To me, From me. [NSFW]

A simple leatherbound book with a image of the nightshade flower branded to the front. Its titled To me from me


Today I decided to start writing things I've learned down. In case I lose my self once again. Why I'm writing this is because today and yesterday I discovered that who ever I was before the loss, I was capable of terrible things. I never knew I had such a desire to kill someone before today. I'm discovering all sorts of new things about my self, like my mastery of lightning formed magicka. Its far more advanced than I've ever seen displayed, and that thrills while terrifying me at the same time. I want to explore this power.

When I saw the book from the other day I felt called to it. Deep from inside the fog a need crept up and snatched control. So when the Daedra attacked us in that home, I felt torn asunder. One side told me to dive into the pit, and straight into the halls of Apocrypha, whilst the other tore at me telling me to protect...never mind. Obviously one side won out, and I'm here writing this and that is what counts. The perplexing thing is I have had a massive headache since. It's best no one knows that, don't need a whole town looking at my head asking questions.

So now as I lay here finally out of that dammed armor, I can't help but think. In the dying light of the fire I'll have to put it back on, and keep searching further. She talks in her sleep, I find it amusing, I wager she isn't aware she does that. Random scratchings in the page are present

The second entry is marred with blood and a multitude of hasty scratches. Finally beneath the carnage it become legible.

She's gone, and I left her here. Slipped away again. Why didn't stay? That spy, That pitiful covvie spy. I SHOULD'VE KILLED HER. Turned her to ash and scattered her to the winds. And now she's gone, and I am injured from a fight with the Brotherhood, AND BECAUSE OF THIS I CAN DO NOTHING! This poison, it's making me angry. No my Inability is killing me, she has a sister. And we spoke, Cyrodill, I will try to go there, And I'll tear the three armies apart to find her. Arnil tried to say she might be a traitor. I slammed his head into the bookshelf for that. It felt good to vent some rage into something, even if Arnil is my friend. Gods this headache is getting louder, I can barely write. Maybe they are right, I need to rest.

The rest of the page is torn.

The third entry is written with fluid and clear strokes. Lacking any of the eccentric scratches of the last entry.

She came back, wounded. An arrow in her side then she refused my help for a while. Eventually caving, two can play at the game of stubborn. We moved back to our spot in the clinic racking up the tab further, I tended her wound, she stared at me begrudgingly as I did. This time I used a more painful method that should seal the wound proper, while it will be sore at least she won't die. "I killed you" She said it, and I believe it to an extent. What kind of monster was I to incur her wrath I wonder? Better question would be how am I alive? The markings on my body maybe? I Think I will submit to an inspection by a scholar later, maybe they can find its origins. I'll start with that kind soul Asberon, I over heard him and Octato speaking at length on ancient studies.

I was woken by some whimpering Bosmer in the hammock above us, so now I'm writing in here. Seems I have to sleep with the patch on to keep any unwanted guests seeing my sickness. The smell of blood so thick from her wound, and yet I remained in control. How long can I keep that up I wonder? I heard of some like me going feral without feeding for too long. That is not something I want to consider happening. I will not give in easily. That poison Inflicted by the man known as Lucien Sarkaz. He knew the poison wouldn't kill me, it drove me mad however. I'll be more cautious of them from here on out.

The deeper I dig the harder the soil becomes it seems. And I'm starting to wonder if my past is worth knowing at this point. I suspect the Brotherhood has something to do with my return and loss. She seems to be mumbling in her sleep some more. Time to return to sleep. Tomorrow I'll hunt Lucien, no surprises this time, should I find him. I'll snatch him up and remove the information from his mind if I have too. Last I heard since our encounter a man in full black was spotted in Vulkhel guard. Tomorrow a vacation, and I hope she understands if we "bump" into Lucien. I think I'll bring a bottle of white gold.

The journal is scorched, the fourth entry written with the same strokes as the last.

