The Depiction of Insanity

It is an aged journal. Several titles seem to have been scratched out. One title remains, written in a formal, brilliant calligraphy. Taking a look inside, the penmanship of the journal ranges. At times, it can be jagged, with a hasty appearance. Other times, it can be opulent and carefully written. Regardless, at the bottom of every page lies a quick, legible signature: Kashya Skeline-Vulano.




Entry One

What? What was that?

Am I speaking to myself?

No. That can't be. You seem too real. Far too real, ALL too real!

I hide well. So well. Do I consider my options or do I accept myself as a fool? I change my mind too many times to keep track. Perhaps I will be sane one day. Perhaps I will be dominating, or submissive the next? Happy? Sad? ANYTHING?

They know not. From the beast to the mer to the man, they know not. Why would they? Why SHOULD they? I am but an animal. Or am I? How many demons do I possess? Am I coherent?

I came seeking answers. Do I know what an answer is? Do I know? Kashya? How are you?

I am well. I am laughing. I am joyous. But when will I be saddened? When will I be depressed? Does the ignorance, the audacity and discrimination of others hold no bounds? I have no family. No, wait. I do. They are all alive and well, in Auridon. Except for my siblings. They are all dead. When will I be next?

I am but a thief.

Or am I? WHAT am I?

Let us recollect, perhaps?

Kashya Vulano, of Auridon. No, of Skywatch! Brave, and valiant! She does not discriminate, nor does she ever utter a harmful word..?

That is false. Let us try again, perhaps. Let us collect our sanity enough to gather our thoughts.

. . .

I am Kashya Vulano. A writer, at heart. A temper-ridden fool, at best. Can I hold the bounds by stretching the towns in hopes that they will one day merge into something beautiful? No. Because I am no poet. I barely grip the bounds of sanity, held together by my own choice of will. The others will never know, though. I digress, however.

At a young, haughty age, I was always hot tempered. I think I was, at least. Was I? Nevertheless, I was adventurous. Gods, was I the explorer. I recall stowing myself away on a ship bound for Grahtwood. Oh, the look on my father's face when he found me. What are the odds that he would be among the crew? We could not turn around, however. So we finished the trek to Grahtwood. I can recall the beach, how its sand barely sank beneath my feet. I nearly stepped on a damned dagger during my romantic stroll, but kept it. With it, I began to explore the different concepts of "anatomy." Performing these experiments on deceased animals I found. I quickly ceased that, however. Instead, I allowed my temper to take its place.

So, here I am. Sometimes coherent. Sometimes taking after the personality of another, I think? I know not. I am slowly being driven to the course of insanity, but it will not take me.

Perhaps this is not a negative thing, however. Perhaps it is but a learning experience. Perhaps I should embrace it.
Perhaps?

I was a thief. Now, a hollow shell with a desire to help those around me. I cannot let that change. Not like the rest of me.

Entry Two

I am once again coherent. Aren't I?
Oh, I am. Awake. Thank Gods. Through that pitiful torture pronounced as sleep, I cannot bear to think about what has happened since I have been unconscious. I fear sleep. I fear the thought of losing the respect of others. I fear being seen as weak. I fear many things. They will never know how insecure I am. How defeated I feel. It persists, in a cycle that refuses to cease, as I bear to wake up and go through this cycle again. Some days, I gain respect. Other days, I lose this feeling. Perhaps it is predetermined? Where does my mind lie?

It feels nice to have my thoughts and experiences lined up into a single array. A single story, guided only by my independent hand. Influenced by me. The fact that I am not omnipotent disturbs me greatly. It feels as though I rule this land. I know I do not.

. . .

I still think on him fondly. The man I killed.

He was Bosmer, short in stature and wild eyed.
I had been running through the land outside of Skywatch, no interest in communing with people. No, I was more interested in the expectation that I could make it all the way across Auridon, from West to East. That would have been the greatest of accomplishments. It was not meant to be, however. I do not know why he was there, or if he had intention to kill me in specific. I assume he was lost, his mind flayed. He pulled some pitiful excuse of a dagger on me. How did I win? How am I alive? Did he allow me to kill him? He ran at me with that weapon.

We live on a spinning world influenced only by our own choices in order to create what we perceive as beautiful. How, then, may I compare him to anything but "evil?" Does evil exist? I do not believe it does. I believe it is an excuse for what we perceive as unpleasant, and nothing more. From the most wicked God to the most beautiful sky, the term "evil" is just the antonym of what we perceive as beautiful.

With that, I will start my day, in hopes that I can create something everyone will perceive as beautiful.

Entry Three

[Some writing seems to have been here, but it has been thoroughly scratched out.]

People I hate
Everybody.


A damned crippling wound. Of all curses. I should have never gone on that damned trip. I hope that book was worth it. Can't even wear my damned gear. With this, I have resorted to drinking again. It is not the same, however. It is different. Perhaps a bit less enjoyable. What is enjoyment, though? Is this, is enjoyment tangible? Does it have a scent, or taste?

The fire near these furs seem to be more enthusiastic than myself. The fire, he seems content to stay in one place, so long as he is fed. Unfortunately, his hunger is never dying. Leave him alone, and he is bound to eat an entire province. The continent, if you allow him to.

And so, I sit here with a watchful eye, making sure my new friend stays within his boundaries of the fire pit. Inside this dank, dark clinic, with a foolish, sleeping mer and a starving fire to keep me company.

I cannot allow these emotions to continue throttling me.

I am embarassed. Ashamed, even. To have been attacked so blindly. What was I thinking?

I do not know how to react to such a self-disappointment. I will stay up here, until I feel comfortable going back out once more.

Entry Five

In my satchel are a few books, bandages, a canteen of water, and a logbook. I do hope this is enough. I may be able to hunt for sustenance in the next few days, but this assumes that the wildlife in Cyrodiil hasn't been hunted to extinction already. For a land taken by war, Cyrodiil still remains a quite beautiful place.

Due to my injury, I cannot fight with my axes.

[Part of this entry has been lost due to water damage.]

Ever since my encounter with that Covenant scout, things have ran through my mind in exponential detail. I should have kicked her off the balcony. I should have kicked her off the damned balcony. She sat with her back against the cloth divider, ready to be thrown off the damned balcony. Why didn't I do it? I stopped myself. I did not want to engage in more violence.

I laid my hands on her nevertheless. Is it really any different?

[Part of this entry has been lost due to water damage.]

There are a few seemingly intrinsic symbols sketched in charcoal at the bottom of the page. A signature lies below the symbols.

Entry Seven

I am wounded. Again.

I could not do it. I packed what I could on my guar. Left him right outside the border, just in case I had to leave on emergency. I am now back in Dune, with an arrow in my side and a reopened wound. I think the arrow may have hit something important, so I refuse to pull it out. I will continue on my way, back to Vulkwasten.

I did it, though.

[A large chunk of this writing has been lost due to water damage.]
. . .

Writing on a damned guar is hard. The road is relatively straight for now, so I figured I would write to myself a bit. I --

The writing stops. A few scribbles of letters are evident, but illegible.

Entry Eight

She's alive. I'm alive as well. Somewhat.

I've been spending most of my time up in the clinic, as of recent. I have not felt the motivation to go outside and risk another injury. Again. In the past week, I've been pierced, stabbed, slashed, and punched. On the other hand, I am alive and I am well. Perhaps trapped in a neverending cycle of wanton destruction and uncanny peace, but alive nevertheless.

I will continue writing more, after I rest a bit longer. I feel as though I am dying, and my torso is numb.

Is she alive?

My sister. Lilinunta. I am told that she breaths, even stays in Vulkwasten. This cannot be true, however. I watched them die. All of them, no less. The only survivors should be myself. Myself, only.

Could she be?

Entry Nine

That's it. No more can I persist in standing by and watching Oblivion break loose 'neath our feet. The town is cracking under pressure and I feel that I will cave, myself, if I do not take more action. I have been doing my own private investigation, but I feel that I cannot function knowing I could have stopped so much in these past few weeks.

Menelin's disappearance broke me.

I told them I was going to go practice my smithing. What did I do instead?

[Everything after this sentence has been lost due to water damage.]

Entry Ten

As it is, I am as good with a forge as I am with a needle.

After being stabbed and ripped through my armour, I have decided to go for something made of metal, rather than leather. I spent a bit of time pulling apart pieces of armour given to me by a few friends, and went to work in an attempt to make a set of armour that closely resembled my leather. All in all, I would say it turned out quite well. There is still the matter of getting used to it, however. I have yet to test my armour in combat.

I finally spoke to Lilinunta today. My sister. Perhaps my greeting to her was not the best, however. Repeatedly smashing my hand against her face to confirm her existence...may have not been the best course of action.

We spoke about many things. The prospect of our other two brothers living initially seemed just as plausible since Lilinunta survives. Upon reconsideration, however, we've decided that this idea is illogical; while we did watch Narkses and Renma die, I only watched Lili flee.

I haven't heard from my closer friend in quite some time, now that I think about it. I have been so busy with the loss of Menelin that I haven't even thought about his well-being. I do hope he remains alright, wherever he is. I suppose.

Entry Eleven

Huh. I survived.

We took a rather large group and invaded that bandit camp down off the coast. We all took heavy injuries, but I think it was a success nevertheless. Being able to provide aid like that felt nice. I hate to think what might have happened, had we ignored the problem. Still, I worry for those that were injured. Alena, I think her name was. And the other mer in the dainty armour. I do hope they make a steady recovery.

I caused my own injuries. Likely due to my own stubbornness. Swung my own..damned axe at my leg. How do I do that? I've never done that. I broke my own arm on the way down, trying to get in one last swing at the damned bandit. I nearly lost myself afterwards. While everybody scrambled for safety, the archers and mages shot the rest down. There was Rogin, of course, who smashed his shield against my attacker. I could've handled him.

I lost it though. Seeing these men injure my allies. I could not take it. While on my stomach, I just didn't realize that bandit was already dead. Climbing on top of him, I was going to rip his throat out. Only to find out he was decapitated, of course. Wonderful. I cannot let these things get to me so much. I am alive, and awake. Somehow.

Entry Twelve

I have been working on my smithing as of recent. I am attempting to make something heavy enough to take a blow with ease, but light enough to sneak around in. Unfortunately, it's either impossible or out of my grasp. I will continue my attempt, but my hopes are steadily lowering.

On another note, it has been some time since I have last spoken to K'y. I do hope he is well.

As of late, I have not had much to write about. At this point, I am simply filling in blank spaces to sate my appetite for writing, but I must wonder where my other writings went. A few books I had written..I cannot seem to find them. I always keep them in my satchel, but I took them out to read over them a few nights ago. I think I left them up in the clinic when I left. Ah, well. I will go up later and attempt to look for them. Then, I am currently missing three books. Three of my own writings. "Wintersill," "Embren's Song," and "The Stable Philosophies of the Madgod." Oi. I do hope I can find them.

Entry Thirteen

Got my own axe stuck in my leg.
Requested to join the guard after dear Menelin's disappearance.
Smashed my collarbone with my axe.
Helped save the Marshall. (One of my more favorable accomplishments.)
Threatened to murder a rude Khajiit.
Khajiit spit on me after I passed out.
Got her back the next day.
Mended my wounds a bit more.
Played an influential role in reobtaining my fool of a friend.
Played doctor while I mended his wounds. (Thanks to the Treethane, of course. Wouldn't have known what to do otherwise if I hadn't watched her patch my sorry self up.)
Spoke to Tigrus further about joining the guard.


All this, and I haven't had much free time to write to myself.

I've noticed that I haven't been able to afford the opportunity. The opportunity to lose myself in the depths of my mind again. To truly feel detached from myself, and to truly feel the peace of free thought. They call it insanity, do they not? Posh. It is a mindset. It is a true manner of expressing oneself. These two mindsets, in correlation with each other? They are beautiful. I do wish more people could take it with a bit more of an open mind. They aren't too lackminded to understand. We are all equally capable of harnessing knowledge. Some are simply...a bit more resilient than others. Some are simply too afraid to change. That is alright. I will not judge their actions.

In the past week, I have discovered that I love making the townspeople happy. I made Chasi upset and nearly broke down. I must attempt to patch things up with Afer. I hate the thought that he wants nothing to do with me. I am no longer a thief; I ceased that lifestyle a few weeks ago, cutting off any and all incoming contracts. At this point, I only want to help the people.

Oi. It's been nice to be able to write again.

Entry Fourteen

I feel as though some heavy weight has been lifted from my chest. While the burden of reality is a quite real one, I still take the time to breath and observe the town. My time as a guard has been relatively short lived, but fruitful nevertheless. Even if I haven't been doing much, I already feel as though I am doing something for the betterment of the town.

I wonder how he is doing. I wonder if he reacts at all, when he is alone. Does he take my desire of being a guard to heart? Does he like the idea? Hate it? I do know he hates seeing me hurt. But why? I am my own person. He is not me. Why would he worry about me, then?

Of course, I do worry about him.

But, that's beside the point. I worry about him because I worry about all people. Correct? Correct. I am always finding reasons as to why a person carries out his action. Every action is justifiable, even the most cruel. They have already justified these thoughts in their own minds. Who are we, then, to judge them? Our only task should be understanding and keeping the peace, to protect other people in case these ideas become a bit too out-of-hand.

I hope my new friend is doing alright, as well. She does not seem alright. I tend to call her Lass, primarily due to the fact that I often forget her real name. En..? Ah, perhaps I shouldn't attempt to pronounce it. Nevertheless, I do worry about her. She seems to be in some sort of self-inflicted power struggle.

I do hope I can provide further aid in the future.

Entry Fifteen

Should I be happy or mournful? I liked her. She was a bit sporadic and overly excitable, but I enjoyed her company. Gave me an excuse to rip a man's damned throat out with my teeth.

Do I revel in such savagery?

Ah, but that is beside the point. Or is it? What is a point?

Point, point, point! Like a sharp, stabbing object!
That was poetry, yes? What is poetry? What a wonderful little word. Pow-et-ree. Rolls off the tongue, no?


