Wrath of Talos, Sahrabarik System. 1700 hours, Galactic Standard Time.
'General. How goes the pacification of the Empire's newest asset?'
'As well as could be expected. Civilian militias and scattered pockets of enemy holdouts remain, but our forces are advancing,' grunted the Ninth Legion's general, 'Enemy HQ and its surrounds are fully in Imperial control. Districts where Inferno bombs were deployed are nearly inaccessible. Requesting dropship support to extinguish flames. If the central power core is damaged, we're going to have a lot of trouble getting this station back up and running – and a need for either a lot of body bags or incinerators,'
Valeria stood still, deeply in thought. The station was a very valuable asset indeed, being the only large voidport outside the Citadel. Perhaps even capable of harbouring Imperial dreadnoughts, if she ordered its extension. To destroy the power core would mean an immediate shutdown of its life support systems, effectively killing off all potential resistance with minimal loss of life. However, to restore the systems of the station would be a monumental task indeed – particularly as the technologies of the Citadel races and their ilk were entirely alien to herself and her scholars. No – the station's inhabitants were to remain alive if it were to be of any benefit to the Empire, as filthy a cesspool of crime it was.
'Instruct the troops to assume defensive positions where possible. As for the districts where Inferno charges were planted; I do not wish to hear any Imperial soldier risking their lives saving criminals and dissolutes. Talos protect you, General Spade-Tail,'
The grizzled Argonian man saluted briefly, before the communications orb faded to its usual silver sheen.
'Fires are burning out of control on several levels of Omega. I fear that the central superstructure may be damaged,' spoke Servilius, reading a dataslate that a sensors officer had handed him, 'Our bombardment has caused severe damage in the lower shield generators of the station. The shielding on the lower structures are failing, and one of the larger asteroids may destroy the station, should it impact on that shield section. In addition to this, our troops are reporting shortages of healing solutions of all kinds, and if our hospital ships are reporting correctly, our healers cannot cope with this many wounded soldiers,'
'Send an order for the seventh and eighth fleets to reinforce the sixth and ninth,' replied Valeria tersely. She paused briefly before continuing, 'Also instruct the wardens of the internment camps that they are to send any willing Citadel citizen to assist with the reconstruction of this space station. Provided, of course, that they would be willing to swear an oath of fealty to the Empire and myself. Furthermore, send a message to the Blades that they are to organise an escort detail for myself, and for the Elder Council to choose a suitable member among their ranks and prepare an investiture ceremony. Stendarr knows that a station this large would never govern itself,'
'Noted. I shall send the messages immediately,'
'Good man. Now, I believe I have a...message...to deliver to the good general in the hold,'
The grinding of tempered steel on cold iron was the last thing Vyrthus heard before the strip of heavy sack-cloth was removed from before his eyes. He gritted his teeth and snarled as he watched the Empress drift towards him, dagger in hand, flanked by two guards with many-headed whips tipped with rusting spikes.
'You,' he spat, 'I did what you asked, and this is what I get?'
'You will address her with respect!' barked a jailor, who raised his whip to strike; but stayed his hand as the Empress glared at him, shaking her head.
'A kinslayer, he might as well be; killing thousands of his battle-brothers, all of whom served the Empire loyally. He too, however, had served loyally in the past,'
'That doesn't-'
'Excuse him from his misdeeds? No, warden, it does not,'
She bent over the chained general and glared into his furious eyes. No, there was not a single trace of regret; only indignation and hate. He was beyond redemption or forgiveness, as far as Valeria was concerned.
'The only thing I've done was serve your will. You wanted the station; you have your station,' growled the chained general, 'You wanted the deaths of those that opposed the Empire; I did as you asked,'
She tilted her head, a crooked smile creeping onto her lips. What he had spoken was true, and perhaps if there were not so many casualties she would have merely demoted him and given him a few hundred lashes.
'Indeed. I have the void-station that I have desired; and the destruction of the pirates and mercenaries is complete. No longer will loyal citizens suffer the predations of the craven and the opportunistic, and for that, I believe some reprieve is in order. Guards, strike off his chains,'
Though they raised their eyebrows at her order, they did as they were told. The general stood up, rubbing his aching wrists. His glare had all but intensified. Though he wanted nothing less than to seize this cat by her throat and choke her to Oblivion, the idea of being torn apart by the guards' chainswords was not appealing in the slightest.
'Do you recall the oath you swore upon your commission, General?' she asked, crossing her arms, 'If so, recite it for us all to hear,'
The Imperial Legion's oath of service. It had never changed throughout the ages, from the inception of the Legions until even now. But he merely frowned, not seeing the significance of the ancient custom. Did any in the Legion even consider it to be binding?
'You refuse to speak an oath that every Legion member must have done many times before, General?' spoke Valeria, 'Then I shall lead you. Whether or not you will repeat after me is none of my concern,'
'Upon my honor, I do swear undying loyalty to the Empress, Valeria Septim, and unwavering obedience to the officers of her great Empire. May those above judge me, and those below take me, if I fail in my duty,'
'Of course I know the oath,' he spat, 'I have never betrayed your cause in all my years of-'
'Perhaps directly, you have not. But as you recall, General, your fellow Legion soldiers are also in my service. Their service also furthers my cause. And if you were to destroy them through your actions - why, does that not mean that you have hindered my cause by causing their deaths? Speak, General!'
'...'