Apocrypha, so this is my third option. I see now that I made a mistake. And those fools, that foolish Khajiit and Octato that zealot. They closed my direct portal home! Why did they interfere? I was ripped from the teleportation by a writhing tentacle. Why did it take me? No matter, who better than the Prince of knowledge to ask who I am? It was better than either of the alternatives, and here I stand before Mora its self. And I am simply confused, and angry, so very angry. When it returns my memories to me, I'll return to the world. And I will see if I am the same person I once was, or if I am the person I am now.

A few odd markings here and there, finally accompanied by something legible.

My name is Kisven Alteronis of Alinor. I am 52 centruies old, I am..was a member of the Dark brotherhood. I spent the majority of my life in service of sithis. I sacrificed my left eye for a black book from Mora. I was rendered near death by Kashya Vulano. I was found by Lucien Sarkaz and restored to life using a ritual that binds spirits to tombs similar to Ayleid guardians. I was also inflicted with vampirism as a secondary precaution. I am K'y Anrual, Of the blood march company. I'm a monster... I am a proud assassin. I am both, but neither gives me satisfaction. My sacrifice this time my pinky finger of the left hand. Mora has a strange fascination with the left side of me. I will return shortly, I have no idea how long I have been locked in this place. But knowing what I came to search for is rare among those whom enter these halls. My mind is ravaged, and I have nothing but rage. I will return, and Sarkaz will pay.

The page has dried blood from the sacrifice mentioned. A small picture of a hand is drawn in it.

The fifth entry is written with quick short strokes, anything resembling the professionalism of the last entry is gone.

I am slowly being driven mad by this duality, I need to get out of here before I lose everything. Dammit stop thinking... Silence, listen to the silence. Silence, The rest of the paragraph is simply repeating the word 'Silence'.


Finally I can gather my thoughts again, I need to send a message or find a portal. SOMETHING! It whispers to me now, Mora won't leave my head. Telling me there is another option, that it will require another sacrifice. I shudder to think what it wants from me now. I have no concept of time here, it feels odd, I can't explain what a minute is like, or a second. I just simply exist here and its not right. Is this what the gods feel? Then they truly are hollow if this is their experience. The whispers are suppressing my ability to use magicka, I couldn't manifest a portal strong enough to get me home if I tried. A small hole maybe, nothing larger than a bottle. That's IT! The white gold bottle I can send a note. I just hope someone finds it.

I scream and scream, not even the phantoms of those trapped here long ago can hear me. The headache is far worse than ever before, the infinite library is echoing every thought back. Sleep, when I next wake, I will send a message.

The sixth entry is dull written with a tired hand.

I did it, the message is away formed lighting to carry it through the portal. I even managed a second time. Maybe the dagger will help them understand. I don't know how to explain this if I return. It will take time I suppose, the whispers have grown so much louder. I see things in my periphery now, they run directly at me until I turn to face them and then they are simply gone. Sleep hasn't helped at all. My dreams are plagued with what ifs, and things that won't matter if I don't escape.

A bit of ink cuts off where the last paragraph ended, indicating the author was interrupted before penning the following.

They keep coming no matter how many I kill they just don't stop. What does it want with me? Finally got away from them, seems killing doesn't do a thing for me but buy a little time. I don't know if I can keep this up, my reserves are low, I must collect my self before the next wave.

The seventh entry shows no noticeable difference in the penmanship.

I woke from a dream, I imagined I saw her in the clinic. Wounded again, with the whimpering Bosmer and her strange friend. I imagined I could hear her speak but not be able to say anything back. I tried to communicate it to her, but I got lost, so I imagined I could show her. Then she understood, well mostly. It was nice to hear a voice, even if it was only a dream. Mora's whispers start again, the moment I wake till the moment I sleep they run like children frolicking and picking all the flowers in the field. These children however pluck secrets and fears from my mind. How the whip rips through the flesh, thirst and hunger with no time to rest. Better to die than live through this life, the hope inside keeps me alive.


Time has all but left me, now in these dreams my mind is haunted by Mora. I have no choice, I'm running out of sanity, it might be time I read some of these tomes. My only fear is that Moras grip will tighten if I do, what little of my past it told me of I keep running around my head trying to keep the whispers from finding more. I don't think this is worth it, a trap set by two parties, Mora and Sarkaz, bastards why such an interest in me? The call of knowledge grows louder with each echo as I step. The halls are filled with tomes flying around, discarded pages fly in front of me trying to tempt and slow me. What do you want that I have? This is not how I envisioned my---

The entry ends with a sudden clasp a piece of red cloth is holding the page.