Nevertheless. A young Khajiit girl was kidnapped this evening. Melane has left a report on the desk of the Treethane. At least, I hope so. She was a dainty young lass, no worse for wear.

Do I have anything to speak of? I feel as though I am fluctuating. In and out of reality.
What causes it?
Where does it come from?
Does it have a scent?
Am I reality?

All of these flashing questions burden themselves in my mind, begging for a release. I am sorry, young, questions. You will not be released today.

He's coughing up blood again.
Again, and again, and again, he is.
Why? While we attempt to save our tiny town, we are ravaged by Daedric Princes and kidnapping bandits. Petty rituals and others.

Please. Tell me why.
If I write enough, will my requests be answered?

Or maybe if I write that word enough..

Request Request Request Request Request Request Request Request Request Request...


The word "request" goes on for three pages before ending with an illegible squiggle.

Entry Sixteen

Oh, dear journal! So much has occurred since last we spoke! Spake? Spoken. Spaken?

Nevertheless! Where should I begin on the chronological timeline of deceit? Perhaps my endearing loss of sanity is but another dot on the line, to be cropped on a list of regardless numbers! However, I digress! Do I digress? For what is digression? Is it a boundless thing, or is it like a trapped prisoner, only--

I digress.

In the course of absence from my journal, several things have occurred. K'y Anrual is no longer a friend; Menelin has suggested that our communication is, perhaps, not for the best, and I would certainly agree; he is a madman. He can have our former home; I am in no desire to be taken advantage of in my sleep, or deceived in broad day. As far as I am concerned, he may stay locked up in that cell for as long as is possible. Unfortunately, he must be released at some point. I do hope this will not complicate matters regarding my intent decision.

I took a week long trip to Skywatch after this; I was visited by my father, in Vulkwasten, who collected me and brought me home. There, we spent a week studying the origins and applications of magicka, alongside those lessons I both ignored and abhorred as a child. Today, I seek the knowledge of all those lost years, in hopes that it is not too late to learn.

My skill has increased significantly, however, with the application. Whereas I originally could not cast the most basic spell, I can now cast a small spark of flame, if only for a moment. I will continue to study and practice with this, in hopes that I may, one day, hold the knowledge of several other types of applications. I am primarily learning destructive properties. Who is to say, however, that I may one day be able to learn restorative properties just as well? Time will tell, dear Kashya.

People have been quick to regard me as Marshall, alongside Thorn. While I have little to comment on the matter, I do hold the thought that I will continue to protect the people as best I know. With that, I should note that I have traveled alongside the Vulkwasten chapter of the Mages Guild to Willowgrove, where some sort of anomaly has sparked a gateway of sorts, allowing elemental creatures to flood from said gateway.

That is assuming I understand correctly, of course.

If all goes well, some sort of reinforcing band should be here to aid in the clearing of these creatures. In time, I will continue to defend this area as best I know. I trust Thorn can handle the town in my absence. He seems quite level headed, if a bit happy with his sword. Nevertheless, he seems to hold considerable self-control, which I respect with utmost acknowledgement. He has, after all, saved me from quick judgment more than once.

For now, I will continue to delve into the application of magick, something previously unseen by my own eyes. Now, I will attempt to study it as best I can.

Entry Seventeen

Where do we lie, dear Kashya?
On a small mountain, or a cliff overlooking the beauty of the ocean?

Or are you Kashya? Is that me? If that is me, then who are you? Are you beautiful? Will you sing to me throughout my days, expressing only our fondest memories of nostalgia? Oi. I could get used to you, Kashya. You speak to me, and I know you will never leave me. I will not leave you; I swear this.

You are not interesting, however. You always persist to agree with me. Therefore, you cannot give me input. You can give me words of encouragement, only for them to be lost in the wind. What kind of fool am I, to accept such frivolous advice? I

(The entry seems to completely start over, repeating itself.)

Entry Seventeen

Where do we lie, dear Kashya?
On a small mountain, or a cliff overlooking the beauty of the ocean?

Or are you Kashya? Is that me? If that is me, then who are you? Are you beautiful? Will you sing to me throughout my days, expressing only our fondest memories of nostalgia? Oi. I could get used to you, Kashya. You speak to me, and I know you will never leave me. I will not leave you; I swear this.

You are not interesting, however. You always persist to agree with me. Therefore, you cannot give me input. You can give me words of encouragement, only for them to be lost in the wind. What kind of fool am I, to accept such frivolous advice? I cannot seek you for advice; I must seek out a friend.

I am desolate of friendship, however.

I have people who would call me "friend." This, I am sure of. Do we talk, though? No. Nor do we traverse the land together. We are nothing but allies. Where do I seek the partnership of one to call me a genuine "friend?" Perhaps I am repulsive. Bah. No. I'm just too solitary. It is expected that I run my own life with my own "friends."

Quite the opposite, however.

On a lighter note, I have exponentially improved in my application of magick. With the brief aid of others, I have succeeded in casting my abilities for more prolonged amounts of time. I find this harnessing of elements so..damned interesting.

Happy. Sad? No! Ecstatic? Anything? How about you? Or myself? Perhaps everywhere.
Nonsense.
Is there nonsense?
Everything makes sense. Nonsense. Se nse nse nse. sense. Sense?

A plethora of emotion, bound together by the sinew of one's mentality, only to be cut by the uncertainty of their own attribution.

People must be
happy

I am happy.

I am happy to be back in Vulkwasten, where everything feels so fluid and static. Manageable. Where the weather is nice.
I do not think I'd ever want to leave.

(There are a few other scribbles on the page, but nothing legible.)

Entry Eighteen

(Much of the initial entry seems to be unfounded rambling.)

Of flamboyance
or
perchance desolation on standings of another force, perhaps between nothing but the perception of another.
Do I make sense?
Only in the mind of another, or perhaps my own, would I ever revel in anything but my own thoughts and philosophies.

Regressing ideas stay in their place, but for my own notion, had I ever thought of anything other than self-perseverance?
There are no accurate answers, or solutions; nevertheless, I am content to contain myself in my own harmony; for what is harmony, only bound by the ideas of others?

There are no other solutions to equate the stability of my own sanity, so I will continue to write in lies, bound in leather and only approved by my own, frivolous mind. What do I want, in retrospect? What is retrospect? Some unfounded concept, I trust. What world would hold such a thing, however? Perhaps only founded by myself and my own fantasies, no doubt.

Entry Nineteen

I feel void.

[This part of the entry has been lost to water damage.]

More and more work to be done. Within the Guard, we have managed to assemble ideas regarding both new outfit proposals and training courses; I think both of these ideas will take off exceptionally, once we are finished.

In truth, I..have little else to write about. It pains me. To know that I could be contemplating the depths of my innermost self, and yet I remain here contemplating my lack of ability to contemplate. It pains me.

Entry Twenty




There are several things I must address, but my questionable sanity seems to be the most prevalent. It is inconvenient, in truth. With nobody to talk to after K'y's disappearance--not that I miss that imprisoned shite--I am left to my own devices. I am left to myself. I only get to speak to myself in this dreary time; there is little option for communication, however. I could speak to Lili, but she does not care. She does not want to know. She wants to continue living without fear of harassment. I honor her for it; not many can survive here and not resort to violence.

Since I cannot speak to anybody, I have resorted to eavesdropping on the conversations of others. It is considerably easy, since I usually do so as I remain at my post, but it quickly becomes lonely. I've nobody to speak to, but do I want to speak to anyone? Is there anyone that could comprehend, and accept, my unpredictability in isolation? There is nobody to speak to on this issue.

I have no close company.

Am I happy? Will I be forever ecstatic in my solitude?

I suppose I will only have to hope so.

Entry Twenty-One



With the Madgod's influence as of late, I have had little time to focus on my more pious concerns. He speaks to me in my sleep--be they hallucinations, or dreams? Invading the land of another prince to speak to me! Oh, how dainty that would be.

I digress, however.

I cannot allow myself to fall into the depth of His grasp. In an effort to do so, I am traversing the planes of Valenwood into Elsweyr, where I will go on an extended hunt in an effort to associate myself more closely to my true source of vivacity and wisdom: Hircine. It is my hope that, in time, the Madgod will cease his endeavors to taint my mind moreso than it has already been contaminated.

It is my hope.

Entry Twenty-Two

I have nearly returned.

Be it by mercy or pure chance, I have returned home nigh unscathed. It was such a damned beautiful little migration, truthfully, but I cannot let it extend for as long as I have. I worry about my endeavors, about what I will do when I return home. I have my tasks--my work--that I should not have so abruptly left behind, but I felt as though I were going to lose my mind if I left myself to rot in my personal haven'd abandon. What worth is the one who is dead?

Nevertheless, I am eager to become reacquainted with the locals. My heart soars to see the regulars, in truth. Fruitful as my travels may have been, there truly is no place like the one you are most comfortable with. Your own personal home.

My trip pushed me out of Valenwood and onto the border of Elsweyr, where I took a rather long hunting trip, a blessing by my lord, Hircine. From the border, I traveled North and nearly hit the edge of Cyrodiil before turning around and following a tree-line back into the divide near Valenwood; the environment's natural distinctions are rather, well, distinct.

Despite my endeavors, however, I am writing this on my sporadic guar, who has managed to tire himself out to the point of stable riding; the road is long, but if I were hallucinating, I'd swear I could see the welcoming roots of Vulkwasten from here. Oh, how my mind peaks at the thought! I may only hope that I can resume my duties, unwavering.

Entry Twenty-Three

Enigmatic and unending but perchance sleeping is what the madman was born to do if only in his own mind but on inquiry is that founded--a light mess protruding sound but if one is to sleep than to what is he to dream if repetition is but mindless and mechanical--if it is considered so then it is considered as life is; mindless mechanical and repetitive but cheery be me and the only lover to find my heart's content in the wondrous realm of not-knowing and if it is to not-know then not-know I shall; who would ever find discontent in the realm of knowing through not-knowing as a regarded playwright or cannibalistic murderer shall ever know but sanity I must find sanity for if I fail in this task then sanity will find me and torment me and

it will consume me for every notion I hold dear for sanity is an insane thing but does that make sense to contrast the two




what is happening to me




(The remainder of the entry seems to be nothing legible.)

(I've been wanting to try my hand at Kashya's style of writing for a long time, now. With this, I decided to finally take a stab at it. Since boring old font can only express so much, I wanted to give a bit of insight as to what Kashya's handwriting would actually look like, if one were to read it directly out of her journal. With that, I give you this small excerpt from that.

This journal entry expresses both the calligraphic side, and the insane, illegible side of Kashya's handwriting. I found it necessary, or at least beneficial, to provide both examples so that one may see how she expresses herself in her journal entries.)

Entry Twenty-Four

(The entry is written hastily, with what seems to be thin lines of charcoal.)

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Entry Twenty-Five

I fear for the safety of my own stability.

I have been speaking to Elros about my current condition. About the possibility of losing my mind. About the possibility of becoming too unstable to think, or act. I fear for my mind. I do not think I am in the best of situations.

Insanity, she tears at my mind. Jealous, or envious. Greedy, ultimately. I do not want her, but she longs for me. I will not let her have me.

Ultimately, I have decided that I will take a long pilgrimage, if my condition does not improve. Elros reassures me with his insistence, stating that working to align myself with one Prince will aid in keeping the other at bay. It is no glamorous task, some have said--Thorn expresses his pity over my having to choose between Hircine and Sheogorath--but it is not his task to worry. If a light migration is in order, then it will occur. A pilgrimage to assert my affiliation with the Huntsman, rather than that madman.

One question does arise, however. Who will take my position, if I leave?

There are several candidates which I hold dear, but Varilora would be my first choice in taking the spot. Unless someone arrives to show their competence first, I do not see anyone else but her taking it. It is well-earned. Nira should be up for a promotion soon, as well. I've not gotten the time to find her, else I'd have done so when promoting Varilora.

Huntsman, give me strength. Self control is useless, if handled by a Prince whose primary goals are insanity.

Entry Twenty-Six

I have given my position as Marshal to Varilora, in hopes that she will provide a level of skill to the Guard that will surpass my own. No doubt, she is likely brewing with questions. I will attempt to answer her as best I can, for the next two weeks I will be here.

I am quite terrified.

I do not wish to leave. Even now, I am having very provoking second thoughts on this issue, entirely. I came to this town seeking theft, and will now be departing as a former Marshal of the Guard. In retrospect, I feel as though I am still a stranger that came into the tavern one day, only to wave off the Treethane and have a mild conversation with Afer. It is quite comedic, how quickly things can turn. I will certainly miss everyone.

A few things do remain, however. Things that I must answer. What will I do for work, now that I am unemployed?

I have considered returning to theft.

I could not possibly steal from the people of the town, but theft outside of town is still a viable option. I know nothing else. I am mediocre at slinging a blade, or shooting a bow. I'm not a cook, and I can't murder. Not that I'd want to. I can make armour and gear from leather, but that is merely the extent of my skill.

I do know my way around the bottles, however. I suppose I could, perhaps, find work as a barkeep before I leave. Assuming they'd want me. I've had to help the new barkeepers around before. I know my way around the shelves, and I'm well acquainted with the locals.

Work as a barkeep. Pfeh. What an abrupt change. Time will tell if I go through with it.


I miss companionship.

As of recent, I have been taking out my frustration on Leilaneth and that lass, Eniwing. Well. I've been taking my frustration out on everybody, actually. They just happen to be showing their affection more than the others. It was not until departing from the Guard that I realized just how much I longed for the company of another. Nothing lecherous, like the others. A friend is hard to find, though. I have realized that potential friends have been everywhere; I am simply too stubborn to allow them in, or engage with them. I must change that, before I depart. Perhaps I should start with Varilora, or Nira.

Time will tell of my endeavors.

Entry Twenty-Seven (Part One)


It is not quite within myself to describe the perceived amount of regret I possess for failing to write in this old, dusty journal. Once packed with a plethora of ongoing notes, it has been lying idly on my desk for some time now. Admittedly, I have felt too ashamed to place ink between the parchment of these leather bindings, but I feel that now is an appropriate time to put some personal time into it. If only to jog my memory, I would like to secure those memories as best I can.