'As it stands, you have the blood of six thousand Legion soldiers on your hands, whom you have slain through your careless decisions. Their widows cry for justice, and their surviving battle-brethren are clamouring for your head. It is not my place to perform your execution, for as Legion law decrees, it must be your fellows that shall judge and punish you accordingly. Which I imagine will be neither honourable, nor quick, nor painless. However...'
She pulled a vial of a glassy green liquid. Swirling it with disdain, she held it out to him, her expression inscrutable.
'In light of your previous service, I shall offer you a...reprieve. This is a vial of refined, concentrated greenmote, combined with a distilled tincture of jarrin root. Should you consume it, your death shall be quick and painless; I believe that you shall be in Aetherius within but ten seconds of imbibing this deadly venom. Your death shall absolve you of any impending punishment, and perhaps the other Legion officers may be placated enough to forgive your transgressions,'
'And if I refuse?'
'That I cannot predict, for the officers and soldiers of the Sixth shall perform your punishment. I have heard that your replacement is truly a...charming man. Perhaps he shall allow every soldier to beat you ten times each with a metal rod. Perhaps he may order your removal from the Legion, stripping you of both rank and stipend, before ordering you to a headsman's block. Perhaps both. Choose, General; for I cannot restrain the Legion from performing its own judicial procedures for longer than twenty-four hours, as you well know,'
'You offer death, and worse. This is not a choice, you conceited, selfish-'
At that moment, a fireball engulfed the Empress' hand, incinerating the vial to ashes and globs of molten glass. Livid, she hurled the general against the the wall with a tremendous burst of magickal energies. She rounded on him, hissing, sparks arcing from clenched fists.
'I have come to grant you a gift to lessen your impending punishments, and yet you dare to question my motives, and to judge my actions? I offer your family reprieve from any repercussions of your impending trial, and yet you spurn my offer? Recall, General, what happens to those who betray the Legion. Their names are struck from the Legion's history, and their widows and children likewise excluded from honourable company, to live forever as outcasts. Is this what you truly want for your family?'
Vyrthus fell to the ground, gasping, as Valeria's wrath wore away. Her expression of fury gave way to sadness, and she shook her head.
'Had you slaughtered every last one of the dissolutes on that station, I would not condemn you to death; and though your battle-brethren would surely have objections; they, too, would not condemn you to death. Yet you have chosen to deploy the Inferno charges despite my explicit instructions otherwise, and against the better judgment of your peers. The blood of brothers and sisters thickly coats your hand, General. And as you are well aware, the law of the Empire demands an eye for an eye; blood for blood, and gold for gold,'
Turning around, she waved the guards to chain him down once more. She cast one more look back before she entered the teleportation circle, the fierce glow in her eyes slightly dulled.
'I shall take my leave. In the unlikely case that your Legion brothers shall allow you to walk free, then I shall accept you back into my service. Good day,'
Kynareth's Bounty, Mundus. 0900 hours, Galactic Standard Time.
'Well, this is it; you're all free to return to your families in Citadel space, or remain in Imperial space if you wish,' Bors gro-Radagash said to the assembled group of refugees. He flashed a toothy smile at them all as he pointed towards the large human-made transports on the concrete landing pad just outside of the prison complex, 'Whichever you choose, you are free. No strings attached,'
One by one the freed slaves stood up, shaking the hands of Imperial wardens as they left. Most of the Asari and the Salarians had chosen to depart on the Alliance transports, along with some of the humans. Some had brought along items that they had earned through honest labour; fine clothes or some simple ornaments, or even a few Dwemer-forged daggers and silverware. Popular among the few Turians who chose to depart were healing potions, which they had discovered were seemingly effective on both dextro- and levo-amino species.
Marcus sat on a metal crate, pondering what to do. He had been a military soldier for life in the Hierarchy, though last dishonourably discharged for fleeing a battle. His father would no doubt refuse him entry into the Salvius estates on Palaven, for even his sister refused to talk to him when she had learned of his cowardice.
His ship had been torn to shreds when he was captured by slavers on the edge of Systems Alliance space, leaving him with nothing to return to. He was a free man, with all the freedom in the world - and not a Citadel credit to his name. However, he did have a few thousand of these septims...
'Not leaving, Sal?' grunted the warden, as he approached, 'Many of your kind are also staying behind, and some of those not-quite-Nords. Here, you might want to read these,'
Bors handed him a small stack of rather crumpled looking pamphlets. Some bore the silver seal of the Imperial Legion, while others had the azure eye of the Mages' Guild. A single one at the bottom of the pile had the crossed swords on a shield, representing the Fighters' Guild.
'Help yourself. I've got plenty of these recruitment things. They seem to be looking for new members. You'll fit right in the Legion, I reckon. Otherwise, the Fighters' Guild is a legalised private security force, if you don't like the Legion's stiff attitude,'
'A mercenary company?' Marcus nearly shouted. These Imperials allowed companies to operate like the Blue Suns?
'Nothing like it. The Empress has a...fiery hatred of criminals. Last I heard, she'd crucified every single one of those upstarts over at Zenithar's Forge who started a freelance mercenary company. Their captain couldn't pay every single one of them, see - and they started to steal and rob from the honest, hard-working people there. As I recall, the final straw was when they looted the Cathedral to Zenithar for gold and silver,'
He looked at the group of Turians listening to a black-armoured Legion officer. Barefaced, most of them - but seemingly willing to gather honourable employment. One by one they threw a Turian salute, to which the officer responded with his own. There were even a couple of humans who had gone with the Turians, seemingly not content with simply departing for the Citadel.
