After a bit of debate with myself, I've decided to keep a journal. Many things have happened to me in my life, and weeks spent in solitude and grief have made it quite clear that my psyche could benefit from writing down my feelings. A friend of a friend of a friend directed me to an enchanter who made journals for men in power - all I had to do was pay the fee and he would create one especially for me. I tracked him down a week or so later. It cost much less than I thought and later I realize that perhaps enchanting isn't as difficult as academics have made it out to be - but either way, the enchantment was simple: Only I can open the journal. The lock cannot be undone by any magic or physical force unless it is my will. I'm not sure exactly how it all works, but I need a place to vent my thoughts in private without fear of embarrassment, judgement, or self-incrimination.
Some brief summary is needed, I suppose, as to explain to myself why I found it necessary to do this sort of thing so outside of my character. Perhaps it is sort of a rationalization, or maybe my resistance is due to knowing that if I write things down I can no longer run from certain truths, as they become immortalized in ink.
The Emperor lays dead, throwing the tension between Skyrim and the rest of the remain Empire into chaos. I feel conflicted about this. In the short time I spent with him, he seemed to be a good man. And on a more political note, he seemed ready and eager to make himself a martyr. Perhaps, after the chaos dies down, that will benefit the Imperialist side of the conflict. I have much more to say on the war, but that is simply not the point.
Before I killed the Emperor, there was...An incident. I'm not sure how else to describe the things that happened, but...
...Nearly everyone died back at Falkreath's Sanctuary. Veezara. Gabriella. Festus Krex. They were...Much beloved by me, and to say that their absence has not affected me would be nothing short of a blatant lie. Astrid perished as well, as well as her husband. The Penitus Oculatus found us, through her treachery, and they came to exterminate us. They nearly succeeded, had it not been for my partial intervention and The Night Mother's coffin. Babbette survived because she had been out on a contract, and Nazir was saved by myself. I was saved from the fires that were set by throwing myself into the literal embrace of The Night Mother.
We found Astrid, half-dead, in the ruins afterwards - covered in burns. She admitted her betrayal and bade me to kill her in fulfillment of the contract. I did.
Nazir, Babette, and I decided to move to the only remaining Sanctuary left on Nirn. Dawnstar. The place where - the place where Cicero's body had been left. We brought The Night Mother. The message was clear: Rebuild. So we refurbished much of it. Delvin helped, much of the money I procured from the Emperor's contract was given to this cause.
But...There was some complications.
Cicero's body...Hadn't...Decayed. At all. It had been several months, but when Babette looked into the room, he was still where I had left him. I had left him neatly, arms crossed, and he was still...There. Could it be the cold of Dawnstar? Could it be something else? Regardless, The Night Mother told me...The Night Mother Told me to keep him. Put him somewhere, but not to bury him.
I don't know what it all means, but I would not disobey the thing that allowed me to live through the fires at Falkreath.
In the meantime, I have decided to remain aloof from them. I know they need guidance right now, but I am not the one to offer it. Nazir and Babette have accepted that I need time during the rebuilding process, but I have pledged to be responsible to my duties as Listener and send them contracts given to me by The Night Mother in dreams and visions and have allocated resources for future recruitment. I have named Nazir as official Speaker in the meantime (Babette did not want that, but Nazir has been wanting/deserving a promotion as he is starting to get up in age.) and have allowed him to recruit as he sees fit.
Anyways, I'm taking a break from everything for the sake of my mental health, and with that I am starting this journal.
[10th of Rain's Hand - 4E 203] - Riften
Walked into the Bee and Barb; was met with equal parts disdain and apathy per the usual. They know me as a thief here, the one who does the shake-downs for The Guild. Ordered a meal and prayed to Sithis that the Argonian did not spit in it. I watched the patrons for a while, looking for my target.
Came on the suggestion of Delvin Mallory from The Guild, said this one was desperate to get out of debts and would be more than happy to accompany me to numerous Dwemer ruins while I picked them clean of the precious treasures inside. Mallory described him as close to my age, dark hair and amber eyes - an Imperial, like me. Easy to spot in the tavern, he said.
He was right. I spied him in a lonely corner, nursing a tankard of mead slowly. He was handsome in that cocksure sort of way that made me want to reconsider my choice - I could tell his type. We were not compatible. His life story was written in his blood.
Having lived in the Imperial City post-war, I knew what to look for. He was clearly from a noble line - maybe from a merchant-family; Since he was dressed nicely even though he had been described as destitute by Mallory. That meant he could pick quality, a rare skill in the lower class. I hadn't even seen some types of fabric before in my life until I moved among the nobility. I had no clue there was even different types of silk, let alone what the texture of velvet felt like.
I could tell by the shape of his face, too - He was Nibenesian, probably. Tan skin and dark, straight hair - the strong jaw screamed selective breeding, as did the shape of his nose. It was classic, straight, with a sloping bridge angled into brow - unlike most Imperial men, whose profile resembled the helmets they wore, with the bridge jutting almost straight into the browline, sometimes with a bump in the middle. He noticed me watching him but made no move to approach me. I could tell I piqued his curiosity but respected the prideful way he simply ignored me.
He did not want to appear presumptuous, that was clear. After some small debate with myself - mostly weather or not I truly needed someone else to help me in my little project - I approached him on his own turf, the bench in the corner - away from prying eyes and listening ears. I noticed his eyes measure me for a moment as I handed him the note I had prepared, and the five-hundred septims I thought worth my task. With suspicion, he set the heavy bag of coin on the bench beside him and carefully read the note. It detailed what I wanted from him -
I needed a mage. I was not versed in magical matters at all, despite my small interest in it. I worried about magical traps or puzzles within the ruins - or perhaps enemies that could utilize it. I could not get close to those who put up barriers and wards with my daggers or bow, and that could be potentially dangerous. I detailed how I would pay him the fee of his time and pay any expense of our journey as well as split a percentage of our finds in whatever way he wished to negotiate - which, to be frank, was more than charitable. The note suggested an easy compromise: What he picked up himself was his. What I picked up or asked him to carry was mine. We could keep inventory, if he so wished, so as to not be cheated of fair wage.
