Can memories fade?

"Can memories fade?"

I had to ask aloud. I had been getting impaled by the thought for a few days now. Even thought the sun was nice and bright, warming to the skin, sending exuberant spokes of pure warmth reflecting off of the straw roofs in town, I felt cold asking. As many icicles hung off of the words, the tundra of Skyrim whirling from my throat after each syllable, eyes looked to me. Nine of them, to be exact. Inrowan had lost an eye a few years back. He was the least rugged looking though; if you could imagine. For a moment; which seemed to pass all too quick, for I really wanted no answer, I just wanted to feel alleviated from the stone that was the question venerating on my mind; there was a pause. I sort of sighed. But silently, to myself. To sigh is to loose a hidden battle. An emotion one, a ribbed spear of bone fornicating your mind, you could say. Then, the oldest and least wise elf to ever walk this determinant land spoke up. My eyes almost flew into a back flip, and I would have let them if I had my baklava on, they could have done traqeze acts for all I care. But I refrained, caught myself, used muscle empowerment to let him continue on his hollow campaign.

"Memories are forever. Even after you die, your memories still live on," I felt my stomach tense up, "and affect the Aether in unseen ways. How could anything like that possibly fade? Memories are what give us building blocks to ideas, and give us experience. Memories are what we make and what we keep. Gold will come and go, women the same. But memories of what you did with that gold and those women...those are forever."

I just sat back down in my chair. I couldn't argue, I couldn't retaliate, I could only slightly nod my head and wonder where he was for most of his life. Probably locked up doing menial things. Sharpening daggers or something. No one really knew about each others past though. That wasn't our goal. On the mirroring side, though, I did feel better about asking the question. I hardly ever talked, but when I did it was always questions that no one seemed to have an answer for. Well, great. I suppose there has to be some form of thought production. Now it was my turn to listen, any way. Inrowan was giving us this plan, you see. Not like a normal plan that we'd all heard a thousand one six times over the years. No, it was a big plan. Lots of adjectives to justify the importance. Lots of diagrams and drawings to try and let our measly, timid minds comprehend what we were about to do. I swear I knew about half of what he was going to say before he said it, just in my mind it took about sixty less words to lay out. But you could tell he was trying to draw it out. Either he wanted to sound real important, martyr-like or kingly, or he was gaining every second of postponement he could because he didn't want to really go through with it. But we sat and listened. The evils in this world had to be dealt with, right? But I always wondered...did the people ever realize that evil to one is righteous to another? Even Daedra worship... if it really was so bad and anti-dogmatic, why would there be massive cult followings? The Nine tried to glorify themselves in being Givers to this world, but whence they think that they are the only good, they fail to realize that the Daedra are just as important, having realms over every aspect of our lives as well. They were just more abstract with the roundel of it. Whatever the case, we all sat there, and the next day we would journey out, just like we always did. This time, out to the western side of the world. Never had been there, but maybe once. Not much to see, though. Lots of trees and grass...and putrid aromas. But it was a break from the monotonous wheat and weed along flat lands that we had all been looking at for a few weeks now.

I never liked staying in one place too long.

After our bland talk, we all set our own paths for the night. Galeom and Turstand, the old bastard that thought he was more suited to preach from atop Nirn, hit the pub. It was an alright place, I suppose. Always the familiar faces, a few characters too. One guy, some Nord fellow, who actually gets better at playing Nine Holes the more drunk he gets. And the proprietor. He was a good Altmer. Timid, though. In a verbose kind of way. Seemed like he had a bad childhood. Bad as in his parents raised him to be a man in all manners except in having pride and heart. He'd let someone rack up their tab to over a hundred Septims and then they'd usually just skip town. He was an idiot, but like I said, a good person. He certainly wasn't as blood-boring as most of the people in the area. Inrowan, Imugo gra-Kimsall, and Tabbith went out to the guilds and shops. I knew Imugo had a job to turn in at the Fighter's Guild. He was smart enough about it, rose up in the ranks to a Journeyman and got nice discounts here and there. The guildhall stewardess was another story. She was a little TOO smart about it. She'd have contracts to kill certain people in certain places close to mines, say they were smugglers or rogue assassins. It was land-grabbing to the fullest extent. She also always kept a Skeleton Lord summoned to her side. Not for the protection, but for the symbolism. I had known a Khajiit a few years back who was Morag Tong who did the same thing with a Lich. Just perused around town with a Lich looming nearby. As if to say, 'You know what, I can control this Lich, and I can control you.' Never struck me, but others would give a few amorousness-filled glances at him. But the stewardess had these eyes that were just so hungry, so I never bothered to get to know her. Not like it would have mattered, we were leaving soon anyway.

Just another face in the mist.

Myself, I just hit the lake outside of town. Sat with my hand patrolling back and forth in a line in the water. I wasn't a philosophical man by any means, but I liked to watch the moons distort in the ripples. Gave me a good look on life. And death. Or, witnessing both flash by in the blink of an eye. I wasn't in a hurry to get myself known, or to make a fortune, or to save the world. I was in a hurry to not be in such a haze, though. I mostly wanted to see the ripples lift up out of the water, the fluorescent child moons grieving in every which way as they rose up, all warped and mulled, and as they were placed next to the two real moons as if to be mocked at. Okay, so maybe I was getting a bit too philosophical about things. But it was fine, no one could judge me when I was alone. But I never did feel all lone. I always had a Lich or a Skeleton Lord summoned up near me. Even a spirit, or a wraith. Black wraiths, dense and smoggy; and white ghosts, thin and crystalline. Duality was all part of the job. Saving and killing. Earning and spending. Laughing and begetting. Sharpening and dulling. After a few hours, though, I had the feeling everyone was already back to the house, so I got up and threw a single bladed leaf into the lake that I had been twirling between my fingers for a while, and watched the moons give a wave-linked dance one last time. I was wrong, when I got back to the house I was greeted by emptiness. It made falling asleep a lot easier, though, without a big Orc snoring and shaking the bed frame.

I need a sign.

"I need a sign."

I called out timidly in my dream. I really dreamed of a giant stone door rolling shut over a tomb of mist, the door crushing me, rolling right over my lungs in its trajectory path. It was odd, but peculiarly spiked my interest. The dream was just very odd, like two gargantuan Daedra were fighting in the background for my very soul. As I awoke from my mildly melancholy dream, I let my eyes flutter for a moment. Maybe a moment too long, because when I regained what little focus my retinas had mustered up from my haze-state, Tabbith was right beside me, balancing a plate on his index finger. A nice, long, ashen finger that sort of stood out the most in all the blurred images. Luckily I knew it was him...it was probably the smell of his tobacco that alerted me to not draw my dagger that was always fitted into the side of my pants and slash his throat. My eyes adjusted a moment later and met his vexed smile. His black hair was shimmering a little in the sunlight that filtrated from the window. I guessed it was about nine in the morning.

"Come on now," He smiled as I pulled myself up and swung my legs over the side of the bed. You could hear my knees sigh. "you fell asleep far earlier than any of us and you're last up. We've got to be Ovas Meta soon." He threw a potion at me and I let it hit my lap.

Ovas Meta.

