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 think everything's been laid out pretty well.. you may need to check what's happened previously to understand what's going on now. I admit it's somewhat confusing, but it does make sense. A side-goal of mine was to try and keep the reader as much in the unknown as Ri'jzirr, but hopefully no one's in complete confusion.

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My dream had been fully realized, and in this yet-unexplained realm of white and black. I looked down and saw the floor reflecting my image back into my eyes; my hands and feet were now invisible, and my face was sealed in darkness under the cowl. I looked to the man and noticed we, aside from posture, looked to be in perfect congruence with one another.

"You know of physical transportation," he said. "Now you know that of the mind." Apparently he had taken me elsewhere, to this place of non-existence, through thought instead of with our legs. It seemed a simple concept to understand, now, anyway. I felt there was not much else to ask him other than, "Where are we," and so I did.

"We have reached the Order's residence," he explained. "Welcome." Welcome to what? All was black. There were no signs of civilization anywhere in sight. There was no smell, wind or sound. Even the silence could not be heard. Somehow, though, I began thinking differently. "There is nothing here," I concluded. He nodded, surprisingly, and where I'd normally put my hands to my hips, they hung at my sides. I didn't even realize they were there at all. "There is more here than meets the eye." He nodded again.

The way I thought of it was, this place was the opposite of where I'd lived all my life. There was no cold, no rain, no warming fire or creaking tent posts, no food or air, and no sleep. We were where nothing was, nothing but we. It contradicted all I'd ever known, but there I stood with the man in pure, true nothingness. I required no explanation; it became obvious, after listening to all he'd said before, that the Order's residence did not exist. It was here though, where 'here' was nowhere.

"Are there others?" I asked, not expressing any particular anxiousness in my voice. "There are," he replied, "but first you must understand the rules of this place.

"It is a most simple thing to become lost here," he continued. "Here, there is no space, no time. If you were to stray from me, you could potentially reach a point beyond the hope of becoming found once more. Take six steps to your left."

Immediately the arrows shot back into my memory and I sped left, counting each step and watching the man at all times. I turned behind me but saw only black, then upwards to find her. I saw the Archer at last, my fated enemy of whom I knew nothing. I held my place and trusted my guardian's judgement, but grew nervous knowing she was watching me. She wore a similar cloak and hood, only hers were much larger, too wide to fit her appropriately. She was somewhat far above me but I noticed another difference between her and we of the Order - she bore a bright orange symbol of an uneven circle with three lines crossing through it, intersecting in the center on her chest. She had apparently joined with another cult but retained the abilities and knowledge bestowed upon her by the Anarchal Order. After all, she appeared to understand the laws of non-existence.

For the first time I saw the man move in greater complexity than sitting and standing to and from his icy throne in the mountain. With impossible quickness he crouched and lunged at the Archer who remained in her gravity-defying spot above us both. I expected one of them to exchange words before a battle commenced, but obviously they had no more to share. Strangely, I had no need to lift my hood to watch him, even as it covered my eyes.

Within a split second he reached her, and from the darkness at her sides, two others of the Order bolted towards her, and all three stopped suddenly, reaching one arm toward her head. Knowing of the man's immense power already, I deemed this, obviously an expression of hostility, to exhibit a much larger force than absorbing three poisoned arrows. However, I held my place and relied on his instructions, and helplessly watched on. The Archer shook vigorously with discontent and brought one hand to her hood, the other grasping her long bow and waving it at her three assailants. She began spinning rapidly and let out a shriek of pain until her cloak concealed her within the darkness all around us, and she vanished as quickly as she came.

The three who had somehow banished her returned to me and I bowed in thanks. "We do not allow corruption within our residence," said the man, and I nodded as would a child who'd just been thrown out of the way of a speeding carriage on the road by a passing knight. I looked back to where I stood before her appearance and gasped at the multitude of arrows sticking out from the transparent floor. I hadn't even heard them shot, but I quickly reminded myself of where I was. "What did you do to her?"

"As I've said, she has refused death. We merely channeled our energies into her mind, telling her why death is necessary."

"So all you did was explain to her that she must die?"

"Yes. We brought this truth to the very core of her being, but she does not want to believe. She has refused our counsel for ages."

'Perhaps,' I thought, 'I would be somewhat more convincing.'

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