'I think I'll join the Legion. Maybe I can do some good while I'm at it,'
'Good man. I've done my time in the Legion as well - honourably discharged. But as they say; you're in it for life. I still serve the Empire in my own way, and so does every citizen. Listen, if you're going to join up, you'd better go now. Legion positions tend to fill up very quickly. All that prestige, y'see,'
'Then I'd better go. Thanks for all the help, Bors,'
'Don't mention it. Look after yourself, and beat some skulls in for me,'
Imperial City, Nirn. 1200 hours, Nirnian Standard Time.
A vast shadow passed over the Imperial City as three dreadnoughts lazily drifted across the sky, their undersides painted a bright silver and red. Beneath them, a dense crowd of citizens had gathered in their finest clothing, a crowd stretching from the fishing village of Weye in the west, all the way to the Palace District in the heart of the Imperial City. Hosts of silver-clad guards lined the streets, ceremonial sabres in hand, their helmets and shields gilded brighter than the sun.
Even the Waterfront District had been cleansed thoroughly in preparation of the coming ceremony, the usual crowd of beggars and vagrants 'encouraged' to move by the Imperial guard, while mages seared away all refuse with flames. Even now the once-muddied cobbled roads were bleached white by torrents of water. A veritable army of cleaners tirelessly scrubbed away the last vestiges of graffiti on nearby walls, assisted by citizens keen to clean up the usually grime-covered buildings.
It was here that Marcus Salvius had arrived, along with a dozen or so other Turians and half a dozen Asari. Their guide, a reptilian-looking man - an Argonian - had stepped off the corvette first, presenting a dataslate to the port security officers.
'Alright. Your travel documents seem to be in order, Walks-In-Forest. We'll need to check your cargo and any passengers on this corvette, and then you can rejoin the festivities,' the Dunmer officer spoke.
Stepping off the ship, Marcus looked around. This garden world was still lush and green, unlike the dry and dusty plains of Palaven, or the concrete-dominated skylines of Illium. And if he was not mistaken, most of the buildings were still constructed of well-cut masonry, albeit with glass and metal reinforcing their upper sections.
'What is that...tower?' asked the Asari next to him; Arana, if he heard her name correctly.
'That is the White-Gold Tower, ma'am,' answered the port officer curtly, 'Seat of the Nirnian Empire's senate and Elder Council, and the Empress' official residence on Nirn - when she's present, of course. You'll want to go there, get your citizenship oaths administered before you do anything else. Security is tighter today than it normally is; don't let the guards have a reason to throw you into prison,'
'I see. What's happening today?'
'Investiture of a new Archduke. It's always a big ceremony,' Walks-In-Forest chimed in, 'Not exactly every day that this happens. There's bound to be a huge feast later on, where everyone's invited. When you're done, come follow me. The Imperial City's huge, we don't want you getting lost, do we?'
As soon as the others had been searched by port officials, Walks-In-Forest beckoned for the group to follow him towards a gate on the edge of the docks. A pair of hulking green-skinned soldiers leered at them, though they did not as much as shift from their posts. A third soldier, a tall, fair-skinned man, moved forward to greet them.
'Hail, travellers. Welcome to the Imperial City. If this is your first time arriving here, make your way to the Imperial Registry first. We've already had more than a few people removed today for not having proper identification seals,'
He turned to the Argonian man, and gave him a friendly push on the shoulder, laughing heartily.
'Didn't think you'd be back so soon, Forest! Come find me in the evening at the Tiber Septim, for a mug of ale or two. What mischief have you been getting into?'
'I've been helping the Empire move people in and out of the new colonies. Nice and easy work, compared to moving barrels of kaveh and crates of metal ingots. But I must take these good people to the White-Gold Tower first,'
'Ah. You best move quickly. The line's getting long, with all these people coming from across the Void. Last I heard, the Archduchess of Kynareth's Bounty had just arrived with her followers. Several thousand of them, all checking in at the Tower. Stay safe, citizens. And you too, brothers of Skyrim,'
The soldier tilted his head in confusion when the humans behind Marcus did not react. Granted, they were tall and fair-skinned as well, and could well pass for a Nord in Skyrim.
'They're not from Imperial space, I'm afraid,' Walks-In-Forest said, scratching his chin, 'I was ordered to collect them from Kynareth's Bounty,'
'So these are the people from the colony that the Empress raided,' the Nord said, examining each of them with curiosity, 'In that case, well met, friends. I hope you will find the celebrations tonight to your liking. Now, as much as we've enjoyed our chat, Forest - move along, please, before the watch captain comes around and catches you loitering around a gate,'
The large Nord shook their hands rather vigorously, leaving the humans rubbing their aching wrists after he had finished, and the Turians' talons smarting as though they had been crushed in a Krogan's iron grip.
'Come, this way,' Walks-in-Forest called, beckoning them to walk through the shimmering barrier spanning the gate.
Inside the city proper, Marcus could hardly believe what he saw. Unlike the Citadel, covered in neon and permanently ablaze in colour and light, the Imperial City was significantly more subdued, being completely devoid of lighted signage. The broad boulevard that stretched from the edge of the city to the white tower in the centre was paved in marble and edged with black granite, while towering skyscrapers rose from the sides of the roads, constructed from a rather strange mixture of whitewashed stone, burnished steel and glass.
