Tirdas, 15th of Heartfire, 4E 201

What. In. Oblivion. Happened.

This is a reminder to myself to never get involved in drinking contests again. Ever. I mean it. Esias, you can't hold your alcohol worth shit.

Ok... time to gather my wits about me. The last thing I remember...after leaving Kharjo and Lydia at the house was going to the tavern. There was a guy..I wrote his name down somewhere.. I think. He asked if I wanted to out drink him for a staff. I thought I was pretty competent, as what passes for mead in these Nord towns has barely gotten me tipsy. I guess I was wrong.

I woke up to some priestess yelling at me. Apparently I had made a mess of the place, and tried fondling some of the statues. To be fair they were...well sculpted. I tried apologizing as I struggled to regain my composure. I managed to convince the priestess that this wasn't a regular thing for me, and I tried cleaning up my mess as best I could. After she deemed the place presentable again, she told me everything she knew of my...visit. She didn't remember seeing another man, but heard me babbling some nonsense about getting to Rorikstead. I suppose it's a fair bet that he might be there. I thanked her and apologized again as I left, and the blinding sunlight outside made me pause to realize - I had no clue where I was. I was instantly in awe at my location. towering architecture was on all sides of me, impressively built into the very mountain face. Waterfalls cascaded harmoniously between the houses and flowed toward the center of town. I stood on a central tower carved into an awesome spire, a fitting place for a temple. All of this did little to help the fact that my head was still pounding and I was at a loss for my current location.

I staggered into the nearest guard and asked where I was. He was understandably confused. Markarth. I was in Markarth, a great Nord city in the western edge of Skyrim. How......did I get here? In one piece? I need answers. I made my way towards what I assumed to be the exit, taking little head to the shady fellow who was rapidly approaching a merchant with one hand inside his cloak. With a spectacular hungover trip, I stumbled into the man, who turned on me with dagger in hand, snarling. What happened next...I can only describe as a.. a drunken hungover induced burp...uhm...Thu'um. That's right. I accidentally belched a word of power onto the poor fool. Lucky for him it wasn't a fire breathing burp. Unlucky for him several town guards realized his plot and quickly dispatched him. The merchant I had apparently saved thanked me countless times, shoving an amulet into my bewildered hands. There was talk of Forsworn and bad people and...I still have no idea what everyone was talking about, but I guess I saved the day. I really didn't have the time, and excused myself to the nearest exit, and went off to vomit.

Outside, I declined a carriage ride to the open road. The mountain air does wonders to the hungover- or so I have heard. I think they were right, after several uneventful hours I was thinking and acting clearly again. And just in time, for a party of elves crossed my path, with a prisoner in tow. We stopped a few paces from each other. I asked what they were doing. They proclaimed they were rooting out the unclean heretics or some such. I didn't care much for what they were saying, only the tone they said it in. I recognized it, the kind of tone royalty might take with a servant of low intellect. The demanded to know who I chose to worship. I was tired. I was slightly hungover. I was pissed off. I told them I could worship whoever I damn well pleased. I could worship a dragon's shit for all I care, and it was none of their damn business who I looked to in my hours of need. I don't know if Tiber Septim became a God. If he did, that's swell for him, and if he didn't, boo- fucking - hoo. All I did know is nobody should have the right to swagger about and tell others they can't worship something.

As it happens, the Thalmor aren't as keen as they are debating as they are killing supposed heretics. They surrounded me at once, balls of elemental magic in their hands. Well jokes on them, I've got potions of magic resistance, and a bit of Dragonborn induced magic of my own. After they were sent crashing back from the force of my shouts, they realized they weren't dealing with just any hungover peasant. They were dealing with a pissed off hungover Khajiit named Esias, who wasted no time assaulting them with twin daggers. After the first two fell, the Justicar though himself safe at a distance, hurling stray bolts of magic my way. An arrow to the neck taught him otherwise. I dumped their bodies in a ditch and went on my way.

Nightfall was nearing as I came upon a grisly sight. a caravan lay in ruin, and among the wreckage, a Khajiit trader. He was either robbed of every worldy possession, or didn't have much to begin with. I don't know what killed him...bandits, dragons, wolves...a troll. Whatever the case, it felt wrong to leave one of my brethren as such. I carried his corpse to a nearby rock, and laid him down as best I could, putting his hat over his face, and his sword in his hand. As I stood back to honor his passing, a small patrol of Imperial soldiers passed. They looked from the body to me, and our eyes locked. If any of them thought about making a remark at our expense, they wisely thought better of it. Siding with the Stormcloaks is sounding better by the day. I finally approached Rorikstead, staggering into the tavern to purchase a room for the night. In the morning, I find this guy and find out what the hell happened to me.

Morndas, 14th of Heartfire, 4E 201

It's good to be home. Relatively speaking of course. I suppose when you've been traveling across a foreign land for a month, having a roof over your head in the city you happen to be Thane of is a good deal. Kharjo is settling in nicely, making small talk with Lydia. The guards outside had thought of giving my fellow Khajiit some trouble, until I decided to pull my rank on them. "What's that, you've been a guard here how long?" "Sorry I didn't catch that, couldn't hear you over the sound of how I was made Thane of Whiterun after being here a day."

Being an ass never felt so good.

Ah but I'm sure you are eager to know how I came to be back in Whiterun, my dear journal. There wasn't much to be done in Morthal, other than this business about a house fire and a suspicious jerk that got over it pretty quickly. Kharjo and I investigated the burnt husk of what I'm sure was once a cozy home. I swear to you, the smell of burnt flesh was still thick, despite having been told it had been some time since the fire. I moved to a part of the house where the stench was most powerful, and then.... a voice. It spoke to me, as a lost child would. And there before my eyes emerged the ghostly apparition of a small female child. She asked if I was a stranger, and I tried my best not to frighten the ghost...as odd as that sounds. She wouldn't tell me who burned the house down, or if her father was responsible....though she spoke of waking to smoke and fire, and trying to hide, and then becoming very sleepy and cold. Such accounts left me with a profound sadness. The child, Helgi, told me if I wanted to know more I would have to find her after dark, as someone else was looking for her. Ominous.

