Corrinde's Field Journal

A small, sturdy book full of chickenscratch. Its hard leather cover is embossed with the Aldmeri Dominion's symbol, and the scent of its slightly yellowed pages indicates that the book itself is rather old.
A small, sturdy book full of chickenscratch. Its hard leather cover is embossed with the Aldmeri Dominion's symbol, and the scent of its slightly yellowed pages indicates that the book itself is rather old.

((Everything written in this journal is from a strictly IC perspective.))


Bosmer of the Valenwood

I have left the seaside town of Haven to seek a more traditional lot to study. It's difficult to get a proper view of these people from their own perspective; many regard me with suspicion due to my own race, despite my best efforts to remain less pretentious and more open-minded than others of my kin.


I've managed to gain the trust of one Bosmeri girl. She prefers the term 'Boiche', and speaks with a thick accent. The revealing attire these folk wear had shocked me, but what's surprised me more is how quickly I've become used to the sight of bare flesh in an everyday context. Indeed, it is a temptation to shuck my own top and cut my hair short in the humid heat of this place, but I musn't steep myself too deeply in the Tree Sap People's ways. I believe that each race must preserve its own unique cultural traditions - to melt it all together would make us rather boring, I should think.


This girl I mentioned has shown me the art of using a bow. I am a terrible shot, and wish not to harm the trees, so I practice on shore. I have lost more arrows to the sea than I should like to admit. Her own aim is incredible; I can't help but stare when she pulls the string back with a muscled arm, the setting sun painting her biceps a


Roses are red
They must not be plucked

I cannot think of a rhyme that isn't lewd. This won't do.


It has been nearly a year. I've lingered far too long here; I must move on from this village. It is a tiny, insular place without even a treethane. I wish to study more than just her a few people.


I have arrived in Elden Root. The Graht-Oak is incredible; I've never seen such a grand sight. It looms over us like a mountain of bark and sap, and I'm told it 'walks'. I wonder if it has some connection to the mysterious Hist trees of the Argonians - a few of those are about; I saw them basking in the little lake that pools at the base of this ancient king among flora.*

To generalize the Bosmer I have met thus far, I would call them clever and mischievous, strongly rooted (no pun intended) in their ways, and deeply caring of one another and their gorgeous woods. I even daresay my own people are wrong to have demanded their own comfort in creating our embassy; if they want the creature comforts of our own culture, home is only a short journey away, in the grand scheme of things. The Bosmer believe in a hellish afterlife called the Ouze. To so much as snap a green branch or pluck a berry before it naturally withers is to damn oneself to it, and we ask them to clear a space for a stone building? Preposterous.

*Perhaps a survey of the local Argonian population is also in order; they seem to like this place almost as much as their own homeland.


Some local children invited me to a game of hide and seek. I have discovered that even from a young age, the Bosmer have a knack for stealth. I am both terrible at this game and gullible; while chasing one child who popped out of hiding, another bumped into me and my coin pouch is now emptied. I shall have to find some way to recover my coin.


Roses are red
They musn't be plucked
I left you too soon
Now I'm down on my luck


In speaking with other authors, I have learned that people live in a midden heap below this place. To elect to live in such squalor...I cannot bring myself to study them. Their plight moves me, but I know not what can be done to help people who cannot help themselves. Perhaps it is time to move on from this city.


Khajiit of Elsweyr

My travels have brought me to the bustling and colourful city of Rawl'kha.

I felt as though I was melting in the humid heat of the Valenwood. Here, my lips chap and the sun burns my poor skin if I linger too long outside of the shade.

My biggest challenge in this city is to find food that isn't cooked with moon sugar. It is a part of daily life here, but sacred to the Khajiiti people and integral to their religion. Solidified moonbeams, if such a thing is to be believed. Dusk is filled with prayer and song. I try to respectfully listen in, but I feel guilty hearing another's deeply personal requests to the gods at the same time.


I have discovered that there is much overlap between the Khajiiti and Altmeri pantheons. Each Aedra and Daedra is a cat, yet to call a Khajiit a cat is nigh unforgivable. Thankfully I did not find that out the hard way. There are actual cats about - quadrapedal creatures who may or may not be the sapient breed of Khajiit known as Alfiq. It's hard to tell one from the other unless they acknowledge it themselves. I suspect the spotted one who stares at me while I swim in the river is Alfiq; they make me rather nervous.


I have gained and lost an evening diversion in the past weeks; at first he seemed alright, but lately he's been saying strange things I refuse to commit to ink and paper. I believe he may have ties to the Veiled Heritance.

I will be more careful about who I cavort with in the future. At least the urge to write awful poetry for anyone has passed.


The stereotype is that these people are drug-addled thieves, yet, I see little more of these hallmarks of poverty than in any other city. The true common themes I'm finding here are pride in one's race, a healthy respect for warriors, and a strong work ethic. I'm rather enjoying the process of haggling with merchants. Earlier today I was forced to concede that yes, it should cost more for someone my size to buy clothes; it takes more fabric to cover me. Still, I'm impressed with the workmanship of this new outfit. It was well worth the asking price.

I must find some work to make my way to Dune now.


I have learned to make many a sweet suitable for the Khajiiti palate. A simple substitution of honey or beet sugar makes for a lovely dessert; I do believe I've gained some weight in the past few weeks.


The sweets were a bad idea. I've found myself in the care of Moon Priests after a run-in with some thugs. I was never a fighter; I opted to simply run, but I was winded. My money, bow, horse, all of it, gone. They left my notes and hardtack alone, though, and for that I am thankful.

I have found little things to help repay these priests for my care. Sweeping Temple hallways, beating the dust from rugs, even minding a few kittens once. I am young yet, but the thought of a little Altmer of my own running around some day warms my heart.

There's a peaceful feel to this life, but I cannot stay much longer. My heart aches for the company of my own kind, and I haven't gotten along well with the local soldiers in some time.


I've turned back for the Valenwood. I never made it to Dune. Some other time; I've many years ahead, after all.