Author's note: I'm trying to write this story in the style of many journals. They don't really go in a particular order, but the chapter title will always tell you whose journal it is, and probably the beginning of the chapters too. The first chapter is sort of an establishing entry, but you'll see all about that later. Just read and enjoy, review with constructive criticism if you're awesome, I'd be happy to accept it.
I should probably pen in what is happening in this current age. I am Librariit IV. I come from a long line of Khajiit librarians who made their living maintaining vast collections of books. Today is the second day of the fifth month of the first year of the fifth era. Skyrim, Cyrodiil, and indeed most of Tamriel and presumably all other lands of Nirn have been ravaged and devastated by events in the fourth era. Many, many lives were lost and most cities were destroyed. There is still a community of men and mer, along with some Argonians and Khajiit, living in Skingrad in the Imperial Province. Rosethorn Hall, the site of the largest library in Cyrodiil in its time, is my current abode. The library was created by my earliest known ancestor, Librario I.
From that time, I can tell many things in Skingrad were different. It was smaller back then. From Librario's journal, a special family heirloom, Castle Skingrad used to have a road outside the city that connects it to Skingrad. Now, the castle is surrounded by buildings, some in states of disrepair. Albius Hassildor has been the count of Skingrad for quite some time, although there was no real rank of people here anymore. He was our unofficial leader, probably the most influential person in the world. I had restored my forefather's library to some greatness. As most other centers of knowledge had been destroyed, it was a safe assumption that Rosethorn Hall was the largest in the world.
Albius had tasked me with gathering and storing knowledge. One of my ancestors, Librario VI, had tended to the largest library in Skyrim. It's my duty to recover whatever records are left in her ancient home in Markarth. That is how I am here, outside the once-city gates. Albius sent me with a party here to collect any books that may have survived the catastrophes that have struck our land. My party, which includes myself, two Orsimer warriors, an Altmer mage, and an Argonian, have traveled for ten days to reach the city of Markarth. We set up camp outside the city, as we do not know what will be on the other side. That was last night. Soon, the other members of my group will rise, and some have already.
After my party readied itself for the city, we entered the gates. The first thing I noticed when we entered the city was the huts of the Falmer. In the times of Librario VI, most Falmer lived underneath the surface of Nirn. However, recent events have allowed for most of them to wreak havoc on the surface. Besides the huts, which were in varying stages of dilapidation, there were no other signs of the Falmer. No bodies, no Chaurus. It's as if they had packed all of their cattle and left. This was fortunate for my party. Still, I reminded them to be careful.
We made our way up the dry walkway that once flowed water, I'm told. The library stood up several flights of stairs, high in the city. It was named Vlindrel Hall in the fourth era.
I approached the location of the hall, but several boulders had fallen in front of the doorway. I signaled for the Orcs to assist, and they found that rocks were easy to move with their combined strengths. Soon, I had my hands on the door, attempting to pull it from its frame. It was locked. I pulled one more time to make sure. Definitely locked. The Altmer mage pulled me aside and cast a powerful unlock spell. The door gave a compliant clink. I seized the door one more time and yanked the door open. I peered inside, but my eyes could not focus.
As soon as I had opened the door, the smell of death and a shrill scream assaulted my ears and nose. I immediately drew my weapon, a large sword crafted of ebony and enchanted heavily with the power of ice and fire. I shouted into the hall, "Who is there?"
An Imperial came out, incredibly thin. He held up a dagger feebly, and said, "You're not the Falmer."
"What are you doing here?" I spoke to him.
The Imperial started timidly, but soon spoke out, "I live here... It used to be a library, and I had always had a few extra books..."
"How long have you been here?" I continued to interrogate him.
"Ever since the Falmer came out from the Nchuand-Zel a few weeks ago." The Imperial was more compliant than I initially had thought. If we could take him back to Skingrad with us, he could help me tend to Rosethorn Hall.
The man's posture loosened and he turned around. Then he began to ask questions. "Where are the Falmer? What are you people doing here?"
"There were no Falmer when we arrived. We thought the city was abandoned," I answered, "We're here to collect whatever tombs of old we can find. This library was owned by my ancestors, and count Albius Hassildor has requested that we recover as much of the remaining knowledge as we can..." I paused for a brief second. "There's a small community at Skingrad with plenty of food. You should come back with us."
"It's the only hope you have for living," The Argonian added when he saw the look of doubt on the Imperial's face.
"I guess I should. It's the only way for me to stay with my books."
"Yes, what books do you have remaining here? I need to see what we absolutely must take." I said quickly.
"I have many here. Surprisingly, most of them survived since the fourth era. I have the complete set of Dwemer Inquiries by Thelwe Ghelein," He said first.
"We don't have that in Skingrad, we must take them," I said.
The Imperial went through a long list of books, including the complete sets of A Dance in Fire, 2920, Mythic Dawn Commentaries, and Rising Threat, along with many, many others. When he was done, most of our party had bags full of books. "Is there anything else?"
"I have a wide array of journals collected as well. Maybe you would want those?" He said.
"Yes, those probably provide some of the answers to what happened to Tamriel. We must have them." I said, prompting the Imperial to go in a back room with a large sum of small notebooks. I placed them in my own bag for safe keeping.
"There are two more books, but I fear that taking them may not be a good idea." The Imperial said.
"Why not? Show me." I demanded.
The Imperial led me to the master bedroom of Vlindrel Hall. I immediately felt the evil in the room. On the bed was a skeleton of a Khajiit woman, most probably one of my very own ancestors. A large black blade was stuck between the bones of her ribcage. By her side, two large books. One seemed to be sewn from skin and the other had a depiction of a woman on it's covers. "They are Daedric in origin. They're the Dreamstride and The Oghma Infinium. They're books of Vaermina and Hermaeus Mora."
As soon as he said those names, I knew that we couldn't bring them back to Skingrad with us. We couldn't risk attracting the attention of those that started it all.