» Sat Jun 02, 2012 10:38 am Hope you enjoy it, and get some ideas for your own RP.
Diary of Decimus the Zen Archer
15th of Last Seed, 4E 201
My time in the http://cloud.steampowered.com/ugc/631860316839945998/23092513E4D3607136CC1F5169CB04539C6DEFF9/ has come to an end. At the behest of the Moth Priests, I am to depart this very day and journey northward to Skyrim. As is customary they are economical with their words, even when pressed, and what little they impart is often cryptic. I have gleaned more from the other monks who tend the temple grounds, and who have been my guardians all my short life. "All will become clear soon." they tell me, and "Your path will reveal itself to you.".
I know, not from memory but from what I have been told, that I was taken in by the monks an orphan, at a very young age, but why I was singled out has never been revealed to me. I have always suspected that I was groomed for a specific purpose, but I never expected to leave behind my whole life so unexpectedly, and with so little to go on.
I owe everything to these priests. They have taught me lore, mathematics, meditation, and the art of the bow. Their martial prowess continues to amaze me, and would still had their eyes not been robbed of sight. Their knowledge is deep, and their kindness humbling. As little as I know of their true motives, I would follow these men even unto death. And so it must that I shall do as they will. I leave before nightfall.
17th of Last Seed, 4E 201
I have painfully learned what my cloistered existence has sheltered from me, that life is capricious and fleeting, and that behind a friendly mask may hide incredible cruelty. I stared into the dark, cold chasm of death and felt myself falling, only to be caught by unexpected wings.
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I felt my feet sinking, though I could scarcely see that coldest of blankets for the moon was sleepy when I crossed the border into Skyrim. The wind bit relentlessly, and numbness set in. The glare peering through the gloom far off in the distance promised warmth and possibly shelter. I could not refuse its allure.
The Nord soldiers' camp reacted swiftly at my arrival. While they were not physically violent, the men clearly felt uneasy with my presence, and were relentlessly pressing me for answers when the first arrow fell. Before any semblance of order could be mustered, we were attacked from all sides by an overwhelming force of Legionnaires and forced to lay down our arms. They quickly loaded us onto wagons and drove us towards the rising sun. We knew it was to be our last.
The headsman's cruel axe was raised, thirsty for my blood despite dripping with that of another, ready to strike. The imposing beast that descended on black wings upon sleepy Helgen http://cloud.steampowered.com/ugc/631860316840216790/5D4F35193562235C51F3A09CDF8AD82C199BF61B/. Chaos ensued. Few escaped the smoldering ruins that was to become the ill-fated town.
I sit now flanked by a roaring fire, warm mead in hand, as I write these painful words. Yet despite all that has transpired, inside me a fire also rages, a feeling both alien yet somehow familiar. I close my eyes, and once again gaze deep into the eyes of the black beast. I am not afraid.
18th of Last Seed, 4E 201
My stay at Riverwood was brief, for it was urgent that I inform the Jarl of Whiterun of the danger that loomed over the town, due to its close proximity to doomed Helgen. Together with his court wizard we formulated the next course of action. I was to set forth at once to the mountains in the south, and seek an ancient barrow rumoured to contain the Dragonstone, a map of draconic burial sites, that we may find the source of this new evil. This task would change my life forever.
The sinister, curved pillars of the barrow's entrance rose ominously in the distance, like the ancient skeleton of a colossal beast. It had a terrifying, hypnotic hold over me, and perhaps that was why, most unexpectedly, I was ambushed by what I can only presume were bandits.
For the first time in my life, I had killed. Not a beast, but man. I approached a young woman in her dying throes, her hands pitifully grasping the arrow's shaft, and watched paleness overcome her increasingly still body, like frost on a once lively flower. Her dying breath was deafening; yet still does it sound in my ears, and I suspect to the end of my days. I felt powerless and alone, and wished the ground would open beneath my feet and swallow me. I looked upon my instrument of death, and thought back to the teachings of my masters. One slow step at a time, begrudgingly, I continued on my appointed task.
