J'zhari's tale

J'zhari has never been smart, has never found need for letters, much less words. What little of his life he does remember has been hazy, instinct driven pain, actions based not on thought but survival. J'zhari finds himself now in his final years in need of validation, so J'zhari has arranged for his dictation to be put to paper so that he may leave something behind when he passes.

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The first thing J'zhari remembers is darkness, blinding darkness as endless as the horizon. A starving maw swallowing, enveloping like water surrounding a sunken stone, with nothing to mark the passage of time but the blood, pulsing, in J'zhari's head. J'zhari's return to consciousness was like birth, and just like birth, it was bloody and painful.

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J'zhari's eyes first opened to a dungeon devoid of light save for a spluttering torch through an open doorway. The brightness burned into this one, smothering his senses to such an extent that the three figures slumped against the walls were barely noticeable. J'zhari could hear them breathing, softly at first, and then faster, as they began to wake to noise coming from the neighbouring room. There were two grey skins with pointed ears and a pink round ear, J'zhari knows now that they were dunmer and a nord, but like a child, J'zhari was seeing everything for the first time. J'zhari was surprised to find that the shaped noises that came from their mouths made sense to him, even more surprised that he was able to shape his own sounds into things of comprehension.

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Our newly formed group moved next door to better understand the noises that emanated there, to J'zhari they seemed harsh, almost guttural, their intentions were not good. J'zhari motioned for them to be quiet, but one tried to hit J'zhari. Now J'zhari is fast, too fast for clawless fist and so it sailed past his mane, and before J'zhari could think about his own reaction, He struck the tall man. J'zhari remember that first strike more than any other, claws sank into the pink flesh below the jaw like a knife into butter, the momentum carried J'zhari's hand upwards, with no more effort than it gliding through the air. When claws were done they returned to J'zhari's side as the tall man forcibly lay himself down, his sightless eyes widened in surprise. J'zhari was not pleased, nor was he upset, merely stunned at the graceful ferocity of his own body, almost reverent of the scythe like protrusions he could summon from his hands.

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Looking up, J'zhari saw a broad green-skin, he, or she, or it, had menace in its eyes and was advancing. Apparently J'zhari's speed and grace was situational, before he could even raise an arm or even duck, the darkness enveloped him once more.