With not much else to do, I napped until nightfall, whereupon we set out looking for where the girl could be hiding. It didn't take long for Kharjo to point out a small pathway outside of town leading to a vista. We were ready for what awaited us. There in a clearing was a dug up coffin, presumably Helgi's, and a dark shadow looming over it. The shadow turned at our approach - it was a female...with eyes like the dead of night, and sharp white fangs. A vampire. I was frozen in momentary shock as the unholy monster shrieked and charged us. Luckily for me Kharjo had no qualms about shoving his sword down the vampire's throat. I approached the coffin to hear a familiar voice. Helgi spoke of the truth, how the vampire Laelette, apparently a resident of the town, had tried to turn Helgi into a vampire but failed, burning the house down in the promise. Another name popped up - Alva. She was the woman Helgi's father had taken a liking to quite quickly, and as it happened Laelette had a key to Alva's house. A quick talk with Laelette's husband confirmed my fears. She was thought to have left to join the Stormcloaks long ago, but had been seen in Alva's company before disappearing.

Armed with a key and shrouded by the night, I crept into Alva's house. Pretty sneaky... or so I thought, as I turned to find Hrogger, Helgi's father waiting for me with a crazed look in his eye. Words were not exchanged, excluding a well placed 'fus' and 'roh'. So now I, Esias, have just murdered a person in their own home. Sort of. I'd plead self defense but I wasn't sure if he was thinking the same thing. I decided to press onward, certain that my actions would justify themselves in due time. And so it was in the basement that actions became justified. One coffin, with one journal, belonging to a one Alva. In it she described her plans to assimilate with the town and the evil plans that followed. Under the guidance of a master vampire named Morthal, they were going to turn several of the guards to vampires, and would then hold the town as some sort of feeding farm. Alva had put Hrogger under her spell, but was attracting to much attention. So he turned Laelette and had her get rid of his family, though not as she had hoped. Armed with this knowledge I roused the Jarl from her sleep and presented the damning evidence of this unholy plot. Fueled by revenge for the fallen and the lives at stake, several villagers grabbed weapons and torches and vowed to follow me into the swamp and do away with the vampire threat once and for all. That is until we found the blood soaked foreboding entrance to a very unsettling cave. I guess you can't except every villager to be a hero in disguise.

Kharjo and I descended into the depths of the cave, trying our best to gain the element of surprise. We came upon a vampire's thrall, throwing bodies into a small hole and taking whatever valuables they had. I crept forward with dagger raised, and of course Kharjo chose that moment to sneeze....this would become something of a habit as far as stealth was concerned. several other vampires and their thralls wandered the halls of this cave, and several more met their end at our blades, until finally we came upon a large hall, complete with a banquet table of human body parts. I wasted no time preparing a salvo of arrows at this supposed Master Vampire. I would not give him the chance to use any of his magic on me. Before he had even left his throne I counted four arrows sticking from his body. He rushed in my direction with a yell, only to met with Kharjo's shield in his face. I dropped from my vantage point, landing behind Morthal and showing him two fangs of my own. Two very steel fangs that happened to light people like him on fire. Kicking his corpse out of the way, I made my way to the very end of the cavern to find none other than Alva, asleep in a bed. I gave her the benefit of waking up, only so that I could press my boot against her neck to do so.

"For Helgi." was the last thing she ever heard.

And so it was that upon exiting the cave that Helgi herself appeared before me. It was time for her to join her mother and sleep forever. I told her she could rest peacefully now, for which she was very grateful. Gods grant her peace.

Compared to that our journey to Whiterun was fairly uneventful. I killed two mammoths with my bow though. But that is a tale for another time.

Actually no it's not. They were very stupid mammoths, end of story.

I think I need a drink.

Loredas, 11th of Heartfire, 4E 201

I find my previous journey to have been dangerous, thrilling, life-threatening, and a little bit confusing. We would have rested outside the barrow longer, but Kharjo heard noises coming from within so we decided to investigate. Sure enough there were people inside. I snuck up close enough to hear what they were saying. They were necromancers. And not just any necromancers, treasure seeking ones. They had rigged up a plan to use their profession to their advantage, because as we all know, necromancers suck at hard labor. Maybe its the mage stereotype, but they'd all be to spindly and weak to life a mining pick if their life depended on it. So in turn that dependency would turn to some bandits...as their un-life depended on it.

The necromancers were using cadavers as mining slaves. The thought...oddly sickened me. I'm no fan of bandits,  as I'm sure you know by now...but nobody deserves to spend their death working as someone else's slave.

The necromancers went to check on their other thralls and I moved in to release the bandits from their un-death. Kharjo and I moved deeper into the winding passages and happened upon a grisly sight. Apparently ancient Nord Draugrs look down on using fellow corpses as slaves. Several battles later we came upon a truly awesome sight: A large cave opening in the middle of the barrow. At the bottom, a stream ran through it, with trees even! Trees! In a cave! and there at the center, a familiar looking stone wall with a word of power inscribed, one that transformed me into an ethereal like state, a state that I could not be harmed, and yet I could do no harm.

I still had one more thing to do however, as Kharjo and I navigated a series of ancient door puzzles, spiked floors, and giant spiders...urgh. Finally the trap laden corridors opened up to a large tomb, where many corpses were....dead, again. On top of Jurgen's crypt, a hand arose, holding what as supposed to be his legendary horn. In it's place was a note...why?

The note simply said I was to return to Riverwood to speak to someone... a friend? Why would a friend steal my  objective? Was this the same friend that sent me a note about me shouting around Whiterun? What gives? Kharjo seemed indifferent to my plight, more amazed that we had made it through the tomb in one piece. And so  we left, entering a nearby town to rest...Morthal, I think. The place is quiet...and....yeah, quiet. Not a single place to sell my hard earned treasure. The only thing worth noting is the burned down house everyone keeps talking about, and how the man who lived there survived while his family perished, and promptly fell in love with someone else. How...convenient. More on this tale as it develops.

