- Joined
- May 31, 2016
- Messages
- 960
- Reaction score
- 1,398
Tar'ja is neither living nor dead, and he is quite happy that way, despite how much he complains to the contrary. His skin is red, and scales defined. Eyes an acute, ever vigilant stare. Compared to his mind which is, quite literally, in another dimension.
You see, being the adventurous and hazard prone sort Tar'ja is, while traipsing around the marsh the argonian found himself mixed up in a skirmish between a Black Marsh mercenary group and some daedra worshipers. All parties involved, including Tar'ja, fought ferociously. Perhaps too ferociously.
At the end of the battle, the argonian lay in a pool of blood. Surrounded by the bodies of both cultists and mercenaries alike. Light was fading from his eyes.
Never again would he taste the smooth grubs of the marsh, or feel it's muck against his scaly feet.
But a voice called to him. It did not promise endless bliss within the Hist. Like his tree gods did. In fact, it sounded ornery, and full of angst.
This, was Barachus, and from then on, the two would be inseparable. Not by choice, but by necessity.
Barachus had been the daedra the worshipers had been trying to summon. Since however, they failed to complete the ritual, the daedra was stuck between dimensions. Forever doomed to live out his life in the nothingness there.
Unless, he could find a host before the doorway to Nirn closed. That host, or should I say, the only available one, was Tar'ja.
The two beings struck a deal, and Tar'ja got to keep his body and mind, while Barachus received his vessel.
Daedra however, seldom keep their word. Barachus was not satisfied to simply live inside Tar'ja, and at times he would break the argonian's mind, and take control. This could be as short as several minutes, to full years. Over time, bits and pieces of the two of them became intertwined, but without Tar'ja's soul, his body would slowly decay. Forcing the daedra to give back control to the argonian.
Ages of time passing between the two.
And that, is where you join the story.
Somewhere within ruins etched by the passage of time...
Humming to himself, Tar'ja tenderly roasted the raw rabbit leg with a flame spell. It's tasty aroma filling his nostrils as he sat back and propped his feat up. Taking in his surroundings. It was chilly in the crypt, dimly lit for certain. His feet rested on the linen wraps of a draugr, mummified long ago by the ancient Nords, all bundled up and ready for the afterlife.
He was tempted to start a fire, but all he had around him were the carefully wrapped bodies. Which would seem to ruin his appetite. Besides, he was content to eat the rabbit this way. Preferred it actually. All crispy on the outside, but still raw within.
The argonian took a massive bite, feeling the half-cooked meat slide down his gullet.
Then, there was a creak, the telltale noise of the barrow's heavy iron door swinging open. He was not alone.
Setting down the rabbit leg, he picked up his axe. Creeping forward past the wrapped up bodies. If someone was here, he would find them first...