Tsoren's Journal

[Star Gazer]

Entry 19:

Arriving at Fort Dawnguard, we entered to find that a Vigilant of Stendarr had just arrived and delivered the message of their destruction in the Pale. Isran, their leader, seems like a very careful man, but there is something else; I cannot tell if what I am sensing from him is honor or pride. I offered to do what I could to help, and he sent me to investigate the area. The Vigilant told us about a nearby cave where the vampires may be hiding out, and said he would meet me there.

Isran told us to take anything we needed from around the fort. We looked around, ate some of the food they had prepared, and slept in the cots. Very generous of them. We headed back up north towards the Hall near Dawnstar, stopping for the night in Windhelm and speaking again to the Aretino boy. He was overjoyed to hear that Grelod was dead. I told him that he should reconsider going to Honorhall, as it will be under newer and kinder care. I left him to clean up his mess from whatever ritual he was performing to contact the Dark Brotherhood. The next day, I peddled with the blacksmith for some iron, with which I created a set of daggers for enchanting. The Altmer in the market was kind enough to let me use her enchanting table. This mystical art is so captivating and useful, and I intend to learn more.

We left Windhelm and were stopped by a courier at the mill to the North who handed me a letter. It was from a “mysterious man,” he said. The note had a single black handprint, under which was written, “We know.” Let them come, I have killed at least three of their agents by now, may the next meet his end like the others.

We arrived at the cave near the Hall of the Vigilants; behold, a nordic ruin filled with vampires, as expected. Adalvald (the vigilant we met at the Fort) was being held in the main chamber, but they killed him before we could get to him. We finished off the rest of the filth and came across a mysterious vampiric puzzle. I won’t bore you with details, but we “rescued” a female vampire by the name of Serana. Under Hircine, I likely would have killed her without hesitation. With sober reasoning, however, I could tell she wasn’t hostile. She asked us to take her to her home, which we did. It turns out she is a member of a massive vampiric family who resided on an island in the North. I paid a ferryman to take us there, and we discovered that the clan lived in a castle the likes of which I have never seen. Erandur was stopped outside, and I found myself sorely outnumbered. I was greeted by their Lord, Harkon.

He offered me the vampire blood and the “unimaginable power.” I explained that I had already experienced unimaginable power at the cost of my sanity and freedom, and that I refuse to live under the influence of any blood but my own. He spared me, but banished me from the castle. Erandur met me outside. We were lucky to leave with our lives.

We made shore back on the mainland, rolled out our bedrolls, and slept in a place we thought safe. We were wrong.

For the second time that day, I was blindsided and at the mercy of nefarious powers. I awoke in a cabin, unsure of where I was. A voice called out to me, claiming to be from the Dark Brotherhood and said that I had stolen one of their contracts, which had to be repaid. She revealed three people with me in the shack, and declared “Nobody is leaving until somebody dies.”

I slew her before she could draw her blade and freed her prisoners. I retrieved her “Blade of Woe,” but should do some research as it may have Daedric ties. Maybe I’ll take it to Nelacar and see what he thinks.

 

[Star Gazer]

Entry 20:

Erandur and I met back up in Solitude after my misadventure with the Dark Brotherhood. We rested and ate a night and a day in the Winking Skeever, and headed into the sewers under cloak of night to search our the wizard Thoron. We discovered a strange breakage of the sewer wall and seemingly reality itself, as many unnatural plants and animals sprawled along the floor and walls, snaking deep underground. We found Thoron, who put up a great fight. He beat us back with lightning magic which jumped from one of us to the other. Whenever we would run in to attack, he would teleport away, all the while constantly summoning demons clad in that familiar golden and dark armor, who were relentless in their attacks.

After a moment, the flaw in this wizard's method became apparent; upon teleporting, he would only reappear in a single spot in front of a gnarled root holding a mysterious sword. He teleported and charged towards Erandur, cloaking himself in storm magics. Erandur held his attention for a moment while I got into position, standing right where I knew he would teleport. One of the saints was trying to strike through my armor, but I gave no ground. Erandur struck a good hit on him with his mace; lo and behold, he vanished into thin air, reappearing in front of me, where I stuck him with my dagger. It was a hard battle, and with his death, the summoned Daedra returned from whence they came.

We looted his hideout, also removing what seemed to be the source of the corruption of Soltude’s sewers; that mysterious sword. In one of Thoron’s journals he mentions the sword by name; the Sword of Jyggalag, the prince of order. Needless to say, we will be destroying this artifact as well. It has no place in this world, and has proven to only corrupt nature and the minds of man and mer. I will not touch the thing with exposed skin.

We spent a day of leisure within the walls, mingling with the townsfolk, visiting the Hall of the Dead and the Temple of the Divines, which Erandur and I both enjoyed. We spent our final night in the Winking Skeever. He would never admit it, but I think Erandur is seeking to return to his vigil in Dawnstar. He has accompanied me far and wide, and I will offer in the morning to escort him back home. With all of this business behind me, I believe Erandur and I can finally complete our quest to destroy the artifacts of Clavicus, Meridia, Hircine, Malacath, and now Jyggalag.

 

[Star Gazer]

Entry 21:

Erandur agreed it was time for him to conclude his journey with me for now, and I saw it fit to travel with him back to Dawnstar, planning a nights rest in Dragon Bridge after delivering news to the Penitus Oculatus of the death of the Dark Brotherhood’s leader. As we were leaving beautiful Solitude, a courier came, handing me a letter that was delivered to him by yet another mysterious man. This time, it was a request to meet, thanking me for protecting the writer’s “realm,” and asking for the artifact which I had recovered from the sewer, proposing an exchange. Of course I am not going to willingly hand over the Sword of Jyggalag, but I do intend to meet this curious buyer to consider their wares. It will be my last small adventure with Erandur before destroying the artifacts and concluding our time.

On our way there, we were attacked by a group of necromancers assisted by a team of skeleton archers. Erandur’s magics and my Thu’um made short work of the archers at range, and the mages could not put up a fight once we had gotten close. We sacked their nearby castle. They were not packing much coin, but did boast an impressive library, which I did spend a few hours perusing. Among their collection was a particularly impressive work written by a Rolard Nordssen, titled The Ruins of Kemel-Ze. It ignited my dormant passion for the dwemer technology (particularly, the quality of their metal) which was originally sparked by Calcelmo’s work in Nchuand-Zel. Perhaps I will turn my gaze to another fantastical Dwemer ruin after this business with the artifacts, and the destruction of the Dark Brotherhood. (with which I was tasked by a certain Commander Maro, who gave me the location and password to their hideout in Falkreath)

 

[Star Gazer]

Entry 22:

We traveled to the arranged meeting spot with the alleged “buyer” who sent message to us about trading for the sword of Jyggalag. Expecting trouble, we came armed. To no surprise, the buyer was one of the golden-skinned Daedra of the Golden Saints tribe. I informed her that I had no desire to give her the sword, but that I thought it honorable to meet her so that she wouldn’t be waiting for a trade that would never happen. She drew her weapon and lunged at me, which I dodged, returning with a flurry of strikes, sending her back to Oblivion. I must say that I was egging her on, but I feel no remorse for her kind. Every second she spends in her own realm is another moment of peace in our own. Erandur and I headed back to Nightcaller Temple, where we said our farewells. I left with him the Sword of Jyggalag, the Ring of Disrobing, and Thoron’s helmet which was made of the mysterious “madness metal” which may have interacted with the sword to drive him to such insanity.