'You're in the Temple District, home of the largest cathedral in all of the Nirnian Empire. I don't suppose you follow the teachings of the Nine, but it's always good to offer a drake or two to the priests when you visit. Keeps the gods happy, they said - but all I see is the gold going to their pockets,'
Sure enough, the cathedral was truly enormous; easily occupying half the length of the boulevard, and perhaps one-third as wide as it was long. Nine spires soared towards the skies, each roofed with tiles of gold. Beneath its marble arches, he could see rows upon rows of bedrolls, all of which seemed to be occupied by a destitute person. Though the priests seemed to wander between each, offering words of consolation and an occasional curative application of biot- no, magicka - they did not seem to offer much more relief to the poor, giving mere pittances as they wandered about in silver-threaded finery.
'We're almost at the Palace District. Mind your manners now, and keep close to me. As I have said before, security is tight. And no district is locked up tighter than the Palace District,'
'Any reason why?' Marcus asked the Argonian, who halted in his tracks and stared at him incredulously.
'One does not simply build an empire without making his or her own share of enemies. I thought that much would be obvious. When nobility are gathered in a single place, and with Her Majesty present, it's a recipe for trouble. Trust this old lizard that he knows what is happening,'
'They're expecting trouble?'
The lizard nodded, continuing to walk along the marble pathway. A line of soldiers had formed on either side of the boulevard, and a wall of heavily-armoured soldiers three ranks deep blocked the shimmering field that led into the Palace District.
'Precisely. I've got friends in the Imperial guard. There are rumours that the Dawnguard are planning to assassinate the Empress and her retinue,'
'Why would they do that?' asked a human woman in the back. The Argonian merely shook his head and shrugged.
'They're an old order of vampire hunters. Some old wounds just never heal, and unfortunately the Empress is a night-walker -'
At that, the humans stopped in their tracks, looking at each other incredulously, while the Turians simply flared their mandibles in confusion. Vampires. Where had he heard that before...
'A vampire. Do you seriously expect us to believe that?' scoffed a man.
But the Argonian's unmoving face betrayed his seriousness, and the man's expression changed from disbelief to fear.
'No, no, you don't need to worry,' the Argonian quickly spoke, noticing their panic, 'She never drank blood for as long as I remember. I'm not entirely sure how she does it; most of the other vampires go mad within weeks of blood starvation. For the others, as far as I know those who are not registered by the Imperial Ministry of Security were hunted down like vermin, and the others are closely monitored. They are only fed criminals condemned to death,'
The group stopped as the wall of soldiers drew their weapons, and the crimson-helmeted captain at the front advanced towards them. Walks-In-Forest halted, crouching down, and motioning for the others to do the same.
'Halt. State your business, or turn back,' the captain barked in a deep, commanding voice.
'I've been requested by the Legion to escort these new recruits for their citizenship oaths and their induction to the Legion,'
'Documents?' he demanded, holding out a calloused palm.
The Argonian handed him a dataslate, promptly receiving it back as the captain waved the newcomers through.
'Your business here is concluded. We shall continue your task,' the captain spoke, the soldiers behind him parting; four of them broke rank to escort the group of humans and Turians forward, 'Peace be with you, marsh-walker,'
White-Gold Tower, Imperial City. 1800 hours, Nirnian Standard Time.
'Are all the perimeters secured? No citizen unsearched? Nothing unaccounted for, or any strange events?' asked a Nord legate. His subordinates all nodded in unison, their faces tense. The crowds of law-abiding citizens below, the street-rats in the sewers, the mages in their floating island above the city - any of them could be a Dawnguard agent, whether in disguise or voluntarily. Even among the Legion men, they could be hiding. Only his core soldiers, those that he had fought alongside for years, could he trust with this important task.
Tables had been set for the nobility in the feast-halls inside the White-Gold Tower's third floor, while those commoners fortunate enough to acquire an invitation sat about long-tables in the gardens outside, braziers burning brightly to ward off the Sun's Dusk chill. Tankards of silver stood before every seated guest, who chatted idly with one another as they waited for the telepath-mages to attune the numerous broadcasting crystals around and inside the tower – and for the Empress to arrive. Each filled their glasses from fountains of ale and wine, whose usual supply of water had been replaced with fine drinks for the night's celebrations.
'What's that thing over there?' a commoner murmured, spotting a curious floating creature, whose hide seemed to be made of metal. Its single blue eye seemed to be focusing intently on the festivities, scanning the lively gathering. A creature, strikingly similar to a mer save for the...tentacles...on her head, stood beside the creature, manipulating a strange, glowing golden device on her wrist.
'Supposedly those Citadel peoples call them 'reporters'. Telepath-mages, of another sort, I heard; and that creature is really just some form of automaton in the place of a recording crystal,' his fellow replied, 'Don't know much more about them myself. Her Majesty supposedly invited them here. You'll probably see a couple more of them around this place,'
'Interesting. I have to say, she does look fine. Looks so much like a wood elf in her youth. Just look at that lithe body, the-'
'More like a Breton, I'd say,' butted in another man.
Before another argument could arise over the appearance of the person, a fanfare of trumpets blasted through the streets. Three dozen heavily-armed soldiers rushed forward, curved longswords and assault crossbows in hand, marching in step on either side of the road. A gilded carriage, drawn by six large Senche-tigers draped in Imperial purple trappings, proceeded behind them. Atop this carriage, the Empress sat, bedecked in fine purple and black velvet robes encrusted with jewels, and a golden crown weighing down her head, much to her displeasure.
