A friend once told me that I should writ a journal about my experiences of being a werewolf. She was the one person I had confided my curse with. Now she is gone. But her memory lasted and here I am… writing this journal.
I think I’ll start by writing who I am.
My name is Fawn, or that was the name I was given, Fawn of Bleaker. I don’t know my true name; I was adopted by a family from a small town in Cyrodiil named Bleaker. They told me that they had found me on the road, huddled in my mother’s corpse’s arms. They suspected raiders or bandits ransacked them. Who knows? But this family took care of me. Taught me how to fend for myself.
Bleaker didn’t last long though. During my 19th year in Bleaker, the town was massacred by a pack of werewolves on a double full moon.
Per chance, once again, I was the only one who survived the ordeal. But this time, I hadn’t survived unscathed. I was bitten by one of them. And now the Beast’s Blood runs through my veins and I am victim, every night to the ordeals of Lycanthropy. That was four years ago.
Two nights ago it was a full moon, a double. A rare occasion but it had happened. In my bloodlust, which I cannot remember much of except… well… the lust for blood, I had crossed the border and woke up (or recovered) to find myself in the middle of a conflict between the Empire and the local Skyrim rebels, the Stormcloaks. And got put in bindings and was sent on a cart to the chopping block. I wasn’t distressed. I had extended the life expectancy of most werewolves. I had lasted for four years!
A horse thief had also gotten in the fray and was quite distraught. Divines, I wanted him to shut up. Luckily he got shot when trying to escape.
At the chopping block one man came before me, eager to go to his death. I may not have been upset about the end of my life but I sure wasn’t eager.
It is odd. Ever since I have seen my whole village massacred I feel little remorse for the death of others. I am not sure if it is the trauma that has made me lose my empathy, or it is the Beast Blood. But nothing but a smirk crossed my face when the Stormcloak got his head lopped off. Served him right for giving such an attitude.
My turn was quite life changing for most of Helgen I think. Or life ending, depending on your point of view.
To put it in lay mans terms. A bloody big dragon landed on the tower facing me and made fire rain from the sky setting the town onto the wheels of chaos. One double edged though cut my mind: Well that’s my luck. I guess I thought, I had escaped death but now a bloody dragon was destroying the town.
The most exciting chase I have had since the vigilants of Stendarr were after me took place. Running up towers, jumping from building to building, dodging the dragon’s fiery breath. Oh! The excitement!
Then running through a fortress littered with imperials murdering them by the dozen! It couldn’t have gotten better! Except that I was stuck with an axe for a long time. I was praying for a bow and by Nocturnal’s luck, one of the imperials had one of their military bows! This is when I started to shine. Screw axes; give me a bow and some arrows any day of the year!
Ralof was trying to keep up with me but all I wanted to do was get rid of the sad fucker. He was trying to get me to speak to his aunt and join the Stormcloaks. Like hell I would do that? I am no supporter of the Empire, but I am in no mood to go to war. Finally I had outrun him and gotten to a small town that had a sign saying Riverwood.
I decided to get some supplies but found I had barely a coin to spend: enough for a tinderbox and a water skin.
As I stepped outside I saw the sun setting. I ran out of town as not to hurt anyone. And was deep into the forest bordering the mountain range as I turned.
It is indescribable the wretched pain of turning, feeling your bones grow, ripping your skin to its limits. Your teeth elongating as well as your mouth. The nails ripping out of your hands, soon to be claws.
After I had come back to my sense I found myself on a plateau with three dead bandits surrounding me. My imperial armor that I had on, was shredded. And it was freezing. I took a bandits fur armor and another’s wolf fur cloak. I followed the path of blood soaked snow and terrifying claw prints down the mountain to a small watchtower. I turned around and realized I had run up to what Ralof had called Bleak Falls Barrows. I was just glad no innocents were murdered.
I returned to Riverwood very early in the morning about 5 in the morning and rented a room, and here I am writing because sleep won’t come to me.
My problem now is I have nowhere to go. That has never been a problem before because I have always been on the run. I guess it is because I feel like I have a new start, in this new land. Nobody knows me, as far as I know, the Vigil isn’t in these lands. I might just be able to start anew. Tomorrow (or actually today) I think I might, for the first time in three years acquaint myself with some local townspeople.
I hope you enjoyed, comments would be appreciated.
Next chapter
Comments