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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[ShraX]

"I believe I'm beyond shock at this point," I declared. "However, I must take things one at a time. I have questions for you."

"There is truth in your Elder's words," he replied. "You are truly wise. Indeed, let us put to rest your confusion. Our location is unknown to her, we are safe to discuss."

At last having the chance to ask the man what was going on, my mind drew a blank. I did have many questions for him, but most of them seemed unimportant. The heaviest weight on my mind now was not even the idea that some ancient archer sought my life, but that my existence was the keystone to the fabric of all things, both living and inanimate. How could this possibly be? That was my first question.

"You must understand that life is not everything. Countless beings live on both this world and others, numbers beyond comprehension throughout the stars. Tell me - do you believe in a supreme being? A God?"

I was relaxed in his presence. I understood that he wanted to protect me, and with obviously good reason. He was a guardian of existence, a member of this Anarchal Order which, I assumed, was created to safeguard reality. Living in a Nord encampment my entire life, never straying from Cyrodiil's borders, I could not possibly fathom the things this man has seen. Surely he knew if there was in fact a God, or even Gods that influenced the world around me, but I gave my opinion.

"I do not," I answered. I honestly did not. The Nords' All-Father was but a character in fairy tales told to children and young men and women as the basis for proving themselves amongst their respective clans and families. Perhaps it was a stronger figure amongst the Elders in Skyrim, but to me, being an adopted Khajiit, I held no faith towards any divine deity in particular.

"There is one," he said. "It has no gender and resides not in one, confined form. It is your cloak, your blood, your bones, this mountain, the purple sky, and your tent's shadow when the sun is high. It has neither name nor language, eyes, ears or hands. We of the Order refer to it as Balance, but all creatures know it as something of their own. It controls all, but not without our aid.

"The Anarchal Order was formed to play the part of the scale; Balance is the force set upon either side, and we must ensure that force is of equal strength. If Balance is disturbed, the scale will tilt, the Order will fall, and existence will fail. You, Ri'jzirr, are the bar. You hold the chains and provide Balance with something upon which to set its force. Without you, there is nothing."

My thoughts racing, I asked, "But I am twenty years old! There was life before my birth!"

"Was there?"

I felt the blood drain from my face. I stepped back and tried my hardest to stop the cloak from trembling from my shaking legs. "This is disturbing news," he said. I fell back to the floor and put one hand to my forehead. "My parents?" I asked. The man sat on the throne behind him and put his limp sleeves on its arms, the darkness under his cowl never faltering despite the light of the cave. "You've never had parents. Upon the start of your life, We of the Order supplied you with a small basket, customary to the Nords of your camp, so they would recognize you as an orphan and take you in as their own."

"How did you do this if I began existence?!" I shouted, strangely enraged at my unbelievable origin. I suppose I knew of no other way to respond.

"The Order does not exist," he replied. "It was established elsewhere."

"Why did you not recruit me as a member then and there?"

"It was imperative for you to have experienced life as you have; as a Khajiit in Tamriel for twenty Nirn years, to prepare you for your induction into the Order now. What you've done during that time may seem trivial, but only through such exposure could you have been properly trained to become a member."

I stared down to the seemingly bottomless pit below us, not knowing what to ask next. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. "Is this fate?"

"No," the man confirmed in a louder voice than he had projected all along, and I jumped at the surprise of a change in his volume. "This is the will of all things to continue their presence in existence. You have no more questions. Let me help you to allow all that is to persist. We leave for the Order's residence. Brace yourself."

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This post has been edited by ShraX: Sep 18 2006, 04:32 PM