I do not recall much of my early days. I departed from Vulkwasten on a late night and traveled until lack of sustenance rang in my stomach. I finally arrived at a place by the name of Rawl'Kha sometime in the hours of dawn, at a complete loss for mental stability and no source of nourishment nearby. Still yet, a Khajiit thought it a perfect idea to pick my pocket as I dismounted my guar. The cat is dead now, but that is neither here nor there. I caught the failure, only to strike up a conversation with him. I ultimately sought residence in his home. Sala'Dar. Damned Khajiit. We spent a good amount of time together, stealing from the local vendors around the town. The majority of what we had stolen primarily consisted of jewelry and other minuscule things. My mind soon began to scrambled again, however, and I had recalled the reason as to why I left Vulkwasten: to find a cure for my mental instability.


I left early the next morning, with the promise to return to Sala. Finding myself somewhere northeast of Grahtwood a few days later, I inquired at a caravan, (I will write more on that later), and soon found myself at the remnants of a shrine, supposedly dedicated to the Huntsman. Damn thing was abandoned. I spent a full day praying and offering what game I could to the Prince, but ultimately returned to Sala. He offered meditation practices as we had done before I had left, and I accepted, albeit without much motivation. My ramblings have ceased since then, however. Stupid Khajiit is dead too, but that's for another time.

--

Entry Twenty-Seven (Part Two)


The Khajiit and I continued our practice of burglary until we were caught in another Khajiit's home. Sometime later, we found ourselves in Kvatch, off the coast of Cyrodiil. Two days later, I had found that stupid Khajiit in a ditch with his hands detached from his person. About a week later, I found shelter in a cave outside Vulkwasten, too ashamed of my criminal manner to return. Oh, Gods. I did fall into a deep depression, aye. I finally gathered my self, however, and traveled to Cormount. My new, current home. Using my coin and the remainder of Sala's coin, I bought a home from the same merely who is now my business associate. Minjua Black-Leaf. Damned womer is outright entertaining, I'd daresay. No less. After exchanging stories, we quickly went into the business of theft with one another, using the alias of the "Bellicose Trading Company" to operate from my home. Underneath the assumed business lies our initially successful attempt at an organization dedicated to arranged theft. Minjua seems to be quite charismatic, as well; she seems to be working well with others. Profit has rolled in quickly, with the two hired hands Minjua found.

--

The remainder of Entry Twenty-Seven seems to be torn out.


Entry Twenty-Eight

3rd of Hearthfire

I find this to be a rather appropriate time in which I may, once again, pull out this tattered journal and brief myself of my thoughts. Adequate, it may be, that I lay on a chair writing by torch light from the burning essence of bone and tallow. Ah, well. It still remains muggy inside this room. Where should I begin, on my list of memories to catch up with? Perhaps it may be wisest to begin with the most recent of memories. Today, a criminal--we have been accustoming ourselves to calling them "Deft"--we had hired returned from Velyn Harbour after wiping a storage area of its prized goods. Even furthermore, this Deft has managed to strike up a deal with a local Captain on Minjua's orders. Ultimately, this will mean more transportation of goods alongside a higher return rate of coin. The Deft collected what Minjua estimates to be about eighteen hundred in coin. I suppose we will find out when the materials are traded off.

I find myself longing for the company of old friends. In recent, I had started drinking in excess until Minjua called me on it. The womer offered alternative drink choices from a variety of tea leaves not native to the Valenwood, to which I accepted. While I may have ceased or slowed in my drinking, I still feel the call of something more. I think I must return to Vulkwasten. But they can't know about my dear Lil

In due time, I suppose.

Entry Twenty-Nine

27th of Evening Star

work kashya you have to must you work but work is work is work is work
What are these things that repetitively pound through my head? Work, Kashya. You must work, constantly, repetitively. Theft, theft, theft, theft, theft, theft. Gods, it never ends. Am I experiencing a moral dillema?

Let us take one more moment to contemplate our standings.

You are Kashya Vulano. Twenty and five years of age. Formerly twenty and four, but no longer. Days of birth make you older, then, yes? Hm.

You were once an aspiring, young womer, bound for the luxury of adventure and the promise of visiting new lands. Lands that you could only aspire to visit. You look off the balcony of the tavern, and see nothing but the plethora of exploration. It is something beautiful; something you may only see in your dreams, should a dreamscape such as this one ever exist.

Why, then, are we so upset?
I receive little, or no time to do the things I love. I reconsider my loose relationship with Lydia; perhaps it is not the best of times, with my ongoing work. Still yet, I cannot help but wonder whether my occupation is in good taste. Am I a thief at heart?
Kashya, are you a thief at heart?
Or do you wish to help?

Help, who?

You, of course.

But, that is not what I desire.

Who do you wish to help, then?

The ones that I proclaim as 'friend.' I have allowed myself to slip into a state of moral and ethical poverty. I am in far too deep, however. Surely, this is the only route I am given consent to take. Time will tell of the final outcome, but I consider my options heavily; should I cease now, while my peers still find the trust to call me "friend?"

Love; she is an option of many, chosen by several, and kept by few.
Shall I be that "few?" Or will I be "many?"

Many.
Any?

Kashya, you are rambling again.

My apologies.

You are excused.

Kashya, what do you wish to be?

I am not sure, Kashya.

The time strikes few, and your hearts are many. Few will you see if you choose this path, You ninny.

Entry Thirty

Sane. Sane, it is, that I have not written in you for so long.

Insane, it is, that I have failed to return to you in a reasonable time.

I have feared the possibilities of recalling everything. Everything that has occurred in this three month span has been a slur of bad decisions, good decisions, and decisions that have yet to be discovered, in their plane of ever-knowing, ever-surviving moral timelines. What has occurred, in these past few months?

After returning to Vulkwasten, I took some time under a moral dillema; ultimately, I have decided to offer my trading company to another soul, following the death of my beloved friend, partner, and secretary: Minjua.

Sacrificed herself to rid me of my curse. Lycanthropy. I'm not worth that much.

I have vowed to myself that, in her favor, I would attempt positive deeds: To avoid fighting, to cease my drinking. Now, however, I'm simply called a "Dirt-Thrower" among the townspeople. I'm drinking more than I ever had; Minjua would not approve of this. What am I to do, however? In my quest for ethical goodness, I have only found ridicule and contempt.

I have found acceptance in Falen, however. Melane, a former co-worker during my time in the Town Guard, has passed away, leaving Falen and his younger sister to fend for themselves. In an opportunity to avenge myself, I have taken the two under my own estate, in hope that they can be provided a better opportunity for moral and physical growth.

I should continue my drink, however. Tonight, tea. Just tea.

Entry Thirty-One

Rem·i·nisce.

To reminisce. To allow oneself to enjoy the pleasure of past events.
Yes, I do that. It has been a long period of time, however, since I last opened you, little journal.

Shall I reminisce, or should I, instead, rant about the people of town? Why not both? In order? I used to write depictions of mental instability. Once upon a time, when my mind was strung with the collections of insanity and uncertainty. My ability in writing? She has been depleted. I am now left with myself.

Kaw-sh-yah.

A festering husk, on the verge of suicide. A shell of my former self. I have attempted everything from small jobs, to full careers, in an effort to alleviate my depression. It is not depression, however. It is something else entirely. A lack of production. A lack of self. A lack of event. Festering.

Gods, damn. No wonder everyone hates me. I can't even stand watching myself write so sadistically.

I have since taken a position at the Guard, and my story-tiles seem to be slowly aligning themselves once more. I feel whole, to have a real, working job that plays its own personal part, again. It is nostalgic, of my time before my pilgrimage to Rawl'kha, and the golden coasts near Anvil.

Afer's death has not provided aid in my "cure of depression," however. He has supposedly been dead for some time, I think; I am only now finding this out, however. The secondary reason I joined the guard. The first person I talked to, on a personal note, when I arrived in Vulkwasten. We never got beyond that small talk, to my great misfortune, but I always had a strange feeling that led me to seek his approval. My only solace is that I did find his approval, after becoming the Marshal of the guard. It is good to know that he did not despise me in death, but that does not remedy the fact that he is gone, and I never had the opportunity to join him in his endeavors.


Since my concussion last Morndas, my desires for drinking have ceased, albeit I do not know why; my work has further suppressed it.

What's next on my list of writing? Ah, yes. Criticism of others, now that myself is out of the way.

Lu has pigtails now. I think it looks funny, but I'm not one to judge. Hloriella, as it turns out, is a light drinker. In all my months at the tavern before my pilgrimage, watching her at the counter, I never expected her to be a light drinker. Who else? Elros is a deviant bastard. I like that, but I also do not, because it cuts out work for a future date. Vindul is still in the Guard. I would like to see how long that lasts, when he gets his ship out to sea. Bhidul is scraggly as ever; I almost miss having him around so often. I have strange feelings for Wren, but I dare not let them get in the way of my "I hate everyone" mentality. Thelin is still as melodramatic as ever. It's just a damn hand. He's not dead. Shite. Let's see. Ah, Lulie. A charming lass, in a purely platonic manner. Besides, I dare not make trouble with Ran'dall. Perhaps my only true "friend," in town. I am suspicious of Terath, and am currently debating the whereabouts of. What was his name. Dreuth? No less.

I am tired, now. The sheets in this bed are quite comfortable, and I am quite lethargic. And all that shite.

Entry Thirty-Two

There are so many things stirring through my head, I know not where to start. Is this death on my own hands? Could there have been an alternative option? A poor woman lies dead following an innocent mistake. Her blood lies dried on my blade. Elandra assures me that she did not feel a thing. I do not know if I am inclined to believe her, but there is not much room to debate, now. She is deceased. A pile of withered ash. I can only pray that the gods give her more mercy than I could.

Something amazing happened last night, however.

Renma came to me last night. My once-thought-deceased brother is alive. I thought my mind was, once again, playing tricks on me as it usually does when I am alone. It seems that, in my solitude, I still cannot hide from my night terrors that plague me so persistently. This was no illusion, however. Renma is alive.

He never died from the attack. I suppose it suits him; I never genuinely watched Renma slaughtered. I grabbed the attention of the bastards attacking us, before they began to run after Lili. She still refuses to explain her methods in which she got away, but I sense that some sort of magic was involved. I will not write any further, however; it pains me to scribble this out, no matter how vague I am being. I have offered Renma a place to stay in my home in Marbruk, but he seems curious as to what my living arrangements are in town. I will give him a bit of headroom to look around, but this town is no safer than the cultist's camp. I fear for my brother's life, even now. While the blow is softened to know that only one of my three siblings died, it does not amend the fact that Renma would never approve of what I did following their "deaths." He is far more noble than I.

Entry Thirty-Three

Are we only capable of what we can comprehend, and perceive, as real?

I ask myself these questions in isolation, away from the prying eyes of the nosey and greedy. What are stars? How do the Gods act in our favor? Do they act in our favor?

As the days continue, I find myself growing more isolated, and more refusing of the company of others. K'y has returned, but I assumed that I would be in better spirits, should he return. The heavy admiration I once felt for him does not seem to be there; as a friend, his thoughts lie instilled in my mind, and I enjoy his company. I have allowed him to stay in my home, for the time being, but I feel that his influence has been affecting me in a rather negative manner. Mercenary work, getting me to drink, and attempting to draw me away from the Guard. I can't. Can I?

I see people going by and enjoying their day, and cannot help but wonder why I cannot have something like that. Is it my attitude? Do I have one? When I first arrived in town, I recall being much more..active. Participating. I see that spark in my brother's eyes. Have I lost that influence, and that drive? I lie in bed at night dreaming on ways to either escape this hell that is Vulkwasten, or ways to assault my way to the top of the Guard again, but in the end, I do not think that it matters. My drive is all but gone, and I see that little flicker of hope I once had drawing to a close. Wren often worries about my attempts for suicide, and I cannot say that I blame her. Albeit my life seems whole, it is not. Claim of doom and despair from talk in the tavern is flung like bugs at a torch-lamp. They remind me, all the more, that my attempts at life are perhaps futile. Renma is a wonderful flicker in this new world, but this town can only burden me for so long. I cannot go home. Not with the burden of Narkses's death lying on my chest.

Perhaps there only is one way out.

Gods, and Narkses, forgive me.

Entry Thirty-Four

When I was a young girl, Lilinunta and I once took a trip out to Mathiisen. We had heard that the inlet was a beautiful sight in the Autumn months, and I could never drop the opportunity to see something new. Lili was much more hesitant than I, but I somehow convinced her to come with me, and so we took the long, winding road down there. As we spoke on the way, we discussed several philosophical topics. At this point, we were around the age of uh. Fourteen? Fifteen? I cannot remember. No less. I had already been doing these sorts of things regularly since I was six or seven, but I digress.

Lili brought up the topic of what would happen, should our parents turn up deceased. I told her that I would get along in the forests of Auridon, sleeping in trees and stealing food from the local merchants. Modern day thief, stealing for sustenance. Lili didn't like the idea. She asked if I had any sympathy for my family, or those that I loved. While I initially responded with nothing more than a grunt, it is a question that has lingered in my head even until my adult years.

"Who do you care about, in your life, Kashya? Do you care about anyone aside from yourself?"

In my early youth, I would have said yes.

When I was twenty-four, I challenged Menelin after hearing about her lackluster attitude towards Serving as Marshal in the Guard. Hated everyone in town. Hated her job, hated serving here. I was horrified. When I had come into town, I had built up a strong fondness for the people there. Much like how the others are, now, with their peers. Like how Wren is with Thelin.

As I look at myself in my mirror at home, I see only Menelin in my own eyes. That hatred for the town has ignited in my own being, and my former admiration for the security of others has dwindles. I am the same selfish mer I used to be. Thorn is dead, and the town faces destruction from a parade of fucking Daedra. A body was flung into the tavern last night. I am at the end of my wits. At this time, however, I have decided to take a step back and contemplate my own standings, once more. I was once young, haughty, and fiercely stubborn in my standings. I was much more aggressive. I was unstable. Volatile. I am still young, I think, but am now caught between pessimistic, idle, and hating everyone. For the sake of my own position in the Guard, it would do me well to reform some of these habits I have picked up on. I cannot be so pessimistic, anymore.