It seems to me that, as these artifacts of Daedric connection may have influences upon the “fate” mind or soul of an individual, it seems necessary to meditate upon such foreign materials, (that is, the madness and amber materials) while not necessarily under the direct power of the Daedra, having, by their own nature, influence and sway over the minds and souls of mortals.

The helm of Thoron is of such exquisite craftsmanship, and is of such great durability, that no blade can reasonably pierce it, and I imagine that the materials of the Shivering Isles can be fashioned into extremely formidable weaponry, especially after having wrought some strange power upon it through the use of the soul-magic of enchanting. Not a day goes by that I do not think of the College of Winterhold and the horde of knowledge that they must have on subjects like these. I am sure there are sages within those walls who can tell me the exact effects of such materials on the mind, which will influence my decision on whether to utilize or banish them.

 

[Star Gazer]

Entry 23:

I returned to Whiterun, crafting another set of iron weapons fit for enchantment. I sold them to Eorlund and brought the proceeds to Danica, the priestess of Kynareth, who further instructed me on the practice of restoration magic that I have made a habit of using on my travels. I also returned the sap of the Eldergleam to her, which she applied to the tree. We will see if it has any effect.

I entered Jorrvaskr for the first time in at least a month and a half, speaking shortly with all of the members of the Circle, informing them that I was no longer under the blood of Hircine. Aela was surprised, yet quiet. The twins seemed happy, and I let them know that I have kept preserved the heads of those members of the Glenmoril Coven. Should they ever desire to cure their own disease and release their souls from the Bored Demon, they may come to me.

Vilkas told me of a job to retrieve a ceremonial weapon along with other items, belonging to a local family by a group of Falmer, which he had tracked to a cave up North. He agreed to travel with me to restore the honor of the family in question. Leaving Whiterun, I packed the Daedric artifacts to drop off with Erandur for destruction after this small quest. We arrived at the Falmer lair, striking them down and recovering the weapon; a small iron dagger with a family crest, a triviality. There was no reason to steal such an item. My interactions with the Falmer, as always, are brutish, foul, and nonsensical.

Vilkas left, returning to Whiterun, and I headed up further North to the Frozen Hearth, where I spoke to Nelacar about the Blade of Woe. While affiliated with what the Brotherhood calls “Sithis,” it is not directly linked to his power, as he exists outside of time and space. This “Sithis” is that same Padomay which is locked, along with that static Anu, in a perpetual state of “Work,” (as I have taken to referring to it) and thus his interaction with our reality (and indeed all realms) works quite differently than those of the Aedra and Daedra. I felt at liberty to hold onto the Blade. Perhaps I will later change my mind, but I intend to wield it against that vile clan, those murderers who kill and commit evil atrocities, sullying the name of The Change that they claim to serve.

I am excited to record my further revelations on the Hand of Change and the nature of such a power, and perhaps I will do so after the destruction of the Brotherhood.

 

[Star Gazer]

Entry 24:

I traveled from the Frozen Hearth to Dawnstar, visiting Erandur at his vigil. Finally, I offloaded the Daedric artifacts we had been collecting for months. I sat in one of the pews and personally witnessed Erandur’s destruction of them. This is not to say that I distrusted Erandur with possession of the artifacts, or thought that he may have taken them for his own gain- I do know, however, that the Daedra are deceiving, and I would never forgive myself if any harm befell him from their influence as it did with Malyn Varen. I breathed a sigh of relief as they were all vanquished. He destroyed them in the name of Mara, but I believe that he knows my stance on the Divines. If it should ever come up in conversation, I know it would be lively. All things in their time, as I am learning.

I still had some good amount of daylight, so I took a stroll north to the lighthouse, finding that the family inside was dead. It was the Falmer and their grotesque chaurus creatures. These mer, if you can even call them that, are a blight on this part of the country. In this instance, they burrowed through the basement of the building from a cave connected to a deep trench, killing the women and children. It wasn’t until much later when I found the father’s remains. I slew the creatures and collected the corpses, giving them an honorable burial. I did not find enough of the father to warrant a burial, and so I devoted his remains to the flame. Whatever these Redguards believed, I hope they are at peace now, but who’s to say.

A dragon was harassing Dawnstar, and with the help of the town guard, we put the beast down. I must say, the attacks are becoming more frequent. Wherever one attacks next, I hope I am there to slay it. I spent the night there.

The next morning I headed for Whiterun, where I now write this entry. I continued my enchanting research with Farengar and my smithing training with Eorlund. I am becoming quite proficient with both. I feel like I am on the verge of something big on the smithing front. I have read a book on heavy armor forging by Sven Two-Hammers, who details the creation of Daedric armor. He is mostly citing legend, but using this method of working ebony and the heart of a Daedra under the light of a full moon, I should be able to forge a blade from the heart of one of those demons. It is exciting work.

In the morning, I slay the Brotherhood. I have made my preparations here, and plan to take a carriage to Falkreath to preserve my energy, and from there I will travel to their sanctuary in the forest and raise banner against them there.

 

[Star Gazer]

Entry 25:

The Dark Brotherhood is dead. Their knives will no longer strike at the innocent in the dark, and their cloaks will no longer billow unnoticed and unchecked in our cities. I cut each one of them down- mages, swordsmen, and one who I recognized as having the beast blood. Emptying their sanctuary, I haunted their bookshelves, which were surprisingly sparse. Even now, I am surprised that they were able to function as long as they did with such little grasp on tradition and literature. I found two interesting tomes; The Night Mother’s Truth, by Gaston Bellefort, who seems like more of an anthropologist than a theologian, and Sithis, which names no author, but was more in line with what I was hoping to see.

Bellefort’s work takes on a historical approach to explaining the beliefs of the Brotherhood, which seem to hinge on one “Night Mother,” separating them from the more ancient organization, the Morag Tong. His description lists the claim that Sithis had transformed the woman, this Night Mother, into a “specter,” and calls Sithis the “Dread Lord,” which is a shameful mischaracterization. From what I can tell; a woman hears voices and believes it to be the essence of Padomay, committing atrocities and gaining (supposed) supernatural powers after death.

Even allowing a consideration that this woman may have passed into a sort of post-mortem presence does not confirm that her influence was indeed that of “Sithis;” as Daedra and other influences are infinitely vile and deceptive, and this woman was likely the next pawn in their demonic game.

