23rd of Heartfire, 4e 201
There are two beggars in Whiterun. Brenuin's a bitter fetcher who's drinking himself straight into the hall of the dead, and I've not desire to help him do it, but Lucia...
She's just a kid. A scared, lonely, hungry kid, kicked off the farm by her foster parents for being "useless". It's heartbreaking... and stupid, too. A child can look after the chickens, do some chores, that's all a child her age should be expected to do. Were they thinking she'd shoe the horse and fix the wagon too? I'd go and give those people an education, if I knew where they lived.
It's becoming increasingly obvious that nobody in town is willing to take her in, though. Maybe we should do it. I should ask Ysolda.
oh, anyway. I left my journal at home when I went up to Robber's Gorge yesterday. Between Sorine's report that they may have some Dwemer technology the Dawnguard could use, and the bounty Jarl Balgruuf had placed on their chief, I thought a break from the vampire hunting and destiny-chasing was in order. Sorine was right, too - a schematic for crossbow bolts infused with elemental fire. very nice, and perfect for vampire slaying. I'll take it back to Fort Dawnguard as soon as I've retrieved that horn. I'm going to be away from home for a week. Ysolda says that's fine, but I had better bring her back something nice. I think I can do that.
*
The most you can say about Morthal is that the Jarl has her head screwed on right. The townsfolk certainly don't. One house burns down, a wizard moves in, and everyone's nervous. Wizards are smarter than that - you don't become a master of the arcane arts without figuring out that burning down homes at random isn't smart.
I've met a few of the Jarls now. Balgruuf the Greater has my respect, and from our brief meeting so too does Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone. Jarl Siddgeir of Falkreath is arrogant scum - he summoned me by a courier not long ago, and when I attended he said that he had "had some dealings with" some local bandits and ordered me to kill them. I've got no problem with claiming a bounty, but I'm not willing to clean up a Jarl's corruption. Then there's Skald the Elder of Dawnstar - a bitter vicious old man - and the Jarl of Winterhold who's so focussed on blaming the College for the storm that broke his city that he's forgotten to even try to rebuild.
that just leaves the jarls of Riften, Markarth, Windhelm and Solitude. well... I did meet Ulfric, briefly. He was on the cart with me at Helgen. But I only heard him speak five words: "Legends don't burn down villages." He said it with authority and charisma, but I wouldn't call it the wisest thing I've ever heard.
and I should quite like to meet Jarl Elisif. I hope Ysolda forgives me if she ever reads this, but I'd quite like to lay eyes on a woman who's known across all of Skyrim as "the fair"...
Anyway, Jarl Idgrod has asked me to investigate this fire. Apparently the man who lived there lost his wife and daughter in the fire, but pledged himself to a woman called Alva before the ashes had even cooled.
I slept on the cart, and Serana seems more alert at night. may as well investigate.
*
Vampires! Well, A vampire, but where there's one...
this one was called Laelette. Wife of one of the Morthal townsfolk, she vanished not long ago apparently, after spending some time with this Alva woman, whom she previously despised. And then she turns up having tried to Turn this little girl.
Examining the corpse, she's not of the Volkihar clan, thank Arkay. She looks almost normal in fact, which means she's probably of one of the Cyrodiilic lines, who can pass for human if they have fed recently. Very dangerous - there's no telling who else in town may be a thrall, or a nightwalker. Besides Serana, of course.
I think it's time to pay Alva a visit. Jarl Idgrod is rightly wary of condemning her citizens on hearsay and speculation. I need some harder evidence.
*
Fortunately, I ran into Alva as she was entering in the inn, and made small talk. Not the faintest hint of a vampire's night-eyes about her, but if she really is a Cyrodiil vampire, that just means she's fed within the last day or so. With her at the inn, her house should be vacant. The Jarl didn't give me explicit permission to go picking locks around here, but if I'm right she'll thank me, and if I'm wrong she'll never find out.
*
I'd say a coffin in the cellar counts as hard evidence. And the journal within it counts even more so.
Movarth.
I may be new to vampire hunting, but I've done my research - there's plenty of material on the subject at Fort Dawnguard. Movarth Piquine. That's a name right out of Immortal Blood, the hunter who fell victim to the author's own wiles as a Cyrodiilic vampire.
