Journal of a Lost Soul

3 years ago, a colleague of mine named Pierre Gestor vanished under mysterious circumstances. He left no clue as to why he had left. No-one ever found a corpse. It was completely unknown what had happened to him. He resurfaced a month ago, refused to give an explanation as to where he had been. He took his own life a few days ago. In his will, he left me a small, rather badly damaged journal - signs of burns, some pages missing. It came with a note, that said simply: "Make of this what you will. Don't make the same mistakes as I did." I have enclosed a transcript of the journal, as the journal itself may be too fragile to transport. Decide it's authenticity for yourself. - Mevos Varyn, 3rd of Evening Star, 4E 195

2nd of Rain's Hand, 4E 168.

Have finally arrived. The Imperial City. The crown jewel of the Empire. I feel good of my prospects. Arms and armor are always in need, in a city as.. busy as this. Rumors of war reach my ears. War with the elves, whatever that means.

21st of Sun's Height, 4E 168.

I was hoping Cyrodil would be more hospitable than Morrowind, but people keep looking at me... like they're sizing me up for a noose. I've heard people talking of me behind my back, saying I'm a Thalmor spy. Just because I'm a Boiche, that makes me a Dominion supporter. Still waiting for someone to call me outlander.

19th of Evening Star, 4E 170.

Times are tough. City guard are forever at my door, asking questions. I've heard stories - the Dominion are gaining power by the day. They control the West coast of Tamriel. War no longer feels a possibility - it is a certainty. I don't know where that leaves us. Where it leaves me. I have to leave the city. But how do I do that without it looking like I'm running off to join the Dominion?

30th of Frostfall, 4E 171.

War has started. City's in chaos. Have to hide out. Enough food to last a while. Please, don't let me die by the hand of a lynch mob, Arkay.

I can't remember the date anymore, 4E 174.

The Thalmor are here. They're in the streets. A mage is strolling through the street with a big bag of black gems, killing people left and right. He's doing something to them, casting some sort of spell Oh gods. He's soul trapping them. I don't think he's seen me. I'll have to stop writing no

????, 4E? ???.

I don't know where I am. One moment a Thalmor battlemage is strolling towards me. Then I'm falling. Now I'm here. But what's here? The sky is black. A vortex replaces the sun. The ground is scorched. I see towers in the distance, massive structures. But not a living soul. I am alone, as far as I can see. At least I still have my journal. You can keep me company, give me something to do. I think this might be Coldharbour. I've heard stories of Coldharbour. I read about it. A black sky, and great desolate buildings, and enslaved souls as far as the eye can see. What? I've read "The Doors of Oblivion." But I would have expected this place to be full of Molag Bal's servants. Daedra, and the like. It's just... empty.

???? ????? ????.

I've made a friend. As it turns out, this place isn't empty. For one thing, I met a Breton named Morven. Nice fellow. A trader from High Rock. Explained that, while it wasn't Coldharbour, it is a plane of Oblivion. When I asked him which one, he looked at me kind of funny - like he felt sorry for me - and said nevermind. I've met a few other people. But they're not much for conversation. Most people here... it's like their minds are rotting, or something. They just beg me to leave. Leave, or kill them. At least some of the people here still know who they are. Then there are the... well, I don't know what to call them. They look like skeletons, but nastier. Some are armored, some naked. Black bones. Some of them don't actually have legs, they just float around on a black cloud. And the others... I only ever saw one of them. Massive thing, wearing armor that looks like it's made of bone. Huge war-axe on it's back. It ignored me, though. Morven called it a guard. Guard of what? He said he didn't know. I think I saw a cliff-racer. Strange, but then, this is a strange place. It was flying pretty high, so I couldn't get a good look at it. I just saw wings and a tail.

???.

