Author's Note: Although you may think Tamriel has changed vastly while reading this chapter, I must point out that those fearing guns or a lack of magick shouldn't be worried. I have redrawn the provinces' borders, but as I intend to set this in the Imperial City that isn't of much concern to the reader. I hope Futillius, being relatively new to all this, will serve as a good means to introduce y'all to the changes without a prologue thing stuffed with info or whatever.

Chapter I: First lesson of life

The sun was setting; another busy Turdas coming to an end in Cyrodiil, the capital of the Empire. Years ago it was known as the Imperial City; the Empire, however, was long dead in all but name, and the memory of these days was fading from the mind of the capital's inhabitants.

Now, the metropolis that sprawled over countless isles of the great Lake Rumare was known again as Cyrodiil; the province itself had been divided into Colovia and Nibennium, but the redrawing of the map did not concern the citizens of the first city of Tamriel. Enjoying as much freedom as ever with the rise of the republican government, most of them did not care to think about the world beyond ? for them, Nirn was the isles, bridges and gondolas of Cyrodiil.

The setting sun found the city streets nearly empty; a great rain had just passed, driving all sorts of colourful personas out of the streets. In the morning, the city would return to life as usual; now it was quiet, the smell of a fresh start on every corner. The silence was disturbed only by the dripping water and the distant ring of a bell from the White Gold Tower.

Whoever came up with the bright idea to call a Council at sundown? Right after a bloody rain, too... As he sat in the gondola, feeling his bottom get uncomfortably wet, Futillius Karo couldn't say he was very joyful about the situation at hand. As a freshly-baked councillor he couldn't help but be rather disappointed with the beginning of his first real Council session; the way his recently-deceased father spoke of it he could only imagine it was a flowery ride to the mighty palace of the Elder Council and then an overwhelming feel of the glory their race had achieved through hard work.

Inventing gondolas that don't get wet would be a good first step to real glory... Sighing silently the young noble shifted uncomfortably on the bench. He wasn't the pampered kind ? the Karo family had only recently climbed to glory and he, being only nineteen, could still recall living a quite different life ? but arriving to a supposedly life-changing experience with a wet ass did not count as a great ride in his book.

The gondolier didn't seem to mind the silent despair of his customer, however, swiftly finding his way through the confusing mess that were the canols of Cyrodiil. These men Futillius had always silently admired ? they looked mysterious to him as a child, owing to their wide hats and robes usually disguising most features. Although now he knew most of them were nothing more than Colovian immigrants from villages that are worth less than his clothes, he still felt rather intrigued by them. They seemed like the wise sages of the treacherous urban maze of Cyrodiil, never lost...

The soft 'thunk' of wood bumping against stone snapped the young noble out of his thoughts; they had arrived. For the first time ever he'd step on the isle of the White Gold Tower not as a curious teen following his father, but as a full-blown councillor. It always seemed like a pointless assembly of old men yapping on for hours to him; perhaps now that Futillius was a part of it all it'd be different.

At least one thing I needn't worry about. Paling slightly as he stepped off the gondola he handed the gondolier his fee and turned to the colossal Tower, feeling uneasy about this. If there are any ladies, I shouldn't encounter much competition...

As he made his way towards the suitably enormous door of the White Gold Tower, from the former of his eye Futillius could see some other councillors heading for the meeting as well; most of them unhappy, and old. There's Gerard with someone else... Can't see their faces... Some of the optimates, banded around Pullius as usual; Varo, Cincius and ah, Lepa...

Eyeing carefully the approaching group of councillors banded around the current Tiber ?head of military- Futillius stopped, letting them enter the Tower first; much to his annoyance, the councillors moved past him without much sign of recognition asides for a nod of their head from the few that his father got along with slightly less worse than the rest of the optimates.

However, Gerard Burgois and two other populares, which as they got closer Futillius recognized as Titus Grakhus and Virgilio Lex, stopped to greet him, allowing the freshly-baked councillor to join their group and avoid the displeasure of entering the Elder Council alone. He couldn't help but think, as Gerard started again about how sad he was with the recent death of Futillius' father, that the three old men were trying to turn him into a popularis to replace his father.

