Rasad's Alibi.

Bosmer are strange. Altmer are strange. Khajiit are strange and so are Orcs and Imperials. I've met more foul mouthed Altmer in this sleepy little town than I knew in the legion. And my men were very very foul. Didn't think the Altmeri had such people. The bosmer are enamoured with their trees and grass and what not. Thats peculiar, then they drink this rotten meat juice to get hammerd. Which if you ask me is even weirder. And revulsing. Caught a Mad dunmer today. Felt good to earn some coin for minimal effort. Might join the guard if they're all that easy. Might try being a tavern wench....Bartender I mean. Although....

I slipped up, got too drunk but not drunk enough to fall asleep. Guess I'll be staring at the stars till dawn again. Aia, forgive me.

Aia, I spent the night drinking and having fun. I think I can finally start to move on. There's life here. I can feel the weight of your death and the deaths of our fellows still heavy on my shoulders. But I am finding some way to cope, some way to have peace. Aia, I remembered the night we spent staring at the stars. Drinking our rum and making terrible jokes. Tonight reminded me of that. Of what it felt like to have fun and not having a mask to hide my self behind. I wish you could see me. I met a lady who reminds me of you somewhat. She terrifies me the same way you do. I won't forget the first time I tried to flirt with you and you lit my pants on fire.

So now I'm wandering their forest. I still don't feel like I understand the trees or the bosmer. Apparently they eat people. But I think that was and exaggeration. Or at least I hope. I also hope that you can forgive me, for not joining you in the great hall. For falling short of being the Legate I should've been. One day I will return to the city, and give you a proper burial. Give you peace. I still cannot sleep, everytime I close my eyes I see you. Reaching out for help as the daedra.. I need to remember a time where you were smiling or happy. Your last moments of pain and terror are too much. Far too great the burden for my mind to bear, so I'll drink this bottle, and hope that I can forget you for only a moment. Long enough to sleep. I don't want to forget, but I have little choice. Aia forgive me.

A spider a snake bite and a hallucination. I am revealed as damaged goods to her. I find a varla stone but end up falling to pieces in the process of gifting it. I am a mess.

(( I'm including a picture version and this version incase the picture hurts eyes, Let me know what you think k thx bai.))

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Went for a walk today, slept beneath the trees near a cliff that looks out to sea. Where to begin? Aia, my love, my beautiful wife. I dare not go a day without at least trying to remember your voice. Your scent, your laugh. And it pains me to no end knowing I will never see or hear you again. Your echoes are heard through me, faint and indescribable. It racks me with pain. Guilt tears at me frome the inside, ripping my very heart asunder.

I was thrown into a cell today. A lot like when I was a raw recruit. But for being.. Incorrigable infront of a chivalrous type. Rather than knocking his teeth into his throat like I used to do. I kept restraint. I named the spider did I tell you? I named him or her, Turnip. They seem to like their name and started doing this little thing where they use my head like a drum. Its' infuriatingly cute so I can't be mad for long. Turnip seems to keep batting away if I get too angry. Poor Amaethaera probably thinks I want nothing to do with her now. She wouldn't be entirely wrong, but at the same time, I did go a bit too far.

I forget that not every woman or womer is as strong willed as you. Quin fell off the ramp to the clinic they have here. Oh thats right, the whole tavern and clinic is inside a giant tree! And you walk up this ramp to go to the second floor. It's neat but at the same time. It's not he stone walls of our home. What AM I doing? Writing you like I'm sending a letter? You're gone. And I can't let you go like this. I think I will keep writing you letters like this. Might make the loss a little easier.

Singed your dearest Love,

Rasad.

To my dearest Aia, I slept beneath the courtyard tree again. Three nights in a row now. No one seems to bother me there. Unless people are having a chat while I'm asleep. Working in a tavern is a lot like when we were young recruits. Instead of tearing the tavern apart with the company and running from the watch as fast as we could, I now find my self working the counter and threatening the rowdy ones with a good beating.

I saw one of your favorite flowers today. Made me smile as I thought fondly of you. I wish you were down here with me to see them. I remember picking you a bouquet from the Imperial garden. Then running from my life as the emperors guard chased me to the waterfront. Do you remember that day? I hid behind you as you threatened to char the lot of them with enough fire to make a dragon pale. That was a wonderful day. I'll write you another letter in a day, still awaiting your response.