The other work, Sithis, is a theological work which utilizes flowery and vivid imagery to spin a tale which is memorable, though of unpopular opinion. This focus on “the nothing,” being the Void, is also unhelpful to me personally, as I am unsure of what source of information they are pulling from, as I know next to nothing about this Void. I have more research to do, but it seems there are kernels of truth about the divines in this particular work, highlighting their jealousy and vanity, separating one from another out of a fear of change, or as according to this author, "the nothing."

The traditional method of understanding the relationship between Aedra and Daedra, as I have seen thus far, is that Aedra can create while the Daedra cannot. Sithis, while not in and of himself a Daedra, (as he predates the Daedra) being in and of himself “Padomay,” cannot create anything, however this piece poses the Aedra as having “enslaved everything that Sithis had made…” Obviously, there is a problem in the understanding or in the relationship with orthodox canon.

I believe the issue to be more fundamental than whether or not Sithis can create, but whether the concept of a “Sithis” is helpful at all, seeming to be a mortal-made tool to solve the problem of Padomay’s supposed absence from reality, thus imposing a new caricature where there should be none.

--------------------

Perhaps I can venture a thought; There is a boy in Rorikstead who tends sheep. In his right hand he holds a staff, and in his left hand he holds a rod. He uses the staff for gentle guidance, keeping the sheep within the fold. He uses the rod not only for the defense of the flock but also for correcting the sheep. One sheep in particular was very disobedient, attempting to escape every morning into the plain beyond the stone wall. While the sheep itself was clueless, the Shepherd knew that a fierce saber-cat lived in the plain. Desiring to save the its life out of care for the sheep and for his own personal livelihood, he used the rod to break the leg of the sheep, keeping it from escaping the fold into the pasture where its doom waited. Is the shepherd evil for allowing harm to come to the sheep, no! In fact, it was out of care that he had inflicted such a wound. Such is the nature of Padomay; the firm hand of Change. The other sheep, learning by example, never left the fold out of fear and respect for the shepherd, and so they received the gentle correction of the staff. Such is the nature of Anu, the gentle hand of Stasis. By these tools, yes these Hands, we can understand the Shepherd- one who intimately cares for that which is created, upholding their existence with his right hand, but also affecting change in the lives of mortals and on the created realm with his left.

Between these right and left hands of Stasis and Change lies what modern sages have called "Aurbis," and elsewhere, “The Gray Maybe.” The hands which worked existence into creation rest on each side of this “Maybe,” and indeed are still working.

The fallacy of the Dark Brotherhood was two-fold. They believed that the hand of Change was inherently devious, yet able to bestow power, and they believed that they could serve his “active spirit,” (being Sithis) in the destruction of other mortals. Firstly, Change is neither devious nor does is grant power to those who are desperate for it. Secondly, Change cannot desire carnage, as it is a force- a tool in the hand of the greater entity.

The correct question now, and indeed our next step forward is this; “What is the nature of this two-handed Shepherd, why does he do what he does, and what is it he wants from us, if anything?”

 

[Star Gazer]

Entry 26:

I entered Falkreath near midnight after that business with the Dark Brotherhood and stayed a night and a morning at Dead Man’s Drink. I sorted through my tomes and parchments and came across a note, unread, that Thoron (the mad wizard whom Erandur and I had slain in the sewers of Solitude) had written about a certain smith up to the north of Riften who knows the secrets of working the madness and amber materials. Interested as I am, I hoped to inquire of her about the techniques needed to smith them, and whether its craft or burden incurs any effect on mortal minds.

On the way to seek out the arcane smith, Evethra as she is called in the letter, I caught a whiff of Falmer coming out of a nearby cave along the river that runs into Anvil Lake; these abominations always have that certain smell, a mix between dead fish and nightshade. I delved into the cave, delivering its depths from their presence and discovered a prisoner, an Argonian named Derkeethus. We fought our way out of that pit and, as it turns out, he is handy with a bow. Me and the Argonian visited his home in Darkwater Crossing, but he seemed eager when I offered to take him further up on a small adventure.

We completed the trek to the springs and encountered the smith. I approached with weapon sheathed, not expecting any trouble and received a lightning bolt in the face, staggering me. If it weren’t for the enchanted jewelry I cobbled together in Whiterun, I’d likely be a puddle. Reeling from the blast, and as diplomacy was not an option, I dashed to cover and cast healing magics on my wound as Derkeethus covered my retreat, giving me enough time to return and go in for the kill.

I retrieved her journal which told me exactly what I needed to know. To craft implements of the madness ore sounds difficult, but with the right supplement of heat, elbow-grease, and ebony, it shouldn’t be too much of a problem. Amber on the other hand seems a bit too tricky for my skill at the moment, requiring a delicacy in the craft which I do not yet have. Perhaps I will attempt it at some point, it would make for a nice greatsword. At Evethra’s camp I also found a sword of banishment, able to expel summoned Daedra back to Oblivion. Needless to say, I will be dismantling it for research purposes.

We headed further north to Windhelm, where I am currently writing in Candlehearth Hall. In the morning we will be heading to find Yngol Barrow, which Birna in Winterhold sold me the claw-key to a few weeks back.

 

[Star Gazer]

Entry 27:

We left Windhelm at sunrise and were immediately attacked by a dragon near the farms on the road. Derkeethus fought valiantly despite being a humble miner. He expressed to me that he felt out of his depth after we had slain the beast- I told him that I understood, it seems the roads have grown wildly dangerous of late. We hiked east and stopped at a cabin to ask for directions. Turns out they were bandits and jumped us. I headed into the cabin, sword swinging while Derkeethus peppered their leader at range. We took them out and saw the entrance to Yngol’s Barrow down the hill near the water. We descended, after looting the hideout, and entered the cave.

Birna didn’t mention much to me about the barrow itself, but from what I remember of its history, having read a snippet about it months ago, Yngol and a brother (I think) each sailed a ship heading for the mainland from the islands up north, perhaps one of the first few expeditions after Ysgramor’s. Unfortunately, Yngol’s ship capsized just off the shore for his brother to find, who establish his barrow near where they landed, which incidentally is only a mile or two from Windhelm, the City of Kings. We entered the deeper section of the barrow using Birna’s key, and interestingly, as even the bones of the dead had deteriorated due to the poor conditions, whatever spirits inhabit the draugr in similar barrows weren’t able to make their home here, yet the spirit of Yngol remained and ascended from his remains to attack us. After the battle, nothing remained of him but his helmet. Ancient as it is, it is very sturdy and is enchanted to protect against the northern winds. I took it as payment for putting his spirit to rest.

We returned to Windhelm and took the carriage to Whiterun, where I gathered what ingots of the mysterious madness metal I had and beat it into a beautiful sword. I then used the mysterious power of enchanting to empower my skill to sharpen such a metal. It is wickedly sharp, and I proved its effectiveness on some local pests, the giants which harass traveler and citizen alike.

