The Meaning of Life Options

[ShraX]

Hello.

Most likely don't know me but I have this habit where I write something, take a needlessly-long break, then come back and continue it, expecting everyone to still understand what's going on. Anyway, I wrote 3 fanfics about Gaenor that originated on the official TES forums, then migrated here for some reason. Now, having had my fill of annoying elf-related stories, I began something new that I want to continue, and the only way I'll do that is if I post it and people are interested enough to want more.

It might be in bad taste to request something from the potential readers of this new story, but it's only fair; if you read this and think that something doesn't flow or could be improved upon (not content, but structure), I would greatly appreciate any and all criticism you have.. please, don't hold back. If what you want to say seems like it shouldn't be displayed on this thread, send me a PM. I'll never get better if I don't get criticism, and I want to get better. Then again, you don't have to say anything at all.

Sorry for the long introduction. Here's to what I hope will be a fun fanfic for all!

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The Meaning of Life

There was no more to be said. I stood and took my leave of the Meeting tent, the heavy iron plating my legs disturbing awkwardly the peace of night in the encampment. We'd been discussing the threat from the Jeralls for hours after eating, and the sun's light crept above the mountainous horizon with foreboding quickness. I fixed my eyes to the dirt and felt my mouth droop to a frown. It had been decided and set for me to settle this restless darkness of yet-unknown depth, as I'd proven myself in years past as formidable with the axe and shield when confronted with those who would wish life torn from body for purpose of self gain. In six hours I would depart in fresh snow, and my destiny would arrive at last to the fruitful conclusion of its long hunt.

It was difficult sleeping, not with the cold but with thoughts my young mind failed to silence. I gave empty answers to questions no one could satisfy, and they all reminded me of how unprepared I truly was for the looming hardships yet to be crossed, patient in their undoubted fatality. My muscles tensed of their own will, perhaps reacting to the subtle worries building in my subconscious, for I tried with all concentration to banish them there so that I may have focused on less frightening prospects. I hushed the quiet candle beside me and remembered Grumir's words.

"I'll have these ready before ye set off, and leave 'em outside yer tent. I've worked overnight plenty before, and the clangin' don't seem to bother no one!"

I knew him long, since I was old enough to wield a weapon and bring it back to him for repair. I've never known his face without it tilting down, something he did both to playfully mock my considerably shorter stature and because he honestly was unable to see me unless he did so. Each time he did it, and it was every time he spoke to me, even when we sat and our eyes were level, I couldn't help but let out a short chuckle of mild disbelief. He never seemed to notice, which was not surprising. In his more drunken episodes in the evenings, he'd ramble on about his adventures in Elswyr when he was younger, and of the "filth-ridden coat-bags" he'd slain. I took no offense, largely because I could never figure out what exactly a "coat-bag" was and why it was an insult to my people, according to Grumir. In his sober heart however, he grew to appreciate my presence, as out-of-place as it always seemed to me.

Despite my physical appearance, the shear amount of time I spent with these people led them to accept me as one of their own, which I always was, in essence. I am unsure as to who my parents are, or were, but I am Khajiit for certain. I've seen others rarely during hunting raids and sojournings into the Imperial City for trade, and after comparing looks, I began to develop a mindset for my race. We are Khajiit, or at least they are. I am Khajiit to those who see me; those who know me would think twice. The Nords in my encampment knew me very well, and respected me as a warrior and friend. Although, the physical differences were impossible to ignore. Their armor had no ear holes, and my feet refused to stuff themselves into their thin-toed boots. Their chairs forced me to curl my tail into my lap in a most uncomfortable position, and I often contemplated eating on the floor, but always dismissed the idea as I feared being related to a house cat in the most humiliating way apart from relieving myself in a box of sand.

Trivialities aside, I lived in their encampment all my life, since being left naked in the cold twenty years ago outside the ancient hut of our chieftan, who has now passed. They cared for me and trained me in the combat arts of Skyrim, and I adapted my agile form to master new techniques which set me apart from the other boys. I became most proficient with the axe, and later, learned to balance offense with the defense of a shield. Seven years littered with exploits deemed heroic by those they aimed to benefit have birthed a fine fighter, in my humble opinion, and I attempted to direct the memories of my greatest victories as a stampede over thoughts of the task that lay before me. It was pointless; even looking in the direction of the cave I was to enter discouraged my steps, and my knees weakened. All I could do now was tie the blindfold of courage around my eyes and pray the little sleep I did manage would be enough to carry me back there the next day in triumph.