The eighth entry is written with a shaking hand.

I I I I can't stop the whispers, they crawl deeper and deeper wracking my mind with promises and threats in the same sentence. Someone please come quickly, I don't know how much longer I can stay alive. They hunt me, every which way I run they just keep looking. And they keep finding me! No mater how many I kill. I've sustained so many wounds my armor is falling apart, my flesh is torn, I SENT THOSE MESSAGES A WEEK AGO! WHERE ARE THEY!? I must remain collected. I can't let it win or... No not going to consider that possibility.


It might be better I die here, no one can find me and bind me. I won't have to face them in this broken state. They won't have to burden their selves with me any further. Mora keeps offering me an out. It says trade either your past life's memories or your new ones. I will give it neither! But if I end up dying here what use are those memories? Which do I choose!? I will hold on a little longer. Give them just a little bit more time. If they do not come I'll start tearing into these books, I will not be Mora's prisoner for much longer. The whispers are back, time to sleep before they grow too loud.

The Ninth entry shows spatters of dried blood all on the page making some of the words illegible.

Wounded, ripped straight through my armor, caught me by my blind spot. I can't get the wound to close by magical means, so I tore some cloth off my clothes. The whispers have become---- I can drown them out almost. Lurkers have stopped chasing me for the most part, only when I get too close to some tomes placed on pedestals do they come after me. The other one however, they---------.


I thought about ---- now the whispers won't stop tormenting me with visions of----. I'm losing to much blood, I need to find somewhere to hide for now. I hope that its not been so long on Nirn that I am just a memory.

The Tenth entry seems calm.

So they are coming, and soon. That was no dream, I've been sending mute projections in my sleep! I wonder if this is just a side effect of Moras whispers or if I was always capable...No matter, I shall soon be freed of the madness, or so I hope. Mora trapped me, Took me, I did not seek it out, and yet here I am stuck in oblivion being chased by shadows of my own mind and by a horde of daedra. These wounds heal so slowly, and the whispers speak of many things, like it was inevitable my entrapment and them coming. Mora knows they are coming, what is it planning?

That worm is going to be with them. Two problems in the same place, what are the odds? Enough for now, I hope to be writing the next entry on Nirn, where I can sleep soundly for a time.

The twelfth entry is neat and contains the fluid strokes of entries from long ago.

I am alive, and I am home. Sleeping in clothes not soaked in both my and daedra blood. A new set of armor, and a new outlook on life. So now I write without looking over my shoulder, at least not actively. I Keep flinching every time I hear whispers, my mind is fractured even more than it was when I left. And now the headache, the Hum, its affecting Kashya as well. I should have never shown her. I've been staring off into nothing, forgetting where I am and what I'm doing. I don't even know that its happening.

Maybe that healer Donovan, Sern had mentioned can do something about it. I keep trying to figure out what kind of person I am, what is it I am supposed to do? I'm not working anywhere I spend most of my day drinking trying to silence the hum, and the whispers, trying to stay out of the dark. But even that will fade, and I will eventually fall victim to these things when it does.

I took her to Auridon yesterday, and it was wonderful. She ran around and had such curiosity and life. It did my mind good, to see someone happy, by something I did. We walked through the forest eventually coming to a small pond, I was at peace that day. No stress or trying to save or stop others. Funny how I return from months of torture just to go back to trying to help. How is it that I am so polar from who I used to be? Maybe with time my mind will repair it's self?


I find my self developing a bit of a shorter fuse with some people, and I can foresee this putting me at odds with a lot of them. I need to either get this under control or see the healer. And quickly.

