The Aftermath, Entry #10

28th Morning Star, 4E 199

Drusus Varo, Overseer of the Ascadian Isles Expedition

Cogan, he died. He died. He wasn’t supposed to touch it. How could I agree to this horror how could I lead a man to his death this fucking search needs to end right now

29th Morning Star, 4E 199

Drusus Varo, Overseer of the Ascadian Isles Expedition

We buried Cogan yesterday. Uttered a few parting words and resumed the day-to-day as if nothing happened. I forget that most of the crew is familiar with death. Sometimes even forget that I am. Well, as familiar as a scout can get.

But that blade. When a few others pointed it out, I could hear the faint voice too. As if a ball of light is trapped inside the glassy metal, begging us to release it. I can’t make out any words but my phantom hand twinges at the sound. When Cirelmo offered to transfer the blade to another tent, I was quick to oblige.

I wish I could leave it at that and go back to bed. But I can’t. No, that’s only the beginning.

I hadn’t even wanted to write today. I drank a great deal and slept. Another dream. But this time I don’t know what I was. I had charcoal-colored skin, darker than most Dunmer, but violet scales covered my chest and back. And I had strange appendages: bird-like feet, scaly wings with human hands and the tip. My entire body ached and I staggered through the darkness with a piece of paper grasped in my hands.

I reached water, which I disregarded and continued limping straight until I was completely submerged. Then I set the paper down. I fell into the darkness. The aching grew until it wasn’t pain anymore. Just utter nothingness as I dissolved into a sea of black ink.

I sat up in bed. My shirt was drenched with cold sweat and my phantom fingers were pulsing. The whole camp was asleep, except for Mehra, who had just come inside. She asked me if something was going on. Then I proceeded to spill out everything on my mind. The recurrences, the people in the dreams, the lingering feelings of sorrow and anger.

The silence that followed stung with regret and embarrassment. The fog of the nightmare was lifting and I was sure I came off as a loon insane. But then Mehra said, “Tell me the details.” And I could tell from her voice that she wasn’t just humoring a madman.

We settled in a dark space outside the tent and I recited a litany of every detail I could remember about the dreams (most of which would have vanished by now, if not for this journal). Mehra did not know what to make of the dreams. Until I described that stone gate from when I was a Dreugh. She became adamant that the one I saw in the boat was her mother. Mehra Milo, she said. Same name and same appearance. As it turns out, her mother used to write to her about Holamayan Monastery, a secret place cut into the rock of an island off the Azura’s Coast region of Vvardenfell. Holamayan served as refuge to dissident priests of Azura, and its gate would only open at dawn and dusk. For secrecy’s sake, the island was only reachable by a small “fishing” boat from the Imperial settlement of Ebonheart. True or not, I wasn't even alive before Vvardenfell was destroyed. That alone says something peculiar.

Then Mehra stopped mid-sentence as if to avoid jumping to a conclusion. Instead, she asked me what happened in my third dream. “You said you had five dreams so far,” she said. “You told me about the first two and the latest two only.” I just sat there dumbly, chewing on the realization. Just how did I forget that?

So I told her I would be back shortly. That I would try to conjure up the memory. So here I am. What was the third dream? Who I think Something like what I’m doing right now. Paper and pen. I was writing. I was writing a note. I was frantic like I am right now. What did I write? They are taking me away, that’s what I wrote. Intervention scrolls. Metal clanking, footsteps coming to take me away. Amaya, that’s what I wrote. Amaya. I’m going to tell her now.

29th Morning Star, 4E 199

Drusus Varo, Overseer of the Ascadian Isles Expedition

A wedding? I just don’t understand. “You told me about your anger towards them,” she said, and showed me this. Amaya, the name was written. Lideg. Someone killing the Daedra messengers. I just don’t understand. Mehra doesn’t either. But these aren’t the Synod. No, this is something else. Divines, please let me trust the dark elf when I obviously can’t trust anyone else.

But that blade. That blade is gone. Gone!

It will be clear eventually. We will all be okay. Eventually.

Previous entry: http://www.reddit.com/r/teslore/comments/2ddu5x/the_aftermath_entry_9/

First entry: http://www.reddit.com/r/teslore/comments/2cx8v6/the_aftermath_entry_1/

If you are reading this on mobile, please note that some crossed-out text might appear normal, possibly messing up the tone and syntax. I hope you will bear with my terrible formatting skills. Thank you for reading!

Sorry for the short delay, I was moving to another country so very busy as you can imagine!