'Her Imperial Majesty, the venerable Valeria Septim, has arrived. Rise and greet her!' shouted the herald upon the balcony of the tower. The commoners promptly stood and cheered loudly, a gesture to which she responded with a smile and a wave. Lesser nobles doffed their plumed hats as the carriage passed by, though some merely nodded as she passed.
Within the tower itself, the atmosphere was far more reserved. The greater nobility had assembled in the senate chamber, rising to their feet as the honor guardsmen opened the doors for the empress. Most had carefully crafted stony expressions upon their faces, for another would enter their ranks today. Another head and family to contend with in the labyrinthine politics of the Imperial peerage.
'Drem yol lok, dovahkiin,' Paarthurnax rumbled, his deep voice thundering around the chamber. He squinted at the two Asari reporters who had seated themselves upon stools on the edge, 'Vomindok reyliik. What strange guests have you brought today. I do not recognise them,'
'They are here at my invitation, Paarthurnax. Vahzen honaan. Recorders of events,' replied Valeria, 'Are all the councillors and high nobles present?'
'Geh. The junne are all present, as far as this ancient one can see. The ceremony may begin,'
'Very good,' she said, seating herself down with a sigh on the blood-red crystal throne. Gods know just why she had never ordered some cushions to be placed upon the hard seat. Clearing her throat, she spoke into the broadcasting crystal offered by a telepath-mage before her.
'Friends, Nirnians, countrymen; today, we gather in celebration of a hard-won victory over forces of chaos at work on the fringes of our great empire. The pirates who threaten our borders, who prey upon the weak and the honest, are no more! The slaving mercenaries who capture your kin and live from the fruits of fire and rapine have each been put to the sword! Rejoice, knowing that your kin in the far reaches of the Empire are safe,'
'To those who have fallen in battle; we grieve, and take comfort in the knowledge that your sacrifices have made this dark world a brighter place. To those whose loved ones have been lost; we share your anguish, and pray to Mara that she may ease your agony. To those who survive; we shall not allow this final gift from the fallen to waste away. To this end, who among you is worthy to lead our people to new and glorious days upon the outskirts of our realm, so that their efforts may not be in vain? High priest Candolin, please step forward, and deliver to me the judgment of the Scroll of Kings,'
An elderly Bosmer, robed in the customary white robes of the Moth Priests, hobbled to the front of the assembly. Bowing briefly before the throne, he held out a dataslate, which the Empress took and read.
'Count of West Akavir, Arsinius-Vilren, please step forward,' she spoke, surveying the nobles. Murmurs of disbelief echoed about the nobility. Vilren, a relatively unimportant count, slithered from his stand at the rear of the gathering. Whichever nobles happened to be closest to the aisle shifted slightly as he passed, for the Tsaesci did require a rather wide path for their movements. He stopped before the marble dais, bowing his head before the Empress.
'By the will of Akatosh revealed in the Scroll of Kings, you have been marked as a worthy candidate for the newly-created seat of Omega. Do you accept this office, and with it the rights and responsibilities accorded to an archduke of the Empire?'
'I ssswear upon my sssoul that I do,' he spoke solemnly.
'Do you swear to uphold the laws of the realm? To dispense justice with impartiality, so that none shall be punished without cause, and that the guilty are apportioned their dues. To assert a firm yet kindly rule over your subjects, who shall hold you as their liege-lord?'
'I shall do so to the best of my ability. May Oblivion take me if I fail in my duty,'
'Do you swear fealty to the Ruby Throne, and the rightful Empress of Nirn?' Valeria said, raising her hand. The snake-man leant forward and kissed the ruby ring on her hand briefly, before stating his affirmation once more. Satisfied, the Empress stood up from her throne. A tongue of white flame burst forth from her right hand, stretching to the form of a longsword. With this, she tapped the man's shoulders ever so lightly.
'Then from this day forthwith, you shall no longer be known as the Count of West Akavir. The title shall be reassigned to your eldest of your kin, along with all lands that it encompasses,' shouted Valeria to the gathering, her voice thundering through the otherwise silent room, 'The space-station known as Omega, and all the lands contained in its sphere of influence within the Void, shall be your new domain. The people in it shall look to you as their lord and benefactor, and you shall in turn offer your arms and men in my service,'
She then struck his cheek with the back of her gloved hand, knocking him to the ground.
'Rise, Arsinius-Vilren, Archduke of Omega. May you rule your domain with justice and honour; and never forget that you are the servant of the people, and not their master. With the love and adoration of your subjects comes strength. Remember the teachings of the Nine, for without their guiding light, one would be led astray by the beguiling influences of Oblivion,'
And with a flourish, the flaming blade in her hand vanished. Smiling, she turned to face the recording-crystal and the pair of Citadel journalists in the corner of the senate chamber.
'The ceremony is concluded. Let the feast begin!'
White-Gold Tower, Imperial City, Nirn. 1930 hours, Nirnian Standard Time.
The feast-halls on the third floor of the White-Gold Tower could scarcely hold another person, as waiters weaved their way through the mass of seats and long-tables arrayed within. Upon a raised dais was the Empress and her honoured guests; the new archduke, an Asari and a human, as well as a Turian from the Citadel Council's ambassadorial delegation, overseeing the masses of lesser and greater nobles gorging themselves upon endless waves of food and drink from the palace kitchens.
'Thank you for your hospitality, your Majesty, but I cannot eat this food,' the Turian ambassador said, his flanging voice nearly lost in the chatter of the room.