Of course, since your family predecessor in the Elder Council meant almost everything, there was little he could do anyway ? Julius Karo was a fierce popularis and his son, even though he would've preferred to join the optimates somewhat, was forced to, at least for now, side with the populares; the company in which he entered the Council hall also meant that for the time being, optimates would avoid him like the plague, since the people whom you entered the Council with usually signified where your allegiance lay. That was why most councillors tried not to enter on their own ? various methods could be used against neutral councillors to make them pick a side. Since almost all the influential councillors in the history of the Elder Council after the fall of the Septim line had sided with either the optimates or populares, walking in on your own was like walking around with a note that you're vulnerable tied to your neck.

After a narrow but extraordinarily tall corridor Futillius walked into the Council hall for the first time in his life. Non-councillors weren't allowed into it, and even though his father had spoken of it rather frequently, seeing it for one's self was different. Faced with the majesty of it personally, the young noble had to agree with what many councillors said ? it was the embodiment of the Imperials' might.

An oval room of staggering size, it seemed to silently breathe ancient, hidden power, as if the stone was a living being. Even the loudest drunk would be taken aback and silenced by the incredible, if rather unnecessary, size of it all ? one could easily sense they were in a place of great importance, the feeling Ayleids put so much effort to create standing up to the test of time. The door leading into the Council hall was deceptively small, so the two tribunes rising up on both sides of the entering person seemed all the larger, waves of marble crashing down on an unsuspecting traveller. Both of them were crescent-shaped, towering the councillors entering through an identical door on the opposite side of the room. The rows and rows of seats were more than enough for the three hundred nobles forming the Elder Council, just as they were more than enough for the Ayleid kings of old.

It seemed that the architect designing the White Gold Tower had a thing for sudden changes ? the narrow path between the two tribunes exploded into a large open space with no gradation at all. The three populares walking with Futillius had to half-drag him to take a turn for the left tribune ?that being the one populares and somewhat neutral councillors leaning towards them usually occupied- as the architecture had worked its magic on the young noble, awed as usual for new members of the Council by the majesty of its hall.

Only after sitting down did Felton notice that the middle of the room wasn't completely empty. The tribunes were separated from the enormous open oval by a low wall, built out of the same marble as almost the whole rest of the room. Several feet from the wall the floor rose slightly, then again after another foot or so. On this second rise, in the very middle of the room two lavish wooden thrones, some of the only Imperial-made objects in the room, stood, standing back-to-back and each facing one of the tribunes. That was where the Tiber and the Uriel ?head of politics- sat, being the two highest-ranking men in the Council. The thrones were clearly visible from any part of the tribunes so every councillor could see what the two heads were doing, which represented that they were to behave as suitable for honest Imperial citizens, since many eyes were always watching them for the one flaw to use and claim their position.

Constant watch by the public was what held the new Republic together, along with the stimulus to compete; Imperials were practical, and there was little need to lead an appropriate life if it meant nothing else than some admiration from the lower classes. Most the councillors were capable of putting on a mask suitable for the public; a few were actually leading such a life. Futillius' father hadn't been one of them ? although he was the 'champion of the people' and what not according to the propaganda, the man was not without fault, heavy drinking and uncontrolled swearing to name some that his son could recall off the top of his head. Futillius was not a saint either, but he was confident in his ability to keep that fact hidden. Truth was, obviously, not the foundation of the Imperial government, even a young man who just barely peaked nineteen knew that.

As the freshly-baked politician was busy thinking about his future in the Council, admiring the Council hall and paying at least some attention to what the populares around him were talking, he barely noticed as the tribunes filled up, at least partially. Some councillors were missing, deciding not to bother with a Council so late for one reason or another; other seats were always empty, since the tribunes could've most likely allowed for double the full composition of the Elder Council as it was now. Slowly, the room filled up with pvssyr; eventually the conversations turned into a single incomprehensible soughing, that being when Futillius gave up on the attempts to find every councillor he'd ever seen and instead focusing on a quite lively conversation between Gerard and Titus Grakhus about the upcoming elections.

After a short while, the conversations between the councillors were interrupted by loud thunks from in-between the tribunes ? the stone doors had closed with the arrival of the Tiber and the Uriel, it was time to begin.