Turdas, 10th of Hearthfire, 4E 201

An interesting turn of events over the last few days, if I must say so myself.

I bested the bandits of Knife Point Cave, with a little help from a caged sabertooth and my sneaking skills. After recovering Kharjo's Moon Amulet, I returned to Riften to find that his caravan had already left, bound for Dawnstar, as I was told. Things are never as easy as they seem for me. With a quick passing through Whiterun to drop off some books and items, and checking in on Lydia, I set out north, bound for Dawnstar.
It was a mostly uneventful journey, livened up only by my witnessing of two wizards locked in a duel to the death. I decided to stay out of it, and somehow they managed to kill each other at the same time. They had some nice items too.

Upon arriving at Dawnstar, I met with Kharjo. In exchange for braving the bandits' lair to retrieve his lost amulet, Kharjo offered to accompany me in my journeys, which I readily accepted. I had never traveled with a fellow Khajiit, and I had much to ask him. He told me of our homeland, the life he lived, and the hardships and racism he endured throughout his life. Although he was shocked that I was adopted by Imperials, he still regarded me as a true Khajiit, albeit with a lot to learn about my people. I told him about my latest turn of events, me being a Dragonborn, my crazy shouting abilities, and all the general hi-jinks I'd been getting into. This seemed to impress him enough to want to continue traveling with me.

I briefly toured Dawnstar...and I confess there wasn't much to see. Two rival mines, a tavern, some houses and the Jarl's meager quarters. Looking at my map I became aware that the Greybeards had tasked me with finding a barrow not far from Dawnstar, and I set off along the coast. Taking one final look at Dawnstar, I turned to spot Kharjo sprinting forward, bow in hand. I knew what that meant, even before I heard the ominous flapping wings. Wasting no time, I let loose a volley of arrows alongside Kharjo, who seemed to be taking a dragon attack pretty well. Perhaps he had to deal with his own guarding his caravan. At first I thought the battle was going well in our favor, until the odds began to turn against us. Several horkers, those stupid creatures, began bellowing and charging in our direction. Distracted, I had just enough time to see a white blur attack me. A frost troll had entered the fray against us as well. I was on the defensive, and Kharjo was knocked down by the dragon's tail. And then, quite suddenly, another blur ran past me, toward the frost troll. It was the quicksilver mine owner....who may have been drunk, stupid, or on skooma. I wasted no time turning my focus back to the dragon, chugging a frost resisting potion for his breath and making sure my dagger was primed to strike with fire and poison. They say with the way dragons shout with deadly force, dragon battles are actually violent arguments....well this dragon was about to taste my linguistic power. With a mighty dragonborn shout, I struck down my foe, his body burning into a charred skeleton.

Looking around the battle wreckage, I found Kharjo alive and well, surrounded by dead horkers and a frost troll. And there...on the ground... the mine owner. Poor soul, I never even got his name. I still have no idea what possessed him to come to our aid..and yet without him we might not have succeeded. I did the only thing I could - I buried him at sea. I hope he find peace in death.

I now find myself at Jurgen Windcaller's Barrow. We will camp just outside the entrance, although the bodies of bandits and necromancers are a bit...unsettling.

Morndas, 7th of Heartfire(?) 4E 201

I do not know how long I have been here, or how much longer I will remain. I do not even know if I will make my way out of here alive.

I am tired, wounded, and alone. From what I have overheard, I am in Knife Point Cave

The cave is home to many bandits, one of whom holds an amulet belonging to a Khajiit caravan guard. I promised to get it back, although may be in over my head, especially without bringing Lydia along.

I am not so bold as to take on every bandit who infests this place head on, and so I have taken to pushing my silent stalking skills to the limit. I have stayed in the shadows, emerging only when the moment is right to strike.

Two guards at the front - killed the first as he patrolled the entrance and the second when he came to investigate. Dispatched two more bandits further in with my bow. The cave opened up to an island in the middle of a lagoon, many waterfalls filling the pool. This place is massive, and I fear neverending. Several bandits mentioned their leader in a drunken rage, and have him trapped somewhere. Also there is a sabertooth cat in a cage. I think this might work to my advantage...if I get that far. I found a hidden alcove that I might rest in for a bit.

I do not know if the rest of the bandits know I am here. I did my best to hide the bodies, but I fear they will be on alert soon. I must take them out before they take me out. If I do not survive... well, you can tell anyone who will listen that Esias the Dragonborn, Thane of Whiterun, met his end..but had some fun along the way.

Loredas, 5th of Heartfire, 4E 201

What a mess.

So many days, wasted thanks to that dirt hole known as Riften. Lydia and I made the journey hoping to find something new and adventurous. We were met with corrupt guards, seedy locals, thieves and murderers, beggars and impoverished shopkeepers. I had heard about the Thieves Guild operating in this city, but I had no idea it would have a such a horrible effect on the populace. My adopted father used to tell me tales of the Thieves Guild of Cyrodiil, and the mythical Gray Fox. He spun stories of a dashing morally upright band of rogues who looked out for the poor and punished the rich and arrogant. This was not the same. I was even approached by one of their members, who after making a remark about how all of my gold must have been ill-gotten, asked me to rob someone who had done no wrong! We stayed one night in the tavern, Lydia refusing to sleep lest we be robbed and killed that night.

It pains me to say but I fear I must return to Riften soon after leaving. The Thieves Guild should be respected as it is feared, and not a hideout for lowly bandits and fools under the pay of some corrupt noble. I don't want Lydia to return with me, for I think it is up to me to enter the Guild and make some changes, by force if I must. Perhaps I can rewrite the image of this Guild, and win back the support of the people it should be protecting.

