Grizzly Visions

saw him entering the room, the air thick and polluted with Skooma smoke. I had been up for three days, and it was beginning to get to me. Nothing I wasn't used to, of course, but I always got anxious as I felt the world begin to sway side to side. He had white hair, which is odd, because he was a young Breton man. At first, I thought about hiding my pipe and what little of the refined sugar I had left, but decided against it, as I thought it was someone I knew. I was wrong, and rose to my feet quickly, mace in hand, as he rounded the corner into my room, where the door was open. My book was open, and it dropped to the ground from my lap. Oh well, I wasn't reading it any way, just looking at the words mush together and break back apart.

He held his pale, sickly small arm up. He said not a word, but his lips moved.

"Huh?" I replied, raising my mace.

He recoiled, stepping back halfway around the corner, and raised his arm in front of his face. Like it'd have done any good. But I decided that he was no threat, and allowed my green, muscled arm to lower the mace back onto the ground next to my chair. He spoke again; this time it sounded like my ears were filled with swamp mud, as I could almost hear syllables and vowels, but it was muffled. I decided it was just the Skooma messing with my mind.

"What you need?" I asked half threateningly.

"Your soul," he said.

"WHAT!" I stiffened up.

With a whimper, he replied, "Your shoes, sir. I am here to deliver your new pair from the Temple, and take your old pair to be donated to others with less fortune." He looked scared as a group of bandits stuck out in the Ashlands. "I've been knocking on the door for a few minutes, and I was here earlier in the day, but you didn't answer. I decided to just drop them off inside when I heard someone was here."

"Uh? Oh. W-what time is it?" I glanced over at the window, but it was fogged, caked with crystals, and also, I had forgotten, the windows were all boarded up, so it wouldn't have mattered either way.

"Nine at night, sir. Time for your life to end with me!" He screeched the latter sentence. It hurt my ears, bad.

"The Oblivion with you!" I screamed, rushing him. He ran, and a stopped. He cowered his way backwards towards my room's left wall, his back hitting it and a look of utter despair on his thinned and whitening face. I needed to keep the Skooma under control; it was a new kind a guy had gotten me from Balmora, really potent. "I'm sorry, I'm just really stressed right now." His eyes looked like they were about to explode from fright.

"Uh, y-y-yes, I understand. W-well like I said, t-t-time for me to drop them off. Your shoes, please, sir."

His brown cloak looked conspicuous, nothing I had ever seen on a Temple man before. His hood was down, but a shadow seemed to loom over his head. I sat down on my stale bedroll which was sprawled out on the floor and took my shoes off. At a glance, I thought I saw a blue snake slithering through my right toes, but shook it off. As I handed the shoes over to him, I swear his hand extended out much farther then I expected and he had long, black fingernails. They seemed to boil my flesh as they grasped on to my arm and stick into me. I screamed and dropped the shoes. I looked up at the once tiny Breton, and he now looked like a Daedra, but worse. Large fangs extended from his lengthened jaw and his eyes were that of an  's. Both his arms were pure white and his veins showed clearly, fluorescent blue, as if he had no skin at all. His fingernails were still inside me, blood oozing from my wounds.

I attempted to punch him, but my free left arm simply did not reach. I panicked and began running for the door, but my feet were stuck in place by black, thorny vines. I clamped my eyes closed and yelled again; it felt like my chest was on fire. I blacked out, and woke up some time later; days maybe. I was sprawled out on my bedroll and my few possessions were strewn about the room; my only plate, smashed against the opposite wall of my bedroll. My shoes were placed peculiarly next to my head, and my arm was fine. No incision marks, no scarring, no blood, nothing. Not even pain. I quickly put it all off as a dream and searched for my pipe and vial. I found them both after venturing out into the den on the crate I used for a table. Next to them, a pair of shoes and a note. It read:

You know, this stuff really isn't good for you. Causes dementia and the sort. Oh well, here's your shoes. Next time, take the snakes out of your old ones. Almost bit me, and I had to leave them behind and donate my own pair in return.

I looked longingly at the note, then back at the pipe and vial. I shrugged it off, crumpled the note up and brought my gear back into my room. I shut and locked the door this time.