'Not even a bite? Sssuch a pity,' Arsinius-Vilren hissed, swallowing a choice cut of Bosmeri roast venison, 'I do not think there isss a finer place to dine in all of Nirn,'
'Turians have a different...biology...compared to most of the other races known to the Citadel,' explained the Asari ambassador, uncertain if they had encountered any other dextro species, 'They cannot eat what we eat without falling seriously ill, and the reverse is also true,'
The Empress raised an eyebrow at that statement, at which point the Asari ambassador quickly added, 'I assure you that we truly do appreciate this feast, your Majesty, even if one of our members cannot enjoy it in the same way as the others do,'
'Intriguing. Perhaps I should assign the School of Alchemy to seek a solution to this,' Valeria replied, glancing down at what was before her; a small stack of pearlescent soul gems, a living image of a plump deer or a fat hen reflected within each, 'Believe me when I say that I know that issue all too well,'
She poured herself a glass of blood-red wine, crushing two soul gems into it. The human and Asari diplomats looked at her drink curiously over their own platters of Nibenese salad, watching how the wine hissed and sparked, even emitting an occasional ember, as the translucent powder dissolved into the wine.
'I cannot eat the same food as the rest of my subjects, and it is always a point of consternation whenever I am to visit a house of one of my vassals,' she sighed, drinking the liquid and grimacing, 'For who appreciates a guest who is unable to consume food prepared solely for their visit, at the host's own expense?'
'I don't understand. Why can't you eat the same food as the rest of your citizens?' queried the Turian.
She laughed bitterly and drained the rest of her glass, swirling the powder not yet dissolved at the bottom.
'For your benefit, it is perhaps a good idea to say that I am not the same as the rest of my race. Yes, by all rights I am a Cathay-Raht Khajiit, born under the waxing of Masser and Secunda. Yet I am not; for a mere Khajiit would be most fortunate to live to a hundred years, and I have long since passed my thousandth birthday. Perhaps around five, or six hundred years since even then. Time matters very little to one such as myself; for one who is a night-walker shall never be weathered by age,'
'That doesn't make any sense. So you're a...cat- Khajiit, my apologies, and yet you are not?'
She refilled her glass of wine and crushed a larger gem into it, causing the wine to be set ablaze.
'In simpler terms, I was a Khajiit by birth and form; but my bloodline is that of one cursed - and blessed - by vampirism. Death does not stalk me, for I am neither alive nor dead; but the simple joys of life-' she sniffed at the roast on her right, ears drooping sadly, 'Are denied to me. Merely consuming food other than wines and spirits - or blood - is sufficient to make myself very ill,'
Catching the human and Asari ambassadors' fearful gazes, she flattened her ears in mild annoyance. 'I can assure you that I do not drink the blood of innocents, and most certainly not honoured guests of the Empire. It would be an affront to my honour if I were to perform such a base act. Now, I think it is time for you all to enjoy the feast; and good sir, if I may have your name...?'
'Lucius. Lucius Fedorian,' the Turian replied, leaning back in his seat. He did not understand just why the human and the Asari were so...terrified...of the Empress, despite her friendly - though strangely archaic - demeanour. Granted, those fangs did look sharper and longer than those of the other cat-folk he'd seen in the Imperial City so far...
'Ambassador Fedorian. I'm sure that the servants and the cooks shall be able to find something for you, should you request it. We have, after all, received supplies from your government for your embassy; I apologise for not assuming that your kind requires different sustenance,'
His reply, however, did not catch her attention. Several Imperial guards had started moving into the feast hall. Looking at the great clock-face above he hall's double doors, she noted that it had been far too early for a change of shifts. The guards initially posted had remained in their posts, while the new ones seemed to occupy positions about the tapestries draped about the walls; the tapestries hiding ancient escape tunnels from view.
Noticing the Empress' stare, the Turian ambassador asked, 'Is there something wrong?'
'Nothing as of yet, Ambassador Fedorian. I have, however, received word from my spymaster that a group of rebels would make an attempt upon my life during the feast tonight. There are hundreds of Imperial guards, and dozens of my personal bodyguards in this facility, and so I believe that some measure of safety could be found within this tower. That is not to say, however, that uniforms could not be stolen, or identities falsified,' she whispered quietly, 'It is not the first time that this has occurred, nor am I foolish enough to believe that it would be the last. But I have no intention of allowing them to succeed. If they have found the courage to attack within this heavily guarded hall, there are some of your...mass accelerator pistols...attached to the underside of this table. I will not have any of my guests harmed during this feast!'
Each of the ambassadors' hands shifted to feel the underside of their table; sure enough, there was a single heatsink and a pistol, crudely held in place by some sticky substance. Vilren, too, had noticed the ambassadors' change in disposition, and now scanned the hall intently while feigning to feast on the food before him.
A pair of Blades soldiers entered the room, quickly making their way towards the raised dais where the Empress and her guests sat. The bright red stripe on the helmet of the taller Redguard marked him as a captain, while the shorter Breton soldier was unmarked. They knelt before the Empress, bowing their heads in customary greeting.
'My Empress, it is not safe here. Our agents have found six bodies of Imperial guardsmen in a closet in the basement, and an open sewer grate with many tracks leading away. Their uniforms have been stolen, as have their identification tags; and our battlemages have determined that an illusionary field is in place somewhere in this building. We must leave now,'
'And leave we shall. I will ask you to keep these ambassadors safe, captain; if we are to leave all at once, my would-be assassins would doubtless feel that there is something amiss, and they would be forced to act rashly. Have you any other soldiers outside?'