As if in the inside of Riften were not bad enough, on the outskirts I came upon another traveling band of my people. The other Khajiit in Skyrim appear to be refused entry into the cities I have come across, thanks to the Nord's tradition of racism and stereotyping. Once again I may be the only one to prove to the people of this land that my brethren are more than petty bandits and criminals. I talked at length with one of the caravans protectors, and agreed to help him find a trinket of his. He seemed very nice, and was surprised to hear I had never been to our homeland. This dilemma has put a damper on my relationship with the Stormcloaks..however in the end it might be necessary to side with them, if it comes to that, only to prove how valuable a Khajiit can be...

Tirdas, 1st of Heartfire, 4E 201

Before leaving Ivarstead, I looked into the mysterious haunted barrow at the edge of the village. As it happens I did see a ghostly figure warning me to stay away. And traps, lots of traps. I'm kind of stubborn though, so I kept moving until I was face to spectral face with this supposed ghost. Funny thing was, he bled just as much as the next non ghost. Turns out he wasn't a ghost after all. His journal rambled about how he was looking for some secret treasure, and a key to an ominous door. He spend so long trying to find the key, and keep the villagers out of his affairs, he eventually devolved into thinking he actually was a ghost guarding this decrepit place. When I showed the journal to the tavern owner, he was quite grateful the haunting was at an end, and gave me a trinket for my troubles. A very familiar looking claw.

I returned into the barrow, armed with what I assumed was the key that the not-ghost was looking for all this time. I opened the familiar looking door with the familiar looking claw-key and began to explore. As it happens, the place really IS haunted, as corpse after corpse awoke to stop me from progressing. After dodging many traps, and sparring with the undead, I found a passage leading deeper underground. My pockets were full however, and I knew the tavern owner wouldn't know what to do with half of my treasure. A return trip to Whiterun was in order.

Once in town, I made the arrangements to buy more furnishing for my house, and I even enchanted a steel dagger with fire that I came to lovingly refer to as 'Fire Poker'. I also asked if Lydia wanted to accompany me back to the barrow, as more undead surely waited for me there. I think she had a hard time concealing her desperation to leave my house. I gave her a few things as we left, a steel helmet and a bow, which she accepted graciously. As we crossed the bridge leaving Whiterun behind, my mind wandered to just a few days ago, on this very road where I saw a dragon, circling the skies. He did not engage me, though I knew he was watching me. Perhaps it was an omen for my eventual ascent to High Hrothgar, or maybe they were just spying on me. The sound of thunder woke from my daydream as I realized the dragon was back, and this time he was done watching. With a shout, Lydia let loose a volley of arrows, and I followed suit. The dragon swooped in on us, preparing to unleash a gout of flaming breath, no doubt spewing a compelling argument in is own language. It was time these dragons appreciated my linguistical talents. With a mighty FUS ROH! I bellowed into its face, and it shook its head, unprepared for such a display. Lydia and I wasted no time laying into the beat with our weapons, and it wasn't long before I delivered the finishing blow. Another dragon dead, another soul absorbed. Lydia was shocked, understandably. It had only been less than an hour since we left Whiterun and we already had a dead dragon on our hands. I gave her some dragon bones to celebrate, quipping that you could show everyone how you and your Thane handle things.

Several hours and several wrong turns later, we finally arrived at Ivarstead, and I was eager to finish my work in the barrow. It turns out having a housecarl with you isn't all that bad, as we made short work of plenty of walking corpses. Before long we came upon a large chamber, adorned with several coffins. "I have a bad feeling about this" whispered Lydia as we slowly crept in. Words I could not agree more with, as no sooner as we had stepped in did the doors slam behind us. We didn't bother to wait for the corpses to rise from their resting places as we showered them with arrows - many skeletons unable to even step out of their coffins. More and more coffins opened as skeletons, corpses and undead husks arose. Putting my bow aside, I unsheathed my daggers as I roared upon the undead with the fury of a dragon. I saw the biggest corpse of all, similar to the one I encountered upon finding my first word of power. I sidestepped his Shout and attacked him from the side. As he turned he was unprepared for Lydia's attack, and we sent him back to death. In the next chamber I found my prize: another large inscription - with a word that caught my eye. I knew it was another word of power - a power over beasts at that. Victorious, we returned to the tavern to rest, and here I write as we discuss our next move. After discussing the various missions and quests I have been tasked with, we both think that heading east to Riften might be in our best interest. Neither have us have ever been, and although our status as Thane and Housecarl of Whiterun might not matter as much, there's always room to make a name for yourself. I shall write again upon my arrival at Riften.

Loredas, 29th of Last Seed, 4E 201

With my home slightly furnished (and a bed for Lydia) I left to finally make my ascent to High Hrothgar, upon the Throat of the World. It sounded neat, and I had so many questions to ask these 'Greybeards'. I'll admit I felt a little bad leaving Lydia to guard my house... I can't imagine it's the burning desire of every Housecarl to guard their Thane's property...instead of guarding their Thane through the thick of battle. I've come to prefer sneaking about on my own, but perhaps after this trip I'll take Lydia with me on my next excursion.

I arrived at the small village situated at the base of the climb. The people had little to tell me about the mountain itself. Many pilgrims made the 5,000 step climb to the top, but none had ever even met a Greybeard in person. There was a villager who traveled every so often to drop off supplies, and since I was on my way up I offered to do it. It also appeared they had a pretty creepy crypt only a few feet away that appeared to be haunted. I may be still learning this whole adventuring stuff but haunted usually also means full of treasure. Perhaps after my return from the mountain.

I spent the night at the inn and began my climb early in the morning. I can hardly imagine anyone making this climb more than once in their life. The steps got steeper and steeper and the wind got colder and colder. Before long it became hard to see more than ten paces away. Hard to see anything, especially the wolves. Nearly tore out my throat if I hadn't had my armor on. I had thought people said this was a peaceful climb, and here I am fighting for my life. I came face to face with an Ice Troll, of all things. I managed to take a couple of shots at it with my bow while it fed on a goat, which just seemed to piss it off. Moments later I almost found myself flying off the cliff as the troll chased me around. every time I got a few lucky hits in with my daggers, it would regenerate its wounds and smack me around. I was losing too much blood and it was not. As I dove behind a rock, I suddenly remembered a book I read in the Jarl of Whiterun's fortress. A book on Troll killing. How could I have been so stupid - they had a weakness to fire. I'm no wizard, but I did have three things: A poison that weakened my target to fire, an enchanted fire dagger, and a fireball scroll - so easy even a child could use it! Using what little time I had, I applied my poison to an arrow and let it fly at the troll's face. As it staggered back momentarily, I prepared my scroll and unleashed a fireball upon him. The troll flew back, falling on one knee. With a leap I dispatched it with my enchanted dagger. Remind me to stock up on fire based things for my next encounter.