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[The Metal Mallet]

Wow, you certainly have a way with words ShraX. Though that second sentence seemed to be a bit of a mouthful when I read it, particulary the "iron plating my legs disturbing awkwardly..." part. Other than that I thought this introduction was flawless. This unnamed Khajiit raised by Nords is an intriguing concept. You've introduced him quite well.

I would certainly keep reading if you decide to keep updating.

[treydog]

Took me a while to get used to the phrasing- but it fits with Khajiit thought-patterns.

[mplantinga]

I was pleasantly surprised to see find your new story, ShraX. The tales of Gaenor have a very special place in my heart, and I'm excited to see that you've started something new. We haven't had that many stories about the Khajiit, perhaps because most of us really don't think like a bipedal feline. I really enjoyed the subtle yet effective ways in which you've already shown how different the Khajiit is from the the Nords. I expect we will see a lot of this in the coming installments.

It is clear that you have thought carefully about your word choice, and you have organized your sentences in an unusual, but refreshing way. However, there were a couple sentences that ended up being a bit long (e.g. Their chairs forced me to curl....). A major advantage of written works is the ability to use far more complex sentence structure than one could ever use in conversation, but I think it may still be prudent not to make sentences longer than they need to be.

I assume that the use of unusual grammatical structure was intentional. Perhaps this was intended to reflect either a difference in how Khajiits process language or perhaps unique to this Khajiit? As Treydog said, sometimes the sentence structure took a little longer to understand, but perhaps, as he suggested, this is appropriate.

Now for my request to you, ShraX: please continue this story. Your return to the forums (as an author) has brought joy to my heart.

[ShraX]

The flurries untied my tent's base and awoke me in mid-dream. I can't remember about it, but the end stuck to my mind: I saw myself dressed by invisible hands in a hooded cloak. The only colors I was able to see were shades of red and grey. I heard a man's voice speak in a strange tongue, unlike any I've heard.. not that I've heard very many at all, but this seemed otherworldly. It sounded as if he was upset over something, or he was giving a command. When he stopped, all turned to darkness but a ring of light at my feet, the hood closed over my head, and I woke. I know there was more before this, but it I could never recall.

I stumbled to all fours and crawled from my bed to meet the clouded morning. I stretched and my muscles welcomed the pain, and I noticed my axe and shield waiting at my feet. I looked up towards Grumir's tent but he was likely still asleep after working last night. I slipped the axe into my belt and the shield on my back, and let the cold air breeze through my fur. I watched the far mist frozen in distance and thought on my dream. I couldn't reason any of it, at least not yet. I noted the Nords' belief in dreams as omens, and the image of the cave reflected from the back of my mind and into my eyes. I closed them hard and hunger caught my attention.

Bread and cheese worked well enough to fill my stomach; meat never agreed with me in the mornings. I tucked a short bottle of fresh water into my belt and strapped it tightly across, and left the food storage tent. No one but the dawn-time watch guard stood outside, and the campfire had blown out with the rough winds. He stood at the far end, and I to the north. I watched him for too long, and there was no reason for it save the subconscious want to stall my quest. I shook my head vigorously and broke the desperate stupor, telling myself that no one was awake to wish me well. It was an odd departure, since I had created this wild thought that I'd be bid a hero's farewell in some non-existent celebratory fashion. I set my eyes to the cave clear up against the mountainside and began at last. It took but a short while to reach its mouth, and I stopped to look back across the familiar country, brightest sunlight now basking whitest snow. I sighed heavily and felt the winds again, coming from within the cavern. Storm clouds slid over the sun, and I thought of my family's welfare before turning back toward the cold hell awaiting me.

