Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Fourth Entry

Beetles really aren't so bad after all. It certainly beats that puddle of goop they pass off as dinner.

Saturday, November 5, 2011

Third Entry

Looking out the cell window, I saw a mudcrab today.

Disgusting creatures.

While traveling here, I had rather hoped that the harsh climate of Skyrim would prove inhospitable to their kind. Alas, it seems that no such climate exists. Even the depths of Oblivion are likely plagued with mudcrabs.

Friday, November 4, 2011

Second Entry

I almost ate a beetle.

The thing was very slow and plodding, extremely easy to catch, and I've not had anything solid in a few days. The temptation vanished when I spent a few seconds watching it's underside, it's hairy legs trundling uselessly through the air in grotesque waves.

I pitched it out the cell window.

Thursday, November 3, 2011

First entry on a second stitched in page

The water here is nearly rancid. The 'food' is some sort of lumpy, mashed up paste with no substance.

When I asked the guard what it was supposed to be, he laughed and referred to it as a 'potion of restore fatigue.' Hilarious.

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

A dirt besotted page stitched into the front with deft hands

I find myself with a few pages of dirty paper, two sticks of what I can only hope are charcoal of some sort, and an overabundance of time; the last item might soon be rectified in a rather permanent manner.

I  thought my home was a misery. "You'll become a true master of the school of Destruction," Father insisted... I never had any real talent for it. Certainly, I can conjure and throw a bit of fire have I a mind to; in my household, that sort of talent is roughly on par with the ability to breathe without choking on your own spit.

I want to create art. The field of Illusion was suggested of course. No one seemed to understand that I wanted to create something more ... solid. Something with a permanence that will persist beyond the continued expenditure of magica, beyond perhaps my own lifespan.

With a minor application of stealth and misdirection, I absconded with father's purse and used it's contents to fund my trip away from Evermor. If I could see the world, I thought, perhaps I would find the inspiration to create my art. Should funds run low, why, I had all ready proven I was able to procure coin from those less deserving, hadn't I?

As it turned out, the folk of Skyrim are rather more watchful of their valuables than the apathetic serving staff of a large Breton manse. So here I sit.

They tell me that I'll only need to deal with this cell for nine more days. I do not think they are planning to release me.