It was our out code, On Move. Always nomadic, but I liked it. I liked to think that we were campaigners without a cause, but really some of them were just in it for the glory. Or...justification? No, there's no real justification. I looked around real quick, we were short one head. I knew it was Inrowan, he always felt the need to lay back and let every ounce of sunlight absorb into his skin, even though he knew we were going to be in it all day while we hiked and trotted to the west. Galeom and Tabbith were talking, the plate still on his finger. He had very odd ways of expressing nervousness. One time he actually ate a fork. Needless to say he was the raging Guar in the antique shop. But he always had that silver smile on. Even if he ate a Bosmer in his angst, he'd smile it off. I got my gear together and went outside. Sure as Sithis, there was Inrowan, kicking a flower around with the tip of his foot as the breeze hit his face. I envied him, I could never openly sit there like a log, as bad as I wanted to. No, only the moons and stars were my alibi. I sat down next to him, looking around at the bluffs right outside of town between a gap in the northern gates and a shop.

"Should be an interesting journey." I was always greeted with one-liners as I sat next to him. It was sort of our thing. Or, well, his thing.

"Yeah, should be. You know, I never liked the weight of gold though."

"Oh, I can relate. I'd rather take my payment in nice days like this." And he interrupted me before my mouth could even open, "And yeah, I really would. I take life and save life, we all do. And I find the need to relate myself to something other than us, so I choose the seasons. Always taking and sparing." He took his sword out and traced a symbol out in the grass to his right blindly.

"I'm sure you would. Eroticses with the seasons, sure. But it's still pretty valid to me. At least you wouldn't rather try and preach to the masses like Turstand."

"He tries too hard. Maybe he had too much time on his hands when he was younger. Then again, look at me. I had too little. I wouldn't trade it, mind you, but I'd still like to have all of my organs. Time is like that, though. It'll give you a little fright here and there, but it'll let it ferment with you forever. Hah, I can still actively try and repress my memory into a state no greater than that of this flowers," he kicked the flower lightly, "but it wouldn't change the fact that I am who I am. Turstand just tries to make his seem like a giant boulder."

I winced a little at the thought, since my dream was still fairly fresh in my mind. The wins picked up and we both got up, encroaching the others from the side. We all looked at each other and went on our way, first south and then over a little nest of hills. There were all kinds of flora bustling around. Red, pink, blue, green, orange, brown...it was only a matter of time until we came across some trouble though. Some creature, not sure exactly what it was. Imugo said it was a witch's minion. There were always witches around these parts. And even worse, madmen. Naked and full of rage. They said the hills did that to some, took their minds. The few sparse gnarled trees tapping into their souls and svcking all their reasoning dry. I knew anything was possible, so I never put it past the wilds to do such things. But I didn't strafe around the trees like Tabbith. I admired them more than anything. How old they were, how silent, how much they'd seen.

All of the memories they silently held.

None of us talked too much. I was too busy to talk anyway, watching the shadows of the tall whips of grass trace along the ground and listening to the various birds' and insects' vibrations. It was still uneasy though; most of us were also thinking about what was waiting for us ahead. I was more cautious of the west itself. I had heard that there were trees larger than houses that held beasts within their trunks, and vines that drooped from them that could paralyze a full grown Nord. I was readying myself for the trials on the way, not the ultimate goal. I always had secular thinking like that, though. Take the small things first, then head into the big problem. Galeom asked for a rest after we were a few miles south of town, and we all agreed. A half mile or so to the west was a tall hillside we had to scramble atop, then make our way down the other side. There would be a small clearing of bushes, and then we'd hit the outerlands. We sat and Turstand, save his soul, began to speak.

"We're all going to need to clear our minds and hearts to make it there. The west is unknown, foreboding. The mists that rise from the ground can create mazes in your mind, cloud your eyes. The dirt is as ancient as any god. The air itself is even menacing to us, it hisses as if to warn like a viper. The poison is the water, tainted and murky..." I let him trail off into the background noise of tree branches rustling in the wind.

My mind instead caught a random relapse as I remembered I left the potion that Tabbith threw to me when I awoke in the house. It irritated me, but more it worried me.

I never forgot things, or places, or faces.

This is interesting.

As yet, I have no idea where we are going, or who/what our characters are, but I'm intrigued by the descriptions, the internal and external dialogues, and the glimpses of plots and personalities.

More, please. I'd like to see where this goes.

I agree with the above. Vivid discriptions, interesting dialogues. Introspections that are sometimes philosophically to the point of being poetic. Loved it although I still have no idea where it's going, what the characters are about and so on.... which makes it even more interesting.

Please grace us with more of your work!

I get a feeling of macobre that overwhelms me almost to the point of depression. Truly a hard enough aspect of writing to come by these days. You combine words and use metaphors so brilliantly, it's hard to decipher their meaning without serious thought. This is truly moving writing and nothing less.

The only noticeable flaws I came across were word repetition and the huge blocks of text I had to tackle and reread to understand. Note that it's easier for us to read the story if we don't have to stop to rub our eyes every few minutes. It's hard for me, if no one else, to look at a screen for too long without having to stop. Breaking the paragraphs up some would drastically reduce having to do that though.

Anyway, delightful read. I look forward to more.

-Dren

This can't be happening!

"This can't be happening!"

I silently muttered to myself. It was a bleak point to try and get across, and the expression was hardly there, but I might as well had been yelling it at the top of my lungs. Galeom had fallen and was hurt to the point of nearly calling the entire journey off. We were on our way up the hill when something happened. I'm not sure what others call it, but to me it was a deep red masochist called 'fate'. His footing...the muddy slope covered by a seamless cloak of grass and twigs, the shadows that were bounding from the tall rocks that lay observant above us, the building and almost delphinium-esque echoes that bellowed from the barren lowlands that surrounded us; every beetle, every tree breathing, every witch brewing their vulturous potions...they all seemed up build up a symphonic-like tension up until the point where Galeom had fallen. We were a good two hundred feet up and the hillside was more like a rock face then we had expected. I was just thinking to myself, thinking like I had been this whole time. Trying to get my mind at ease with all the sweat that was dotting my forehead. Tabbith seemed to fear trees more than he feared exhaustion, because he was at the lead of us, humming a child's tune. It was a well-known one that had a name that I always liked.

"Sonata Of The Life-Waters."

I would have hummed along myself, and I think Turstand was already doing a duet with him, but I guess my focus was more on nothing than on vocalizing the beat to a childbearing's theme. I was in the middle of our troupe, and I could hear Inrowan close behind me. It just sort of happened. But it didn't really just happen...it had a strobe-like quality. There was a noise from behind, then a turning of the eyes. Then a yelp from behind, then a turning of the heads. Then a scream that was trailing off, then a turning of the bodies. He had just lost his footing and slid downward, then aviation took its course when he hit a bump in the hill, and toppled to the bottom. I remember seeing him fly off, but his expression was one more of disbelief than of horror. Sometimes, things just happened. We trailed down after him and he was sitting up by himself when we got down to him, but he was bleeding a lot. His blood just kind of pulsated out of him arm, every time his heart beat, a little trickle of blood would hydrolyze itself out of him. We had a scroll, and that was enough to patch him up. We sat there for a long while, though; even after we had healed him the little bit we did. We were talking, seeing if we should turn back. Against my own judgment, as arming myself for verbal war was always kind of being half done in the back of my mind, I sided with Turstand, Imugo, and even Galeom himself. We would continue on. Out-numbered, and always loyal to our very complex methods of the caste system in which majority rules, we continued on. Only this time on the way up, me and Inrowan were supporting Galeom with each shoulder.