I pulled out my axe and shield, keeping eyes and ears to the walls. I tried ignoring the blackness ahead which seemed closer to me than empty space should be, and I asked myself whether or not it was empty, not expecting an answer. I stepped into it as it was the only path to take, and the shadow sealed my vision of the growing storm outside more quickly than I could notice. I advanced in darkness, and decided my weapon and armor were useless in such a place. "What dwells herein, take me.." I whispered hopelessly, and the pitch black enveloping me muffled the sound to even my hearing. I continued on for what felt to be somewhat less than an hour when I reached a wall; I felt on all sides and determined I'd reached a dead end. 'Perhaps my enemy has left to hunt,' I thought, and I heard someone speak. The sound rang clear from within the dense shadows, as if they carried his message directly to me.

"Forsaken I've sat dead for twenty years, and at last you've come. Vision returns.. light nor dark find sanctuary here."

Immediately I thought of the voice from my dream, but it was difficult to compare them. As he said, the blackness dissipated before me and I found myself standing in the center of a narrow, frozen walkway leading to a grand throne of ice. The room in which I now stood was enormous, larger than even the mountain seemed to be from the outside.

"Set your form closer so as not to confuse our situation."

"Confuse our situation?" I yelled while advancing half-crouched to accommodate for the dizzying height.

He kept silent until I reached the platform on which the throne laid set and carved in the thick ice. All I could see of him was the black cloak he wore, and his hood which masked any hint of his visage. He sat slumped and seemingly weary upon it, and adjusted himself upright and in a kingly manner as I approached.

"You are accustomed to common speech at a common distance. I do not seek to create a yet stranger atmosphere from one already foreign." His voice was low and cracked, and reminded me of our wooden tent posts, creaking subtley with the fierce winds. I had questions, but felt he had more to say.

"I knew not of your coming, but see now it holds significance. All things hold significance. Tell me your name."

"Ri'jzirr," I answered in caution.

"Khajiit of Tamriel." His head shifted downward in apparent thought. "You require an explanation. I will relay the past unknown to you in words you may comprehend."

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[The Metal Mallet]

I want to know as well! Don't leave me hanging here!

Your use of language is spectacular, it's actually refreshing to see your approach, it tends to make one focus more. This hooded figure's language particularly is rather cryptic but cool.

I look forward to more.

[mplantinga]

This new update has really increased the mystery surrounding this character. This cave sounds like an intriguing place, even more so because of the mysterious man on the throne. I look forward to finding out more.

[ShraX]

"Firstly, I would have you know of me.. physicality is often the blackest blindfold. Though bipedal in appearance, I stand not on legs. This cowl hides naught but shadow. I have no place. What you see is what you will, uncontrollable. I say without speaking, move without motion. I am not, yet I sit before you in belief. In senses I reside.

"From where I originated I will attempt to explain. Understand life as nothing more than the tangible essence of existence. All things contain life. In turn, all things must retain balance, for life is never without death. All things must die, and it is for this reason I have taken up residence on this plane. I have broken the laws of being to mend them. Existence is threatened by one it calls its' own.

"She has refused death. The physical constitution of her race shows a regular pattern of death by age; eighty-seven years. Nine-thousand she has lived through neither magic nor natural reason. It is unclear, and I suspect nothing. Such gross misuse of the gift of life will remain uninterrupted no longer. I have come to end it by any means necessary."

He took no breaths between sentences, and he showed no emotion or change in tone with his words, but I felt them stronger than any I'd heard. He stood slowly, sleeves concealing any notion of skin as they collapsed at his sides. I had heard all the peoples of Tamriel speak at one time or another, but I was unable to match them to this man. Something was telling me it was a man, anyway. Popular reference to gender forces me still to speak of the being as "he", but I'll never be certain.

"I doubt not your courage, but fear has no place here. Forgive my inability to acquaint myself.. it is not possible without personality or a face." A short chuckle escaped my mouth and I prayed he took no offense, and he said nothing. "Please," I replied warily, "it is difficult to understand your story. I came here in search of the beast named enemy by my people, and to slay it for our better." I had reached the base of his throne and he stepped closer, but I held my ground. If he spoke truth, I would be safer displaying trust over distrust. He had no smell, and he seemed immune to the freezing cold which held the cavern. He turned slightly to his left and my eyes followed.