The wood groaned in protest as I pulled the string taut, its cries reverberating through the barrow's stone walls. Its sigh of relief was soon followed by the loud shattering of the Draugr's skull as the arrow penetrated deep into its hollow shell. It fell to the cold stone, quite inanimate, and an eery silence came over the hall. As I extricated the arrows from its carcass, I looked upon a smooth stone wall on which many symbols were etched. I knew that never in my studies had I seen such things, and yet, I knew their meaning intimately. One set of symbols in particular caught my attention and, upon deciphering it, I was overwhelmed with a dizzying torrent of emotions and visions which I cannot express in words. Fus, it read; force, in our tongue.
Confused, Dragonstone in hand, I set back to Whiterun.
19th of Last Seed, 4E 201
The monks' prophetic words have proven true, for much have I learned this day. Yet, the light that has been shone on the mists of my past has revealed a dimension far greater than I could have ever imagined, like a pebble silently lost to a well's dark maw.
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I had barely adjusted my eyes to the relative gloom of the Jarl's hall when news came of a dragon sighting in the southeast tower. Irileth, the hold's commander, was charged to investigate. Half a dozen we numbered when we reached the ruined tower. One other we found inside. The painful shrieks of the great wyrm came soon after. It came in blindingly fast, surprising a couple of men with its powerful breath, and grasping another in its immense jaws. The unfortunate man convulsed grotesquely against the rows of yellowed teeth before being tossed against the stone tower, his limp body falling to the scorched ground below. In between the screaming, I could hear the whistling of many arrows as I climbed to the top of the tower.
I worked my bow furiously, yet the beast seemed unphased. Finally, it turned its attention to me. I too was surprised by its speed, as it darted impossibly fast within breathing range of my position. The flames quickly enveloped me in an http://cloud.steampowered.com/ugc/631860316854807685/152E79D7AB6F986EE1F0F4C04B95D83B5D11F83D/, but my unwavering focus was such that I did not recoil, and loosed an arrow deep into the beast's gaping maw. Overcome with surprise, and pain, the dragon flipped over on its side and, after taking a few more arrows in its flank, fell lifeless to the cheering men below.
As I approached the ruined wyrm, one of the Moth Priest's prophetic riddles came to me: "The soul of the slain is your own.". A http://cloud.steampowered.com/ugc/631860316854809600/FB505F9C71D2E586D82D6ED2AC7B77331C3FD0A7/ washed over me, and time seemed to stand still as the slain dragon's whole life flashed before my eyes. I came to again among cheers of "Dragonborn!" from the men. At first confused, I then recalled reading bits and pieces about the legendary Dovahkiin in my studies.
It was then I realized why the priests had named me Decimus: I am the tenth Dragonborn the temple has sheltered. And all I have been taught, from the art of the bow, to ancient lore, had a singular purpose: to make me a killer of dragons. I, Decimus, humble monk of the Temple of the Ancestor Moths, am a wielder of the Voice, Dragonborn, Dragonslayer.
As if to reinforce my newfound knowledge, a powerful voice echoed across the Whiterun plains. "Dovahkiin...". I am summoned.
21st of Last Seed, 4E 201
The chilling growl could be heard over the deafening roar of the http://cloud.steampowered.com/ugc/632985979293051932/6D13D54FEAAA1E1D73A602427022783DE59BBDB4/ that battered my tired body. It echoed ominously off the mountain side, prolonging my terror. I proceeded gingerly, expecting evil to emerge at any second from the thick veil of snow that blinded me. The growl sounded again, closer this time. I took a deep breath, coolly readied an arrow, and waited.
Terrifying like an avalanche, the great white troll closed in fast, promising death. The arrow impacted squarely in its chest with tremendous force. I lowered my bow to better inspect the damage. To my horror, the beast shrugged off the mortal wound, barely losing any momentum. I ran as fast as my exhausted legs and the chilling upwind permitted, pausing only long enough to loose another arrow. Still, it kept on coming. My energy nearing depletion, I desperately took to some trees to try and lose the beast, only to find myself at a dead end. I hid as best as I could, but I knew the wind would betray me. The white terror stopped for a moment, confused, sniffed the air, and made for my position. All the muscles in my body tensed, ready to explode into motion. I was trapped.
I felt the fear, and accepted it, rather than let it control me. I jumped out of hiding and came face to face with the great ice troll, my body and mind prepared to withstand any potential blows. The beast was enormous; its club-like arms ended in great sharp claws that nearly reached the ground. It breathed so loudly and forcefully it left marks in the snow. Sensing a kill, it let out a spine-chilling roar and lunged.
