd have to jump back in the river to get anywhere at all. Sighing and cursing all at the same time, he braced mentally, and then plunged into the water once more, this time heading back to the Imperial City's shore -- the same shore he'd originally come from.

Sputtering, gasping, swearing and praying, Edward was finally, barely, able to make it to the shore. He straightened himself up, still gasping for breath, and glanced behind him at the island. To his horror, he saw a floating trail of flowers -- his flowers! -- in his wake. He collapsed to the beach as he realized that the flowers he'd spent so long collecting had all, somehow, floated out of his robe.

Then, a feeling of terror gripping him, he searched the drenched folds of his robe for the emperor's amulet. At first he found only a few petals here and there -- the remnants of his magnificent botanic enterprise -- but, at last, he found the ruby amulet. Deciding that the safest thing he could possibly do was wear the amulet -- that way he'd always know right where it was -- he slipped it over his neck. For a moment, the loss of his flowers, the nearly drowning in the river and, before that, sewage, and all the trials of the day were lost as he reflected that he, Edward the Imperial, was wearing an amulet that had, only hours before, belonged to the Emperor. "The now dead Emperor," he thought, and the idea suddenly lost some of its appeal.

Sighing, he surveyed the absurd almost cliff-like mountain that he'd have to scale to reach the Imperial City. But, being the courageous adventurer that he was...well, actually, being half starved, very uncomfortable and starting to get rather chilly...he set about climbing the steep mountainside.

It was not long, however, before he discovered that -- if it was possible -- climbing in heavy, wet robes was actually more difficult than swimming in them. More than that, but the ankle length skirt of the robe, and the large sleeves, continually got caught in the bushes, crags and apparently everywhere else, so that he kept falling, tripping, and picking himself up to start over again. Forty-five minutes later, and only a little way up the mountainside -- but very scratched, tired and angry -- Edward paused for a rest. He was panting heavily -- so heavily that he thought his lungs might explode -- and the sun was disappearing very quickly. By the meager light that was left, he surveyed his robe. He was dismayed to find that, not only had the robe he was wearing, but the others too, been quite shredded. "I'll never be able to sell these!" he mourned. "No one will buy them!" He paused, a thought coming to him. "Well, maybe a beggar...after all, they're about as torn as the crap that they wear, but these are real silk!" Then another idea came to him. "But...will a beggar be able to afford them?" He scowled. Beggars always looked so scraggly and starved that he doubted they'd have the money for a new set of clothes, even if they were sewerage scented silk.

He glanced upward, at the summit which he had yet to conquer, and then came to a resolution. "To oblivion with it," he declared, stripping off the stinking, soggy silk, and watching with satisfaction as the bundle of fabric slid down the hill face.

And then he felt the night air assault his body, which, save for his underpants and the amulet, was bare. Scrambling quickly, he managed to scale the remainder of the cliff in what must have been record time.

So it was that a shivering, scratched, scarred, and bruised man, wearing only a loincloth and an expensive amulet, walked into the Imperial City some half an hour later.

A friend in need may be a friend indeed,
But a good plan when in need is good indeed!
-- An old saying, Edward-ized

Chapter Six

Imperial Guard stared across the street at his brother, Imperial Guard. The Guard family was a huge one, going back generations, to the founding of the empire; and, since the appointment of the first Guard as an imperial guard, it was rather a joke in the family to name every son Imperial. Thus it was that guards named Imperial Guard could be found at every gate and patrolling the city.

Imperial shook his head, gesturing at the scraggly, stinking creature that passed between them. He reeked of something awful (what was that smell??), and was completely naked, except for a fancy necklace and a loin cloth. Imperial -- across the street -- shook his head back. The stinky man approached the first Guard, and asked, "Excuse me, could you give me directions?"

Imperial held his nose, and replied, "Yesh."

The bruised man frowned at him, but said, "Where is the nearest inn?" Imperial just pointed with his free hand. The man nodded and set off.

The man was, of course, Edward, whose adventures we've followed thus far; and, now that he knew where to find shelter, he walked in the direction that Mr. Guard had indicated with a lighter step. At least, he would have walked with a lighter step had he been able, because his bare feet were scratched and bleeding after the exhausting climb up the cliff face -- not to mention the hectic escape from prison a few hours earlier. At last, he caught sight of the Tiber Septim hotel. "Oh," he breathed, "thank divines!" The city was a big one, and he was not familiar with all of it; he was glad he had asked directions -- otherwise, he might have spent hours wandering about, searching for shelter.

He pushed open the door, and practically fell inside. An unattractive Imperial glanced up at him, and her expression changed to one of muted shock. "Can I help you...?" she asked hesitantly.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Augusta Calidia," she answered. "I own this hotel."

"Then, yes, you can help me," he answered. "I need a room. And a meal."

"I see," she replied. "Well, I have food for sale -- you can check out my inventory and decide, and then we'll discuss prices -- and a room for 40 gold per night."

"40 gold?!" Edward demanded, his tone reaching a pitch that he did not think possible. A dozen or so heads turned to him, and expressed the same surprise that Miss Calidia had shown upon his entrance.

"That's right," she answered.

Edward scowled. "But I've only got..." He reached down, to check his pockets, and then remembered that he had neither pockets nor gold pieces -- nor even clothes, for that matter. "Nothing," he finished.

She shrugged. "Well, that's your problem."

His scowl deepened. "Look, surely we can barter!" he declared.

She surveyed the amulet he wore. "Well," she said. "That's probably not worth 40 gold, but I'll let you have the room for it."

He drew back, aghast. "My amulet? Are you mad?? This is pure gold, and one of the finest rubies ever discovered by man!"

She rolled her eyes, saying only, "Sure...not cheap costume jewelry..."

"No!" he shouted, "Not cheap costume jewelry!" She rolled her eyes again. "Look, if you won't give me what my amulet is worth, maybe..." He had been thinking of trading his silk robes, but suddenly remembered that he'd thrown them away. For half a moment, he considered just giving her the amulet, as long as he'd be able to climb into a warm bed; but then he decided to take a different track. "Maybe you could take pity on me?" he asked at last. "I lost everything in my fight to save the emperor!"

This statement drew a few gasps.

"Yes!" he exclaimed, noting her disbelieving expression. "It's true! I was part of his escort this morning, and we were besieged! Fifty assassins came after us; they ambushed us! There were only four of us, but, oh, how we fought! We fought, and fought, but they kept coming! First they got old..." he paused for a second, to think of a name. "Old Garrett!" he decided at last. "Yes, first they got old Garrett. And then they took...Matilda. And then there were just the two of us -- just the two of us!" His voice broke, and, somehow, he managed to fill his eyes with tears. "And still they came! We each took a side of the emperor, me in the front where they were the thickest, and him in the back. Then he came -- the assassin with the mace! I tackled him, and wrestled with him; oh, how long did we struggle? I don't even know! But someone came up behind me, and smashed me over the skull. And then, when I woke up, the Emperor was dead. Oh!" He broke off again. "Dead!" He fell forward onto the counter, sobbing. "I had failed! Failed! Divines forgive me, I failed him!"