The two heads of the Council stepped into the open space from the narrow paths between the tribunes, met with ovations from the councillors; Futillius noted to himself that the left tribune was less enthusiastic compared to the right side of the room, and he believed he knew why ? while Pullius was an optimatus, the current Uriel, an Altmer by the name of Carenil, was of an uncertain allegiance, though he seemed to lean somewhat towards the populares; much bribing or blackmailing would have to be done before the High Elf was clearer about where his loyalties lay, but there was hope.

As the two took their seats, the hall fell completely silent; one could hear the breathing of a man two rows down. Then, out of nowhere, a green light surged through the Council hall, startling Futillius quite a bit; to his surprise, the yelp that came out of his mouth was about five times louder than he anticipated, causing some of the councillors, Gerard first and foremost, to turn to the young noble with a 'know-it-all' kind of smile on their face.

When the Tiber stood up to speak, the reason for this became completely clear to Futillius ? although Pullius didn't seem to be yelling at the top of his lungs, his voice easily reached every corner of the enormous hall.

"Father Councillors, you have been called to this meeting to discuss urgent matters that may not be postponed any further. It saddens me to see that some seats are empty; apparently the timing of this session has deceived some of us into believing this would not be important. So be it." He cast an angry glance at the populares' tribune ?it had more empty seats scattered around the mass of councillors than the optimates'- before continuing:

"Firstly, I am saddened to announce that one of you Father Councillors has been called by Arkay. Julius Karo has been replaced by his son, Futillius Karo." The Tiber was forced to pause to the heated ovations from the populares and the notably less so ones from the optimates. "May Julianos bless your decisions, young councillor."

"Secondly, I am saddened to announce that uprisings have started again in Na Totambu and our governor there has been forced to withdraw from his province to the capital of the allied kingdom of Hegathe. Legions have already been assembled for the task of dealing with this threat."

Angry grumbles rolled over the tribunes, forcing the few Ra Gada councillors shrink in their seats; even though most of them were born in Cyrodiil or Colovia, they knew they'd still be blamed. Fortunately for them, Pullius delivered the news fast enough that the councillors were forced to immediately utter their blessings for the Tiber so his mission is a success. Futillius couldn't help but admire the man ? apparently there was a reason why he had such a high position other than a vast purse.

Na Totambu... That's south Iliac, isn't it? Crowns' land... Futillius knowledge of the world outside Cyrodiil was quite limited; he knew some provinces that had made themselves better known for one reason or another, fortunately Na Totambu happened to be one of them. Being composed of mainly Crown cities on the northern shore of what used to be Hammerfell during the Empire, the land province, spanning from Dragon Grove to Mournoth was naturally quite rebellious. The allied 'state' of Hegathe was always quick to help in those cases, being forebear; however, the constant rebelling of the Crowns was a waste of Imperial resources, particularly dangerous with the increasing number of run-ins with hostile Akaviri ships.

Futillius' mind wandered while Pullius and Carenil both spoke; the young noble found himself mostly disinterested with what they were saying, as for now he was a minor councillor and didn't see a need to concern himself with such things as tax collection or need for new governors or whatever other high-ranking Council positions the Council was filling in today. As one of, if not the last pre-election council, it didn't surprise anyone that the candidates would be making themselves known this evening, that being a clear indication that at least some of the missing councillors had no intentions of running for one title or another.

When at long last the position of Tribune was reached, however, Futillius leaned forward slightly. He had heard from his father that it was the best place for a new popularis to start. He wasn't intending to run for the office ? even though it didn't have any specific age-limits asides from the one of getting into the Council (which was eighteen years), this was his first time in a session, to get into an election right away seemed a bit rash to him. So he merely watched with interest as several councillors stood up, populares all, hoping to hear a younger one with whom he could become more familiar, hopefully ? friends were good, and although Gerard was a good friend to have, he was not the kind of friend a man of Futillius' age needed. Being only nineteen, he was yet to experience much of the things life had to offer and it was always better to get into life with a companion; however, his search for someone to get drunk with and engage in the many activities Cyrodiil had to offer to a pair of young men with pockets full of gold was brought to a quick halt when he heard a voice from the other side of the room:

"Apius Lepa."

Many of the populares looked rather taken aback; it wasn't usual for an optimatus to run for Tribune, as he needed to be willing to listen to the public, not a trait most of the optimates had. However, that Apius Lepa chose to run for the office was an even greater surprise ? the councillor was quite a bit past his prime and had made quite the career during his years in the Elder Council, including a single term as the Uriel. He was one of those who could now stop worrying about offices as they had enough influence already; of course, this influence could be the reason why the optimates wanted him to run for Tribune, as Apius could hope to have an easier time than most others in their ranks.