The power of the Voice was such that the beast actually took a step back, dazed and confused. I sprinted past it like a hare, hoping to gain some distance before it regained its senses. The backhand hit me squarely in the back, forcing the air out my lungs and causing a searing pain to shoot up my spine, overloading my senses into near unconsciousness. If not for my training in mental and physical endurance, I would have perished right there and then. Still reeling from the blow, I had the presence of mind to reach into a pouch for a poison vial, and dipped an arrow into the murky solution. The projectile hit the beast in the neck, stopping it dead in its tracks as the poison quickly coursed through its veins.
Now aided by the downwind and with a clear path, I gained precious ground. Arrow after arrow pierced the troll's thick hide, who was now clearly in pain. In defiance, the stupid creature stopped to thump its chest, allowing me to gain even more distance. It took a half dozen more arrows before it collapsed, its blood quickly pooling in the snow. I http://cloud.steampowered.com/ugc/631860316900244768/A75159460653DA964E7C471C8DABB676362BF8AB/, bow drawn, half-expecting the creature to spring back up, fully regenerated. Satisfied that it was indeed dead, I salvaged a few arrows, and fell to the ground, fully exhausted. The storm had subsided, revealing the monastery's majestic stonework far off in the distance. Darkness took me.
22nd of Last Seed, 4E 201
Confident my aim was true, I released the grip on the string, sending the arrow whistling through the air, wild off the mark. Frowning, I threw the bow to the ground. "Why do you punish your instrument, when it executed your command faithfully?", inquired the priest. "I am sorry Master. I was certain my aim was proper. The bow must be defective.". Picking up the weapon, the priest replied "The true artist does not blame his brush.". In one fluid, effortless motion, the blind old man sent an arrow ripping through the air like a diving hawk. The apple exploded into a hundred pieces. "And just as the artist commits his vision to the canvas with a single, fluid stroke of his brush, so too must you work your bow. Do not think your aim true. Instead, know the arrow will strike the target. See it in your mind.". "But if I see that I am aiming correctly, is that not knowing the arrow will hit?" I inquired. "Sight is treacherous, young Decimus; the moon does not truly bathe in the still waters of the lake. Knowledge is truth.". He handed the bow back to me with a smile. "Again.".
I awoke from my http://cloud.steampowered.com/ugc/632986848140593284/39BADF9B7DE20F41A050361026528F296CA48756/ to the gloom of the monastery. Not a week had passed since my departure and already I missed the priests dearly. High Hrothgar reminded me so of home. The monks were very welcoming and answered my every question. They taught me more of the Way of the Voice, and were very pleased with my progress. Yet one final trial I must pass before they will accept me as one of their own. I am to retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, the founder of their order, from the ruins of Ustengrav.
I closed my eyes and returned to my meditation. I traveled back to the mountains west of Riverwood, where I made my first kill. I saw the young moribund woman again, her cold pale body seeming to vanish in the white purity of the snow, as if the Earth were recalling its creation. She would never again draw breath, nor marvel upon the rising sun. I thought to shout to my master: "You want truth? This woman is dead by my hand. That is my truth.". Yet, I had killed in my defense. Always have I killed to defend or feed myself. If a man disturbs the waters of a lake and drowns, is the lake at fault? If he should climb a tree and fall from a broken branch, is the tree to blame for his shattered neck? Guilt shifted to anger. Anger changed to forgiveness. A soothing calmness embraced me, like a mother comforting her weeping child.
I got up, collected various tomes from the bookshelves at the monastery, and http://cloud.steampowered.com/ugc/632986848140916406/AF2457978B271430F365AA7C28D8B4797ADEA7AF/ for hours. I studied the rule of Uriel Septim VII, the Oblivion Crisis, and the Blades, among many other topics. A theory began to take shape in my mind, and for every book I read, a new piece of the puzzle revealed itself.
Satisfied, for the moment, I prepared my pack for the road, and began the long journey down the Throat of the World.
24th of Last Seed, 4E 201
There was no sound but for the burning of torches, and no life but the shadows dancing on the stone walls. The air was foul and hot, such that one became aware of every breath. Drawing my bow, I tentatively took a first step and descended deeper into the dark depths of ruined Ustengrav.
