Tsoren's Journal

[Star Gazer]

Entry 56:

We currently sit in the Ancestor Glade. The Scrolls have been read and we are at present surrounded by the bodies of numerous vampires and their minions which had somehow tracked us to the Glade, attacking us after we had completed the ritualistic reading. We have faced numerous teams of vampires on the road, but this attack was particularly organized. How they have been so consistent in their tracking of us, as well as their organization in striking so fiercely at my most vulnerable times, I cannot tell, however I have begun to suspect Serana of sharing some kind of necromantic sentiment with her Clan after meeting with her mother in the Soul-Cairn. I have no proof of this, and I will relent from accusation, however I have noticed that her sleep of late has been dreadful, as she is often kept awake by nightmares which plague her, I suspect she is being tormented by the interference of Molag Bal, but she refuses to answer any of my questions concerning these dreams. I have begun whispering prayers to the Master of All Things over her while she sleeps, it seems to help. I know the Daedric Prince has no power over the invocation of that Greater Power.

The reading of the Scrolls was perplexing yet particularly helpful; upon my reading of the Blood Scroll which we had retrieved from Valerica, the runic inscriptions upon the Scroll inspired my mind to produce some kind of map-image of Skyrim, pinpointing a single location in the Reach. My awareness of the outside world began to dim as the thought of a name bubbled up in my mind, as if it were my own thoughts, “Darkfall Cave.” I recognized the name from my time spent researching Dwemer artifacts in Markarth, the guards mentioned it to be a troll-den. Apparently, the bow of Auriel lies there. After these things, the vision faded from my mind, and I was fully lucid once again.

I also used this time to read the Scroll of Dragons, retrieved from Fal’Zhardum Din. Instead of a map, this time the vision of a massive mountain emerged in my mind’s eye; it was the Throat of the World. High Hrothgar sat on it like a king upon his throne, but the vision took me higher than the monastery, towards the upper-most summit, where I saw a shimmering light on one particular patch of snowy ground. My vision focused there for a moment, and my concentration upon the mist was broken by the sound of a dragon’s roar. I recognized the voice to be that of the beast which attacked Helgen many moons ago upon my entrance to this country. I then heard another voice, this one also distinctly draconic, I could tell the two voices were arguing. This marked the end of the vision.

I produced the third Scroll, that of the Sun. I saw visions of many mer; families funneled into the earth through brazen doors of Dwemeri craft. Light turned to darkness, day turned to night, and I heard a voice unfamiliar to me speak, “The Blood of Coldharbour’s Daughter will blind the eye of the Dragon.”

I cannot claim to know the meanings of these visions, but perhaps with time their interpretations will become clear to me.

We sup here until dark, and we leave for Darkfall Cave soon.

 

[Star Gazer]

Entry 57:

I have been wounded and betrayed.

I rest in Mor Khazgur and have paid a considerable sum to Chief Larak in exchange for the service of one of his men to run a correspondence to Fort Dawnguard, and it is here that I await their arrival. I am hoping to be back in fighting form by the time they are ready to assault Castle Volkihar, but I fear the fulfillment of the vampiric prophesy is all but inevitable.

I will attempt to recount the events of our quest for Auriel’s Bow.

We arrived at Darkfall Cave around midnight on Tirdas, continuing the practice of only traveling at night for Serena’s sake. Scouring the cave, we discovered a small shrine being tended to by a single mer who identified himself as belonging the last remnant of the Falmer of Black Soul. The mer introduced himself as ‘Knight-Paladin Gelebor,’ and hailed us, knowing that we sought the Aedric artifact. He drew up from the ground what he called a “wayshrine,” and instructed us that we were to ascend to Auriel’s Chantry and kill his brother, Arch-Curate Vyrthur, who has been corrupted by the cursed Falmer, whom he called 'the Betrayed.’ When asked why we would do such a thing he revealed that it was the only way to retrieve the Bow.

He gave us instructions for our journey; to connect a series of wayshrines in order to unlock the grand entrance to the temple. We pressed forward into the wayshrine, which was itself a portal deeper into the cave and, subsequently, into the ancient land of the Snow Elves. We strode forward with enthusiasm, unaware of the length and severity of the journey we were about to undertake. Over the course of said journey we encountered all manner of vile creatures, battling wave after wave of Falmer, dragon, chaurus, spider, giant, and other sundry beast as we traveled through harsh conditions, at multiple points finding ourselves submerged in below-freezing waters. We had lost what food we had and were forced to subside on the stock found within Falmer residences, yet at one point we stumbled upon a frigid river where we discovered some number of fish which we consumed raw due to the hastiness of malnourishment.

We rested at sunrise on Turdas and began to understand that the acquisition of the Bow would be no small trial. We crawled into a cave, set up a small camp, and laid down. Serana began to shake violently. I asked her if she was cold, however to my disgust she revealed to me that it had been days since her last ‘feeding,’ the draining and consumption of blood from a living person. She asked, even begged, that I allow her some portion of my own blood, which I refused vehemently. In my exhaustion and frustration accumulated by days of battle, I berated her for once calling her spiritual affliction a ‘gift,’ and I stated that no true gift exacts such a horrible price from its recipient, and that her violation by Molag Bal presently continues. She lashed out at me, claiming that I knew nothing of her Daedric Prince or the power given to “her people,” to which I responded that it is because of the evil wiles of “her people” that we are forced to come here to destroy the bow to begin with.
“Destroy?” She asked me.

In the midst of our confusion and tired delirium, we had come to the realization that we had each traveled to this cursed vale for different reasons. I sought to destroy the bow, and Serana came to claim it as her own. She stood up and laid hands on me, accusing me of something which I cannot at present remember, also saying that my judgment was clouded by my hatred of the gods. I responded that I show no obeisance to a mere object, nor do I bestow worship to any false god as she does. Gasping for breath over the altercation, we agreed that we should not come to blows over such an issue and waste what precious little energy we had, and that a decision was to be made after we acquire the artifact. Serana stumbled off and fell into a deep sleep.

I exited the cave and was met by a strange sound- some kind of whispering within my mind. I first thought that I was only imagining things in my feverish state, but that, as I found out, was untrue. I took a moment to try and decipher the meaning of the whispers, and understood that they were drawing me on some small path leading up the hill. Knowing Serana was asleep, I felt comfortable to explore by my own initiative. As I walked down the path, the sound grew and grew, and in my mind the whispers drew me into the brush off the path. I drew my sword in expectation of battle and pushed through the brambles. They grew louder and louder, and finally stopped when I came upon some skeleton from antiquity, holding in its bony hand a tablet of clay, upon which was some paragraph of a language unknown to me. When I placed it into my bag, a green writhing mass appeared before me. “Consider this a down-payment for your service,” it said. I immediately recognized the voice to belong to Hermaeus Mora, who brokered with me a deal some few weeks ago that I open Septimus’ infernal box in exchange for a compilation of information regarding the Supreme Being. I hope I made no error in accepting this tablet, but my hope of understanding the One who is worthy of all worship holds precedence. Perhaps Urag can help me decipher its meaning. I returned to the cave and slept until nightfall.

By the time we reached the temple, it was Fredas, our third day since entering Darkfall Cave. The mobs of Falmer continued even into the Temple, emerging from some kind of frozen slumber to attack us. We reached the final chamber exhausted, and met Vyrthur; of falmeri descent like his brother Gelebor. He spoke condescendingly to us, revealing that he also sought Serena’s blood to fulfill the vampiric prophecy. He summoned many frozen creatures to attack us and worked some great telepathy, bringing a large portion of the ceiling down on me. My armor withstood the force by some miracle, and we cut down his minions. He fled to a large balcony, where Serana interrogated him. The mer revealed that he had created the prophecy himself as an act of defiance towards Auri-El in return for the cursing of his race. I pleaded with him on the basis of understanding his plight, but he claimed that nobody could understand the evil that was wrought upon his people by Auri-El’s abandonment. I told him that the faith of his race was misplaced to have worshipped such a spirit. I hoped to show him some sympathy towards the falmer suffering by the misdeeds of the Et’Ada, but my statement enraged him and we were forced to kill him with the last of our energy.

After his death, the final wayshrine emerged from the floor of the balcony, revealing Auri-El’s Bow inside. I removed my helmet, casting it to the floor as I laid hold of the artifact, placing it on the ground before me under the light of the moon. I began invoking the names “Supreme Power” and “Master of All Things” over the weapon as per Erandur’s instructions, but Serana stopped me. To the best of my memory, our conversation transpired thus;

“What are you doing? We agreed we would speak about this first.” She said
“I have decided,” I said with finality, “that the best way to stop the prophecy is to annihilate its means.”
Serana spoke, “If you destroy it, we will stand no chance against my father. It’s our only chance of killing him.”
I spoke again, “Chance means nothing. If the prophecy is stopped, we will have no need to kill your father. He can return to eating the bodies of the dead in the squalor of his decrepit castle, finding his inevitable death at the blade of the Dawnguard. Do you not want to foil his strivings which destroyed your family?”
At this point she quickly reached for the bow which laid at my feet, but I grabbed her wrist.
“You cause me to question your intentions, Daughter of Coldharbour. Stand back and watch as I draw a conclusion to your father’s false prophecy,” I said, releasing her arm.

I raised my hands to the heavens once again, entreating my Master to destroy the weapon, invoking his Name against the spirit which gives corporeality to the artifact. I heard the crackling of sparks before me, and when I lowered my gaze, I witnessed a massive bolt of lightning emerge from Serana’s hands. It was the last thing I saw before I lost consciousness.

I awoke to darkness and unimaginable pain in my eyes and head, which radiated down to my neck and chest. Thinking it to be night, I raised my hand and cast a spell of candlelight. I saw nothing.

I exhausted every spell of the restoration school within my repertoire with little avail. Finally, with the prepared casting of Grand Healing, I regained a dim and hazy vision in my right eye. I stumbled forward, picked up my helmet which I then tied at my side, and hugged the wall of the wayshrine until I found myself on the other side of the portal, falling to the ground at the initial shrine and camp of Gelebor, who was nowhere to be seen. I searched the walls of the tunnels for what felt like hours before finding the mouth of the cave, exiting and catching only the faintest rays of sunlight with what limited sight I had. Crawling on hands and knees to Mor Khazgur less than a mile away, they received me with open arms and brought me into the Longhouse where I presently reside. I have been tended to by Sharamph, who has proven herself to be a pillar of strength, showing extreme generosity to me for the second time now; the first being her treatment of my affliction by Sanguinare Vampiris. It has been two full days, and my sight has only begun to return after my dreadful injury at the hands of Harkon’s daughter.

I am certain that Isran will take the loss of the Bow as a sign to make an attack of desperation on the Castle.
I am sure that Serana has switched sides, as Isran had warned me. Does she not know that her father will kill her; indeed, sacrifice her for the sake of the darkening of the sun?

 

[Star Gazer]

Entry 58:

Isran arrived with the full host of the Dawnguard, probably 20 men and women in all, a considerable fighting force. As expected, Isran reprimanded me for trusting Serana, and ordered that we travel to begin our siege upon the castle at once. Chief Larak instructed one of his sons to lead us North through the mountains via a secret path, which saved us probably a full day’s travel. We arrived at the icewater jetty after midnight and made camp there in the forests near the Thalmor fortress.

At sunrise, we called to speak with the Thalmor, who sent out an emissary to meet us. We bartered for the service of a few of their small boats, which we rowed to the island that held aloft Castle Volkihar like sickly gums bearing a dark and jagged tooth. The moment we reached the shore, the gargoyles lining the bridge to the castle-gate sprung to life in defense, and the first wave of vampires poured out of the keep. The gargoyles were immeasurably strong, casting the weaker members of our force off the bridge to the rocks below. I focused on the spell casting vampires as Isran led the Dawnguard in dismantling the stone beasts.

