Root Meditation with Cyrus the Restless

The Carrick left the sun-drenched harbors of Sentinel that afternoon and sailed into the Eltheric Ocean, refitted and well rested. The winds were particularly strong that month and within a week they were able to reach the shores of Valenwood. Soon, however, the calm winds gave way to sour weather. Storm after storm tested both the Carrick and her crew as they slowed down to a crawl, covering less distance than a strong Nord could swim in a day at times.

“At this rate Captain we’ll never make it to our destination. We’re running low on both food and drink, water included. Let us turn back around and return to the land of the Bosmer, where we can wait rekindle are stocks and wait for the storm seasons to pass. The Eye hasn’t been found for this long I doubt someone will grab it in that time.”

“No, we’ll continue on. The Land of Mud isn’t that far away in distance. We can make it there with the rest of the stores we have left.”

Despite the land not being far it took nearly ten times as long to reach the shores of Black Marsh as it should have and their challenges did not end when they landed. The thick mud that practically made up the shoreline grounded the Carrick several yards from dry land and so Cyrus and the rest of his crew had to swim their way onto land. The mud hampered their progress and the thick jungle held many surprises. It was during the struggle inland, right after fighting off a group of hackwings, that they came across a clearing. This clearing looked identical to dozens of others that they had come across. The ground was soft and mossy in most spots with some large rocks protruding out in haphazard angles. The marbled rocks looked like they had once been part of a building that even time had forgotten. There were roots waiting to trip an adventurer not watching their step, there were pools of swamp muck that oozed gases of various colors, thicknesses and stenches. The edge of visible area was constantly alive with the rustling of small animals hunting, running, mating and fighting. A faint buzz was present but not enough to hear it unless one truly wanted too. The clearing was exactly like all the others and yet Cyrus stopped in his tracks upon entering. The other sailors felt it too. An emotion attacked the mind. It slammed itself against the walls of the mortal will to remain and found points of weakness.

It was calm, almost peaceful in nature. But it was also intrusive. Cyrus remained wary, blade drawn and yet the muscles in his arms visibly relaxed, the sword nothing more than a bluff. It was at this point that he heard the voice in his head. But it wasn’t exactly a voice, more a sound, but one with meaning. A splash of colors and images that conveyed more meaning than all of the words in every language Cyrus had ever heard and yet the message was simple. It was a thousand words spoken by a hundred voices and yet was singular, united and concise.

The tree acknowledge the peculiar nature of Cyrus the Restless and greets.

GREETINGS.

Streams of picture-thought-mathematics-songs punctured through the Redguard’s mind but Cyrus had been ready for the Hist. Or at least as ready as any mortal could ever be. The cat had warned him of the dangers of Black Marsh and told him stories about the near-mythical trees.

“Stories. That’s all they were. Bedtime stories for little boys to play out with toy swords the next day.”

STORIES? REPEAT. GREET?

“Wow. You’re in deeper than I thought. I have heard stories of you Hist, you talking trees. Luckily for me you are only a bunch of trees, unable to move or fight.”

DEBATABLE. REPEAT. GREET?

“Who would’ve ever known that a tree would have such good manners? The name’s Cyrus, Captain of the Carrick. Though I’m sure you probably already knew that.”

YES.

Cyrus lowered his sword to his side and turned to signal his crewmen so they could as well, but they all stood perfectly still, unable to see the Captain and seemingly lost in thought.

“I won’t pretend to have any idea about what you want or even what you are, but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a bit curious. Why did you ask me who I was if you already knew?”

POLITE. PATIENCE, BEST.

“So I’ve heard. Hasn’t done me much good though. Me, I’m more of a get things done and get them done right kind of guy.”

SIGH.

Cyrus wondered if the tree knew about his true reason for coming here, and this made him wary. The Hist would not be too keen for him to take the Eye as he had assumed. He hoped that his crew – in whatever train of thought they were in– figured that out as well.

“So to what do I owe the pleasure of having my mind invaded by yours today, Hist? Just wanted to come by and say hello?”

TEACH, YOU.

“Oh, how wonderful. A bunch of talking trees have taken a liking to me. I wonder what good…”

Cyrus trailed off mid-sentence as his mind was assaulted with more songs-images-thoughts-equations, but this time much more aggressively. He saw catastrophe and destruction and the power inherent in both. He saw the fabric of reality ripple and bend by his hand. He saw blood and the birth it brings. He saw the gods and laughed. He opened his eyes to see apart of the Hist’s massive root system extended in front of him.

“What is this?”

WATCH.

The root began moving in a pattern as though it were conducting a band. Cyrus followed it, not recognizing what was happening. The root began swiping as though it were attacking a bug or creature Cyrus couldn’t see. He raised his sword back up and was flooded with the feeling that the Hist approved. He slowly began to mirror the roots movements. After a few minutes he had the motions mirrored perfectly, even though he couldn’t place them with any other techniques he had learned before. This one seemed…new, but ancient in every kind of way.

“Why do you want me to know this? What is it? Just a sword technique?”

GROW. HOONDING.

“I should have known that was what this was all about. Look I don’t know where you’re getting your information but I am not the HoonDing. I never was.”

DEBATABLE.

“No, it isn’t. I can’t be something I’ve never been and I’m getting tired of people saying that I am.”

AFRAID, WHY?

“Afraid? Afraid of what? I will say this once and only one more time, Hist: I was never and never will be the HoonDing. It’s a farce. A title. Names are not weapons and can not accomplish anything. I’ve done what I’ve done because of me and my actions, not a mythical title.”

NAMES. POWER.

“I’m glad you think so. But I don’t.”

WAIT. GROW. WALK.

“I will certainly do that. Thank you for the lesson.”

With that Cyrus turned to his sailors and signaled for them to follow him. He left the clearing with purpose burning in his eyes. The sailors from the Carrick followed behind, hardly able to keep up as their Captain made way through the jungle.