There are strange fungus growing everywhere. I thought to myself that maybe I should eat one, keep my strength up, but then I realized that I hadn't eaten it days. Or drank. And wasn't hungry, or thirsty. Then it hit me. I'm dead, aren't I? That's what I said. That mage soul trapped me. I said it to Morven. I'm dead, aren't I? He laughed. Said he'd been waiting for me to figure it out. He said that some of the residents here have been here for hundreds, maybe thousands of years, and still haven't figured out that they're dead. I felt kind of proud - at least I was quick to figure it out. But then again, how long have I been here? Apparently, this place is called the Soul Cairn. Trapped souls go here. It's run by some beings called the Ideal Masters. I asked if I could talk to them to make a complaint about the decor. Morven laughed, said that no-one talks to the Masters. He doesn't even know if they can be talked to. Or if they can talk back. Saw the cliff-racer again today. It keeps circling over this massive fortress, at the northern border of our little sliver of Cairn. I wondered to myself, what is it doing? What's so interesting about that one building?

?????.

I've done some more exploring. Here and there, there are towers with what look like massive soul gems floating overhead. Morven warned me to avoid them, said they'd "eat away at me 'til there was nothing left". I decided to take his advice.

????.

While I was walking along the border, I found what looked like a squat black temple. I went to enter it, and Morven bolted up at me, crying at me to get away from it. I was shocked - he'd never left his cart before. I'd never seen him more than a couple of paces away from the wall. He wouldn't tell me what he was afraid of. Just.. looked at the place like death itself lived there. We're souls. What is there to be afraid of?

??????.

So lonely. Haven't seen Morven for a while. I've just... wandered. This place is just so empty. So... so cold. I don't know how I've been able to keep going for so long. The suffering... the suffering of being alone. I'm... sometimes I don't make any sense. I wonder did the Dominion win the war? Does the Imperial City still stand? Does Cyrodil? Or did the Thalmor burn the whole province down? Have the bastards taken all of Tamriel?

????

I found a book today, in my travels. Finally, some new reading material. Should help take my mind off of the loneliness. It's called the Book of Life and Service. Talks about Wrathmen and Bonemen and Mistmen, how blessed they all are. I'm guessing from the names that Wrath, Mist and Bonemen are the skeleton things that infest this place like skeevers in a meadery. That vortex, in the sky... it makes me feel like I'm being watched.

?????.

That's not a cliff-racer.

?????.

Nothing ever changes in this place. I tried attacking a Boneman, just to see what would happen. I thought that maybe, maybe I'm a ghost. Maybe I can still touch things. Well, I can pick up a book, but I can't punch a skeleton. My fist passed through it like it wasn't even there. the Boneman looked at me once, made a weird clicking noise, then went back to what it was doing. And still... I still feel like I'm being watched. Eyes on the back of my neck.

???????.

The sky.. it feels like I'm being watched. I CAN'T STAND IT ANYMORE!

?????.

How did I never hear the screaming before? It's deafening! How did I ignore it!! The eyes! Gods, why have you forsaken me?! STOP LOOKING AT ME!!

?????.

Oh gods. Morven was right. How did I not see it before? He was right all along. I should have never gone near that place. How did I not see it? He's watching us.

????.

Please. I'll do anything. Just stop the screaming.

?????.

Please. Please, Masters. End this suffering. I beg of you. I shall serve you, completely and totally. Just let the screaming stop...

????????.

The Ranks of the Blessed.

Blessed are the Bonemen, for they serve without self in spirit forever. Blessed are the Mistmen, for they blend in the glory of the transcendent spirit. Blessed are the Wrathmen, for they render their rage unto the ages.

Blessed are the Masters, for they bridge the past and span the future.

The Litany of Service.

The Boneman's Oath. We die. We pray. To live. We serve.

The Master's Voice You swore. To Serve. Your Lord.

???.

What day is it? What year? What era? Is there still a world left to miss? Sshhh. I can't talk now. He's watching me. Masters, the screams...

???.

The screams pierce my mind. I can't take it anymore. No more. Just... no more.

???.

I see now. The crystals. Eat away at me until there's nothing left... I see now. I'm not a soul. I'm food. I shall serve my masters!!