We stormed up the bridge and broke the door down with axe and spell, Florentius proved himself to be especially adept. We were met by a large host of fiends, and while the Dawnguard rushed in and fought for control, I scanned the hall with the spell taught to me by Tolfdir, detect dead, but was unable to identify the clan’s master, nor was I able to find Serana. Casting muffling and invisibility magicks, I snuck through the side parlors, finally discovering a large room bore great resemblance to some aedric cathedral, yet with a massive shrine to Molag Bal in the center, an exact replica of the structure within the home in Markarth in which Tyranus had lost his mind and life, boasting a small pool of blood over which resided an evil semblance, the visage of the Daedric Prince himself. I attempted a dead-detection spell yet again and discovered that the floor was lined with ancient remains, and a single being resided behind the altar.

Out from behind the shrine emerged Harkon in the form of a beast of Coldharbour, bearing massive fangs, impressive stature and musculature, and large bat-like wings which bore him aloft. “Why do you hide behind the image of the one who cursed you?” I asked, to which Harkon responded, “I can think of no power greater than domination, over which Molag Bal is king. Today, you will know his destructive power. You are here to kill me, vampire hunter,” he continued, “and I assume you brought Serana here with you. Let her step forward that I might speak to her.” I was indeed surprised to hear that Serana had not already given the bow to her father in order to fulfill the prophecy. I hesitated; she had forced our hand to attack, yet without her, Auriel’s Bow was nowhere to be found.

“If Serana is not here,” I told the beast, “Then she has disappeared with the bow. Who’s to say she hasn’t dumped it into the Sea of Ghosts.” Harkon showed some disappointment at my statement, yet after a moment of consideration, he answered, “It is no matter. Once we eliminate your pitiful band of warriors and empty your fortress in Eastmarch, our hunt for her will be swift and the prophecy will be complete.” I had heard enough of his bile and drew my sword. We engaged in ferocious combat, but I was unprepared, still recovering from my injuries and off-balanced due to my partial blindness. My helmet all but suffocated me as I struggled to see, and I felt my life-force being stolen away by the vampire’s blood magic. He was unimaginably fast, turning into vapor and fleeing when I used the Thu’um to close the gap between us. I was truly outmatched. He summoned at least a dozen powerful skeletons and gargoyles, which pummeled me from every side, and I could tell that my armor was being ripped apart and was beginning to fail.

As I was beaten down and struck by Harkon’s strange powers, I began to crumple to my knees, and regretted separating from our main forces, also realizing that we had been incredibly foolish to think ourselves capable enough to leave this castle with our lives. Undead hands ripped the iron plates from my armor and cast them aside, my helmet also being pulled from my head as I was held down by my shoulders on both sides by grotesque gargoyles. For a moment they relented and I raised my head to look at Harkon, and found him hovering before the shrine. “I will afford you your final words,” he said, preparing a spell in both hands. I opened my mouth to speak, “Though I am indeed of pitiable estate, having committed many misdeeds and neglected to do that which is good,” said I, “May I nevertheless be found worthy by the One whose name I know not; the God who veils himself from the proud and loves that which is lowly, the Being who works in his hands both Stasis and Change, the Spirit by which all other spirits bow and fall, the Master of All Things.” After saying these things, the ground began to rumble, and I expected that my life was ending, but I soon realized that the power which shook the foundations of the castle did not belong to Harkon, who himself looked around with great confusion, and then with terror as the altar erected to Molag Bal cracked and shattered, leaving the broken visage of the Daedric Prince face down on the ground.

Harkon with great rage drew his hands back to cast his fatal spell, but was struck by another force which recoiled him backwards some few feet. As I looked, I saw that he was left with a hole of considerable diameter in his chest, through which I could see daylight. The undead and gargoyles surrounding me fell to pieces as the vampire slumped to the ground. Looking back at the source of the attack behind me, there stood none other than Serana, with tears staining her eyes, holding aloft Auriel’s Bow. “How could you do this, daughter?” Harkon asked, who then began to tremble. The lord of the castle exploded at the chest into daylight by the power of the Aedric weapon, splattering blood over what was once the altar devoted to his disgusting and false god.

I stood and was stabilized by Serana, who assisted me as I doffed the remnants of my destroyed iron armor and left them on the ground, leaving only my lightweight tunic underneath. As I looked her in the eyes, I was met not by her usual complexion, but by a smoother and warmer face, boasting not the eyes of a vampire but those of a human. A startling realization came over me. I stammered, “You’re…,” and she cut me off, “Cured, yes. While we were waiting for correspondence at the College from the White-Gold Tower, Phinis told me of a man in Morthal who could potentially cure vampirism. After I wounded you and left you for dead, I saw that Molag Bal intended to twist me to his will, and I knew that he would never let me kill my father, his servant. I was cured at once and came here, hiding in the shadows for the opportune time to strike.”

I forgave her for her attack against me, and explained that Isran’s forces were severely outnumbered in the grand hall and needed aid. I summoned the steed Arvak from the Soul-Cairn, upon whom we burst out of the double-doors into the main chamber as Serana lifted high Auriel’s Bow and I held aloft my own trophy from the altar-room, Harkon’s severed head. We trampled down the host of vampires who looked on in fear at their defeated leader as the members of the Dawnguard cheered and smote their foes. A glorious victory was gained over Molag Bal’s minions as we swept through the corridors and dungeons of the keep, slaughtering any fiends that were hiding in their holes and liberating prisoners who had been kept as livestock under the passing of innumerable moons. Blades were placed into their hands, which were willing to aid us in our conquest.

We completed our circuit of the fortress and met again at the small pier, rowing three trips back and forth from the mainland due to the number of prisoners added to our rank. I met Isran with a firm handshake, as well as Sorine, Gunmar, and Florentius, all of which vowed to continue their crusade against the vampires until they are wiped from the land.

Serana traveled with me to the Winking Skeever in Solitude, where we both rested for many hours. She explained to me that there was much of Skyrim that she had never seen, and now that she has no need to fear the Sun, she desires to visit every city and find true family. She asked what I had planned on doing next, and I told her that I had some business with the Companions, and sought to end the remnant of the Dark Brotherhood. She wished me luck on my journey, and I assured her that I believe in no such thing as luck.

Serana left some hours ago, and I plan on the morrow to travel by light of the Sun to Whiterun in order to forge a new set of armor and to meet Bjorn and Athis upon their honorable return.

 

[Star Gazer]

Entry 59:

I write from the Bannered Mare in Whiterun, having arrived after finding much pleasure during my short visit to Solitude and the journey thereafter. The journey itself was somewhat eventful; I left Solitude in an outfit purchased from Radiant Raiment, arriving at midday to the Four-Shield Tavern in Dragon Bridge. Upon my arrival, there was some small commotion over a letter, potentially a suicide, by one of the guards who seems to have thrown himself from the bridge. I went to investigate, casting detect dead as I walked the riverside. I discovered the guards body, upon which I found another note incriminating a certain “Adelpius,” of infiltrating the ranks of the Solitude guards. I returned to the tavern with the evidence, but was stopped by one of the guard, it was Adelpius himself. He accused me of slighting his honor, and challenged me to a duel in an hours’ time. Having no armor of my own, I returned to the riverside, claiming the helmet, plate-boots, and gauntlets of the deceased guard for myself, carrying his body up over the bridge and delivering him at the doorpost of the Penitus Oculatus outpost.

I returned to the bridge and waited, helmet in hand as I watched Adelpius approach in a set of steel armor suited for travel. I appealed to him not to fight, as I had no intention of killing him, but he revealed to me that he killed the guard and threw him off the bridge for finding out his secret; that he was not truly in service to Elisif, but rather a bandit. Finally, he said to me, “Either my secret dies with you, or my ruse ends with me.” I donned my helmet and engaged in combat with the man. I was unable to see properly through the thin visor of the helmet, and unable to gauge distance due to my lack of depth perception. I had taken two or three small nicks before casting off my helmet. Unarmored, I relied on mobility and strategy. My opponent was a skilled duelist, but nonetheless lost his life at the end of my blade. His death came quickly.
I took note of his armor, and cast his body over the bridge as he had done to his victim. He seemed to be a troubled individual, may he rest peacefully.

From Dragon Bridge I traveled to Whiterun and headed for Jorrvaskr, finding that Bjorn and Athis had returned to the hall the night prior. I called both men out back to discuss their mission, and was pleased to find that they spoke to me from one heart. I could tell they had formed a bond of brotherhood over their journey; as is the way of true Shield-Brothers. As expected, Athis found much success in connecting with Erandur, as they shared a heritage and opinion of their homeland, and connected on the basis of their hatred of evil. Bjorn took on a passive role socially, but was able to shine in survival and combat. Such was our goal in sending them both specifically.

The men explained to me Erandur’s briefing, that strange men had been sighted hauling tons of stone out from one of the mountains near the shore Northeast of Dawnstar. Erandur had also explained to them that he personally encountered a man in a dark cloak, whom he stopped and questioned about his purposes and if he knew anything about the mysterious project, who then became violent and stole off into the wilderness, leaving our Dunmer contact with no answers. Bjorn led Athis through the inhospitable mountains and freezing coasts, Athis lending his aid by providing fire magicks to keep them both warm. Eventually, the pair came across a large mound of stones a few feet off the shore. Upon inspection, Athis described, they found track-marks in the snow leading down and back from the stones to some location inland.

Following the markings, the warriors came upon two men chatting quietly along a small cliff-face. They hailed them, but were met with drawn blade. They brought them to submission and interrogated the individuals, who revealed that they had each individually been brought by way of dream to this coast by none other than the woman who claims to be the mistress of Sithis; the Night Mother. At pain of death, the cultists led the Shield-Brothers some short way along the coast to a “dark and strange-looking door, possessed by some kind of spirit,” according to Bjorn. The cultists refused to lend their aid in opening the door. Athis began to negotiate, but Bjorn threatened death. They refused again, and fell to the massive axe of the Nord, with which Athis took much offense in the moment.

They stayed some few nights in the mountains overlooking the door, but witnessed no man or mer enter or leave that dark passage. I asked them what the door had said to them; and they recounted the phrase, “What is life’s greatest illusion?” Such a question is noble and seeking, and my only hint is the question of the Door in Falkreath: “What is the music of life,” the answer of which being, “silence, my brother.”

I thanked the men for their honorable service to Erandur and the people of Dawnstar, and applauded them on their success in comradery. I went to Vilkas and reported that I believed Bjorn worthy of official membership into the Companions, and we held his ceremony that night. Each member of the Circle swore to fight at his side and raise a tankard in his name. Athis also chose to attend by invitation.

I have begun to hatch a plan to acquire the answer to the Door’s riddle, finding entrance into the remaining hideout of the Dark Brotherhood to wipe them out once and for all. Even if we fail to slay every member, the only target that matters is the Night Mother, which was suspiciously missing from their sanctuary in Falkreath. For the remainder of my time in Whiterun I will work with Eorlund to craft a new set of armor based on that which was worn by the Dragon-Bridge duelist, and then I leave for Honorhall Orphanage in Riften.

 

[Star Gazer]

Entry 60:

I write from Candlehearth Hall in Windhelm, having learned the location of one able to perform the Black Sacrament and thus draw out the rats from their hole.

As I prepared to leave Whiterun, I worked with Eorlund to forge a set of steel armor reminiscent of the man I dueled days before. It is perfectly suited for long days on the road, and while I initially planned to utilize the original blueprint for the helmet, I opted rather for a high neck-guard to allow my head to move freely in accommodation of my limited eyesight. I then took the set of armor to Farengar in Dragonsreach, who assisted me in its enchanting, also imbuing a head-wrap I had purchased from Radiant Raiment, inlaying it with protective charms and enchantments provided by the black souls of vampires collected during my travels in service of the Dawnguard.

I sorted my belongings in Breezehome, also packing my payment for my contact in Riften. My travel there was lively, as I was attacked by a dragon on the way. He put up a good fight but grew tired and landed, thinking himself capable to best me close-quarters, realizing too late that he opened himself up for an attack on his wings, grounding him for the remainder of the fight. Using the Thu’um to my advantage, his fire-breath had little effect, and was slain in a matter of minutes. I sold his bones and scales to the venders in the Riften square, giving a percentage to the beggars around the well, as is my custom.