Voices came suddenly from the dark; tomb raiders, undoubtedly. Four of them I saw when I arrived at a cavernous hall with large stone pillars. Unsure if they were hostile, I made my presence known, and was repaid with shouts and arrows. The archer I quickly felled with an arrow to the throat, and another soon after. The remaining pair closed in fast, axes swinging, but I knew I could stop them before they reached me. Or so I thought.
The war-hammer brushed the tip of my nose as I instinctively jerked back out of its reach at the last possible moment. Without much time to reflect on what had happened, I shouted the unexpected opponent away and ran back out. The raiders' shouts chased me relentlessly up the narrow, winding passage until I found myself back at the entrance. With no time to open the stone doors, I trained my bow on the passage behind me and took a deep breath. I would need to be quick.
Once they had me in sight, the three raiders tripped over each other to see who would be the one to cave my head in. Their excitement was replaced with rage when an arrow struck one in the eye. They were at striking distance when one other fell, clutching the shaft protruding from his chest. The last remaining raider raised his axe and bared ruined teeth framed by a wicked smile. I responded by bashing him in the face with my bow, a metal spike cutting a grotesque gash in his cheek. Once I gained some distance, I knew it was all over for him.
Past the hall with the large pillars, behind which one of the raiders had likely been hiding, another passage led further down into a deeper blackness. The end of the tunnel expanded into a colossal and complex cavern, its outer walls barely visible in the gloom. It had multiple levels, and a stone overpass connecting the outer ends. Trees rose from the darkness below on either sides, and on the right water gushed out thunderously from a large hole in the rock.
I found my way to the deepest level, where the air suddenly grew fouler with the stench of the undead. An arrow whistled past me, missing my chest by mere inches. The skeleton archer took aim again, but an arrow was already well on its way towards its skull. Two more skeletons emerged from the gloom and fired their bows, only to be summarily destroyed.
After felling several Draugr in the maze-like corridors of the deepest dungeon, I came upon three stones jutting from the stone floor. Closer inspection revealed that they each controlled one of three gates. I knew then that this had been designed as a test, and that only a wielder of the Voice could hope to pass it. Indeed, the whole dungeon was a test, as further ahead the floor was covered in traps, and massive spiders hung from the darkness above.
At last I reached the altar of Jurgen Windcaller. Yet on the pedestal I did not find a horn, but a quickly scribbled note. This surprised me. Who was it that was so desperate to speak to me, and how did they know I am Dragonborn? More importantly, how did they traverse the ruins unless they too are Dragonborn? Who else but a Greybeard would know so much about us?
I thought back to my studies at High Hrothgar. Could it be?
31st of Last Seed, 4E 201
The Blades were an elite group of former dragonslayers trained to protect their Dovahkiin Emperor, to whom they were fiercely loyal. When Uriel Septim VII was assassinated, and his son sacrificed himself, the Septim line was broken and the group was left without a Dragonborn Emperor to protect. They returned to their old ways as dragonslayers, until they were persecuted by the Thalmor two hundred years later, and thought to have become extinct. Some, however, survived.
As I suspected, the person that left the note in Ustengrav is indeed a Blade, in hiding from the Thalmor. Who else in Skyrim could have so much knowledge of the Dragonborn, other than the Greybeards themselves? Delphine is her name, and she maintains the guise of waitress at the Sleeping Giant Inn in Riverwood.
Because she did not elude capture by the Thalmor for over thirty years by being careless, she wanted me to prove I was truly Dragonborn. She also informed me that the reason dragons have reemerged is because Alduin, the dragon that destroyed Helgen, is ressurecting them at their ancient mounds, the locations of which are detailed in the Dragonstone I recovered, and which she had gained access to.
Together we travelled to one of those mounds, in Kynesgrove, where we witnessed a ressurection firsthand. We destroyed the dragon and, as had already happened outside Whiterun, I absorbed its soul. This put Delphine at ease.
She suspects that the Thalmor were behind Ulfric's rescue at Helgen, because the Stormcloaks are a thorn on the Imperial Legion's side and thus useful to them. But how could even the Thalmor command such a powerful creature? To discover the truth, Delphine needs me to infiltrate the Thalmor embassy in Skyrim. The easiest way to do this is to join one of their regular parties, as a guest, and attempt to gain entrance to the backrooms with the aid of a Bosmer insider.