I spoke with the Companion leaders about relinquishing the Beastblood again, this time showing Vilkas and Farkas the heads of the Glenmoril Witches which have the power to revoke their curse. The twins remain unconvinced, changing the topic to a load of work which they had lined up and asked for my help. Local escaped prisoner, nothing to it, they asked that I slay him; no use for diplomacy. I performed it as requested, but felt immediate regret after the killing. There is nothing honorable about cutting down an escaped prisoner on the road to Falkreath. The words of the Circle still drip with the bile of Hircine’s influence, and thus I will give the Companions one final chance. If they will not renounce their worship of the evil Hircine and return to the path of honor, I will be forced by conscience and duty to remove myself from their company.

Kodlak, speaking to me before his death, illumined me to the fact that the trajectory of the Companions has strayed from the righteous road for generations, and I have no desire to continue with them if they are merely contenting themselves with mercenary pursuits while under the influence of the Daedra.

As Harbinger, I have no formal influence over the Circle or the whelps, I can only preside over a matter of honor as mediator, never as an arbiter. Each man does what he thinks most honorable in his own eyes; flowery language, but impractical and dangerous, as we can see by their state of deception, being snared like a bird by the Prince of the Hunt and used as his dogs. In my presence, I can act as a father to them, but in taking my leave I make a statement of honor.

As of myself, I would like to stay, bringing the whelps along with me in seeking the honor of the land. I have had thoughts of late of turning our gaze away from mourning the loss of what is old, and instead focusing on that which is new. New threats emerge in our land, and old threats have gained traction and momentum. Of the new, dragons have emerged from old times and the tombs of the Nords crawl with their undead worshippers. Of the old, vampires have increased in number and in power and stalk the night to feast on the innocent. Unifying our strength, we would act as an arm of justice and preservation of the honor and livelihood of the common man.

Derkeethus and I enjoyed our evening at Falkreath's Dead Man’s Drink and my scaled friend said his farewells at sunrise to return to the mines and mills of Darkwater Crossing. I enjoyed having him on this short journey. What he lacks in strength he makes up for in bravery, and while he is a worshipper of the Hist, I respect his practical wisdom. He returns home with a full belly, armed and armored with stories to tell.
I depart for Whiterun at noon, hoping to arrive before sunset.

 

[Star Gazer]

Entry 28:

I tarried the afternoon in Falkreath, catching a glimpse of a bounty put out for an altmer bandit named Asrael who travels with a wolf. His dossier, which I found in the barracks, indicated that he was a member of the Crimson Dirks and is highly dangerous, operating as an informant for them. I took the job and ventured into the woods. On the road, I was attacked by multiple waves of cultist wizards, provoking me in the name of “Miraak.” Again, I hear this name, and perhaps the time soon comes to pay him a visit. For now, however, I can’t have these cultists operating so close to Falkreath.

I strode up to where Asrael was last spotted and barely dodged an arrow that came from up the hill. I charged forward, only to be met by his wolf. I took care of his pet, and with the help of the Thu’um, I closed the distance between myself and the ranger, cutting through him with a mighty blow. There was no reward for the bounty except the bandit’s belongings, so I perused his camp and discovered a beautiful set of elven light armor along with his journal. Reading his story gave me pause, perhaps all of these bandits have a tale as sad as his. I question again my position in all of this. I know that there is the spark of life in every man and mer who takes up arms with bandit groups like the Dirks, but each hold has a law that is put in place for the sake of the common man, whom I love and hope to bring honor by my actions. If the bandit waves defy these laws and seek to bring harm to the innocent, they will meet my blade in defense.

I returned to Whiterun, taking the path above Lake Ilinalta, and entered Jorrvaskr to confront the Circle. Before I could even bring up the issue of the beast blood, Vilkas said he had a personal request. He wanted one of the heads of the Glenmoril Coven so that he might cure himself. I gladly obliged and offered to operate as Shield-Brother, but he denied, saying he planned to meditate on what he called the “glories of Sovngarde.”

During my time in Whiterun, I delved into the hoard of soul gems that I had amassed, creating a large set of iron weaponry with banishment enchantments. I ended up trading them all to Eorlund, who taught me in return, as he said, “everything befitting a master smith.” He acknowledged my skill, and I bartered with shopkeepers and the folks at Warmaidens for ebony, with which I planned to craft the Daedric blade at nightfall, as outlined in the book, Heavy Armor Forging.

I spent some time reading the Nordic history of Ysgramor and Jorrvaskr.
The discovery of the Skyforge in volume 7 is especially interesting, and it is said to be older even than the time of man or mer. These stories ring similar that of Nettlebane, an artifact holding a power older than the Eldergleam. “Some remnant of the gods’ effort to render a paradise in Mundus before the shattering of Lorkhan.” I do not know exactly what is being referenced here, and I must admit, I don’t know much about Lorkhan; his legends and stories.

Volume 19 records the history of Windhelm. Ysgramor’s tomb is also recorded, “facing towards Atmora, that though his heart lived and died in this new land, it would forever yearn for the beauties of still-green Armor, before the freezing took it.” I wonder what the author is referring to in “the freezing.”

These same books of Nordic history that line the hall of Jorrvaskr also lined those shelves within the fortresses of the Silver Hand. As they are now obliterated, and I have not seen a single shred of evidence pointing to the contrary, there remains none of their ilk around to ask, but I suspect that we shared with them a history and lineage. It is a shameful thing that our blood-feud grew as it did. I am not free from guilt, as it was my old Sky-Forged blade that took their lives and devastated their families. If I could go back, I would do things differently.

The only thing I can do now is keep my head up. Vilkas’ desire to be free of the Beastblood is extremely encouraging to me, as if for the first time in a long time I have hope for the Companions. Kodlak told me that wherever Vilkas goes, Farkas is sure to follow. If that is true, I look forward to having a Circle that is mostly untainted by Hircine. I can tell where Aela’s heart rests on the matter, which aligns itself with the late Skjor. As she said herself, why remove such a gift. I can only hope that her comrade’s honorable actions will convince her otherwise.

 

[Star Gazer]

Entry 29:

I read the book, Great Harbingers of the Companions, in Kodlak’s office. It seems so strange a thing that the Harbingers' job is to “lead us through the darkness to glories of Sovngarde,” whereas I myself am no Nord and will never enter Sovngarde, nor would I like to.

Perhaps I am lucky. The Nords are destined for Sovngarde and the other men have their sundry afterlives, and while the Beasts of Hircine enter the Hunting Grounds, the Orsimer claim the Ashpit as their final rest, and I have heard mer claim that upon our deaths we ascend to Aetherius to be with “The Ancestors,” who themselves are not beyond death, technically. While all of these afterlives offer great pleasure, whether that be an eternal mead hall, a beautiful island, glorious battle, or peace with the ancestors, there seems to be something missing, and that is Purpose.