Love, Rasad.

Woke with a start today. Sod it, my head was pounding. I went and bathed my nights festivities off in a lake nearby. That's the last time I keep telling my self. Just to turn around and drink my gold like water again the next day. Eh forget I said anything. I spend my time moving around but not aware, just speaking without thinking. Or rather I spend more time thinking than I do being aware. And when I am, its like the two can't agree on what to say. My tongue says "lets be just like we were before joinin the legion!" My head says my tongues an idiot.

Aia, the campaign in valenwood is going well. We have already started putting the feral daedra worshippers to the sword! what a wonderous event this is. . I think I may have been hit in one of the battles. But this wound looks far older than the date we arrived here. Funny I do not recall getting wounded on the trip south. Then again, I can't much recall the trip south either! For some reason its too bright as of late. Even the fires hurt my eyes. And my head will not stop this incessant throbbing. I have tried to consult the healers attached to the company. But they refuse to acknowledge me. It's like I am talking to rocks or trees.

For now I need to sleep, I will send this too you in the morn. Have a messenger dispatched to deliver it and the reports to you.

The previous entry here has pointed out that something must be the source of my lapses. My mind is wracked with pain trying to recall the events. Like something is trying to keep me from awareness. I need help.

Sober, that awful feeling of control. Where the things I say and do lack any life or vibrance I once had. Where my thoughts are not clouded and my awareness has dived deeper from the surface leaving me to move like a reanimated husk. Going from task to task. Saying things that I am expected to say. Where am I when I dive? Lost between thoughts of home, thoughts of today, of yesterday, of tomorrow. I am starting to fade into the ambient noise of the town. Just another day at the tavern. Just another night in the courtyard. And my sleep is staccato at best. I wake drenched in sweat and I wander the forest some more. Drinking made life so much easier. Just another bottle of rum and I'll be fast friends with everyone that walks in. I'm burying my charm beneath layers of apathy. I can see it starting to take effect.

I have marched my self in a dissedent state, I actualyl passed the Imperial city and made my way so far north I have no clue where I am. I think the border between cyrod and Skyrim. I remember snippets of the journey. I made my way past the dominion patrols, then blank. Why is there always a damned blank. How am I suppossed to function in a normal life if I keep emptying my head at every moment of discomfort. Oh look more moss... Just like that. Who is Rasad Tyr Fuersaz?


I want to be the happy, flirty man I was. Making people uncomfortable or laugh. Now, to make my way back. Only... How did I get up here in the first place? Damn cliffs.

Rasad is having a conversation with his self in the clinic. Anyone nearby would hear him as he is quite audible. Swapping tones and pitch as he speaks. A conversation between four is happening for only one.

Rasad: "How long was I gone? Why am I stuck in a bubble in the damned clinic? What has been going on?"

Violence: "Do you hear them, they are calling you to join them in their revereance. Paint them a scene so delightful that they can only ever feel it."

Apathy: "Echos of the mortiicians hands graze the fields of your corpse. Breaking our hearts are they?"

Rasad: "Collapse beneath your own laconic will."

Violence and Apathy take turns uttering each word: "To kill them. Feel the deep puncture of your wounded mind. Wander the memory chasm. Rise, Stand, Rebel. Fight against your own desire to live!"

Serenity: "How many times have we heard the voices of those who we bled? Do you see it? The end of your rope? It hides beneath the miles of road you have yet to travel."

Apathy: "Do you smell the salted earth Legate? Do you taste the lives you have confiscated? DO YOU HEAR THEIR GUILT? "


Rasad: "Fourthousand Six hundred fifty three. Fourthousand Six hundred fifty four." He continues counting upwards until he hits fivethousand. He stops, stares at his own hands and mutters to his self. "Who are you?"

Rasad is pacing in the cell hands torn broken and bloody. He has painted his face and armor with his own blood. He begins to strike a conversation this time the only voice is one of serenity.

