Things Herma-Mora saw #1: The Glen of Umbriel

In endless seas of writhing limbs/ Of claws that gnash in ways so grim/ Amidst the fearsome beaks of hate/ The all-seeing Eye observes a fate

"Alright. We've reached the damned thing. Are you satisfied? Can we go home?"

Mere-Glim was feeling agitated. He had always disliked adventure. It had very nearly gotten him killed on numerous occasions, and it had actually gotten him killed once, not long before this conversation took place.

Fhena pouted, her face contorting into something between a sigh and a grimace. "If you'll recall, darling, it was actually your idea to investigate this thing. Remember? When we first arrived in this realm - or whatever it is?" Her crossed arms and defiant stance were things that Glim was beginning to become all-too-familiar with, and he sighed.

"Darling, if I ever said such a thing, it was probably because I was relieved to have survived our - er - arrival in this world. In times of distress I am prone to bouts of enthusiasm that are most unlike me, as you know. There have been a few weeks between that uncharacteristic outburst and this moment, and the fact that this forest has tried to kill us more than once coupled with the overall lack of alcohol has left me wondering how you talked me into this in the first place. Have I told you yet that you remind me of Annaig? Because you do."

Fhena giggled. "I believe that's the sixth time today you've told me I remind you of your childhood friend, love. I'm pretty sure you've done several things with me you never attempted with her, so I won't take it too hard."

Glim's face almost seemed to blush at that, if such a thing were possible for an Argonian. "I...er...well, fine. I'll step inside this Tower...or whatever this thing is. I'm only going to explore the first floor, though, and then we're going home. I've left Wert in charge of the colony too often as it is, and that never seems to go terribly well."

Mere-Glim had been born in the port city of Lilmoth, in the land of Argonia. When he entered into his eternal contract, he was between a decade and a half and two decades old. In that short time period, he'd led a rebellion against cruel labor bosses, helped bring down a flying city from Oblivion, and died only to be reborn again through the power of strange trees so similar and yet so different from his native Hist. In all of these strange adventures, he had never met anyone quite like the Y'ffre.

As soon as Glim entered the Tower, the door closed behind him, and whereas he expected to be in a long hallway or corridor, he was in a rather cozy little room resembling the office of a clerk. At first he didn't notice the little being standing off in the shadows, just out of the range of the magical fireplace, which flickered with shimmering blue magicka but gave off no apparent heat and consumed no apparent kindling.

"Ah, you've arrived. Please, have a seat." There was a sound, like fingers snapping, and Glim fell back into a comfortable leather chair of a very modern make - the first apparently man made object he'd encountered yet in this endless jungle world.

"Who are you? Step out of the shadows and let me see your face." Glim demanded, rather perplexed.

The being tittered "'Let me see your face.', it says. I was certain that was my next line... or was it something like 'You'll have to be registered before you're officially released.'? I never can keep my dialogue straight. Oh, wait, you wanted something? Fine. Very well. Here I am."

A rather pleasant looking little being stepped into the light, falling comfortably into a larger chair than the one Glim occupied. The Argonian blinked, certain that there had been no such piece of furniture there before. "Are you... is this Oblivion?"

"Ahem. How rude. I'll ask the questions here, young man. Woman? Lizard thing?!? I am the Y'ffre. You can call me the Y'ffre." The little being had the shape of a man, and wore a garish suit Glim would describe as a party tuxedo. Its skin seemed to be made of tree bark, and its eyes were the colors of emeralds. It wore moss as hair, and had small twigs growing off its wrists and neck. It leaned forward, putting its elbows on a desk (yet another randomly conjured item, Glim mentally noted) and grinned at Glim. "Heard of me? I'm famous you know."

Glim blinked slowly, more confused than angry at this point. "I have absolutely no clue who you're supposed to be. You're the first person I've met on this world since I arrived who didn't arrive with me. In fact I - " The little being - Y'ffre - shushed Glim by placing a wooded finger over the front opening of his reptilian mouth. "I'm sure that's all very fascinating, young lizard person, but I'm on a tight schedule here. By my estimation I have only one eternity to complete this Wyrd Tree project. 'Can't build a Nirn without Wyrd', I always say. I'm sure they say that where you're from too, my reptilian friend. And that place is?"

Glim's mouth gaped open, and he silently contemplated if this little woodland man wasn't some aspect of the madgod Sheogorath, a deity he had heard of, but he shrugged it off and answered as patiently as he could. "Originally, Lilmoth. Most recently, Umbriel. You probably saw the large landmass descend north of here recently? Or do you not get out much?"

"Out, in, all around. We are the Y'ffre. We are everywhere, as I'm sure you know." The being cheerfully quipped. "No, I don't know. I really have no idea." Glim retorted, losing his patience a bit now. "No matter. This isn't about what you know. It's about how you can make yourself useful to this project. 'Can't build a Nirn without Wyrd', you know. That's what I always say. Did I mention that yet? Anyway, you're a lizard man." "Argonian" Glim interrupted. "Right, Argonian, from Umbriel, but Lilmoth before. That's fascinating. Simply captivating. I've been waiting for you for a very long time, Galen!"

"My name is NOT Galen" Glim practically shouted. "I haven't even told you my name. My name is Glim... now if -" "Galen it is then. See, you're an Argonian. Those don't exist! You're from Umbriel, which also doesn't exist. That means you're my favorite kind of thing. A thing that doesn't exist from a place that doesn't exist. If I wanna make a Wyrd that's just what I need. You're absolutely perfect, my friend. You'll go far in this business. Far indeed."

