"Xeilus-Keer."
His name is spoken clearly. Yet it seems to come through a waterfall. Distant, calling him back from the void he feels on the edge of. "Tree-Minder Chuleeixth," Xeilus-Keer responds softly as his eyes slide to the leader of Granite-Rock Tribe. Dark grey scales shot through with silver, long curved horns, the right pierced with a bit of shell, wearing a head-dress of orange feathers that reaches halfway down his spine. "Will you deny my request?"
A small frown from the elder leader. "Turn to me, Xeilus-Keer," Tree-minder Chuleeixth instructs, and the younger Argonian turns.
Xeilus-Keer has scales mid-grey,horns, several nose piercings, and a smaller more modest headdress. His eyes were dark green with a grim seriousness in them. "Please," Xeilus-Keer hisses.
"You will not find the answer you wish, Xeilus-Keer." Tree-Minder Chuleeixth gently tells him. "But if this is what you need to flow down the river, then go to our Hist. Speak, even though you know truth."
Xeilus-Keer bows his head in thanks and then turns and walks to the Hist, stopping before it. Again, he bows his head and gently places his right claws upon it. "Save them," he whispers as his eyes close, the pain near overwhelming.
An unnatural blight has come across the tribe. Deadly and merciless it cut through even their natural resistance to poisons and illnesses. It had struck without warning, and nothing the healers did helped. Over half the village was stricken, including his mate. Tree-Minder is right, he knows the answer and yet he must try. He cannot just flow, as he has always done, and so the song of the Hist flows through him, answering his desperate plea. A shudder that turns into shakes, the answer that must be, and yet must not be. But there is no turning his back on it. The Hist is powerless against this. Cannot cure, cannot fix, and with a heart wrenching cry, he wrenches his claws from The Hist and turns from it unable to meet Tree-minders eyes. With sadness in every scale, he returns to his hut.
Scales of pale ash, lovely small horns, and eyes the color of a vivid green dragon-frog, Jah-Lai rests on her side on the mat and he moves to sit beside her, his claws stroking her scales gently. So hot...too hot. "The Hist...," he trails off. Not needing to speak further. The answer had already been known. He had just refused to accept it. Still...perhaps refused.
Jah-Lai reaches for his claws, holding them. "Take care of our brood, Xeilus-Keer," Jah-Lai whispers.
A hiss from him as he holds her hand tight. "You will swim in the river. Keep swimming, I will...I will fix this," Xeilus-Keer answers.
A sad smile from her. "Let the river take its course, Xeilus-Keer. You will only cause yourself grief fighting against what is." Jah-Lai gently tells him before her claws fall and her eyes close as she falls into a deep sleep. Xeilus-Keer bows his head and remains by her side, moving only when the healer Uaxil comes.
As Xeilus-Keer watches the twilight spread across the village the healer comes out of the hut. "It is the final sleep," Uaxil tells him. "She will remain in dreams until she returns to the Hist."
Xeilus-Keer turns his head toward the marsh, his words causing his spine to ache. There on rocks, his and Jah-Lai's brood is basking, all four still healthy...at least for now. They are young, they have not yet had their name day, but even as young as they are, they worry, they fear. "There must be a way." Xeilus-Keer hisses. "Fix this."
Uaxil blinks his eyes and gently touches Xeilus-Keer's arm. "Some will survive this, Xeilus-Keer Not all, but some. The river will decide. We travel down the river, we travel the flow of it. We do not fight against it. You know this." Uaxil tells him.
With another angry hiss, Xeilus-Keer shrugs the arm off and stalks off. Tired of being told to accept this. Was he just to let his mate, his love die? To let half his tribe die? And what if his children fall to the blight? Just let them go? Even though he knows returning to The Hist is not the end...still something in him cannot let it go. He wants the now, not the next.
After darkness falls Xeilus-Keer slips from the village to a small bit of ruin just outside the village. Long ago, when he had been a small one, there had been Am-Atl. He was near obsessed with the past, made forays into Blackwood and the long abandoned Xanmeers, and he had stored artifacts, books, and notes he made here. The younger Xeilus-Keer had been fascinated by this and had followed. Am-Atl had caught him but had been amused by the young Argonian's curiosity that matched his, and he had shown him everything he brought back, taught him to read a bit of the ancient languages.
