User:Piratesahoy/The Tales of Porkchop/Chapters 35-44

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Chapter 35: The Tower[edit]

The Elder Council was in ruins. The room had become nothing short of a fighting pit. Several dozen arguments were taking place at the same time, shouts echoing off the walls of the towering structure. Some chairs were overturned, others were vacant, but rare was the seat with someone still in it. The remainder had stood up in angst, or in order to make themselves heard. The only stable part of Tamriel had been turned to chaos.

Rumors and voices of rebellion had drawn an emergency meeting of the council, and they had proved true. The politicians had locked themselves within the tower, only allowing in guards with more information. Lack of food and sleep, as well as the strain from the constant debating, had turned the sophisticated men into monsters, almost to the point of drawing swords against each other.

The chancellor struggled to keep order; his gavel had become useless, so now he shouted in his own voice to the crowd, who ignored them. The legion guards stood dumbstruck, wanting to stop the chaos but unwilling to harm any of the council. One guard turned to the other and said, “This is who leads Tamriel in times of trouble?”

At this word, the door slammed open, and a man walked in, flanked by Imperial Legion berserker's. The Council, shocked by the door opening, halted their bickering, and turned to face this man. He had a slight grin on his face, a nonchalant attitude to what the others considered a grave situation. He made it up to the table, and with a graceful leap, he hopped on top of it, making himself the center of attention.

“Gentlemen...” he began, drawing the attention of any who remained unaware. “ Surely you can't be arguing in a time like this...”

Murmurs ran among the crowd... What was this man talking about, and who was he?

The man unsheathed his sword, and he held it up for everybody to see. He took a victory lap, until he was standing on the table right before the Chancellor. Without warning, he thrust the sword for the Chancellor's throat, and let the blade tickle his windpipe. The Palace Guards stepped forward, but the berserkers blocked their path.

“Chancellor...surely you can tell me what this is?”

The Chancellor attempted to speak, but nothing came out. He sat transfixed at the blade, which would murder him at any moment.

“What's the matter... cat got your tongue... well I might just have to slice it off, won't I?”

The doors swung open once again, to reveal an older man with dark eyes, he strode purposefully into the room, and making sure everyone knew of his presence.

“That,” he said, “That is the blade of Bravil, and it can only be found in the Castle of Bravil.”

The man with the sword looked surprised, then satisfied.

“Correct,” he half-hissed, “This is the blade of Bravil, excuse me sir, but I never caught your name.”

“My name is Janus Hassildor, count of Skingrad before the rebels took over.”

This set a flurry of whispered conversations throughout the crowd. They had never heard of Skingrad coming under attack, let alone being captured. The situation must be growing dire beyond the comfortable walls of the Imperial City.

Before the Council Members could ask any questions, the man on the table stood up, taking the blade off the Chancellor's throat. The Chancellor finally relaxed in his chair, breathing heavily. Before he had taken a few steps however, the man turned around and put the sword back to the Chancellor's throat. He beckoned with his head to the man next to the Chancellor, an old Breton.

“Hold this.”

The Breton motioned to his chest, and mouthed out, “me?”

The man stared blankly in response.

After an awkward silence, the Breton got up and hoisted himself onto the table; he awkwardly gripped the sword handle, and trembling, held it in the general area of the Chancellor.

Finally satisfied, the man strode to the center of the table, confidence spewing from every pore.

“So... you want to know what has been going on.” He continued without the consensus of the Council. “Well... as you pleasant gentlemen have been stewing away in this dreary tower, there's been a war going on outside. The city of Bravil rebelled, and I was there to stop it, the cavalry commander for the great Kendraali... Kendraali became... well... unfit to work... so general Lemond took stage for our standing army.”

He took a moment to check over the audience and their reaction. They were clinging to his every word, and were as curious for the end as ever. It was as if he was telling the story of real life, and he had all the artistic license in the world.

“His command... was a disaster. After his defeat at the hands of the goblins, the man grew insane, eventually killing himself. It was immediately decided that I would take command, and I wore the title with honor. Before long, we had forced our way into the city, and routed the goblin and Marauder armies. We captured Bravil with ease, and the remainder of our enemies fled. I myself pushed the count off his castle to his death upon the rocks below. Bravil is ours!”

Applause rang out at this news. The Elder Council hadn’t heard any good news in a while, and capturing Bravil meant that the revolution might not be in as bad circumstance as previously thought.

Janus Hassildor spoke up, “Sir, Why have you returned to the city? Why did you not chase the rebels as they fled?

The man flinched at this question, “Well, you see, we didn't have any ships at our disposal, and the marauders were a more urgent threat.”

Some of the wiser men were able to catch the lies coming off this man, but they chose to stay silent. Janus, however, asked one more question.

“Sir, I have one more question, what is your name?”

The man looked at him with both a “Thought you'd never ask” face as well as false shock that his name was not known by this man.

He grinned again, “My name... is Ajaccio...”

To be contd.