4th of Heartfire, 4E 201
All of Skyrim's most powerful and influential families were represented. The party hall was rife with ostentation, cynicism and arrogance under the guise of politeness and diplomacy. It was sickening to witness how easily the scale of integrity is swayed by the weight of a coin purse. This place was antithetical to all I had been taught, and I felt smothered by it all, the growing disgust clearly visible on my face. Malborn, the Bosmer insider, pulled me to the side to prevent me blowing my cover, and led me through a backdoor. I grabbed my bow which he had managed to smuggle inside, and braved deeper into the complex. I did not expect the level of resistance I found inside.
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"To marvel at spring's renewal, one must first brave winter's chill. I bring you here today, Decimus, that you may learn that only through embracing danger may you achieve perfection in your art.". The blind priest motioned me inside the cave. "What will I find?" I inquired. "Danger." replied the inscrutable priest. His face betrayed a hint of concern, but I could not tell if it was genuine or feigned. Readying my bow, I disappeared into the darkness below. Behind me faint words resonated in the rock: "I shall be waiting for you here.".
The cave was cold and uninviting. The many stalagmites and stalactites were like sharp teeth in a dark maw, and indeed as I journeyed deeper I felt as if I were being swallowed by the darkness. Suddenly, from the gloom a bolt of fire shot towards me. I vaguely saw the http://cloud.steampowered.com/ugc/632986848222309046/61E3BC358A1669B43E1871C86F1B794EA5625200/'s silhouette in the distance and couldn't help but laugh. Was this the danger I was to face? I quickly pulled the bowstring taut and loosed an arrow which pierced the creature's abdomen. It fell to the cold rock with a shriek.
As I ventured further through the cave's numerous passages, I came across many other such creatures. They were little more than a nuisance but, not wanting to disobey my master, I explored further. I came upon a sump, and as there seemed to be no way around it, I took a deep breath and plunged into the cold murky waters. The passage was long and winding, and there seemed to be no end in sight. I was about to turn back when I finally saw light up ahead. I swam as fast as I could, but my lungs began to burn, and my arms were quickly tiring. I finally emerged from the water and gasped desperately for air. The relief was shortlived, as suddenly my whole vision was enveloped in fire.
Blinded by flames that were striking me seemingly from many directions, my arrows hit naught but rock. I could hear the impish shrieks, but the echoes deceived me. A sudden pain shot across my face as one of the imps swung its razor-sharp claws. Fear took hold of me, and I felt consciousness slipping away.
"Sight is treacherous. Knowledge is truth." I recalled my master saying. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and focused. It was then I felt it. I could not see, nor hear, nor smell the imps, yet I knew intimately and precisely where they were. I could not explain it, but it was as if I willed the truth of their positions be known to me. I had experienced true sight.
I emerged from the mouth of the cave covered in blood, and completely exhausted. The old priest was visibly pleased: "Those wounds will http://cloud.steampowered.com/ugc/632986848140621936/EE57053703C0EBD147DBE29132E13F6B9DE3DA2C/, but what you have learned today will endure.". "Master, how do you know what I have learned?" I inquired, with some effort. He looked profoundly at me with erudite eyes, then finally chuckled disarmingly. I was smiling.
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Three Altmer soldiers I found, wearing fine, supple elven armor. They attacked me on sight, working in a coordinated fashion. One soldier blinded me up close with flames, while the others pelted me with arrows and magic. I closed my eyes and focused. Their look of horror was absolute as arrow after arrow struck their exquisite armor with staggering force and pinpoint precision. My bow worked furiously, the twang of the string sounding as a single, continuous note, like a harp of death. Finally, I called upon the Thu'um to blast the closest one away as he unsheathed his sword. His face was contorted with a mix of terror and confusion when he fell to his knees, his body pierced by many arrows. The battle had also taken a heavy toll on my body. I willed some of my wounds shut, and spread healing salve over the burns. Ignoring the pain, I continued searching the manor for clues.
Many a Thalmor soldier perished that day. I felt like I was avenging the unwilling pawns sacrificed in their schemes. I took no joy in killing them, but came close when I found a torture room filled with tools of agony. A prisoner was being held there. What he told me cleared the Thalmor of Delphine's suspicions. He also told me they were desperately seeking Esbern, another surviving Blade, and Loremaster of his order, for his deep knowledge of dragonlore.
If not the Thalmor, then who or what is behind all this?
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