The thirteenth entry has scribbles here and there idle drawings of some creatures unrecognizable


I feel the hum hanging in the back of my thoughts. An now I'm thinking outloud? What is going on? Apocrypha leaves its mark in more ways than one it seems. The daedra still hunt me in dreams. I can hear whispers when I sleep and it's hard when I wake. I feel exhausted, burdened by what I inadvertently inflicted on those who came. I have to help them all, or I am no better than the monster I was before. The thirst is starting to take its toll as well. As much as I don't like it I will have to feed eventually. Maybe there's a way to feed without harming someone.

A problem for me to deal with tomorrow. I think the fluid in my lungs has settled down, I'm not coughing nearly as much. Can't tell if its from the apple potentially being poisoned or the damage I suffered in Apocrypha. Either way I will keep this quiet until I know more.

The fourteenth entry seems to wander between positions in time.

Blood everywhere, so many dead, so much life extinguished. Why did they attack me, what did they hope to achieve. No matter, I've finally fed and I am repulsed by having done so. I feel life and the cold seems to have faded from my body. The thirst is staved back for now. I couldn't stop this. It had to be done.

I lost control today, I couldn't wake, trapped in a sleep very near what I assume could only be death. I heard a voice, then I had started to wake. And when I did I saw the shelves and halls and tomes of apocrypha. The damage is becoming more and more present. I'm trying to keep it under control, yet it grows more and more persistent each day. I can feel the need for blood growing ever stronger. I will have to feed soon, else I lose control to something else.

I had asked Kashya if there was a conflict of interest given my affliction. She is a guard, and she knows my secret. I dread the possibility of someone learning this aside from her and the inspector. She had told me that I don't hurt anyone, so there's no conflict there. If I am ever exposed no one can know she knew all along. I won't drag anyone down with me in that way. There is no distrust between us anymore. I see she still hides some things from me, but they will reveal themselves in time.


I will find me a bag of apples, I'm tired of buying the taverns expensive 6 coin apples. I could spend twelve and get a full bag! Where could I get a bag in the middle of a bunch of green pact bosmer though? What a bother. Guess I'll head to bandari today, see if I cant find some there. Maybe even head to dune if bandari proves "fruitless". That absent minded pun, amusing.


I think I need a new set of armor? Maybe a new paint? I wonder if the bosmer use dyes on their clothing as well? Doesn't that violate the greenpact? Maybe a trip to winter-fell would be nice. Do daedra eat? So many questions, that I need to keep asking to stave off the hum. How many dwemer ruins are there? Actually, now that I think of it, why are there so many ruins? Why have so many groups gone extinct? The Dwemer, the Snow elves, the Ayleids, even the Chimer can be thought of as extinct. What do the Dwemeri automatons think about? Do they even realize their creators are gone? Do they even think? So many secrets, so much knowledge.

The fifteenth entry lacks the sporadic gaps in time. The words are coherent and follow thus.

The silence is a gift, finally I can hear my self think. I set here in a darkened room with little in the way of light, and not a sound. No influences. For once I can be at ease, and the world seems to fade into the silence. I can organize my thoughts here, maybe find a solution or two. The first solution, I have to speak with the healer Donovan. The second solution, survive until the whispers stop.

There are shadows in my periphery, and the whispers stand in the corners of my mind. Still there, still working away, very slowly now but they are there. I will try to keep them contained when they want to play so to speak.

I seem to misunderstand what many say, and I tend to judge too harshly to what others expect. At times these words are not my own, but that of Kisven Alteronis. My past self, seems to leak to the surface more and more. Displaying attributes that I had very little clue of.


Why is it you were Mora's chosen memory?

The Sixteenth entry is neat and clear of eccentricities.


A missing Khajiit, most likely taken by slavers. A mer who won't stop coughing up their own blood. A bosmer with as many wounds as I, if not more. A skittish Altmer who looks at me as if I'm going to start torturing her. And her sister who watches over me as much as I watch over her. This is today's list of people. And troubles.

I keep trying to out run my past, be as selfless as possible. To try and make up for who I was. I have no idea how long that list is. I fear that no matter what I do, 52 decades of damage is a lot to make up for, and I doubt I can ever reach an end of it. Even now memories pulled up from the fog by Moras whispers show me some of the damage. A child, a wife, a man, a whole family, even an entire sanctuary. And the question, "What is the color of night?" it all haunts me.