"See there," he said, "the cleft." He paused, and I examined the icy ledge he motioned towards. It was heavily laiden with bones and sinew from what appeared to be some enormous creature. The remaining ribs on its spine cast deep shadows on the narrow bridge I'd just crossed, and they hung what seemed to be a mile away in the hollowed mountain. Its skull had been halved, and from the thick ice collected there, I posed to myself how many years it had been, and who had slain such a monster. "'Twas no monster, Ri'jzirr," he replied to my thoughts. "You are not yet experienced enough in this world to seal your mind shut.. something that aids our situation. The skeleton was of that which you came here to slay." I looked back to the cloaked figure in astounded confusion and hidden relief.

"You will find that all things in your history have played their part in our meeting. This confrontation is the meaning of life."

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[Black Hand]

Interesting, theres a slow build-up here. And this meeting has a Matrix-esque quality of Neo meeting with the Architect.

In other words good job, yo! Keep it up!

[The Metal Mallet]

This mysterious figure is really cool to read. I too, like the way this is slowly building up.

Keep it up!

[jack cloudy]

Yeah, the mystery. Who, or what is he? Why does he want to meet our hero? And just how did the damn monster got killed?

[minque]

Another good story written by the famous ShraX.....who once more proved himself as being a skilled writer. Rest assured I´ll read this, even though I may not be commenting on every update, there´s just soo much to read around here.

Good work !!

[ShraX]

"The creature thought guilty of ravaging your people has ceased to exist for approximately two hundred and forty-seven years. Its' undoer perished in the process and no proof of demise was returned to make certain its' death, and so, it has continued to live in assumption. What has been attacking your camp is she whose life must be ended.. the one of whom I previously spoke. She knows of your importance, and even now seeks your death. Lower your head." He remained emotionless in his words and I questioned to myself why I should have lowered my head.. it seemed a strange request, but this encounter was indeed the strangest I'd experienced. So, I ducked, and three poisoned arrows struck the cloaked being from behind me. My eyes widened and I spun around to catch the archer, almost losing my footing on the icy platform, but there was nothing. I looked back to the man, but not expecting a corpse. I didn't know why, but three poisoned arrows did not seem like enough to topple him. "Arrows," he said. "She thinks me human," and he waved them off into the cold darkness below with a gesture of his robed arm.

"What stopped them?" I asked, now finding comfort in his protective presence. "I've no body," he replied, "but you and the arrows share a consciousness. All things live.. they perceived a torso, and so their path laid through one." His way of speaking seemed confusing and deep, but I understood his insight. This being was one of immense wisdom, and perhaps a god. I knew he was able to read my thoughts and resist poisoned arrows. Either he was a great magician or something of celestial origin. "Nay, I was human once.. but enough of this. She has made her move, and we will react in kind. If you trust my cause, the cause of existence, you will repeat this word and await message from me in your encampment: <<^>^<^>^<>^<^>^<>^<^<>^<>><^<>," and as the final letter's sound escaped my cold lips, I found myself in the center of my camp, the storm having passed and the sun's glorious light warming my body, and the familiarity of my surroundings slowly calming my nerves.

I told the Elder of my encounter in private, figuring his counsel would prove more valuable than the questions my kin undoubtedly had for me. As I spoke he lit two candles at his side, and when I finished moments later, I noticed he'd been gazing at them throughout my report. Not a word was spoken for a short while, but I was familiar with his methods and allowed the candles to borrow my attention. At last he turned to me and replied, wisdom and experience showing in every wrinkle on his ancient face. "This man," he said in soothing quiet, "wore a black cloak and hood." I nodded, facing him now. "There are many dark cults of Tamriel, most of which are known to conceal their identities in such clothing. They believe that to be looked upon by those outside their group is an insult to their supposed superiority. Tell me, was there a symbol on his robe?" I shook my head remembering the solid black of his cloak and cowl. "Interesting," he said, and motioned politely for me to leave.

As I closed the flap to his tent, the cold of dusk reminded me of my dream. I forgot to mention it, and it would have been rude to interrupt him again so soon. There had to have been some relevance between it and my encounter in the cave; the events I saw in sleep matched so clearly to what had transpired earlier that day. The black hood was placed over my eyes, and the ring of light at my feet.. the hood was just as the man's, as was the cloak which dressed me. He turned pitch darkness to light so that I may have navigated the cavern. Perhaps the placing of a black cowl over my head was a symbol of friendship and alliance between myself and the man? The ring of light still was somewhat of a mystery to me, and I decided to explain my dream to the Elder the next day in the hopes of gaining more insight into its' full meaning.