"Well that's a curious candidate..."

Much to his horror, Futillius heard his voice roll over the entire room. He had completely forgotten about the enhancement of voice, and now there was no turning back, as the faces of the several councillors that turned to him suggested ? they seemed to have the words 'are you insane?!'clearly written to him, as if displaying emotions in the way that makes them bluntly obvious was a side effect of the spell that had pulled such a 'joke' on the young councillor.

For a moment, the whole Council was silent; it was highly unusual for a young councillor to say something like that to an aged, experienced one. Perhaps old political rivals threw such things back and forth at each other now and then, but Futillius was fresh meat, he hadn't yet made any foes or permanent allies... Well, until mouthing those words, that is. Much to his horror he realized that from this day onward the optimates would almost surely hold him for a straight copy of his father, who was quite the enemy of Apius Lepa; which meant he had to tie his fate with the populares or remain neutral, which was the same as stepping out of the Council.

"If young Karo has something against one of the candidates for the Tribune election, he is welcome to join it himself." Pullius voiced coldly, breaking the silence. Half-dead, Futillius stood up, knowing he couldn't get out of this without either stepping into an election he would've preferred to have a year later or shaming himself, he had little choice but to speak his name as firmly as he could given the circumstances.

"Futillius Karo."

"May the best man win, then, Father Councillors." Seeing as Pullius was still staring at the populares' tribune as if he could make the ceiling collapse on it by the sheer power of his displeasure, Carenil attempted to break the unrelenting silence which both the Tiber and Futillius had failed to vanquish.

The Tribune candidates sat down, Futillius being immediately assailed by Gerard, who was trying to keep his voice low enough for it not to reach the ears of anyone past the three or so surrounding benches.

"Are you crazy? You're either crazy or count on your abilities far too much, so still crazy..."

The aged Breton carried on like this for the rest of the Council, however Futillius wasn't listening. Even when a purple light filled the room and everyone started rising from their seats and heading for the doors the young noble still felt as if in a dream of some sort; he was almost hoping to wake up any moment now and find out he had fallen asleep and missed the Council. Sure, it would earn him some scorn from the optimates, but it was better than unintentionally challenging one of the more influential people within it for an office usually occupied by beginners.

By the time he sat down in a gondola which he didn't exactly remember how he found, Futillius was somewhat starting to calm down. After pinching himself a couple times while the gondolier pushed them away from the isle, he was certain he wasn't dreaming, and was slowly beginning to accept what had happened.

Okay, I may not win against him, but at least I can try getting into the other seat..? Or at least pretend I can win. Bah, most of the others are about as experienced as I am... What the hell, if Gerard helps me I may actually succeed. That would be quite great...

As he was trying to focus on the brighter side of the situation, Futillius noticed that the cloaked man sitting next to him was staring at him with no apparent intentions of hiding that. The young noble hadn't noticed the man before, however that could be explained by the dark clothing and his state boarding the gondola. Now that he did notice, however, he couldn't help but feel slightly offended; they were strangers after all, it wasn't exactly too polite of this strange man to be looking at him like that.

"Pardon sir, do I know you..?" Making sure his voice expressed the annoyance currently felt Futillius turned to the cloaked traveller, his hand slipping towards his rapier just in case ? it was quite a bit past sunset and all kinds of people wandered Cyrodiil then. Much to his surprise, however, the gondolier stopped the gondola right after the young noble voiced his annoyance, making him reach for the handle of his weapon faster.

"Ye don't know me, but ye may know me master lad. Goes by the name of Apius Lepa..." Responding with a thick Colovian accent, the man stood up, revealing the wooden mace in his hand. Futillius began pulling out the rapier, however before he could put it to use, the gondolier hit him from behind, knocking the young man unconscious.

Ignoring the fact Futillius was unconscious, the two wailed on him for a bit with their maces, careful not to turn the gondola over; finally, when the one acting as a traveller dropped back to his seat, panting from exhaustion, the 'gondolier' reassumed his position, steering the gondola towards the waterfront. That was where they were ordered to dump off Futillius after their dirty deed was done; specifically, the entrance to the waterfront sewer, now overflown with filth after the rain.