A dozen sympathetic voices hurried to assure Edward as he sobbed, telling him that he had not failed and that he had tried his hardest; they had all heard the story the remaining guard had told, and this one seemed to fit the tale, roughly anyway.

"You're right," Edward said, looking up at Augusta as he pushed the sympathizers away. "I don't deserve mercy! I deserve scorn, loathing, mercilessness, contempt! Heap it on me! I should starve, and freeze in the elements, after what I have done!" He continued to sob miserably as he spoke.

His words evoked much renewed sympathy, and all at once people were collecting money, and forcing it upon him; Augusta, perhaps believing his story, perhaps shamed by those who did, assured him that he could eat and stay for free. "And I'll see if I can find any clothes that might fit you," she declared, glancing at him with a still discernible degree of reproach.

The hands of fate were set in motion,
What was to be would be
Despite the messenger's lack of devotion
For the gods favored me.
-- The Scripture of the 9 minus 8

Chapter Seven

Edward had spent a mostly restful night -- once he finally managed to get to sleep, after eating until the point that every moment induced a panic attack and he feared that he might explode. Augusta was able locate a set of clothes that another visitor had left behind him, and they fit tolerably well; nonetheless, Edward understood why the other visitor had left them behind. They were not comfortable, and were very worn and shabby. "Still," he thought as he put them on, "they're better than running around in a loin cloth...plus, they keep my amulet hidden; and I don't want to walk around showing this thing off to any potential thieves!"

But there were more advantages to the clothes, as Edward soon discovered. When Augusta brought him an extremely generous breakfast, he proceeded to conceal it all in his clothes; when she returned, she was surprised to see that he had eaten it all, but asked if he wanted seconds; he immediately agreed. He repeated this procedure two more times -- until there was nowhere left to store the food, and Augusta had grown too suspicious. Then he ate an inordinate amount, and thanked his gullible hostess. His pockets full of cold hard cash (literally, as this cash was the golden coin variety), compliments of his audience the night before, Edward left the Tiber Septim hotel.

Now that his pockets were full, he was not desperate to find a pawnshop; after all, he could barter with a few pawnbrokers, until he found a good deal. With this idea in mind, Edward stopped a guard, got directions, and then headed for the Market District.

It took awhile, but, after a few wrong turns, a few times retracing his steps, and a few more times of asking directions from men named Imperial Guard, Edward at last made his way into the Market District. He was sweaty and a bit irritable, as the morning was a hot one and his journey thus far had tired him, but, as he surveyed the streets lined with shops, he licked his lips excitedly. Soon, he would have more money in his pockets than he'd ever held! The Emperor's amulet would make him a rich man, and he could retire in style! Or, he thought, maybe he could start a business. "Hmm...that's a good idea...but what kind of business?" He pondered this for a few moments, and then an even more appealing idea struck him. "A crime syndicate!" he thought. "With this money, I could hire some thugs, and we could carry out some minor crimes around the Imperial City. Small time robberies, and that sort of stuff. And then, once we established ourselves, we could move on to the bigger things...major heists...large scale robberies...coordinated operations conducted by a gang of super criminals!" His eyes were positively glistening with the possibilities, and he was licking his lips excitedly, when he felt a suspicious pull at his pocket.

Spinning around, his dreams of the crimes he might commit were interrupted as he found himself the victim of an attempted crime. A dirty, emaciated beggar was quickly retracting her hand, pulling it away from his pocket. "Why, how dare you?!" he demanded. "Of all the nerve, you filthy little thief! How dare you steal from me?"

The beggar scurried to move away quickly, but he put out a hand to restrain her. "Not so fast, you treacherous little filcher! Who are you?"

"Simplicia, sir," she replied, "and I wasn't trying to steal from you, honest!"

"Oh, yes? Then what were you trying to do?"

She stammered for a few moments, but finally responded, "Well, sir, to get your attention!"

"Why?"

"To beg for a coin. You see, I'm so hungry." She paused. "You wouldn't be willing to spare a coin for the infirm, would you, good sir?" she asked.

This was the final straw for Edward, who immediately called out, "Guards! Guards, we've got a pickpocket here!"

"No, no, good sir!" Simplicia pleaded, grasping his coat. "Please, don't call the guards!

Edward furiously swatted her away. "Let go of me!" he demanded, still calling, "Guards, guards!"

But Simplicia did not loose her grip, and instead renewed her pleading, "Oh, sir, please, please don't call the guards!! Please!"

Her behavior only infuriated Edward further, and he shoved her away with all his might, saying, "Get away from me, cur!" He turned to call for the guards again, but stopped as he heard a strange, almost sickening thud. Slowly, almost fearfully, he looked at the beggar.

His face went ashen as he saw the motionless body of the woman, her head resting on the base of a stone pillar. He threw a furtive glance about him, relieved to see that no one was about; and then a strange, rustling sound came to his ears, and he heard an eerie voice whisper, "Your action has been observed by forces unknown..."

Loosing a scream of terror, Edward ran from the spot.

In a shocking occurrence, the well-known Market City district beggar, Simplicia (known as "the Slow") was found dead. The cause of death was determined to be an accidental fall, and a blow to the back of the head resulting from said fall. In a strange turn of events, however, a plentiful trail of gold and food was found leading up to the poor woman's corpse. According to an anonymous priest from the temple, this miraculous occurrence was a gift of benevolence from the 8 plus 1, which is to say, The Nine, to thank the good folks of the Imperial City for their kindness to the poor woman in life.
-- Black Horse Courier, Special News Bulletin

Chapter Eight

Edward ran, and ran, and ran, and then ran some more. Finally, he found himself outside the walls of the Imperial City. He collapsed against the stone wall, panting so heavily that he thought his lungs would rend. He was shaking with exhaustion, but, even if he hadn't been exhausted, he would still have been shaking from nerves. He had killed someone! Not that that was such a bad thing, but he had done it in broad daylight! What was worse, someone had caught him. He didn't know who, but he had heard that creepy voice whispering in his ears. He shivered.

What was he going to do? The Imperial Guards would be coming after him soon enough, he was certain. Surely, they would put a bounty on his head; then what?

Still shaking with exhaustion and nerves, he glanced around him. His eyes lit up. There, a little ways away from him, was a stable! Picking himself up, and steadying himself on shaking legs, he walked over to inquire about purchasing a horse. A not-entirely-friendly looking orc, whose name, if the sign at the door was any indication, was Snak gra-Bura, met him. "Excuse me," he said, "but I'd like to purchase one of your horses."

The orc grunted. "For how much?"

"Well..." Edward started, shifting his weight. He wondered for a moment if he could pull his "emperor's guard" bit with her, but, staring into her steely eyes, quickly decided against it. Instead he reached into his pocket to count his gold coins. Much to his horror, he could only find a small handful; and, what's more, he couldn't find most of the food he'd concealed earlier, either. He looked around him in shock and dismay, as if hoping to ascertain the answer to where his goods had gone. Surely the dead beggar woman had not snatched them all? But how else could he have lost them? Had he dropped them while fleeing? He cringed at the thought. He knew that, on occasion, when he was very frightened, he tended to leave a "trail" behind him as he fled, of whatever he was carrying.