Entry Thirty-Five

I will admit that even I surprised myself with the decision I made regarding Wraesha's sentencing. Although I may be ridiculed for my decision, (knowing that I very well could be making a horrible mistake), I am advised to stand by it. In a time such as this, I debate the wisdom of that advice, but I will stick with it, as I have no other alternative.

A year ago, I was a raging womer with a bad affliction and a tendency to act before her mind could tell her to cease. I have done many regrettable things in my past; it seems that now, however, a certain event has been clawing its way into my daily rituals. The innocent mer that I shot. The Silver Dawn member. A werewolf hunter. To any other lycanthrope (including myself at the time), this was a good thing. A lesson to any "respectable member of society." I often question why I was never convicted. I rarely have time to think on it, and yet, I find myself always rummaging through the crevices of my mind, only to find this memory returning. Only to claw me in the face, one more time.

In my contemplation, I have realized that I despise, and admire, violence.

Violence has, for years, been the answer to all problems. My former profession as a thief never called for violence, and I can proudly say that I never utilized it during my contracts, all those years ago. My skills end, however, at the hands of stealth, burglary, marksmanship, alchemy, and (strangely enough) pugilism. I am a novice at illusion magic. I have absolutely no practice with any other magics. I cannot hold a sword for the life of me, without attacking myself. Shields are about as useful as glass boards, when in my hands. My skills at social interaction are shoddy, at best. I very rarely show a softer view in regards to punishment. Things are nigh always cut and dry. And, if it were not for Keys, it would have stayed that way.

And yet, last night, I showed a different side. Attempted to, at least.

Seriduril claims that I made the right decision. My empathy is genuine. I have realized that, while violence is an easy and convenient means to an end, it has caused the death of those that I hold dear to my liking. Thorn is dead. Minjua is dead. Narkses is dead. Sala is dead. This curse even extends outwards, to those that lived in town, yet I did not know. Death, much like lycanthropy and vampirism, are plagues. And while they cannot be stopped, they can be delayed. Seriduril has stated that in every depth of Tamriel, there is underlying (or perhaps prevalent) beauty; I feel that I may only see that beauty if I consider the possibility that Nirn is not the war-haven I have thought it to be.

And while my patience only goes so far, I will muster what I can to be patient towards those that disagree with my decisions. Harming Wren was never my intention—although I knew that it would hurt her. I imagined she would take it this severely. Wraesha shot her twice, even if ignoring the plethora of other crimes she has committed. Drug trafficking, drug use, conspiracy, attempted murder, two counts of assault. The list goes on, and the more I watch myself write on this, the more I debate whether this was the right decision. With all of these crimes committed, will she ever be able to come back around? I should list my potential charges.

The felony charges of Kashya Vulano are as follows:

Forty-something counts of grand larceny.
Ten or so counts of petty theft.
Seven to twelve counts of assault.
One case of murder.
Two cases of attempted murder.
Two counts of public indecency.
Five or more counts of vandalism.
Four counts of public Daedra worship.


And yet, here I stand, Marshal of the Guard.
I suppose all people can change. It simply depends on whether or not they are willing to listen to reason. I will consider this, when I begin in my perhaps futile attempts to rehabilitate Wraesha.

Entry Thirty-Six

I often find myself wandering the streets of Vulkwasten late at night, debating the possibilities of something happening to me. Not anything specifically good or bad. Just different. To be attacked by a killer, and engage in some revolutionary pugilist duel to the death, or perhaps something lighter. Something more genuine? I debate that feeling, at present. I do know, however, that stars are such a beautiful thing. I know not what they are, and I know not their purpose. I do know that they fill the sky with wonder, and cast attraction over this dreary landscape that is Vulkwasten. Dark, gloomy, rainy. Stars are a godsend among nature's finest.

Each night, I find myself closer to the barracks than the last. I have discussed selling my home in Marbruk to Renma, and moving closer, back into town. I do not know whether or not I will go through with that, however. I don't necessarily have a reason to. I don't think.

Wren does not seem angry. I am glad that she doesn't outwardly hold hostile feelings towards me. Frankly, I do not think I could sleep as well at night knowing that she was angry with me. She has done quite a bit for both myself and the town, as has her Dunmeri lover.

I took a look into Seriduril's journal. I do not know why; the only excuse I do have is that I am simply nosy. Suits me well, though; when I have a bounty of time in the barracks, I have to find something to do. Despite this, I cannot tell where he and that Estre mer stand. Neither do I quite understand why I care. It has been quite strange, actually; when I find myself near the fellow Guard, I seem to have a difficulty speaking my mind; I do not seem to have this with others. More often than not, I am perfectly content to spew my thoughts to strangers like offensive weaponry. I am feeling quite conflicted with him, however, and do not quite know what it is from. It's no matter, however. I'm sure the feeling will pass, and I'll be back to my normal self soon enough. Perhaps that can be helped by not looking through his personal writings.

But, am I really going to stop doing that?

Entry Thirty-Seven

I do not know where my standard has gone. Catapulted across the sea, into some wave of atrocity, or self-pity? I cannot say. Not for certain, anyways, and conjecture is the enemy of solid understanding.

My newfound friendship—dare I call it that—with Seriduril has taken a very unexpected turn. And with this, I find another unnecessary weakness forming. The same thing will happen that occurred between Thelin and Tory. Someone will die. Someone will become injured. Someone will leap towards another in an effort to save the other, without thinking. This is an alchemical recipe for a disastrous consequence.

And yet, I find it incredibly thrilling, dare I even say such a thing.

It has been merely a week, possibly two, and I seem to live exclusively for the nightly encounters I share with him. The sheet of anxiety and hesitation that blankets him is such a curious thing. And, while I cannot say that I am not anxious as well, I find myself considerably more headstrong with these things in comparison to him. Where he has hesitated in our 'partnership,' I have thrown myself into with no caution. I suppose that I resolve my anxiety through headbutting my problems. Fortunately, that is only figurative, and I have not headbutted him to resolve any issues. Yet.

Even now, during my breaks, and in my time guarding, my daily schedule of self-contemplation and loathing has been flooded by thoughts of this strange mer. Unfortunately, I still condemn myself to reading his journals. He says that he will be away for a while. Frankly...I think I wish he would've taken me. However, I'll simply continue on with my work until I hear something or another from his return. Furthermore, I think I'll pretend I didn't hear anything about his 'leaving,' unless someone tells me personally. I'd ruther not do anything to suggest he should move his journal. Although, I would still tell him I read it if he aske—

Gods, damnit. This whole entry was about him. Wren, Lu, and anyone else was damned right. Fuck. I'm attracted to him.

Damnit.

Entry Thirty-Eight

A small piece of parchment is tacked onto this page. It appears to be a written word poem.

"Twixt placid grasp and
doting eyes
Lies vivid grass, she's void of lies
And 'neath my visuality
lies seas of fib-ilality
to
see
my sea
of writhing
feelings, and I grasp
the hand I do hold dearly;
abandonment, she finally shows,
when his firm skin's pressed amongst mine own."


Well. Perhaps writing sane poetry isn't my strong suit. I found it much easier when I embraced insanity. Oh, dear Madgod, I have failed you. Fortunately.

S'ren-ja is a nice enough town, but I'm ready to be back in Vulkwasten. I would rather be taking a vacation to Auridon, to Skywatch. To anywhere in the Isles of Auridon, even. But instead, we're in some dry desert/savannah shite. Even worse so, Seriduril was injured; I think I broke his ribs when I hugged him. That's...no good. Fortunately, that woman says he should be good to walk around again tomorrow. That is fortunate; I want to get this S'ren-ja shite done and over with, so that we can go back to Vulkwasten. And perhaps 'panic out' and go to Skywatch.

The idea has made me giddy. To keep threats of things like Daedric invasions or Xithic off my mind, I have supplanted my anxiety with thoughts of being with him, somewhere along a lazy coast on Skywatch. Or perhaps on the docks, in Mathiisen. Oh, perhaps looking out into the water from the lighthouse! Lili never saw it, but I swear you can see the mainland from the lighthouse. It's not just some rock. I know it.

The idea has sifted, and sifted, and sifted through my head. The idea of embracing curiosity as I did in my youth, once more. I find myself with him on my mind more and more, and I do not know if this is a good thing or not. In truth, I'm fucking terrified. I fear that I may react as badly as Thelin, when he dies. Did I already write that? I don't think so. Nevertheless. The thought of traveling with him in Skywatch leaves me without breath. I embrace the thought of spending vivid nights with him on a lazy, rolling beach, lazily sipping on a drink and only occasionally finding the need to speak with him. Silence. I know more goes on in his mind, and yet, he seems perfectly apt to remain silent. I'd almost wished he'd speak more, but I couldn't be happier knowin Damnit, I need to relax on the writing about that Altmer. Despite nearly breaking him last night, I only find myself wanting more of him.

What else can I write about? Oh, yes.

The cultist in S'ren-ja isn't anywhere to be seen, yet. Unfortunately. I am hoping that further investigation will prove otherwise, so that we can hurry this along and simply go home.

Well, that wasn't nearly as fun to talk about. At least I can lie here and imagine.

Entry Thirty-Nine

That felt wonderful.

To murder a murderer. I feel horrible. But still, I feel absolutely empowered to have destroyed such evil from the world. It was truly an eye for several eyes. Wren may hate me. I cannot bear to think that. I am so damn terrified for the consequences of this. I couldn't help myself. But that woman deserved every bit of it.

I hate myself. I hate myself. I didn't have to do that. She will hate me. Why did I play such a stupid card? I deserve the hatred. Gods, damnit.

I am going to leave town. I don't know how long. With me gone, it might encourage her to return to the Guard. If I'm not interfering, then there's no risk of me going insane like that, again. She can likely help much more than I can.

I am losing myself again. I need help. I'm going back to Rawl'kha, I think. Or perhaps Anvil. Baandari? I wish I could talk to old Thajrizi again. She was so kind. But I am not, anymore. Perhaps I'll go...back to Auridon.

A drink sounds good, right about now.

Entry Forty

I just woke up. I am lying in a ditch, this morning, covered in questionable substances, with sujamma on my breath and a terrible burning in my hands.

Would my father approve? Would Renma? Would Lili? My mother? ...Gods forbid, Narkses? Or Seriduril.

Damnit. Him.

I do hope he's faring well. I doubt he is, however. Do I truly care for him? Or Wren? Or anyone else in that town? I contemplate these questions on such a repetitive basis, I occasionally annoy even myself. What will he do, with me gone? Did it sound like I was leaving for good? Will he attempt to usurp my position? If so, then I wholeheartedly deserve it.

So...why am I here?

Oh, yes. Right. This is...Baandari. Well. The outside of it, at least. Right? Yeah, sure. It looks like it. Ah, damn. I must have been looking for Thajrizi. I wonder if she even still lives here. So many things have happened since last I saw her. Burglary. Coming into town. Kisven. Rescuing Menelin. Killing innocent people. Killing not-so-innocent people. Being cured. Going to Eastmarch. Three times. Watching all my old, familiar friends leave town. Being introduced by a new cycle of citizens. This town is cursed, and full of nomads.

...Of course.

If I stay long enough, only a select few people will remember my crimes. The town cycles, and cycles, like the wheel on a horse cart. I should not be discouraged. Ah, I want to get back to town, now, but.

Well. Since I'm already in Baandari, I suppose I should see if Thaj is still hobbling about.

Entry Forty-One

Fuck. Am I dying? At any rate, it seems as such. Please be sure to give my amassed fortune to one of my pets; they would appreciate and definitely understand the concept of currency.

Perhaps if I keep joking to myself, it'll make me feel better about the current situation at hand.

I spoke to Estre a couple nights ago. I think. I really don't know how long ago it was; the days are starting to run together, and the hammock in this little tree-house is my only solace. curling up in furs and pushing myself away from the world is becoming more and more a comfort, and I slowly question whether I will ever want to leave. Why work? Why do anything? I have the comforts of an eternity right here. I can think, I can observe, and I can theorize. I am alone, in my own little sanctum. If this is what that Khajiiti afterlife is like, then I can do this for eternity.

I do hope Seriduril is alright. He has seemed somewhat distant lately, and I know not whether that's from my own illness, or his doing. Ever since I returned from my encounter with Thajrizi, he has not been himself, and I can't put my finger on whether or not that's good or bad. I'll put five drakes on "bad." I do wonder if he ever has second thoughts on this strange partnership that he and I have formed; even that, however, has seemed fleeting these past few days, and so I wonder if this some means to an end. I can't say I'd be all that upset. Or...would I? I don't know. I definitely wouldn't hunt him down if it came to that; I can live without him. I think it would just be rather upsetting not to have him around. I enjoy hearing him breath when he sleeps. That does sound strange. I suppose I could just find and read his journals again to see how he's feeling. I tire myself by doing that, but it does sate my nosiness.

I wonder how I'm going to occupy the remainder of my night. I've run all out of books to read, and I don't want to go out and find more. Well, now. A moment. There are the books in the Mages Guild halls. I suppose...they're not works of fiction, or plays of the like, but they are something, and I suppose that my skill in alteration magicks could use some work. The last spell I tried, on that cheeky Dunmer I shackled up, did nothing. Figures. I stle

[The handwriting eventually becomes so sloppy that it is unreadable. The person writing this probably fell asleep.]

Entry Forty-Two

After I sold Renma my home in Marbruk, I used that funding to buy a smaller house closer by, in Malabal Tor. Close to Baandari. He's been spending the past couple weeks installing slick, stone stairs that I think will discourage me from drinking. Those things are on such high angles.


Entry Forty-Three

I am going to distance myself from Seriduril. Perhaps the town, entirely.