In all my dealings with man and mer, I have seen in them all a great desire to offer worship to some being. There are many things to worship in Aurbis, but what makes a thing worthy of worship? I know I have written at length about this already at various times, but it seems that all Aedra nor Daedra are limited by time, space, power, or the Broader Law to which all things submit. Being limited thus, I cannot say that any being, (considered so far among the ancestors or otherwise) are worthy of eternal praise. Similarly, Anu and Padomay themselves are not worthy of worship, as they are merely forces, as I have previous written, are the “Hands of the Creator.”

If there is anything worthy of worship, it would have to be Him; that mysterious Creator of all worlds and realms and from whom all of the “gods” and “demons” fashion their own forgeries of glory. Why then does he hide himself, as if to veil himself from mortals?

Seeking answers to the questions, my mind began to light upon the College again. I have decided that on the morrow, I will begin my journey to Winterhold and request admittance. Perhaps I will see Vilkas on his return journey from Ysgramor's tomb a freed man.

 

[Star Gazer]

Entry 30:

I have travelled north all day, helping some Whiterun guards stave off another dragon from the Western Watchtower, and trekked up to Labyrinthian. I encountered the standard fare; draugr, trolls, wraiths and the like, but I also came across what was written in Ancient Nordic; “Shalidor’s Maze.” I traversed it bravely, and while a truly simple puzzle, it required a broad understanding of the mystical schools of magic to solve. I was surprised that I was conjured to what I can only assume was a small pocket of Oblivion where a Dremora Lord, boasting a beautiful diadem, ambushed me with flame. During out battle, as I gained the upper hand, he conjured us back to Nirn, where I was bombarded by a group of atronachs. Even with my magical resistance enchantments, I was taking heavy blows by a storm Daedra. With some clever maneuvering, I was able to corner the Dremora and cut him down. The atronachs, while powerful, are simpleminded creatures, and are easily outsmarted. I drew them into the maze itself and slaughtered them at close range.

After retrieving the Dremora’s headpiece, which radiates all kinds of magical forces, I climbed up to the observation ledge overlooking the maze. It is truly awe-inspiring that mere men were able to build such architecture. I supped there. Within the mystical labyrinthian I also discovered a wooden mask much similar to the few I had found previously being worn by the dragon priests. I put it on to study its effects and it transported me (still within the stone building I was in) to a time long past. In front of me were the busts of eight dragon priests surrounding a dragon’s head. It seems the masks are meant to be placed on these visages, but I only own two stored in Breezehome. I have heard rumors of the presence of Hevnoraak, another priest, in the west and I may venture that way at some point to recover his artifact. Whether or not all of the masks can be obtained, I am unsure. I can tell, however, that a great magic surrounds these items.

Approaching the main entrance of the ruin, I noticed that the large door was sealed and immovable. There is a hook on the door which is meant to hold an item, a key perhaps? My hand trembles with cold as I write, and I am compelled to continue my pilgrimage to the College.

 

[Star Gazer]

Entry 31:

I arrived in Winterhold at noon, encountering another group of cultists just outside of the city. I was able to sneak past them, however I had to sit for a moment and consider if I was going to allow them so close to the city, practically a stones throw from the citizens. I decided to circle back and encounter them. I gave them every hope and the benefit of the doubt, approaching with weapon sheathed. Again, they had no desire to talk, but began blasting fire magic in my direction. I was able to deftly maneuver their attacks and cut them down. Hopefully this will stave off their attacks for a time.

I gained access to the college, being graciously allowed in, and I spoke to the Master Wizard, Mirabelle, who is separate from the Arch-Mage. She explained to me that she handles the administrative side of running the college while the Arch-Mage’s attention was elsewhere. I wonder where his attention was. I was approached by an Altmer in Thalmor robes who said to me, “A wannabe devotee of Lorkhan, dressed in his blood. It is beyond me why an elf would walk around in that.” I wasn’t sure what he meant by it at the time, but I took note of his comment.

I entered the Hall of the Elements, where I attended first class (on wards and their usage) taught by a Tolfdir, the local master of alteration magicks. I also met the Arch-Mage, Savos Aren, and while our meeting was short, he seems very respectable.

After the class, I explored the grounds and found the Arcanaeum; an amazing library unlike I’ve ever seen. I spoke to the librarian, an Orsimer named Urag, who explained to me the library etiquette. I perused those shelves the rest of the evening. For his services, I offered to do some work for him, and he told me of an ancient series of works called Shalidor’s Insights. Shalidor was an immensely powerful mage in the 1st era, and apparently some of his work has been turning up. It was to his commitment that "Shalidor's Maze" was created, or perhaps it was made by that magus himself.

Disturbed by what the Thalmor Ancano had said about my ebony craftsmanship, I mined the shelves for information. Sure enough, tradition states that the ebony metal originated from the heart of the cursed Lorkhan, whose original heart was shot into the sea by Auri-El. (who as I remember is the supposed son of Anui-El, the essential Anu)

In a certain book titled Divayth Fyr Answers Your Questions, the author writes that “Ebony is a substance whose acquisition and use tempts mortals into acts of achievement that transcend their usual limitations.” A separate manuscript describes Ysgramor’s mourning over the loss of the city Saarthal; Yngol, whose helm I now carry, collected these tears of the ‘First Man’ which were said to consist of pure ebony, likely a reference to Shor, the Nords’ depiction of Lorkhan, whom they revere.

It seems that my quest to escape the influence of the Daedra continues, and I am disgusted by my ignorant use of such a material. I question the usage and creation of not only the ebony arms and armor, but also the Daedric weaponry that I have crafted.

I shake as I write, but it dawns on me now that the possible reason for the reactivity of the molten ebony and the heart of the Daedra in the smithing process, “ideally under a new or full moon, and never under an eclipse,” is due to the combination of the materials, both being of Daedric origin, and under the light and watch of the moons, which are themselves said to be the sundered body of Lorkhan. Fa Droon, in his work, The Lunar Lorkhan, states that “In short, the Moons were and are the two halves of Lorkhan’s ‘flesh-divinity’… Lorkhan’s [body] was cracked asunder and his divine spark fell to Nirn as a shooting star ‘to impregnate it with the measure of its existence and a reasonable amount of selfishness.'”

I believe I have unwittingly participated in a ritual that has invoked the power of some Daedric force. If I have learned nothing else at this college, this would be sufficient, as I am led to doff such a material from my body and arm, and will seek new armaments hence. Let the foul substance never influence my body and mind from now onward.

