Excerpts From the Journal of Menelin Bluebrook

2E Frostfall 30, Loredas

I have done it. Fled Vukwasten. My time there had only proven what I have feared since S’ren-Ja. Something. Something is in my mind, causing these recent blackouts and mood swings. Consulting the earlier pages of my journal, I find strange markings and symbols in the margins of the parchment, ones which I am unable to decipher, and not in my handwriting either. To think of the causes frightens me, though I must consider everything.


Of course, this revelation was only a part of the reasons for my departure.

I have noticed the way the others look at me and speak to me. They think me a child, immature and incapable of handling myself. It has gotten under my skin, angered me, and made me realize that I must think on it.
Malyne knows of this too, though I doubt he much cares. As I think on it now, I realize that he was another deciding factor in my absence. Perhaps the best friend I had made since my exodus from Morrowind has turned his back on me. I have noticed the anger and annoyance in his eyes when we speak. He has grown cold, and I can only guess why.

Something indiscernible is scrawled between the lines, though the word “MORA” stands out as the only readable word.

So, I am travelling, to where, I do not know, however, my goals are clear. I must think on myself as a person. Discover what is wrong with me and my mind, and hopefully learn to stop caring what that Dunmer thinks of me. If all goes well, my absence will only be a month or two.

By following my own thoughts and instincts, I have come to lay claim to a campsite amongst the ruins of what looks to have once been a shrine of some sort, though for the life of me I cannot figure out what it was once dedicated to.

Not that it much matters, it seems to have been utterly obliterated, reduced to only rubble. Whatever...entity once inhabited this place must be long gone by this time.

While digging through the rubble of the shrine, I happened upon a single, pristine book buried beneath the stone. It looks to be a copy of The Lusty Argonian Maid; Vol 1 (First edition). In itself, it is not odd to find such a book around. What is odd, however, is the fact that it remains entirely unscathed. The parchment is as-new, along with the leather of the jacket and the stitching of the spine, despite being buried beneath such damp rock. This is intriguing, I must look into this.

Three hours of research have yielded no results and no answers. It looks to be exactly what it is. A book. Either it was remarkably well preserved through sheer luck, or perhaps...perhaps something else preserved this. But, I ask myself, why this book? What is so important about this tome that something of a higher power would preserve it? It must be the most unimportant of them all.
Enough of my mindless rambling about this though. If I happen to learn anything, I will update these pages with the information, though I do not think anything new will present itself.

In my obsession with this book, it seems I have missed the sunset. Night has fallen, and the silvery moon sits among the stars in the sky. Well...at least I hope. The rainclouds cover it. I managed to run for an overhang before the storm became too bad, but I am still soaked, and I've nothing to build a fire with. I can only pray that I do not wake up tomorrow with a sickness.

I have returned to Vulkwasten, after quite the long absence, my identity disguised. The fools suspect nothing. The despicable Dunmer seems to still be with the Altmer harlot. Not that it should be of much matter to me. Mortal affairs do not bother me any longer.

Lord Mora has presented me with a Black Book, access to his realm. I must use it wisely, and carefully, lest the pure knowledge destroy me. If the mortal fools find me with it...gods know what they'd do to me. They're too scared to recognize true power when they see it. They run, execute those who possess it. Disgusting.

It seems that I have returned in the midst of a crime crisis, as well. The buffoons seem incapable of stopping even the most lowly of crimes, Skooma trade. Left unchecked, it could spiral out of control. Destroy them. Not that it much matters to me.

I will return to this book if there are any slightly-interesting ideas to speak of. Not that I expect much of Vulkwasten.

((Uber delayed, I know. I procrastinate))