After every day that continues, I find myself in more of a rut than I've ever been. I think it is due to my occupation. My optimism is sapped; my will to 'play protector' when I only do my job half the time? It is beginning to weigh down on me. I don't want to pawn this off to Seriduril, however. As good a job as he is doing, I know that this was never what he wanted, and that is my fault. I threw the position on him, when all he wanted to do was run. From me, and from town. If I force a position of authority on him like that, I couldn't live with myself, as I think he would just work himself right into an early grave. Doing the same damned thing I tried to do. And now, I am back on the drinking cart, amassing my days in half-sober stupors, attempting to disregard the backwater hell I live in. Malabal Tor. Pfeh. Someone should just burn all the Valenwood down. Tell that to your god. I have lost my respect for that god they call Y'ffre. I cannot tell if Wren has as well, or if she is going to progressively begin worshipping him as a result of these recent events. I suppose time will tell.

I am sober enough to process my thoughts, and my thoughts right now are telling me to go jump off the bridge between Tanglehaven and the Orc camp. Right down the waterfall. At the very least, it would silence all the rambling in my head, right now.

Perhaps I can dream of my childhood in Skywatch, as the water overtakes me.

Entry Forty-Four

Renma has ceased to associate with me, despite me telling him that I have bettered my life. "People cannot better themselves in a few days." As this lingers on my mind, I wonder whether or not it is true, and whether I have truly changed, or am simply putting on a guise to both myself and those around me. I think that it would be best to keep up this facade. This excuse, to both myself and those around me. If anything, I suppose it helps the townspeople, and doesn't make me look so bad. I'll take that.

I haven't drank since I told the s'wit to dump my alcohol. We operate strictly on a business relationship, now, as it should be. And, as it stands, I have nobody to speak to anymore. That is...fine. It is good to be alone. Friends show weakness. I saw him with Wren, and I can't help but feel that they are talking about me. Offhanded things they said, and Seriduril giggling like an idiot. I should demote him just for that. Go home, I say. Fucking stay home.

I don't need my family. I don't need these poor excuses for friends. I need a fighting force of able-bodied men and women, and I aim to find just that. Those idiots...Wren, Seriduril, Terath. They can associate and gawk with one another all they like. I don't need any of them. I just want my sanity, my life, and my sobriety. I just want advice.

I wish Thorn were here.

Entry Forty-Five

My home proves the haven in which I may lock myself up for an eternity. Practicing my magics, practicing my job. Who needs blunt force when you can win someone over with spells? These things are so damn fun. Calming people, which was the basis of my testing back in the Gold Coast (During our escapade to rescue Wren) was simply the beginning. There are so many different spells that I wish to learn. Ones that grant invisibility, ones that charm others, some that allow you to walk on water, or levitate items.

And yet, none of these can remedy the hurting within my chest.

I have not seen Thorn, or even been to town, in the past few days. After the escapade with Wren and Seriduril, I decided that the golden piece of fucking shite was just too much for me to handle. May hw rtin

I shouldn't be drinking so much. I fell asleep writing.

I made a stop in Vulkwasten today, to restock on liquor and get a smell of those disgusting creatures in Vulkwasten. I've only grown to despise the place even more since I've avoided stepping foot in town. However, I was met with a rather pleasant sight upon stepping foot into town, once more. Estre, bless her heart, had created some sort of cake for me; who knows how long ago she had done so. It's quite the choice, however. It's...actually pretty damned good. I can see how Seriduril would have become infatuated with them. She's...rather.

I am going to continue hiding myself away in my home. I don't quite like how uncomfortably close it is to Seriduril's home, but at least I cannot see my own home from his.

Sales are up. I think my endeavors are going well.

Entry Forty-Six

my head

Oh my gods, my head.

Is this my old journal? Yes, it is. Mara, be merciful. I hope this isn't a sign of some sort of impending fate. Gods, tell me I'm not about to fall down the same fox-hole as I did a year ago.

New year, though. New opportunities? Perhaps. Who says I can't live the same life as I once did?

No, no. Stop this. Everyone you love is gone, except for Lili and Renma, and they're hardly exciting. Just about the most boring people I've ever met. Er...would that make Renma a good Marshal?

Stop, stop, stop. No more wide-eyed, wild rambling. No more drinking, no more short-minded murders. I am me. Right?

Who am I?

It's been...two years, since I first stepped foot in this town. I think. In the time I've been here, I've broken my leg, killed my husband (twice), stolen from ancient Khajiiti ruins, rescued the former Marshal, injured myself beyond repair, cured my lycanthropy, almost drowned, slit my own throat, had a child, discovered two of my siblings survived the attack that brought me to this horrid province, and so much more. All of these little misadventures have passed, though. With it, I feel...empty. All of my old companions are dead. Am I dead? I might as well be. The others, these...comers and goers in town. They'll never know the strife, murder, and mayhem I've caused during my time here. I often tell myself it's for the best that they don't know, but...I miss company. I do not go out in search for friends, I. I just leech onto those that will offer me the time of day. I am not built for this lifestyle. Or, so I keep telling myself.

There's the old treasure hunting job I took back up in Baandari, all those years ago. I suppose I could look back into it.

Suppose I'm going to see if Renma wants a new job offer.

Entry Forty-Seven

One of the nice things about sitting in the cell is that sometimes, at night, the wind from the ocean spikes up against the cliff and gently pushes through the cell bars. If I close my eyes, I'm back in Auridon again, listening to slow music and leaning over the fence by the tavern, looking at the nice, orange lights glitter along the dock. My normal life. The tide pushes itself in...and out, creating the most relaxing noise against the song. And all at once, I'm back in Auridon. Just from one simple breeze.

I've made many a mistake in my life. There is no doubt on that. They say fate is a cruel mistress, but do they not also say something positive about fate? I need to make some sort of change...but what? The conversation I had with Adsomar. It brought so many thoughts to the front of my mind. All of these mistakes. All of these quirks, they're all brought on by me. Who says my life should not be exciting, but also righteous? All I've ever wanted to do is mend my reputation. Fix who I am, as a person. But I've not had the mindset for it.

Things I am grateful for:
-Lilin
-Whiskey
-Being Not Dead
-My Home
-Lilinunta
-Renma
-Auridon?

I need a friend. I need a complete altercation in my own personal view.
Why can't I just be...less of a mess. I've always wanted what other people seem to have. Or...just don't care to have? I think I just want a friend to run through ancient delves with, and yet also enjoy a drink with in the tavern, back in Auridon. Someo

Gods, I'm charting into very hostile, close-knit relationship territory.

I'll figure it out. I always do. I think.

Entry Forty-Eight

The vampire I killed today. Well...That Dunmer and someone else helped bring him down. But I, of course, pushed myself in the way to land the killing blow. I saw Lilin in him, though. Sure...the boy was most likely hundreds of years old. Dead for an eternity. But...what if that happened to Lilin?

I've always wanted to be a figure that people look up to. Like a clan elder, of sorts. The front of the line for when things go wrong; the first to sacrifice themselves if need be. I don't know if I did that, tonight. Or if I even have the stability to be someone that people look up to. I suppose I just want approval. Or a good kick in the gut. At least I got one of those, tonight.

What am I, if not someone to look up to? I feel like I'd just be a disappointment. A failure, a drunk. I feel as though I already am. Having to kill what looked like a young boy...it cuts you, I suppose. Looks are deceiving. And feeling like I killed a child is no better. I came home and took a good, long look at Lilin. Through a cracked rib, it's hard to stay up, but I'm managing.

I just want to be a good person. I can't truthfully tell myself I'm trying to be one. But, perhaps I'll be able to redeem myself at some point.

Entry Forty-Nine

I was walking along the beach this afternoon with Lilin and she asked me something that, while simple, was rather thought-provoking. "Beach?" Yes, Lilin. "W...uter." Water. Yes, Lilin. "Summet?"

Summerset. Or so, she attempted to say.

It's been nearly three years and I still feel as though I can't go home, but I can never give myself a good reason. Tsalazami made a good point, a couple of weeks back. I feel like I have something to prove, here. Something to, make up for. Something to give back. I've spent the past couple years here as a sporadic guard with a hot temper and a happy bow-hand. Lycanthropy took my sight, and drinking took my sense, so what do I have left? there's always the opportunity for a second chance. I aim to do just that.

I have come to the conclusion that I do not require an apology from everyone, or anyone, in order to continue on this little path I've chosen for myself. As long as people trust me, and as long as Lilin remains safe, where am I to go wrong? Who am I to go wrong? I cannot falter, nor will I. I'll bring Renma back, take my job back, and things will be normal, again. I use the word "normal" sparingly, and subjectively; nothing is normal in this town, by 'normal' standards. Only normal by Vulkwasten's standards. Cursed or not, I intend on continuing to help the town as best I can. And Lilin. Besides. Last thing I want to do is spread whatever shite Vulkwasten has. My luck ran out years ago.

Entry Fifty

Fiftieth entry in this damn thing. I supppose it would be somewhere around my seventieth, if I hadn't lost this journal some time back.

We went into Cormount, last night. I helped keep order while some Bosmer gave a tour of where we'd be staying the next week or so. It's a nice place, but the tall trees remind me too much of home. Not because of the big treehouses, but because of the heights. From the Guard hall, I swear I can see those Ayleid ruins in the background, calling for me. I just want to explore long enough to feel like I'm back home, in Auridon. The Ayleids always had a certain air to their architecture that reminded me of home.

That small encounter I had with Afer and the children last night only pushed the feeling I have had, these past few weeks. All of my old friends are dead, and...I can't really make ties with anyone, here. I don't want to speak to anyone, I don't want to interact with them. They're just. There. And I guard them. I wish it weren't that way. Aside from Estre, possibly Wraesha, and a few other people who are too malicious to deserve it, I truly want to help these people. They've had to deal with this shite for years. I suppose that should start by getting out of my books and into the tavern again. But...I don't know.

Entry Fifty-One

Drip, drlip, blit, drip.

It doesn't rain much, at home. Lilin sometimes asks, "Mommy, rain?" I can only answer with "Not here, Lily." How is it so different, just a few kilometers to the south? How does a dry desert turn into a humid rainforest? It's like the geography couldn't find a happy median, so they just split in two, drew a line, and crossed their arms like children whose toys were just taken.

It has been so long since I have written in you. One day turns into a week, and a week into a month, and suddenly, it has been an eternity since I have found the time to sit down and scribble down my thoughts. In one month, we've moved towns and had to start from the beginning; I've lost all faith in the Aldmeri Dominion, and I am in a place of idle contemplation. Once again, I dream and wish for the day that I'll not have to lift a finger to the Guard anymore. When I'll have free time, and an hour to sit and think to myself. When I do get that free time, I spend it out at the Ayleid ruins. not much left to see there, but the view is something that will never age, even in its dilapidated state.

I should go work.

Entry Fifty-Two

Several years ago, when I was hitting twenty years of age, I came to the Valenwood on a whim. It was supposed to be a recreational trip, to sate my hunger for exploration and discovery. It quickly backfired and caused all three of my additional siblings to disperse. Until a year ago, I thought them all dead. Today, I can put the pieces together.

Lilinunta somehow got away from the lycanthropes that ambushed us. Girl hits like a truck, but that's still impressive. Narkses was killed, his last words kept securely in the thoughts of Renma's mind. Renma lived, and made a bet with me that he could act stupid and still be a better Marshal, so I let him. It's funny that now, everyone thinks he's a twit. He still gives me hell about that, but I won't let him come back into town.

I've come to accept Narkses's death, but I cannot quite fathom my own reasoning behind my decisions, on occasion. Yesterday, I gave Zalya my advice on the benefits of empathy, sympathy. Acceptance. And yet, here I stand in the corner of the tavern after dusk, encouraging fights, drinking my paycheck away, and proving to be a particularly bad role model to my peers. How would Lilin view such acts? My own bright-eyed girl, acting as I do now. The thought of it. It sickens me.

I must make some sort of change. Perhaps I should begin bringing Lilin around, again, on my patrols. Andreyus lives nearby. Perhaps I could rent one of his rooms out. Ever since Rius took off following their archery tournament, there's been an open room. I'll have to figure something out. I do hope Bhidul is doing alright.

Entry Fifty-Three

I haven't felt this good in a very, very long time. And I owe it to a mer I hate.

I sparred with Aeliester, today. I'll not claim that I "won" the match—it's not good sportsmanship. I wouldn't want someone to spout around how they beat me, in a spar. I find it only common courtesy to reciprocate that. Nonetheless, I'm doing well. K'y found a cure. I'm going to let him see Lilin, but...I have been so very hesitant to tell Lilin. For three years, she's not known what a 'father' was. If anything, it's been Lilinunta, who has been taking care of her while I work. Aunt Lili and Mommy. That's all she's ever known. She's reacted well to Kisven, on the few occasions that I have let her see him, but what do I do? How do I approach this? Ky said that he was still having side-effects after his cure, but I trust that they have subsided. Mine subsided, as well, after some time, but my sight also went with it. I wonder if any of his senses or magical capabilities will fall after his cure.

Perhaps I should take up writing, again. I'm not sure. Communicating with other people, it felt...good. It felt natural, I suppose. People are coming and going all the time; it has worried me, the idea of making new friends. They could leave tomorrow. Die tomorrow. Lose interest, tomorrow. All of these little variables. I'm writing under a dim candle in my study while wiping away the blood from my nose, though, and I feel good.

Entry Fifty-Four

The entry that was once here, has been scribbled out in heavy ink.

Between all the recent events that have happened, lately. I stopped drinking a couple weeks ago. If I needed any confirmation to stay away from the liquor, well. This was it. I had but a sip, and that was enough. I'll just cast it off as a joke, though. I don't wish for my temper to get the best of me.

Twelve, thirteen, fourteen

[There are a series of nonsensical drawing scribbles on the page.]

Gods, I wish I could sleep. It must be somewhere past four.

I wish K'y never knew about Thorn. For him to think that I'd rather have any other broken mess in this house but him is a tragic thought.