Protected by ancient stones, all is as it was, the last time he had been here. Am-Atl had shown him something that frightened him a little that day. Argonians that worshiped not Sithis, but Mehrunes Dagon. The strange Argonian had been so fascinated, that he left the next day to find out more about them. And that was the last time he was ever seen again. Xeilus-Keer had never once been back. The disappearance had shaken him, and he turned from his curiosity back to his village and tribe as he grew. But now...but now. A small hiss as he sits among the dust of the past and closes his eyes. A week ago travelers had stopped by the village, coming back from Blackwood. They had talked about a relic that was rumored to be found by Dagon worshipers in a newly found Xanmeer. He had thought nothing of it then, but something had whispered to him in his grief and despair. They had mentioned something called... Y'zinai. Xeilus-Keer's eyes bolt open and his claws reach for the book. The last one Am-Alt had brought home. With shaking claws he pours over the book and at last finds the term. "Y'zinai," he breathes. "Also called..." his eyes widen as he reads. Entombed in a lost Xanmeer, the very one that, if the travelers were right, had been unearthed by the Sul-Xan, a tribe of Argonians that worshiped the Daedric Prince of Destruction. Long moments pass as he falls into thought. If this Y'zinai truly existed...if all the book said about it was true...it could destroy, it could create. It could do the impossible, it could allow him to change the river's course. With a frenetic look in his eyes, he leaps up and heads back to the village.
Xeilus-Keer stands at the door to his and Jah-Lai's hut, looking at her sleeping. A sleep she will never rise from, not in this life. A sleep that will take her far from his river, to The Hist and what comes next. He should let the flow take its course. He should. But he wants the now. To see her eyes sparkle, to raise their brood together. The thought of living without her...of watching his children in silent agony every day to see if the blight would take them as well, to see the day when his tribe is so very much less. "Jah-Lai," he whispers. "Forgive me. I cannot do what you asked. I will change the river. I know how. I will save you, I will save you all," and with those words he turns from her and moves to another hut, stopping to watch his little ones sleep for long moments. The youngest, sensing his presence opens her eyes, and his spine aches to see them clouded with fever. She, too, has been struck. "Egg-Father," she whispers. "Does it hurt to return?"
Pain down to his very being he lowers his head. "No," Xeilus-Keer rasps. "But do not fear little one. I will return with a way to save you, your Egg-mother, and the rest. I promise." At his words, the fear leaves her eyes and she returns to sleep. A shudder from him, and then he turns and leaves.
As he walks toward the edge of the village, Tree-minder Chuleeixth's soft rasp stops him. "Xeilus-Keer. I know not why you leave, but do not go."
Xeilus-Keer stops and turns his head to Tree-minder. His mind on his beloved, on their little ones, on the rest of the tribe. "I will return. This I promise," Xeilus-Keer responds and turns his head away and walks away from his tribe and the pleas of Tree-minder.
-Blackwood deep in Sul-Xan Territory. The Lost Xanmeer-
Two Sul-Xan guards the room at the deepest point of Xanmeer. The ancient place seemed to grow alive and pulse with dark power this far down. The rocks shot through with green veins of pulsing energy, the stones under claws warm. It was as if Xanmeer had been granted a form of life by the secret that was entombed within.
The two guards' eyes follow him carefully as he walks toward them. On the edge of Sul-Xan territory, he had ambushed one of theirs. Taken the armor so he could act the part he needed to get into Xanmeer, to get to the one thing he needed above all else. It had gotten him this far, but the guards must have had orders not to let just any inside. As one hisses in warning Xeilus-Keer stops, one hand behind him. Before the guards can question his presence his claws are up, a blowgun filled with poison darts from a plant that grew in the darker places of the marsh. Xeilus-Keer was skilled in it and two darts in a moment, two guards fell in the next.
Xeilus-Keer steps through the doorway and pauses just at the threshold. The green veins in here are bigger, the heat so much more intense with streams of lava running through the room. Carefully he makes his way to the center where a short pillar stands, resting upon it the prize. "Y'zinai," he breathes. Translated from ancient languages now all but forgotten, it means Horn of Dagon, and his eyes drink it in. Standing upright, dusky red with paths of glowing orange-red energy that resembles lava. The book he had read, was of a myth. It told a tale of an impossible battle, in which one of the Daedric Prince's horns had been sheered off. Instead of smiting the one who did it, it was given as a gift, or perhaps a curse. Daedric Items could serve easily as both. The horn had been lost and found throughout ancient history, until it fell into Argonian hands, that which would later become the Sul-Xan. But it had been misused and the Xanmeer that held it had been lost to the marsh and time with the catastrophe it caused.
