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by Waughin Jarth
My great great uncle was a warder at an asylum in Torval (maybe he was my great great great uncle -- it was quite a long time ago), and this is the story that has been passed down in my family from his generation to mine. Perhaps it is purely apocryphal, but when I was told it, it was whispered in such a way that it was meant to be taken seriously. Not having any children of my own to whisper to, and being in need of some gold, I have elected to publish my story.
The asylum my great great uncle worked in was apparently
very posh. Only the right class of lunatics were admitted. Eccentric dukes, mad baronesses, touched lords, and
daft ladies filled the asylums tapestried and gilded
halls. Still, it was a time of great excitement when the rumor
began that the unhinged Emperor of Tamriel, Pelagius III,
was transferring there from a resort in Valenwood. When the
rumor became a reality, the asylum went into nice, calm,
restive chaos. Pelagius was given an entire wing of the
asylum for his own use, for, though he was madder than a
jackal, he was still His Terrible Majesty, the Emperor of
Tamriel.
The Emperor was remarkably well behaved, my great great
uncle supposedly asserted. Of course, he did not have to
face the commoners who came on all sorts of pretenses to
gawk at their overlord, the loon. When one of the warders
(not, I have been assured, my uncle) forgot himself and let
His Terrible Majesty know that people had been there to see him, the Emperor grew very
excited. He made up his mind right there and then to have a
ball. A huge party with musicians, dancing, and dinner, right
at the lunatic asylum. Or precisely, in his wing of the
asylum.
Rumors of the Emperor's interest in holding a ball spread
throughout Torval and eventually it reached the ears of the
Emperess Regent Katariah, Pelagius' dear wife, in the
Imperial City. Eager to make her husband happy, she sent a
caravan laden with gold to the asylum so a ball might be
held befitting the Imperial dignity.
The Emperor picked a date for the ball, and preparations
began immediately. The old asylum walls were beautifully
decorated, but needed cleaning. A pit had to be constructed
to house the orchestra; servants for cooking and serving the
food had to be hired; gold and ebony candelebras and
matching chandeliers were ordered; the old rugs were
destroyed, and new rugs embroidered with gems were weaved;
lists of guests had to be compiled, reconsidered and
recompiled. The Emperor knew that the guest list had to be
very exclusive, and he relied on his advisors to tell him who
was alive, who was dead, and who was imaginary.
The party was set to begin at nine o'clock. At six, the
hairdresser he had hired from Torval finished his Imperial
coiffure. At seven, he was fully dressed in the robes he had
ordered for the ball: voluminous black silk and piled
velvet crusted with red diamonds. At eight, he walked down the
newly reconstructed staircase to supervise the final
preparations -- the lighting of the candles, the opening of
the wine, the murder of the first course. At nine o'clock, he
took his seat at the facsimile throne he had ordered and awaited
the first guests.
At nine thirty, his advisor, seeing the royal eyes
beginning to glaze over with madness, said, "Your Terrible
Majesty surely knows that it is not fashionable to arrive at
any ball for at least an hour after the desired time, yes?"
The Emperor just stared.
At ten thirty, the Emperor called for some food and wine,
and sat at his throne, looking at the open door, eatting.
Thirty minutes later, he ordered the orchestra to begin
playing. For the next three hours, they played gaily for the
empty, candlelit ballroom.
At one o'clock, the Emperor announced his intention to
retire for the evening. My uncle was one of the warders who
assisted His Terrible Majesty up the staircase. Halfway to
his room, Pelagius threw himself on the floor in a hysteria,
screaming and laughing, ordering more wine (my mother was
good at this part of the story, rolling her eyes and
shreiking, "More wine! More wine! Wine!"), and, in short,
imagining that he was possessed by all the revellers at his
party that never was.
Two days later, he was still not better. He had cut himself
and those who tried to grapple him horribly with the red
diamonds of his robe. Eventually it was decided that the
Torval asylum was not equipped to deal with a lunatic of his
severity, and he was sent to a more secure location in Black
Marsh. It was only three months later, my uncle heard that
the Emperor had died.
One of my uncle's duties was to clear out the personal
property of the inmates after their death. Being primarily
landed nobility, the personal property was often quite
extensive. Several years after the asylum ball, my uncle
was called to clear out the apartment of a duchess whose
chief eccentricity was a propensity to pilfer.
Kleptomania, I believe it's called. Locked away in a secret
door in her desk, protected by a trap armed with a barbed
needle, was a variety of jewels, piles of gold, and a five
large stacks of beautifully engraved invitations signed in
the Emperor's childlike handwriting.
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