 

[Star Gazer]

Entry 32:

I slept after my discovery regarding ebony, which to my confirmation is elsewhere referred to as “Godsblood.” I doffed my armor and stored it; in all, my full set of ebony armors along with my ebony cleaver, my set of Dremorian blades, and my Daedric greatsword, placing these items in one of the wardrobes in my quarters which were generously provided by the college. They will likely be found at some point, maybe even confiscated. My fear is that J’zargo will find the items and steal them. (I do not fear because of his Khajiit heritage but rather because of his kleptomaniacal nature about which he divulged publicly)

I returned to the Arcaneum early that morning and there met a certain Colette Marine, the college master of the restoration school. Displaying my appreciation and aptitude in the field, I gained her immediate trust and she was willing to sell me instructional books which were of great value to me. She described them as books holding “the understanding of 'expert' restoration,” and while I am not one to entertain such titles, I was pleased and gratified that their use came naturally to me. I also purchased from her a set of enchanted robes, which in time proved very useful.

I then traveled to the excavation at Saarthal, where I was to meet for my next session with Tolfdir and my peer apprentices. Of course we discovered Draugr there, and the other apprentices elected to stay back. Tolfdir and I pressed forward out of curiosity. At some point, I was left alone against multiple very strong undead, who pushed me to my physical limit, and without my ebony armor, I felt the sting of every blow. While I was physically vulnerable, my use of spell and ward proved extremely useful, and I can tell in the mere two days I have been at the college, my skills have blossomed in a way. There is a meditative gracefulness to the restoration school, and I intend to push further in my understanding of such powers. Wounds which would prove mortal to any man or mer were closed with no scar, and that instantly.

While I held no shield in my hand, and though my godsblood arms and armor were in the wardrobe at the College, I had my inert "madness" short sword, my sundry enchanted equipment, and my mind, and I found that I excelled in the thrill and danger of battle. It is a thrill which had eluded me since before I took on the beast blood; it may be because my mind is not influenced by the whispers of the ebony, but perhaps I was reminded of my own frailty and the danger of the world. Either way, I cut through countless undead until I reconnected with Tolfdir. We pushed through to the final chamber and uncovered a strange artifact guarded by the third and final son of Gauldur, vanquishing him and retrieving his amulet piece.

I returned to the College and informed the Arch-Mage of our discovery. Urag was able to point me to where I could find more information on the Saarthal topic. I spent the rest of the day at leisure in the dorms, and I plan to load up on the morrow with Dwemer items from a nearby ruin which I had taken notice of, and also possibly recover the work of Shalidor. Fate willing, I will then take the scenic route to Whiterun to smelt down the Dwarven scrap and possibly craft another set of armor to replace that which I have scorned.

 

[Star Gazer]

Entry 33:

I am now back safe in the Arcaneum after a long affair with the Dwemer Ruin of Alftand, cutting a path through the animunculi and cursed Falmer, seeking the Writings of Shalidor. The writings were nowhere to be found, but I gained a good amount of scrap nonetheless. I discovered that nearby was another Falmer encampment which I plowed deep into, but was quickly outnumbered and overpowered, being forced to resort to stealth and trickery, which proved especially useful as the Falmer are blind, which I have only recently discovered upon close and intimate combat with a Falmer of particular size and strength. I was able to reach their shrine, where I finally laid hands on Shalidor’s work. I gasped, but caught myself as I heard the Falmer stirring. I escaped that cave and returned to the surface, eager to trek back to Urag and bestow the fruits of our labor. He told me that in a few days he will have the work translated, and promised me a copy. I await with baited breath. Hopefully upon my return trip from Whiterun with the Saarthal works, he will have fully translated the piece.

 

[Star Gazer]

Entry 34:

I sit now in Markarth, having recovered the books on Saarthal from a rogue legion of wizards who were focused deeply on the conjuration of Daedra and the study of necromancy at great harm to the local population. I arrived to their dilapidated fortress with weapons sheathed and open hands, asking honorably and candidly that they return the books that were stolen from the Arcaneum. Those empty stone walls now stand as a testament to their response.

Their prisoner, Orthorn, was a previous member of the College who had stolen the books on Saarthal to try and join their ranks; evidently, it did not go well for him. I freed him, and he offered to help me retrieve the books to clear his name, and I accepted. This was foolish, minutes later he was dead. He seemed like a nice guy. Next time in a situation like this, I might consider rejecting any help. At the moment, I am not strong or cautious enough to bring along a companion of questionable fortitude. Any question that I initially had regarding their innocence vanished as they laughed at his charred corpse. I entered their ritual chamber where I found their leader who called herself “The Caller.” Again, I offered peace should she return the books. She refused and summoned many storm atronachs, who pelted me with lightning bolts. I was unable to sustain myself with my restoration magics and was forced to deplete my reserve of magicka potion, which barely tipped the fight in my favor. This was another wizard who, like Thoron, employed teleportation magic in tandem with conjuration, a debilitating technique. This “Caller,” was a step ahead of Thoron, however, as she was not bound to a specific point to which she could teleport, but had different areas around the room that were specifically suited for her magical travel. In the end, she was slain. I took the books and made haste to leave their fortress, dodging blots of lightning as I went. I hoofed it down the mountain to Whiterun where I pored through the tomes recovered from the rogue wizards and recovered for the night.

The next morning I travelled back to Winterhold, returning the books and inquiring about Shalidor’s Insights. To my disappointment, they held no great secret of Aetherius, but turned out to be simple methodology for use of the Illusion school. I spoke to Urag about the implications of the books which spoke of a power over which man and mer contended in ages past, which I assume is this “Eye of Magnus.” I was summoned to the Arch-Mage’s quarters where I was met by a Psijic Monk, a member of that mystical order of whom I had only encountered once before. He told me to seek guidance from the “Augur of Dunlain,” here on the college. When I spoke to Savos about it, he denied me the information, saying it was inappropriate to speak of. My plan is to do sundry work and research around the college with my fellow apprentices and ask if they have seen or heard of this mysterious Augur.

This research has taken me near Markarth, where I now write and plan to stay for a few nights, traveling daily to the Orsimer settlement of Dushnikh-Yal. I have been working the anvil there and here in the Stone City, plundering nearby dwemer ruins for materials. These dealings have tipped me off to a certain material called Aetherium, seemingly connected to the realm of its namesake, Aetherius, the source of all magic and the supposed home of the Aedra. The dwemer used this material to craft exquisite artifacts, and if such a material still exists on Nirn, not having disappeared with that great race, I might see it fitting to craft something for myself. My assumption is that it is free of Aedric influence, as I trust the Deep Elves would have no use for something related to that ilk.

I feel as if I am on the verge of a big breakthrough with smithing. Arob in Dushnikh-Yal and Ghorza in Markarth have revealed to me the secrets of working bone into Orsimer weaponry, and we have been speculating on the creation of weapons using the bones of dead dragons. Just thinking about the possibilities makes me giddy.

In other news, I have made a few updates to my armaments. I found an interesting figure connected to the famed Crimson Dirks, another orc smith who fashioned a set of iron in such a way that it protects similar to ebony. I sought out one of the bearers of such a set of armor, but he was already dead, killed by the Thalmor. I took his armor for research and crafted a set for myself; coating myself with that which is solely natural to Nirn and free of any question of influence from Aedra, Daedra, or otherwise. I also fashioned a greatsword of steel and quicksilver, which cuts like a hot knife through butter. If my Orsimer peers and I can figure out the secrets of bone-smithing, however, I plan to forge myself a blade of such material.
Hopefully I will soon be writing of this great discovery.