'There are four Blades patrolling the lower corridors, and another pair just outside of this hall. Outside, there are at least thirty of our brothers monitoring the commoners,'
'Good. That shall be all I require,' declared the Empress, standing up, 'It is unfortunate that our discussion has to be cut short by this...unpleasantness, gentlemen - and lady. I do look forward to meeting with you in the future-'
'Milady, get down!' hissed Vilren, who pounced on the shocked Empress and knocked her to the ground before she could throw a protective ward together. He had spotted one of the guards draw his assault crossbow.
A bolt struck the wall behind the Empress where her head had been a moment before, followed by a barrage of six others; the chatter of dining nobility turned to screams of panic as dozens more bolts continued to pepper the heavy oaken feast-table at the front of the hall.
'Lothair, move to the east side of this hall. Stick to cover; these bastards are using incendiary shot. I'll call for reinforcements,' the Blades captain barked, eyeing the smouldering silver bolts on the floor. His subordinate nodded, and promptly scurried away to a stone pillar to their right.
'They've barred the damn doors, sir. There's no way we can break those down without explosives or cutters, and it'd take too long to get those. I see four of the Dawnguard out there. Three assault crossbows, one chainsword. All using palace guards' armour,'
'Damn it. Move closer when you can, soldier, but don't take risks-'
Another bolt shot out from the direction of the doorway, piercing through the stone pillar and pinning the hapless soldier to the wall behind through his head.
'Our quarrel is with the vampire, and the vampire alone,' a cold, Nordic voice shouted, 'Step aside and we won't have to shoot you!'
The sound of a revving chainblade echoed around the room, and the screams of panic grew louder. More bolts struck the table at the front; this time with enough force to completely pierce through the thick oaken front. The Asari ambassador was struck on her right arm, while the human ambassador screamed as a bolt lodged itself in his stomach. Yet another penetrated the wood, this time lodging itself in the Empress' shoulder; bright crimson blood trickled slowly down the shaft. The captain's hand instinctively went to pull the bolt away, though the Empress swatted away his hand, glaring angrily.
'I shall not meet my death at the hands of mere Dawnguard brigands, not after only a single bolt. And I will certainly not allow any more to die at their hands,' spat the Empress; 'Joorre, meyye. Dir volaan! Feim!'
She grasped in the air for the faint threads of Aetherial energy, weaving it into a compact sphere of pure darkness. Standing up, she threw the sphere into the centre of the room, the vampire hunters' barrage of bolts passing harmlessly through her incorporeal body. Three hulking Dremora emerged from the portal where the sphere struck in the centre, brandishing enormous greatswords. Two clannfears followed behind them, looking rather confused as they emerged from the waters of Oblivion.
'Kill them,' ordered the Empress icily; the Dremora flashed a malevolent grin before they dashed towards the nearest Dawnguard agents, blades raised high for a kill. The clannfears lowered their heads and charged, trampling over fallen silverware and flinging aside furniture as they barreled towards their enemies.
The first two fell quickly indeed, the Imperial guards' ceremonial silver armour shattering under the crushing force of Daedric-forged greatswords. The third resisted bravely, loosing crossbow bolts into the neck of one Dremora and the heart of another, though the clannfears promptly tore his limbs from his body with their sickle-like claws. The last agent duelled the final remaining Dremora, panting as he dodged and struck back against his towering assailant, finally managing to lodge his chainsword deep into the Dremora's torso, banishing the warrior back to Oblivion.
His victory, however, was short-lived as the two clannfears bowled him over. His sword clattered away to the side, grinding harmlessly on the marble floor. He held his arms in front of his face in desperation as the creatures relentlessly snapped and tore at his flesh and armour with their beaks and claws.
'Stop,' commanded the Empress. The clannfears froze and stepped back, tilting their heads in confusion.
She lifted her hand lazily, and the assassin screamed in agony as he was lifted up high into the air, his limbs stretched apart by an invisible force.
'Tell me, knave,' she hissed, 'Why I should spare your worthless hide, and quarter you in my prisons. Perhaps I should quarter you in another way, yes?'
'Oblivion take you and your kind!' spat the man. 'Night-walkers who know nothing but how to murder others, to cause suffering and -'
He screamed again as his limbs were dislocated from their sockets with a sickening pop. The nobility gathered watched on hatefully, some even drawing their dress rapiers and daggers, while the ambassadors visibly flinched at the sound. He fell to the ground in a heap, the magickal bonds holding him aloft having been dissolved.
'No, quartering is too kind. Tell me, knave; if you were to hold power over me, that I were your prisoner; what would you have done to me?'
'I'd have your damnable pelt for a rug,' he panted, glaring at her; his limbs dangled limply from his side, unable to move.
'I had expected as much. Well, I shall grant you the most cruel punishment I have to offer. Strip him of his clothes! He deserves not the garb of such noble soldiers,'
The clannfears seemed to understand her orders, and promptly tore away the pieces of metal armour, though sparing his flesh from further damage. She stroked the smaller clannfear behind its plated head, eliciting a strangely happy chirp from the creature.