At sunset, I entered Honorhall Orphanage and requested the presence of one Aventus Aretino. The kind lady who greeted me, Constance, asked that I wait in the foyer. As I waited, I heard the laughter and play of children, much contrasted from my last visit to the hall. While some may find the voices of children appealing, however I have become, of late, disturbed by the voices of children, especially girls, after my grievous wound in Winterhold by the blade of B.

Aventus approached and immediately recognized me as the man who he believed had killed Grelod. I explained to him that I was indeed innocent of the old woman’s death, yet would not reveal to him that it was Erandur that acted out of zeal for the orphans. I returned to him the heirloom belonging to the Aretino family, which he had once given me as payment. I then asked him the question for which I had come, “Where did you learn to perform what is called the Black Sacrament?” He answered, explaining that a woman from the Gray Quarter taught him everything he knew about the shadowy cult, not being a member herself but admiring their work. I asked of her name, and he revealed her identity, Jenassa, who frequents the New Gnisis Cornerclub. I know the place well, as I pass it by in order to barter with Sadri in his shop every time I visit the city. I thanked the boy and left, resting at the Bee and Barb and traveling North the next day to Windhelm.

I spoke to the barman of the Cornerclub for information regarding the Dunmer Jenassa. He told me that she had traveled West for some mercenary work some months ago, and after loosing his lips with a generous purchase, he also revealed that before she left she had frequently mentioned the Drunken Huntsman in Whiterun. I travel West in the morning, but will take a short detour to access the methods necessary to defeat my assassin when she comes for me.

 

[Star Gazer]

Entry 61:

On my trip West I overshot Whiterun, traveling by night upon Arvak, who bore me swiftly to Morthal. It was there that I spoke for a good long while with Falion, the mage who holds the secret to curing vampirism, which I asked him to share with me. At first, he was hesitant to answer any of my questions due to my position at the College, as he revealed that he was at one time expelled from research at the institution, however after I disclosed that I was close friends with Serana he opened up to me like a flower.

The wizard asked me what my purposes were in seeking such information, and I told him that I planned to win the favor of a certain vampire. He retorted, saying that if I wished to seek the favor of one such fiend, I would do much better in offering a living subject rather than a cure. I responded that I did not wish to provide a cure, but to force one. “How do you expect to win the vampire’s favor by revoking his curse, the source of his powers,” he asked me, to which I simply responded, “The school of illusion holds many tools, able to soothe the fiercest Nord but ineffective entirely against the undead.” “I see now,” he said, “you wish to bend one such person to your will. I should have expected as much from a Collegiate.” At this point, he offered to teach me, but demanded payment; a year of service as his assistant, after which he would relinquish the secret- this would not do.

I asked why he was expelled from the College, and he revealed that he, years ago under in the name of the College, practiced necromancy. I was confused, explaining that necromancy has its own applications in the College, and can be practiced in an ethical manner, as I am writing about in my book. He then revealed that what he studied was not necromancy in the sense of conjuration, but in the sense of soul magic, forging agreements and dealings with the Ideal Masters of the Soul Cairn; souls for power. Needless to say, my interest was piqued- perhaps this man was the key to freeing Valerica, Serena’s mother, depending on what knowledge he held. I made him a counter-offer; in return for teaching me the secret of curing vampirism, he would be restored to a position of honorary membership at the College, needless of tuition or scholarly contribution, provided that any dealings that he made with the Ideal Masters were thoroughly documented. He agreed.

Over the course of several hours, the man showed me the exact technique for releasing Molag Bal’s hold over an individual, which I will briefly describe here; that a filled black soul-gem be held by the transferer, who then commands with a loud voice that the affliction of vampirism release its claim on the victim, latching rather to the soul within the gem. Because vampirism is a spiritual affliction of Daedric origin, it responds most immediately to power, and if you can assert your power over it, obedience is certain. Since a creature with vampirism cannot contract vampirism a second time, thus the soul within the gem must not already be afflicted; due to this, I found myself at an ethical conundrum, unwilling to foist the curse onto an innocent soul and, because of my convictions, the only black souls in my possession were vampiric.

I asked to see Falion’s collection of black soul gems, and he proceeded to unfurl a large leather roll, revealing about a dozen gems of varying size and hue. I asked the details of each soul- unfortunately, all of the individuals trapped within were either bandits, necromancers, or already of vampiric quality. I told him I would find a suitable gem elsewhere and thanked him for his service, promising that he would be accepted at the College, as I would be sending a letter to admissions (which I had sent that night via courier).

As I approached the door, however, I noticed out of the corner of my eye another gem- twisted, curled, and dark amber. Upon my questioning, he explained that the soul within belonged to a Dremora of moderate rank. I asked if such a creature held a black soul, which he affirmed. I asked to purchase it, and we were once again thrust into negotiations. In the end, after about another half-hour of haggling, we came to an agreement, that I should teach him to summon Arvak from the Soul-Cairn, provided that he not bring harm to the steed in any way. I must say I am sad to transfer ownership of the noble beast, as he held me aloft to safety many times, but he is but a beast, and as a stableman sells his steed for a fair price, so did I with Arvak. I taught Falion exactly how to summon him and how exactly to situate his bridle.

I cut the tension of trade finally by explaining that I had at one point attempted to capture the soul of a carrot, thinking it suitable food for the soul-horse. Of course it didn’t work, but it was also that day that I learned that Arvak still enjoyed the taste of carrots and apples, despite the reality that they would always either fall out of his jaw or through his rib-cage. For the first time over the course of hours, I saw the old mage smile. We left on good terms, and I hope for a profitable relationship with him in the future.

I currently write from Moorside Inn, and will return tomorrow to Whiterun to seek the aid of Jenassa.

 

[Star Gazer]

Entry 62:

I write from Breezehome, which will soon be the site of a great victory.
I traveled with little incident from Morthal to Whiterun, where I immediately entered the door of the Drunken Huntsman, ordering a tankard of mead from the barman, Elrindir, who I had not previously met despite living right across the street from his establishment. Although we were not familiar, we bonded over our Bosmer kinship. We spoke for some time before I inquired about Jenassa, and he explained that when she is not on contract, she usually arrives to the bar around sunset, and he mentioned that she had visited earlier in the week. I thanked him, and left, sitting on a rock right out front of Breezehome, chatting with any passers-by.

It happened that, while I was eating a humble supper of baked potatoes and bread, the front gate opened, and in walked a Dunmer woman wearing face-paint, clad in leather armor with an iron sword at her waist. I approached her and asked if I could buy her a drink at the Drunken Huntsman, and she obliged. We spoke for a short time under the watchful eye of Elrindir, and I told her that I have heard word of her work by a mutual friend by the name of Aventus. At the mention of the boys name, her ears perked up. “How is the boy doing these days,” she asked, and I told her that he hopes for adoption at the Honorhall Orphanage in Riften. I assured her that he was well-treated by the headmistress there, and had made friends. At this, she seemed much relieved.

“Do you seek my services, Sera,” she asked, revealing her heritage, continuing, “perhaps you’d like a particular flame, a life, snuffed out. It is an art, you know, of which I am a master.” I withheld my question about the Black Sacrament due to listening Bosmeri ears, and said, “I was hoping for companionship on a short errand. I have heard from the guards of missing persons in what is called Shimmermist Cave. I am willing to pay for your aid.” She smiled, and we then negotiated on a fair price. We met the morning of the next day and traveled to the cave in question. Jenassa, as I learned, is quite the wordsmith and charismatically charming, yet dark in her mannerisms, proudly sharing the bloodiness of her past accomplishments. I had a feeling she would be equally open about what she knew of the Brotherhood.

We uncovered a Falmer lair within the cave and cleared them out with relative ease. Along the way, I asked about her relationship with the Aretino boy. She explained that after his parents had died, she would stop by daily to bring him food and counsel out of sympathy, having been orphaned herself as a young girl. It was only after Aventus’ rebellious return from his first visit to Honorhall that she gave him options; strike off as a mercenary’s apprentice as she did, suffer the horrors under Grelod, or involve the Dark Brotherhood. Due to the trauma he endured already at the crone’s hands, and because of his lack of combat prowess and fear of death, he chose the third option, to contact the Dark Brotherhood. She stopped there. I pressed in, “Such a strange thing, a child knowing the Black Sacrament. Surely he learned it from someone.” Jenassa responded, “though the Black Sacrament is widely known and feared, there are relatively few who know how to perform it properly. To perform the ritual is to send a message to the dark matron, the Night Mother herself, that she might send an agent of change to enact the will of Sithis. It is nothing more and nothing less than a person in need reaching out a hand in the dark for help. Luckily for them, the Night Mother hears, and responds. Aretino was likely taught by an admirer of their craft.” I took note of her praise of the Night Mother and her problematic personification of Sithis; “You certainly know a lot about the Dark Brotherhood, and you seem to be an admirer yourself,” I said. She responded, “Perhaps I am, yet perhaps you already knew this about me.” “Indeed, I did,” I revealed, “and I wish to employ your services further.” She considered my request in silence for a moment.

After a few minutes travel and another wave of Falmer, depositing us into a small dwemer ruin, she spoke again, “You want to know how to perform the Black Sacrament,” she said, matter-of-factly. “No,” I replied, “I want you to perform the ritual for me.” She looked at me with confusion, “Why not commune with them yourself? And why not just have Aventus perform it and save yourself the conversation with me?” To which I responded, “Aventus has moved on, and I would do him harm to ask him to step back into dark waters. I cannot perform the Black Sacrament due to the nature of my target.” “I do not understand. Who do you want dead?” She asked. “Well,” I said, “my target it myself.” She laughed, but stopped when she realized I was serious.

We spoke for a few minutes more, and I explained that I sought to meet with a particular assassin on a personal level, and thought it best to engage them in this manner. I spoke no names, and did not reveal my intentions, keeping my story vague enough for her to make her own interpretation and come to a decision. We came to an unusual agreement, that she would perform the Black Sacrament on me that night, and in return I taught her, in that cave, how to use the eggs of the chaurus to make potions of invisibility, mixing them with the wings of a luna moth. “What shall I say when the assassin comes to me asking for details,” she asked, to which I responded, “tell them that I committed a great slight against you and blasphemed against the Night Mother and her vampiric child. Notify them also that I will be in Breezehome for the next few days, and ask that they kill me there.”

We returned to Whiterun sometime in the afternoon, and we parted at the Drunken Huntsman.

It is now night, and I do not know when my killer will arrive. I know it will be B., as I doubt she would let a slight against her and her mother go personally unpunished, especially after having learned that her first attempt to kill me had failed. I sent Lydia to purchase enough provisions from Hulda at the Bannered Mare so that we will not have to leave the house for up to a week. Our plan is thus; upon entrance to the home, the assassin will find me seated in front of the fireplace. What they don’t know is that Lydia is situated in the rafters above the door, ready to pounce on the intruder and bind them so that I might perform the ritual entrusted to me by Falion, after which I will work illusion magicks on the now-mortal, who will reveal all the required information for my raid on the Dawnstar Sanctuary. One of us will be awake at all times, and will be able to stir the other awake silently by means of a thin, borderline invisible, thread tied from the thumb of one to the other.

My heart pounds within my chest at the thought of encountering B. again, yet her hubris will be her weakness, and our preparation will be our strength.

 

[Star Gazer]

Entry 63:

It had been four or five days of waiting, I was not sure at the time. My mind grew numb and my senses had been dulled. For a long time I prayed to the Master for success, for strength, for glory, but as minutes grew to hours, which morphed into days, I began to see, or perhaps remember, that the things which the Supreme Being loves are such virtues as humility and such qualities as smallness and meekness. I began to meditate on such created things as the ant, the mushroom, and the blade of grass during my waking hours as we awaited my killer.

