Diary of a Dremora Prince
16 Sun's Height. 3E 427
Here I am. Lost and alone in a world which was not meant for me. I was once a great and powerful Dremora Prince, but now I walk in exile amongst these pathetic creatures. I have decided to keep a record of my thoughts for I am mortal now and that means that I can die. Perhaps somehow something of intelligence will find these words and learn from them, to understand. And perhaps writing them will help me to understand as well.
It has been days since I was banished, and this land confuses me. In a world where filthy cats and treacherous lizards may walk with men, I cannot. I must wrap myself in rags and disguise myself just to trade for supplies with these things. If only I had my axe and the strength again to wield it. I am so weak, and so new to mortality... what chance have I in this world?
23 Sun's Height. 3E 427
It has been over a week that I have been amongst these miserable beings now, and I find my mind constantly dwelling on my banishment. This life, with its pain and its loneliness and its fear and its hostility... all this just for one small failure? But of course not, it is not the failure that led to this. We die a thousand deaths and we return anew, but never again shall my Animus reach Oblivion. That door is locked to me now, and I must find a place in this world where I may survive. If such a place exists.
25 Sun's Height. 3E 427
I am alive! I had never appreciated life fully until today. My heart still pounds, and my wounds are still sore, but I am alive. It was a close thing, and had I died there would be no rebirth for me. Had I been a normal Dremora, I likely would not have struggled so desperately to live. I do not call this a bright side, but I see now that all is not darkness.
I was hunting in the forest and a man attacked me, a petty man. Ha, had I been at my full strength then I would be picking my teeth with his bones right now. He was a slave, fleeing his masters, and striking out against any who stood in the way of his escape. He tore my cloak, and his pursuers saw me. They chased me, but I evaded them, all but one. I didn't even hear him, the sneaky filth, he must have been very careful; or using magic. But I saw him, and I managed to block his attack, barely. I tried to run, but he was fast; and I feared that I would only attract the attention of his companions should I flee. So we fought. And I won. My first taste of death, real death, and I managed to spit it away and instead swallow his. I pray that I am always so lucky. Such an irony... me, praying. Who would I pray to?
29 Sun's Height. 3E 427
I had a dream last night. I had heard of them, but to actually experience one... it was... strange. A woman spoke to me. She told me that she would watch me and that I had a purpose. She said I was chosen. I do not understand the meaning of the dream, if there was one, but if someone is watching over me, keeping me safe; then I am truly... grateful? A word I never expected to use. But this is a different world, I must try to fit into it as best I can.
1 Last Seed
I fear I am not safe here. I moved to a new village, but even here there is talk. I never knew these men were so communicative. It's amazing that a species so primitive and foolish would think up ways to send messages between each other over distance.
They say that people found the body of a hunter, and his companions have told of the Dremora they pursued. I overheard the talk in the village, and now I dare not try to trade the fruits of my hunts. It seems my meals will consist of rats for some time, unless perhaps I can find a better hunting ground. And all these people so near... so tempting... but I cannot risk.
4 Last Seed. 3E 427
Where can I go? No matter how far I run, and I cannot run far, there is talk of a wild Dremora. They say I prey on the villages and feast on human flesh! They say I steal children! They have me to blame for all their pain, but none even think of mine. I am Dremora, so I am evil. I curse my face and I curse my race. They misjudge me as we misjudge them. These people... they are not how we thought. As much as they hate me, as much as I hate them, I find myself drawn to them. I enjoy watching them, listening; learning. And this is how I know I must leave. But to where? I cannot outrun the gossip. What am I to do?
7 Last Seed. 3E 427
Can it really be? I slept last night in a bed, a proper bed. I ate a fine meal, compared to my recent meals anyway. And I have the company of one who enjoys listening to my tales and telling me his. He is a mage, from the Telvanni, a human; so strange to talk to a human. He came here seeking references to an ancient artefact, the Flask of Lillandril. But instead he found me, by chance. I found some Daedra ruins, and I hunted the scamps hiding there. As I ate I heard his cries, he was hurt; the levitation spell he had used to explore had been broken when a Winged Twilight attacked him. And although he killed it, he broke his legs in the fall. I carried him to the village, and he invited me to stay in his hut. I told him of my exile, of how I was sent by Mehrunes Dagon with my brethren to kill a traitor; a scamp who had abandoned the Daedra and became a trader amongst men. We would have killed him, but for the Orc hunters. They found us and during the battle, several of the Orcs sneaked the scamp away to safety. Mehrunes Dagon was displeased, and I was blamed for the failure. My pride prevented me from just killing the scamp, instead I decided we should capture it first, to gloat over and to torture it.
All through my tale, the Telvanni listened in silence, but after he had many questions. Especially when I told him of my dream, he believes it could be significant somehow, but I am not sure. But then again here I am, safe and in good company; less than a week after the dream told me I was being watched over.
15 Last Seed. 3E 427
Again my pride defeats me. I believed I was safe, I believed I could be happy. That I could live amongst men. The Telvanni is dead, and I sit in chains on a prison ship. The hunters who had chased me had somehow followed my trail. Hearing of a mysterious stranger, covered in rags, who had helped a Telvanni, they came to the hut. They killed him, and they called upon the villagers. They said I had killed him and that I would kill them all. It is only the Telvanni's apprentice who saved my life. He insisted that there should be a trial, and when I was judged, he insisted I be made a prisoner instead of being executed. He knows, I believe, that I did not kill his master; and I am thankful that he did all he could to aid me. It seems that not all these men are so... so like us, blind and arrogant. But now what shall my life be? A prisoner? A slave? A PET? How I hate the thought...