I fear that if I sleep i will fall deeper and deeper into this pit, and I find it harder to wake each day. I need a healer of the mind soon. Time feels to be getting shorter with each day. I still need to find a box or something. How does one present a gift like this anyhow? Should be done tomorrow, I'll find something then.

I need to know more. It wounds me and heals me at the same time. I inch closer and closer to a complete understanding of who I was. A house, a home, very pedestrian. There is no more blood being retched from my lungs. I am alive, and secrets flow forth. She killed him, and I yanked his mind into the Animus Geode. More and more I can feel a change. The way she talks to me after seeing what was inside today. The way the whispers crawl, they sound more like friends than enemies. They are constant. And they hide nothing from me.

A cure? No, a substitute for blood. I cannot succumb to the desire to feed. I must keep searching. The attack yesterday has put the whole town on edge further. And it looks like were I discovered by any of those who don't already know... It's better to avoid discovery all together. I may need to distance my self from her, keep her safe from them, and from me.

Could I sacrifice a part of who I am for someone else? This thirst, the unending thirst for blood. Either I find a substitute or try to get cured by the priests. I will not let who I was continue to torment who I am now. For now, I will search for a substitute.

The nineteenth entry is written with a ink that seems to change color with the lighting.

I lied to her, for the first time. Today I said I was going to reapers march, and I am. But that is not where I am meeting my contact. To cheydinhal I go, I won't stop riding until I meet up with them and return home in the morrow. I have to stop this watcher quickly, I am tired of chasing shadows in my rest and in my work. At least I can achieve one thing actively while the other runs and hides.

May the golden Eye watch over me.

The twentieth entry ends abruptly only after a few sentences, the rest of the page is torn from the book.

Dunmer blood. So bitter, I supposse it fits their attitudes. Ten pact soldiers transporting a covenant prisoner. 11 bodies, all drained and sourced into a few bottles for later. Perhaps I

I lay still in this cold cell, waiting for them to attempt to kill me, to end me. Blood magic and murder, but I am not guilty of murder. My plan had worked, they thought to follow me into a public place, try and turn the masses against me in their attempt to kill me. The small blade in his hand, Should be under the counter still. I will have someone retrieve it, show that I was indeed acting correctly. For now I wait, time will be on my side and I will be free.

This house will burn.

Nothing is the same, the whispers are no longer violent and no longer haunt my waking moments. They only speak when I am in danger, telling me of the intentions. A gift of Hermaus I suppose, they were never against me, they only spoke of the uncertainty of those around me. Soon I will return and light will follow. Nothing holds a chain on me any longer, with my death new life, and with the falsehoods expelled, clarity. To me, from me, we are now whole, Kisven Alteronis lives.

The most recent entry to date's page reeks of sulpher and iron. The page appears fetid and rotting.

Fire in the night followed by screams of terror and pain. They run but cannot escape, Imperials fleeing from the monster behind them, unaware of the one ahead of them. His breath stinks of death like the ocean after a great storm on the beaches of stros mkai. The moon is hidden behind black clouds, lightning and fire the only light. One man fleeing the great terror in their village stumbles into the monster watching on the edges. He is lifted by the neck by one sharp crushing hand. He tries to scream but nothing escapes as his neck is compressed tighter and tighter by the gauntlet. Fangs potrude from the mouth of the tall figure, and a glowing yellow eye is all he can see before the figure sinks deep in the neck of the man.

Sanguninated the corpse of the imperial lays to the side, looking thousand years dead. Mummified, dry. It feels liberating, and thrilling to write from the victims perspective I must say. Well scribe. Semantics, unimportant, they refused to offer me a betrayer and so I took the whole village. As it were the traitor was not there. And another night wasted hunting a shadow I no longer feel the overwhelming need to kill. Maybe if I return they will land in my lap once more. Then I will have the oppurtunity to exact my self. Both of my selves. Am I three now? Once dead, then alive, then remade in fire? Does that make one, three? How utterly inconvienent this is trying to sort the memories.

