A Telboth Huntsman's Journal

(( This is my first attempt at writing a bit of Apocrypha and, quite frankly, this is gonna be rather DARK considering what the subject is about. This is just a little warning before you go ahead and begin reading - hopefully, though, you enjoy this writing and how I think the Telboth's thoughts, hunting methods and abilities play out. ))

A worn, unmarked book rests against one of the large trees of Valenwood - the vast forest around you blocking out much of the sunlight. A strange sight but one that sparks curiosity - surely a glimpse at its content wouldn't hurt. You pick the book up and open it to the first page...

12 Last Seed, 4E 195

How many years has it been since I last recorded anything? I've had no need to write any of my thoughts down since the day I was reborn into this state of existence. I still remember the embrace... my evening hunting session, following the bloodtrail of the large, wounded deer I was stalking at the time, only to find myself facing the one who would inadvertently turn me. It managed to wound me with fangs and a dagger, yet it died by my arrows and axe, tainted blood staining me as I ensured it was gone. Oh how little I knew that day. The creature's blood would soon become my own - yet while I feared it at first, now.... I embrace the change.

But I mustn't ramble about my weaker days. The hunt starts anew, and I'm where I need to be...

13 Last Seed, 4E 195

Family. Always accepting of one another. Rarely suspicious of their youngest members. They never see it coming...

Several hours earlier, I found my chosen prey - a Bosmer lass named Serithel, no older than twelve. Naive and innocent, she listened to the advice of a new friend to "meet the wise old man of the woods". To think, her parents never warned her of the Telboth - though their folly is the hunter's gain.

The girl's blood was refreshing to the hunger within - every drop would be mine, and with each comes both relief and something else. Memories flash before the eyes of the mind, memories not of my own. And with these memories comes a change.

The change is always exhilarating. I was not the most spry or youthful of huntsmen before I turned, but Molag Bal's gift gives me the strength that my prime lacked. And as Telboth, I could wear the masque of youth of another, if only for a time. The more I fed and absorbed from the child, the more my form would change - pallor fades as the color of life returns, flesh twists and changes as I become like the prey and the prey is left a husk. Soon, "young Serithel" returns home, but not before disposing of my leftovers.

"Mama" and "Papa" were rather worried, but their concerns would be relieved. "I'm sorry! I was playing a game in the woods with my friend!" The veil of innocence can hide a dark reality. That is what I have learned from the past sixty years of this new existence.

The hunt requires patience. Wait for the time to strike.

14 Last Seed, 4E 195

Se- My family fails to think about yesterday. They put far too much trust in me. It almost seems too easy. Vaenoth, no, that's not right... Papa tried to teach me how to use a bow in the morning - such an offer is an insult to me. I've emptied quivers into timber mammoths when he was crawling around like a helpless hoarvor larvae. But a hunter must not reveal themselves too soon - avoid detection and blend in. Even if it demeans one's true abilities.

Celethriah and Norafin... Mama and Big Brother - by the gods, I'm not used to writing in a hand that isn't my own - had left for Silvenar, southwest of the-OUR home to gather supplies, food, and what-have-you, leaving me with Papa. Thankfully, the tree branches that surrounded us blocked a large portion of sunlight - a good location for my sake, though my pride still burned as I feigned ignorance of how to properly nock an arrow...

The memories I took help me adjust and hide in plain sight. Just as she did, I'm able to talk like her. To act and move as she did. Though it's not forever... just like a mortal's life, it ends eventually, but the memories are mine to keep.

Patience and camouflage - two of a hunter's most important tools when stalking their prey. An arrow that isn't seen always makes its mark.

17 Last Seed, 4E 195

This entry of mine will have to be shorter than the last, unfortunately. I'v blended in rather well, but it seems Mama caught me writing in you, my dear journal.

Papa took me and Big Brother out to hunt for a fresh meal - a large deer. Such memories the sight of that large buck bring to mind... Brother barely managed to hit the deer's hind leg, while my own managed to pierce through the lungs. A clean, well-aimed shot. Papa was surprised, but Big Brother was clearly jealous. He asked how I managed to get such a shot. "I guess I'm just a better hunter than you are, Big Brother." My response had Papa laugh while Brother's pride was wounded worse than our kill was. Odd, because I answered sincerely - he could barely draw a bowstring with enough force and lacked proper aim. He's a failure of a hunter.

Otherwise, today was uneventful. The moons are so beautiful when full - even when hidden by the trees of our homeland, their light is always a breathtaking sight. It brings the most out of one's handiwork.

The time's almost here...

20 Last Seed, 4E 195

The arrow finally flew.

Last night, that imbecile Vaenoth decided to have a nighttime hunting trip, and it would become his last. The boy and his mother were resting while I was still awake. A predator has no need for sleep, leave that to his prey. We had a couple candles still lit for that fool of a man when he returned. It helped the two see just who held the axe that pierced through their flesh.

The look of terror and shock, the screams of pain, the look in their eyes as their own cowardice - their true selves - was revealed to me, just as my nature was revealed to them. "S-S-Serithel, w-what are you doing?!" Mommy dearest's last words as the excuse of an archer was put out of his misery. She would join him shortly after as I made my preparations.

The novice hunter returned hours later, hoping to find his loved ones sleeping. He did not expect to find his son and beloved in pieces, their blood painting their home... nor the sight of his "daughter" aiming an arrow for his head.

I've been feeling the hunger slowly return. Time to start a new hunt.

22 Last Seed, 4E 195

It seems Serithel found a new friend.

The sound of rustling branches alert you as the book drops from your hands. After looking around, you find there's nothing nearby and reach to grab the fallen journal - only to find it's no longer at your feet...