A political background story eh? Refreshing..

Hmmm, perhaps I should tell you that I have done a study of Rome in the late Republic days, and I know something about the optimates and the populares.

What is the standard for belonging to one or the other in your story?

This is one of the most intellectually fascinating works I've seen in quite a while.

The politics is what makes this, so far. You've set up a powderkeg of a situation (populares and optimates? My inner Ancient Rome geek just jumped for joy) and populated it with interesting characters. Both the Tiber and the Uriel (ehee, another Roman politics reference... by Mephala, I'm a nerd) are characters that are interesting and vivid, yet still open to characterization later... and you've also dusted the story with potentially-well-rounded secondary characters throughout.

The main character, so far, has a dry wit and an honest voice that a reader can't help but latch onto. You've made him very accessible; I winced with him when he accidentally volunteered himself for Tribune (okay, but I did laugh a little, too), and was scared for him when the hitmen nabbed him on the gondola. I'm genuinely worried about whether he's going to survive this plight, and curious as to how he's going to handle the Council if he does. All I can say is... well done.

You've also got a talent for little touches. Futillius complaining in the beginning about a life-changing experience being preceded by a wet gondola ride was one such touch; it set the tone, established a detail of the setting, and characterized the character in one move. Other things, like the hitman's accent, or the way the Tiber glares at the populares' tribune "as if he could make the ceiling collapse on it by the sheer power of his displeasure" make the world of the story come alive. This is very important, for this kind of story.

The one thing to be careful about is that politics all the time can get very dry. You've just punted us into a world where the Empire has fallen to make way for a Republic, with a completely new governing structure to grasp, ex-Provincial Lore to catch up on, and a lot of political maneuvering to follow from this point onward. Keep things flavored by the main character, and intersperse some things that happen outside the council to give us an occasional break to just get closer to the people, and it shouldn't be a problem. You've given us a lot to swallow in one big chunk; make sure to give us time to digest it.

That's all I have to say. This is interesting so far. It's refreshing to see a good piece of political intrigue popping up. I just hope I can keep up with it. :dance:

They're far from being set in stone, the two parties. As briefly mentioned in the story, your predecessor's stance means a lot, since the position in the Elder Council is one that's inherited for the most part, new people are quite few and usually find themselves under the wing of one or another more influential councillor; depending on your background it's most likely to be a popularis if you hail from a lower or middle-class family and an optimatus if you're from one of the provincial nobles from Nibennium or Colovia. So family is a big requirement for the optimates, though the populares are quite a bit more loose; it's still not too usual for nobles to join the Council with the populares, as they have (or are seen to have) a looser sense of morals as well, being composed of people of an 'inferior' class. Political party is quite a bit more fixed in this thing, it's usually a 'family thing' you could say, though in rare occasions some families cross from one side to another.

I think I may've just rambled for a paragraph without saying anything. Feel free to inform me if I have, it happens quite a lot.



Thank you kindly! I must admit being a bit guilty of what you warned me against, at least in my current plans; however, some chapters I hope to make less political, in fact in terms of Councils I hope not to make them too frequent.

Oh, I like this very much indeed. As is happening far too often these days though, certain people are getting their replies in before me, leaving me with not much extra to add So, this comment I'm afraid, will have to just be - Yep, I like this a great deal. Please continue!

Oh, well I might add a quick response to this.



I agree with this. I thought the way you handled the council scene was extremely well done - you brought the tension across very, very well - but being careful about just how much information to put across at a time will be crucial. You've got it just about right (in my opinion) so far though, so the future looks good. Pardon the pun

I'm still trying to refine my own writing, so I am a bit uncomfortable attempting to offer critique at this point.

That said, let me just say I thoroughly enjoyed reading your story, and hope you will continue with it!

Bit of a filler thing, really. The scene turned out longer than expected so I decided to post it separate from what happens next.


Chapter II: Rough Morning

"Of course, sir Hans Olo, I'd be most pleased to meet your wife... Swept her off her feet like a falcon eh? You rascal. Oh I was just kidding, no reason to throw up on me like that- EUGH!"

