Root Meditation with Topal The Pilot

It was during the early days of Tamriel that the vessel of the ancient mer known as Topal traveled up the clogged rivers of the nasty marsh waters and entered the land of mud gagging and sneezing. Topal himself seemed not the most perturbed, and stepped off his ship without thought and was delighted to see the lizard-men of the jungled east standing there with an ancient tree. Hist acknowledge his curious state and greet.

GREETINGS.

Streams of streams of picture-thought-mathematics-songs puncture the explorer’s mind and he nearly falls to the ground with confusion. However, Topal regains his balance and stands back up grinning.

“Ah, who would have ever thought these primitives spoke in the mind? Delightful.”

GREET?

“Oh, my bad. Thank you for reminding me of my manners. Greetings lizard-men of the marsh. I am the Mer known as Topal.”

NO.

“No? But there is no one else here but–”

HIST HERE.

Topal stands there, a perplexed expression written across his face, as he scans the location and doesn’t see anyone else. Slowly, his gaze lands on the giant and ancient looking tree, whose massive root system coils around the ground.

“Wait, the tree…?”

YES. REPEAT, GREET?

“The fault is all mine. Greetings to the Hist, I am Topal of the Mer. But during my other excursions into the heart of this land the creature men named me Torval, whose meaning I have never learned. Perhaps Topal was to hard to pronounce. A pleasure to stand under your canopy.”

ANSWERS?

“That is what I originally came in search for. But now I have more questions. How can a tree speak? Is this magic left over from the Dawn? And why is there lizard-men guarding you? How–”

…SIGH.

“Oh no, am I rambling again? I really need to stop doing that don’t I?”

The massive root system uncoils itself and stretches outwards towards Topal, who smiles interestedly and begins to sketch a replica of it in the sketchbook he always carried at his side.

“Oh my, how interesting! The structure of these roots are far different than the structure of the roots of the trees from my own land.”

DEBATABLE.

“What do you mean that you are both un-comparable? Your both trees, are you not? I mean, besides the fact that you can talk and they can’t. Are they any more of your species around that I can examine? Perhaps a sample? Maybe I can take you back with me?”

The Hist shakes its massive root system almost ruefully, and recoils back into itself as Topal finishes his sketch.

SORRY, NO.

“Ah, I see. Maybe it was a bit to soon to ask for members of your species to travel with me? Can you even move? No, of course not. You have roots, so you can’t possibly move.”

HAPPENS.

Topal frowns slightly, his mind growing accustomed to the Hist-speak that has been entering his mind.

“All things are possible? Wait, are you saying that you can move. Or are you just teasing me? Your bizarre talk is very cryptic, you know.”

HERE?

“My travels have led to many beautiful places. I have visited glaciers of sand and swam across lakes of winds. And now I have landed in your realm, dear Hist. But there is one place that I have fell in love with the most.”

CYROD.

“Hm? I do not know that word. Is that what you call that place? I remember seeing many of your lizard-people guardians living there. But yes, in that place lies what I have named ‘The Eight Islands’. I would like to acquire them for my people.”

OURS, NOT.

“I have already asked the other beastfolk and they have agreed to my request. All except you. If you would mind, I would to ask for your permission before acquiring the land.”

WHY?

“To be quite honest…I do not know. This is something about the Eight Islands that draws me in. Could it be magical? Or maybe it is mundane and my mind wants it to be magical. Nevertheless, I strongly believe that my acquiring of that land will benefit my people for the good.”

During this entire conversation Topal has been drawing the marshlands in beautiful detail, and the Hist lifts the sketchbook out of his hands with their massive root system.

HM…

“You can see that? Well, I already assumed that you could see but how do you see? You don’t have any eyes that I can see myself.”

WE SEE.

“That’s the clearest answer I’m going to get, isn’t it? Very well. So, do you agree to our request? In exchange, we’ll teach your more primitive helpers the ways of our people. It’ll make further communications more easier I’m sure.”

NOT NECESSARY.

Topal tilted his head to the side and retrieves his sketchbook, placing it back at his side.

“They already know…? Well, Hist, it seems that you are more than meets the eye. But I must give you something in return. It wouldn’t feel right to accept something without giving in return.”

HM.

The massive root system of the Hist uncoils a root around Topal’s shoulder and the explorer looks at the tree in wonder before closing his eyes in peace.

POLITE. GIVEN.

Torval opens his eyes and looks at the Hist, not changed but different. There seems to be a new sense of understanding within him, but also a heavier burden of a troubled heart.

“Thank you, Hist. For telling me my name.”

And then the explorer left the nasty marshlands, traveling back to his ship with a greater sense of pride and sorrow, and sailed away from the southern east and back to his home. For Torval now knew exactly why he wanted the Eight Islands, but that didn’t make him comprehend it.