'Your crimes against me are inconsequential, joor. Alduin has failed to slay me in Sovngarde; and the First Dragonborn fell before me on Solstheim. The Psijics crumbled before the power of my arcane arts. What madness seized you to believe that a motley group of self-proclaimed vampire hunters have the capacity to end my life interests me not, nor will it interest me in the future. However, what the commoners would think of you remains to be seen; I do not think that this fight would have gone unnoticed, for even now I can see the spirits of a vast mass of people surging into the second floor. I shall allow them to be your judge. You are free to leave; if by dawnbreak you are outside the city's boundaries, alive and well, I shall hold your crimes absolved,'
The look of horror on the man's face as he processed the verdict put a twisted smile on the Empress' face, though she quickly hissed as the heat of the battle wore away and she was ever so acutely reminded of the burning bite of silver in her shoulder. Slowly seating herself down on the nearest seat, she muttered curses under her breath. Silver had never been kind to her kind; there was no doubt that recovery would now be slow and painful. She beckoned to the guard captain, her teeth clenched in pain.
'Healers are required here at once; fetch them from the temple. But before you go, I will ask you to remove this irksome needle from my shoulder,'
The captain nodded and grasped the shaft of the bolt carefully. When the Empress nodded her readiness, he pulled as strongly as he could. He swore that her yowl of pain could be heard from the Elven Gardens. Gathering the cleanest napkin on the ground he could find and packing it into a tight wad, he pressed it as hard as he could into the wound.
'Thank you,' she panted, wiping tears from her eyes, 'Fetch the healers to look after our guests and any others who may be wounded. You need not worry about this injury, it is nothing without the sting of silver to burn into my flesh,'
'Thossse cowardsss...to attack on a feassst day...it isss unthinkable...' Arsinius muttered angrily, sheathing his dagger and hauling the Dawnguard agent roughly to his feet.
'Indeed, archduke. There will be a reckoning for this, I assure you. However, for the time being, your loyalty and courage is noted. Though in the future, I would suggest you refrain from knocking myself down. I will not be held responsible for any grievous injuries if you were to interfere with the casting of a fireball,'
Presidium Ring, Citadel, Widow Nebula. 1500 hours, Galactic Standard Time.
'News from our correspondents in the Nirnian Empire's capital inform us that an assassination attempt on their Empress has failed. A radical group called the Dawnguard is suspected to be behind the attack which has left five dead and many seriously injured. Among the wounded are the Empress herself and three Citadel ambassadors present for the feast. The human ambassador is reported to be in a serious but stable condition. Imperial authorities have refused to comment on the attack, citing 'security reasons', though they assure us that all the perpetrators have been apprehended or killed, with at least three killed by an angry crowd outside of the Imperial Palace. Extensive property damage is reported, and the repair bill is expected to reach the equivalent of one million credits. This is Varia T'Sari, Thessian News Network, signing out,' Councilor Anderson's omni-tool droned out.
'Shepard. I assume you've heard what happened?' groaned Anderson, as he spotted the reinstated Spectre jogging towards him, 'Whatever happened in that Empress' tower must have been really ugly. I've gotten a message from the ambassador that he's resigning his post if nobody would be willing to switch positions. Something about 'too risky for his pay'. So, what's going on with you? Can't be just visiting this old soldier for a chat,'
Frowning, Shepard leaned over the balcony next to Anderson.
'There's a favour that I need to ask for, Anderson. A really big one,'
'Shoot, kid. I'll see if I can help,'
'I need ambassadorial access to the Imperial-controlled sector of the Terminus Systems,'
Silence fell over the two for a brief moment, as Anderson processed what Shepard had said.
'I'm sorry, I must have misheard that, Shepard. You wanted to ask for a pass into Imperial space?' Anderson asked, his eyes wide in disbelief, 'That will take some time. It's hard enough to get any of our diplomatic staff into their territory, let alone a fully armed frigate - not a Systems Alliance frigate, either. What you're asking is close to impossible, Shepard,'
'If there's anyone that can get it done, it's you, Anderson. I wouldn't ask you if it wasn't important. Please,'
'You're damn lucky that I like you, Shepard. Anyone else, I would've said no,' he grumbled, shaking his head, 'I'll talk to their ambassador. A nice, practical man, that one, if a little...odd,'
Shepard nodded her thanks to Anderson, and turned to leave. Perhaps there was a chance she could get to Haestrom on time, and meet an old friend there-
'Shepard,' Anderson called out from behind her; she stopped in her tracks and looked over her shoulder back at him, 'Good luck out there. And keep up the good work. Those people you took from Omega would have been dead without your help,'
'Thanks, Anderson. And take care of yourself,'
A/N
It's been a damn long time since I've gotten time to write again, and I'd say it feels good. While I want to write on a regular basis, sometimes that's just not possible, what with work and all.
A couple of housekeeping matters. Criticism is part and parcel of writing and publishing, because (naturally) we as humans have opinions. Voice those opinions, if you feel compelled to do that - but remember that authors are not omniscient and are the worst judges of our own writing. For that reason, merely stating something along the lines of 'this story is bad' is not going to improve the quality of the story.
While it might take me some time to write the next chapter, that doesn't mean I'm not there or I've abandoned the story. PMs are a wonderful thing if you have a longer suggestion that doesn't fit inside a review, or if you have some questions or would like to point out errors in my writing (kudos to people who point them out!)
Also rather amused with the comments about Game of Thrones and Crassus. For the record, that scene was based on the alleged way that Crassus was killed (pouring down molten gold down his throat as a symbol of his insatiable thirst for wealth) and not so much as for the death of Viserys in Game of Thrones.
ArcturusWolf, signing out.