I wish Narkses knew how sorry I am for getting him killed. I wish Minjua knew how much it kills me to know that I killed her. I leave them in the back of my memories, but I will never forget their poor faces.

Another line, here, has been scribbled out in black ink.

Entry Fifty-Five

I first came into town under the name of Kashya Vulano, several years ago. I was greeted by a Bosmer named Elsynia, and I promptly attempted to scout the place for theft. Unfortunately, that is not what I found.

Instead, I found a friend. Several, in fact.

There is a certain air of torment when it comes to "relationships." Six months ago, I wanted no part of it. Now, I am torn. I do not want K'y to feel uncomfortable. I dare not discuss this with him. It's best that he doesn't think I doubt our partnership. In many ways, I don't. I don't want Lilin to have to wonder why her real father isn't around.

But Goddamnit, I care for Thorn with as much capacity as I do K'y.

It is so extremely straining. Depleting. Why must I pick between one or the other? And, if I even did leave one for the other, what would the repercussions be? Ky would not take it lightly. Not at all. Would Thorn feel so guilty, he'd refuse me? Or, would he be absent? He has not been around for weeks. Working...

When Menelin was removed from her position as Marshal, the Council chose Thorn and I as the Marshals. "Co-Marshals," they called us. They were attempting something new, and incorporating not one, but two Marshals into this new fold. It left little room for a Major, but it did leave plenty of time for Thorn and I to discuss things. Most of what we discussed were work-related, though. It wasn't until I returned from my pilgrimage, and he returned me to a position of Major, that we truly began to speak. And speak, we did. Everything from my drinking problems, to Thorn's ambiguity of his home. There are so many unanswered questions that I long to know the answer to. I wish I could make a decision without hurting anyone, be it Thorn, or K'y.

I wish this weren't so difficult. I just want some affirmation in that whatever decision I make will be the right one.

Entry Fifty-Six

I don't know what to do. I'm at such a loss.
I've never felt so conflicted.

Am I a bad person? I am. I've been trying to open up to others. I want to be seen as a stable hand. Stable, and firm. He...is not stable and firm. Is he? No. They are both wildcards. Right? Maybe I should just take Lilin and go somewhere far away.

Why can't anything just be easy?

Entry Fifty-Seven

Is it noon? It has to be past noon. I haven't left the barracks yet. I'm starving. I just haven't been able to stop thinking.
I need to make amends, and come to a conclusion. I need to settle. My life is stable. Why should I change it on a whim? On a presumption? I won't leave my current life. It's not that I admire Thorn, I don't think. I may have been looking at this wrong, the entire time. I look at a lot of people like I look at Thorn.

As ways out. Cheap flings that will never happen, because I'm too dignified to request such a cheap thrill. I am far better than that, than these lowlifes.

No. I don't want change, in partner. I realize that I only want change, in stability. Maybe no partner at all? No. I have to make due with what I have, for Lilin's sake. I just — My god, it's her. She's the reason I'm doing this.

When I see Thorn, I see a hand that is firm, weathered, and wise. He knows what decision to make, and knows what priorities he must take. I love the stability. But, my life has never been such. I see a hand that will be able to guide Lilin through her life, and help her become who she should be.

I see instability, in my current standing, however. I see a face that longs to revert to the days of uncertainty, and the years of violence, and dismay. I see a face that wants to watch the world burn, if only to sate some grueling fantasy. And I see one who is fond of constantly putting himself in harm's way. Daring Death to strike him down, should it be so bold.

And I, I am caught between these two crossroads. Chaos, and caring.

I should get changed. It's about time to work.

Entry Fifty-Eight

Will I ever come to a fucking decision, or will the next twenty pages of my journal be contemplation on my relationship? I need help. I want to talk to somebody. No, I don't. I can handle this on my own. I think. I know. No. I don't know. I'm at such a fucking break.

She said that the vampire's name was Arietta. I'm glad she did, or else I would've stabbed her. Whoops.
A month ago, I would've killed her in cold blood to stop Ky from going back to his old ways. But, now, I wonder if it's even worth the attempt. A good vampire is a dead one, though. Maybe I'd just be doing it for everyone else.

Maybe I shouldn't.

The thought of snatching Lilin up in the night and running off to Auridon is sounding better and better, as the days go by.

Entry Fifty-Nine

I shouldn't feel this way. Should I? I feel temporarily relieved, almost. I feel good. I feel well, knowing that Lilin is in safe hands, and that I have more time to provide to the town. Maybe this is what I needed. Lilin is happy, I am happy. We have new trade routes up. I told them it was a good idea. Well. Even if it was Andreyus. I asked him if I could stay with him, but he's so damn hesitant. He never uses his estate, anyways, and I lived in that estate long before he did. He owes me one. Right? Maybe that's wishful thinking. I knew I shouldn't have sold the estate. I need it back, but I know he's going to want me to do something highly stupid. If that's what it takes to keep Lilin happy, though...I suppose it's worth it.

Entry Sixty

Dominion, traders, and bears, oh dear.

A couple days later, and I have the first pod of my estate cleaned back up and returned (somewhat) to its former glory. I've got my desk set up and everything—it vaguely resembles my Guard Hall, back in Vulkwasten. I...I miss Vulkwasten. It seemed so much simpler, then.

I write from an old desk; there are new candles, an old werewolf skull, and some parchment here. To my right, there is a roaring fire in a firepit. Fortunately, Willowgrove is only a few minutes away, so buying logs for firewood is very easy. Not that we really need it, most of the time; windy and rainy nights make for the best times to light the fire, though.

Behind me is a divider, and behind that divider, sleeps my Lilin. I do not care what people think, or say, about me. While K'y has been moping around and making people feel sorry for himself, I have been working my arse off to get myself back on my feet. And work, I have; it shows in this small pod that I can now call my own. Whatever he says, he cannot take away my productivity, and I will die with a blade in my gut, or as ash, before I let anyone take away that, or my Lilin.

I do miss Thorn, some nights. I wonder how he is doing, on the Gold Coast. I've been getting the desire to write these unsendable letters to him, but I do not want to find myself attached to someone else, again. I must stay away, for now. Besides, he is married. No matter how unhappy he is...it is not my place to rob him of his relationship.

That being said...he did say he d

Lilin is stirring awake. Good night, Moons.

Entry Sixty-One

Lunch with Lilin. It's about the most exciting thing that happens in my life, anymore. I can't say I'm sad about that, but trying to feed a two year old mammoth when she prefers fish is awful. Worse yet, because I hate fish. Gods, I hate fish. Ever since that stupid sea-life storm in Vulkwasten. Lilinunta brought it home last week and Lilin tried it, so now it's all she talks about anymore. "Fish, fish!" Right...

I like coming back into town after lunch, when nobody's around. I say I'm on patrol when someone idly passes by, but with everyone working or plain out of town, I like to stroll around and enjoy the silence. Of course, I can't stand the damn afternoon heat. Dense armor in an even denser jungle, mixed with the heat, is pure horror on my body. It's been rather cloudy here, lately, however. A perfect time to start a fire late at night, and feel as though I were someplace colder.

I spoke to Thorn again, today. It's nice to know that he cares about my well being, but I'm just as curious about his past. I wonder what kind of name he had, before the given one. Maybe he has parents. How old is he? So many unanswered questions that we never got the opportunity to answer because of the incident with the gate. Sometimes, I wish I'd spent more time with him after he got back from that wretched place. I'd been so iffy because of my desire to keep everyone away. In hopes that K'y would return. Gods, was that ever a stupid decision.

Dinnertime. My tea is ready and Lilinunta's almost done cooking. Round Two, Lilin. Here we go. More mammoth steak and goat milk.

Oh, right. Lilinunta kept that stupid goat that wouldn't leave the lot. He's growing on me. Mainly because he's so damn useful. She...? She. It's the females that give milk, right.

Entry Sixty-Two

Moonsugar. A quarter cube. Moons. Thaj'rizi. My dear caretaker. My mother, away from Skywatch. I see now that the gods blessed me to be with her, when she died. My visiting her, the night she died. It was precipitated. By the Gods. And Thaj'rizi's last religious sermon, to me. "Even an elf can have an afterlife in the Sands." I am not religious. I was not. But this sugar, it makes me see what it is like. A lifetime of

There is a large ink blot on the remainder of the page; the writing continues on the next.

That sugar made me goddamn pass out.

I feel good, if a bit aching. I was trying to think of something to do, after dinner, last night. I remembered I had Siirdan's sugar. He gave me more, too. It's supposed to be for meditative purposes, but I don't know if it's working right. Religious? Egh. The last person I would want to be is one that requires some sort of stimulant to stay alive.

Entry Sixty-Three

Axe marks on my collarbone, burn scars on my shoulder. The whip lines on my back make it look like someone tried to inscribe something there. Goddamned Vvardenfell. Goddamn Aminos, and his goddamn scale model. For bringing up those horrid memories.

Thorn wants to go there, to see if anyone knew about his past. I had to remind him that slavery is not outlawed, there. He did not know. Of course, he wouldn't know. Because you wouldn't expect anyone to still keep slaves. Slavery. What a terrible thing.

Except, maybe, for the Sload.

It has been raining out at my home, all night. It gives me a reason to kindle the fire, anyhow. It is nice, lying on a hammock with my little Lilin, while Lilinunta reads at my desk. I've spent the past three years wondering what my own family would be like. While this isn't the typical Mer/Womer/Child setup I had hoped for in my youth, well. It's just as good. Just us three, here. And that's all I need in my life.

Well. Except. I wonder how Thorn is doing. I wonder if he wants to do something next time he's around. That'd be swell. I can't help but still feel a hurt of regret for not telling him about the post Not that I'll ever tell anyone. Some things are better left buried.

Entry Sixty-Four

Another former slave. Another Telvanni slave. Another Sadrith Mora slave. Why the hell am I suddenly being plagued by them? Better yet, why do they go all gung-ho in telling everyone in the tavern about their traumatic life of slavery? Have they no sense of damn't privacy? They could be CAUGHT again. Those goddamned House mer are everywhere. They're just waiting to snatch you back up. Lik Nevertheless. My business is my own business, and I'd be damned to let anyone else read me like some cheap for-kicks novel. I suppose my opinion isn't shared.

I have little to write about, anymore. Now that I've successfully pushed everyone away from me that I possibly can, I've realized that it's been. Well, it's been boring. And I'm not going to write something boring like "Cow-breasted Nyr set the clinic on fire," because I get enough of that in reports. No. I am truly alone, save for Lilin. Gods, how I want for you to have a normal life. I am so very sorry you were put in my lap, of all people; I may be a somewhat decent mother figure—and I feel like I'm stretching saying that—but my life is nothing short of disastrous. I do hope my past does not rub off on you. You're my clean slate.

Entry Sixty-Six

First of the Month. And what better way to spend it than by returning home, with the townspeople?
It has been a long week of planning, speaking with leaders of guilds, and putting in requests. But, I think I have finally found a way to solidify my place in my career path to ensure both profit to myself, and to others.

Following the charter being burned, I spoke to the Inspector after our little meeting regarding a move to Auridon. It was suggested to me that a move to an Altmeri town would require some...Altmer administration, and the Guard immediately came to mind. An independent Town Guard, rogue and unhinged, would do nobody good so close to the Capital of Auridon. Under the careful eye of the Dominion, however, where we can be paid, and outfitted in exchange for boundary protection? Now, that is something that I can get behind. It has been many years since I put on a Dominion uniform last, but now, I can not only wear one, but be a real Captain. Not just a Chief Mate, a second hand of a ship. A real Captain. I know, it sounds like nothing is different. I'm still leading a regular Guard, not bound by Dominion ranks, but paid and treated as such. That is close enough for me, though. Maybe one day, we can become more than just an auxiliary force. But, for now, I'll start with square one. The Mages Guild was a beneficial experience on my education, but the pay was meager. Fringe benefits, but a nonexistent salary aside from selling concoctions—which were taxed by the guild, no less. I'll leave my studies to a more private realm.

Maybe I should change the ranks up, a bit. Captain Vulano? Queen—er. No. Maybe if I just...

I have a very good feeling about this. I only hope that we get plenty of volunteers.

Entry Sixty-Seven

So long as I focus on my work, I do not have to focus on my relationships. That's the focus of all things.

Uh, but Kashya. You're sitting in the tub by candlelight, choking down lunch and trying not to get your journal wet.

Good point.

Lilin gets home in a few days! My little girl has experienced the life of a deckhand. I don't even know where all my parents went on their expedition, but with the grace of the Gods, they'll make it back soon, and without delay. I just need to...well. Thorn has been sleeping in her bed, so maybe Lilin can just start sleeping with me. During the day, my parents can watch her while I work, but I definitely wouldn't be opposed to taking her to work with me more frequently. After all, we're finally in more civilized territory!

Estre and I tried to play a little scenario game. Things did not go as I'd hoped. I don't think it'll help me communicate better. But, at least we got to talk.

I nearly dropped the journal. I'll just write more later.

Entry Sixty-Eight

I think that the thing I fear the most, is harming those I care about. And in the case of both Thorn, and the townspeople, I fear harming all of them. I cannot free myself of Thorn's disappointed tone, though. I've always done things this way. And it has always worked.
I cannot tell if I am the bad person, in this scenario, but I sure as hell do not feel like the good one. Especially with that disappointed tone.

"We do not lie to our people."

I...wasn't lying. Was I? No. No...it was a bluff. It was only a bluff. Bluffs and lies are two different things. Aren't they?

Regardless...this will work out fine. And when it does, I'm sure he'll have a change of heart. No. No, he won't, you're just being falsely optimistic, Kashya. That is a stupid way of thinking.

I do not want our community to falter. I have grown too appreciative of them.


I wish I could see Lilin.

Entry Sixty-Nine

Together with my little girl again, as it should be. My little Lilin.
I should apologize to father, but I do not want to guarantee anything, at present. I don't want to turn any more relationships, anymore friendships, awry. I just do not know what to tell Thorn. "My Father wouldn't allow me to see my daughter again until our heritage was reunited under an Altmeri banner." Gods. Is that even comprehensible? Goddamn the Altmer and their stupid need for "pure" bloodlines.