He was slightly hobbling around, like a wounded finch. I just couldn't stand the fact that I had sided to continue on...I really did have to think about it. I don't think any of us wanted to really continue on, but ego and pride got the best of us four. It gave us more reason to hurry up any way, seeing as the sun was getting to be only about thirty degrees off the horizon. I then just realized it, too. Even with the giant hill in front of us, the horizon seemed so...unique. Like the hill just gave it a more challenging task of being known. The hill proved to be a challenging trial for us, too. We also talked a little on the way, just filler. Galeom apologized more than a few times, and I felt like telling him that it was his fault that the hill was awkwardly covered in a sledge-like concoction that caused him to slip down, if only to get him to realize. Tabbith was behind us with Imugo and they seemed to ramble with each other through just their movement. Like they were taking long strides just to get into the oppressor's way. But then they did talk, just for a little.

"I think that Hilgithe was lying when she said he had the best invisibility spell in town. I swear someone at the tavern told me it wore off in a matter of moments." Tabbith nudged Imugo slightly with his shoulder.

"Not surprising, she seemed the swindling type. I bet she sold off her own dead mother's ring and claimed it to cast fire balls."

"No, no. That was Rostland of Dragonglade who did that, remember?"

"Ah, I...I didn't think anyone would really do that."

Tabbith kind of snickered, and it was always a bad sign when he did, "And what, you think anyone would really do what YOU did last week to that Bosmer?"

"That Bosmer was inevitably asking for-"

"Don't you even start about the inevitable! What do you know of beyond what you see before you?"

"What don't I see, though? Aside from any sort of real relinquishment of snide comments from you, I'd say I've seen it all!"

"Well you don't think..."

"Well I do think..."

"Oh, how would you..."

"Oh, how wouldn't I?!"

All the talk they did about the inevitable, you'd think they'd had foreseen the silence-taught glares we gave them. But, we finally made it up to the summit...and it was a sight. Behind us I could barely make out the shadowy composition of the southern gates of town, all the small bushes and boulders allotting themselves into the fabric of the countryside itself. The duality of things is what was the real point of the summit, I believe. Speckling colors and almost white-washed level lands behind us, and in front of us was a gnarled vision of several snakes fighting over a ball of yarn. You couldn't tell where one tree ended and another began. The roots were more various than the kinds of swords in all of Tamriel. Some short and wiry, others long and nary other than muscular. The leaves were drooping and dancing, fluttering like a piece of cloth stranded out in a storm, twisting around and within. The tales were true, too. Some of the trees were so large it was almost unbelievable that we hadn't seen them from town. The trucks were wavy, some parts sticking deep into the ground and others making magnificent arches that mist somberly squeezed its way around. So much deep green and pastel brown and light oranges from the lily pads that buoyed all over the place...it seemed like everything was just floating in the middle of the air, hung up with astral nails. We sat in awe for a few minutes, and the aurora was more of caution than of bewilderment. We weren't sure where to go, but we knew we had to go down. And the small clearing of bushes was really overpowered, minimalist compared to the actual Outerlands. The mist even crept its way into the clearing, masking it, misleading it, converting it. Making it believe something.

Believe that it never existed in the first place.

The way down was much easier on us, and our shoulders, and we got to the bottom with just enough time to set up camp. We were behind, be we were braced for it hours ahead. There was campfire talk, as usual, and then sleep. The night roared in faster than we thought possible, like the trees that towered out right ahead of us ate up the sunlight. Inrowan could never live anywhere near here. The night was admittedly more majestic than the sun had made it seem, though. The fog took on a subtle pale blue glow, and the trees were pin-striped with softly glowing orbs of sprites and nymphs. Tabbith even swore he head one of the trees whisper his name in an almost seductive way. Galeom was the first to pass into the Aether, and rightfully so. He had encountered a lot more today then we all did. The last thing I remember thinking of was the look on his face right before he flew off the hill; the total anarchy in his expression. Then the sleep blew its brass horns and I quaffed by slumber. Sleep was always interesting, it was a state of unknowing.

Unknowing and never pondered.

Another fascinating chapter, full of description.

The characters start to become more solid.

The plot is yet misty.

I want more.

Thank you! It's a bit more than mysterious, if you will. It'll be going places for sure, though. Don't fret.



I think it's a nice idea to add a vagueness sometimes. It works well for this story. Thank you very much for the kind words!




This is just...very ego-feeding. I do try and capture a somber and malice-esque feeling, because of the nature of the story. I'd like more feedback on exactly what you all think of every specific scene. Thank you very much though!



I'm glad you like the new chapter. Once again, thank you.

Where are we going?

"Where are we going?" I asked as the sun began looming on the horizon.

Not that sunlight would really matter once we were far enough into the fort of growth. It seemed almost a little too heroic, I thought. I imaged that we were doing much more than simply walking into some trees; I imagined that each singular leaf was a brick, the branches watchtowers, the trunks were soldiers clad in exotic Atmoran armor...we were marching into a lair of unknown, into a temple of rural demonic knightliness...a tainted forest. It seemed like it evermore, every second that flowed by, we were pebbles in an undercurrent headed towards a mill. The mist was dense yet it flowed like air, the bugs all chanted in ecstasy yet there was a sullen background noise to it all. The trees heaved and sighed, welcoming us, abasing us to come.

"We went over this, we're going to head in through here, follow the smaller bogs, and in the middle there'll be a large bog with a river running downward from it. We follow the river south-west and we'll come out to another clearing where we will set up camp." Turstand looked like he was especially irritated today, seeing as we left him in charge of carrying Galeom. I just nodded and went about packing up.

Directions, places, geography, so lost.

It was always directional way point here, or a lake there, south to east to west to north to west to south again. It was more confusing than just wandering around hoping to come out of the bustle of trees. We were ready and up by eight, or so I had guessed. Galeom was surprisingly well off, his wounds were still bad, but he was alright to eat and get Ovas Meta. We came up to the trees and almost simultaneously stopped in our tracks. I perceived it, felt it, almost became it. Hesitation. We couldn't hesitate, though. Hesitation was worse than sighing. Much more morbid. I pushed my legs forward and kept my eyes perked. The rest followed behind, and I felt that Imugo was upset. He always strode to be the Orc archetype; big, fearless, strong, smelly...and that was about it. But he wasn't that at all. He was caring and loyal and self-aware, too. We had learned no fear from thousands of rivals, stacked against so many mounding odds, so much deadly steel and silver and glass and ebony...but to coward from trees? There was only one greater fear that none of us had conquered yet, then.

Fearing the unknown, the abstract.

I would have stayed in point, too. But I really had no idea where to go, that was Turstand and Inrowan. So they took the lead. It really was more peaceful than anything in the midst of the trees. The sun hardly poked through the dense cities of foliage, but when it did it was a warming pattern that danced across the ground, glittered like timeless, precocious stones. The moss that draqed the trunks of the trees and the various rocks and nooks looked almost comfortable, lulling to the eye. The loose leaves rained down softly, secretly. I caught one mid-descent and twirled it between my fingers as we walked in rhythmic silence. I pined for the moons' reflections, oddly enough. We were far away from town now, though. It crossed my mind for a moment, how no one would question where we went. They would just go on with their lives, hopping in and out of shops, mending rooftops, cooking, cleaning...we always were just shadows. There one moment and gone the next, with no real reconciliation from others. I imaged it was how most other adventurers felt. Only, if they died, someone would notice. Someone would write a song about them, or erect a statue in their name. Tales of their travels would reach inn to inn to inn to tavern. If we died...there'd be nothing but a replacement set of shadows. Doing our work, carrying out our unseen and un-nurtured legacies.

"We're almost to the large bog...I can feel it getting stickier." Inrowan smiled as he looked back to us. I saw his eye glance at me for a moment.