"How much?" the orc repeated.

"Umm...twenty-five gold?" Edward asked, counting his remaining gold pieces.

Snak gra-Bura began laughing so hard that Edward thought -- hoped -- she would die. Unfortunately, in his opinion, she did not; instead, when she finally finished, she told him, "Unlikely, mister. I don't sell many horses anyway, and certainly not for 25 gold!" Turning, she started to walk away, laughing anew as she did so.

Feeling his anger rising inside him, Edward glanced about for something -- anything! -- to hit this woman with. His eyes lit upon a wooden chair, and, fury spurring him onward, he seized it and hoisted it above his head. Then, with a heavy thump, he brought it down on the woman's skull. The sneering laughter stopped, but, to his dismay, so too did the woman's standing, and consciousness.

"Oh no!" he thought. "I've killed her too!" But then he noticed that, though she lay unmoving, she still breathed. Collapsing beside her with relief, Edward sat still for several moments; but then his reason returned. What, after all, was he doing sitting here, when such an opportunity presented itself?!

Grabbing Snak's purse, Edward sprinted to the corral. Climbing, with no little difficulty, over the fence, Edward grabbed the first horse he came to -- an ornery, frail looking nag.

After a few failed attempts, Edward successfully mounted the horse; then, tugging on the reins, he managed to bump into another horse, knock down part of the corral fence, take out one of the posts supporting the stable, and then, finally, get out of the enclosure. Smiling at his success, Edward spurred the creature onward; well, not spurred so much as feebly coaxed, then angrily coaxed, and finally savagely kicked the animal onward.

At this final prodding, the horse took off at a fast pace; so fast, in fact, that Edward had to cling on for dear life, screaming shrilly as the animal thundered blindly onward.

We thought god-hood would shut him up,
But it seems his whining just will not stop.
To hell with this damnable fool,
We should've given his assassins his rule!
-- The Scripture of the 8, speaking of the 9th

Chapter Nine

Edward wasn't sure how long he'd ridden, but when, finally, his horse stopped, he practically leaped off its back; which is to say, he would have leaped, if his aching legs didn't hurt so bad. Instead, he half stumbled, half crawled away from the animal, sure that the inside of his thighs were all gone after that ride. The truth was, Edward wasn't much of a horseman; indeed, Edward wasn't a horseman at all. This had, in fact, been his first time riding a horse -- and, if this experience was anything to go by, he was determined that it would be his last!

Whining and dragging himself along in what would have made an outstanding audition for the part of Gollum in the Lord of the Rings, Edward crawled to a tree, sat with his back to it, and cursed his horse. When, finally, he'd exhausted his extensive vocabulary of swear words at the seemingly unconcerned nag, he looked about him.

He had no idea where he was, and could find no clues in his surroundings. They were on a sparsely wooded hillside, with only more hillside, trees and flowering plants in sight. His horse, apparently, had long ago veered off the road, because that, too, was nowhere to be seen.

Wearily, desperately, Edward consulted his map. He wasn't sure how he'd gotten a map, but, apparently, it had been in his pocket, unnoticed, until now. He looked at the parchment with heavy, despairing eyes. He saw the mark representing the stable from where he'd stolen his horse, yet not only did he have no idea how many leagues they'd covered since, but he didn't even know what direction they'd gone! Shoving the map back into his pocket, Edward felt a deep sense of despair settle over him. Tears filling his eyes, he angrily renewed his verbal assault on the complacent horse, who had set about grazing and ignoring the young man.

He raged for several minutes, until, finally, exhausted, he closed his eyes, leaned back against the tree, and just began to sob.

Several hours later, he woke, realizing that, somehow, he had fallen asleep.

"You sleep soundly for a murderer," an eerie voice declared.

With a shrill scream, Edward jumped to his feet. Then, the sudden movement reawakening the pain of saddle soreness, he groaned, crippling over in agony. Finally, gritting his teeth to overcome the pain, he looked up. There, before him, stood a black robed man. Edward gasped. "Who are you?!" he asked.

"I'm Lucien Lachance," he said. "I'm a speaker for the Dark Brotherhood."

"The Dark Brotherhood?" Edward repeated. He had no idea what or who that was, but there was something catching about the name. "Too bad this guy is already using it," he thought. "It would make a good name for my syndicate!"

"Yes," Lucien breathed, obviously savoring just speaking of the Brotherhood. "The Dark Brotherhood. A group of like-minded professionals who serve the Night Mother."

Edward raised an eyebrow. Night mother? "What, are you people some sort of prosttute veneration group, or something of that ilk?" he asked.

Lucien's eyes nearly bulged out of his head. "NO!" he roared. "The Night Mother is our beloved mother, who serves the Dark Father, Sithis!"

Edward stared at him. He wasn't quite sure what this strange man was saying, but it sounded too bizarre for him. "Yes, well, I don't know..."

"We are a group of assassins!" Lucien spit out at him.

"Ohhh...." Edward said. "Not prosttutes?"

"NO!!" Lucien repeated.

"I see...assassins, eh?" Edward repeated. He liked the idea; he could see himself as a cold, ruthless, cunning assassin, deciding the fate of gangs and gang leaders, guilds and guild leaders, maybe even kings and empires -- and collecting a nice, fat paycheck of delicious blood money for doing it! "Now, how does one go about becoming a member of the Brotherhood?" he asked.

Lucien smiled. "That's the spirit!" he said, and then hesitated. For a fleeting moment, Edward had the unpleasant sensation that this man doubted his abilities. "But..." Lucien said slowly, "maybe I should...yes, I will tell you more later. But first, you need to prove your...loyalty...to the Brotherhood."

"Oh? How?"

"There is an old man," Lucien said, "who lives now at the Inn of Ill Omen. His name is Rufio. You must kill him. Then, travel to Cheydinhal. You will find an abandoned home there; rest inside. We will monitor the home for three days; if we see you return within that time, we will contact you. Otherwise, we will assume that you failed your quest or have decided against joining our illustrious band."

"Failed??" Edward repeated, his voice vexed. "Didn't you say he's an old man?"

Lucien nodded. "Old, but not unskilled."

"Bah!" Edward spat. "I'm insulted that you'd give me such a trivial task -- taking out an old, feeble man. I should not even accept!"

Lucien shrugged. "Well, have it your way..."

"But I do!" Edward hastened to add. "Just so that I can show you how easy it was."

Lucien cleared his throat, and said, "Well, alright then. Maybe we'll see you in three days?"

"Of course you will!" Edward snapped. "You'll see me a lot sooner than that, as a matter of fact!"

Lucien nodded. "Very well. Then, I shall depart."

"And good riddance," Edward muttered to himself as he saw the strange man cast an invisibility spell and vanish before his very eyes. He shivered, suddenly forgetting his anger. He'd never seen someone completely disappear before, and it was a creepy sight. He glanced about him, trying to see anything that might give away Lucien's whereabouts; but he could find no evidence of him anywhere, not so much as a footprint. Then, panic struck again. "Wait a minute! Nevermind where he is...where am I??" he thought, as he realized that he still had no idea where he was, and he'd let possibly the only other human being in the area get away without asking for directions.