The gift of Mora makes it all the more inaudible when I focus. A blade that bites its owner is a lethal blade indeed. But this one is just a mosquito, highly inconvienent and a nuiscance at best. I sit in the ashes of this village my atronach had torn apart. Contemptable. They all fled leaving whoever they could behind them to flee impending death. Refusing to fight it they ran. Ah they still sing in my ears, an chorus of fear and anger. How quick they are-Were- to indulge selfishness. I think its high time I went "Home" again. Maybe the target will be there? How sweet that would be.

I woke in a strange place, haunted by memories of whom I do not know. My hands had grown far too still and moving them had become a great pain. The feeling of bones snapping in and out of place. I remember falling asleep in the forest outside of Vulk. The town is not a suitable place for me to exist. Not as I am now, some know too much. Others suspect but never whisper, I will drink tonight, feel the life course back into my veins. Mongrel blood has grown stale.

Hircines children reek of indignant fury, feral animals at best. Exterminating them enmasse has proven bountiful to sustain me for the time. But it still tastes of poison, bitter and full of impure. I need the blood of a living non tainted being. That should stave off the madness a little while longer. Help me organize my thoughts and memories into coherence.

Today will be productive, today will yield me a new servant.

I could smell him on the horizion. The smell of lightning just before it strikes. He is here. That Giant has finally found me. Time is not on my side. With haste I must go, leave for a time. Forever if I must. With that monster chasing my shadow I cant sit still for too long. I must hide.

If all I am is half of who I could be then what right do I have?


I have seen the end. How sweet the didactic action of time. Cast adrift in the sea of a simpleton, and longing for the comfort of my life. Hallowed and simple that existence was, and wonderful as it had seemed it was nothing more than another face I wore in order to achieve what? Time was still and light had filled the world. It had seemed more vibrant before he had come back. Life seemed sureal. Filled with simple pleasures and ideas that hinted at something more fufulling. No longer was I this cold obscure weapon simply fitted for the task of execution. I was a person. And now I am nothing more than a thought. Split into two writhing in agony of my own duality. To give the finest control of my life to someone so innocent leaves me feeling almost amused and safe. For the longest time I was unhappy. Searching for something new to fufill my life once again. And here I am, vacant in a sea of non sequitor thought. Being forced into the automated and simplistic responses. I tried to escape. But even at this conjunction, I see clearly my own end. And it brings me to tears in my sleep. Wakes me from the death that I had Earned and in that moment, the purest of terror and dread fills my very essence.

If all I am is half of who I could be then what right do I have?


To the grey waters of walk, swept beneath the tides. This place and this time always echo. The future echos into the past and the past informs the present. Yet this moment echos in all three as if it had always existed. It is happening, has happened, will happen. How do I fight this feeling of inevitability? How do choke back this fear, the total apprehension of every action trying DESPERATELY TO DISSUADE THE FUTURE FROM BECOMING THE PAST? This arrangment with these spinners. It's worn thin, I think it's time to confront my totallity.

Time had stood still for me, the knife held by a small child. It's shabby construction dug deep into my chest. Limping past the guards who once were free beings. They simply watched as a bled from this fresh wound, watched and waited. I froze my self as I fell into the sea. Now I've awoken to another child. My hand wrapped firmly around their neck. I could feel their fear, and I drank it in. So fleeting life is.

My disciples wear a burning halo, branded on the nape, a black sigil darkening their flesh so that I am able to return at any time. Alone do I drift in the tides, watching waiting, occassionally stepping from the waves onto the shores of nirn to cast a new stone, envoke new ripples. My time has come to return, I have languished in the second for far too long. Do you remember me vulkwasten? Did you forget my name yet? How long have I been proclaimed dead?

How magnanimous of you to share your home with me. You made it clear that I need to consider my position in life, or unlife as it were. What a joyus turn of events, I have the tongue of silver I once had. She came with unknowingly participating in an assassination! The thrill of having someone who could catch you partake in the event without knowing! I wonder how many more I can have her help me kill. I wonder if I can get her to kill someone on her own?

