Regine Journal Entry 3

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The bandits at Silent Moons Camp are no match for my growing power. I dispatch them rather easily. New forms of magic arise within me and I use it to take them down. I’m sneaky, quiet, and bloodthirsty. Somehow I can even will myself to be unseen. My mother used to say powerful mages could bend light and become invisible. Somehow I can do this. It is intoxicating. Enrapturing! 

I leave the broken and battered and drained bodies behind and head for a walled city. I believe the community is Whiterun, the most well-known location in all of Skyrim. This is most likely because of it’s central location within the province. The mild weather and wide-open landscape is also a deciding factor. 

Whiterun reminds me of home. I grew up in Northpoint. My father fished the Etheric Ocean and my mother was a trader (selling my father’s catch most of the time). Seven years ago they died at the hands of some thugs from Evermore. The bandits were hired by a rival fisherman. They stole everything not fastened down and torched the rest, including my parents. Only their teeth remained after the fire finally snuffed out. After that, I left. Not knowing where I was going, but wherever it was would be okay as long as it was a long way away. 

Two guards stand on either side of the large doors. Their blood calls to me but I resist. I wonder if my control is accidental from recent feedings or if I can manage my thirst more now? They do not speak or stop me, and I’m allowed to enter unmolested. 

Inside, a man and woman are having a heated discussion, and although I’m not close to them, I can hear each word. I approach just as the conversation ends. The man in Imperial armor asks me something random. His heartbeat is all I can clearly make out. It’s powerful and steady. He is a strong human. I answer his question without ever hearing it. My reply pleases him. I wonder if he can feel that I now have control. I watch as he walks away. 

There are more heartbeats. All around me. Within me. The hunger begins to grow. A small bunkhouse to my left has three guards within. I don’t know how I feel this. I enter and feed on the two sleeping men. A third man sits, he’s the watchman. I need him. Want him. Want, want, want!

He suddenly stands, dazed, entranced. I take the risk and feed while he is unaware. Then, as starkly as he stood and offered himself to me, he sits back in his chair—none the wiser. 

I leave and head directly to the guardhouse. I seem to know exactly where I’m headed. An unseen power guiding me along the cobblestone to where more guards slumber. I’m getting bolder.


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