A single breath and Xeilus-Keer finds his claws stretching toward it, the heat that emits from it near painful. As his claws wrap around it and he pulls, he finds it will not budge. With an angry hiss, he withdraws his claws. The one thing the legend failed to reveal, was how to gain the Daedric artifact's power. As his eyes scan the pedestal it reveals an ancient language etched on the stone unreadable by him. Instinctively he moves his claws to touch the worlds which to his startlement translates into one he can read. "The essence of Y'zinai will grand power to the voice, power to command destruction, power to command creation. Consume what it emits and be blessed by the power of the Prince of Destruction." Xeilus-Keer reads out loud.
The essence of Mehrunes Dagon or at least the smallest taste of it. A way to alter the flow of the river's very course. With this power, he could command The Hist to create a cure for his tribe, to fix the blight, and save them all. But one thing briefly stops him. Jah-Lai's last words to him, and as they echo he hesitates. She...did not wish to go against the river. None of his tribe did. Did his desire to save them...to change the river... Xeilus-Keer's thoughts are interrupted by the sound of claws and voices. No more time for hesitation, just a single choice. Let the river flow and take all he loves away from him into distant rebirth, or change the flow of the river and have the now. And with that thought, he leans over the horn and licks the essence running down it. Burning agony courses down his throat and he falls to the ground thrashing wildly claws racking against the stone. Blazing heat fills his very being and crimson strands of energy etch their way across his scales before fading.
"That...was to be mine," An angry hiss from the door echos.
Slowly Xeilus-Keer raises his head to stare at a brute of an Argonian that stands at the threshold of the room, and the small army of Sul-Xan that stand behind him. With a flick of his gaze, he switches his gaze to the horn, which now lies inert, its power gifted to Xeilus-Keer.
The brute steps into the room, his troops behind him. "Simple matter to kill you and return the blessing," he tells Xeilus-Keer with a nasty grin as he raises his claws to give the order.
Xeilus-Keer staggers up and hisses, eyes narrowed. He came this far, he will not be stopped. Not when he has a river to change, his loved ones to save and he opens his mouth, fangs shimmering in the lava light. "Be lost," he says, his voice hardly sounding like his own, now, now it has a ring of power to it, of cursed words.
The brute hisses angrily but it is far too late. The earth shakes violently and lava bursts from the ground and swallows the Sul-Xan whole. The Xanmeer's walls start to crumble and buckle under the assault and Xeilus-Keer looks around wildly his eyes latch onto a passage near the back and he runs as the Xanmeer collapses behind him.
-Granite-Rock-
Xeilus-Keer returns to the village, the only stop to hide the Sul-Xan armor in the ruins. With Dawn breaking over the swamp he moves quickly and silently to stand before The Hist, the soft dawn light shining down upon it. His tribe would soon stir, those that could. The air had a heavy feeling to it, blight and death, and yet he knew his mate still lived, their brood as well, though two now was stricken. The river was running its course, the time to change the river was fast drawing to a close, and with his spine tight and his heart beating wildly he moves closer to The Hist as memories of the journey back raced through his mind. Bandits attacked him but ran when he told them to run. The snap of crocodile jaws as they ran into a pond filled with them and met their end. A half-dead tree, he spoke live and its roots rocked the ground going so much deeper to find the water it needed to survive. A single word caused destruction or creation. This...this would be creation, salvation Xeilus-Keer thinks as he slowly places his claws against the Hist and lowers his head. He will change this river, he will command it to turn, to save his family and tribe. "Cure them," Xeilus-Keer rasps, power reverberating from every word.
A long moment passes and then The Hist screams. Not in words but in shattered song. Xeilus-Keer hisses in pain and shock and as the ground starts to viciously shake he falls to his hands and knees, claws gripping the ground as The Hist's roots burst up from it all around him thrashing wildly, shimmers of sap splattered in all directions.
"Xeilus-Keer!" Xeilus-Keer's eyes move to Tree-minder Chuleeixth who's running toward the Hist a look of horror on his face. "What have you DONE?" he cries out.
Xeilus-Keer starts to answer and then snaps his jaws shut. Eyes staring up at the clan's leader. He cannot answer, but the answer is in his eyes all the same. He has changed the river, but something has gone horribly wrong.
"I thought... I thought you would turn from such a foolish desire," Tree-minder Chuleeixth hisses and moves closer to the Hist, stepping over sizzling pools of sap and writhing roots to place his claws upon the tree. Trying to calm it, trying to undo what Xeilus-Keer has done but upon touching the tree he cries out in agony and stumbles backward his eyes filled with horror before throwing his head back and screams, and the scream is not just his, but The Hist's as well, a sound filled with agony beyond measuring and currents of madness. The scream echos on and then Tree-minder reaches up to his throat and tears at it wildly, his blood splattering down as he falls dead before a horrified Xeilus-Keer.