I could barely tell the time of day as I finally beheld the great fortress that housed the Greybeards - High Hrothgar. I approached, a little cautiously, making sure to leave the food offering in the chest before entering. I was greeted by four men, only one of whom spoke to me, asking if I was truly the one, The Dragonborn. I replied by shouting FUS in his face. This actually pleased them, confirming my status. I was about to be put to the test, however, as I was tasked with learning even more words of power. It was a strange affair, the Greybeards inscribing ancient words of power upon the ground, and instilling within me the power to understand to vocalize them. I learned to focus my shout of power - FUS RO - which became even more powerful. It seems that these Greybeards commune and pray and study and train for years and years, just to master a single word, and yet I master them in mere minutes. That is the power of a Dragonborn, with a knowledge of this power locked inside me. So many questions come to mind... Were my parents Dragonborn too? Who did I get this power from? I was told the dragons awakening must all be part of some destiny that I am tied to as well. It is no coincidence that a Dragonborn arrives as Dragons return to the sky. Was it destiny then, that led me to be an orphan? That set the bandits to burn my old home? That made me run north, to Skyrim? I am not sure I can believe this yet..but something larger than myself is at work. As a Dragonborn, it is up to myself to control my powers, and only I have the power to reserve them for times of need, or to abuse them for my own personal gain. Heavy stuff, no doubt. I learned one last word of power before I left, that moves me in a rapid force. However I was unable to meet their leader who lives farther still up the mountain that is at the moment impassible to me....for now

I returned to the base of the mountain much faster than I had ascended, thanks in part to my new Shout of Power, and the fact that I had dispatched all the wolves and trolls lurking along the mountain path. Blinding snow made way to a starry night, and here I am in this inn once more. Tomorrow I shall take my leave...though I am not sure where. The Greybeards want me to recover a relic from their founder, somewhere far to the northwest. Maybe I'll take Lydia with me, you never know whats waiting out there.

Turdas, 27th of Last Seed, 4E 201

It's quite amazing how even life threatening situations seem less eventful when compared to slaying a dragon. It has been several days since last I wrote. In that time no other dragons have been seen in the skies...at least, when I look up. Perhaps they see the bones of the dragon I killed as a warning and have stayed clear of Whiterun. Or perhaps they are merely waiting for a moment to strike me, silently preparing for when I am at my weakest.


In my time as Thane of Whiterun, several things have occurred to me. I need a house of my own. Though the tavern is more than happy to lodge a Dragonborn, and even the Companions Guild has opened up to me, I feel that I need to survive on my own, without having to rely on others. Which brings me to my next realization. When first I entered this place, my thoughts were only of surviving and how I could achieve those means. At that time, survival meant making use of what I did best. So far that was keeping out of sight and being as unnoticed as possible. I will admit thievery was a very possible route for me. From what I have learned, my kind regularly devolves into the stereotype and deals in theft and murder - and I've already killed more people than I ever thought I would. However something changed after that dragon attack. The people of this place regard me as something else, not a traveler, adventurer...or even a Khajiit. I am a Dragonborn, a Thane of Whiterun, and a hero to the people. They let me into their homes, even the Jarl himself has offered much of his inventory to me. Not only can I not bring myself to steal from these people.. I can barely take what is offered freely. I could probably pocket every book in Dragonreach, sell every weapon in Jorrvaskr, and no one would bat an eyelash...and yet I feel something for these people that stays my hand. Rather than abuse their trust, I vow to stand with them, and prove myself.





And so, with a few thousand gold away from owning my very own home, I left Whiterun to adventure to my heart's content. I had remembered passing by a mine on my way to Riverwood, where I killed my first bandit. And where there's one bandit, there's a dozen more - probably hoarding something. Sure enough they had a pretty smooth operation going on (Note to self - remove torches from walls for ultimate predator mode). Sadly it was there I faced my first Khajiit in combat. Even knowing so little about my own kind, it pained me to have to dispatch of one of the few I met. After collecting everything in the mine that wasn't nailed down, and mining everything shiny, I sold everything that wasn't interesting to the local trader. Lucan was so happy I was trading with him again, he gave me a free sword as a....er...'token of his affection'. I sold the rest of my stuff at the blacksmith.





As I played hide-and-go-seek with the local children, my mind wandered to my near death experience at Helgen, I became curious as to the fate of the place, and began a trek back to where it all started. The place was, understandably, a wreck. Burned bodies greeted me, still stuck with their arms over their face in a disturbing reminder of what I had narrowly avoided. And then I saw the brigands. Strutting about the ruined keep as if they were somehow responsible for the atrocities. My blood boiled at the thought of them mocking these poor souls, and my Frost Whisper rained death upon them.


One exploration and several dead bandits later, I found myself with enough money to finally have a place to call home - and to dump all of my trinkets, It feels good to get those dragon bones off my back. Also my Housecarl Lydia accompanied me...much to my surprise. I think we'll have to work out sleeping arrangements before night falls. But for now, I am Esias, Homeowner!

Sundas, 23rd of Last Seed, 4E 201

I haven't had time to write much in the past few days, and only now do I find myself in a tavern in Whiterun. I'd already be asleep if not for being situated in a room above the main tavern area. Next to a doorway with no door. Above a bard who refuses to give it a rest. I think he may even be singing about me now. That's right, me.

You see, almost a week ago, I came face to face with a dragon, and ran like a scared little kitten.