Shocking assault and theft!
It is with difficulty that this agent of the Black Horse Courier finds the words to describe the latest outrage in the Imperial City. But, midday yesterday, the well-known manager of Chestnut Handy Stables reported that someone had attacked her, stolen a horse, and destroyed much of the stable. Ms. gra-Bura could not recall the attacker clearly, as she had not paid him much attention; his outstanding characteristic was that he appeared, in her words, "mouse like" and "weak".
It is the opinion of the city watch that the attacker is a madman, as the wanton destruction and the theft of the oldest and sickliest of Ms. gra-Bura's stock point to a mind imbalanced. The watch advises all citizens to avoid any strange person exhibiting peculiar behaviors, and contact the nearest Guard.
-- Black Horse Courier, Special News Bulletin

Chapter Ten

Edward had been riding for a long time. By now, he had grown numb to the pain, and was simply letting his horse go in whatever direction she felt like going. She, in her turn, was going very slowly, pausing to eat here, drink from the occasional stream, and generally make a leisurely day of it.

Edward had come to the conclusion that, either his horse would lead him to civilization, or he would starve to death in the woods; and Edward had very little faith in his sluggish horse.

This not being a very cheery conclusion, he tried to think of other things; inevitably, however, his mind came to food. He'd already eaten everything that remained of his stash. And, just as inevitably, his mind would go from food to lack of food, and starvation; and then, from starvation to death; and from death to being eaten by the wolves and crows; and, from the wolves and crows eating him, to food; and so the cycle would begin again.

Somehow -- he wasn't sure how, exactly -- he'd fallen asleep when, suddenly, his mount stopped. So suddenly, in fact, that he went flying over her head, to land face first on the cobblestone path in front of him. Standing, spitting out a mouthful of blood and cursing, Edward turned furiously to face the horse. Then he stopped. "Cobblestone?" he thought. "And a building! Where am I??" Facing the building, he read the sign. "Inn of Ill Omen." He nearly fell backwards in surprise. Was he dreaming? No, the blood in his mouth tasted too real to be a dream; anyway, who dreams about being thrown from a horse and waking up with a bloody mouth?? "But how, how, could this worthless horse have possibly found the inn??" he wondered.

He shrugged. It didn't matter. After all, it meant he wouldn't be starving to death, and his shriveled remains wouldn't end up wolf or crow food. This thought filled him with so much joy that he turned, seized the horse's face, and kissed it. Neighing furiously, the horse reared up on its hind legs, and brought her hooves dangerously close to Edward's face before crashing to a stand, and shaking her mane to display her disgust at his kiss.

Edward, pale as a ghost at his near encounter with death, understood perfectly, and backed away from his ornery horse. Apparently, having done her job, the creature wanted nothing more to do with him. Edward, wondering how a strong urine odor had suddenly assailed his nostrils, pondered why he seemed to have that effect on people and animals: the more they knew him, the less they wanted to do with him.

Sighing, he pushed open the door. The inn was poorly lit, and there were only two of them in sight; although one was male, neither was old or feeble looking. "Excuse me," Edward said, addressing himself to the man. "Are you the innkeeper?"

"I am," the innkeeper replied, wrinkling his nose and glancing about. "Are you interested in a room?"

"Yes," Edward said, "but not until I meet with someone."

The innkeeper nodded, now pinching his nostrils. "Perhaps you'd like to take a bath first, though, sir?"

Edward stared at him, a puzzled expression on his face. "I beg your pardon?"

"Well, sir," the innkeeper said, retreating a step, "it was just a thought."

Edward observed the man with a wary expression. "Well," he said, "now that you bring it up, you might consider giving this inn a good scrubbing down! The place smells like piss!"

The innkeeper, still blocking his nose, raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you sure it's the inn, sir?" he asked.

"Of course I'm sure!" Edward snapped. "I smelled as soon as..." He stopped suddenly, and glanced downwards at the revealing dark strips running down his pants. "Oh," he said, his face flushing. "That stupid horse must have scared me so bad..."

"Yes sir," the innkeeper replied, clearly not interested in the story of Edward's scare, "but perhaps you'd like a bath, though?"

Edward nodded. "Yes, I suppose I must," he declared. "But I'm going to kill that horse."

"Yes sir," the innkeeper replied.

"If she doesn't kill me first," Edward added.

"Yes sir," the innkeeper repeated, his expression unchanging. "But after your bath...there'll be plenty of time left for you to duel your horse then."

This is good. Not hilarious but overall really funny.

Quite, humorous.

I'd just like to say that ever since you started adding spaces it's become much easier to read, and is an overall enjoyable and comical tale. It also revisits parts of the game, so people can feel connected to it. They also understand how the protagonist feels, as he voices what may have been going through your head at various times.

Thanks all, and yes, the spaces do make a difference.

There was a time when all the gods were in accord,
But the dark day came when the 8 would no longer heed
They would not listen to Dread Sithis' spoken word
So Sithis and his Lady departed to follow thier own way.
-- History of the gods

Chapter Eleven

Edward was not a big fan of baths -- he could never see the point in taking off all that grease and grime, if you were only going to get fresh grease and grime all over you -- but he had to admit that it was refreshing to soak in a tub of hot, sudsy water. And, he was particularly pleased when the innkeeper brought him a fresh set of clothes, and removed his reeking ones.

Drying and dressing, Edward counted his gold. Twenty five gold pieces, and...his eyes lit up. He still had Snak gra-Bura's purse, and he'd not yet opened it! Hopefully, he thought, she would have money in there...lots and lots of money!

He unfastened the tie, and stuck his hand in. Instead of gold coins, he found something soft and fabric-like. Withdrawing it, his puzzled expression turned to one of disgust and horror. He had retrieved a very old, very used, very snotty hanky. Throwing it into the fire, and then spitting on his hand, rubbing the spitty hand against his tunic, and repeating this procedure several more times, Edward exclaimed, "Filthy, unclean, unsanitary orc! Vile, repulsive, filthy beasts!"

Cursing in this manner, he didn't hear the innkeeper knock, so he was surprised when the other man opened the door and stuck his head into the room. "Sir? Is everything alright?"

"No!" Edward snapped. "Orcs! They're filthy, revolting creatures!"

"Yes sir," the innkeeper said. "Anything else?"

Edward looked up. Perhaps it was the other man's flat tone that roused him from his disgust, but he stared at the innkeeper. There was something peculiar about this man, as though he didn't belong in an old, out of the way inn; as if his refinement of manner and practiced disinterest was out of place here.

"Ah," said the innkeeper. "I see that you're wondering about why I'm here, thinking that it's peculiar that a man of my refinement and manners, my practiced disinterest, is working in such an old, out of the way inn."

Edward could only blink at him. It was like the other man had read his mind.

"Well, sir, you are right. I am not meant for such a degrading life," the innkeeper sighed. "I was born for a higher calling, a nobler, more refined calling." He smiled wistfully. "You see, I was a valet once."

