This one doesn't know who will ever read this, or why they would steal it from her to read it, but she supposes that it is more than likely that this journal will be removed from her decaying corpse someday by a luckier-than-she adventurer.

Why would this one suppose that?

Because this one has luck more rotten than a dead mudcrab that has been sitting in the hot sun all day, that's why.

Now, surely that's an exaggeration, you must be thinking?

I wish it were.

Earlier this day, this one was out gathering plants to sell in the market. She dismounted her horse, and stopped by the side of the road to pick a few bundles of bugloss. And what happens to her as she knees down?

Does a thorn from a nearby bush get stuck in her paw, or tear her favorite dress?

Does a rabid wolf leap out, intent on ripping out her throat?

Does a highwaymer point his sword at her, and demand that she hand over all her valuables, or pay with her life?

No.

No.

Instead, there was a mighty clap of thunder strong enough that this one could feel the ground beaneath her feet shake with its force, and a deep, metalic sound she cannot even begin to describe.

And then the suddenly-black sky opened up not twelve feet away from where she knelt, and anchor chains of Coldharbour fell from the clouds like solid bolts of lightning.

The hideous portal was open before she knew it, and amid the sudden storm of dust and smoke that filled the air, she didn't have time to spot the flesh atronach that had appeared before its club was swinging straight toward her head.

She still does not know how she managed to dodge, or how in all the gods' eyes she managed to fell the beast with naught but a dagger and short-sword.

Luckily for her, and the rest of the world, she supposes, she was not alone in what she had thought to be a beautiful, peaceful glade at that moment. Someone else, moving too quickly and striking so swiftly she could not be sure if they were man, mer, or beastfolk, danced among the clouds of bloody smoke and ash, routing the foul daedra even as they spawned from the hellish portal.

Two frost atronachs and more scamps than she could count the other soul-shriven (and she knew, somehow, that they were soul-shriven, just as she was) slew, and seeing the apparent ease with which they fought, and their ferocity, this one drew her courage, and charged into the fray, determined to take down as many of the monsters as she could.

As it turned out, there was naught but a single, wounded scamp left to defeat, and this one took it down with ease. Daedra or no, even they cannot survive a stab through the heart with a sword cloaked in flame.

After the chains snapped (though no effort of her own, it was all thanks to the other fighter, who moved with a surety that spoke of many such battles before to destroy the things holding them in place), and this one had managed to clear her smoke-blurred eyes, she saw that she was alone on the bloodstrewn battlefield, her savior gone as though they had turned invisible.

All in all, this one is just glad she managed to survive the ordeal.

Though, she will not hesitate to add that the rare potion ingredients she managed to harvest from the daedra bodies helped, too.