Tonight, I stuffed a dragon full of so many arrows he may as well have been a pincushion. That's right, Esias, a Dragon Killer. Even more so, the locals are calling me something else: Dragonborn. But lets start a bit earlier.

After arriving in Whiterun from my walk from Riverwood, I explored the city at length, getting to know the residents and shops. Though surprised a Khajiit actually walking around inside the city, most of the folk treated me all the same, as long as I had gold in my pocket that is. I even met a woman who expressed interest in my kind, and doing business with them. It seems many people in Skyrim look down on my kind, believing all of us to be thieves and murderers. To be fair the thieving aspect has crossed my mind a few times, but I haven't met anybody worth stealing from yet. Yet. Anyway the woman wants a mammoth tusk so that she can buy the tavern and do business with my Khajiit brethren, who apparently are quite the traveling traders here. I know I don't owe her anything, but it is nice to know not everyone hates my kind.

I met a lot of other people too, including two feuding families. The Battle Borns seem to be pretty full of themselves, and are backing the Empire, while the Greymanes seem more down to earth, and support the Stormcloaks. While I haven't officially sided with anyone, I decided to give the Greymanes the benefit of the doubt and hear them out. Apparently one of them joined the Stormcloaks and hasn't been heard from. They believe the Battle Borns know more than they are letting on. I figured it wouldn't be too much trouble to look into it. Using my natural cat-like grace, I snuck in to the (unlocked) Battle Born house and prowled around. Surprisingly, the place was empty except for a small child, who either didn't notice me or didn't care. At any rate I found a book detailing Imperials confirming capture of one of the Greymanes. I guess the Battle Borns really are a foul lot. Remind myself to consider stealing more than just a book from their house.

After a little more wandering (Side Note: What is it with Nords and keeping undead creatures in their burial sites? Walking skeletons beneath the city? Who does that???) I found myself at Dragonsreach, the Jarl's Fortress. As usual, I was met with a sword in my face, before explaining I was here to report the dragon attack on Helgen. This seemed to please the Jarl, who wanted my assistance in any way I could. I wasn't sure what I could do, until his court mage asked for details, and a mysterious Dragon Stone hidden away in a barrow. A barrow I had recently plundered. The Jarl and mage seemed extremely pleased at this, which was sadly broken by the announcement of...you guessed it, a dragon. I was unceremoniously tasked with locating said dragon. Apparently surviving a bunch of fireballs with your hands tied makes you an expert on dragons.

I approached the last known sighting of the dragon - a now crumbling tower with several small fires surrounding. This looked grimly familiar. I had barely time to start looking for survivors with the Jarl's men before I heard it. The ominous thunder of wings flapping. And that roar. And so for the second time in a week I found myself staring into the angry eyes and fire breathing mouth of a dragon. Not sure if he was the same dragon who nearly killed me last time, but it helped to imagine I was finally about to get some payback. Or be burned alive. I quickly took cover behind some stone and began peppering the dragon with arrows. I felt that he was at least noticing the pain since he turned and started lighting me on fire. Thank any God for health potions. The guards were putting up a brave fight, and I took the opportunity to poison a few of my better arrows with spider venom. The good kind of spider venom. Taking careful aim I scored several hits along the dragon's face. And then...he crashed into the ground, defeated. I could scarcely believe it. As I approached the rapidly disintegrating corpse, I hoped desperately that someone else would take the credit for this. I'm no hero, I'm just trying to survive.

And yet, as I drew close, I felt the dragons very essence rise into the air and strike me. I felt winded..and then...knowledge. Suddenly my mind flashed back to the inscription I had seen on the wall. I knew what it was. I knew....how to speak it. I opened my mouth and to my shock, someone else's voice sprang forth. By sprang I mean roared. It's hard to translate, let alone describe. FUS! I shouted and beheld a mighty wave of pure energy roar across the landscape. the Jarl's guards that had gathered around me stared, mouth agape. "You. You are...Dragonborn!" one of them whispered. Apparently there are those..descended from legend, that can speak the dragon language. Not only that, but they absorb the souls of the dragons they defeat to power their own magical 'shouts'.

So much for letting someone else take the credit.

As I returned to inform the Jarl of what had transpired, I heard another shout...far off..and not from my own mouth. Not an everyday occurrence I imagine. With much modesty, I told my story to the Jarl. Before I knew it, I was not only called a Dragonborn, but I was also made a Thane of Whiterun, by the Jarl himself! Suddenly I was getting all kinds of respect and praise, the privilege of being able to buy my own home (which I desperate need) and my own Housecarl to serve me (I don't even know what that means!) I was also informed the distant shout I heard was other Dragonborns... who had somehow heard of what I did and had summoned me to their home on top of mountain somewhere. Wonderful. My head is still spinning from all of this. I had to tell my Housecarl, Lydia, to stand down for the moment. I suppose she can guard my house to be...I think better on my own, for now. Before leaving, I took the opportunity to try my hand at enchanting. It seems pretty simple, and with a soul gem and an old sword, I enchanted my trusty bow with the power of ice. A new magic bow deserves a new magic name, especially on a day like this. I named it Frost Whisper. If I have any enemies, they will freeze with dread upon hearing its whisper.

That sounded a lot cooler in my head.

Turdas, 20th of the Last Seed, 4E 201

I began my day dabbling in alchemy, woodcutting, and blacksmithing. I ended it fighting legions of undead Nords in a long forgotten barrow. Before yesterday I wouldn't have thought the life of an adventurous explorer would be the life for me, but it does have its benefits. And downfalls. But more on that later.

In the morning I walked into a trader's house only to be dragged in to some sort of mission. I honestly don't remember agreeing to anything but before I knew it I was heading up a mountain, my tail in danger of snapping off like an icicle. Normally I would have ditched the trader and his sister, and their tale of a missing golden claw, but the story did involve bandits. And I hate bandits. Night was falling as I finally made it up near the summit and came face to face with the barrow. It was a sight to behold, even moreso if I wasn't blinded by the snow that had whipped up around me. The place was large, imposing, and full of bandits. I have to admit my skill with a bow improved dramatically over the course of my adventure today. I started by missing almost every shot, even when perfectly hidden and in line of sight of an oblivious bandit. But by the end I was hitting craniums like they were a slow fat boar in the woods.