Still. Seeing Lilin happy like this, it ah...It is nice. As much as I did hate to admit it at first, Lilin enjoys her father's company. And I enjoy Lilin having a father, once more. And...Summerset. It is not as awful as I thought it was. Father always wanted me to be a Psijic, he says. Well. That's a one in a million chance, especially for someone like me who knows very little in the way of the arcane.

Summerset is like Auridon, but...more regulated. It seems more precise. As though every tree were placed there intentionally, every blade of grass manicured to be a specific length. And that tower. The tower that overlooks Kisven's villa. It is so eye-catching, so incredibly tall. It looks like the White-Gold tower, but smoothed and contorted with each brick. I need to be back in town before the end of midday, however. Guard assembly...after that, though, a long talk with Thorn and Burdens. Then, laying out plans for decorating the villa awaits.

Entry Seventy

I miss Thorn.

I am glad that Lilin has a proper family, but none of this feels genuine. Large manors and guards that watch every step I make. Living not on my home island. Having to take those stupid, debilitating and headache-inducing portals daily. I feel like Aminos. Maybe it was best, for Thorn. Am I unpredictable? I'd like to think not. But, I often find myself in unpredictable situations.

I almost feel bad for Ky, even. He's attempted to make my stay bearable, or even enjoyable. Stupid enchanted beds and rooms that remind me of home. I appreciate his concern. And his effort. Maybe I should just accept it, so that I can have some semblance of a family. And get along with my parents, once more. And maybe even join the Psijics Idiot, pfah. That's a pipe dream of your father's. It will never come to fruition. I do wish it would sometimes, though. If only to get out of my regular daily grind. Or, would I rather be here? I tell Ky one thing, and then I tell myself another.

I can't even predict my own actions.

Entry Seventy-One

Slavers. What the hell are slavers doing so far down here, to the Northwest? Gods, I nearly got half the fucking guard put under slave shackles on Tirdas. I sent a scouting team from another Dominion unit to go scope out the wreckage, and the site in which we were searching near the college. All they could find in the water—that was still afloat—were scraps of wood and miscellaneous debris. That blue flag. It was still floating in the water. But it had no markings on it, no distinguishing word of house or alliance. Wouldn't Covenant flags have that big, dumb lion plastered on the front of it? Surely. I don't know what to make of it.

The response to the inquiry will be in tonight. Eager as ever.

Entry Seventy-Two

I found you in a little bookshelf, stuffed among my other artifacts. It feels like it's been years. I suppose that it has been, in a way. It feels like time has mended in on itself, and I am at its grasp.

This manor is large. Large, and empty, both in affection and in hospitality. At night, whenever the moons come out and everyone goes to sleep, I shoo all of those stupid guards away and hide away in the corner, underneath the grassy plateau that the manor stands on. I can't see the manor from behind this little hill, but I can see the coast, and my home on its other side. Auridon is where I want to be. This is not Auridon.

So, for every star that shifts and sparkles in the sky, it is another day that I have lost to living the fake life of a noble. So long as Lilin is happy.

Entry Seventy-Three

War, turns you into an animal. It is not good. Not on you.

When your back is against the boards of a rickety ship, and the only thing keeping you alive is a weapon, you will use it. Forego all of your morals and values—you will stab, maim, and slaughter anyone if it means that you can live one more day to see your little girl.

Even if it means turning into something that you never want the world to discover.

I have not been able to stop thinking about it. Ever since the fight...I can't stop thinking about the fucking ship. The follow-through. I shouldn't be alive. I shouldn't be breathing. And I shouldn't be spending my day in a tavern with Lilin gawking at everything. She doesn't have to wonder where her mother is.

But the children of everyone else...they do. All fifty or so of them. How many of them had children? Andreas had a child. Irendrilon had a child. Two. Tallerius had a father to take care of. He was saving up his coin to give to his father, so that they could spend their last few years doing things that family does. Fishing. Catching up on memories, and enjoying each other's company.

Instead, I watched a mer skewer him in the fucking throat and toss his body to sharks off the bow of the ship.

Jrisho and I found each other in [the word is scratched out]. We promised to make it out, if only for them, but...how the hell do you live for someone when they barely knew you? Tallerius wanted to live for his father. And Irendrilon wanted his child to live for him. Not me. So, who the fuck do I live for?

"Rhook. Live for tal. She is Lilin, she is jer—your vijah."

Jrisho never was good with the common tongue. But he was good with words, if only to comfort a friend.

We never spoke about it to anyone. I vowed not to say a word of it. He vowed to make amends for it. We nodded, and went our separate ways.

A year later, I was making a living as one of most successful [the word is scratched out] in the fucking Dominion.

Entry Seventy-Four

The ruby.

It exists. And it's in my very own fucking hands. The ruby. I told them it was real. I told them it was no myth. It corrupted and destroyed lives for years in Shattered Grove, Vulkwasten, Cormount, and S'ren-ja.

I hold all of that. All of that strife, all of the disease, decay, attack, and loss.

I'm holding it in my hand. I hold all of this power in my comparatively little hand.

I can't open it. Not until I find a way to ward it. And after that, I have to unravel the makeup of the spell. The curse...whatever it is. The Mages Guild can't handle something so powerful. They don't know—They haven't endured the hardships we've faced, from this little hunk of rock.

But I, however.

I have.

Entry Seventy-Five






Condition of Stasis: Warded with glass coated by an alchemical residue, used to suppress the ruby's immediate effects. The ruby possesses an immediate effect radius of about 30 meters.

Ruby's Known Effects: When beyond or outside its thirty meter radius, the ruby seems to channel the energy from a conduit seemingly not of this world. The gem is possibly cursed with something of Daedric origin. When outsite the radius, the ruby channels itself in the form of passive and growing catastrophes. How do these form?

Alena suggests it is a spellweaving technique of Ayleid architecture. I am no expert mage, so I cannot say. My knowledge of alchemy is my only mastery; I only have adept skill in illusion, and alteration magicks.

Experimentation Possibilities: The ruby could be contained, but the same Ayleid spellwork that caused horrid fortune, might be able to cause good fortune. Right? A sliver of gold and some clover can create a potion to charm mortals, but that might not be ideal. Something to increase luck, however. Plants from Morrowind are ironically abundant in magicka that boosts a person's good fortune. I don't quite understand how it works, but perhaps coating the ruby in that could nullify, damped, or completely alter the effects of the ruby. This could be good. I need...

- 1 clutch of Corkbulb Root
- 1 patch of skinned Guar Hide, not tanned.

Do I need a soul gem for this? Can you...enchant rocks? Of course you can, idiot. But...I am not very accomplished with soul gem enchanting.

Perhaps the ruby could be worn after it is altered, to provide these effects to the wearer in a greater capacity than any basic necklace of luck could achieve.

There is so much to be unraveled from this ruby, and it can all be mine. I can do anything with the damn thing. I just have to find its source.

Entry Seventy-Six

Condition of Stasis: Optimal. Or...as expected, at least.

Experimental Outcomes: I await Kisven and Alena, before dousing the ruby. My alchemical resin is ready, but I do not want to apply it without substantial assistance. I might be foolhardy, but I'm not an idiot.

—

All this power sits in the palm of this lab. I just need to unlock it. I can have anything, then.

And all I want is silence, and a beach to live on.

Entry Seventy-Seven

At least I'm left-handed.

Home is where the heart is, but in this case, it's where all of my insecurities lie sprawled out along the floor, like a bazaar in the middle of a Khajiit trading town. I despise losing, but I more so despise it when I lose myself. It's at those times, when I wake up in the middle of the night with a knife clutched in my hand so that I can run out of bed and see Lilin fast asleep, that I fully realize the impressions of war. Only one thing can ease my mind anymore, and it's her. My little girl. My Lilin. A ray of innocence and purity in a world that only knows blood and sharp metal.

"Mother, I want to be a Psijic! A Master Mage!"

My own heart. She is such a culmination of both myself, and her father. At times, I feel such pain and remorse for bringing her into this world. I feel selfish. I feel ridicule. I can't let her endure the same pain that I have. Please, don't grow up, Lilin. Please. My little girl can't be exposed to the horrible truths of the world.


Alena brought me home tonight. I enjoyed the company; it is nice to have someone around, since I lost touch with Kisven, even if all of our encounters have been solely from me getting hurt so goddamned often. I grabbed my armor from her and invited her in, but I frankly cannot recall whether or not she accepted the invitation; I was far too groggy from tonight. It is somewhere...somewhere in the middle of the night, now. I'm upstairs, in bed once more, but I had woken up again to check on Lilin. I can't sleep. I put my thoughts on parchment, instead.

I forgot...Mavos designated me to temporarily lead affairs in town, since the Dominion pulled us out.

I suppose I have some more writing, to do.

Entry Seventy-Eight

I wish those in town knew that I cared, to the degree that I do. I wonder if they do.
I told Mavos and River things that I haven't told anyone, before. Not that I particularly trust them beyond anyone else in town. They were just nearby, and I just needed advice. I trust them enough, though. So, drinks away.

Another town assembly. More heartbreaking. More questions from people who think that their livelihood is going to be ruined, until Mother Bird has to explain to them how little things will change. I want to be their guiding light, but all I seem to guide these days are mugs, into people's torsos. I confide my loneliness in Mavos and River, my desire for change. But I also confide my adoration for danger. And Gods, does it drive me. The two things I seem to fall for the most, have no part being with each other: Family, and life-threatening situations.

I miss companionship, but I can't say I ever felt it with Kisven. I love him, but I have always loved him as though I love a dear friend. I hid it for years, but considering I am now telling this to people who I'd never dare confide with otherwise, I'd say I'm at a rather fierce breaking point, but Mara seems to be the only Divine I ever pray to, anymore. At first, it was only prayers to keep Lilin and I safe, and our home humble, and peaceful. Now, I pray for company. Enlightenment in the family. And then, I feel like an absolute pawn for actually falling for this shite. Me, a family person. Me, someone who actually desires company. It sounds flawed, but I know that once upon a time, when I was young, I wanted it dearly.

I do not know what I want, now. There are no suitors quite right for me, in town, I don't think. If I get drunk enough, though, maybe I can force my hand. It almost worked for Bhidul, after all.

(Thank the Gods that it didn't.)

Entry Seventy-Nine

I, a married woman, made out with a married woman.
My gods. Am I a harlot?

It has been over a decade since I felt a rush like that; a little bit of touch, at the very least, to satisfy something that has been destroying me from the inside out for such a grievously long time. And now that it is over, and all that came of it was a kiss and a handhold, I am back to my bastion of misery. I do not know if I want to do that again, but I can't help myself. I keep asking myself whether or not it is feasible to search for the next interested candidate. That is not me, though. It is not. I am attempted to curb my desire for leaving Kisven, by exploring outside the safety of my marriage.
At the very least, it keeps me distracted from political affairs. Another bottle down, and I can't help but recall my dreams. My fervent, frivolous dreams.

I stand in a thick, wooded forest. Green lies all around me, and the trees cradle themselves over the top of the trail I walk on, as though they have parted their tendrils to make a tunnel solely for me, and me alone. They speak to me, they ask about my day. They ask about my future, and they ask about my daughter. I only respond, "You are beautiful. Why can I not be, as well?" They do not reciprocate with the classic, "But you are!" Instead, they respond with their appearance. Their beauty.

Dreams like this, they often cloud my memory, and I realize that I do not want to wake up. I want to continue walking the trail, and I want to continue enjoying everything around me. Birds chirp with nonchalant freedom, and the smell of green grass and leaves infuses the air. A rocky creek adjacent the trail provides ambience, the likes of which I only dream about, anymore. And at the end of the leafy tunnel is my life, and every event that I have ever experienced, and will ever experience. I do not have to think about death. I do not have to think about suffering, and I do not have to worry about loving or hating others. I can lie down here, in the dirt road, and enjoy my paradise, made solely for me.

Please, do not wake me up.

Entry Eighty

In Gladious's house. I stayed up for gods know how long, talking with Estre and Gladious on Gladious's bed.
Emotions are meant to be destroyed, it seems.

I won't let them know the brunt of my sadness, though. I won't.
I just want to love someone.

Entry Eighty-One

Ash and smog, sujamma and sweat. This room is dark, burgundy, and warm. The sheets are soft, but the air is tense. I don't feel at home. I feel as though I have committed an injustice. I have never been so excited to alleviate twelve years of murder, delusion, heartbreak, and binge drinking. I have never been so excited to be in the company of another. I thought I knew what I wanted. I thought this was the way to personal alleviation and freedom.

I was wrong.

Thoughts spiral through my head like a cart with a broken axle, spiraling out of control and straight for a stone wall. I question my abilities as a parent, and my abilities as a leader in town. The position is temporary; I will not continue directing when I am finished, I think. I will spend more time with my family. If only for Mara, it is a miracle in itself that I have at least one thing to love at the end of the day. My family.

My Lilin.

Entry Eighty-Two

Once upon a time, in a journal that sits nestled in my satchel, I wrote that "I destroy anything in my path like a torrential wave, hellbent on destruction. I am a nightmare. A woman that became too jaded to love, even when people begged me to. I stay here, because it gives me a chance to try and love again." One time, long ago, I believed that I was going to turn my life around like a loving mother would for her child, and become a figure that could teach, be taught, and become a visionary for the townspeople. I see, now, that I am far too flawed for such things, but in my misadventures across Summerset, I have learned one thing: I cannot be without a flock.

As tacky as it may sound, I feel a desire, or a love, to be here. I have long denied that plain, simple fact to myself to avoid my own injustices, and my own feelings. I have hurt an uncountable number of people in doing so. And to this extent, faking my own death, it has brought me to a horrible realization: That I have made a grave mistake. It will take weeks, or perhaps months and years, to correct my horrid mistake and regain trust. Not only to the townspeople, but to my daughter, who Renma so callously decided not to tell of my being alive.

I am not a changed person. I simply see things as they are, now.

