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 just want to thank those who actually find this chaotic story readable for continuing to read it. Hopefully it's starting to come together..

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"What?!" I broke from my stupor of disbelief at the notion of leaving for the Order's 'residence',
as he called it. "I can't just leave! What of my family?!" But before I noticed, the cave turned to solid grey. Without thinking, I backed away with furious nervousness, and would have pushed myself off the steep cliff if it had still been there. My head shot back behind me but there was nothing. My hands fell to what felt like glass, but there was no light; only grey. I looked back to the man in overwhelming wonder for an answer. He wasn't exceptional at giving answers, but only when they were asked of him. It was logical, but he was obviously incapable of empathy. Of course, none of this was going through my head at that particular moment.

"Enough wonder. You will experience things far stranger to you than this."

I shrunk into my cloak and tried to allow my new surroundings to catch up with me. I stood cautiously and moved closer to the man, unbalanced and dizzy; there was no floor, walls or ceiling, but only an infinite expanse of nothingness. Nothing existed here.

"Why was it you asked for me to brace myself?" I asked.

He raised his limbless sleeve and pointed with it behind me, and I turned. What I saw was myself, only transparent and mimicking my every move. The second image was blurred and its edges shook violently. I only saw my back since it was, in fact, behind me, and it moved as I did. I raised one arm and it did the same, and I laughed out a "Heh!" I suppose I'd already reached my capacity for oddity and the surplus was attempting to escape through short chuckles. Suddenly, the image ripped apart from its middle and tore in some ten pieces, each slit and sliding in opposite directions. Each segment then shattered without sound and slowly faded out of sight.

"You will see now."

"How exactly am I supposed to brace myself when there's nothi--"

I was interrupted by a feeling unlike any other in my head. I've had headaches before, but this was not painful, only as if my brain had turned to feathers and they were tickling my skull from the inside. I threw both hands up to my face and stumbled about groaning, but to no avail.. as if doing such a thing would have helped matters. I looked again to the man but still he stood in silence, and it was beginning to annoy me.

"What is going on?!" My words drifted into space, but I heard them as if they'd been spoken in the cave. He did not answer at once, but I soon discovered why; our surroundings would do that for him. The grey shifted into bright white, and it burnt my eyes with its brilliance. I closed them hard but even then the light was too much, and I dropped to my knees. I only knew I had done this because of my position; there was no floor onto which I fell.

"Cease this torture!!" I begged, but he said nothing. "Answer me!!" Silence. I could not open my eyes and the searing white gave me no distinction between whether or not my eyes were shut. It changed again, and just when the pain was most intense, to pitch darkness. My head felt solid once more and the pain promptly diminished, and I stood again to the man with clear sight. Although all was black around me, the man stood out. I looked down and was able to see my cloak, but my hands and feet had been consumed by the dark. I then heard someone speaking. It sounded much like the man but it echoed in my ears and in a language most foreign. I looked about to try and find the source, but there was only blackness.

"Your Elder is wise," he spoke softly. "Membership of the Order will bring about great wisdom, indeed."

It struck me then: my dream. All was darkness but for the ring of light at my feet - wisdom. As if on cue, a circle of white surrounded me and I looked up to the man for the last time.

"And my hood?" I asked expectingly, and it closed over my eyes.

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