 

[Star Gazer]

Entry 35:

A majority of the week, I traveled from Markarth to the various dwarven ruins in the hills; fighting bandits, automatons, giant spiders, along with the Falmer and their herds of flying and crawling chaurus. I was drunk on battle and the exhilaration of finding hoards of treasure, enchanted materials for research, and dwemer metal for smithing. Every piece of treasure, every ingot, had to be fought for. Every encounter saw me victorious, my greed driving me, yet flooding over my head.

One evening, upon my return to Markarth from a day of delving, I was approached by a Vigilant of Stendarr, Tyranus I believe, asking for my help with the investigation of a local home. He suspected a Daedric presence, and requested my help; I assume my name was passed on to him somehow due to my experience in that field. Sure enough, a demon manifested itself in the house as we searched. It attempted to seduce the vigilant and I into destroying one another. I commanded Tyranus to remain calm, as the Daedra are horribly evil and deceitful, but he did not listen, drawing his mace and attacking me. I knocked him to his knees, but he fought still and I was forced to slay him. I descended into the house to vanquish the evil force, but was trapped in a cage, helpless. A voice called out from an altar within sight. The being presented himself as “Molag Bal,” and I recognized his name immediately, the infamous “King of Rape.” Disgusted, I rejected his offers and demanded I be released. To my surprise, he opened the cage and freed me, but revealed that his shrine was desecrated by a priest of Boethia, who is currently captured and in great pain. Why he told me this, I am unsure. Perhaps he is seeking to play on my compassion to save the servant of one of his peers. I left, returning to Silverblood Inn where I ate and drank myself to sleep, mourning Tyranus’ death by my forced hand.

I awoke the next morning, having slept very poorly that night. I rose and intended to pusue my usual daily course, searching local ruins and working the orcish forges, hoping to find peace and clarity of mind and possibly a plan to deal with the evil presence I had encountered the night prior. Before leaving the Inn, I found a note on the bar counter; an invitation to patron bar-goers to aid in search of a nearby tower of dwemer origin named Reachwind Eyrie, which is said to hold some variety of Deep-Elf treasure. I figured I would meet the men there and aid in the investigation. I left Markarth, very much haunted in my own mind, hungover and not soberly considering what the day had planned for me, and worse; not carrying myself in a manner befitting of honor. I arrived at the tower, which was just south of Dushnikh-Yal. Men were already there- a Nord and a Redguard with swords in hand. While I had not yet seen them, they approached with menacing scowls asking what I wanted. “I’ve come for the treasure,” said I, not considering my own words. These men took my statement as a threat to their soon-to-be posterity and attacked me there. I struck them and out from the tower came a large Orsimer with Warhammer in hand. He charged at me, and I let him attack with his clumsy weapon and thus reveal himself to attack. I cut them down as if they were common bandits. In reality, they were little different than I. In my adrenaline, I entered the tower and sacked it of its treasure- a stunningly crafted cuirass and boots of original dwemer make. It was only halfway back to the City that I fell to my knees and sobbed.

I did not know these men, and I acted in self-defense, this much I know; but they had families and friends and lives within the walls of Markarth. While I broke no local law, I know for certain that I have committed some great transgression of- what could it be but the Broader Law, some morality beyond the code of honor I lived under while at Jorrvaskr, and some duty beyond the civic by which I abide as a citizen.

As I write now in the Silverblood Inn, my tears drench the page as they have done to my pillow. This will likely be my last night in the Stone City, and indeed all cities, for some time. I intend to submit myself to the wilderness for reflection, meditation, and perhaps some attempts at establishing a connection with the Master. I am unsure if he can be contacted similarly to the spirits of Nirn or Oblivion, or whether or not he is even aware of my existence, but an attempt must be made.

 

[Star Gazer]

Entry 36:

Blessing and curse, triumph and failure, enlightenment and blindness. The toddler takes one step forward and falls on his rump. My desire for material gain shields my eyes from reality and clouds my judgment. The path of greed is sloppy with blood, and the road to mastery is lined with gore. I desire peace and justice, but the blood of innocent men soaks the ground, both in the city and in the field by my hand. I have spent days on the road and in the wilds, yet my hands are still red and no water can clear away the filth.
What good is power without temperance? Indeed, what is mastery without mindfulness? It is worse than useless, igniting further evil.

Am I so powerless as to allow these men to die? The Demons are pleased to twist the minds of mortals with such ease, and while my experiences have given me the ability to defend myself from their deceitfulness, I cannot protect others from it. Were I the strongest among any host of man or mer, I would still fail to prevent a companion from the wiles of the wicked, yes even from my own wickedness.

There is more to power than strength, and more to honor than battle. While the Companions would deny it and the Princes have no desire for it, there is wisdom in subtlety and glory in peacefulness.

There is a stillness to that which has been created- an Anuic presence that rests on the waters of the streams throughout the Reach, the crawling ant, the feeding fish- there is a mindfulness there, a consciousness of that which is small. This is not enough however, there is a chaos to that which has been created- the Padomaic presence that bubbles up from the stream, mushrooms from a game carcass, or is acted upon by the ant, building with his brothers a magnificent city in its own rite.

There can be no Stasis without the Change, no Anu without Padomay, no Right Hand without the Left. All of Aurbis was created by these forces, and truly is sustained by the same forces.

In my days of meditation on that which is small, I have seen an intentional willfulness in creation, and I believe I am seeing some glimpse of the Master. While the Daedric Princes love and promote their champions, and while the Divines elevate themselves in their envy of immortality, the Shepherd chooses not to show himself in the way that we might expect, ourselves only having dealt with demons, greedy men, and the like; no, He is contented with that which is small. Such a concept has never been imagined, nor could ever be concocted by so limited a mind as mine; but it was shown to me by the ant, by the mushroom, and by the worm. How far down does it go, I wonder, how intricately is this world created that the Smith who crafted the framework for existence and morality should be so focused on such things?

 

[Star Gazer]

A note on Law.

Established Civic Law, within the Empire or without, cherishes the Stasis in order to facilitate Change- a man cannot kill the cow of his neighbor or build on his property without consent, but with the proper facilitation, he can craft quite the palace and host quite the feast.
The curious observer will notice that the law of every Hold, every city, yes even the laws of those remote orsimer settlements, share similar laws and values. Is this due to circumstance? By no means! Even the far-flung forsworn, as I have learned, abide by a similar code of ethics and taboo. As I have seen, every culture and system acknowledges the need, indeed even the morality, of helping one another and deferring to authority. One may also see the rejection of things that we in the civilized world would call unethical, such as “adultery;" taking on some marital relationship without proper acknowledgement of all associated parties- elsewhere, what we would call “murder,” is equally apprehensible in every culture; that is, the taking of ones life which is not acknowledged by the authority.