"Well, so far so good. I told you guys there were no witches or mad nymphs that lived here! It's peaceful, almost." Tabbith boasted. He put his foot up on the truck of one of the trees and inhaled through his nostrils deeply, like an alpha male.

"Congratulations, you're not afraid of trees." Imugo smiled widely. His jagged teeth ripped up from all corners of his mouth, his eyes almost covered by his two large bottom tusks. They always reminded me of White Gold Tower in Cyrodiil. So large, so pearly, so symbolic. Only his teeth held less power. Less authority. I never liked Cyrodiil much anyway.

We rounded an oddly shaped bush that reached up almost as high as the trees and smelt sweetly. Almost minty. We were in the eye of the green storm. The central bog was mammoth, tyrannical. A series of smaller waterways murky and steaming poured into it. The trees gave way and a large hole in the living ceiling was carved, a spotlight of sun peaking through. It landed right on a tree that was smaller than the rest we had seen so far, but it was different from them all. It held a different aspect of nature. It was dead. Bog water surrounded it, a small island of what seemed to be fallen tree branches and smaller boulders held it up. We all looked at it, and knew right away. There was an arch carved into it, a doorway. The lily pads and water reeds all honed towards it, drifting up close to the rocks and pointing towards it. There was a makeshift bridge made of tree stumps that led up to it. They may as well had been large skulls, it was equally as inviting.

"We...we need to keep on track." Turstand yelped, breaking our silent distress. I almost forgot he had Galeom at his side, who was ruefully silent.

"What do you think is in there?" Imugo gnarled. He was trying to make up for his absence in being the one to lead us into the forest in the first place.

"I'm not all too sure. But I'm hurt, and I don't want to waste any time." He finally spoke up. His voice did sound a little stressed.

"Perhaps there's an alchemist who lives in there?" Tabbith said as he poked his head over the waterline. His face looked distorted, unclear. The murkiness seemed to even creep up to the house, it wasn't far away but it looked blurred, almost like it was made of tiny droplets of mist.

"Perhaps not!" Turstand gave him a sturdy look.

"Well how can we know? It's obviously someone who likes their privacy, maybe they know the area better though, maybe they can get us out of here. Looks like they've been here long enough to know the way."

"No, we already know the way, and we've got a member of our team who needs help!"

"So let us help him then!"

"Stop yelling, you two. I can feel the trees becoming angered." Inrowan stepped between the two, whose faces were getting closer and closer after each sentence they spoke.

"You all can go in there, then, but I'm taking Galeom with me. Have fun with your trivial persecutions and curiosities. I'll be sure to carry your names on."

"What if we found this place for a reason?" I finally spoke up. My hands were at my sides, and I didn't want to edge anything on, but Inrowan was right; the whole forest seemed to take on a different feel.

"What if? What about the plan! We only have two days to get there and get set up! We have a wounded member, and we need to go!" Turstand wasn't making a compelling speech, for once. But I also wish he actually was, because what happened after his last gasp was something so odd, so bizarre, so unnatural, that not even the gods themselves could foresee it.

The trees lashed their branches out at us. The air soared around the tip of the vines. They were whipping at us, and we knew we wouldn't live. There were too many...so many. So many vines, like a web, or a wave. They struck us, but not hard. I almost lost my footing, but Inrowan grabbed me by the arm and connected me to his locomotive motion. We ran, in blindness and deafness. All of us. The snapping of the branches, the soaring of the vines, the thuds as we were getting stampeded by trees. Like slaves. Slaves to the forest. We all made it into the tree, though. Luckily we were unharmed, too, after we did a quick count of heads and limbs. Or lack-there-of, in Inrowan's instance.

"Wha-" Imugo began, but three hands were placed over his mouth in a pile. We were in the homestead of...something. We didn't want to take any chances; least the trees get angered again. Luckily, they must have known they scared us off, because it was silent outside again, just the static buzzing of all the bugs remained. It could simply have been only one thing that rounded us up into the tree like cattle, for the ministry of will and judgment in all the heavens could not have made us all willing go in here.

Fate.

Halfway your latest chapter it dawned to me, I know why the feel of it seems familiar.... it actually reminds me of the movie "Apocalypse Now" somehow

How so, if you don't mind me asking?

Very interesting.

Still dark, moody and mysterious.

Keep 'em coming!

Sorry for the lack of updates, just been busy with work and relaxation afterwords. But I'll try and get a new chapter up soon. Can't rush perfection, ya know.

Mostly the atmosphere but the philosphical introspections and the monologues as well. They just feel like it to me.
Imo, it just oozes "I wanted a mission and for my sins they gave me one."

Times, dates, names, places, details.

We aren't allowed to keep them in our journals. We can only recollect things that happened outside the main missives. But it's more of a sanity-keeper than a field journal, or an instructional booklet. Just to let us know that we're "...still living, still breathing, still able to act upon our own literary foundations.", or so said The Man. I rather do loathe replacing the names of important people, makes me feel like time will forget them, cast them into the turnstile of weary minds and let them just revolve until they disappear completely. But such is the way we live.

Well, either way, today Shorts got hurt, but not bad. There were unstable statues around the escape route, and with all the vibration of us and them running, it must have made one of them jostle its foundation and crash down. It was rather symbolic, actually. He was still as fast ever though, even after his foot was scathed pretty badly. There was a lot of blood, and the trail kind of looked like a serpent, following us, hunting us. Which it was. But we still got away, made it down to the rocky and foamy coast, hopped into a little Dal-Ashir-bound boat. It smelled almost bitter-sweet, the rotting and sun-bathed wood with the agnostic smell of the sea, the wind ripping around, sending tiny legions of salt into our eyes, but the still beating of waves against the nose of the boat, the rhythmic charm it gave off, the smell of the water, mighty in all its endeavor. I always felt a broad connection with the sea; it hid many things, as did we. We weren't killers or murderers or businessmen or activists or assassins. We were people that hid everything, hid the Yokudan isles under our brows. That is, we were. But at that time, when we were sailing across the ocean, we were instead free men, free stalks of grain, making neither bread nor beer.

We made it to Dal-Ashir with twenty minutes to spare, which is twenty minutes too much to give us. Shorts was given hostel at the Grey Brick as I'll now address it, while the rest of us went off to get a drink or two. We came back from the bar and sure enough, he was hopping around like mad, trying to find himself a woman for the night. I have to give him credit, he's not one to let anything stand in his way. Well, rest is rest, and we've got a lot less of it than I ever want, so back to the drawing board tomorrow.



So, today was odd. The five others keep exchanging knife-esque looks, rather unsettling. But if it means anything, our next step was probably just burdensome. They always get fish-gutted over trivial things like time and the quality of ale in a town. We didn't do much else, though. Which is a relief, because the past week...or was it the past month...? Ah, well the past step has been wearing down on me, giving me knots in my back daily. Mouth-Rot was also a lot less cautious of his body language, which almost never happens. He spends too much time talking with his mouth and his hands, building, reconstructing, demolishing, refurbishing, you'd think he'd stop for a moment and realize he was giving off every signal of his thoughts that he wasn't speaking. The man's an open sermon, anyway. Not much to report, however. I did have an interesting dream last night, though. Fist I've had in a while. My wife was standing there in a white and black checkered room, palettes of glass swarming around her right eye, giving off a rainbow spectrum that moved across the floor in a wavy motion much like the boat moved yesterday. Maybe I was still feeling the rocking motion in my sleep. Either way, it danced oddly across the ground, as if to etch out an invisible symbol or message. I didn't really care, just seeing her face was good enough for me. Her twirls of brown, sandy brown locks, landings of desire and lust for my ships of self-embodiment. I miss her so, still. I sometimes whisper her name silently when we're traversing the wilds, leaping from rock to rock on the bony coasts.