Edward blinked at the man again. "A valet?" he repeated, no great respect in his voice.

"Yes sir," the innkeeper replied, his tone almost reverent as he spoke of his former profession. "I once worked in the mansion of Lord Umbruccano in the Imperial City."

Edward nodded, taking a little bit more interest in the conversation than he had previously; after all, Lord Umbrucanno was a very wealthy, albeit eccentric, collector of Aleyid artifacts. If this man had been his valet, it was very possible -- nay, probable -- that he would have some valuable information -- valuable for a prospective robber! "I see," he said.

"Yes," the other man mused. "Yes, those were the good days. And then..." He shrugged. "And then he decided that he would be better off spending my salary on relic acquisitions." He scowled. "So here I am, wasting away, my talent squandered, my life passing by..."

Edward raised an eyebrow. Somehow, he couldn't see being Lord Umbrucanno's valet as particularly fulfilling, but he made no comment. Instead, he asked, "Now, I was wondering if you could tell me...do you have a gentleman staying here, a Mr. Rufio?"

"Yes sir," the innkeeper replied. "But I do believe calling him a 'gentleman' is an abuse of the word."

"Oh?"

"Yes sir. Unfortunately, he talks in his sleep...and one gets the distinct impression, listening to him, that he's a very evil man. It's a wonder that no one has visited justice upon him yet. I half expect a stranger to show up at any moment, and ask me where he can be found, so that he can end his miserable life."

Edward shifted his weight. "I...see. Well, just out of curiosity now, where is he?"

"In the cellar, sir," the innkeeper replied. "He asked for a room out of the way, and that was the only one."

Edward nodded. "Well, I think I may pay him a visit, if that's alright with you."

"You, sir?" the innkeeper asked. "Well, you're welcome to do so...but, if I were you, I wouldn't advise it, sir."

"Oh?" Edward asked. "Why?"

"Well sir," the other man answered hesitantly. "He does not take kindly to strangers...and, as I say, he is a very evil man...and, if I was to hazard a guess, one very skilled in fighting."

"Oh," Edward said, hesitantly. Suddenly, the idea of killing Rufio had lost some of its appeal.

"I think, sir, he is afraid that someone is coming to kill him. Of course," he said, "he wouldn't worry about that with you."

Edward frowned at him, vaguely sensing that he should be offended by the comment. "Why not?"

"Well, sir, no one would suspect you of being a hired assassin," the innkeeper replied with a smile.

"Because I'm too respectable?" Edward asked, trying to make up his mind whether he had been complimented or insulted.

"Ummm...yes sir," the innkeeper replied, in such a hesitant tone that Edward was certain that it had, in fact, been an insult.

"Well," Edward declared hotly, sick and tired of people doubting his abilities, "I'll have you know that I just happen to be a paid assassin -- a member of the Dark Brotherhood!"

The innkeeper stared at him, expressions of awe and then disbelief cycling on his face. "Are you serious, sir?"

"Quite serious!" Edward snapped. "And, what's more, I've come here to kill that vicious old man!"

The innkeeper's expression turned to one of admiration. "Well, sir, please accept my apologies. A member of the Dark Brotherhood? Well, well! How exciting."

"Yes!" Edward declared. If nothing else, his membership in this apparently legendary band of murderous cutthroats was winning him respect.

"Oh, sir," the innkeeper declared, "this is an honor! To meet a member of that group, face to face -- that group of dark avengers, the hands of justice, of swift retribution for evil, unfailing, unflinching, serving the greater good, disposing of evil mercilessly, serving the Great Avenger, Sithis, and the Lady of Eternal Darkness, the Night Mother; reaping the souls of the cutthroats, the murderers, the evil doers who would destroy the empire!"

Edward shifted uncomfortably. What was this man talking about? Had he misheard him? Was there some other group of people, who called themselves something similar, with whom he was confusing the Brotherhood? The Brotherhood was, after all, a group of murderers, cutthroats, evil doers...wasn't it? "I think there might be some mistake," he said. "I said I was a member of the Dark Brotherhood."

The innkeeper nodded his head excitedly. "Yes, of course," he said. "Everyone knows the reputation of your order, but few have ever met one of you in person! Ohh, you have no idea how exciting this is! To meet someone who embraces justice so much that they will serve the gods themselves to avenge evil, and provide justice for the wronged! Ohh, what an honor it is to meet you!"

Edward stood fixed in place, a quizzical expression on his face. Was this man mad? Or was the Brotherhood really what he described, an organization of avengers who killed evildoers? Somehow, that didn't quite fit the dark, glorious image he'd conjured in his mind. His reflection was interrupted, though, by the continued prattle of the innkeeper.

"I say, sir," he was saying, "please don't think this impertinent of me...but...you wouldn't be looking for a valet, by any chance, would you?"

Of kings and cowards he sings,
Of war and the devastation it brings,
Ode to the warriors and the heroes,
And jeers at Edward and other zeros.
-- Tribute to the Captain of the Blades

Chapter Twelve

After agreeing that, perhaps, maybe just perhaps, he could use a faithful valet -- particularly one with an intimate knowledge of the interior, valuables and security detail of one of the wealthiest manors in the Imperial City -- Edward headed to the cellar. The innkeeper had cautioned him again, although he seemed to have gained some respect for his skills, but Edward had brushed the concern off. Now, however, having crept down the rickety ladder into a dank, poorly lit stone hallway, he was having second thoughts.

"What if this guy is a master warrior?" he wondered. "But, he's an old man...I can easily overpower an old man...all I have to do is..." His mind stopped. What? What would he do? Much as he boasted of his abilities to himself and others, he had never killed anyone before -- except Simplicia, and that was a complete accident. "Well, I could just...I mean, it wouldn't be so hard to...well, how difficult could it be to..." His forehead creased, and he sat down on the cold stone floor to think; he ran over the only death he had to his name, that of Simplicia. "I suppose," he thought uncertainly, "I could try to push him down, too. This floor is hard enough, I think, for an accident. Well, a deliberate accident." His frown deepened. "But what if he didn't go down just right?"

He remained sitting on the floor for several more minutes, attempting to think of a reasonable plan, but having no luck. At last, he decided his best bet was to go with the impulse of the moment; he would confront Rufio, and then do whatever came to mind. "That's it," he thought, "that's the way to go...spontaneous! It's what I live by, and I haven't done so bad yet." He smiled smugly, and headed to the room the innkeeper had mentioned as being Rufio's.

Turning the handle quietly, he tiptoed into the room. There, lying on a bed near the opposite wall, lay an old, white haired man, sleeping. Edward stared incredulously at him. Was this what all the fuss was about? This frail, old creature? He scoffed. Just what kind of weakling did they take him to be, anyway?! All he would have to do was sneak up, take out his sword, plunge it into the old man's heart...

He froze. "Oh, crap! I don't have a sword! I don't have anything, except a few gold pieces!" he thought. "What am I gonna do?!?" He glanced around the room. There was a chair, a small table, some crates ("What kind of lunatic keeps crates in their bedroom, anyway?!"), and a dresser. His eyes lit up. And there, on top of the dresser, was a dagger.