Lets keep pushing, charming, and writhing our way into her mind. I can use my newly remodled contract with the Thalmor to convince her further of my benevolance and my need to help others. All the while undermining her desire to be a guardsman. What A waste of raw potential. Kashya, I tried to be like you to see your side of the world. Now you can see mine, and find that it is the purest light possible. One that does not cast shadows.

Come dance with me in the void, together we can conduct a wonderous symphony of silence!

I am astounded by the abscence of total nothingness. Behold emptyness. I'm finding my self enamoured with my own lack of inspiration. Life seems to grow more tedious than ever. I cannot even paint a canvas as fresh and new as an orphanage. So much misery and hate to drink from. NOTHING IS SATISFYING MY DESIRES. I feel empty, as if in perpetual distraction. everytime I return I am different. I come back from the contracts to find something and in doing so I change more and more. Where have I gone to be so torn from worldly desire. I find my self on this cliff often. Staring at the rock below wondering if I have the oppurtunity to jump and see the void finally. I have never felt sovreign. I have never felt peace. I only feel the same stagnant revulsion with the world I have always felt. I have grown tired of the worlds indulgence.

I simply refuse to die. So I step away from the cliff and back into the city, I want to see the end of this world. Grant me the strength to live for as long as this world does. I wonder if I will be able to watch the end from the void. And I glance back to the open air behind me. My compainions are all gone. Back into the normalcy of the world. Rotting beneath the earth like so many others I have sent to sithis. I have salted my own earth and found that in doing so I leave my self no choice but to charge forward into the dim light hoping that I can achieve sovreignty.

As I enter the city and am engrossed in the smell of fresh foods and the odors of the unclean. I can't hide my smile when I see a child begging on the street asking for a few drakes to fill his empty belly for one night. I see someone who will turn to sithis given the chance to never be hungry again. I glance on a mage casting a spell and failing miserably cursing the guid he serves asking for instruction from the masters of the craft and being left to fail time and again. I understand their thirst and I see someone who will turn to Hermaeus in time looking for those answers. But not all knowledge is of the magical variety. In his desperate attempts he will become a slave to that thirst. And trapped in apocrypha.

I see and smell a beautiful woman singing a sad song of war and loss. I hear her pain beneath the dulcet tones of her voice. I can feel how much the song means to her. And I see her turning to rage and indignant fury rushing to join the next campaing against her countries enemy. I see her dying on the battlefield cut down like so many before her.

All these people have such tangible desires. And yet not a one is fufilled, the boy simply need something others dont have. The mage needs more assertiveness and direct action, the woman needs simple closure, and to move on. Yet I cannot find my desire, nor its tangible solution. I have tried killing for fun. I grew tired of the screams. I tried thieving for thrills. No life taking for the extra challenge. I grew bored of the ease. Tried being a guard, a merchant, a mage, a mercenary, a tailor. Nothing has sated my needs.

I am disenchanted with life. Why do I keep going? It requires far too much effort and after only a day I find my self exhausted again. And I retreat further into my own mind. So now I sit here writing in this dusty burnt blood stained tome hoping that by chance I will find inspiration. That cliff looks more and more apealing each day. My eye has grown heavy from the weight of watching this era. No matter where I roam, whom I meet, nor what I do I am tired. And consumed by my own rage. I saw a spark in this place once. A congregation of the darkest beings who in their own way influenced this very tome. I feel the desire to kill them all.

Final entry, I am leaving this on Kashya's bed so She can see who I was when no one saw. Maybe she might understand. Maybe she might hate me and move on easier. I havent fed in months. I can feel the feral urges coming. The desire to kill and maim everyone I know. I started wearing a silver necklace to keep my self in check. The pain helps supress my need for blood. Helps me supress the onset of loosing control. Keeps me weak so If I do lose, someone is able to kill me.

Kashya, I'm sorry I did this to you. If you are the one to kill me. I deeply apologize. If Thorn is the one to do it. Then I'm glad you didn't have too. Just know that something is scratched out. I can't even write what I really mean. IN my own journal no less.. I hope. That you feel or felt the same way at one point. I'm so lost. And even know I'm fighting back tears. I tried so hard not to put you, or thorn or the town into this position. Forgive me.

Signed K'y Anrual.