The remainder of the night consisted mainly of re-enacting of my experience to my kin. They seemed disappointed that the beast had already been slain, and wondered aloud at what, then, had been plaguing the countryside we called home. I knew who was responsible, but telling them a nine-thousand-year old witch of some sort was their "monster" seemed it would have been too much for them to comprehend at the time, and so I joined in their hopeless pondering as we ate around the campfire. Eventually, however, the conversation had been abandoned in preference for the usual story-telling to which we were all comfortably accustomed.

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[The Metal Mallet]

It'll be interesting to see if the Elder has anything more to say about this cloaked fellow.

I've been enjoying this so far, continuing on will keep me enjoyed.

No duh...

[ShraX]

My body was sore from the chill of the cavern and it refused to cooperate with my bedroll. Every position I curled myself into yielded discomfort. It was late and the rest of the camp slept soundly, assured that the threat of the beast had been foiled. As most Nords seem to be, those I knew as family were simple folk, and all they needed to know was that it wasn't some vile creature who had ravaged our land. I, however, probed the thought of this being the man told me about. All I knew was that it was female, very old and wanted me dead for reasons not yet revealed. I had more questions than that to ask the man when I saw him next, yet another piece of information purposefully withheld.

Normally I remember the moment just before falling asleep; what my eyes had fallen onto as they closed into unconsciousness, the fading creaks of my tent post in the wintery wind - but that night was different, as seemed to be the trend at the time. It was morning, and all I could recall was laying down, but not drifting to sleep. My confrontation with the man seemed to have thrown off my senses to a degree. It was difficult to see the far clouds and hilltops now, and the smell and taste of morning rolls fell to discouraged nerves. I noticed my muscles still ached shortly after waking, the only feeling not dulled. I slunk outside, wearily tromping in the bright sun. Slouched and aimless, I wandered about with a blurred mind that afternoon, and the Elder's tent took my vision. My dream returned to me and I entered.

The words did not come easily, but I managed them out from a dry mouth. I felt my fur heavy with the heat from my blood and constantly dabbed my face with a thin cloth. If it were any other day, I would have exhibited the utmost respect for the Elder while reporting my dream, but I found myself glancing all about his tent, scratching the backs of my hands, rubbing my nose and frequently patting my forehead with the cloth. I never once looked him in the eyes. At one point I checked behind me for my tail because I could not feel it. I picked it up and, not remembering why I wanted to in the first place, thrust it back down to the floor with a muffled thump.

At last I had finished after what seemed like an hour of talking, but it was likely much shorter than that. The tent was quiet for a short while as the Elder contemplated my words, and the peaceful quiet's patience was tried against my unusual panting. I was so hot, and in the Jerall Mountains. Khajiit cannot sweat, but I felt the way I'd guessed sweating would feel; sticky, dirty and disrespectful of the Elder's nose. I wanted to leave and lie down in the snow, or better yet, return to the cavern where it was freezing. I wanted to sit upon the throne of ice and feel the heat stiffen into shards of frost in my fur. I was so desperate for the cold, but the Elder spoke.

"Your dream belies much unseen, Ri'zjirr. The hood covered your eyes, your ears.. your entire face. It was placed upon you by hands.. were they human?" I shook my head and smacked my tongue against the roof of my mouth. "Your meeting with this man has troubled you. Tonight, be in your tent, and I will come to you with my thoughts on this dream. Rest." I nodded and thanked him, and stumbled through the deer hide flaps toward my bedroll. I looked up to the cave mouth and yearned for its cold, and for its darkness away from what felt like a beating sun. My legs were so weak, and I knew I would not reach it, so I collapsed onto my pillow and into a deep slumber.

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This post has been edited by ShraX: Sep 11 2006, 04:13 PM

[mplantinga]

Thanks for the last few updates; I just got caught up. You've succeeded at increasing the mystery surrounding this Khajiit with each new bit of information you give us. What a surprise to find the beast dead, and something even stranger as the source of terror. I'm definitely quite curious about the "man" in the cave, and whether his obvious power is on the side of good or ill.