Though sleep was hard to come by due to anxiety, it was early morning when I was roused from sleep by Lydia tugging on our shared thumb-string. I shot up in my chair, bowl of vegetable soup on my lap from the night prior, and looked lazily up at Lydia. At first I assumed she had alerted me that her shift was over, but as she tugged in a rhythmic fashion, I understood that our time had come and our enemy had arrived. I removed the string and sat in silence, straightening my back, stretching quietly, and listening. The front door was undisturbed, but I heard a sound behind me- a faint shuffling from upstairs. I quickly cast detect dead, and sure enough I witnessed the aura of a small undead creature writhing its way in-between what must have been the wooden panels of the upstairs bedroom window. My throat was tight, my chest felt like it would burst, and the fist-sized circular scar on my abdomen from my last encounter with the vampiric child was throbbing. I continued casting detect dead as I watched her aura move into the upstairs hall, approach the stairs, and descend. Her aura was in direct sight, but she was under the effects of invisibility, either a spell or a potion. My mind shot to Jenassa; perhaps she had gleaned my motive and placed her bets on B. Either way, Lydia would be unable to see her and I hesitated, unsure of what to do. Perhaps our plans were foiled.

The creature reached the bottom of the stairs and noticed that I was turned around in my chair watching, aware of her invisibility. “Hello again Tsoren,” she said. “Hello B.,” said I. “Maybe you could help a little girl over the bridge again.” She said. “Not this time,” I responded with voice audibly shaking. Without warning she rushed at me with incredible speed, and as I rose from my chair I kicked it with great force in her direction, causing her to fall prone for a slight moment. As she rose, I threw my pot of soup at her, after which I reached down into the fireplace, grabbing two handfuls of warm ash and casting them before me, through which she charged to attack, collecting the airborne ash upon the soup, revealing her vague form to Lydia, though still invisible. I dodged her first attack as I wheeled backwards, hitting the door. I could see that her arm was raised above her head; what she held, I was unsure. As she lunged forward to strike me, Lydia pounced down from the rafters directly above, bringing the fiend to the floor with a crash. The housecarl struggled to get a firm grip on her, and was stabbed deeply in the thigh with a steel blade, ending the spell of invisibility and revealing the nature of our enemy. Through the pain, Lydia was able wrestle the weapon free and pin B., who we now saw was covered and hooded with a simple black cloak, underneath which also she was wrapped tightly with strips of linen reminiscent of a body prepared for burial. Lydia drew back the child’s cloak, revealing B.’s pallid face. She was laughing, revealing her animalistic teeth.

I knelt beside her, drawing the black soul-gem and placing it near. I spoke commandingly to the vampirism within the words I had rehearsed while I waited; “I order you to obey me, influence of Molag Bal. In your power, be made powerless by one who is weak, and in your dominance, be dominated by one who is small. All power belongs to the Master of All Things, and by the invocation of the power to which all things submit I command you to release your claim on this victim and latch yourself to the spirit within this gem!” After saying these things, B.’s laughter turned to screams, which died down to a whimper. A foul black mist exited her nose and mouth, circling the gem like smoke and vanishing into its manifold fractals as the now mortal B. lethargically launched a string of curses at us. I prepared a powerful pacify spell, casting it at the girl, who then went limp under Lydia’s body. I also worked a spell of greater healing on Lydia’s leg, stopping the bleeding, and afterwards asked that her opponent be released, which she did hesitantly. I took a deep breath and urged B. to take a seat at the fire and enjoy its warmth for the first time in untold ages. She did, and I stoked the dying embers back to life with a convection spell and another log. I slid the other chair back into place and took my seat next to her. I must note here- I have fought countless battles with men and beasts, many of which were several times larger than myself; yet I can still say that my encounters with this particular girl were the most terrifying. As I looked into her eyes, I could trace no orange glow particular to vampirism, and while she is but a mere child bodily, her deep brown eyes betrayed an aged tiredness.

The following details of our conversation are approximate, but contain the fullness of its contents;
Firstly, I asked her name, which she answered “Babette.” I told her that we would not harm her, and that we only want truthful answers to our questions. I told her that I understood that she and her companions were stationed in the Pale on the Northern coast, which she affirmed quietly. I explained that two of her men were killed recently, and asked who they were, “They were initiates, drawn by Mother from distant lands,” she responded. I asked if her Mother was in the sanctuary; she nodded her head affirmingly. I asked who else lived in the sanctuary, and she sleepily responded, “the three initiates, the old man, the jester, and the other vampire.” When prompted, she explained that the old man was a survivor of the Falkreath Sanctuary massacre, the jester cared for the Night Mother under the title of ‘Keeper,’ and the other vampire served as the new ‘Listener,’ which, as Babette explained, speaks uniquely and directly with the Night Mother. Finally I asked her, “What is the answer to the door’s riddle?” Babette squirmed in her chair at the question, squinting her eyes as if to shake off my spell. I prepared the incantation, cast it a second time, and asked again, “Babette, what is life’s greatest illusion?” She sat quietly for a moment and answered, “innocence, my brother.” “It certainly is,” I said and continued, “it was the illusion of innocence that almost cost me my life on the bridge.” The girl smiled, which now seemed much less intimidating.

I instructed Lydia to bind Babette’s hands and deliver her to the honorable Jarl Balgruuf and explain her crimes. By his wisdom, he can decide the intruder’s fate; as is his right and his responsibility.

I stepped outside for the first time in days and headed to Jorrvaskr. I summoned Athis and explained we were heading North, and he took me downstairs to fetch Bjorn, who was in what seemed to be deep conversation with Aela. We left early in the afternoon and currently rest at Windpeak Inn. We plan in the morning to meet with Erandur, who will aid us in our assault.

 

[Star Gazer]

Entry 64:

The Night Mother is a heap of ashes and her few children are left listless.
The night at Windpeak Inn passed smoothly, and I found opportunity to speak to Bjorn. I found him in front of the inn, standing against the wooden wall and looking directly up at the waxing moons. “Do you admire the sundered body of Shor?” I asked. The Nord looked down at me and responded, “I have no respect for tricksters.” “You must reserve your admirations for the All-Maker then,” I said, prying. After a pause I continued, “I too have kept my faith in he who created all things.” The giant looked back at the moon and said, “I am not sure if we worship the same god. Besides, he will want little to do with me. The Maker gives little reward for strength of arm and victory in battle.” “Strength of arm is one thing,” I said, continuing, “what matters most is favor from he who decides the outcome of every battle and every toss of the dice; he who exists outside of time and space, bending it to his purpose and will.” I then inquired, “if not the Maker, who then do you serve?” to which Bjorn quickly answered, “Myself,” as he turned once more into the Inn.

We made the short trek to Nightcaller Temple at sunrise, finding Erandur providing counsel to one of Dawnstar’s residents. Upon seeing us, he dismissed the civilian, rising and strapping his ebony mace to his side. He embraced Athis, and then myself. Bjorn stood by the door. “I assume you have deduced the Door’s riddle.” He said to us, which I confirmed. “Enough chatter then,” he said, “let’s go.” It was nice to travel with the priest again, even if only for a short distance. Bjorn took the lead as we cut a path through the deep powder. We followed in his trail and were greatly blessed by his sacrifice of comfort and warmth; a true Nord, yet I could not deduce the condition of his spirit. Based on our conversation the night prior, he seemed to be troubled in his soul. He guided us up a short path from the shoreline and I could see the ominous black door from a distance. I explained that there were likely to be six persons in total within the Sanctuary, but our priority is the corpse: the Night Mother. I requested that the vampire be left up to me, based on my experience with the fiends and due to his unique relationship with the Mother.

We stopped just a few feet away from the door, at which point I stepped forward, putting my hand on the door’s handle. It spoke, “What is life’s greatest illusion,” and I provided the answer for which we had worked so hard for; “Innocence, my brother.” On its own, the door opened an inch, and I pushed it open the rest of the way. We entered the dark corridor; a narrow pathway of stairs leading downwards, depositing us finally into an assembly area. Passageways lined the sides of the room, and four men stood together in the center, conversing. They turned to us, and three men drew swords and knives, the fourth man, dressed in a very flamboyant manner, (who I assumed to be the Jester and Keeper) fled into one of the passages at the behest of the other three to “flee with the Lady.” Bjorn commanded that we follow him to his mother, and he volunteered to fight the three. We obliged, and followed the clown, myself and the two Dunmer, but were caught by surprise from a blast of flame erupting from one side of the cavernous path. An old man clad in robes launched a fireball at us which was deftly blocked by means of a ward cast by Erandur. “Continue on,” our Dunmer advised us, and again we obliged.

Athis and I continued into the dark, and we heard animalistic howling and crashing behind us beyond Erandur, but were encouraged to continue by the sound of the Keeper’s fleeing footsteps. We ventured into a dark room, and were met by a most unpleasant stench. I cast candlelight into the room and found that the walls were lined with dead bodies, hung by their arms which were shackled to the walls, bleeding from wounds in their necks. I knew we had been led into the vampire’s lair. I urged Athis to continue and finally subdue the clown, and he agreed, forging forward. A voice called out to me in the dark, “The Mistress told us you would arrive.” I could not locate the direction of his voice, but answered, “the Night Mother does not speak to you by the power of Sithis, neither would the Padomaic presence condone your evil.” At this point I lifted a hand, casting detect dead, yet was still unable to decipher his aura. It was at this point that I was struck in the side by a spear of ice magick. Turning to the direction of the attack, I found that the vampire had been hiding amongst the row of dead bodies. He wore a dark cloak and had shaggy shoulder-length black hair. He lunged at me clumsily, and found himself beaten to the ground by the pommel of my sword and held to the ground by his bleeding neck under the weight of my steel boot. He had surprised me, but I refuse to be killed by the Daedra’s dog.

I blasted the creature with restorative light, weakening him, and dragged him by his pitiful mane into the next chamber, where Athis held the disarmed clown at sword-point. Finally after all the clamor there was silence. Within this chamber behind the Keeper stood a large metal sarcophagus. “Open it,” I commanded the clown, but he refused, “kill me but do not harm Mother,” at which point I held my blade to the Listener’s throat. “We are going to have a chat with your Mother, and if not, nothing will remain here; be they man or corpse,” I said, and at my threat of total destruction, the man slowly backed up to the container and opened its doors. Inside of the contraption stood a mummified body, a woman from untold ages ago.

“Speak, hag,” I called to her, but no reply. The vampire spoke proudly, “she will only speak to the Listener, and she has revealed to me that not only had she foreseen your intrusion, but she has planned this very meeting from the start.” I threw him to the floor and pressed the tip of my blade to his back, speaking again to the Night Mother, “Last chance, O mummified prostitute and demonic pretender,” I shouted. A clammy voice rose from the coffin, “stay your blade, warrior. You have done well to come to me, and I have been told of your errand; to know the will of Sithis, Padomay himself.” The clown and vampire looked on in horror as she spoke to me. I laughed, “am I now your champion? Keeper and Listener, behold your matron, driven to bribery, casting off her pride and tradition for the sake of her life. Watch closer, as her true identity is revealed!” I removed my blade from the vampire, sheathing it as the man watched on in morbid curiosity. Recalling all of my knowledge of the Daedra from my multitudinous dealings with them, and calling forth all of my courage and determination, I shouted forth, “Mephala! Twister of hearts and defiler of minds, demon of fraud and adultery! Manifest yourself!” The corpse cried out loudly and fell from a standing position to the floor by no mortal means. “I banish you from Nirn back to your darkened corner of Oblivion. Have no more hold on the corpse of this woman, and never again intend to blasphemously align yourself with the Hand of Change which belongs to the Master alone. It is by his power that I cast you out!” With that, the shouting corpse ceased. All men in the room looked at me, stupefied. Erandur entered the room with blood dripping from his mace and I was indeed glad to see him victorious. “Behold the matron of the Dark Brotherhood,” I said, and commanded Athis to cremate the corpse, which he did immediately by means of spell. We three men left the room, leaving the ritualists to sort through the ashes of their deception.

We entered the entry-room once more to find the corpses of the three initiates mangled and torn across the room, an absolute bloodbath of inhuman design. The manner of destruction was reminiscent to me, and familiar. I took note of such a sight. Bjorn joined us as we left.

Without the Night Mother, the Dark Brotherhood is no more. The remnant is humiliated and purposeless. Should they desire to continue, they forge on as a band little different than mercenaries, no longer smitten by the wiles of the Daedra. May they find loyalty to a truer master.