Still elsewhere, even the colonies of ants that I have observed, yes, the smallest community (in size, not number) that I was able to adequately study, does not intermingle with inbreeding but rather sends out their fertile queens to other colonies. Man and mer similarly will send the ambassadorial princess to other colonies, as might also be seen in the Orsimer settlements. (Namely, Mor Khazgur near the North-Western coast) Empirically, a son or daughter will go out from his own family and establish a separate homestead with his wife in matrimony, which binds the families of both man and woman together for mutual benefit, as any priest of Mara will tell you. An ant in any given colony will not “murder” another ant of that same colony, neither will he commit “adultery,” as most of the working ants are sexless, and only those who are suited for reproduction are allowed to mate with the queen, who is herself of a different neighboring colony.

All established law and morality of man, mer, or otherwise are based on some Broader Ethic, and I would posit that this Ethic is in consideration of Natural Order, being dictated by the Master of Law himself as if he were some Arbiter or Judge. Further, I would make the argument that such Master and Establisher of all things great and small is equally invested in the ethics of all things great and small.

What law did I transgress in my killing of the patron looters of Reachwind Eyrie but that of the Natural Order? There is a law within the cities that prevents looting, unlawful competition, and the killing of your competitors, but in the wild no such law exists except for that which is written on some stone in great antiquity, or perhaps written internally on every creature, leading us to create such concepts as “natural rights” in the first place. I would expect some disagreement from members in the cities, but one would be very hard-pressed to argue that no such thing exists in all of Mundus among the sentient beings.

Needing further thought;
It seems universal that within the "natural order" of sentient creatures rests a need, even a command, to worship. Any order of being might show you his or her shrine to whatever myriad deity; I have even seen such shrines worshipped by the falmer, the lowest order of mer. The beastfolk of Blackmarsh worship the Hist and the Khajiit have their own pantheon based on the traditional daedric rite. I have seen giants venerating the shrines of Malacath, and indeed I have even seen bands of trolls warring over veins of orichalcum which they adorn with the bodies of men and game-animal in reverence. The dwemer seemed not to worship any of the traditional deities, but rather worshipped that which was within themselves, their animated force of wisdom, worshipping their own creations of great power, even establishing priesthoods to maintain and serve such constructs.
What worship and service does the Shepherd want?

 

[Star Gazer]

Entry 37:

My sleep has been scarce as of late due to the hungry howling wolf and the roving forsworn. Travel has been light to provide swiftness of foot and my camps have been dark as I feast on salted meat and fresh river-water. I have made no fire, as to do so would be my doom. The hordes of Reachmen are endless and fierce, and the bodies of innocent Nords line the path of their conquest. The book The “Madmen” of the Reach, by the Imperial scholar Arrianus Arius is highly accurate in his depiction of their strife and hatred of the Nords, which has been valuably informative. They have no desire for peace, nor do they want riches. They want land and blood, and they take it by force of arm and ancient magicks. I have been traveling the Reach for some weeks, and my encounters with them have been numerous and near-deadly.

I forged a relationship with the Orsimer settlement of Mor Khazgur, which has seen some unrest lately. I bested their chief in hand-to-hand combat which, as I have learned, is the quickest way to win the favor of the more traditionally Malacathian settlements. I enjoyed a few nights in their hall, toiling in their mine, working their forge, and bringing in game.

I traveled out one morning and was approached by a nordic woman, obviously distressed. She explained that she was attacked by a group of vampires nearby and asked if there was anything I could do to cure her. While able to heal wounds, I am no physician, and I directed her to Dragon Bridge, but asked the location of the vampire’s lair. I discovered their hideout; a cave composed of a narrow walkway leading to a large natural antechamber. At the front of the chamber was a lectern, and the cavern was lined with pews and bookshelves, obviously a meeting place for their ilk. I cut down one of the creatures standing watch and encountered two beings of immense power, a night elf and a Breton woman, deeply drunk on the power of Molag Bal. My charms did little to defend me from their barrages of lightning magic, and it took all I could muster with arm and Voice to take the Breton down, the weaker of the two. I was forced to resort to my latest batch of invisibility potion and retreat from the cave to recover. I returned, having made use of the expert restoration spells taught to me by Colette and was met by the Dunmer and his host of reanimated dead. Having recently learned about the use of the reanimation spells of the school of conjuration, I knew their one weakness; time. I took another drag of my potion and hid amongst the rocks. Surely enough, their bodies turned to ash, leaving the vampire alone, casting destruction spells at random into the darkness. I lunged at him with my greatsword, and he at me in turn, his jagged nails ripping between the plates of my iron armor and into my flesh. I watched as he breathed his last and we both slumped to the ground.

I was impressed by the strength which had almost bested me, and I find hope in my assumption that this particular undead was an outlier. On the other hand I doubt whether I would survive another encounter similar to this. I am reminded of the Dawnguard and their battle against such creatures, and may offer my aid to them once more.

I searched the bookshelves of the blood-drinkers and found some interesting tomes which highlight the mystical school of Illusion magic. I took them in my bag and returned to Mor Khazgur. I rested that night and woke up with incredible soreness in my joints and a throbbing headache which was worsened by the light of the sun I attempted to heal myself, assuming I had taken a blow to the head, but was unsuccessful. I spent most of my time indoors perusing the books I had retrieved from the vampiric horde, reading of prominent Illusion mages of various background- from cult prostitute to assassin nightblade. One particular artistic piece (which unfortunately was unsigned and missing its cover) highlighted the case of an old man who had become a vampire, devoting his nights to hunting prey and his days to the practice of illusion. His knowledge and magickal prowess were so deep that he was able to live openly as a vampire in harmony with the townsfolk and the authorities due to his mystical aura, calming others to his presence and staying their hands in battle. “This is it,” thought I, “the power to maintain peace even in the midst of those who seek to destroy me.” With this in mind, I slept again and went into the forest that night.

I don’t know a great deal about illusion magic, nor am I naturally gifted with great mystical focus, but I have learned previously of “muffle” spells. I’ve never seen much use of the spell as I have been able to compensate with enchanted charms on my boots, canceling the noise. If I am able to master this spell, however, I would be able to experiment with other enchantments on a new set. I muffled myself magically and traveled into the thicket, but didn’t get far before spying a spider-web. I approached silently and located the creature who was eagerly waiting for his next meal. I placed my finger gently into his webbed trap, mimicking an insect. He stirred and began moving towards my flesh. With great focus, I meditated on peace, breathing deeply and channeling my breath into magicka, casting an incantation along the web and onto the spider who slowed and then stopped, returning to where he was before my intrusion. I practiced in this way for the rest of the night, returning victorious to the Orsimer settlement before sunrise, where I now sit. Unfortunately, I am still feeling ill, and will rest until evening again. I look forward to practicing my skills with illusion again this evening.