[The Metal Mallet]

My curiosity is piqued with this update. Our Khajiit friends seems to be having health issues suddenly. Of course meeting the thing that he did, it's understandable.

Hopefully the nap will help him out.

[ShraX]

"Ri'jzirr."

My eyes sprang open and shot all about me, unfamiliar with where they'd last closed. I could make nothing of my blurred surroundings, but he Elder called my name again. "Ri'jzirr," he asked, "are you with me?" Traditional Nord beliefs recognize sleep as the retiring into the Spirit World to be with their ancestors. Dreams are the mind's interpretation of your meeting with your fathers' spirits and are analyzed by village elders to discover what had taken place. Becoming tired and weary is your soul slowly drifting into that realm to commune with those who've passed away. The bear is an iconic symbol to the Nords in that they sleep for months at a time, showing their strong attachment to their ancestors. He asked if I was with him, meaning in Tamriel rather than the Spirit World.

I nodded and blinked rapidly, rubbing my eyes and face as if I'd been sleeping for a week. He put his hand to my shoulder. "Are you well?" I turned around and sat with him, nodding to the ground, arms on my bent knees, feeling the cold of the Jerall night once more. "You need warm ale," he stated, "But first, I would interpret your dream, if you can listen." My strength was returning with the cool air and I looked up to him, smiling reassuringly, and I gave a short bow of my head in welcome. He sat down from his legs to the floor and took his regular position of counsel-giving with which I was familiar.

"At first," he began in his ancient voice, "I suspected this man to have been of a reclusive cult. There are more than you may realize in these mountains.. many places to hide. However, it is widely known to those who concern themselves with such groups that their cloaks and hoods bear the symbol under which their particular cult is organized." He paused a moment and closed his eyes as if the next sentence he uttered would have brought about the annihilation of the planet if recited incorrectly. "There is one cult without such a symbol.. The Anarchal Order." I felt my face turn confused and he looked to me. "Anarchal Order? Is that not a paradox in itself," I asked. A smile cracked through his stoic expression and distorted his usually monotone words as he replied, "You are truly wise.

"The Anarchal Order originated in a land far from Tamriel, its stars strangers to ours. None but they know precisely when or where, although it is clear they have been here for an incredible length of time. I would not be surprised if no more than three others living today knew their order's name. They are the essence of enigmatic, the shadows their home. If this man belongs to the Anarchal Order, it was a once-in-a-milennia.. opportunity, we shall say, to have spoken with him in person." He seemed wary of addressing my confrontation as anything either positive or negative, and I did not blame him. "That assumed," he continued, "let us speak of your dream.

"The darkness all about you was your ignorance. It is common for those young in age and experience to feel in the dark, both in and out of dreams. Red and grey were what you saw.. the only colors cats can see. The dream altered your existence from Khajiit to cat, perhaps to exemplify your ignorance. In the end, the darkness grew, but was halted by the ring of light at your feet. At the same time, the hood covered your head and you awoke." He became quiet once more, looking desperately and straightly down, boring a hole into the dirt with his seasoned eyes. I sat eagerly awaiting the meaning of the ring of light, my primary point of interest.

"This ring of light introduces wisdom," he said at last. "The cowl being placed over your head inducts you into the Order, and wisdom begins. This is what I believe your dream to reflect. Think what you will. Take some warm ale." He promptly stood and crouched through my tent's flaps, leaving me in wonder. He was reasonably distraught from my dream's meaning; it depicted me as entering the Anarchal Order, something no one knew anything about, but apparently I'd met a member. A few moments of blank staring out into the snow later, I followed his advice and drank some ale. I felt surprisingly well after that.

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[mplantinga]

A paradoxical order and a disturbing dream; you certainly know how to keep my curiosity piqued. I was definitely intrigued by the Nords' perception of sleep and dreams; it certainly explained quite well why the bear is so respected in their culture. Thanks for another great update.

[The Metal Mallet]

Mplantinga took the words right out of my mouth... and made them better .

Looking forward to the next one!