If so, he must be ancient. And powerful. Good thing I prepared those paralysis poisons in Whiterun. If he's involved, then this is going to get nasty.
Oh yes, and if he's half as capable as the book made him out to be... I need to get in the first blow.
The Jarl has gone to bed and her housecarl insists she is not to be disturbed. I can't afford to sleep now, with vampires about town, so there's nothing for it but to rest here in the Jarl's hall, awake as much as I can be.
*
24th of Heartfire, 4e 201
Movarth is slain, though I have a new scar to show for it. Lightning magic leaves peculiar fern-shaped burns around where it strikes you. That one will be an interesting tale: "here is where an ancient vampire lord scorched me with destruction magic."
I have to be more careful. That was the closest brush I've had with death yet since Helgen. If I'm ever to tell the tales of my adventures to my grandchildren, I need to survive them first.
The Jarl was most grateful, and has granted me the right to purchase land in Hjaalmarch. Someplace I could build my own steading. Someplace nicer than Breezehome. I purchased it. They were only asking five thousand Septims, and I still have more money than I know what to do with. If nothing else, I can just keep it as a little staging post and resupply point when I'm up in this part of the world.
Onward to Ustengrav.
*
It seems hard to believe that I've visited enough Draugr catacombs to become a connoisseur of them, but it seems that I have Ustengrav was relatively easy - hardly any traps, only a handful of weak draugr. the worst challenges we faced were an enormous frostbite spider and the cabal of mages who had set up camp in the entrance hall, and they in fact mostly sorted themselves out by getting killed in a battle with the few draugr of any real strength in the whole complex, who were so weakened by the battle that mopping them up was almost a formality.
After the close shave with Movarth, I'm glad we had an easier time of it. They won't all be so simple.
I learned a new word. "Feim". The echo of a dragon's soul tell me it means "fade", to become ethereal, insubstantial. When I shout it, my body becomes a thing of smoke and I find that arrows, sword blows and even fire pass through me, and that I feel nothing when I fall from height.
Still, if this was supposed to be a test that only the dragonborn could pass, it failed. Somebody got here before me, stole the horn and left a note inviting me to rent the "attic room" at the Sleeping Giant in Riverwood. That inn has no attic.
I knew there was something strange about Delphine.
it's nighttime now. There's a bedroll outside in the camp those mages had set up. With the campfire there, it seems like a decent place to overnight. And there's my new plot of land just north of here. We'll visit in the morning.
*
25th of Heartfire, 4e 201
It's little more than a shack with a chest in it, but Windstad Manor is begun. I'm going to need a lot of lumber, nails, iron fittings, locks, hinges, glass and so much more before it's worthy of the name "house" let alone "manor" but there's plenty of room here. I can see it now - a grand hall with a big table and a crackling fireplace. A kitchen with a large oven just like Mother used to have back at the inn. A luxurious bedroom. a forge in the basement. I don't know what to have at the back of the house yet. Probably just a room with lots of storage or something.
There's a lot of work to do before then, though, so for now it's just a bed, a chest, a locked door, and somewhere I can prepare my meals and grow some ingredients. Call it my retirement plan for after I've dealt with Harkon and the dragons.
Jarl Idgrod's steward was right though. This place has an amazing view over the Karth Delta towards Solitude.
Having spent all day building a basic little house, I'm exhausted. Getting it up that fast was hard work, even with the strength of a Dragonborn and an undying maiden of the night. Serana is restless to get back to Castle Volkihar, and I must agree that we've put it off too long. In the morning we'll cross the moor to Solitude, sell off all the valuables we hauled up out of Ustengrav, and then we can get going in pursuit of Valerica.
There's another ruin just north of the house, marked on my map as "High Gate Ruins". It seems sealed up pretty tight, though. No sign of draugr footprints in the snow outside. With luck, that won't change. I don't want to have to go in there and clear it out unless I have to. And there's a shack of some kind on an island in the delta west of here. Something about it sends chills down my spine. We'll check it on the way past to Solitude in the morning, see if there's anything dangerous there. A hint of the war, too: tents to the east and south-east of us. Looked like a Stormcloak war camp to the south, and an Imperial one further east. Let's hope they have the sense to respect my property.