A broad smile spreading over his face, Edward crept to the dresser, seized the dagger, lifted it over the old man, and...froze. "I can't do this!" he thought. "I can't risk getting blood on my new clothes!"

At that moment the old man's eyes opened, and he gasped. "What are you doing?! I haven't done anything!"

Edward didn't know what to say to this, so just shot back, "Yes you have!"

The old man's eyes opened wider. "I thought...I thought no one knew about that!"

"The Dread Father knows everything!" he declared. He wasn't sure why he said it, or who, exactly, Sithis was (he had flunked Sunday school, after all), but it sounded like what the innkeeper had said -- and that was pretty cool sounding stuff, even if it wasn't as cool as what he'd originally imagined!

"Oh dear gods!" the old man screamed, his face white with terror. "It wasn't my fault! She should have known better than to go outside without her veil! My honor was besmirched! I had no choice!"

Edward wrinkled his nose. "She? Veil? What?"

"My daughter!" Rufio answered. "That's why you're here, right? Because of her death?"

"Umm..." Edward stalled, "Maybe."

"Please don't!" the old man begged.

Edward, still busily attempting to figure out what Rufio's confession had meant, didn't notice the old man's hand moving slowly toward the edge of the blanket. All at once, though, Rufio's arm shot up and grabbed the dagger; before he knew it, Edward was locked in a fight for the dagger, and feeling his grip loosening. "He's gonna get it away from me!" he thought. "I gotta get out of here!"

Dropping the dagger, Edward pulled hard to get away from Rufio; this action surprised the old man, and he loosed his grip on his would-be assassin. Edward took to his heels, yelling for help, with Rufio hot in pursuit. Unfortunately, Edward ran straight into the chair he'd noticed earlier, flipped over it, and came crashing down. Rufio, just behind him, didn't have time to stop, and careened into his body. Edward heard and felt, rather than saw, this last bit, and could only think that he had to get up and get away before he felt the dagger plunged into his back. He jumped to his feet, but was surprised to see the old man sprawled unmoving on the floor in front of him.

Examining Rufio's body, he gaped. He was dead! Then a smile spread across his lips. "It worked!" he thought. "My plan worked! The murderer is dead!"

At that moment, he heard a clatter in the hallway, and looked up just as the innkeeper burst into the room, a sword in hand. The other man froze, staring at him and the corpse.

"What on earth are you doing??" Edward asked.

"Well, sir, I heard you scream for help, and I thought..."

"Scream for help?" Edward repeated. "I did no such thing!"

"But I heard you scream, sir! So did the traveler upstairs!"

Edward blinked, and then remembered that he had, during his flight, loosed a scream. "Well," he said, a bit flustered, "of course I screamed. But I wasn't screaming for help!"

"Oh?"

"I was calling for you to come down here and...admire my handiwork!"

"Oh, I see," the innkeeper said, his face lighting up. He sheathed his blade, and then bent to admire the corpse. "Amazing, sir, just amazing! You've put an end to a very evil man! I have to say, I half didn't believe you'd be able to do it." Edward frowned deeply, and the innkeeper shot a furtive, apologetic glance up at him. "I mean so neatly, sir. No blood! Would you look at that? Why, if I didn't know better, I would have come down here, seen him lying like that, and said he tripped and hit his head!" Edward shifted uncomfortably, but said nothing. "Tell me, sir, how did you do it?"

Edward flinched at the question. "Well, you, umm, don't expect me to give away trade secrets like that, now do you?"

The fools did not listen to me and my lady,
And so we went our separate way
Our project of dark justice to oversee
Foolish pleas could not make us stay.
-- Excerpt from The Dark Brotherhood by the Dread Father Sithis, regarding Sithis' split from the eight divines

Chapter Thirteen

Edward rested at the inn of ill omen for half a day. Then, remembering his deadline to get back to Cheydinhal, and not quite sure how much time he'd already squandered, he and the innkeeper set out. The innkeeper -- now Edward's valet -- rode his own horse, and Edward rode the nag he'd stolen from Snak gra-Bura; it might have been difficult for an observer to decide who was less pleased with the idea, the horse or Edward.

Even it was only the dry, obligatory "Yes sir", "No sir", "Indeed, sir!" and "You don't say, sir?", Edward found that he enjoyed their conversation -- most particularly because, aside from an unbelieving raised eyebrow, the valet did not so much as question even his most absurd claims. So it was that the valet did not dispute the claim that Edward was the bastard son of the late Uriel Septim, who had been chosen by the dying Emperor as his heir, but who was on the lam from the imperial guards, who sought to assassinate him and put their Pretorian prefect in charge of the empire; nor did he dispute the claim that Edward was a champion of the sufferers, a crusader for the underprivileged, the friend of the downtrodden and the protector of the unprotected.

Many "I see, sir!" and "Oh, you don't say, sir!" and "Indeed, sir!" 's later, the pair arrived in Cheydinhal.

Telling his valet that the meeting place and meeting had to remain a secret, Edward sent the other man to rent a room for them. Thankfully, the valet had brought his own money, and, so far at least, had not asked Edward for any. Watching him, go, Edward sighed a breath of relief. He didn't want the innkeeper around, just in case Lucien was as insulting this time as he had been last time. "No sense having the manservant witness his rudeness," he thought to himself, with an air of superiority. He'd be willing to bet that that snobby Lucien Lachance didn't have a servant -- even if he could cast really cool spells.

Edward walked up to the door of the abandoned house, and stared at it. It was an old home, with the door and windows boarded over. "How in Oblivion am I supposed to get in there?" he wondered. "Grow big teeth and chew through?!" Sighing, he rounded the house to check for any potential entrances through which he could crawl, duck, slither or otherwise find admittance; there were none. Finally, returning to the front door, he kicked it angrily, thinking what a rotten joke Lucien Lachance must have played on him.

Much to his surprise, the door opened; and, to his even greater surprise, he saw that the boards on the door had been sawed at the door jam, to appear as if they blocked off the door, but doing nothing of the sort. "I say," he thought, "how very clever! Of course, even cleverer of me to see through it, but, still, clever."

Edward stepped inside, and jumped as he heard the door creak shut after him. The house was dark -- very dark -- and his eyes were long in adjusting. Squinting, Edward looked around. All he saw at first were dim outlines, but then things started to appear; old, decayed, abandoned things. He saw crates here, the remnants of furniture there, and junk everywhere. "Great gods," he said to himself, "they don't actually expect me to stay here, do they?"

But, deciding that he'd better have a look around, just in case someone was waiting for him, Edward crept about the room. All at once, he loosed a scream as he plunged headlong down a staircase, smashed into a crate, careened to the side, and plummeted through a hole in what seemed like a basemant wall. "Son of a Blade!" he thought, picking himself up and brushing ample cobwebs off his head. "They should have lights in this damn place..." Looking around him, he saw the staircase down which he'd fell, and the crates into which he'd smashed. "Oh, great," he thought, "I can see it when I'm down here, but not until I fall down it." He glowered, and continued his examination. He was in a passage that connected to the home's basemant. Edward frowned, but decided to follow the passage, shivering as he noted that it glowed an eerie red.

