"Sanity is but a figment of your imagination"

I was once a great hero, known throughout Vvardenfell as the Nerevarine; for I had I defeated Dagoth Ur and brought peace to Morrowind. I was worshiped, much to my complaint, like a god.

I traveled to Solstheim soon after, and got caught up with the forsaken Daedra, defeated the Hunter called Hircine and his wolves, as a reward he cured me of the Lycanthropy that had plagued me for many nights.

I even journeyed to Mournhold to stop an attempt on my life, and uncovered the madness of the false-god Almalexia. I was forced to kill her unfortunately, but I do not weep for her. Nor did I shed a tear for Sotha Sil, whom I found laying dead on a mass of his own machines; killed by one he had once called a friend.

Though I survived all that, there is only one thing I could not stop my own slow yet steady decline into insanity.

I do not know why I write this, maybe it is because I want the world to know that I am not a monster, perhaps it helps slow my oncoming madness. I began to write these records after the first week of the infection, during the day, unfortunately, I had insomnia for oh so many years. An odd effect of the Porphyric Hemophilia that I have never found the cause of, though I have spent many thoughts on it.

I leave these in the possession of my closest friend soon. I hope that he does what is needed.

"Only the insane know of sanity"

First Blood

I remember when I first was bitten; I had realized there was no way for me to be cured in time.

I cried. I cried because I was an abomination. I cried because I know what I would have to do to survive. But mostly I cried because of the sheer irony that I was becoming one of the things I had lived to destroy. I now know why and how I was infected, though it gives me no peace of mind. The gods had enough to laugh at me about, they did not need more.

A week has passed since I became a vampire, in that time I have learned the basis of life all over again. I learned how to hunt, how to kill, and how to feed. I now have two lives on my shoulders, due to my own fangs. I can barely stand being my own self, soon I will stop being human altogether.

I awoke with a burning hunger for blood on my mind. I needed to feed soon, very soon. I quietly snuck out of my house ,with the thought of feeding on my mind, and into a nearby alley. I looked around; I could not see anyone to satisfy my desire. Creeping though the alley way I found a guard, wearing the native Bonemold armor he would be a tough fight, I let him pass unscathed and unaware of the danger he had walked past.

I wandered the alleyways for hours trying to find an easy meal. The agony I felt as my stomach ate its self was unbearable; I could never express that horrid pain in words. Eventually I came across a small orphan eating a piece of rotten cheese. I looked him over, it would be an easy kill… but could I do it? Did I have it in me to murder a small child just to save my self, a monster?

With another painful stab in the stomach I decided to put how I felt on the shelf and feed.

As I approached the urchin he looked up from his meal. After he saw me he tried to hide the piece of smelly, rotting cheese and clumsily pulled out a rusty and tried to slash me with it. Seeing the hostility I quickly went in for the kill. Sinking my fangs into the young boys neck was the best and the worst thing I ever felt, the warm blood dripped down my neck as I shed my humanity. I made my way back to my house disgusted with my self.

As soon as I shut the door I collapsed into a kneeling position and held my head in my hands.

I screamed as loud as I could. I was disgusted with my self and disgusting with the ones who did this to me.

I kneeled there for hours, crying, until the first rays of the sun came up.

A.N. I made a lot of changes to this chapter and the next, and will try to get the rest soon. Please review (33 hits with only one review and one person with this on their faves? Thats not very fair.).