Then she just stood there, mouth agape, and I kissed her. It tasted odd, like wood, and her lips, her gums, they felt like feathers, wiry and swaggered and brushed with a coarse rock. But then I awoke, found the sun was already casting light onto the lower half of my body. It was almost ten, and I never slept in that late. That was Shorts' job. Maybe thereto a little later there will something more to write about, but for now it's time to try and get some more shut-eye.



I felt chilled. I heard things, sensed them. I'm not sure WHO the next step is, but its foregrounding a picture of tension. I'm still rather cool, a few beads of icy sweat running from palm to paper as a write this. I awoke from my lousy sleep to hear them talking in the other room, the storage room of all places. It was whispered, but I lay as I were and honed in closely to the vibrations from around me. I only got glimpses of what they were saying decoded, but I must write them down. Seeing it in ink may felt me understand more. If anything, I'll rip and burn this page later tomorrow. Shorts, I think it was, was talking.

"There's the code..."

Then Mouth-Rot, "The eve of Tomaer..", or was it tomorrow? I can't express it trustfully, no!

Then Shorts again, "Begun...new ink...tattered winds..." It's all in code, but not the normal code. But ink is...no...no wait...yes so it IS of the next step. I wonder why they did not wake me to discuss it? Perhaps they can sense my draining energy, day by day depleting itself.

Then Mountain, I know it was Mountain, his husky vibrato was a beacon to his build, his accent, "Only us six...an ever-changing...wielder..."

Then Shorts, "Ultimatum...words..."

Then silence. Perhaps in the morning I'll be briefed more.



Well, this morning was less puzzling, but I still wasn't told what the next step is. They just avert the conversation when I bring up their meeting last night. Not much time to write now, but the winds are rather violent today, I can hear pebbles clashing against the window, making for an annoyance. We're going out to...somewhere. I think we're Ovas Meta to the next foot in the step. I'll write more tonight.



...

On that note, sorry about the absence, I had no internet for a while. Rest assure, however, that I'll be working on this piece. I've got a lot of new ideas I came up with, and the direction of this story is going to take you somewhere where I may dare to say no story has ever really taken anyone before. Stay tuned, show some love, and let me know what you think!

It must be possible to sense death.

"It must be possible to sense death." I exasperated between my lips, the air coiling through my teeth in a prophetic turn of heat from my throat and the coolness from inside the tree-home of...something.

I could honestly sense it, as could everyone else. It was here. In the dried out limbs, the wood chip flooring, the dry moss, the floury of the air, the silence as we looked around. It was here where the first mortal man was to ever befall in the planar existence of Nirn, the first moment when the battle of gold and honey was stained black and purple with mosaics of turbulent rulings and wars over the tiniest bit of land. Tabbith leered around, his eyes were easily viable in the darkness; molding it, sculpting it into a vision he needed to see. He walked around in a small circle, the robust, crisp collapsing of tiny pieces of wood unto each other, the crunch, the crack, the break. Inside the tree was larger than we expected. It churned and bent and wavered, a maze within itself; and it was high. The ceiling was a mausoleum of dirt-encrusted spider webs, hollow nests of some kind of aviary creatures, and more moss. Grey, dusty, ancient moss. It looked comforting in the most harked of ways, like the strands of near-fossilized plant each held a secret to the meaning of life. Or of death. None of us could see much, however. The sun poked through the arched entrance and a few slivers of the tree, probably warped by the ages, the wind, the rain, the sun, the elements.

The foundations of life.

But the light was quickly overcome by the shadows of the innards of this natural behemoth. I could also tell that no one really wanted to speak. As if any sound or sudden movement would have us delivered from sanctity, deep within the shadows. We were used to the shadows. Used to the usual rush of blood surging through our skulls and our arms, the burning, the fiery talismans that used to be our eyes as we ran through wind, sleet, soot, dust, snow, rain, and any form thereof. But there was a sense of mischief aloft, like the walls were poised, wooden knives drawn, ready to attack at any moment. After a while of uncertain doom, however, Tabbith finally spoke up.

"Well..." he began off in a whisper fainter than that of a sweet roll's scent being carried off in a summer windstorm, "I can see it goes down...but should we-"

"No, we need to go back." Galeom piqued up. He sounded a little out of breath from all the maneuvering.

"Perhaps...but what if the trees decide to retaliate once more?" Imugo huffed.

"Well, it's a chance I'm willing to forgo." Turstand said as we headed back for the entrance.

It didn't go over well. There was a force that held us in, and it was apparent as soon as the vines, the thorny, gnarled, twisted vines that acted as the spokes to the hub of Nirn, the wretched jailhouse guard that kept us within, appeared. Turstand walked over to the light, embracing it, clamorous to his skin, soaking it in; right before a net, a tightly woven vest of them, wound around the entire tree. We could hear them, the thorns like miniature swords caressing, imbuing, suffocating the bark, the coat of arms to the forest.

It got a lot darker.

"What is going on here?!" He was obviously equal parts concerned and enraged.

"I told you...the forest..." Galeom began, "It wants us. The legends are true. And I'm still in pain..."

Imugo smirked again. He never had a good thought going through his skull when he was smiling. Because he usually smiled when he was near death. Like a shrieking woman in the dead of a winter night, he charged at the inner wall of the tree. If there were chandeliers inside there, he would have made them free fall from the ceiling. He hit, and it was a solid connection, though I wasn't sure which was thicker, his head or the tree. But none the less, the coercing thud of near-freedom was neigh altered to our escape plan. We sat and vatted within the wood for a few good moments.

"Galeom needs help..." I sighed. There I went, sighing again. I needed to hold my breath rather.

"We all need help." Turstand so solemnly retorted.

"Yes, but we can walk on our own. Don't try and malefic my words." I shot back daggers, and he just fluttered his breath, looking to the ground for some kinds of reconciliation. It's probably where he belonged.

"I think we need to just follow it through the maze. We need to get out, and it's apparent that just walking out the way we came in isn't going to help anything. Come, now. Me and you will take point," Tabbith nodded to me, "Turstand and Imugo, take the rear, support Galeom. Inrowan, watch our left flank." We all nodded and got moving.

Inrowan looked left to right and back and front in such a programmed matter, he was fair in his words, but lethal in his tactics. It's the way he moved so smoothly through the darkness of the tree, how he terraformed into grass and dirt and wood and stale, dusty air. That's what made him memorable. Like he was dancing with his surroundings, pleating and surfing the choir of our feet stomping. Tabbith lead us on, down it seemed. He took every corner softly, fluidly, being immeasurably certain that nothing would catch us off guard. We were already short half a man, we didn't, no, we couldn't, divide our strengths and weakness up any more than that. It began to get cooler and the humidity became more emphatic. The walls of bark got softer, more pliable. And we tried many times to break them down. But the vines were like a sheet of metal reinforcing the already superstructure of the tree. It was hundreds of times larger inside than it looked from the exoskeleton; we turned and spiraled and helices became one with our movements. We finally got to a point where the bark became root. It was formidable, the gushing of my heart as the roots took their credence outside of the walls of dirt, the thorny vines from outside latched onto them, as if warning us to not try and dig our way up. The thought must have formed within everyone's mind, but no one said a word, because we all had no idea exactly HOW far down we were...we just knew it was too far for comfort.