Xeilus-Keer leaps up and turns to the Hist. Perhaps he can stop this. Perhaps if he speaks again he can undo this before it gets worse. But before he can so much as speak a single word the tribe wakes, screaming. Agony, madness, and then Jah-Lai stumbles out of their hut eyes unseeing, and heads towards the hut where their brood rests. Words forgotten he leaps over the sap desperate to reach her but a massive root bursts from the ground and slams into his head sending him crashing to the ground blood flowing down his scales. One clawed hand reaches toward his mate as she enters the hut and then there is only a terrible darkness.
Silence is what wakes Xeilus-Keer. Unnatural utter silence. The village, silent, The Marsh surrounding the village is silent of all insects, birds, and beasts, and most potent of all, The Hist silent. No longer can he hear its song and as he opens his eyes, he sees The Hist is still now, but still being...but wrong on some indescribable level. Fear, despair, and desperation propel him to his feet as he lunges for the hut where their little ones rested. Eyes blind to the splattered sap and blood on the ground, blind to everything but the hut, and when he reaches it he stills at the entrance in horror at what awaits him.
Jah-Lai is curled up around their four young ones, still in death with blood on her claws, fangs, and throat. The little ones, such injuries, such stillness as well, and he stumbles backward, wanting to scream, but not knowing what horrors would result from that. Turning from the hut he makes his way through the village, finding the same horror at every claw step. His tribe, killed by each other's claws or their own, were all dead. All gone from the now. Utter carnage, utter destruction, and as he finds himself back at The Hist and the body of Tree-minder he speaks, "Why?"
Roots burst from the ground and ensnare Chuleeixth's body and he rises once more in a sicking parody of life, his eyes the color of Hist sap and he speaks in jagged tones. "We...could not cure this. No cure exists. You...you compelled us...we could not resist...but we could not do what is impossible...the only cure...the only cure...was for them to...rejoin The Hist. The infected...and the ones who might soon be infected..." Tree-Minder Chuleeixth/Hist answers and then jerks as the roots retreat and his body falls lifeless to the ground once more.
Xeilus-Keer falls to his hands and knees shaking with sorrow and regret enough to drown him. He had done the unspeakable. He knew now why the Hist was silent to him. All The Hist would be. He had been cut off when he turned from the river, from the way of change. When he tried to force it to his will and wrought the unspeakable as a result. He had brought utter destruction to his tribe. Never again would there be a Granite-Rock Tribe. Now, only rebirth far from this cursed place would set his tribe free and so he stumbles up and moves to Tree-minder Chuleeixth, picking the body up and caring it to the Marsh, where Granite-Rock's leader will return to the Hist.
The sun has nearly set before Xeilus-Keer finishes. There is only Jah-Lai and their brood left now. And so he walks to the hut and kneels by her side. Wanted to tell her so very much, and yet nothing at all. For words would fail. He had failed. Knowing he can not speak a single word, for even her name could cause more destruction, and he could not bear the thought. And so with gentle hands he carries her and their four little ones to the Marsh and sets them in the water, watching as they sink and return to the Hist. Slowly he lifts his claws to his throat, wanting to end this shattered existence he had caused. Wanting to be with his tribe and family. But slowly he lowers his claws and bows his head. What if the curse follows him? And... death would be a mercy. To return to the Hist would be a mercy. One he did not deserve, one he would never deserve and with a look of agony on his face, he turns from the village.
One last stop, at the ruins. One by one he tosses Am-Atl's books into the Marsh. The Marsh will erase the knowledge and will stop any other fool from changing the river the way he did. No one will ever find Y'zinai again, for all knowledge lies buried once more. Once the last book has sunk into the water, he takes off his tribe's armor, save for the headdress, and dons the Sul-Xan armor once more. He has no intention of joining them, but he is a creature of destruction now of his own making. The world should know that. Should know what a dangerous and cursed creature he is and be wary. Or perhaps try to end his existence. Without a backward glance, he walks from the ruins, of his home. He will leave the marsh, and never return. Let his body fall where it may, and never be returned to The Hist.
The memories fade and Licks stands up regarding the group with unfathomable eyes. Eyes that drown in the dark, for his pride ended all he had ever loved and known. With a quick motion he turns from them and starts to walk away but a grip on his arm stops him and he turns back. Cheese's claws on his arm. Books leaps up soon after, and her claws on his other arm. No words need be spoken, for what words are there? They have shown each other their pain and despair, the loss of all they knew by their claws. And The dream of the sap bursts and they find themselves back under the mad Hist, with Stratos standing before them. He has lost his loincloth, but despite his madness, he seems to sense silence is the proper course he turns from them and opens a portal and they follow in silence. For what other path is there, but onward?