Entry Eighty-Three

I moved homes. I also feel very neutral. For once, nothing feels very eventful. I enjoy it, for what it's worth. No rampant Daedra attacks, no life-or-death situations. Just a very extended family, in a very haphazard town. Altmer, Dunmer, Argonians, Nords, and everything in between. And I babysit all of them. I like to think I do, anyways. Even if I don't, it makes me feel like I'm doing something. Something good, for once. I can properly piece together all the things I love. My daughter, my home. My books. All of my books. These flowers that sit on the windowsill by my bedside, and the idea of an ethereal existence. Wait, is that last part too much? It doesn't fit the theme. Noted.

Seiverin gave me Birds of Paradise and Hydrangea flowers. Orange little flowers shaped like birds, go figure, and some blue plush flowers. That was sweet, I think. I'll have to preserve one of the birds, though; I don't think I've actually ever seen one. We were talking and he brought up his dog. I had a dog, too, that lived to fifteen and was born when I was. Pretty little Synwil. Mara be merciful on your kind heart and wet nose.

Note to self: Wear a different outfit, tomorrow, to spite Estre. And be sure to talk loads of shite about her Nordic lover, Tobias. (A Nord, I cannot make this up.)

Entry Eighty-Four

Effervescent youth. It is a way to describe the younger me, beyond all machinations and improvisations. A field of traps and treasures lie across the field that we all rambunctiously call life. It is rife with failed attempts from less courageous—and far more naive—treasure hunters. Do they inspire each other? Does their death motivate the other to go forward, onward to the potential treasure? Or, are they frightened?

Do they know the treasure at the end doesn't exist, in the physical sense?

All my life, I assumed I was without match, peer, or better. A woman so hellbent on destruction and pinpointing her weak points, she would be like adamantium to any who dared challenge the God that she had crafted herself out to be. And here I am, barely able to fend off my own insecurities, much less anyone else in a fight. Pinpoints in a bigger world. Pinpoints that will never come to fruition. Or, at least, in the way that I had expected.

And now, Seiverin comes to me with the threats of an impending attack on the town, and I cannot help but feel at my absolute worst. I am not capable of fighting off a threat like that. I can't even beat someone in a spar anymore. The same woman who used to batter werewolves into bloody paste can't even slip up her boot anymore without the aches and sore muscles resulting from decades of bodily abuse. Physical abuse, alcohol abuse. Abuse. I debate throwing myself into the fire on occasion—especially in a time like this—and casting my life aside for the betterment of the town. I then stop to think, however, and ponder whether or not such a reckless decision would benefit the town in the long run. I stop to reconsider how Lilin will make it on without me, or if she will be capable of getting by herself. I made her a promise to not leave again, but does death void that promise?

There are so many decisions to make, and beyond all the death I've both directly and inadvertently caused, I feel that in this moment I should be most concerned about making myself proud of...myself. When I live in my head, I discover I am not proud of myself. I am ashamed.

But in this moment, as I sit by the fire in my home while listening to Lilin play upstairs with her dog and try to decode old books that she thinks contain secrets to amassed treasures buried in some far off land, I am at least content.

I'm content.

Entry Eighty-Five

"Hey, Mother. Why's your nose look bruised?"
"I was making sure we were safe tonight, Lilin. But now, we need to leave."
"Huh? Why?"
"The same reason we always have to leave, Lilin."

The same conversation grows ever so tiring on both the body and mind. When you have to make it with the one person you'd raze half the mainland for, it becomes less so a discussion and more so a conflict of personal interest. Still, though, Lilin understands the drill at this point. She doesn't want to leave, but it eases her to know that we're not leaving anyone behind. It's a shame, too. I just bought this damned house. I don't even know if we'll be able to find a buyer quick enough. Who am I kidding? We need to be out of here by the end of the week, of course I won't find anyone. It is back to square one.

I refuse to tell Lilin my bloody nose was a result of a quarrel between myself and Estre. I know that I am no saint, and my compliments won't save a town from being run over by a boat's worth of Daedra, but I don't give them out often. I don't give them out at all. I wanted to make Estre feel better for teasing her, and in return, I get jabbed right in the nose. Good work, though, Kashya: You didn't break her neck over the back of her own chair. Gotta keep everyone together, and all that.

Tomorrow will be eventful, to say the least.

Entry Eighty-Six

Elsweyr is not a particular 'Land of Dry Heat.' It isn't anywhere near as humid as Auridon, but you can still feel a bit of moisture in the air when you wake in the morning. It lingers, just delicate enough to alert you to its presence. The town feels comforting. Adrian finds it the opposite. Perhaps I find comfort in atrocity and unpredictability. I should more so find comfort in how well everyone is getting along.

I hired myself out to a caravan. They needed a guard, and while I'm not one of those ungodly large cat folk (Pahmar?), I am still a six foot eight pile of jaundice colored muscle and scars. It's enough. They set me up with a very expensive looking outfit and weaponry. I find myself wondering where they found the money to acquire this, though, and what they want me to do in return. No other caravan I've worked with has set me up with something this fine before. Perhaps shelling out for the gear in exchange for a work loan wasn't a good idea. Still, though...a deal is a deal, and if they keep paying like they have been, I'll keep saving them from giant boars and whatnot.

That's assuming I do not die first. You are not the woman you once were, Kashya. You can pretend to fight with confidence and competence, but your body is giving out on you. It's just a matter of time. People are smarter than animals.

Entry Eighty-Seven

"Mother, have you seen Canvaroth? I got some food for him."
"He's probably upstairs in one of the Guards' beds."

When the moons rise up over the little crevices and peak in the sky, they're the only time I remember they exist. Most other nights, they're tucked underneath the mountains and wall surrounding all four sides of Dawnspring. There's no rain here, but the sandstorms peak up sometimes at night and their skittering along the walls is ambient enough. Different, but pleasant. Lilin has been off the wall, but strange, since she got home. She won't tell me what's got her like this, though. She says it's a surprise. That it's going to "change the way I think" about my "so-called friends." I don't like surprises, but I love her. I'll make an exception, just this once, for my little silver arrow.

I love being here. The desert is different—by no means as pleasant as Auridon—but I feel at peace, for once in my life. We're a real community. A real, live community that follows our own rules and lives by our own curses and boons. I give everyone in town vocal hell. It's out of affection, or so I tell myself. I don't have any grudges towards anyone here, but it helps to get it out on paper if only to reassure myself of that fact. I enjoy the company. I enjoy the people. I enjoy the peace. I think it's the only reason so many bandits and ex-convicts are out here. They see that peace, too. It's freeing.

I wonder if Seiverin's going through with his house plans. I don't want to bother him about it, but I need to tell Lilin about us at some point before he starts making substantial progress. She's just so hellbent on Kisven. Sometimes, I think she loves him more than me, but I know it isn't as it seems. She misses him. Some days, I do as well. Perhaps it's foolish for me to think he's dead, but surely he would have found me by now if he was. I need to bring Lilin down easy, but I know she's fully aware of the possibility of his demise. She's just more persistent than I am.

There was some wisdom in my father's words when he forced us to pull the plug and get married. "A child in a home of two makes for a complete mind in the heart of one." She's got me, but I can only do so much.

I hope she warms up to Seiverin soon.

Entry Eighty-Eight

"Mrs. Vulano, your portal is ready. Your family has been notified of your departure to Shimmerene."
"Huh? Yeah, thanks. That'll be all, I guess."

The dresses I normally wear around town are grittier than the ones I have here, in Summerset. The dresses here are fancy, silky, and all different shades of house colors. In my case, purple. It's not appalling, but I hate the texture, and I feel and look terribly out of place. I pass women in the street who are walking so perpendicular to the ground, you can practically see the puppeteer's stick hanging out of their condescending ass. They pass me by—the woman with a mangled face and a rugged, muscled mercenary build—and turn up their nose, or make their disgust known in their expressions. They can tell I'm not from here. Frankly, I'm fine with that. I'm nothing like you people, anyways. I'm my own person, not a fucking plant whose only way of growing is by a strict, immobile set of rules.

Things at the manor aren't quite strict; just strange. I'm learning how to cook because Kisven is too busy, and Lilin is too young. I'm not doing a very good job. It is so strange; the translation from alchemy to cooking should be simple, but you would be amazed at how my confidence spurs and shrinks as I go from an alchemy table to a kitchen counter. I make reagents work, I don't make them taste good.

Kisven cares. It's obvious. He's just been so ignorant on how to approach me, or the situation as a whole, since we've come back to the manor. Frankly, I think being back together with him is already beginning to spur some of my habits that I thought I'd killed. Nothing I've acted on, yet. But I can feel the grinding in my head like a branch stuck in a cog. It's just waiting to snap. Patiently.

Estre seems to be taking manipulative care of Seiverin since the break-up, judging from what I heard in the tavern. It's beyond my capacity to care, but I would be lying if I said I weren't a bit curious as to Estre's motivations. Perhaps she wants Seiverin's coin. It's not like she cares about the personality—she's even more incapable of emotional association than I am. I wonder what the physical aim is, but I won't go out of my way to find out. I just hope that Seiverin stops treating me like I'm an enemy, before I start treating him the same way. The biggest irony in a situation like this is that I will inevitably be plastered as the 'bad guy,' all for deciding to put my family first. I should follow Thorn's advice, though. Haughty little gossips deserve none of my attention. Kisven and I never even fucking divorced. He should've known this was inevitable. They all should've. They've seen him do this plenty of times. They all should've known. I should've kno

I'm finding myself losing empathy for the situation far quicker than I thought I would. Perhaps that's just a result of being back with my family. Suppose it's time to head home, though. Tavern's silent as can be, save for him and Dalea chattering about while he pretends he doesn't notice me. I have my daughter to tend to. She's already excelling at what Kisven's teaching her. I'm proud, but I'm also frightened. I'm no mage, but I'll always fear for the potential to fuck up.

I hope she stays safe.

Entry Eighty-Nine

"Unnecessary cruelty or thoughtless charity. He asked me, Why do we avoid these things?"
"To avoid creating echoes that do not serve the greater peace. Help or hinder, or do neither. Remember: If someone is struggling and you can easily provide the means to their goal, then you will do nothing but weaken them."

Lilin told me this shortly after the three of us were reunited. She said that Kisven told this to her years ago, and she'd recalled it word for word. The more I think about it, the more I find it justified. The more I find myself in a place where I can safely say that no one person deserves my warranted aid, and yet I give it out, albeit not freely. I work it for a wage. I find these emotions easily detachable, like armor that can be removed to suit a different strategy.

The emotional are strong of heart and willpower, but weak of common sense. My willpower caused me to commit atrocities seen by many as inexcusable crimes. My heart got in the way of me making a rational decision. I cannot let that happen again. My family will be the exception to this case, of course, but none other. I've seen the immaculate weakness of a bleeding heart: It craves attention, like a starved beggar. It craves acceptance and understanding, like a kicked dog. It is embarrassing, even to those that are forced to spectate. My eyes are open to that now, though.

It is fucking pitiful, and weak.

Entry Ninety

"Head for the front gate. I will be right behind you." I gave him the most stable agreement I could muster—little more than a glorified groan—and ran for it. I slipped around the town walls, weaving and bobbing in between the little nooks hugging the barriers and the adjacent houses of the common folk, and wedged a knife deep into the back of a guard's head. A little sweet spot between the atlas and axis on the back of the head, where entry wounds go in quick and easy to anyone unsuspecting. Much harder to do when they're struggling. As I reached the front gate, though, I found the Khajiit I had been waiting for. He was right in front of me, rather than right behind me, but he was tucked in a ditch with both of his hands cut off. He was still alive. Light, hoarse breathing with a nasty cough. Collapsed lung. I put him down. Shot him in the temple with my bow to make it quick and easy. No emotions. Just keep running. Mourn later. Put Kvatch a hundred kilometers behind you.

One arrow in the back of my thigh and another jetting out of my shoulder. I wasn't in any place to be running for my life, but I managed it. Folk have survived worse. I heard about a man who was gutted from the waist down and made it, though I've never seen him. I have enough scars to be halfway at his level, I think. I settled down in an alleyway between the docks in Anvil and stopped the bleeding. It wasn't much, but the salve I'd made with Kisven a few months prior was working wonders. Still numbed the shite out of my arm. So, with one numb arm and a nearly dead leg, I chartered a ship with the contacts we had back in Anvil and I made my way for Vulkwasten. Going home, once again. After only three long, long months.

I wonder, sometimes, what things would be like if I'd never left for Cyrodiil. I wonder if I would've come back to a town in shambles, or if things would have been relatively the same.

Regardless of what happened in the past, today is the present. And today, I do hope that everyone fucking burns.

Entry Ninety-One

The more I spectate, the more I realize just how much an unbalanced mind can cause the average person to do silly, even stupid things, purely out of what they feel in their heart. They feel spiteful, or angry, and suddenly feel as though they need to hit something, or destroy, vandalize. Demolish. 'Get even.' It's a bit childish, really. On one hand, I feel as though I shouldn't take the lesson I learned so seriously. Perhaps...loosen up, a bit. To be frank, though, I am afraid. I do not want to turn into one of those emotional cesspools again. Not like the group I see tossing drinks into fireplaces and kicking down doors.

And for what? I genuinely do not see what the fruits of your labor were, in that circumstance. I sat there, and watched them get angry when I simply stated not to be so emotional. In return, one vandalized the tavern, and the other proceeded to exclaim about how I was a monster. All for what? Not sympathizing with him? I did nothing to provoke the situation further. It is like the boy pulling a noose over his own head while telling the guard to let him go; the guard stands there in shock and awe, but understands that if he attempts to make a move, it could look unjustified. Criminal, even, considering the boy was not charged with a crime in the first place. And so, I will let him sort his own issues out. I refuse to be integrated with that sort of zeal and recklessness. Not again. Kill yourself, or free yourself of the noose. It is not my place to cast judgment.

I do not miss Seiverin. I am actually quite happy where I am, now. I only miss knowing who and what I am. I don't know what I want.

Maybe that's why I have been drinking so much.