'Tis Fate's cruel jest,
To promote this jester
He gods have blessed,
For what sadistic joke?
-- Ode to Edward

Chapter Fourteen

Edward stopped at the end of the passage, frowning. Here was another door, but, rather than boards, like on the house's main door, this one was adorned with peculiar carvings. Furthermore, it had no handle; but, he decided, they clearly preferred alternate methods of opening the doors here anyway. "Well," he thought, "better open it." With this, he kicked the door, and hard.

Falling backwards, gasping, whimpering and shuddering, Edward grasped his foot. Not only did the door not budge, but, unlike the front door, this one was made of stone. Tears welling in his eyes, Edward cursed aloud.

Then, forgetting even his agony, he felt a preternatural fear seize him as an eerie voice -- it seemed to come from the door itself! -- asked, "What the hell did you kick me for, you imbecile??"

Edward could only blink in response.

"All you have to do is give me the password," the door continued.

"Password?" Edward managed to croak.

"That's right ... what's the password?"

Edward searched his mind, but couldn't remember Lucien making any mention of a password. And then, another idea struck him. "Mel-lon?" he asked, rather than said.

The door started laughing, so heartily that Edward almost forgot his fear, and almost felt the urge to kick it a second time; almost. Instead, he asked, "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," the door answered. "Nothing at all...oh boy, are you going to deserve what you get!"

"What?"

"I'm going to let you in," the door said. "But you better be sure you know what you're doing." At this, the door erupted in laughter a second time, and opened.

Resisting the renewed urge to kick it, Edward passed the door, and entered a large, pillared chamber. With a shiver, he heard the still laughing door close, and then froze as an armed, animate skeleton walked by him.

"Great gods," he thought, "where am I?"

At that moment, a voice accosted him. "Wow, you made it!"

Edward frowned, and turned to the speaker. It was a man he had never seen before, a dark haired, older looking man, with strangely red eyes and sharp, pointed teeth. "Who are you?" he asked.

"Vicente Valtieri," the other answered, his face expressive of amazement. "But, wow, I'm really surprised to see you here."

Edward's frown deepened. "Why?"

He received no answer, however, as a young woman approached. He was struck immediately by her beauty, and he was suddenly very self conscious. Picking cobwebs from his eyebrows with one hand, he extended the other to her. "Edward," he said, attempting to add a mature depth to his voice, but managing only to sound severely constipated. "Pleased to meet you."

She raised an eyebrow at him, turned her blue eyes to Vicente, and then back to him. "Are you sick?" she asked.

Edward blinked at her. "No, of course not."

"Then what's wrong with your voice?"

Edward frowned anew. This time, Vicente changed the topic. "Now, Edmund, Lucien told us that he had spoken to you. So, you're our new member, eh?"

Edward's frown deepened. "Edward," he said, his tone regular. "And, yes, I am."

Vicente nodded. "I see. Well, we're very pleased to meet you, Edmund. Welcome!" He paused, surveyed Edward's cobweb covered form, and then added, "I hope you didn't have any trouble finding the hideout?"

"Well," Edward answered, having missed the import of Vicente's rather amused glance, "since you mention it, yes, as a matter of fact, I did. For one thing, you really should put some lights in that house. Someone might trip and hurt themselves!" Hearing something like a snicker from the pretty woman, whose name he still didn't know, Edward hurried to add, "That was the first thing that caught my eye -- because, of course, I'm sensitive to the fact that not everyone is as adept and skillful on their feet as I am." Ignoring the raised eyebrows of the man and woman, he forged ahead. "And, secondly, what is the password for that stupid door?"

"The password?" Vicente asked. "You mean, you didn't know? Then how did you get in?"

Edward sighed. "Yes, yes, and the door let me in because of my improvised password."

"I see," Vicente said. "What was the improvised password?"

Edward opened his mouth to speak, but, remembering the door's reaction shut it. After a second's thought, he said, "Nevermind that, what is the real password?"

"Sanguine, my brother," Vicente answered.

Mysterious haunting of the Inn of Ill Omen!
It is with a fearful pen that your trusted courier brings you this startling news! The secluded Inn of Ill Omen, according to an eye witness, has been visited by a dark stranger murdered a patron, known as Rufio. Furthermore, the innkeeper has completely vanished, leading to rumors that the dark stranger was, in fact, a mysterious, malevolent spirit, and his visit was in fact a haunting. Be that as it may, this correspondent will certainly not be patronizing the Inn of Ill Omen any time soon!
-- Black Horse Courier, Special News Bulletin

Chapter Fifteen

"So, you must be a new killer?" the pretty young woman asked of Edward, who was still picking cobwebs out of his eyebrows.

Glancing up from between his unnaturally long, gray eyebrows, Edward smiled at the girl, now very conscious of the webs hanging all over his head. "Yes," he replied. Then, before he could continue, he noticed a spider on one of the webs hanging in front of his eyes. "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" he screamed, running backwards as though to distance himself from the thing. His back meeting sharply with a wall, he found himself running forward, backward, to the side, this way and that, blindly, screaming in terror and flailing his arms wildly as he did so. It seemed all sense had vanished, and all he was left with was a dread panic, only increased by the presence of the spider before and between his eyes, now apparently clinging onto his nose for fear of falling off. Finally, one poorly calculated turn put him in face-to-stone contact with a pillar, which was very quickly followed up by butt-to-stone contact with the floor. Edward lay still for a few moments, and then blinked. His head hurt, very intensely, and his butt wasn't particularly comfortable, either. Staring at the stone ceiling above him, he couldn't remember his location or even his name. "Where am I?" he asked, of no one in particular.

"In our hideout," a pleasant voice beside him said. "What happened?"

He was wondering the same thing, and turned to see the speaker. It was a beautiful, blue eyed girl. He smiled at her, "Well, I don't know, but, hey, how would you feel about going out with me this..." He paused, frowning. "What day is it?" After all, it was hard to ask a girl out when you didn't know when you were supposed to go out.

The girl frowned at him, but another voice, a deeper, masculine one, spoke. "What in the name of Mehrunes Dagon's beard was that??"

Edward started, and turned to him. He was an older man, with hard, sharp, prominent canine teeth. "What?"

"That running around and screaming bit," the other man said.

And then, all at once, everything came back to him, and Edward remembered what had caused his fit. "SPIDER!!!!!!!" he screamed.

The pretty girl frowned, and said, "Is that what that splotch is on your nose?" Edward screamed again, but, shushing him, she said, "It's quite dead now. You probably flattened it when you ran into the pillar."

Panting, still terrified, Edward flailed his arms, too frightened to do anything else. "Get it off! Get it off!" he managed to breathe.

The girl's frown intensified, but, cautiously, she leant forward and wiped something off his face with a handkerchief.

"Arachnophobia," the dour man beside him said, meditatively. "Clear case of it."

"Well," the young woman spoke with a frown, "if you hate spiders so much, why on earth are you using your head as a cobweb duster?"