I began my descent into the barrow, dispatching bandits and avoiding traps that the builders had left to ward off grave robbers. Not that it helped much, as I helped myself to a good bit of loot on my way. weapons, coins, potions, this was a pretty nice place to be buried. I came close to being buried in there myself on more than one occasion.

I felt myself nearing the one bandit responsible for all this, only to be met by a sealed gate, a lever, and a dead bandit. Interesting. I refrained from making his mistake and instead turned my attention to the many wall carvings adorning the room. Three of them hung over the gate...well make that two, as one had fallen below, and three more were on my left. Inspecting the carvings on the left yielded the ability to move them, and change the facing to different carvings: snakes, whales, that sort of thing. Using my superior Khajiit brain I matched the wall carvings on the left to those above the gate, and was able to pass through unharmed.

It was then I heard shouts from a few rooms below. Someone had gotten themselves stuck in a web. Somehow I got the feeling that was my target. I began to cross the room to take back the golden claw when I suddenly realized why the inept bandit was trapped in a web. Giant spiders tend to do that. I peppered the eight legged horror with arrows and retreated behind a doorway when the spider came close. It rapidly became uninterested with a meal it couldn't reach, and started toward the bandit. Now, take note that I had no reason to save him, other than I did not want that spider damaging or eating my prize. And so throwing caution to the winds I threw myself and my daggers upon the spiders back. I was met with poisonous fangs, not my best strategy. Perhaps I got lucky, but the monster finally crashed to the ground, and I savored a health potion as I approached the trapped bandit.

He began raving about how he had solved all of the secrets of this place. Secrets I wasn't interested in. I began cutting the webbing in order to take back the golden fang, but the lunatic broke free and ran off, yelling about how he wouldn't share the prize. I chased him through several winding passageways into a great burial hall. I raised my daggers to strike and he screamed - though not at me. All around us the dead had risen, and someone was kind enough to bury them with their weapons. They slew the bandit and tossed his body aside as three of them advanced on only one of me. I'm no expert on fighting supernatural horrors, but if someone killed these people before, then I could do it again. Darting in and out of their thankfully slow reach, I played a dangerous game of trading blows and avoiding death at every step. I was losing and I knew it. I jumped backward as they advanced, only to hear the click of a pressurized plate. A sixth sense inside me told me to dive, and I did, clipping my shoulder as a massive spiked grate crashed past me and into the undead, making them re-dead. I began to realize the value of using my environment to my advantage. I was no hardened warrior, unable to go toe to toe with the living dead I instead used the barrows own traps against them, lighting floors of oil on fire and leading them into blades that swung from the walls.

With the golden claw in my possession I found myself deeper and deeper in the barrow, unable to find my way back I continued on until I came across a great door, inscribed with symbols of animals and a three hole key slot. My mind went back to the bandits rant about the secrets of this place and I consulted the golden claw, only to notice very similar symbols on the inside of the claw. Matching them up and using the claw as a key the door opened for me. On the other side was an incredible sight: A giant cavern with flowing streams, bridges...and an amazing wall carving. I can't quite explain it, but something in the carving...resonated with me. It was as if I was reading a language that I once knew. I couldn't pronounce it but it felt so familiar. I wrote it down and turned to leave... and instead faced a tall imposing walking corpse. He looked at me and shouted with such force I flew against the wall. As I crashed to the ground I couldn't help but think this wasn't the first time I'd been in this situation, this time with less firebreathing. I was lucky that his forceful shouting did not do much to harm me, other than opening me up for his attacks. As luck had it, I managed to swipe an enchanted dagger earlier and put it to use deep in the corpse's ribcage, which promptly burst in to flame. He responded with a sword slash across my arm, which froze in place for a few moments. He began to open his mouth, which in a moment would chant the words that would no doubt send me into the air. I wasted no time rushing up to him, barely dodging a sword swing, and planting my enchanted dagger deep into his throat. He had very little to shout about after that.

My enemy had been defeated, my prize and its accompanying rewards had been claimed, and my wounds were beginning to annoy me. I found a secret passage by following an underground stream to a small fissure leading back to the surface. Judging by the sky, I had been down there a full day. I guess time flies when you are fighting the undead. I had just enough strength left in me to trudge back to the town of Riverwood, give the golden claw back to the owner (and not tell him about the better treasures I found) and bought myself another night in the inn. Perhaps tomorrow I will leave this town behind and head north to where that nice stormcloak fellow said I should go. I may have no love for the empire soldiers, but I'm not sure I'm ready to fight a war for someone yet. Time will tell... and to be honest I'm feeling more alive than I ever was.

Morndas, 17th of the Last Seed, 4E 201

As I put these words to paper, I cannot help but think that I stared death in the face many times this day, and by all rights my corpse should be in a ditch somewhere, forgotten.
But this is not so. Despite everything that has occurred, I find myself sitting in a warm tavern devouring a roast rabbit leg. I can scarcely believe it, and my hand still shakes as I write.

But I get ahead of myself. I just bought this journal upon arriving here and to be honest I've never found anything in my life worth writing about... until today.

My name is Esias. I am a Khajiit with no friends, no family, and no past. I don't even possess a surname, for all the good it would do me. Perhaps it is better that way. I was abandoned you see, when I was very young. I cannot recall my birth parents, or how I came to be alone in the world. My life could have ended there, but my some miracle I was found and adopted by an Imperial couple living in the northern parts of Cyrodiil. As far as adoptive parents go, I believe I was quite lucky. They raised me well, treated me as their own, despite the fact that I owned a tail and they did not. For many years I lived the simple life of a commoner, helping my adoptive parents with chores, and even helping the other villagers with their day to day tasks. I became somewhat adept at hunting, I like to think my natural catlike abilities made me able to stalk deer and rabbits better than the rest. I knew how to handle a bow, skin an animal, and even spot plants with special properties. I soon found out that everything I had grown to learn would be of little use when put to the test.