*
26th of Heartfire, 4e 201
This shack is locked up tighter than an Altmeri chastity belt. The enormous blood spatter on the door doesn't inspire me to try and break in, either. Still, Stendarr's mercy be praised, it seems to be abandoned There are no footprints, no fresh food, no warmth from a fire, and the blood is old.
Best leave it alone then. onward to Solitude.
*
It's a shame that the arts of levitation and waterwalking magic are both lost. Wading and swimming the delta has left us both... well, Serana doesn't seem to feel it so much, but I'm freezing cold. thank goodness I wrap this journal in an oilcloth. I think in future we'll take the long way, south via Morthal and then up via Dragon Bridge.
Hopefully a mead at the Winking Skeever will warm me up.
*
Corpulus took one look at me, sat me down by the fire and gave me a warm spiced wine and a beef stew. He gave one to Serana too, but she handed it to me. Apparently she doesn't drink wine. I'm still a bit damp in my armour, but I can feel my fingers and toes again and I've got a full belly. What more could I ask for. That's good hospitality.
We've done the rounds of the blacksmith, general store, bowyer and alchemist. The time has come to strike out for Castle Volkihar. Again.
*
Serana wasn't entirely wrong about the side entrance being unguarded. the Volkihars had set up some skeleton serfs to watch it, but no alarm, which is what I was really afraid of. This courtyard obviously hasn't been touched since Serana first went in the box in Dimhollow Crypt, though. It's overgrown, run down and depressing. She seems upset at its condition, and if it was even half as beautiful as she made it sound, I can't blame her.
I'd better take a look around, see if there's anything lying around that might give us an idea where to look next.
*
What a choice. What a damned choice.
Valerica, it seems, retreated into a demiplane of Oblivion known as "the Soul Cairn." It's where those poor souls who find themselves in a soul gem go when it's... used.
I think I may have to forswear enchanting and conjuration after this. The thought that every soul used to enchant or recharge a magical item is... imprisoned. forever. It makes me sick to my stomach.
Anyway, the short version is that I can't go in there. The Soul Cairn demands payment in the form of a soul. Serana can enter just fine because, technically, she is not alive.
for me to go in there with her - and from what I gather, it would be far too dangerous for her to go alone - I need either to be dead, or I need to agree to barter a piece of my soul away to the masters of that place a "partial soul trap", Serana calls it.
She says she can "probably" fix it afterwards. She didn't sound certain. At all.
So I'm stuck with a dilemma. On the one hand, if there's one thing I do not ever want for myself, it's vampirism. On the other hand there's a "probably" bargain involving my very soul from somebody who sounded less than confident when she proposed it.
Option C I suppose would be to walk way, but the problem there is that Valerica's hiding place was secure before. now that we've broken in, who knows. It could be only a matter of hours, days or weeks before Harkon learns of our intrusion, follows our steps, finds this laboratory and then...
And then he'll march his vampiric minions into the Soul Cairn until he has Valerica's head on a spike, and her Elder Scroll in his hands. Opening this door in the first place has made it vulnerable. So I HAVE to go in there.
There's only one sane choice, really. However appalling becoming a vampire may be, I do know that you can "live" and be a good person with it. Serana has shown me that. And I have heard rumours of a cure. Awful a decision as it may be, I'll take rumours of a cure and a continued grip on my soul over a shaky "maybe" plan involving being soul-trapped.
I don't want to do it. But if it's that or let Harkon get his hands on this legendary power to black out the sun...
Stendarr forgive me.
*
Dawnbreaker burns my hand when I try to hold it. I've buried it in the bottom of my bag. My dawnguard-made and Stendarr-blessed waraxe and armour itch, but are bearable. My throat feels dry, and my teeth...
Mara preserve me, I don't want to be this. I don't want to be here. But I must.
I hope I must. I hope this wasn't a catastrophic error of judgement.
The Soul Cairn is a terrible place, and I have done a terrible thing to come here. The only saving grace is that I appear to still be myself. Serana's right - we should find Valerica and get out of here.
*
Valerica and Harkon turn out to be two sides of the same coin, with one important difference - when Serana spoke to her, Valerica listened, and snapped out of herself.
