Mage (A Skyrim Fanfiction)

Chapter 35: Oneirataxia

When I finally managed to force my eyes open, I was fairly certain I was dead - and in the worst kind of purgatory known to mankind.

My surroundings were almost too intricately macabre and disturbed to put into words, even if they weren't constantly shifting and altering themselves. It was quite literally the stuff of nightmares - one moment I was atop a pile of festering, bloated corpses in various states of decay, miscellaneous fluids staining my boots as I initially panicked and tried to move, only to discover the carnage stretched as far as my eyes could see, nearly choking on the thick, inescapable stench of the cadavers. I stumbled, wading through the bodies almost blindly, my eyes watering as I attempted to ascertain some sense of direction - but the blood red, overcast sky gave me no indicators of whether this place had any end to it. As I attempted to look at the bodies, I realized that some were clothed in the armor of imperial legionnaires, while others were clothed in what appeared to be standard - issue armor. How is this possible? There can't be dead people in the afterlife, surely?

Then the next, a deafening crack assaulted my senses as the world flashed white, and I was teetering on a narrow precipice of deep grey stone, the next step I might have taken earlier now leading nowhere but into the inky, unwelcoming depths of the unknown. I sucked in a breath in surprise, limbs locking in fear as I tried my hardest to keep my balance. There was no place to go but down, but I was not in the mood for tempting fate, especially as I was painfully aware I had no earthly idea what had just happened to me. A strong wind began to pick up, to my consternation, tearing at my dress and pushing me back, something I did my utmost to resist. Eventually, it overpowered me, and I was thrown back, falling freely into the dark-

Another flash of - was it lightning? - and I fell backwards into shallow water, water that smelled only slightly more pleasant than the battlefield I started out in once I'd surfaced, spluttering and coughing as the foul liquid burned my nose and mouth. I now found myself in a moonlit marsh, having landed in one of the stagnant pools of water that dotted the landscape. It was eerily quiet for the most part, which made the odd noises I heard every now and then from far off all the more concerning. To make matters even less pleasant, I was now soaked to the the bone and shivering, the dead, my drenched cloak and clothing doing little to protect me from the lingering chill in the air.

After being put through these situations, I'd come to the rather stunning conclusion that I was too aware of every detail of my surroundings to be dead. But the alternative was almost worse.

Julianos preserve me, I'm in the Dreamstride, aren't I? I realized, staring up into the cloud-riddled, moonlit sky as a feeling of hopelessness began to set upon at my already weakened resolve, And there's no telling if I'm going to be able to get out of here. How did I end up here, in the first place? It... it wasn't the Torpor, was it?

"You know, Vaermina has been incredibly patient with you, considering the circumstances." I started, shocked to hear an unfamiliar voice coming from out of my line of sight. "Most people don't get as many chances as she has given you, nor the same amount of preference."

I turned quickly, mouth opened slightly as I took in the appearance of the stranger who had now joined me in this hellscape. A strange woman stood alone at the edge of the pool I'd fallen into, her very presence seeming to make the air itself thrum with powerful energy. As she stepped from the shadows and the weak moonlight highlighted her features, I gathered from the milky pallor of her skin, her slight, willowy frame, and the rich, dark mahogany curls of her waist-length hair that she had to be of Breton heritage. However, that didn't explain her peculiar eyes - her irises were a striking lilac hue, and felt as if they were holding me in place with their intensity and command. The stranger's bowed, albeit thin, lips were tinted ebony, making her a darker and more unconventional sort of beauty. Her facial features were strong and severe, for the most part, though her rounded, softer nose and lack of defined cheekbones made her appear likely younger than she was. She did not seem much older than her mid-twenties at a first glance, but the look in her eyes and the way she held herself indicated that she had seen much more of life than that.