Crickets chirping and there is a smell, what is that, it smells horrible. Death, yes it has to be death, only death could smell that bad.
On weak arms the Dunmer slowly raises himself and looks around, he is where? With an easy caution his carefully pulls his knees up under him. He’s wet, why is he wet? Nothing's making sense, his head feels like a herd of guar are stampeding through it. Now on with his hands and knees beneath him, he pushes himself up to settle into a kneeling position. His steely gray eyes look around, everything is blurry, lots of green and gray smears.
The pain hits him like a greatsword in his guts and he doubles over, bile erupting from his mouth. Is that blood? A trembling hand moves to wipe at his mouth and as it comes away he sees the crimson streaks throughout the retch that now runs from his chin. His eyes slip closed and he heaves in a few raspy breaths. With trembling arms he pushes himself up to again be sitting on his knees. Leaning back just slightly he let’s his head fall allowing the soft rain to patter down on his pallid face.
Everything in him burns and screams with pain, why? What has happen to him, his mind seems to be locked away from him. Wait a minute who is he?
Kneeling there in the mud and muck he feels lost in every way. He tries to recall anything, any little memory or thought of what has happened to him. But there is nothing, just a blackness that even now edges closer to his sanity, like a lion stalking its prey.
It strikes again with no warning the pain ripping at his middle, he falls forward once more and this time he swears on anything and everything there is nothing left for his stomach to give. And if he must vomit again may the blasted act take what is left of his tortured mysterious soul, because the pain feels as though he is being torn into two pieces. He wants to move his hands to his middle, but he knows he must stay off the ground. Deep down inside himself he knows that if he falls to the ground or lays down now he will never get up, he will die in that nastiness and filth that waits just an arms span from his face beneath him.
“Get up,” the two soft ghost like words surprise him, were they his? They had to be, but he did not recognize that weak broken voice. “Get up you fool, do you want to die here?”
“Maybe” his mind thinks. Back now on his hands and knees he carefully tries to make his body stand.
“NO”, his mind screeches, he quickly sucks in a breath as the pain rolls right over him like a wave crashing on a shore.
“Crawl then,” taking a long moment allowing the pain to recede, his mind gently and resignedly commands him. One pain filled hand slides forcing his arm to follow, then with all his will he makes his other hand and arm move. Moving his head with great care he looks up, his vision is less blurry, but everything is still green, gray and feathery. It makes absolutely no sense to him. As hard as he tries he can get his mind to clear, to allow him to know what has happened to him. Finally he feel his legs clear the edge of the water, but he feels the mud slurp and grab at his lower half. His mind urges him on, “Don’t stop”
“Stopping is dying!”
“Where the hells is he?” his mind is reeling trying to grasp anything that will make sense to him.
“Please,” he softly and weakly pleaded with his mind, “Please remember,” the words barely a breath of sound to his ear.
“Anything please, I know I am a person, but who? What is my name, where am I from? I know I am not from this gods forsaken, stinking, nasty, shit hole.” He thinks, his mind now randomly firing off questions and statements trying to give anything for him to grasp onto. He catches sight of his hand, Dunmer? I am Dunmer. Blue of skin, then I must worship the three. They are the gods of the Dunmer. Weakly he moves his hands, one and then the other, “ALMSIVI” he breaths out. As he carefully follows each movement of his hands with a slight push of his knees and legs.
Breathing hard, he shift his weight a slightly to be more on his legs as he tries to push up with his arms. The pain of his body and the blankness of his mind both attempting to push him into madness and darkness. “What was that?”
“By the Three, Eein!”
A floating face, but whose? The name it must be mine, his mind whirls end over end, but it’s like wind blowing through trees it just slips passed his mind. “I am E’ein?” The thought is a question of uncertainty.
There before him several faces appear out of the green foliage. His sight sharpening a little now, there are three men now helping him to his feet. So many questions, his mind fights to keep up. The smaller man grabs ahold his arm and slips under it, supporting him and keeping him upright. He hugs Eein close to his body, he is warm and strong. The other two turn and start off through the forest swords drawn and ready for battle.
“Eein I can’t believe we found you, Bless the Three, so many have been lost. Damn these Argonians! They will pay I promise Eein, each and everyone will pay!” The words harsh, and Eein thinks to himself what has happened here, to me. He manages to speak softly so that only man next to him can hear.
“I am Eein?”
Eein and the man’s eyes meet at the clear question, and the man’s eyes show uncertain worry.