We joyfully bid farewell to Erandur after a round of drinks and traveled back to Whiterun. We journeyed mostly in silence, all of us considering deeply the things that had transpired that day, however as we drew into the plains and first spied Dragonsreach over the hills in the distance, Athis asked me, “How did you know that the Night Mother was Mephala?” I answered him, “Just a hunch.” I didn’t explain to him the conversations I had with the miners at Darkwater Crossing introduced to me by Derkeethus more than a year ago; those lizard-folk whose worship of Padomay is earnest. It was they that initially revealed Mephala to be the attempted twister of their worship, that such a demon loved to prey on those bound to the observation of Padomaic tradition. It was clear to me that the Brotherhood had fallen into her web, creating a false-god of Sithis and an idol out of the Night Mother’s corpse. May her destruction bring peace to the land.

We returned to Jorrvaskr and rejoiced at the honor brought to the land at the cult’s demise.

With these things behind me, I long to press onward in my quest to know more deeply the Shepherd who binds the Et’ada, the One who all things glorify by their existence. I grow weary of my shallow understanding of that Great Being, and I seek knowledge. I will travel in the morning to Winterhold to seek Urag’s services in translating the tablet I uncovered in the Forgotten Vale of the Falmer, and then to the ice fields in the North to meet with the mad mage and inquire of Hermaeus Mora once again.

 

[Star Gazer]

Entry 65:

I arrived at Winterhold near sunset, supping on the steps of the Hall of the Elements with J’Zargo and swapping stories. From the time I had last seen him, he seems to have really applied himself, and of that I am proud. He has been working closely with Faralda to progress the study of destruction here at the College, and his mannerisms betray a marked change from the thief of a cat I had first met only a year ago.

I rested and returned the following morning to the Arcanaeum, finding Urag busy with some logistical work at his desk, as always. He greeted me, and I simply placed on his desk the tablet I had uncovered near the Sanctum of Auri-El deep in the northern Druadach Mountains. He looked at the slab with confusion, and I explained where I had sourced it, also asking if he would be able to translate it. What he said was striking, “I can tell its Falmer, but that’s about it. It’s a dead language and very sparse contemporary works exist to compare it to. With so few resources, you wouldn’t be able to deduce its alphabet.”

I thought that perhaps Gelebor would be able to help me, being possibly the only surviving speaker of the language, but after his disappearance from the shrine in Darkfall Cave after Serena’s betrayal, I cannot be sure of his location or even whether or not he lives. I have spent an hour researching the few tomes Urag had for me, connecting my experience in the Vale with the historical documents regarding the Falmer, most of which are written many years after their enslavement. Their fate was truly horrific beyond imagination, and their desire to ascend to “one-ness with Auri-El,” propelled their entire race culturally and economically, only for their deity, their deceiver, to abandon them to the wiles of the Nords and the Dwemer.

For now, I rest my pen. I will lace my traveling boots and venture into the ice-fields once more. Whatever lies in store for Septimus and I within that cube of dwemeri make calls to me. Almost audibly.

 

[Star Gazer]

Entry 66:

New vistas of reality burst into my sight.
I arrived in the ice-fields at noon, carrying with me the essence extractor which I had filled, holding within the facsimile of Dwemer blood crafted from the essences of the other merish races. I note here that all fluids were extracted ethically, either clinically from volunteers or from the fallen. I descended the ladder into the study of the Nord named Septimus Signus, a man whom I once knew, but have no memory of. Entering the cube by questionable and forgotten means, the only thing I remember is an old man, I assume to be Signus, finding not the expected Heart of Lorkhan, but a single large tome bound by a variety of leathers. Immediately taking and searching the Book within, he first seemed confused, but grew more excited with each word he read. “This is it…” he said. I asked what he meant, but he did not, or maybe could not, hear me. “There is no need for the heart,” he said, “this is the door to godhood, the path to the world beyond.” He continued reading, but then screamed, vaporizing in an instant and dropping the book to the floor.

I stepped back in horror as I watched the man disappear, as if ripped from reality itself in a most violent manner. What happened to him? I still am unsure. It is only by my reviewing of my notes that I connect the pieces, that this man sought the heart of Lorkhan to ascend beyond either our mortality or physicality, potentially reminiscent of those mer who called themselves ‘gods’ years ago under the historic Tribunal. I am unsure of the closeness of my relationship to the man, and so I am hesitant to grieve; a strange feeling.

I approached the book slowly, lifting it carefully and moving to place it in my bag when a voice called out to me, old Mora’s voice. “Read it,” the Daedra said. “Why, so that you might kill me as well,” said I. The writhing mass responded, “Septimus did not die, but ceased to exist, a fate due to his own deficiency. While he carried the fullness of knowledge, the key you might say, he lacked something important to pass through the gate. You will not have that problem, as you have only partial knowledge, able to perceive the image, but unable to enter therein.” Uncertain of what to do, I asked, “what does the book contain?” The Daedra answered, “you might say that the book itself is a piece to a puzzle. If it is your first piece, it connects to nothing, it is meaningless. If it finds a point of connection, however, it is meaningful indeed.” I asked another question, “what did Septimus lack?” The Daedra answered again, “Perhaps he lacked permission. Perhaps we might find out together.”

My curiosity grew as I held again the book in my hands. I opened it.

At first I saw only two images; one circular and one triangular. As I stared at the circular graph, while I could not read the runic language, I began to understand what it signified. I watched as what was at one point merely ink on the page translated into my mind the image of the cosmos itself, truly, the fullness of Aurbis mapped onto a two-dimensional plane. I charted with my eyes Nirn and its moons, the surrounding planes, indeed all of Mundus; beyond, the mooring-points of Aetherius and Oblivion. Looking to the next page, the same thing happened; the image contained within the blueprint for all of Creation, yet this time not physically but cosmically, temporally, portraying that which pertains to non-corporeal essence, the essences of time, fate, and the cosmos. That which is contained in this book, nay, rather than which has been created by the Greatest Being, is beautiful.

In all of my seeing I gleaned another meaning from the temporal image; some kind of intentional limitation placed by the Creator; a hole in the bucket, a knot in the rope; a necessary finality which marks the end of Aurbis both physically and temporally. The zodiac hints within the graph at a cyclical nature, potentially a restart. Furthermore, the spark of all life bodily and spiritual is eventually quenched, everything which has breath is destroyed. Looking back, one finds that this destruction has happened previously, and looking forward, one knows it will happen again, that all those within the cyclical system, yes even those lesser spirits of ‘Aedra’ and ‘Daedra’ who relate to the temporal flow differently are subject to its utter annihilation. I am unsure the implications of this, but I am reminded of the ancient tomes within the monastery Hrothgar, the Nordic conceptions of the draconic Akatosh drawing time forward like a sled-dog, and his counterparts being the harbingers of ‘destructive time-change.’

I list here lofty mysteries which require much meditation;
The connection between Lorkhan’s heart and Herma-Mora’s Oghma
The cyclical nature of time and its destruction
The intentionality of our Creator
The “Path” referred to by both Signus and Mora
Akatosh and the present return of the dragons

With these things in mind, I turned to Mora, mouth agape. The spirit spoke, “A foretaste of knowledge. You desire more.” I nodded, still speechless with enlightenment. “The tablet you carry is a language lost, yet recovered by one,” he said, “there is a man whom you know in what you call the Reach, Markarth, who is able to decipher its meaning. Glean its instructions but reveal them to nobody. This is your next step to that which you seek, a discernment of your Master.” I could do nothing but respond with a choked, “and yours.” Mora laughed, the sound was akin to a malformed and twisted massive bell, and afterwards disappeared.

I left the berg and headed southwest, finally stopping at Nightgate Inn for the evening. I plan to rest here for a few days time to allow my mind to settle before taking my next steps.

 

[Star Gazer]

Entry 67:

My time at the Nightgate Inn has been refreshing and profitable. I have spent many hours at the lake, filling my hands with fishing pole and smoking-pipe as I mused over many mysteries. I highlight this entry so as to mark it for further consideration.

My meditations began with the pages of Mora’s Oghma of Xarses; its implications of the cycles of time and the intentionality of the Supreme. Firstly, I am called to question the reasoning behind the Master’s creating all of Aurbis, the “Grey Maybe,” only to subject it (by His supreme will) to tragedy and tribulation. Furthermore, what is the reasoning in creating souls Black and White only for them to suffer and fade from existence once more? These are questions of primary importance for me, as such answers will uncover His ultimate plan for existence, also revealing what he wants, which is still hidden from me.

My considerations drew me to consider why the Spirits of Aedra and Daedra were allowed to grow in strength and develop into what they are today. Surely the Creator would not willingly forego his own worship to these lesser Spirits, as they are all evil and seek their own gain and glory rather than his. Such evil beings drive away the hearts of men and mer from each other and from True Focus and carry them away to idolatry, murder, and all kinds of wickedness. I am stopped in my train of thought- of course the Creator allowed them to propagate themselves into existence, as all power belongs solely to him; I am confused however, as no good king would allow evil to prevail throughout his realm, even if for a time.

This in itself is quite telling; if life in the mortal plane was intended by the Creator as a gift (as would be proposed by the Nords and other man-folk) then it would be a poor gift indeed. If life on Nirn was a prison to which we are condemned (as would be proposed by the Altmer and certain other mer), I don't believe such things as joy and beauty would exist, as we would have been cast away from that which is good.
If this life were a test, however; (as some Dunmer clans believe) our stalwartness, genuineness, and faithfulness must prevail in the face of wickedness- this is truly a test of the worthy. This seems to be my reigning theory, that the creation of Aurbis by the hands Anu and Padomay is for the purpose of testing; refining the pure while the impure grow in their rottenness- what comes after however, I am unsure. I would assume that after this test, goodness is rewarded and wickedness punished, but I cannot prove this based on what has been revealed to me thus far. If the cyclical nature necessitates an end to all things, with no punishment or reward levied, then existence is naturally evil- neither a test nor a gift, but a curse. The little I know of the Master leads me away from such a cynical and nihilistic assumption. The words of Signus and Mora haunt me however, as their language of a "Path out" to enlightenment, Godhood, or ascenscion, hints that there may be some consideration given to the Altmeri "Prison" hypothesis. Should one pass the "Test," does he therefore remove himself from the cyclical flow of Time? Did such men as Tiber Septim achieve this feat, as is possibly proposed by the Nords? I have never paid much heed to the mannish religions, but if Talos interacted with the limitations of temporality, physicality, and mortality, then perhaps the Temple of Talos in Windhelm would hold hints towards the answers I seek.

Onward in my thoughts, the existence of Time; the Temporal Flow as it is, baffles me. The continuum of existence rolls by the initiatory Hands of the Shepherd, but the spirits and their various planes of Oblivion exist relative to time on an axis, rolling separately and uniquely from the Flow of Nirn, yet are consistently intentional and microscopically deliberate by the will of the same Shepherd, being subject to the start, flow, and end of time nonetheless, experiencing a kind of birth, growth, and death relative to their existence.

Considering the continuum of time, the Cycles, and the seemingly contradictory existence of the lesser Spirits- questions of Free Will also exist. Beings like Azura and Mora can scry the past and future to a limited degree, yet claim that they know and plan all things to happen. I argue with little doubt that this is a bluff on their part. Azura in the past had predicted my coming to her statue and revealed it to her priestess, claiming that I would be her champion; this was partially fulfilled, and partially unfulfilled. While I did indeed arrive to the statue and speak to the priestess, I refused to be her champion, expelling her presence from her Star and garnering much scorn from that particular Prince. Separately, Mephala, predicting our raid on the Dawnstar Sanctuary in advance, expected our meeting to transpire one way, hoping to allure me with information about Sithis-Padomay, but miscalculated my hatred of her, resulting (by the invocation of the Supreme) in the clearing of her deception from the minds of the Dark Brotherhood and the expulsion of her presence from the body of the Night Mother, the corpse-matron of their clan. I believe that while the Master of All Things exists outside of Time and Space, having created them and not being subject to them, the Lesser Spirits exist in a pseudo-separateness from these existences, as if they relate to and are subject to the forces of temporality, mortality, and physicality on a dimension higher than mortals, but are still ultimately under the yoke of such forces. While the Princes claim omniscience, I can say with a great degree of confidence, that while they can see the future dimly, this is mostly based on their scrying of possible futures, over which they strive and gamble, achieving only a limited view of 'Potential.'