Opening his eyes, Futillius came to the swift realisation he wasn't in the house of some (quite strange) Nordic man; he was, in fact, lying in the middle of a growing pool of filth that was starting to enter his mouth. This wasn't a most pleasant feeling, so the noble was quick to bolt up and add something of his own to the disgusting mass covering his expensive clothes.

His body quick to remind him how did he end up here, the once-properly clothed young man came to regret his sudden sitting up in moments ? his sides, back, stomach, in fact almost everything ached insufferably, like someone had torn his skin off the bones and then grinded said bones to powder. Groaning loudly, Futillius had no choice but to fall on his back again and clutch his sides, trying to ignore the things getting into his hair.

After several terribly dragged out minutes during which he could've sworn he'd passed out once or twice, the miserably looking (and smelling) councillor sat up again, this time as gently as he could. Seeing a wall nearby, he did his best to crawl towards it in as painless manner as was possible, then leaned against it and attempted to make some room in his head for coherent thoughts between all the hallucinations and the pain.

Okay... Okay. So Apius' bandits nabbed me. Big deal- OW! Wincing upon coming across what seemed to be a broken rib, Futillius tried not to yell. Think clear thoughts... Think clear thoughts. So maybe it was a big deal; who cares. If someone sees me like this... Worse yet, if a supporter of Apius sees me like this and he's heard of what happened yesterday... Then I'll be in a world of hurt. Even worse than this, as unlikely as it may... sound.

Pressing bones to see if they're not broken isn't going to be of much help in the long run. Better go see someone who's paid for this... Who'll drag it out and do the same thing with a stick... Oh gods damn it, don't think of sticks, don't think of sticks... Wincing again at the thought of yet another man hitting him with blunt wooden objects, he felt his back slip down the wall slightly.

Okay, whatever I do... I need to get out of here. Every minute here equals half an hour in a bath. Of course what the hell does Apius care, he won't be washing peoples' excrements out of his hair... If a night spent in the waste of the city doesn't make me one of them I don't know what will. Bloody bastards better vote for Tribune Futillius...

Deciding to focus on things other than what bones were broken and if he'd ever be smelled without people throwing up the same moment again, Futillius stood up, slowly and carefully. His legs didn't seem to be hurting as much; that was a plus.

Trying not to break a bone or a hundred, the unfortunate noble found his way to the street above, if it could be called a street. Though the Elder Council put much care into Cyrodiil's streets that weren't water ?what with it being the capital and all- obviously they couldn't maintain each and every street in top condition. In fact only a very small part of the streets were clean and tidy; most the rest of the city was left to the sewer system to take care of which, while decent, was not enough to make up for everything.

Futillius generally tried to steer clear of the parts of the city that weren't part of a district and were silently considered a part of the Waterfront. The scum of society ? beggars, muggers, prosttutes ? roamed the streets at both day and night; some parts of the city were practically run by organized crime that answered to the Council to a degree ? one kept some semblance of order and the other looked past any unfortunate occurrences that might've happened around those parts. And it wasn't only the lowest of people that Futillius tried to avoid; members of the lower class were also not his favourite people to interact with, for even though he had grown up in a provincial town there was no looking back now, it was all or nothing; such were the ways of nobles of Cyrodiil, whether they were optimates or populares. In fact the majority of the populares despised the lower classes just as much; they simply did a better job at disguising it than the optimates.

Fortunately for Futillius, it was the part of the day when the whole city was sleeping ? early hours of the morning. Sun was only beginning to creep up into the sky and wake the capital for a new day, and the only people awake were either the few who got up too early or the night shift of the city watch. Honest citizens were still in bed, and the dishonest ones were resting after a night of 'nefarious activities'.

Fortunately for Futillius, it seemed like Apius wasn't intending to get him lost and possibly killed in the Waterfront. The young noble had been dumped off on the side of the Waterfront that was right next to the Talos Plaza, where the house of the Karo family was. It wasn't too hard to find his way home, however the short swims in the canols were far from pleasant ? the water was cold and dirty, and every move hurt enough to make him think he'd broken something.

For the first time ever, a great relief surged over the young noble as he laid eyes on his house, which only a few weeks ago had belonged to his father. He never thought he'd be so glad to see the lean, symmetrical Nibenese architecture evident in the windows of the upper floor mixed with heavy Colovian-styled colons at the front of the house; but then, he also never thought he'd have to go head to head against one of the most dangerous people in the Elder Council in a Tribune election. The beginning of a life as a politician brought about many changes.