The roots held sleek, white hairs, the bodies of them shining in the darkness like silver plates, looking ripe, as they were made to be engraved on, to store the secrets of the ages and the timeless receptions of the vibes of knowledge within them. We pressed on still, in silence. The tension was almost dreary we held on, bobbing and descending and cascading around and over and through the roots and vines alike, like a primordial obstacle course. But after another amount of undisclosed time, we came upon a...a door. We all just stopped in our tracks, even Galeom tilting his head to one side tired making out what it was for a moment. A thin veil of nearly-too-white mist flourished from the gap between the bottom of the door and the ground.

"Imugo..." Tabbith gave up the hand signal to beckon him in an offensive position. He laid Galeom's hands upon Turstand's free shoulder and stood, statuesque. "Alright...we're going to open the door and do a quick half sweep. You need to take our counter and look ahead." He glanced at me and I nodded in my own personal deviation.

We did a silent count to four and rushed in, Imugo kicking the door off its hinges. Its utterly frail hinges. They nearly turned to dust the moment his foot had momentum against them. We swept and looked around; fog and demons shape shifting within it. Faces, mouths, jaws, echoes of maimed clerics long ago, passed on through the Aether and into the heavenly bodies of the stars. There was a purplish hue to the room. a lulling sense of altered mindset, too relaxing to truly be relaxing. Ineptly, Tabbith lunged a few throwing knives into the back of the room, where it was too dark to see. I swear I heard something in the fog sneer a little when he threw them, as if it was in vain, like the embodiment of fascination and torture that had possessed the tree all along was immortal. An endless gaze of readiness was in my eyes, but there was simply nothing...as far as we could see. We then headed further into the room, the other three closing in behind us, watching further into the room as well. When we had made a full circle of the room, we eased up; physically. Our muscles became less tense, the burdens of personal war were lifted. But there was still a blade as sharp as any forged by the gods themselves inside our minds. Anything was fair game at this point. I took the minute detail duty upon myself and looked carefully. The room was odd; small and circular in shape, the roots and vines embossing the walls in a pattern that seemed to trigger a split moment on neutrality in my mind, a space between the space between black and white. They both danced a ventriloquy of mingled emotions up towards the ceiling. The fog just initiated out of nowhere, a tithe from deuterium and mystery themselves. The numbing purplish color that honed within the fog was just as vaporous as the fog was, alive and meddling. But it must have all meant something. There was nowhere else to go; no twists in the natural corridors, no other exit from the room, no hidden escape routes, as Inrowan had pointed out, nothing.

We were here for a reason.

"Maddening...truly." Turstand laughed.

"Not the time." Tabbith pointed to his left.

We all looked, and one of the vines that had outgrown the casing of the wall dangled freely, moving about ever-slightly. We drew in a semi-circle around it, six pillars of bone and meat and emotion. It was almost symphonic, in a way. It moved in a sway that seemed unnatural, like it was guided by an invisible hand, a celestial joker. I felt it, behind us. I tuned my attention to my back before my body had even turned around, my dagger drawn, my feet rooted more than the tree could ever hope to be. There it was; our escape. Or, at the moment, our demise. A figure, such beauty to intake; a female. She was robed in attire unseen to me before; every thread was like a speckle of dirt in my eyes, I could hardly see her, but her presence was neigh-alarming. The others...they knew as well, for the moment I turned around so had they, Galeom even in an offensive position. One of us was bound to speak, and I feel that she knew which one of us it was going to be. Her eyes drifted to me. So light green...yet brown...yet orange...yet violet. They were constantly changing, like a color wheel being spun like a disc across the sky. Her clothes, so elegant and presentational, a deep red that exposed her torso that was define so well, like shadow and light dared not intrude on the figurative plot of holiness on her body. It wasn't love, it was vexation. She opened her lips, her billows of advlterated smoke, her tongue like a Nix-Hound's, yet so enticing.

"You feel you needed to be here." Every syllable poured from her like sweet Mead onto halls of pure gold. "You are right. But...there are many circumstances that allude you even now. I will begin; I am Ulficre. Yet I am Elbubzele. Yet I am Tasna. I am all Three of One; a warrior, a poet, an alchemist. This is my home away from home, my trundled path of plutocracy and bitter grains. And as of yet, you are all deciles by which myself makes complete. We are within a grasp of crumbling foundation, near the beginning and the end. Lust for treatise and solar sublimity, a face of words and an altar of bone. And no, I speak not in riddles, but of things to come which cannot be changed. And you...my eyes have met you first. You are the sordid path. I have always been with you, yet I have never been more removed from anyone. Your five tendons of the lost Holy Practice are free within masonry, and as all masons, you build and mend and repair and find grief with everyone. But there are such things that not even steel and push into place. For a mouth to move a mountain, it must be deemed so by the Divine. And this has happened and yet is bound to happen. Divination from the writhing of the forest is but a stain from the [censored] of a dagger." Her eyes looked into my hand. My dagger was gone.

A fire stirred up in the center of the room, and we looked into it unwillingly. If even Turstand was keeping his mouth shut, I knew it was an act of something beyond ourselves that this woman was performing.

"Come, sit." She beckoned to six stumps that jumped out of the flame and laded softly into the ground.

We did, and we looked to her. Our senses were deafened, dubbed, and stretched. We all knew we had to get out, and we all knew this was the only way. We'd been in worse situations before.

"Now then...as my eyes have seen...Galeom...you are hurt. And you are not going to be able to perform the task that you must...your arm is too torn, your left foot, splintered. But it is not for you to do this task. There is much more and less of this to come. You are all just as cursed and chosen as anyone else. This is an escape. This is my gift to the words heeded. This is the lash of the throat you all have endured for years." She rolled her eyes, the monumental colors of beauty flickered black, and the next words she spoke sent us all into a frenzy of appointed confusion and distraught.

"This is the beginning."

What is happening?

"What is happening?" I could hardly breathe. I felt like Imugo was sitting on my chest.

There were colors that slowly dimmed away into blots of movement, swaying movement, back and forth. Then, tree limbs came into view, the light hugging through the leaves, veins of Magicka feeding into the astral body of the planet. I felt renewed, but older. My memory was hazy, like it had lost its footing for a moment. And I never liked being even a little out of focus. I looked around and the other five were spread around, shuffling to their feet. We were back outside the tree, near the lake. I peered over....the entrance to the tree was still tightly sealed by the thorns. What really had just happened might not have happened at all. I thought maybe I drifted asleep while we were walking, I hoped that I had. But it seemed too real and fresh, like an open wound in the front of my brain.

I was wrong, it had happened, and the outcome was much more residual than I thought; we were all a bit shaken up by it, which never happened. We were all iron-willed and lead-fasted. But I thought I could find some solace in the fact that it wasn't just another crazy dream. Or maybe I was perpetually stuck in a crazy dream, and when I slept I actually escaped into the actual reality. But that all seemed a little too distant, and I was also too centered on making sure everyone was ok. Turstand was first to make a noise, his eyes were as wide as a Guars.

"What...what happened back there was an atrocity. We were subdued by a curse, like an trimaran of lust, desire, and desperation."

"We all saw it, we all were there...but what WAS it? She...she was neither demon nor human..." Imugo sat back down with a subtenant thud.

"It may have been a witch...but she was too proper...too secretive, her words were a riddle, but in plain sight." Tabbith's eyes looked sunken in; he was trying to find out what exactly she meant.

