Root Meditation with Tiber Septim

The Red King walked silently through the dense bog and nasty marsh waters through a contingent of soldiers of the finest lizard-men stock, narrowly avoiding the giant roots of the great tree in the middle of the skull-stone-grove. Hist acknowledge his peaceful state despite obvious war pains and greet.

GREETINGS.

Tiber Septim flinches as massive streams of picture-thought-mathematics-songs puncture his psych but he does not tumble backwards or sideways. He tilts his head upwards at the hidden canopy of sunlight above the tree’s head and smiles calmly as if addressing an old friend.

“Ah, I see that I am being played for a fool. Why do you hide, Ruler of Black Marsh? I thought you wanted this unnecessary shedding of blood between our armies to end. Unless you have changed your mind, however. The men in my legion I daresay are still thirsty to spill more of your kind’s blood and I have not the time to wait.”

GREET?

“I’m sorry, but I must tell you that this is your last warning. Please show yourself or I may be forced to—”

REPEAT. GREET?

Tiber Septim grows not only frustrated by the un-appearance of an Argonian diplomat but by also the constant flinching brought on by constant exposure to Hist-speak.

“FAAS YOL BAH!” Septim yelled in more than mortal voice but in language powered by spirit, but Hist casually sweep massive part of root system and knock Red King down to the soggy marsh grounds and his Voice only burns the air.

NO.

“What in the blazes?”

TIBER. GREET?

“AH! So it is the trees that I have been hearing but not hearing all this time. I am Ysmir, Dragon of the North, whose Voice itself brings forth the seasons and waters the rain.”

HIST.

The Red King does more than flinch this time as the Hist-speak reverberates throughout not only his soul but also his own voice and he repeats.

“Hist? What is a Hist?”

KNOWS.

“I most certainly do not know what a Hist is, but I shall play along further with you tree. Do you know why I come?”

DO YOU?

“Of course I know why I have come. If I did not, would I be here?”

DEBATABLE.

Tiber Septim becomes once again frustrated by the confusion of Hist-speak and pulls out his sword and inhales deeply to strengthen his breath.

“You listen here Hist! I came here seeking an audience with you and all you have said is things that I do not have the answer to, and at the least barely understand! Now speak words that are intelligible to the races of Men or I will have my legions tear down this land of mud!”

Tiber begins to draw in more breathe when he suddenly hears the sound of thunder rumbling through the marsh. He exhales and looks up into the sky, but only sees small patches of sunlight and any rain. The Red King turns back to face the Hist, and suddenly realizes that the sound is emitting from their roots. The tree was laughing.

FIGHTING CAN END.

“But sometimes it doesn’t, and war continues like a dream.”

ENOUGH, TRUE.

“The Red Legions grow weaker and smaller everyday, and our resources grow thin against your subjects, your people. If we are to defeat the other provinces, we must come to an agreement.”

NOT AGREEMENT.

“I am in complete agreement with myself.”

THREE IS ONE.

“Myself is three? I do not understand—”

ONE IN THREE.

“What and where are the missing two, then?”

And then the Hist wrapped the Red King in their massive root systems and lifted him up into the sky and drew him so close to gaze at the stars that the stars gazed back at him. From within the sky the Serpent slithered past and revealed the Traitor, the Tyrant, and the Taker and Tiber and the Hist looked at them together.

ME IS I.

“But why is…”

THEY ARE YOU.

“I am one is three is me is I.”

YOU ARE THEM.

“And I remember you.”

The Hist lowered Tiber back down to the ground, uncoiling massive root systems from his person and settling him into the soggy wet marsh soil.

OVER.

“Yes, I believe our war is over.”

RECALL?

“My troops will leave. And I suggest you do the same.”

GO… TALOS.

But Tiber Septim had already left, and the comment landed on deaf ears and was carried swiftly away from the skull-stone grove and into the air, where it became whispers for all but none to hear.

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