She's trapped. If we're to get our hands on that kel... kel? Elder scroll. If we're to have it and read it, then we need to release her from the prison the Ideal Masters have got her in.
I learned an important lesson today, too. Never make a bargain with the Ideal Masters - they always win. Strange as it sounds, I'm glad I chose the vampirism route. Making a partial soul-trap bargain with those beings could never have ended well for me.
*
We have the Elder Scroll, and I have a new ally. Durnehviir, undying guardian of the Soul Cairn. We had to defeat him to get our hands on the scroll, and he has asked me to grant him brief returns to Tamriel by calling his name. Apparently, he can't come back forever.
I see no harm in it.
It's hard to tell how long we were in there. It feels like only a few hours. It seems just as dark as it was when we first arrived at Castle Volkihar, but it could be the next night...
The moons are different. It can't be the same night. But I have no idea what the date is.
Worse, I feel the thirst. Even the thought of the word "blood" grips me with desire, and from the research I've done, I know that I'm in only the earliest, least stage of the craving.
The Volkihar vampires - which I suppose I am now too - can pass for human, though the blood-light in the eye gives them away. Most people don't know about it, they'll just see that the eyes look strange. But that's only true if I stay on top of the thirst. If I let it progress, then they'll see me for what I am and fear me. So, it's a choice between being an outcast, or being a predator.
Ordinarily I'd choose outcast. But this thirst... I don't know if I have the will to resist it if it gets more intense.
Isran doesn't know what it's like. This whole experience is changing my perspective - it's not about being a predator, or a monster. It's a disease, a curse. I can see how a charismatic man like Harkon might attract vampires who want to live without skulking in the shadows, who want revenge on a world that hates them.
There must be a middle way. Bear the curse without becoming the monster. Succumb without losing yourself. I know I can do it, even if it's only for long enough to find a cure. If there is one.
But I made a promise to Valerica that we'd go back to retrieve her after Harkon is defeated, and the only way that's going to happen is if I'm still a vampire. Damn my mouth and sense of honour for running off without me.
I WILL find a way to cope with this. I have to.
I can't go back to Fort Dawnguard yet. Not without the other scroll at least. I'm pretty sure Isran won't attack me on sight - he didn't slaughter Serana - but if I'm going to preserve any trust with him then I'll need to walk back up to the fort carrying both Kel... there it is again. Kel. Is that dragontongue? I guess it means Elder Scroll. In any case, it'll sell my case that I'm still on the Dawnguard's side if I come back to THEM with all three scrolls of the prophecy, rather than going to Harkon with them.
Tread carefully, Aaron. for now, let's just head back to Solitude.
*
The sun came up as we travelled and Mara preserve me, it hurts. If it gets on your flesh, it stings like a scorpion. I don't know how Serana handles it. Even with my hood up and every inch of flesh covered, it hurts my eyes to see.
The only thing for it is to rent a room at the Winking Skeever and endure until nightfall. At least the hunger isn't so bad during the day.
*
The carriage driver charged double for travelling at night, but it was worth it. We got back to Whiterun just before sunup. I collapsed into bed for twelve hours, citing exhaustion which wasn't wholly untrue. Ysolda doesn't seem to have noticed anything wrong with me yet, but that won't last forever. The thirst is stronger than ever, and will only get worse if I put off...
The thought. I would have thought that the idea of drinking somebody's blood would revolt me, but quite the opposite. Take the thirst of seeing a tall ale after a long hot day in the sun, add the hunger of spending two days on the road before finding an inn, and add the... amorousness of being away from your wife for five days, only to find her waiting, naked and smiling having heard you were back.
Blessedly, it seems that the thirst isn't abated by thinking of any particular person. I don't want to inflict this on Ysolda, but I think I could bring myself to bite Nazeem. If only he didn't sleep with his wife at the drunken huntsman.
Who else is there? Brenuin? He sleeps outdoors where a guard might see, and in any case... he's a beggar and a drunk. I married the only woman in Whiterun who lived alone. Ufberth War-Bear sleeps alone nowadays, but I don't want to spit on Adrienne's memory that way. That just leaves... Heimskr, I suppose. The Talos street preacher. He lives by himself and, who knows? Maybe if we're lucky he'll feel too weak to preach in the morning.