"This is a generous offer." He spoke slowly. He had a warm voice, something lower than a tenor but nowhere near baritone. The way he pronounced his syllables was very practiced and intelligent sounding, and it was then that I confirmed he was educated to the highest degree. I was proud of myself for not getting rusty - I had pegged him right on the nose. "...I accept the conditions." He stood, tucked the note into his breast pocket, and tucked the coins into a pack he kept nearby. I held my hand out to shake and he took it firmly into his palm. I quirked my head toward the door and we quickly exited the building."Where are we headed?" Thankfully, I had anticipated such a base question and had a note prepared. He took it with some confusion, a small scrap of a note that read: 'Dwemer Ruins in The Reach - Markarth'
"Silent type, huh? What's the half-mask for?" I shook my head negatively, then brought one of my fingers to my lips, as if to shush him. "Ah. Secret. I get it." His mouth formed a thin line, though his eyes sparkled with curiosity. I ignored it as we made our way to the front gate of Riften, passing by the guards - who gave us a silent nod of acknowledgement as they allowed us to pass. "You're with The Guild, right? I've seen you around. You shook some people up for money, right?" I turned my head to meet his gaze. "Oh, right. You don't talk. Well, I've seen you around, that's all."
Great. He was the sort to try and fill silences with useless banter. I could not say weather or not I would like that or not. My life had been a lonely one, so far - such is the life of a thief and occasional assassin. I had grown up on the streets - trusting only myself. Companions were few and far between, and I was never accustomed to sudden conversation. Well, there had been one whose company I hadn't minded - songs and riddles and jokes - but that already seemed like a lifetime ago.
But I don't wish to write of...Him.
...Now I've made myself sad.
[11th of Rain's Hand - 4E 203] - Along Darkwater River, near East March
The mage who calls himself Marcurio is annoying. I know why Delvin pointed me to him - he was having a laugh at my expense. I wish I would have known before I spent money on him.
He was trying to get me to talk earlier, and when I wouldn't, he got pissy with me and said something along the lines of:
"Such a peppy, optimistic attitude. I'm sure you're just a delightful conversationalist when you actually speak." I glared at him angrily, which only amused him. "That got your attention. You've been ignoring me! I was worried you were deaf, too." When I turned away in disgust, he sighed. "C'mon. The journey always feels so much longer when there's nothing to talk about. I'm bored. Hey! Why don't we talk about why you wear that mask? Are you in trouble with some mercenaries? Are you disfigured? Is that why you can't talk? I heard The Thieves Guild is now untouchable in all of Skyrim, so I don't see why you can't talk to me."
I said nothing.
"...Fine. Keep up the Mysterious Act for all I care." He crossed his arms and pouted like a child. This was clearly a man who was used to getting his way.
He just better keep quiet when we sneak through the ruins! I've heard Falmer infest most of them, and if he blows our cover just the once - he's out. Maybe he won't even make it to that - if he says one more crass comment like that, I might just drown him in the nearest body of water and pickpocket my money off his corpse.
We'll see.
[13th of Rain's Hand - 4E 203] - Along White River, towards Whiterun
About a day, day and a half trek to Whiterun, if we keep on the main road. Didn't want to stay in any small villages due to the nature of my propriety. Folks in Riften don't know about the whole 'dragon' thing - only know me for my ties to The Guild. Have to be careful in this hold. More hopefuls wanting for me to fix their problems.
Pretty close to drowning the mage already - He keeps questioning my use of the mask and my refusal to speak. He has begun to guess and make speculations ranging from the preposterous to outright insulting. Hopefully, we can spend time apart at the inn. I can't hardly bear the look of his face, handsome as it is.
[14th of Rain's Hand - 4E 203] - Whiterun
An early morning start allowed us to arrive in Whiterun proper just after sunset. Unfortunately, this meant we were too late to browse shops for supplies. A hearty dinner at the Bannered Mare lifted my spirits some.
Observed the mage some more. Seems that he thrives in spirited atmospheres. He seems to be very charismatic and extroverted - the sort who soaks up songs and mead as others may gain energy from sunshine or quiet or mountain air. He made many comments today about the my lack of merry making. Wrote him a note saying that I was tired - that I was very adept at merry making when the mood so struck me. He accused me of being as playful as a skeever - which is to say, not at all. I was not impressed. I'm not sure if that proves his point or not.
My mind is on the ruins, though. I suppose the first course of action of any hunter - for treasure or prey, as it were - is to study for preparedness. When we get to Markarth, I would like to visit the Dwemer Museum in the Keep. I can see which metals are most valuable and size up what sort of traps and machines we can expect to come across, as well as figure out their weaknesses. I heard they run off steam and magic - perhaps frost spells would render them useless? Must broach the subject with the mage. Need to make contact with Calcelmo who runs the museum, as well. So much to do tomorrow.
Marcurio said something interesting to me, however, in relation to my fighting style - he saw the bow and daggers and knows of my Guild membership, so he correctly assumed my rogue status. (As if he could come to any other conclusion.) He was trying to be condescending, but I found the idea quite delightful: 'Why simply stab your enemies when you can burn them alive with a bout of arcane fire?'
...We may get along okay after all.