Producing the key to the back door somewhere from his now-ruined clothes (as the front door was locked and getting it open would've involved the kind of noises that could wake the neighbours, something Futillius would've preferred to avoid right now), he swiftly made his way around the front of the house. A small garden spread behind it, a traditional part of a noble Colovian's house in Cyrodiil. Only there did Futillius feel completely safe for the first time this morning, as it was hidden from the neighbours' eyes by a tall hedge and trees. Unlocking the door, he stepped in; only then did he finally give in to the pain, collapsing on the floor with quite a bit of noise and the yell 'Luculus!'.

Somewhere off to the side the young noble could hear someone yelp, then a few bangs, followed by hasty footsteps and the turn of the handle of the door that separated the small staircase that lead directly to Futillius' quarters from the rest of the house (as the back door was intended specifically for him not to wake up the rest of the house if he got home late, which happened quite often). An aged Imperial stepped in, and though by now Futillius was seeing everything as if through a thickening mist, he felt a surge of relief ? Luculus would take good care of him.

"Young master! What happened?!" Though the years in Cyrodiil had quite an effect on the man's accent it was still easily possible to distinguish him from a Nibenian just by it. "I was worried when you di'in't return, but I thought nothin' bad had happened... Why do you smell like tis? And is that blood?!"

The old man continued spilling out in a manner that seemed more appropriate for a woman, at the same time lifting Futillius to his feet. When he tried to let the young noble stand on his own, however, the only result was a groan and only the servant's swift reaction saved his master from another collision with the wooden floor. Though aged and horribly nervous, Luculus was an excellent servant that Futillius valued just as much as his father; no 'civilized' Nibenian could replace the rather simple but honest ways of a Colovian through and through.

Manoeuvring Futillius into the small but comfortable and lavishly decorated living room Luculus laid him down on a couch. A bit surprisingly for the dazed noble, however, the servant wasn't moving anywhere. I think it's a bit obvious that I need some help... If he could've he would've rolled his eyes, however the pain forced him to instead clutch his stomach and groan loudly.

"Get a bucket... or something... and water..." More of groaning the words out than speaking them, Futillius continued clutching his stomach, feeling the unpleasant sensation of his yesterday's dinner fighting its way to freedom. Feeling it climb up his throat the young man could only ponder of the capabilities of one's will ? after all it wasn't probably incidental that he only gave in like that after reaching his home. Meanwhile, Luculus scurried to the kitchen, trying not to drop the clothes he had hastily thrown on to maintain some dignity before what he still suspected was a very drunk master of his.

Much to his despair, by the time the servant got back there was already a puddle of what used to be food and drink once on the floor; however, at least he managed to stick the bucket in between the floor and Futillius' mouth right before the second wave hit.

For a moment the two were silent, Futillius due to obvious reasons and Luculus wondering whether he should go get a healer or if this was just hangover and the results of a drunken brawl. When the young noble stopped throwing up into the bucket, he quickly grabbed the glass of water his servant was holding and downed it in one gulp, immediately asking for more before resuming the emptying of his stomach.

This continued for a short while, until Futillius was pretty sure there was nothing left in his stomach; it was only then that Luculus dared to bring up the question of what had happened to him again, yet as he was stammering around the obstacle of asking your superior if he'd gotten dead drunk again, Futillius eased it all by demanding a healer. His voice was weak, but at least he could speak a sentence; content with that, Luculus lingered for a little bit longer, waiting to see if the young noble would start throwing up again; when he didn't the servant rushed out, promising to be back in a moment and leaving Futillius alone once again, surrounded by the stench of vomit.

At least I know where that came from. Sighing silently he tried not to think about the sticky mass in his hair that Luculus had so tactfully overlooked in favour of blood in his initial questions.

Wow.

Couple of things I couldn't help but notice:
Hans Olo.... really??? :rofl: and then the falcon thing....
Luculus - locutus??

Do I sense a Sci-fi fan here?

Though the second one certainly wasn't intentional, the Hans Olo hallucination might just have a thing or two to do with some sci-fi things. I'm a bit of a fan of both Stargate SG-1 and Star Wars and the idea just popped up randomly when I was thinking of how to start the chapter.