I have to feed from somebody before my condition becomes known, or else the hunters and guards will make my mission to stop Harkon all the more difficult. It's not predation, it's necessity. I have to remember that.
*
I fed. The thirst is gone for now. I feel dirty, but nobody's any the wiser.
It started out as everything the thirst implied. A heady rush, a surge of strength and the bliss of divine nectar on the tongue. Then it got disgusting. Warm. Sticky. I don't look forward to doing that again, even though I know I'll have to.
We're headed to Riverwood. If Delphine isn't the one who took that horn, then I'm a Khajiit. the scroll we're after speaks of dragons, so maybe the Greybeards are involved and can tell me something about it. Arngeir told me their leader is called Paarthurnax, and if that's not a dragon's name then I'm not Dovahkiin.
I need that horn.
*
30th of Heartfire, 4e 201
I was right. Delphine. She turns out to be one of the few surviving members of the Blades. I remember seeing Aldmeri warrants out offering rewards for information leading to the capture of errant Blades when I was a boy. Mother used to have them hanging in the inn - the Thalmor would threaten her if she didn't put them up.
Surprise surprise, she thinks the Thalmor are behind the return of the dragons. I'll reserve judgement - having seen what her vendetta with Harkon did to Valerica's motherly feelings, I doubt a Blade is inclined to think straight about the Thalmor. Still, Delphine could well be right, and if she is... Thalmor, dragons, the Thalmor hold White Gold Tower, that's where the Kel were stored, we're after the Kel that speaks of dragons... It's a tenuous lead, but it's at least worth pursuing in the absence of a better lead.
First, though, we're headed for Kynesgrove, south of Windhelm. Delphine thinks that something is about to resurrect the dragon buried in an old burial mound there. If so, we should probably deal with it anyway, let alone the added bonus of proving to her that I really am Dovahkiin.
I'm just going to have to put up with the sunlight, I suppose. It'll be long gone dawn by the time we reach Kynesgrove. If Serana's been enduring these days in my company, I can tough it out too.
*
Took the carriage in the end. Preserve my strength. The sun makes it hard to even think. Don't know how I'll fight a dragon in this heat.
Wrapped myself in a cloak. Try to sleep on the way to Windhelm. Hope for the best.
*
...the weather closed in a bit around Windhelm. It's not comfortable, but it's more bearable. Thank you, sweet Kynareth.
*
That damn dragon all but ripped my arm off. I knew I would be weaker outdoors during the day. At least healing magic and potions still work. I have another scar, but no permanent effects.
What's interesting is how the dragons are coming back. That black dragon from Helgen! It flew over the mound and shouted at it. "Slen tiid vo" something about flesh, and time. I don't understand it fully, but the shout knits the dragon's soul back to its bones, regenerates its flesh, and it bursts from its grave whole and ready to fight.
Poor bastard burst right out into the maw of a Dovahkiin, and I devoured its soul. Sahloknir: "Phantom sky hunter", if my understanding of the dovah tinvaak serves me. In the confusion, the big black one got away.
Delphine told me to meet her in Riverwood. First, it's back up to High Hrothgar. It should be nighttime by the time we reach Ivarstead, hopefully I'll be strong enough for the climb.
*
"Lingrah krosis saraan Strundu'ul, voth nid balaan klov praan nau. Naal Thu'umu, mu ofan nii nu, Dovahkiin, naal suleyk do Kaan, naal suleyk do Shor, ahrk naal suleyk do Atmorasewuth. Meyz nu Ysmir, Dovahsebrom. Dahmaan daar rok."
"Long has the Stormcrown languished, with no worthy brow to sit upon. By our breath we bestow it now to you in the name of Kyne, and of Shor, and of Atmora of old. You are Ysmir now, the Dragon of the North. Hearken to it."
I'd feel honoured, but the thirst is back. I'm not what I should be.
But I am what I must be. I remember Father saying that you should never regret the necessary. Mother agreed with him, too.
Neither of them said anything about how to handle the nagging worry that what you thought was necessary, may not have been. Once Harkon's dealt with, I'll relish getting this curse out of me.
