D.K.R. Chapter 7 Elder Part 3 The Tail of Reincarnation

  • To prove Juleen was his uncle, he reached a clawed finger out of the cage and grabbed one of Hasir's claws,

    "By the hist, your claws aren't so small anymore." He said, chuckling.

     

    He looked at Hasir's face with a knowing grin,

    "Yes, that is how I came up with your name, I heard that name whispered to me by the goddess of nature, Kynareth when Drujeeta

    was pregnant with you."

     

    Hasir nodded as he took his uncle's story as fact,

    "I know you're my uncle, but I still don't know who the female is." His eyes narrowed as he said this

     

    He glanced over at the female Argonian,

    "How in Oblivion do I know she is who the khajiit says she is?"

     

    Juleen asked his nephew who the khajiit was. Hasir told him he is J'rasha, healer in the city of Vivec in the continent of Vvardenfell.

    Hasir repeated the question. For a moment the black-haired Argonian said nothing, lost for words. He finally found his voice and told

    Hasir that to trust the khajiit because he knew him when he was in the market district in Vivec some years ago when Hasir was just

    a hatchling. The female Argonian looked up and smiled at Juleen,

    "By my scales...Hasir, aren't you a sight for sore eyes, how are you?" She would have ran and hugged him if she wasn't coonfined to

    the less than roomy cage.

     

    Hasir looked at her and said airily,

    "I'm sorry lady, do I know you?" He asked, eyebrows furrowed

     

    Drujeeta seemed on the verge of tears as her tail thumped down on the cage floor,

    "The waters have run murky it semms." She said solemnly, "You do not recognize me?" 

     

    Hasir shook his head, making his hair sway as if in a slight breeze,

    "Nope, sorry, ermmm, should I?" He said an air of defiance in his voice

     

    Drujeeta took a deep breath and spoke openly,

    "Er, not in my present form." She glanced at him, "In our past forms, however, you knew my husband and I well; we were called

    back to the hist to get new bodes while retaining our old memories and personalities after our former ones died all those years ago."

     

    Hasir cocked his head at her confused,

    "What do you mean 'past forms?' 

     

    Drujeeta gestured to Juleen to join in on this tale; they both told Hasir of when an Argonian's former bodies die, their minds

    and souls are absorbed back into the earth and then are absorbed into a hist tree, if there is one near, and their souls join other

    souls that have left other past Argonians. She told Hasir that the hist trees function as a kind of natural hive mind, holding these

    souls until it finds a suitable vessel to hold the Argonian's past mind. 

     

    His tail curled solemnly behind his as he sighed,

    "Sadly, in own new forms we can no longer hear the hist speak to us." A tear slid down his scaly cheek, "When we, Drujeeta and I,

    were just mere souls in the hist hivemind, we heard other Argonian consciousnesses whispering something about a fire that spread

    throughout the land of Argonia, well the portion that the Imperial left to us anyway.

     

    Hasir eyed his 'aunt' who had just cut across her husband with a clawed finger thrust in the air,

    "We did not know what the souls were talking about because our souls were being drawn out of the tree link blood would be drawn

    out of some willing participant for a blood transplant via expansive root systems that spilled out into the amber colored water of a

    birthing pool where we were not born like most Argonians were but instead our souls were thrust into grown Argonian bodies."

     

    Hasir's brow furrowed as he thought on this further. One thing, however, eluded his understanding,

    "How did you reicarnate into your new forms? Didn't you have to start out in the bodies of hatchlings and then at the first year of the

    nondiscript hatchling's life go back and inbibe the hist sap to make those bodies grew tall and strong like the mightest hist tree?"

    Hasir snapped his head back at Juleen, who looked both taken aback and astonished at Hasir's knowledge of the hist when he had

    been seperated from the trees for seven years. "By Hircine, please tell me if I am within a lick of histsap here."

     

    Both Drujeeta and Juleen nodded. They then looked at the cage floor again, their tails limp,

    "You hit the nail on the head but, erm, see a few days ago, a courier, an argonian, came to us and informed us that a group known

    as the silver hand was cutting down hist trees cutting off Argonians off from their ancestry and, as such, they, as well as both of us,

    could no longer be reborn again and again."

     

    Hasir felt something heavy fall into his stomach and he felt instantly sick to his stomach,

    "The Silver Hand? I've heard about them, all I know is they are under orders from Molag Bal to not only make life hard for

    werewolves but now, it seems, also those who revere nature." He thought a bit, "I know Molag Bal wants nothing more than to do

    two things, he held up two fingers to emhpasize this: the first thing on his agenda is to take revenge on Hircine; for what reason?"

    He shook his scaly head as though there was water in his hair, "I cannot say. The second thing is to imprison mortals' souls for all

    eternity, to roam forever unhappy, in his cold and unfeeling realm known only as Coldharbor.  

     

    Hasir looked up in what he could see of the sky and immediately, as he saw the waxing gibbous moon, his eyes changed color and

    he was thrust down on all fours as he began to change. As Bloodfang got onto all fours, he heard Juleen exhale a breath of pure

    shock. He had no idea how his nephew became a werewolf and why in Oblivion he had not transformed into a werecrocodile like

    those of his race who are bitten by Argonian infected with lycanthropy. The wolf curled up on the floor of the cage as he let sleep

    overtake him, his sleep was unburdened by and unsettling dreams, he did have images flipped through his mind like a collage of

    some kind, but it was not something that could be called a dream.