"And ye shall hear of wars and rumours of wars: see that ye be not troubled: for all these things must come to pass, but the end is not yet" KJV Matthew 24:6

Part 1

The spells back-fired, covering the Breton's hand with the elemental form of frost. His blue eyes closed in pain as he gripped the frost-bitten hand, trying his best to will away the pain that had ensnared him. Then he felt a light, smooth hand grab ahold of his, then a warming sensation shot throug his body, first from his hand then rushing to his other extremities. What fatigue he had brought on himself from the casting was instantly gone, leaving his body with the pain he had brought on himself. Sighing, the young man opened his eyes, finding the imposing figure of his mentor; the auburn haired, green eyed Imperial sorceress, Ria Silmane.

"You rushed it again," she told him calmly, "You do that everytime, regardless of the spell."

"I apologise, Madame Silmane," the Breton sighed, "I am no magician." Ria's eyes flashed with fire, and she retored.

"Your Breton blood gurantees you the power and skill of magicka, and I will not allow you to make excuses. Your father has paid me handsomly to imbue you with the knowledge to harness the Remains of Magnus. Now," she said grimly, "Try again, Olwen."

Frowning, Olwen obeyed his mentor and raised his hands to ready the spell. He couldhear Ria quietly urging him on, at least he could take comfort in that she actually wanted to see him succeed. Then he began to weave the spell. Strangely, he could feel that the rush of energy flowing to his fingers was strong. The power had welled up, he could feel it bursting his seams, and with a smug look at Ria, he released it.

"That was less than amazing, Olwen," commented Ria, "There was such a build up then," she made a motion with her hands to denote Nothing, "It's a shame really, you looked so proud of yourself. I honestly thought you were going to do it this time."

"I can't do this!" exclaimed Olwen, "I am no wizard! My hands are not meant to weave spells but to-"

"Feel the grasp of a sword, I know. Your father has spoken to me about that little piece of information many times. I think he hopes I can turn you around once you see the power of Magicka." Ria foled her arms across her chest and leaned against a coffer, "What I don't understand is a Breton, whose family are known to be very accomplished mages, could be so inept with the remains of Magnus."

Olwen half-laughed, and shrugged, "maybe I was born with enough Nord blood to weed out the elvish impurities within my blood." He crossed the training room, a small square room about fifteen feet length by width. The walls, instead of being hung with tapestries, were lined with weapons and armors, and on the floor sat numerous coffers. The floor, on which the noble's feet were clicking, was tatami mat that was said to be highly used among the Akaviri and had to be imported all the way from Elsweyr. Leaning against the wall next to her, Olwen spoke, "My parents have never looked kindly upon my chosen path, neither have their friends. Are magicians always comtemptous of sword-bearers?" Ria crooked and eyebrow, deciding not to answer his question. Instead she asked on of her own.

"What I can't understand is how you could ever learn to wield a sword, what with the family you have. It's a surprise that they even owned one. But I know some of swordplay, and I can say for certain that your style is not very.....Breton, for lack of a better word."

"You mean chaotic?" Olwen joked. It was a long-held thought among other peoples that the people of High Rock were good for being only one thing, magicians, and for the most part, they tended to fufill the stereotype. "But to answer your question, it is a common practice among the nobility to have their children reared by well-bred relatives. My family has kin in Dragonstar, and with them being of Nord blood, I learned to fight as they. But I was lucky in that I also had a Redguard teacher who saw my natural ability with the blade, and she taught me the ways of her people as well. I still have trouble with some of the finesse of the Ra'Gada, but I get better everyday."

"A Breton who scorns magicka and takes up the ways of people suspicous of the ways of Magnus, I never thought I would see the day when this happened." She pushed away from the heavy coffer and turned to face the much younger noble, "I do not thin you will ever be a mage," Olwen shrugged, "Don't shrug; I highly doubt your father and mother will be happy to hear this particular bit of information." She almost felt bad when she saw how Olwen's face fell, and his eyes widened. Putting her arms around, "It wasn't for lack of trying on our part, though. If given enough practice, I predict that you could eventually learn to harness some of the more basic spells." She brushed a blonde lock from his face, "Dibella, you are going to make one particular lady very happy one day."

"Just one?" Olwen joked lamely, "I always admired the Emperor Pelagius, mind you, I don't think one woman would be enough for this." Both of them laughed at that, more for trying to be rid of the pall rather than the joke actually being funny. "Is there anything else I can do for you, Madame?"

"I'm hungry. I know it is late, but could you please rouse your cooks? I am of the mind to indulge tonight, even if it is with the milk and mutton you Bretons favor so strongly."

"At once, Madame," said Olwen passively, "I will have the cooks bring your meal to your chambers as soon as possible." Passing Ria, the noble pulled the heavy oakwood door open, the hinges emitting a high-pitched squeak. "After you," he bowed gallantly, elicting an amused smiled from the older woman's face.