I returned from hunting one day, slightly defeated with only one rabbit to show for my troubles. I should have realized the wildlife had been chased off by something other than myself. Screams and smoke were my only welcome back to my home. A group of bandits were in the process of ransacking my village...and killing everyone within eyesight. I watched, frozen in fear, as those I had called neighbors were cut into pieces, screaming the whole time. I tried with all my might to will myself to let loose an arrow at the bandits, but my body stubbornly refused. I had never taken a life before, and I found myself unable to do so that day, even as I saw the family that took me in, dead in the dirt.

The bandits began yelling amongst themselves. Some sort of commotion took hold, and in an instant they ran off, disappearing into the forests that surrounded the village. I had only taken a few tentative steps toward the bodies of they only people I knew before I heard them. The sound of hooves racing toward me. I had never seen Imperial Soldiers before, though I had heard many stories of them. However, I do not believe they had ever heard stories of a Khajiit being adopted by Imperials. I had only moments to register that they looked upon me as a murderer, and not a bystander. And with the unsheathing of many a sword, they didn't appear to be in the mood for taking prisoners.

So I ran. I ran as fast as my legs would take me, deep into the undergrowth where I was sure no horse or armored man could follow. I ran well into the night, and only as the sun began to rise did I collapse. It may have been the exhaustion, but I felt numb. I barely had time to mourn the loss of the only people who cared about me before trying to figure out my next move. As it happens, I'm not great at plans, so as soon as I found some berries and edible plants, I continued to move. As the sun passed overhead I realized I was heading north. The only thing that meant for me was away from my past, away from the soldiers and away from Cyrodiil. As it happens I only managed to put distance on that particular group of soldiers. I still managed to leave my past and Cyrodiil, as the soldiers who captured me the next day informed me that I had entered Skyrim. Illegally.

And so I managed to avoid capture from one group, only to be taken prisoner by another. My life appeared to be spiraling into the ground, where I was sure it would eventually be buried. I was carted off to a nearby town and informed that I was to be executed for taking part in a rebellion with my fellow prisoners. My explanations that I had only just found out what country I was in this very morning fell upon deaf ears. One Imperial soldier had the decency to tell me my body would be returned to Elsweyr. I felt telling him I'd never even been there wouldn't improve my chances of living all that much.


And so, once more I was face to face with death, who had taken on the form of a very ugly executioner with a very ugly axe. They shoved me before a small block and kicked my head upon it. And that's when I saw it. I had heard about them in a story my adoptive parents told me while growing up. But nothing could have ever prepared me for seeing a dragon with my own eyes. It appeared death was changing forms quite rapidly, as it roared so powerfully I felt my body leave the ground for a moment. Then I felt my return to the ground and my vision blurred with pain. I manged to stand up and vaguely realized that people were dying all around me. A Nord called to me, one of the prisoners who had escaped, and I followed him into the relative safety of a tower. I say relative because I don't think dragons find stone towers all that impressive. The Nord told me to follow him if I wanted to survive, and I obliged. I had just enough time to take some armor and an axe from a dead person before moving onward. I'm not sure what I expected to do with such things, perhaps the dragon would think me a less appealing target if I looked armed. 

I continued to run, quite blindly and stupidly, avoiding bouts of fire and falling debris before I found two people yelling at me to come with them. The Imperial who had told me I was going to die a few minutes before, and the Nord who I had been following. It all happened so fast I'm not sure why I chose to follow who I did. While the Imperial was nice enough to offer a burial in my supposed homeland, I can't help but think a lot of my problems have involved Imperial soldiers and thinking I'm more of a threat than I actually am. So I followed the Nord... I still can't remember his name. Nice of him to offer to save my life though. We were just about to get our bearings when Imperial soldiers came barging in. I guess not following them had its drawbacks, and I suddenly found myself fighting for my life. By fighting I actually mean blocking his attacks and wondering why he even wanted to kill me. He has almost broken through my clumsy defense when I brought my axe crashing back into his face. To be honest I wasn't thrilled with killing someone, but with everything that had happened up to this point, I kind of wanted to cling on to living.


I can't quite explain how it feels going from not knowing how to fight, to killing several opponents. It's not something I'm proud of, but if these last few days have done any harsh teaching, it is that life will not stand by and let you sneak past it. If someone wants you dead, you can either kill them or let them kill you. The next few hours were a blur for me, a blur of steel, blood and panic. And then quite suddenly I was outside again. I watched with my Nord companion as the dragon flew off into the distance, still not quite sure if I was awake or if I had gone into a delusion at the sight of the executioners axe. The Nord assured me that I was still very much alive, and so was he, thanks to me. I didn't have it in me to correct him, and he was kind enough to point me the direction of a nearby town that I could stay. And with that he was off. With the sun rapidly setting I made a quick jog towards the nearby town.


I was almost there when I found myself making a wrong turn into what appeared to be an old mine. At its entrance stood a lone bandit. He looked at me, and I at him. Something hit me... the all too recent memories of my old life and the bandits that killed that old life... I was mad. Madder than I had ever been before. I had been captured, almost executed, nearly burnt and eaten by a dragon, and then parrying blows from a soldier. And then there's this asshole. grinning as he prepares to pull a knife from his waist.


Too slow.


With speed that surprised even myself, I leaped at him with a dagger in each hand. One found its home within his neck, the other his abdomen. He crumpled with a gurgle and I stood over him, shocked at my actions...and yet a little proud. Killing was not something I had gotten used to yet, and I hope that it is something I never will. But after today's events I vow never to stay my hand when lives are at stake, particularly my own.


And so here I sit, waiting for the adrenaline of the day's events to fade so that I can finally rest in the bed my money has bought me. I write this journal for reasons I don't fully understand... perhaps this day is only the beginning of something important in my life. My new life. My trials and tribulations in this land of Skyrim.