Edward felt the color rising to his pallid cheek, and he said, "I wasn't using my head as a cobweb duster!" Turning to Vicente, he snapped, "And I don't have arachnophobia, or whatever it was you said!"

Vicente shook his head, saying only, "Oh yes you do. You may not realize it, but I recognize the signs very clearly."

"You? How? What are you, some sort of doctor?"

"No," the woman said, "but he has Alliumphobia."

"And I recognize the signs of phobia in you," the man finished.

Edward frowned. Truth to be told, he was terrified of spiders. "Well," he said, still not ready to concede the point, "are you saying you act like that whenever you see aluminum?"

Vicente and the woman glanced at each other, their eyebrows raised.

"Alliumphobia is the fear of garlic," the girl answered.

"Well, whatever," Edward said, waving aside the correction. "But are you saying you act like I did when you see garlic?"

"Well," Vicente said hesitantly, "I respond in a somewhat more dignified manner, but the fear is similar."

Edward frowned again. Dignified? Who did this dour, stuffed shirt Breton think he was?

"Anyway," Vicente declared, "Enough about that. Welcome to our lair. I am your reference and taskmaster here, and will be for some time."

"Oh," Edward said.

"I will be in charge of sending you on tasks, and will pay you upon their completion. But, first, you must meet your fellow guildmates. First," he said, pointing to the young lady at Edward's side, "I'd like to introduce you to Antionetta Marie."

"Charmed," Edward smiled.

"She is a Slayer in the Brotherhood," Vicente informed him.

"Which," Antionetta pointed out, "is a rank higher than a Killer."

"Oh, I see," Edward smiled, quite untruthfully, as he had no idea of the rank system in the Brotherhood.

"Which is your rank," she informed him, smiling for the first time.

"Oh," he repeated, with some degree of clarity. "So you outrank me?"

"You better believe it," she returned with a steely smile.

He frowned, but said nothing.

"Well," Vicente declared, "time to meet the rest of the family."

The acolyte entered the sanctuary,
And in his wake left laughter and disdain.
The acolyte went about his tasks,
And the Brotherhood agreed he was a pain.
-- Annals of the Dark Brotherhood

Chapter Sixteen

Edward frowned. He had met a number of new people, and he was trying to keep their names and faces in order in his mind. There was Teinaava, an orcess...no, wait, he was an Argonian, and the orc was...who? Oh, that's right. Gogron gro-Bolmog. And there was the elf, Talldrill. No, wait, that wasn't her name...what was it? Telaendril. Yes, that was it. Plus there was Ocheeva, an Argonian female, and her pet rat, Schemer. And the animate skeleton walking around? He -- or it -- was a Dark Guardian.

"Well, you've met everyone but M'raaj-Dar," Vicente declared.

"Whose that?" Edward asked.

"You'll see," Vicente replied darkly.

Edward shivered as the Breton pushed open the doors to the training room and ushered him inside. "M'raaj-Dar!" Vicente said, "Meet our newest colleague!"
The stern face of a Khajiit turned toward him, cast an appraising yet disparaging glance from his head to toe, and turned away. "Now, M'raaj-Dar," Vicente said, "be polite. Edward here is our newest Killer."

M'raaj-Dar turned again, snickered, and shook his head. Then, he turned back to a dummy, and continued casting spells on it.

"Go on," Vicente whispered. "He's a bit ornery...you need to open up to him, and then he'll open up to you."

Edward grimaced, not very happy about approaching this ornery, apparently powerful, mage, but doing as he was bid nonetheless. "Hey," he started. The cat paused from his practice, turned to him, and raised an eyebrow. Edward gulped, and continued, "Well, umm, nice to meet you." He would have left at that, but could feel Vicente's stern gaze on him. "So, hey, how's it going? I mean, what's up?"

The Khajiit's disparaging eyes held his for a second, and then, glancing about the room, leaned forward, as though readying to impart a secret of some sort. "Well," he said, "since you're asking...I have it on good authority that the newest addition to the Brotherhood is an annoying whelp unworthy of licking my boots. How's that for gossip?"

Edward blinked, and then turned to Vicente for guidance as to how to proceed; but the Breton was laughing heartily. Edward frowned.

"Go on," M'raaj-Dar said, "The guild charter prevents me from killing you, but that doesn't mean I have to like you...now get, you foul-smelling ape..."

Seeing as how Vicente was doing naught but laughing heartily, and the Khajiit had resumed his spellcasting, Edward hastened to comply. The last thing he wanted to do was divert some of those nasty-looking spells his way.

Approaching the Breton, Edward demanded, "What's so funny?"

Between gasps for breath, Vicente explained, "Forgive me, but, well, it's sort of a rite of passage here...M'raaj-Dar's ornery disposition is always a shock to new people, and so much fun to watch."

At these words, he lost himself in laughter again. Edward's frown deepened, and deliberately continued to grow deeper to show clearly his annoyance as the other man laughed, until at last he feared that he might lose his eyes altogether in the frown. Finally, to Edward's great relief, Vicente stopped laughing. Clearing his throat, he once again resumed his formal, dour appearance. "He'd almost pass for the annoying prig he was when I met him," Edward thought, "except for the damned laughter in his eyes." There, he was quite right, because, for all his serious exterior, Vicente's red eyes danced with laughter still.

"Alright, look," Edward said after a few minutes of silence, "I came here to get my next assignment, and then get a good night's sleep." Now, just for good measure, he made a point of mentioning his servant. "My valet already rented us rooms at the inn."

"Oh," Vicente said, "Of course." Edward frowned as he noted that these words were hardly spoken with the respect he'd hoped to inspire. "Well, there's a pirate dog that needs to be sent to the pound." Edward raised an eyebrow as Vicente snickered at his own pun. "Yes, well, there is a vile pirate captain called Gaston Tussaud. His ship is the Marie Elena, harbored at the Imperial City dock."

Edward nodded. "Is that all?"

"Yes," Vicente said. "He's an evil man, you know...he's taken many, many innocent lives. Time to turn the tables on him."

Edward sighed impatiently. "And is there a reward for doing it?"

"Yes, of course," Vicente answered. "Oh! And I almost forgot your reward for killing Rufio. Here." With this, he handed him a purse of gold.

Edward felt a smile appearing on his face, so checked it immediately. "Well," he said, "I'll be going then. My servant probably already has dinner waiting for me." With this, he turned on his heel and left the room.

In the main chamber, he immediately saw Antionetta Marie. Drawing himself up, tall and as stately as he could muster at least, he approached and smiled. "I would love to stay and talk to you," he said, "but I have urgent business taking my attention. A pirate dog needs to be put down; and I'm the pound master." He smiled as he reworked and retold Vicente's joke, but Antionetta only rolled her eyes. "Well, yes, anyway, I look forward to meeting you again."

Antionetta made no comment -- beyond that conveyed by her dismissive expression -- and Edward headed to the door, kicking himself mentally. "Why on earth did I repeat that stupid joke?" he wondered. "I should have tapped my own resources of wit and charm, rather than rely on that bozo's idiotic mutterings!!"