Anyway. the Greybeards had no insight into the Kel. They view them as "blasphemies" and will have nothing to do with them. Hopefully Delphine's lead will turn up something. I may as well see where it takes me.
And I'd better hope there's somebody in Riverwood for me to feed on. the elf Faendal, maybe.
*
3rd of Frostfall, 4e 201
To make a long and too-complicated story short, the Thalmor don't know anything about the dragons, or about elder scrolls. But, interestingly, they did have a dossier on a man named Esbern, a Blade. Delphine is sending me to Riften - she thinks he's most likely hiding out in the "Ratway", a network of catacombs under the city. She seems confident that he'll be able to shed light on the subject of the dragons at least.
I have no idea how this is helping me get closer to finding the scroll we need to stop Harkon, and as a consequence get me closer to finding a cure for my daylight problem. But at this point... well, a loremaster of the Blades is as good a person to chase down as any other. Better than most, even. And having seen how the Thalmor treat their prisoners, I think I'd feel guilty if I didn't help.
Besides, I'm beginning to suspect that this dragon thing is more important than just a few homesteads and one town being torched. The Nords keep going on about the ancient legends about dragons being the harbingers of the end times. I'd write it off as frightened mythology, but I can feel an echo in my soul.... something about that black dragon. Like the dragon souls I've absorbed are afraid of it.
Maybe it's a worthy thing to pursue in its own right.
The question is... seeing as I'm going to Riften anyway, maybe I should report back to the Dawnguard. I'm going to have to face them sooner or later anyway, and Sorine needs this crossbow bolt schematic...
...maybe they'll know how I can be cured. And if nothing else, Dexion can read Valerica's scroll. That'll put us a step ahead of Harkon.
Assuming they don't stake me on sight.
*
Well, I'm alive (-ish), but my "comrades-in-arms" could only have been less welcoming if they actually HAD staked me. Sorine wouldn't even take that schematic! She just recoiled, called me a monster.
"You're dead to me". Short-sighted ignorant.... extremists. That's their trouble. They're vampire hunters, therefore all vampires, even the ones on their side, the ones who count themselves among the Dawnguard, are to be slain. Never mind that I only became this, only suffer this, to further their OUR cause. And this is what I get? No "How did this happen?" no "Why?" no "Well done on getting that Elder Scroll, Aaron. We promise, the price you paid will be worth it."
Harkon needs to be stopped, and Adrienne needs to be avenged, Vampires can't kill people on the street, and the Tyranny of the Sun must continue. But Stendarr forgive me, I'm beginning to think the Dawnguard have the potential to be just as bad as the Volkihar. I really should have seen the fanaticism behind Isran's talk of the Vigilants being "soft" and he being "prepared" and all that. Really, he's just another paranoid zealot who sees the world only in extremes.
Still, they did point me at a cure rather than ripping me apart, so maybe there is some lingering sense of fellowship at the Dawnguard yet. Isran mentioned the wizard Falion, in Morthal - if they're to take me back at all, then I need that cure. On tonight's evidence, the Dawnguard would rather lose this war than endure one of their own becoming a vampire.
Surely one of the big dangers of vampire hunting is getting infected? Surely somewhere, some-when in history a hunter got infect, became a night walker, and carried on fighting the good fight? They can't all have turned out like Movarth Piquine, right? I mean, look at Serana and me. We're living proof that this condition doesn't automatically make you a world-dominating monster.
Idiots. They've cut off their sword arm because of a tremor. Hypocrites, too: they're willing to trust me to work with a vampire to accomplish their ends, but the second I become one I'm a "danger"? This despite bringing them the kel they wanted? Nivahriin malhahdrum meyye!
And they've left me with the dilemma of having to break my promise to Valerica to notify her when Harkon is dead, or never actually being able to reach that point in the first place.
...fine. The greater good trumps my promises, I suppose. But by the Eight I wish it weren't so. They don't know what they're forcing me to condemn a good woman to endure.
We'll hunt down Esbern, get him back to Delphine, and then I'll go to Morthal and find this man who can cure me. Stendarr forgive me my broken vow.
*
Author
Topic: Skyrim Hardcore RP Challenge (Read 32195 times)