I hold divisive thoughts on Mora. While I can see that he desires his own glory and seemingly refuses to acknowledge the Creator as greater than he, Mora is unique among the Daedra as he seems to hold within his realm the thoughts and writings of men, mer, and spirits in the past (and possibly future) who may have truly gleaned the existence and Will of That-Which-Is-Greatest. It is their help, those who have truly known Him, that I desire, yet I am restrained to interacting with Mora as the middle-man.

I was driven to a final thought; There is no arbiter between mortal and Master. If the Creator were to answer my pleas, I would call him to give an account of himself, to reveal himself to us, but alas, the chasm between he and I is too great; he is too lofty, and I am of too low estate, our interaction is impossible. One thing have I seen from the Master, however; that he chooses to feed that which is small- the mouse, the bird, and the struggling flower. Let me be like these so that he might look down on me in pity and raise my head. If any connection is possible between he and I, it cannot be by my own agency as if convincing him of my greatness or forcing his hand by some divine summons, no. For me to see Him, He must descend to me.
"Descend," can be the only prayer of the lisping tongue, and "Have mercy," can be the only thought of a heart guilty as mine. "Come down," can be the only wish of the powerless mind, and "Guide me," can be the only dream of a soul lost as mine.

 

[Star Gazer]

Entry 68:

I took the road West from Nightgate Inn to Markarth, stopping at evening at the Frostfruit Inn in Rorikstead. I met there a man whose family I had once supported financially, who was excited to see me. He told me that since we had last spoke he had become a mercenary to gain fame and wealth. “These things, fame and wealth, indeed wait in store for adventurers, yet countless have lost their lives in pursuit of them,” I said. The man spoke, “In that case, you’ll be needing someone to make sure you don’t get killed.” He seemed to be a lighthearted individual. “What is your name?” I asked, to which he quickly and confidently responded, “Erik the Slayer.” I asked him how he earned the title of ‘Slayer,’ and Erik revealed that it was self-appointed, having slain a pack of wolves within the past year. “I have known countless ‘slayers’ in my time. Perhaps you would do better to market yourself with a more suitable name.” I said. He responded, “I need a name that will strike fear into the hearts of my enemies,” a pause, “When I have enemies, that is.” I grew impatient with the boy, “When a man seeks enemies, he finds death,” I said, and turned to the barkeep to order food and a room for the night.

The boy approached me later, interrupting my reading, asking what name he should choose for himself. “If you want a name to aspire to,” I said, “choose Erik the Lowly. That is the name of a man who finds spiritual favor and survives in this world.” The boy scoffed at me, “Who would hire the services of a man called ‘The Lowly?’” Yet I simply said, “I would.” This obviously caught him off guard. “I don’t understand,” he said, but I assured him that it would become clear soon. I gently negotiated a price with him, and we settled on a generous 500 gold.

We arrived in Markarth the next day with plans to enter the Understone Keep to seek the man capable of translating the Falmer language. As I expected, upon initial questioning, Calcelmo, the foremost expert on the Dwemer, revealed that he was truly able to decipher the ancient text. He offered to translate it, given a few days’ time, but I insisted that he allow me the tools to do the work of translation myself. Despite our history, in which I aided his efforts in Nchuand-Zel, he refused. I made another offer, “Perhaps we can come to an arrangement; knowledge for knowledge,” I said, reminding myself unnervingly of the tentacular Mora. The scholar’s ears perked up, but asked whether or not I had anything useful to offer him. “Perhaps you have heard of ‘Fal’Zhardum-Din,’ and perhaps you would be interested in seeing it for yourself,” I asked. Immediately, Calcelmo lit up like a lantern, then furrowed his brow- surely the old man had been jaded by false promises and dead ends in the past; such is the life of the scholastic.

I produced the small attunement sphere initially given to me by the man once named Septimus Signus. “What I hold in my hand is the key to what is called Blackreach, and I am willing to exchange it for the key to the Falmeri language, which I vow I will share with nobody.” Calcelmo agreed on the condition that I also reveal the location of the entrance to ‘Blackest-Reaches’ and give him ample time to prove that what I offer is genuine. I agreed, and handed him the sphere. I told him that the closest entrance, I believe, would be Mzinchaleft near Dawnstar. He said he would have an answer for me within a week.

Here we sit in the Silver-Blood Inn. Erik is certainly not used to being in such large a city as Markarth, and this is the perfect opportunity for him to get a taste of city-life. As for me, I will devote myself to meditation. My mind drifts and I consider the hidden shrine to Molag Bal within the city, wherein, last year, the Vigilant of Stendarr fell under Daedric influence and attacked me, and I was forced to kill him. I remember his name still; Tyranus. If only I knew then what I do now, I would be able to dispel the Daedra's control over his mind, or at least work calming magicks on the man. He did not have to die, but I was unlearned and unpepared.
I stave off the guilt of my recollections. Such an emotion clouds the mind. I vow that by the time we leave Markarth, Molag Bal will have no presence here.

 

[Star Gazer]

Entry 69:

Calcelmo currently travels with a team of bodyguards North to Mzinchaleft at my direction in search of the entrance to ‘Blackest-Reaches.’ As we awaited his return, I turned my eyes towards the shrine of Molag Bal. I brought Erik with me one evening to the house which hid the abomination, and told my assistant to brace himself and listen to no voice but my own. I warned him of powerful magicks, and told him that we travel into the home of a very dangerous enemy, but as long as he follow my lead, he will leave unharmed.

We delved into the cavernous intestine at the far end of the stone home, eventually coming to the altar-room of the Daedric Prince. To my horror, there was a new man in the cage in which I was once held captive. The old Breton was elderly, robed in a loose black cloak which did little to cover his emaciated body. Skin clung to bone, and the man had all but wasted away. He sluggishly raised his head at our entrance and dimly grinned. “You’ve come to save me again,” he said. Immediately I recognized the man by his raspy voice, that priest of Boethia I had incidentally rescued from the Reachmen, whose blasphemous life I spared in a moment of mercy.

The old man spoke again, “I came to destroy the altar, but he is too strong.” “Worry not, I will destroy it,” I reassured him. At this, a hideous presence overshadowed the room, centered on the shrine. Darkness poured out from it, filling the entirety of the cave like water. Erik was shaking, and I put a firm hand on his shoulder. A foul sound bounced off the cavern walls from every direction, “Welcome back, lowest of mortals, your naivety has drawn you once again to my altar.” Disgusted, I spoke, “If I recall correctly, your servant Harkon lies dead at my hands and your visage in Castle Volkihar lies prostrate in submission.” A response came from the darkness, “Break the tiger’s claw and it will grow back. Castle Volkihar will not lie empty for long. You will find that your messy outburst did little to curb my influence. Do what you will to this altar; my servants have foretold your death at the hands of the Princes of Oblivion. All of your efforts will in time be reversed.” I raised my voice to give reply, “Your vision is too narrow, Fiend, you surely know of the coming Catastrophe. Brace yourself and prepare for the end of Time. Submit to the Master of all Powers and perhaps you will live on.” The voice in the dark spoke again, “You are a naive worm, senseless to the boot which looms over you.”

I raised my arms above my head; “May the Great Spirit who cares for the Small take heed and protect me. It is His name which I invoke over you, Molag Bal; release your prisoner and your yoke upon Markarth! Be dominated by a Greater Power!” With these things said, the darkness faded as the demon’s tangible presence also subsided.

The altar of Molag Bal began to crack at his absence, falling to the ground and shattering into stone rubble, as had the statue-shrine in Castle Volkihar. At its ruin, the bars of the cage also disappeared, freeing the priest of Boethiah. “Surely your god is worthy of much glory,” gasped the priest upon his release. “You are wrong,” said I, continuing, “he is worthy of all glory. You would do well to abandon your scheming and deceiving false god.” The priest tried to raise himself but failed, “It seems she has already abandoned me,” he said. I was moved almost to tears at his helplessness. I raised him to his feet and supported him as we turned to leave. Erik aided in holding the old man aloft, yet was silent. He led us out of the house and into the Silver-Blood Inn where the priest, Logrolf by name, drank and ate himself to sleep.

I had rented three rooms which included my usual lodging, Erik’s room up the hall from mine, and Logrolf’s on the opposite side of the establishment. Erik and I tarried late into the night discussing Smallness and Meekness, and Erik seems to finally understand why I bade him take the name of Lowly. I allowed him to read through select entries in this here journal, which he found particularly enlightening. I restrained myself from revealing my dealings with Mora, yet I am unsure why. Perhaps I feel some degree of shame.

Erik told me that I seem to have many powerful enemies, and that even the Daedra hate me. I agreed, but explained the nature of the Daedra, particularly the Princes; that they can only interact with Nirn to a very limited degree. “For a mind that is cunning and for a heart that seeks purity, the temptations and schemes of the demons have little effect. They are only allotted a little power, like a dog on a leash. This is why we must appeal to the one who owns the power granted; the Master of Power.”

Erik asked me other things, such as what Bal and I had discussed briefly; the coming Catastrophe. While I did not have much of an answer for him, I could tell he was afraid of the future, and I explained to him that no matter what is coming, we must focus on what is available for us today; to do justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly in the Master’s sight. At this, he found comfort.

 

[Star Gazer]

Entry 70:

After the destruction of the shrine of Molag Bal, we rested at the inn and ate breakfast with Logrolf, the former priest of Boethiah. He marveled at the power shown by my invocation of the Ultimate Being, and begged me to teach him such a power. I explained to him that if he was simply after power, then he should seek another Daedric Prince; power at the loss of his soul. I told him, however, that should he desire to humble and devote himself to honor, worship, and discovery of the Ultimate Will, then I would be glad to teach him what I knew.

Logrolf spent some time explaining his past, that he was a young man when he was indoctrinated into the service of Boethiah, taught her foolishness from an early age. I asked what he seeks. “I desire power, like you say. But I don’t wish to use power for domination as the Bal-ites do. I desire the power of proof; to prove my existence, to make my mark on the world and be remembered to eternity, as I had once learned from the Queen of Shadows,” he said. I felt bad for the man, and gave him a proverb, which I record here;
“There was once a young boy who made a castle of sand on the beach one morning.
He left, but hoped that nobody would discover his castle and change it, or even worse, destroy it.
He wrote his name in the sand and ran off, thinking his name a suitable proof of his ownership and a defense of his property.
When he had come back the next day to once again admire his creation, he found nothing.
While he was gone, the tide had come up, erasing his name along with his handiwork.
Even the proof of his presence was destroyed by inevitable time.
Such is the end of all men who desire to make their name great in this world.”

Logrolf was silent, and asked how one would survive the tides of fate. I told him it was indeed a profound question, for if we are all fated to destruction, how can we deny our fate? The question should not be how we can preserve our lives and the memory of our deeds, but rather whether there is life at the end of the age, after all things are destroyed here on Nirn, Oblivion, and even Aetherius. The only hope of a life after the total destruction of the Aurbis is in the One who created it, the Two-Handed Master.

In the acknowledgement that there is One who weaves the threads of fate to his own purposes, yes, a Spirit who has power over all things yet is intricately focused on even the smallest of details including what we do in our mortal lives, we must ask ourselves finally; ‘What does He want of us?” I dismissed Logrolf with these thoughts. Perhaps he will return to me, having given an effort to understand. I hope he finds clarity.

 

[Star Gazer]

Entry 71:

Erik came to me one evening having heard of the injustices committed by the Reachmen within the city walls, and of the guards’ unwillingness to protect citizens from the madmen. “We have to do something!” he told me. I had, in months past, disregarded the corruption of the guards in my efforts to maintain civil order, hoping the issue would resolve itself. I admire Erik’s optimism and zeal, and agreed to help him solve the problem. He explained that, according to certain civilians, there have been a string of murders in the past few months related to citizens acting as sleeper agents within city walls, murdering others seemingly at random.