Serenity: " Microscopic dust, the fictive and in existent is matirializing. Do you strike the walls of time hoping to change a rivers current? Feral animal that you are. You cannot comprehend the distance between yourself and the ones who walk free. Best you struggle against these chains in your home. BeholD as many eyes that look upon you with derision. You can taste them can you not? Heir to the grand schemes of the faceless liars. And in the root of it all a raven Flys just beyond your reach. Singing you deaths song, while you fight to tear free. Across the resounding bridge it follows with its song. Hollow are the voices of the schemers."

There is a large smudge of purple ink on the page. Finally a bit of shaky handwriting follows, it slowly changes to more delicate strokes over time. Sod it. Lets see... What did Aia say about telekenetics? It is more a peace of mind that allows us to use it. That the motions of our hands are unimportant. We must simply dictate to the object mentally. Instruct it what we want.

My hands are broken. So I will use new ones. Made from the basics of my intellect. Corrupt vile seething monster that you are herald of salted earth and broken cries..... I am still plauged by the voices. But they are lesser than before. I am in more control than before. So long as I remain intoxicated.... Speaking of intoxication. Was I hallucinating or did Ali state that he is in love with me? I can pursue that line of questioning later.

On a side note, I can feel something I hadn't before. Like a low hum in my back. A facinating feeling. A result of the tampering? Or the Fix? I'll ask Beth later. Sleep is not something I can pursue currently. Sleeping I might vanish again. I think. I think I will go for a walk.

The hand writing is now as clean and crisp as before.

Truth is a shattered sun blinding the sense of those who claim to gaze on the right fragments. In this perspective I prefer daedra to mortals. Kill them all, all the daedra, all of the corrupted legion, all the traitors. Stop. Think Rasad. What came over you? You act on an instinct to turn on any who may have tried to help you? You fight with your self to maintain a distance of sanity? Is it your pride that is wounded?

Can you not stand being at the mercy of others? Are you acting against others to prove that you don't need their pity? Go, march against the city of daedra. March against the prince of domination. March against the lord of schemes. Toss all their effort to keep you alive in a suicidal venture to prove WHAT? You will gaze on the soulburst and the anchors tearing at your beloved city and just fall to shambles.

Aia is alive, and as impertinent as ever. Herald of salted earth... God's the words still spin. How is she alive? I saw her get torn asunder. Did you really? Did I really? It will be nice to have someone to keep me stable. The guilt I felt is less. It's still their but I feel less of it. The echoes will be felt soon.

I am not a puppet. The faceless schemers show their bloody hands to be pulling, tugging, on the silver strings of hope. My hope. The hope my wife did not die. But now. I'm not sure where I lie on this scale anylonger. Am I relieved that Aia is truly dead? Am I sad that she could be a tool to manipulate me with? Am I happy that there are so many who care for me? Am I angry at them for trying to give me a chance at life instead of letting me find the path alone? The path feels still hidden from me. Distracted and adrift I can no longer admit I am awake. The damage I inflict in my wake is evident, those echos are preturnaturally showing themselves. Ali, Amae, to you two I deeply apologize. I am not the man I want to be.

Kid, Keys. I won't pretend I am not a completely sane or rational person. I'm getting there, slowly.

Dammit Rasad, you can write these things in your own journal as much as you like but until you show these people what you are trying to do it's nothing more than self pity. Actions make words seem hollow. Show them. Go now.

Stupid hole in my leg...

This journey may have been a mistake, the limp has gotten worse and I have had to rely on the cane more than I would like to admit. At least I've been treated as just a wounded traveler by this caravan. As long as they are on their way to the Alik'r I could care less what they think. Half way there and we might have some form of answers. Or I might die and be dessicated in the desert who knows. I gave plenty of time for that notice to take effect but no one came. I knew they wouldn't. Then why do I feel agitated by it all the same? Nevermind. I need to rest for the rest of this journey is sure to become more and more harrowing as we march.

Water is empty. I hope that I can find something to drink soon. Why did I leave with bottles of rum instead of waterskins... I am not a smart man.

So these are the people of yokuda. Of the Alik'r? They look on me with distaste and a contempt that is bittering the air. I should be thankful to these savages. They saved me from dehydration. They say there is someone here who will recognize me. When I meet them, what will they say? Will they have saved me only to murder me in some bizzare ritual? Probably. Ah...Well its been a good run.