"Well she spoke directly to you." Galeom looked at me in a weary fashion.

"Well, perhaps. But I believe she was addressing us all. I was the closest to her. I was probably the one she wanted to harm most. Though why she didn't kill us all, I am unsure. Perhaps it's a witches game, to feint the hearts of their prey. But I'm neither a coward nor a fool. We're alive, and we're outside." I looked over to the reflection in the pond and saw the trees huddled over it, their reflections, the way the wiry leaves looked even more distorted, more pliable. It made my chest heavy and weak for a moment, my breath lost.

"She said that you were too hurt Galeom," Inrowan began; my mind eased back to just two days before...or was it three...my mind set alight as I wondered, just HOW long had we been in there? I was brought back to when Inrowan was dissecting the plan for us in the room of the inn. It seemed so far away, the town. The animals, the roofs, the cozy smoke stacks that arose from the fireplaces in the cloudy sky in the evening. "She knows something. Something we don't. She may be the entity of the forest...she may have been the reason you fell. She may be watching right now." All eyes shifted around verbosely.

"No, no." Turstand shook his head.

"Perhaps..." Tabbith lured his eyes back to the tree as well. "How long were we in there?"

"I..." I knew he was always on the same mindset as me.

"Well..." Inrowan pondered meekly.

Turstand checked the ground, smelt the air, and frenzied around in hopes of some sort of woods animal he could communicate with to tell him that day it was. We all just sat and watched with a slight amusemant. Mostly in a foray of pity, but he might have gotten lucky. Galeom chuckled and put his hands over his face, then winced as his arm reminded him of the reality of things.

"Exactly, and so we have to make Ovas Meta. You know it's beginning soon." He looked up at the sky, it was almost five-thirty. I had already made note of it when I first awoke. "But, it can't have already happened...we'd have never of woken up if that were so. Let us go, and we'll discuss what happened on the way out. Turstand, if you will take the lead, I believe I see the river we're to follow. South-west, then?" Tabbith began to chew on the root of a random weed he pulled from the ground. We were all equally as anxious to get out and back on track.

"Cer-certainly." Turstand wilted and took the lead.

Me and Inrowan took up Galeom and made small talk back and forth, the sun dispersing into the abyss of treetops after we left the central bog once again. I saw a shadow moor over Inrowan's missing eye that was as chilling as the gaping hole where it once was. It looked like a jagged grin that swallowed the upper half of his face. I looked around nonchalantly to try and find the source, but all I was greeted with was sticks and ever-reducing light. After about another hour we made it to a smaller bog that held buzzing and bubbling and croaking and whizzing and little pulsating lights, like a plate of glossily marbled bugs. Turstand held us up and looked around with snake-like features. Tabbith began chewing on a leather strap of his rucksack and Imugo had to slap it out of his mouth lightly. Galeom was near-nodding off to sleep; our motion must have been more lulling than that of the image still burned in all of our minds, the eyes of that woman-beast. I felt powerless next to her. Though I had consumed much greater than her, she was like a bump on your tongue when you accidentally bite it; she was in the way, protruding, constantly reminding of your follies and how she had somehow bested you. And at that point I had almost forgotten that we were held up for a reason.

"We're near. We need to go south a little further, then across a wooden bridge, and over a series of smaller swamp pools. Then we set up camp." Turstand took a brisk pace once more. He was good for one or two things.

It was dark by the time we set up, and we even had to fend off a few hungry Nix-Hounds on our way across the bridge. They were clamored up by the murky water to our left, and they looked hungry. At least we know we wouldn't go hungry tonight. That's how everything seemed; a circle. Back and through itself, an endless machine of consumption and eradication and renewal. I suddenly didn't want to feel renewed after the events of what happened inside the tree. But it was still there, on all our minds. I hated to be the catalyst, but as soon as we had finished eating and set up our camp I had to open my mouth once more. At least I did it far less than Turstand. It was about ten at night when we were all done. I had a bit of swamp muck between my fingers and I slid it across them in a slow motion, almost contemplating the way my tongue should roll as I rekindled the subject.

"I'm no prodigy," I had massacred myself. I had no idea where it came from, and I don't even know where in the heavens the idea had even entered my mind. This is why I stood at a silent attention most the time. "but..." I froze. They were all looked at me in a dulled state; even Inrowan's eyebrow over his missing eye was raised, "I think I know what to make of the situation that we...we currently have."

"Yeah, me too..." Galeom said. He looked down and took his boot off. It wasn't something we wanted to see; it was something I'd rather had inflicted to that witch.

His foot was swollen horridly, a red and purple pastel portrait covering it. He shouldn't have ever been walking or stand on it.

"In the name of the Empire!" Imugo shuddered.

"That's too infected...we need to take the missive to the foreground." Inrowan's face was stone-serious, the fire seemed to recoil from his eyes and jawline.

The smell of salt.

That's all that filled the air, not even silence could protrude it. I even had an expression of awe. After all the way we had come...

"No. No we don't. Look..." Galeom began.

"No, I'm not going to let you die on us for the sake of a [censored] bout." Inrowan was always the one with the most compassion for his brothers amongst us all.

"But...he..." Tabbith looked at me. I wish I had paid more attention to the plan as he explained it in his own words...I had forgotten anyone's position but mine. The night sky's horizon nearly hit me square in the face as the realization settled in.

"I...I'm not sure." Inrowan began to re-read his plan again in his mind, the diagrams all came flooding back across the winds. I sat and felt a sense of sudden morbidness. Not for anyone in particular, just because I should have known better to have not offered my spot to Galeom in the first place.

"Well...I do recall his position..." Imugo piqued in from his bedroll.

"You were Black Antic, right? So if you and Galeom were to switch places...but you'd have to be ready. Galeom...you were center; Fire Spot. But if you took Black Antic, you would be out of action, out of sight before anyone could even see your limping..."

"Are you certain with yourself?" Galeom looked to me. I felt his pain, his anguish, his fury. I nodded to him and Inrowan.

"I'd rather take my payment in the assurance of you all getting back safe...every time." I closed my eyes for a moment before flashed of red and silver perked them back to their exposed state.

It was settled, and soon thereafter, we were all settled, too. It wasn't hard at all to get to sleep that night. It was mostly because both my mind and my body knew what time it was early that next day. I just had creeping suspicions that almost kept me awake...almost. I just felt like the forest was too near, like we would never really escape it. It gave us something we could never give back. And I felt regret for having asked for what I was given in the first place. The gift wasn't one I would have ever expected, nor could any of the stars foresee it, nor could any king buy it with all his wealth. I repressed it like a curse, but I knew it was much worse than a curse.

I had a sign.

Just a quick query to see who's following...seems kind of dead around these parts now-a-days...

Lucidity.

"Lucidity..." The times were wearing down on me. My dreams had become more and more vivid, like a color wheel spinning a thousand miles per hour.

