Majir-Dar
Confused Khajiit
The smell of lavender and roses permeated the funeral reception for Emperor Titus Mede the Second. The late Emperor of Tamriel, and one of the most powerful men to have ever ruled. He was a victim of his own wisdom in a way, at least as far as the Nords of Skyrim were concerned. The White-Gold Concordat was a necessary evil if there ever was one, but to have them tell it the Emperor was simply a coward that wanted nothing but to drive the Empire and its Provinces to the ground for the Thalmor to use as fertilizer for their crops. No, what he was was a man that remembered the lives slain, and foresaw many more being slain. Not just soldiers and mercenaries, but innocents were murdered as well, in what any should consider war crimes, Vontan thought as he sat on a magnificent carved bench next to his family listening to the high priest go on about this and that. The nauseous fumes of everyone's colognes and perfumes were finally beating down the fresh scent of rose and lavender and he refrained from wrinkling his nose in disgust as best he could. Even this haphazard mess of floral, citrus, and woody pollutants was a better alternative to the stink of Titus Mede's corpse. Whatever poison the assassin was fond of using advanced the late Emperor's rate of decay beyond belief, and even closing the ornate ebony and gold casket only hid the smell so much.
The casket was an ever-so-friendly gift from the Thalmor. Hopefully their last word regarding the Emperors's actions. The message was clear to Vontan: we are glad he's dead. The Elder Council elected to use it for the sole purpose of pleasing the Thalmor in attendance. With the rebellion in Skyrim all but finished, they could finally afford some minor defeats as long as it gave them even a little more time. Time was on their side afterall. The fire of rebellion was put out on the mainland, but it had grown into shades of fierce blue in the Summerset Isles, or, as the Thalmor fancied it, Alinor.
Vontan raised a tan silken handkerchief to his watering eyes to dry them. Or at least will grow blue eventually. Surely they must break at some point, Vontan hoped.
As the services ended, and he was finally allowed to leave the packed hall, Vontan attempted to find the High Chancellor, Amantius Vodenius. It wasn't particularly difficult to do so, seeing as how he was surrounded in a swirling ocean of figures from Counts to degenerate homeless that had somehow snuck in to prey upon the open bars and bother the people they could never become. The difficulty of his task was compounded as he was subject to the same people washing over him. He couldn't politely get away from so many floral or fruity scented bags of silk and meat.
So Vontan resigned himself to writing to the High Chancellor instead. The matter wasn't too urgent in itself, but it aided one to play the part of loyalty when one is planning something traitorous. Poison of the variety the Emperor's assassin utilized was not cheap, afterall, and failing or being caught was a wicked way to lose an investment, without a doubt.
Vontan Minglumire departed to his chambers where he drafted his letter to the High Chancellor on an oak desk with a gold tipped dip pen. He would lament the passing of a great leader, hope that a new leader could rise and take his place, and of course that maybe, just maybe the High Chancellor should assume the role himself. Afterall, it was only right.
The casket was an ever-so-friendly gift from the Thalmor. Hopefully their last word regarding the Emperors's actions. The message was clear to Vontan: we are glad he's dead. The Elder Council elected to use it for the sole purpose of pleasing the Thalmor in attendance. With the rebellion in Skyrim all but finished, they could finally afford some minor defeats as long as it gave them even a little more time. Time was on their side afterall. The fire of rebellion was put out on the mainland, but it had grown into shades of fierce blue in the Summerset Isles, or, as the Thalmor fancied it, Alinor.
Vontan raised a tan silken handkerchief to his watering eyes to dry them. Or at least will grow blue eventually. Surely they must break at some point, Vontan hoped.
As the services ended, and he was finally allowed to leave the packed hall, Vontan attempted to find the High Chancellor, Amantius Vodenius. It wasn't particularly difficult to do so, seeing as how he was surrounded in a swirling ocean of figures from Counts to degenerate homeless that had somehow snuck in to prey upon the open bars and bother the people they could never become. The difficulty of his task was compounded as he was subject to the same people washing over him. He couldn't politely get away from so many floral or fruity scented bags of silk and meat.
So Vontan resigned himself to writing to the High Chancellor instead. The matter wasn't too urgent in itself, but it aided one to play the part of loyalty when one is planning something traitorous. Poison of the variety the Emperor's assassin utilized was not cheap, afterall, and failing or being caught was a wicked way to lose an investment, without a doubt.
Vontan Minglumire departed to his chambers where he drafted his letter to the High Chancellor on an oak desk with a gold tipped dip pen. He would lament the passing of a great leader, hope that a new leader could rise and take his place, and of course that maybe, just maybe the High Chancellor should assume the role himself. Afterall, it was only right.
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