I woke in the desert again. Most of my clothes replaced with robes. Wandering the sands witha cane. I must be a sight. Upon returning to the tribe of dwellers I met I was greeted with a sword and told to be allowed to return to the dwelling I must best the man in combat. I did not succeed. But they admitted me anyhow. They said the test was not to actually win but to fight with all I could. To see what my roots are. We are now practicing sword techniques daily, and I at night I am tasked with hunting the deserts night predators. My hands have begun to loosen more and more and have become more useable than what they once were. I am begining to like the desert heat. And the frosty nights. But, I cannot remain for much longer. The sword instructor Amad, says that it is important that I take these skills back with me. Maybe I will. I still have no idea what I came here for. But I am finding a sort of peace in my venture. And with it stability.

There is a vast emptyness I feel calling out to me. The void of my hearth. The hate and rage fell well away and now I feel nothing. I wandered through sentinel hoping to find a spark. Something to bring me happiness. Instead I was met with the overwhelming urge to seek silence. To sit in total darkness and listen to my blood and magicka pulse through my veins and body. To try and quiet them so much so that I can hear true silence. And so I did. Locked away in a cave black as pitch. I sat still and slowed my pulse to but a whisper of what it was. The magicka emptied from my body to listen to nothing.

I tried to quiet my thoughts and found imagining nothing is harder than imagining something. I attempted to dull all sense to finally float free in nothingness. I could not fight the brief chill that was within that vacant dark space.

In pursuit of the void will I see more than any can claim.

I spoke to my brothers today of my pursuit. They asked what I was searching for when I arrived. I explained that I was not sure of what I came to them for in the first place. When I told them I sought nothing. They did not understand. I thought I had made a final reprieve when finding them. Now I am filled with a new goal. A new purpose. To experience nothing. To spread this feeling as far as I can, so others may understand it's peace. It's allure and knowledge. I make for Vulkwasten tonight. I must return with my reborn self. Good bye sands of warmth. I must trade you for the rains and humidity, for a time at least.

My blade is chipped. Cry, I'm crying. Am I laughing? I cannot tell. I am happy and filled with a obscure saddness all the same. Cut down three more. Six more. Twelve. They interrupt my silence. My pursuit.

The kid. She will learn well. She will be taught. Shown. Given the gift of nothing. First teach of the blade and how its curved surface allows more cutting edge to be exposed to flesh. Demonstrate why curved is greater than straight for slashing. Carving. Instruct didact. Advise. Guide. Enlighten. Then Show her how in silence we can hear the call. Grant the peace of void. Utter silence. More disrupters coming. Echoing over the sound of this quill scratching the parchment. Stillness shall absolve them of their sin.

I almost hear it, I almost feel it. Total nothingness.

I found the void. Within it a sad story. A voice, a name. Many names, many voices, many stories. One which stands out. And clutches my chest in a crushing grasp filled with ice and fury. Electricity tears at my flesh. A locket of silver. My mind cast adrift in this void I view memories, visions of a killer, and a thief. They play in the fields of the never ending summer. Cut deep into them are arrows, axes, and fire. Two deaths, and then iron. A look of dissapointment. A rising feeling of resentment.

They clash, fire and lightning, meeting head to head, then intertwined, seperation the grip grows tighter. And a final clash where they meet and lighting fades. Surrendered to the ember. I learn what the void teaches. Curious that nothing contains a total sum of all things. More stories follow. Each different. One of a victim distracted by a flute. Then a knife drawn, a smile made, a mer dead. Panic and fleeing patronage, the flute and knife simply wander away.

I see my own self standing blade drawn, staring at me. Behind my blade self is the target, and a rising bloodlust in my chest, salavating to watch my blade self struggle. And then I am gone. Sleeping deeply against the wall. The ward, dust. And the knife is whistling a tune.

What a catchy tune.

Fire walks softly as lightning is fading. A moment of familiarity and complication. Systemic pain and violent disease is the lightnings finality. My wounds are grave. But I see them clearer. Thats the last time I meditate near a dreughs nest.

The decay is accelerating. Vapid words call me. Haunt the wilds are the echos. Echos rise, and fall. Do you hear them? Do you hear me Rasad?