I accompanied Erik as he followed the trail of eyewitnesses and clues, encouraging him along the way. We were accosted by a thug in the Warrens, clad in leather armor, who attacked Erik. I allowed the boy a moment to defend himself, but as he began to be overwhelmed by his opponent, I stepped in and assisted. Erik questioned the man, who revealed that the murders were connected to the Silver-Blood family, the owners of Cidhna Mine and other operations in the Reach. We investigated a certain Thonar Silver-Blood, who finally revealed a man named Nepos to be the orchestrator for the attacks. During Erik’s investigation, Nepos and his family revealed themselves to be Forsworn and attacked us in their home, but were quickly dealt with. As it turns out, the king of the Forsworn was held in Cidhna Mine and acted in service of the Silver-Bloods.

On our way back to Silverblood Inn, a throng of guards blocked us, driving us towards the Mine. Erik darted off and I followed, but we were soon cornered. I helped Erik clamber over a stone wall and escape. Knowing I would be imprisoned, as the guards approached to apprehend me I tasked Erik with finding Brother Verulus, the priest of Arkay, and turning over the case evidence of the conspiracy to him, and afterwards to flee to the shrine of Tales within the city walls, camping there for a couple days time. If anyone would desire justice done in the city, it would be Verulus, who once worked tirelessly with Erandur and I to rid their Hall of the Dead from those vile servants of Namira.

I was dragged to Cidhna Mine where I was commanded to serve, but it was clear that the authorities knew little of me. Through interaction with the prisoners, I was delivered by request to Madanach by a large orc. The Forsworn king questioned me and my motives, and I revealed that my partner and I sought the safety of the city of Markarth. Madanach then explained that the murders in the city will end when he and his band of fellow prisoners are freed, after which they will regroup with the Reachmen clans in the hills to launch an assault on the city itself.

Madanach suggested that I join him in his quest, as we both sought our freedom. As he was explaining the atrocities of the Nords, I interrupted him, explaining that I would not join hands with his tribes of murderers and cultists. At this, I felt a blade touch the skin of my neck and I knew it to be the orc. I cast a spell of ebonyflesh which provoked the orc to stab me, yet his shoddily crafted shiv splintered against my magically armored skin. I summoned a sword from Oblivion to my hand, cutting the orc down, then turning to Madanach who pelted me with frost magicks and thrusts from his shortsword. It was a brutal scrap; an unarmored and bloody brawl, but I emerged the victor. I escaped Cidhna Mine via a tunnel, connected to Madanach's room, that snaked underneath the city.

Utilizing magicks of muffling and nondetection, I was also able to recover my armor and sword and reconnect with Erik at the shrine of Talos that evening. We spent the next day and a half there, being sustained by the provision of Brother Verulus, who proved to be a great ally. He eventually explained to us that Calcelmo had returned from his journey and sought me, and I asked that he meet us here. The wizard appeared at our camp that evening, handing me a scroll, a charcoal rubbing of sorts, which contained an alphabet and codex. He explained that the codex was composed of two paragraphs of identical meaning, one paragraph being Falmeri and the other being written in Tamrielic, some kind of contract between Dwarf and Snow-Elf. By cross-referencing the two, he described, I would be able to achieve a basic understanding of the language in order to decipher my text. He also expressed much joy in his expedition and asked how I had found the attunement sphere. I told him that I did not remember, which is technically true, as I have no memory of the man who gave it to me, and I only know it to have been the man named Septimus Signus by my notes on the matter, though my mind is fruitless.

Erik and I left Markarth under cover of night. I was happy to have the tools of translation in my ownership, yet I was weary with frustration by the Cidhna Mine situation, such that I took every liberty possible to seek out the hideouts of the Reachmen known to me and make bloodbaths of their camps. We traveled North of Rorikstead, also decimating the camps of bandits which have historically preyed upon Erik’s hometown, afterwards traveling Northeast to Morthal, where we now rest.

Can I truly make a difference in this land? I am angered at our treatment by the hands of the authorities of the City of Stone, and it seems to me that my time in the Reach is over, now being a wanted man for the crime of caring for the people and desiring that justice be upheld. May the murderous dogs of the Forsworn be forever blotted from the land, and may the Silver-Blood family be punished for their crimes.

Erik was also disturbed by the incident. While I have sought to protect him from physical harm and aid him in his pursuit of justice, we have only witnessed justice perverted. At our arrival in Morthal, he also questioned my violence towards the forsworn dogs in the wilderness; I don’t think the poor boy had ever seen so much blood. Perhaps my retaliation had been too brutal. I write in anger, but we will spend a day in Morthal. I hope my mind might be cleared by my efforts on the Falmeri tablet and perhaps a conversation with Idgrod. I very much value her insight.

 

[Star Gazer]

Entry 72:

I write again from Morthal, this time from the bridge as I enjoy my pipe.
The process of translation took some few days, yet Calcelmo’s codex worked exactly as explained. By cross-referencing the Falmeri language with the parallel Tamrielic encoded on the rubbings, with the Tablet fragment for comparison, I was able to get a mostly complete understanding of the text.

I will here note firstly Calcelmo’s stone rubbings:

Dwemeri-Falmeri Covenant
Between the Citizens ARCH-DEEP of the Druadach mountains and the Tribe-Descendants of Eunor shall hereby be peaceful co-habitation within the kingdom ARCH-DEEP.
May her king reign forever and may the service of Dwemer and Falmer be as one. Falmer relation to the ARCH-DEEP Canons shall be most reverent and unfailing. For Peace’s sake, free association shall be granted to the Tribe-Descendants of Eunor within the Lower-Commons District.
May the breaking of this Covenant never be, yet for Peace’s sake, violations will be met with exile or social-diminishment under the jurisprudence of the council of priests.
Long live Kingdom ARCH-DEEP, Long live her king.​

Having glimpsed the language structure of the snow-elves, and using their alphabet also included in Calclmo’s payment, I was able to discover the meaning of the Tablet, which I hereby note:

By Auriel’s Light have we finally arrived
By the carrying of swift waters have we finally escaped
The [unknown word, likely related to the dragons] and their Wanderers who worship them as whole[?]
Yet we know them to be merely part[?]
Slain are we, and pushed back
Diminished by the hordes led by their witch-priests, given much power and taught the [unknown word] of the [another unknown word, likely again related to the dragons]
Worst of all is the Breaking [Twisting? Coiling?] Priest whose temple is in the far North
His brutalities are endless
‘Allegiance-Guide’ is his name
And [unknown word, related to “dark,” later used] are his powers
May the Light of Truth dispel his twisting[?] works
May the Sun of Dawn cast out dark[?]​

Despite the limits of my understanding, I was able to form a weak grasp of the concepts here- this is a depiction of the Snow-Elf retreat through the mountain-path to Auriel’s Chantry, recorded by some poor mer on clay. Perhaps this was scribed and carried by one of the initiates, who yet strayed from the ritual ‘Path of Enlightenment’ and perished. This theory seems most likely to me. Why the Prince of the Unknown delivered to me this information I am unsure, but I believe the answer to surround this mysterious “Allegiance-Guide.”

I spoke with Jarl Idgrod later in the day by appointment, who invited me to speak privately upstairs. She thanked me for the kind service towards Falion, her court-wizard. I explained that my kindness was simply entrepreneurial, yet she claimed that there was more than I had let on. Again her knowledge penetrates my facade, and it is no mystery why she is called “the Seer.” She stated that I was puzzled and sought help, also downtrodden and seeking clarity. I affirmed her presumptions.

Considering my imprisonment in Markarth and my dishonorable campaign against the Forsworn and bandits, I first asked the Seer whether this land of Skyrim would ever know peace, and whether the deeds of honorable men truly make a difference. Her answer was striking, and I wrote as she spoke; “The people under a country at war with itself is as a child under his parents marriage threatening to break. In the end, one power must yield to the other, or else all things are irreparably split; whose duty submission is, however, who can know? This civil war is a matter of pride and power- both of which foster corruption and resentment. As a wood-elf, Tsoren, I wouldn’t expect you to understand fully, but men without a king are like a boy without a father- rudderless, purposeless, angry.

What you would understand, on the other hand, is this- our civil war is a shadow of a truer object- the divide in every person’s heart; the hope for good, yet the unfaltering slant towards evil.” She continued, “Tell me, Tsoren, do you think the draw towards evil comes from within man, or outside of him?” I spoke to answer her, “evil acts begin externally I suppose, always stirred up by a tempter.” She laughed at my answer and replied, “What you have said is partly true. Evil truly is stirred up by the external tempter, as you say, but that which is stirred up is not pure in itself. What then would you say to the child? My son for instance? Happy though he may have been as an infant, he was defiant from birth. Such is true of all children, yes? In a desire to impose their will on the external world, they by nature twist their request into a demand, and should a parent refuse, what happens?” She asked. “A tantrum,” I responded. She nodded. “Such is the heart of every mortal- desiring to impose themselves on the world, they use what power they are given to twist a circumstance into their favor. Mankind and Merkind, their desire is always set on the self- the fear of ‘the other,’ or a power higher than they only serves to exacerbate their evil, caused by fear, yet we do what we can to overcome this. The most noble thing one can do is to support one-another, creating the possibility of a loving choice,” she said. I wholeheartedly agreed.

I asked another question, this time about the mysterious name mentioned in the Tablet, the ‘Allegiance-Guide.’ I explained that it is of Mer-ish reference, yet seems to be a literal translation, and I sought the true name of this individual. She smiled and put her hand on my arm. “I’m afraid I don’t have your answer, but I would ask that you answer a question of mine. What price are you willing to pay for knowledge?” Uncomfortable, I asked her, “do you ask payment for your insight? Perhaps I don’t have what you seek.” Sensing my hesitation, she removed her hand from my arm and laughed at the miscommunication. “No my dear, you would not be paying me,” she continued, “but you broker knowledge with another, and you seek a Seer not myself. Their form is clouded to me, yet I sense shame on your part, embarrassment and a sense of ‘unclean.’ One thing will I warn you of; perfect knowledge is unattainable in this life- it was not woven into our reality and lies beyond our grasp. This is true for man, yes, but also for spirit.” As she said this word, ‘spirit,’ she slowed and looked into my eyes, blinking as she discerned the truth. Truly I can hide nothing from this woman.

She spoke again and I continued to record on paper, “I ask again; what price are you willing to pay for knowledge?” I paused. I would previously have answered that I would trade anything to ‘know,’ yet I knew in my heart that this was not the wise choice. “Dear Idgrod,” said I, “I would trade every septim in my belonging. I would trade house, friendship, and influence. I would trade my health, limb, and senses. Leave me two things, I ask, my soul and my sanity- for such things belong to my Master; such things I cannot give away.” Saying these things, I felt I had given a strong answer. She spoke, “Remember what you have said to me as you journey forward. Write it on your arm and on your forehead, and in your darkest hour remember. I cannot answer your question, yet perhaps I can point you in the right direction; the name you have brought to me, ‘Allegiance-Guide’ indeed may have been written in the language of the elves in reference to a man, as you say. I would encourage you to consider why they would refuse to write his true name. Perhaps they held some hatred towards its language of origin.” I looked up from my notes at such profound a realization, yet saw Idgrod as always, a kind old woman with a soft smile. One would never expect such things from one as lowly as she- surely she is a gift to Morthal and to the people of Skyrim. I thanked her for her counsel and departed.

I suspect the name to be of Dovahzul, the Dragon-Tongue. I refuse to summon Durnehviir until he has completed his research into the Ideal Masters, however I know the location of another dragon. A Dov rests above Labyrinthian, which I had once spied, monitoring my progress from the summit during my service for the College at the height of that Thalmor business. We will seek out this dragon and coerce an answer from him by strength.

 

[Star Gazer]

Entry 73:

We currently rest at Jorrvaskr, with Erik having met the Companions. While they have considered him to be weak in spirit, he has truly performed a mighty deed this day, which I will record here.