I dreamed that the night was still there, foreboding...but comforting. The next day seemed a reckoning I could hardly withstand. It's not that I was nervous; I had been Fire Spot before. Many times. It's a position earned heartily, though. You have to be precise, you have to be able to see the life in someone, in every movement they do, in every action they take. But you also have to be quick. You had to be able to get out of sight before anyone knew you were ever there. Scrolls helped. As did potions. And Magick would easily do it, but the likes of such leisure was forbidden. No Magick. Only skill of the opposite lobe of the brain. Enchanted weapons were uncalled for. It was more of a sanctity reason than anything. If you had a weapon that left a certain mark on someone because of an enchantment, you could be traced. Magick held a type of pattern, a call sign. It was far before my time of walking Nirn, but we had been compromised before. One of the head potion makers was raided, his gloomy attire etched with our symbol found. They traced all the potions back to our old hideout, somewhere in the mountains. They say a battle ensued that was one not worth remembering, one that was so dark, so macabre, so foul, that it stained our names crimson and gold for the rest of eternity, the rest of recorded history, the time within time. It was only through sheer mental foundation and will as hard as rock that the elders before me salvaged the hideout, ran deep and ran fast, and hid. That's what we're best at...hiding. And surmising. I had a plan folded out in parchment in the back of my mind, it was a rough sketch but it would come into full ink shading soon enough. The mental image of a shack here, a house there, a tall patch of grass; an earthy wall to hide within. It was all rudimentary, as almost a scholar in my trade. But never perfect enough, never out-performing the shadows that keep taunting me to get better and better.

I had lost thought for a moment thinking back on how many screams could probably be heard during the siege of the old hideout, the mountains seeming like they were alive, shrieking out the tales of all they had encountered over the countless years they stood dormant, cold, never nearly sentient enough. A wind that had picked up was what brought me to. I look around, leaves and feathers from some sort of aviary archer spinning wildly in an updraft, writing invisible symbols in the sky, lofting up towards the sun of the morning. I shielded my eyes from the rays of light that were peaking up. They looked knightly, sharp...almost royal.

A crown of sunbeams.

Imugo was already up, surprisingly. He usually slept in so long one of us would have to kick him square in his jaw to try and rustle him awake. Sometimes he'd catch the foot of the kicker mind-air and lob it in his mouth, still asleep, and begin to gnaw on their shoe. And we thought Tabbith had strange eating habits. I watched from afar as I saw Imugo's husk of a shadow looming loosely through the lines of grass, leering. He was catching breakfast. Hopefully he'd be able to catch lunch later today, once we hit the town. In his own way, he was the fatherly figure you'd think about when you thought of a well-risen family. He was tough, be he had just as many soft spots as a week-old Comberry. That was the strange thing about our work; we weren't allowed to know anyone's past, not even our own. I sometimes struggled to think of what my life was before I had ventured into the tales of the glory, the unknown, the renown that remained invisible above me, looming in the air as a spectral baklava, seen only to the eyes of those who had met me. These five were the only ones to ever see me; truly seen me. And they still breathed.

We all feasted, and one last time Inrowan went over every little piece of inventory that would make up our warehouse, our escape, and our continued transcendence into being rich with all the gains of a grain of sand. This time I actually listened, and took note, traced the images of where I would be, who I would be with, how I would be standing, the angles of where I was, what I could and couldn't see, what I would be hearing, how I had to tune out everything but the most important of voices and sounds. I had to listen to the slight vibrating of my sword as it unsheathed, the sound of footsteps in the damp, muddy ground all around as foot and paw alike sank in deep, leaving behind traces of life; stories for the future to fantasize about. I was getting off track again almost, then resumed taking notes.

I was Fire Spot. I was the center of the calamity. I would do the job, and I would be first to get killed if I failed in my duties. Any weapon that could kill was what I held close to me. I had to have strength both mentally and emotionally.

Imugo was Revery. Backup. His strength was matched only by his sixth sense of knowing where anyone was coming from at any time. Though he would be mere yards away from me, it would seem like miles. He was there to take care of any resistance from either close up, or far away, intercepting anything Inrowan didn't pick off already.

Inrowan was Talos Tact. He was afar, and watching over everything. Though he was as passive-aggressive as a horse in the mainlands outside of position, once he melded into his surroundings with guile and cunning, he was as deadly as the Empire at full force. He was to use a bow; seeking all possible routes that a target could use to escape and watching them all at once. If anyone rushed in, he let his twang and twine unwind and end their life in a moment's notice. He was a spot in the distance, and that is only if you knew where to look. Otherwise, he was non-existent; arrows seemed to rain from the eyes of the Divines, with no real point of origin.

Tabbith was Star Point. He was going to be amidst the people, acting as an agent with no agenda; browsing wares from street vendors, making small talk about the weather and the yield of crops this season. Though he had a niche for being nervous, he somehow turned it all off once he was in character. He would act as if he had lived in the place we were at his whole life, joking and even flirting. To act as dumb as all others was to subdue any suspicion, and that was key to not getting pointed out as an intruder. With two small daggers and a tanto at his disposal, he would be able to best anyone who could harm any of us. Ripping through skin and personalities alike; he could spot out a hidden guard in a crowd of thousands. He had proven it to us too many times before.

Turstand was Total Line. He would make sure every possible exit we had was clear of any obstacle, and if it wasn't, he would clear it. Be it a man or a broken down cart, he would make sure we had a lean route to get out of sight as quickly as possible. He held the current record for having us in and out of an area in around twenty-four seconds. That's not only fast, but immeasurable in terms of how precious every second we gained was. Aside from that, he also had one of the most important jobs, he gave the signal. The signal was to let whoever was on Black Antic know that it was time to leave, and instruct us all in which way to run. It took me nearly two years to memorize the different pitches, but each one was a paragraph in itself. To tell you to either turn left at the nearest alleyway, or to run straight for around one-hundred yards and then take two lefts and a right. The slight octave change was a matter of life and death; and how funny it is that it seems the smallest things are always the ones that are the rulers of such extremities. In all the situations we had ever been in, there was only one signal I had never heard before. It was noted as being called the “Doomsday Signal”. It meant to scramble and find your own way out. And in such a life where we were always being directed and directing ourselves and finding the smallest ways to micromanage our breaths and who was around us and why they were there, calculating how each gust of wind in a breeze could alter our course at any given time even, a signal such as that was more alarming than the woman we had fallen prey to inside the tree. That signal was an official and tactful way of saying “You're [censored]. I'm not sorry.” It makes sense that Turstand would be the one to have to use it if it ever came down to it, though. I wish I could do the signal myself, I'd get right next to his ear while he was sleeping every night and do it as loud as I could.

Galeom was Black Antic. It was kind of like being the security of a temple in the middle of a bleak town no one has ever heard of. You didn't do much, but you just made sure dust wasn't collecting on the sermons or something equally as riveting. He would watch the outskirts of town, crouched down behind some type of plant that was exotic in flavor, as was nearly all the flora we had encountered thus-far. It would be dark green with nests of tiny insects hiding behind its thorny leaves, a pungent aroma lifting off the flowering buds that grew out from the top of its head almost like locks of hair. The moment he heard the signal, he would leave to go to the rendezvous point, slipping out behind the mists and the trees and finding a safe haven within the swamps; out of sight, out of mind. Mind you he might still have to deal with resistance, but it was so unlikely in the Black Antic position that he might as well just take a nap. But not really; he'd get killed if he was found sleeping on the job. And not by the enemy. I was scheduled Black Antic because I volunteered. It's kind of like an beguilement, you don't get as much pay or as much of the action. But it still was a needed position, because anything could happen.

Anything could happen at any time.

Talk about making a comeback. Nearly a year later, and you are still writing this awesome story. I salute you sir!

As for the story itself. It is one of the best things I have ever read on any forum, nay, anything on the internet! I'm not much of a critic, and I can't see anything wrong at all here. If there is some critisism to be given though, im sure that a very good someone will find it and point it out.

I look forward to the next post!

much appreciated man. it was almost a year! woooow, time flies. rest assured, its still getting worked on. in fact, its barely begun.