Closing the door behind her, Olwen then set off towards the opposite side of the training room and through another door that led into a short corridor that was line with tapestries of every color on the left, and arrow-slits on the right. A man-at-arms stood against the left wall, his iron-tipped spear resting against his padded gambeson. He was obviously dozing, on-duty at that. However, Olwen differed from his parents in more than one way, and taking all the precautions to be quiet, he moved quickly past the guard and through another doorway that eventually led to the kitchens.

Interlude 1

Time never ceases, and the years rolled slowly on. Olwen Thynne grew from a mere boy of fourteen to a young man of twenty-and-one. As he grew, so did his skill with the blade, until it was joked that none in High Rock could best the Breton noble in equal combat. But as his skill in arms grew, his skill in magick fell, until he was no longer able to cast even the simplest of spells. Enraged by this, the knight was banished from his father's realm, and into the cold northern lands of the Bretons country. It was there that his old friend, Ria Silmane found him.

After hearing of his disgrace through the graqe-vine in the Imperial City, the Imperial sorceress instantly set-out to find her old friend and student. In the city of Sharnhelm she did just that. Seeing that his prospects were limited in his native country, the disinherited young man went with Ria back to the Imperial city where, with testing and Ria influence over the Emperor, he was inducted into the ranks of the Imperial Guard. Luck had finally favored Olwen, and he preformed in an outstanding manner in the Emperor's service.

But Fortune is fickle, to both Cobbler and King.

In the year 3E389, Jagar Tharn made an attempt upon Uriel Septim's life, and to Olwen's shock, Ria did as well. Attacked relentlessly by the two wizards, the Imperial Guard was decimated, Olwen being one of the few to survive; his Breton blood still protected him from the effects of magicka. The Emperor's life seemed at its end when Jagarn Tharn mounted the dais to the throne to deal his final blow against his former master. But Uriel had one final trick. In a rather anti-climatic conclusion, the Emperor slaughtered both Tharn and Silmane, just as a whole other contingent of Imperial Guardsmen swept into the room, just in time to clean up the mess.

For his bravery in the Emperor's defense, Olwen was rewarded an estate in Colovia, and was discharged from the Guard.

Seven more years passed, and in the year 3E396, the War of Bend'r-Mahk was fought and concluded with a resounding victory going to the forces of Skyrim. Olwen himself had fought against the Nords, all the while hoping that the Legions would eventually be sent to High Rock and Hammerfell's aid. This aid never came. Riding for days on end, with little stops, the now twenty-and-eight year old Breton confronted Emperor Uriel Septim VII in the Imperial City. Using the most foul language he could muster, Olwen cursed the Emperor. Such was the insult that as he turned to leave, he was jumped by the Imperial Guard and knocked unconcious, and borne to a tiny cell in an unkown place.

I liked it, although the first one was better than the first, they were both good reads.

I like the setting, but the second section is a head scratcher. I'll just have to see where it leads. Keep it up!

Just a few technical things, where you left letters off words or made a minor mistake, in order:

throug
retored
couldhear
fufill
thin

A few times I questioned what the characters would know, such as the references to Magnus so often. This in conjunction with him bringing up Pelagius, the Magnus they would know about would be the other one. The Magnus being the source of magic isn't that common in-game, so it's a judgement call for you I suppose.

With his elemental frost affliction, is he really going to feel that soft hand on his arm? Cold tends to deaden the senses a bit.

The phrase "There was such a build up then," might be better as "There was such a buildup, then...".

A 15'x15' room is too small for a training room. 40'x20' would be better. What do you mean by having coffers on the floor? You can't have architectural coffers on floors because of the tripping hazard, and the other sense of the word is church boxes for alms. You could use the word to say chests perhaps, but it feels like it's in questionable territory for that application as it will mislead people (like me, hehe). But why have multiple chests on the floor of your training room anyway?

Which leads to the question statement Ria makes about being surprised if they owned a sword when they are standing in a weapons room that probably has swords. Olwen also talks about his blood a lot, I don't really think they would be talking about their ancestry imbuing them with sword fighting skills.

The comment Ria makes about Bretons is a little weird, because she's one too.

It's an Interlude. I've taken to doing them. A sort of outside narration if you will. Parts are the actual story where Interludes I usually do when the Narrator isn't telling the story but the events that come previous or during the story.



I do that sometimes.



True. Them knowing that is a bit of a stretch. Though I do think that in Brief History of the Empire they talk about Pelagius quite a bit.



It can go either way with me. Frostbite doesn't totally cutoff feeling.



I put a comma there?!



I've never been good a measuring distance, and all the while I was writing I kept thinking that I should go back and change the size, but just never really got around to it.

That second bit is a boop-up on my part, I will admit.

I always thought Ria was an Imperial....

Yeah. I'd move the comma up a word so that it associates "then" with the hand motion instead of associating it with the earlier part of the sentence.

That 40'x20' is the size of a racquetball court, if that helps. You don't really need to get specific with sizes though, because it makes it seem like you're pointing something out by being so specific.

Could be now, but I didn't figure her race was retconned when they created the Imperials.

You could always say "medium-sized room" or something like that instead of what it actually measures.