Recollections of a Humble Potentate

As was mentioned by High King Emeric in the Loremasters Archive: Reman II – The Limits of Ambition

Potentate Sidri-Ashak

Excerpt From “CHAPTER ONE: ON MY BROTHER, THE DOR”

For as long as I can remember, I was groomed by my father and my father’s father to be the advisor and chamberlain of Brazollus Dor, my oldest and dearest friend. Fate Deemed we were, inseparable by birth, reliant upon one another in life. This was the duty of my people, my grandfather said to me as we conducted the necessary drills of the Seventy Nine and One Serpent Dance. “We served the Dragonborn, who was the Reman, and so shall we serve his heirs who have inherited his blood and soul.” I faintly recall being confused by those words when I was a child, but it was through my assimilation of them that I finally understood the grand teachings he had bestowed upon me that moonless night.

I met Brazollus in person when he was ten years old – I believe I had just turned the age of ‘eleven’ by Tamrielic reckoning. That was my first time I had undergone the ritual Shedding, to make myself presentable to my liege and not frighten him away. I remember the long walk we made down the Masserine Corridor towards one another, his father and my own father silently judging our posture unsmilingly, until we stood in front of each other in our full royal regalia.

There was a grunt from behind me, and I quickly turned to see my father motioning for me to humble myself before him. So I bowed, and said with the fullest sincerity, “Crown Prince Brazollus, I present myself to you. I am Sidri-Ashak, your–”

And suddenly, with no full warning, my youthful liege extended his hands and pushed me to the floor! I exclaimed, more from surprise than pain, when my head hit the polished tiles and it was in that moment that Brazollus began to laugh, not a simple short laugh, but a long and hearty one. My liege’s father, the Emperor Reman II, gave a small mocking smile at my predicament before turning to walk away. In my young mind I was furious to be treated and insulted in such a way, and before I knew it I had risen up from the ground and pushed Brazollus as hard as I could! The young prince fell to the ground with an audible crash, and the whole room suddenly descended into a deathly silence.

“I,” I had begun to stammer, the first time I had ever Choked on words. “I didn’t mean–” But the Emperor’s face had transformed into one of absolute fury, and his hand had descended to his blade and unsheathed it, and I knew in that instant I was dead. But then Brazollus’ hand extended in front of his father, surprising all, and he came to stand before me.

“That’s the first time anyone has ever done that before!” He said excitedly, and then he clasped my shoulder affectionately. I was most confused by this behavior! “Most of the servant boys and girls just let me beat them up, or cast spells at them without doing anything about it.” Suddenly, the Prince’s eyes gleamed. “Magic! Do you know anything about magic?”

“My liege, I–” I began, but then Dor grasped my hand and led me off down the Masserine Corridor without a backwards glance at his still fuming father and my own silent father, who according to my uncle was smiling thrice-over (although he denied it when I asked him, and struck me soundly when I did so again). He took me to his room, where he awestruck me with his knowledge of magical theory. How knowledgeable he had been, at such a young age! Oh, my eyes fill with tears as I remember those moments we shared together. I miss my Emperor, my friend so dearly. For it was that day I knew, I truly knew, this was a boy I could and would follow into battle.

Ever since that youthful incident, Reman II looked upon me with much disdain and his glances of hatred often made me wish the treasonous thoughts of displaying my Fangs in his presence, but Brazollus knew my pain – for his father disliked him too for being his only heir, and for showing a love of magecraft before a love of bloodshed – and would often ease my mind by performing showings of new spells he had developed in secret. Even then he entrusted me with secrets, secrets both small and terrible. If I had not sworn myself to him, I would have had my friend taken to the Moths for…alas, that is not for me to write.

When we both reached the age of sixteen we reenacted the original Coiling Ceremony between my foremost ancestor and Reman I, allowing for us to communicate without the need for voiced words and peruse one another’s thoughts like an open book. It was in these moments that I first learned of his ideas for the Battlespire, the Weir Gate, and most importantly, the Pillar of Light. Brazollus never cared much for the title of Crown Prince nor for the Ruby Throne, much to my irritation and amusement, and whenever I mentioned anything dealing with those topics he would ‘order’ me to quiet myself.

“Before I am Reman, I am Dragonborn,” he told me once in a rare firm voice commanding authority one day while we sparred near the Grand Vault, formed by his great-grandmother the Perrif in times catalogued in my Forefathers’ Library as written on our Wall. Oh, how reckless we were in childhood. “And before I am Dragonborn, I am Tamrielic. How else can I better my people than through the use of magic, of which I have a grand and fundamental understanding?” He would then go on about how he would Sunder the Heavens, as his great-grandfather had originally planned in the years prior.

(As is customary, I request that those reading these memoirs take the time to Mutter the One-Thousand and Eight Pains of Death for the Star Orphans and their Opera, whose Treachery goes Without Bounds. When one has done this, you may continue reading at your leisure.)

When Reman II was entombed in the Golden Hill after being felled by the Dark Elves to the East, Brazollus ascended sadly to the Throne at eighteen and found himself in control of an Empire at war. When faced with the choice of leading his people in the Sun or in the Shadows, he chose the Shadows and gave me the task of assuring the stability of the citizens. I was happy to bear the burden, but I was afraid. Afraid that his sole concern over the state of his transmundial projects would sour his reputation with his subjects. They had already begun to call him ‘Brazollus the Lax’, a nickname I fear he kept with him to the grave[…]