“My story, eh? Right, well, let me start at the beginning then. Ach-ehm! Right. It all started many decades ago…”

“No it didn’t!”

“Excuse me?”

“No, it didn’t. It didn’t start ‘many decades ago’.”

“Yes it did!”

“I’d hardly call just shy of 15 years ‘many decades’. It’s not even two!”

“Fine! How about ‘many YEARS ago’? Would that be better then?”

“Yes, quite a bit, actually.”

“Good. Wait… who ARE you anyway?”

“Well, I thought it was obvious.”

“It’s not.”

“Oh, sorry. I’m you.”

“Oh, I see. Well, on with the story, I suppose. Now, where was I?”

“…many years ago.”

“Ach-ehm, right. It all started many years ago, this story of mine (if you could in fact call it a story, rather then just a collection of meaningful events strung together in chronological order), just outside the city of Naerlan. I awoke within view of the walls, seated on the ground, back to a large tree. I gripped a small, leather bag in one hand, and the hilt of a bloodied sword stuck firmly in the ground rigidly in the other, which had undoubtedly been used to slay some fierce creature or another…”

“Undoubtedly…”

“Hmph. And to make things even more interesting, I couldn’t (and still can’t, for that matter) remember anything of myself or where I was. Needless to say this was foremost in my mind, so I collected myself, cleaned my sword as best I could, and wandered towards the city whose walls stood clear in my vision.

The next few days were rather uneventful. I found an inn to stay at, nice and cheap, and gained employment working at unloading goods for local stores, or any other odd jobs that came up. This paid for a roof over my head, meals, and something to drink. What little I gained from the sale of my sword went to this fund also. One more thing that happened, perhaps of actual importance, though that’s debatable, was me naming myself. Mumbling drunkenly to myself one night, I decided to call myself Nither. I don’t believe this would have stuck if I had declared it and been cheered on by a room of drunken, not-really-listening workers. After nearly a month of odd jobs, and failed attempts to drink my memory into returning, I found inspiration, if it could be called that. Perhaps ‘direction’ would be better. Well, this is how it happened:

It was a dark and stormy night…”

“No it wasn’t!”

“I thought you were being quiet?”

“Yes, but then you started lying again.”

“I did not!”

“You just did! It wasn’t a ‘dark and stormy night’! It wasn’t dark OR night, it was the middle of the day! And it certainly wasn’t stormy, unless a few pathetic clouds and a gentle breeze could be called ‘stormy’!”

“Well, alright, but don’t you think dark and stormy would be better? A lot more…dramatic!”

“It may be more dramatic, but you can’t just go and lie about these things!”

“Fine! It was a MILDLY HUMID day, the sun was shining, a breeze was blowing, and it was around lunch… Who’s telling this story anyway? Me or you?”

“I’m just here making sure you don’t embellish things to much, or bend the truth to breaking point.”

“Fah! Embellishment and truth-bending is what story telling is all about! It’s good for a story, gives it character.”

“Oh, stop complaining and get on with it.”

“Right. You keep out of it, then… Well, I had just finished my mornings worth of attempting to get my memory back, and was heading to market square to find my next job. And I wasn’t stumbling that much either; I have very good balance. Though I do recall the brightness of the sun giving me a headache. Regardless, I had work to do, unloading goods for the nice people at the general store, right near the square. So, I began, picking up a large bundle of torches off the back of the cart, and carefully heading over to the store. Now, this is when my good luck for the day kicked in. Some vengeful person must have thrown a block of stone or wood or some such in front of my feet, which resulted in me plummeting face first into my burden.”

“Threw a block in front of your feet? And here I thought you just stumbled drunkenly into the step…”

“Quiet, you! I can tell you, it’s quite a painful experience, burying one’s face rather violently in a pile of torches and then the floor, at least until the passing out begins. And that’s when it happened, I heard that voice for the first time, the dulcet, decidedly female tone ringing clearly in my addled head. It said to me ‘Nither? You must become a monk, Nither. Don’t ask why, I’m not going to tell you. Ever. You’ll have to work it out for yourself. Now, get up, wipe the blood from your face, get that looked at, and go DO WHAT I TOLD YOU TO!’.

So, I did. You never want to anger the voices, you never know what they can do. Over the following years of training I stopped drinking… well, for the most part. And I spent a large amount of my time pondering over what that voice had told me. I figured it must have told me to become a monk on the off chance that the mental discipline would somehow recover my lost memory. Seeing no results in this area so far, maybe it was just a whim.”

“Or maybe it was just you going insane! Listening to voices, how absurd!”

“Oh really? I’m listening to YOU aren’t I?”

“Yes, but that’s different!”

“How so?”

“I’m offering useful advice…and…uh…I’m just a…figment of your imagination!”

“But…didn’t you say before that you were me?”

“Well, yes. And I am.”

“Wouldn’t that make you a figment of your own imagination, then?”

“Yes.”

“So then I could say I’m imagining myself imagining myself imagining myself talking to me?”

“Exactly.”

“I don’t feel so well anymore…”

“Stop getting sidetracked! Just get on with the story, or I’LL tell it!”

“Alright, alright. Just give me a moment or two. I’m feeling rather dizzy.”

“…”

“…”

“Get on with it, then! You’ve had your moment!”

“Stop yelling! Uugghh… Alright.

I felt a constant imbalance in myself in my years of training, always more mind then body, but this precursor was eventually rectified, and that’s another story entirely. Well now, there is but one major point in my life left to tell of. My gain of religion, I suppose you could say. Strange that, only two significant happenings in over 10 years…Makes me wonder about my earlier history, it does.