We left Morthal at dawn and began our journey to Labyrinthian, arriving around noon. On the road, I explained to Erik the intense nature of dragons; their might and intellect. He had only seen a dragon on two occasions, flying over the Brittleshin Mountains south of his hometown. He said that they had not attacked Rorikstead in the two years since the first sightings. I could tell he was intimidated, yet he stormed on with me through the gate of Labyrinthian with great boldness. We spent an hour searching for the path up the mountain to the dragon’s lair while cutting through the frost trolls (which show great preference to the area), finding a small and winding path just outside the southern entrance.

We plotted there for some time, unable to come to a consensus of how to approach the beast. I argued that we assail the beast, besting him in combat and threatening his soul to coerce an answer, yet Erik believed my approach to be too violent. He believes that if the dragons are as intelligent as I explained, they should be treated in like manner as any other man or elf. He stated that the dragon was living peacefully at the top of the mountain, and should only be met with force if he proves himself needing of it. As I tried to explain the dragon’s connection with time, their semi-immortal souls, and the danger that their existence poses on the world, I could only tell that the boy was becoming more and more entranced by their ‘majesty.’ I must admit that I don’t share his appreciation for the beasts, but I am inspired by his value for intelligent life and his sense of justice. I conceded the argument and followed his lead, ready to bring the dragon down by strength of arm if needed.

After some short briefing, we gathered two things according to Erik’s plan; a stone slab with a flat face, light enough to be carried by one man, and an offering, which we gathered by the butchering of the frost trolls below, collecting their meat.

(I did explain to him my method of fighting the beasts incase things went sour; that he should endeavor to weary them of flight and Voice, challenging them to fight on the ground, which they will no doubt accept, being creatures of great pride. At this point, I told him, one should take advantage of the wyrm’s vulnerable neck, making every effort to attack from beneath where the scales are thinner.)

Erik led us up the mountain path, and we arrived at the overlook to Labyrinthian in only a few minutes time. Erik turned to look over the edge at the massive Nord ruin, but I grabbed his shoulder, stopping him as the word-wall came into view (which by what I have seen are favored by the beasts). I walked Erik some dozens of feet from the wall where we placed down the flat stone. I drew my sword and stuck it into the snow, and Erik did the same. We stood in silence for a moment and Erik shrugged at me. I encouraged him to call out to the dragon.

“Hello? Dragon? We’ve come to ask something of you.”

After a moment’s silence, the sound of crumbling rocks met our ears as out from the mountain face above the word wall twisted a massive drake the same color as the stone, invisible to the mortal eye when not moving. The massive wyrm came to rest atop the stone wall, and when I saw that he was willing to speak with us, I took out my journal. Erik was shaking (which I only note for his consideration at a later time).

“BO YAH DINOK?” Spoke the drake to us, “You come seeking death?”
“We’ve come to seek your counsel, great dragon,” said Erik, “we have brought an offering of meats from the wildlife below.”
The beast spoke again, “You think I’d be appeased by beast-flesh, mortal? Why should I not content myself with MUN-SLEN, the flesh of man?”
Erik was stunned silent by the threat, and I stepped forward, “Please have mercy on us, great ruler, we are weak in arm and Tongue. We seek only a Word from you.”
“Speak,” said the dov.
“We have heard whispers from the tongues of the Falmer who seek to corrupt your language, indeed to strip the true meaning from the name of a man,” said I.
The beast scoffed mockingly at the mention of the Falmer.
“The true name we seek,” I continued, “belongs to the man called Allegiance-Guide.”
“A name has great power,” said the drake slowly, “and you seek power over its owner. He may be called Allegiance-Guide by the mer. A more fitting translation would be First-Servant, yet I am hesitant to speak of him so freely.”
Erik spoke, “why is that?” Yet immediately realized his mistake.
“You speak too casually,” said the dragon, “You ask not only of that which is sacred, the DOVAH-ZUL, the Dragon-Tongue, but you ask the name of a traitor long dead, whose name I refuse to honor.” He spread his massive wings and lifted himself into the air above the word-wall. “I am Jottuznaar,” he said, “He-of-the-Peak-Whose-Jaws-Are-Like-Axes. You will be food for me, and the name you seek will never again be spoken.”
Saying these things, he spoke dreadful words at us, launching a colossal ball of flame in our direction. Erik and I narrowly escaped death, and proceeded with my plan.
“Land, Jottuznaar! Your jaws will find no purchase!” We shouted.
The fool landed as we expected, and Erik was dauntless in his attacks at the dragon’s neck as I maneuvered his attempts to grab me. In the end, Axe-Jaw was bloodied and fearful, and I expected his retreat, cutting deeply into the joint of his wing as he spread them to escape. He launched me back and struck out at me with his maw, yet Erik plunged his blade deep through the drake’s neck which began to bleed considerably. The dragon reeled backwards and sent draconic curses into the clouded sky.
“Speak the name!” shouted I to Jottuznaar.
The beast slumped to the ground, and I commanded Erik to fetch the stone we had brought from Labyrinthian. We set it before the dragon’s grounded head and bade him speak again.
“You are Dovahkiin. I know it. You truly are mighty, yet the First-Servant was mightier. I speak his name for you.” He raised his chin and brought his teeth inches from the stone, whispering a short phrase.

On the stone was etched by the influence of his voice two words in the dragon-tongue. With this, the drake gave up his spirit, and as we sat satisfied and rested as I explained to Erik the nature of the dragon’s spirit- what I understand of it, that is. After a short time, we turned our eyes to the words upon the stone, and after a moment of meditation I understood the meaning of the etching to be “MIR-AAK.”

I explained to the boy my history with the one who calls himself by that name, the leader of a mysterious cult based in Solstheim who once sent teams to kill me. I told him it was time for me to travel there, and while I could tell sense his discomfort at the thought of leaving his home country, I explained that I would not force him to come if he didn’t want to. In response, however, Erik the Lowly stood up a little taller and said with confidence that he was, in fact, going. The boy continues to impress me.

We took select bones and scales from Jottuznaar, storing them in Erik’s bag for smithing purposes, heading to Whiterun shortly thereafter.

We arrived at evening, making the short trek to the Skyforge where I introduced Erik to Eorlund and the Companions. We fashioned a helmet and gauntlets for Erik from the scales and bones of the dragon, the make of which are light but suitably sturdy. We spent some hours into the night with the Companions in the main hall. I have inquired of Erik his willingness to join the ranks. He expressed some hesitation in the presence of the Hall’s mighty warriors, yet was curious of the faction’s history, which we were all glad to recount. We sung historic tales of battle and victory throughout the ages, and sung of Kodlak’s free spirit in Sovngarde, liberated from the spirit of the wolf. Indeed we sung of the restoration of the honor of the Companions. Notably, Aela and Bjorn were absent; Farkas told me they were out hunting. We are now in my room downstairs, where I have given him my bed while I will travel shortly back to Breezehome.
We leave for Windhelm in the morning, and from there, to Solstheim.

 

[Star Gazer]

Entry 74:

I write presently from the vessel ‘The Northern Maiden.’
Having departed from Whiterun, hiring the services of Bjorlam, we left for Windhelm and arrived there around around dusk. Desiring to enter the Temple of Talos, I asked Erik what he knew of the man who is deemed Divine. He explained that he did not know much about any of the gods, just that Talos was once a man who was chosen to live in the home of the gods and become one of them. As it was Erik’s first visit to Windhelm, we took a walk around the ancient city after supper, during which I explained the politics of the Gray-Quarter, which he found repulsive. We finished our walk, arriving at the Temple of Talos near Candlehearth Hall and sought out the priests there. We spoke for some time with them and I asked them about the one they call Talos.

I have already forgotten the names of the priest and his wife, who also served as priestess, yet they were very helpful in their explanations. Talos was once a man who was elevated to a position of relative equality with the ‘aedra,’ yet that is about all that remains of common consensus about the man. Some say his name was once Tiber Septim, others Hjalti Early-Beard, others bestow the name ‘Ysmir,’ other more skeptical scholars say that Talos is a combination of three separate personages, and others say his name was always Talos; that these other names only serve to differentiate the legendary aspects of his character. The priests there explained that while the records of his life and deeds may be inconsistent, the example that he left behind was true, that men are to live noble lives full of adventure. I told them it was a nice sentiment, but not worthy of devoting your life to.

I asked if they believed worshipping Talos gave them any benefits in the life after death, and they rejected any such notion, questioning themselves if Talos is even among the heroes of Sovngarde. I asked how Talos was made into an Aedric power in Aetherius when he was merely a man, as the quality of differentiating Divine from Daedra is that which was foisted upon them from Lorkhan. I was corrected however, and was told that I was seeing things from a specifically elven point of view, that the one I refer to as Lorkhan they call Shor, and any animosity from the elven gods against Shor was due to their fear of the Nords. I conceded that I had approached the issue from a separate hermeneutic.

Finally, I asked thus; if Talos is powerless to change their spiritual fate in the coming life after death, and if they cannot prove Talos’ apotheosis, then why is he worthy of worship? It was at this point I was removed from the Temple and told I had crossed the line of curiosity into elven hostility.

I came to the temple to learn about this strange concept of ‘ascension’ that has been spoken of by various sources, yet I come away learning little, and losing respect for those who worship him. I can’t say the Thalmor are right in prohibiting such religious observance (or perhaps philosophy would be a better term) but this tradition of the Nords seems vestigial to their culture at best, and blasphemous at worst, putting into the hearts of men that they, too, could be gods. I must remind myself, however, that those powers worshipped in myriad pantheon are not truly gods, only referred to as such. I maintain that there is only one true god, and I am not convinced that any apotheosis could mantle such qualities as his, being all-knowing, all-powerful, eternal, infinitely introspective, and wholly benevolent- able to destroy all wickedness yet tarrying in doing so by a wisdom that is unique to ‘highest-godhood.’

To my surprise, Erik tarried long into the evening speaking to the priests. Such a pursuit seems customary to him, he seems to be a night owl, or perhaps he lacks discipline. Either way, I note that the boy shows much interest in culture.

We ate at the inn and spoke to the boatman this morning. He was unwilling at first to ferry us, but was convinced by the bag of gold I tossed onto the deck.

 

[Star Gazer]

Entry 75:

Solstheim is at once both beautiful and savage.
Our vessel The Northern Maiden made port in the town of Raven Rock, which I learned was under the authority of House Redoran, one of the great houses of Morrowind. I cannot pretend to understand this culture; it is entirely foreign to me, yet Erik has proven to be quite the anthropologist, exhausting the Second-Councilor of conversation regarding the town and its history. The boy seems to cover some of my bases; while I am more religiously inclined than he, he shows prominence in the theatrical, cultural, and legendary, also explaining to me much historical basis for the Nord worship of Talos (which he had learned from the priests the night prior) as we were sailing and exploring the town. I participated in somewhat of an anthropological study myself as I enjoyed the comforts of the Retching Netch, the town’s only bar, whose Sujamma was hostile yet delicious. I said as much to the barman, Geldis Sadri, who complimented my palate and explained to me that such qualities fittingly symbolize the Dunmer people of Morrowind; hostile yet delicious.

As Erik was perusing the blacksmith’s shop, I engaged in conversation with one Vendil Severin privately regarding the man named Miraak. While Vendil was eager to converse, he was unable, as he said, to remember where he had heard the name before. With enough prodding he finally explained to me that he had once heard of a structure related to the man somewhere on the island- a temple, built by Miraak long ago, or perhaps devoted to him. I thanked the Dunmer and reconnected with Erik in the square.

We endeavored to enter Morvayn Manor, where we were warmly welcomed by Lleril Morvayn, the Councilor and representative of House Redoran himself. We explained our mission to him, that we sought the man named Miraak, yet he claimed to know nothing of him. We also offered our service to House Redoran should they need anything, for which Morvayn was very thankful. We were given a map of the island and invited to the Councilor’s personal library, where we further gleaned the history of Raven Rock and the Red Year.

We returned to the Retching Netch where we currently reside. These Morrowind natives are feisty folk, yet perhaps it is the frontier living that causes their liveliness. Regardless, I find that their abrasiveness makes their simultaneous generosity all the more pleasant.
We plan to explore the surrounding area in the morning.