Glim finally stood up and angrily headed toward the door, which he burst through only to find himself back in an exact copy of the room he had been in. "Hello again, Galen." Y'ffre said cheerfully, sitting comfortably in front of him. "Have you reconsidered my offer? I see a lot of potential in you. I've helped make a lot of Nirns, and this one seems nice enough, but it surely needs a Wyrd or Eight to sustain it. Mythical Towers aren't enough you know, when the Thalmor get involved." "The what now?" Glim cocked his head. "Oh, those guys are naaasty, my friend. Always trying to mess up my Wyrd, but we'll stomp 'em good this time won't we?" The little wooden man tittered again, and Glim was feeling truly fed up at this point.

"Can I please just at least see my Fhena again, if you intend to hold me as some form of prisoner?" "Oh, you mean Valen? I sent her South already. She had a captivating personality. That's the way I usually make the Wyrd you know. Galen's Wood and Valen's Wood. Been doing it for a really long time now, and it usually works out best that way. I think."

Glim was frantic now. "What do you mean you sent my Fhena south? Have you harmed her? How could you be in two places at once?" Y'ffre rolled his eyes and shook his head. "We've been over this already. I'm a lot of places all the time, except now. I'm the last of me, and I'm about to die, so I need you to be my Wyrd. Now tell me, Argonian, where did you really come from?" His eyes twinkled in a bizarre fashion, and Glim swore he saw all the stars in the night sky within them, then Y'ffre spoke again before he had the chance. "A Tree made you. Fascinating. I'm about to make you into a Tree. It's a great honor for you, you know. It's your destiny. Why else would you fall into this world and find me here in this holiest of places, where the world was planned?"

Glim finally began to understand. "This was meant to happen all along, wasn't it? When Lord Umbriel died, and the Hist-cousins in the Fringe Gyre reached out for a world to land us on, it was you calling out wasn't it?" Y'ffre shrugged. "A star always falls there, in the Glen of Umbriel. It's happened thousands upon thousands of times in the past. I expect it always will. 'Can't have a Wyrd Tree without a Glen of Umbriel', I always say."

Glim closed his eyes. "When do I begin? And will I ever see my Fhena again? I waited so long for someone like her to come into my life, you see, and it seems a cruel joke to lose her now. If you could make me this one promise, I will agree to serve you."

He was met with only silence. He opened his eyes and found himself alone in the room, which now appeared ancient and abandoned. The fireplace was cold and dark. Cobwebs and dust covered the entire room. He cautiously walked over to the door and opened it. When his eyes adjusted to the light he could see that he was no longer on the island with the Tower, but back near the place Umbriel landed. The ancient, endless jungle had been completely replaced by verdant green hills and temperate forests. It was clear that a tremendous amount of time had passed - possibly many centuries - since he entered the Tower.

He sank to his knees and began to weep, certain now that he would never see Fhena again. Not even the Umbrielic Hist remained to comfort him, having seemingly died out or moved on. As he wept, the tears began running out as sap, and his body began to shrink and grow rigid. As his body began to take on the form of a sapling, his perception of reality changed. Time and space no longer had meaning. There was only the Wyrd. The Wyrd sustained all things. Its intricate network of strings and knots held the Universe together. A faint chorus began to grow in the mind of the great Tree who was Glim, and it knew that it was Galen, and its roots touched the ancient, rotten remains of the Hist-cousins and absorbed them. Untold centuries unfurled outside the Tree's perception, and at long last the Wyrd Women came. Of Elven-kind they were, and they knelt in a circle around the Great Tree, singing its praises to the Earthbones.

From that point on, there were always Wyrd Women tending to the tree. Their numbers were many but the strongest always numbered Eight, as it always has and always shall in all the worlds. "Can't have a Wyrd without Eight", Galen thought to itself. "That's what we always conceive." From the dark fens and swamps surrounding the holy Glen of Umbriel, the Hags always plot. Their numbers are many but the strongest always number Sixteen. "It's just always been this way, and always will." Galen thought to itself.

The Druids of Galen became the Bretons became the New Men, and when the Newest Man visited the Glen even He knelt and wept at Galen's beauty, and the Newest Man who was the Red King arranged to speak to the Tree, and the Tree shared such secrets with the Red King - who was Three and One - that it only ever shared with its Eight, but it trusted the Red King and the Eight became Nine. The Red King asked Galen "O mighty Wyrd Tree, dost thou know sadness?" And the Wyrd Tree thought carefully, and spoke. "You are a mighty New Man, o Red King, and your spirit is as strong as that of a woman, so I share this with you. I am older than Men, or Elves. I am older than Music. I can grow any flower or fruit I desire, except for one. I haven't touched it in so long, I've nearly forgotten it, but I hold onto Hope. This Flower I call Love. I cannot touch it with my mind. When I try, I see only the face of a beautiful young woman. I want to be there, in that face, and sprout that flower. Promise me, Red King, that if you ever find Love, bring her back to me."

The Red King promised, and departed to play out his role in the Wyrd, as all mortals do, and Galen the Great Tree waited for many more lifetimes of mortals, and perhaps someday the Amaranth flower began to grow on its branches, and perhaps someday it beheld the full form of Love again - which it barely remembered from a past life - but whether or not this came to pass is a story for another day. Seek out the Black Book buried far beneath the Ancient Ritual Site in Glenumbra - unless someone else has gotten there first. Persistence will pay off. You will know the secrets of the Wyrd and its hidden flower. At a price, of course.