Ah well. This next point of change in my life happened many years into my training as a monk. Strangely, or perhaps not, it happened in a way very similar to that of my becoming a monk. I had always known of the gods of Tharel, and somewhat of their separate designs. Of course, this was never information I dug into often, as I was far too focused on my training to have any real interest in religion.

Now, one fine day…”

“AH! Stop right there. It wasn’t fine. It was raining for most of that day, if you’d care to stop lying. What is it with you and lying about the weather anyway?”

“It wasn’t raining that much! And it was sunny for the most part, if a bit drizzly. And I don’t have anything against the weather!”

“Lucky I’m here then. Keep you from confusing the truth with your warped reality.”

“It’s your reality too, you realize?”

“Hmph.”

“Anyway, as I was saying, it was for the most part a fine day, if a little wet, when my second revelation (of sorts) occurred. It happened while I was training alone somewhere in a forest (my memory of that day is somewhat poor), standing on a large flat rock, next to a small river, which I gather from what happened was a tributary to the Ishtar. Well, there I was, atop my rock, practicing my stances in piece and quiet, tuning myself in to my surroundings and other worldly things, when it happened. Some truly evil little invisible pixies came by and laughingly placed patches of wet moss onto my rock, which hadn’t been there before, as I am very observant and would certainly have noticed them. Of course, those devilish pixies were so sneaky that my heightened senses hadn’t felt them and their evil moss and nasty plans coming!”

“So, your saying that a bunch of invisible, nasty little pixies…”

“You forgot sneaky.”

“A bunch of invisible, sneaky, nasty little pixies, who fly around out of the way parts of forests, and carry wet moss solely for the purpose of making people slip off rocks and into rivers, are what made you fall?”

“Yes, or something along those lines.”

“So it definitely wasn’t because you were day dreaming and not watching where you put your feet?”

“Of course not!”

“Then how come I’ve never heard of these mean little pixies?”

“They…uh…well…they changed their evil ways, you see, and…uh…became keepers of a small part of a forest. Very nice, lots of trees and plants and flowers and the like.”

“Why do I even bother?”

“I don’t know. So, as I was saying, I slipped and fell, ever downwards to the icy waters, clipping rocky outcrop after rocky outcrop on the way down.”

“You fell THREE FEET!”

“Well, you’d be surprised how many rocky outcrops fit into three feet.”

“I bet I would…”

“Anyway, I don’t know how I managed to survive. It must have been some great streak of luck that kept me from drowning, unconscious in that river, while being swept away down towards the Ishtar and then Dragon Point. While out cold in even colder water, I dreamt of far away places, of things to come, and then, as my mind began to fade and blur, I heard it for a second time. That euphonious voice, the same one from years earlier that had directed me to my monkish pursuits, spoke to me once more, clear in my mind. It said ‘Nither, it is time for you to help me again. Your training has brought you more in touch with the world, Nither. Can you feel the flows beneath the surface of reality? Feel the threads that bind all things? Feel the tides of reality turning, ever shifting between the forces of the world? A little, perhaps? No matter, you will in time. I am again assigning you a task, Nither. Make these threads, these things beneath reality, make them flow smoothly, bring them to a point of equilibrium. Balance them between themselves.’. As the voice faded to the recesses of my mind, I awoke, feeling soaked and cold and coughing up and endless stream of water, but at least the sun was beating down upon me, baking the cold from my clothes. I righted myself, leaning back on my hands letting the sun warm my face, and looked out over the water, thinking to myself ‘Balance the flows of the world? Bring it to an equilibrium? I can feel something, but it is ever so slight. Perhaps this is what she spoke of. Ahhh, I fear this new task may take an eternity.’. Then, very softly, I heard a reply to my thoughts, from within, in the dulcet tones I had heard twice before, telling me ‘Do not fear. Everything will become clearer with time. Besides, can’t you feel it, Nither? I’m staying here now, in your mind. It’s nice and roomy.’ ‘Excuse me?!’ ‘Oh, don’t be like that! I was only kidding. I’m here because it would be incredibly rude not to help you with you task. I feel I may have asked too much of you, so I will stay and aid you, if I can, until it is done.’. And so I asked this voice the two questions that had been growing steadily in my mind since I awoke, ‘How am I to complete this task alone?’ ‘I am here too, remember? But I do see what you mean, and I have considered this also. Perhaps we might find aid in the temple of Vyrul?’ ‘You could be on to something… What do I call you, anyway?’ ‘You may call me Lys, Nither.’

And with this, I set off on a journey back towards Naerlan, to seek out the temple of Vyrul and find aid amongst it’s following, and begin the arduous task I had been set. I still have not finished this task, I am still merely coming to understand it, but it is part of my life now, as is Lys, resting in my mind. Sometimes I waver in my work, letting my efforts slide, but sometimes it is best to let things flow for a while. That is when the most interesting answers come, I have found.”

“You should never have listened to her! She’s a voice! Your probably crazy and imagining the whole thing!”

“Oh? And how many times has that voice saved our lives, hmmm?”

“Just because you don’t have the common sense to avoid things that can kill you and SHE does…”

“Oh be quiet! Besides, I thought you were here to stop me from lying too much in my story? So why are you giving opinions all of a sudden?”

“I have the exclusive right to point out everything stupid you’ve ever done and complain about it.”

“Go press your rights elsewhere then, this stories over anyway, so you’ve got nothing left to do.”

“So it is. And here I thought you’d keep babbling so I could stay around. Ah well, good day to you then.”

“Yes, goodbye.”