As you are all doubtless aware, Beth have announced Skyrim (yay!).

I'm celebrating with a... you guessed it... Skyrim Diary!

Actually it starts a fair time before the events of Skyrim, because I want to have some interesting things in place and established before my character(s) arrive there on 11-11-11.

Who will make a return?

Victoria. Alexander. House Indoril.

... the doubtless exciting list goes on.

Link

Can I avoid the same inactivity death that I eventually inflicted upon Oblivion Diary? Hopefully.

An update:

I don't know if anyone still checks up on this site (there hasn't really been anything to check up on...), but I thought that seems as I'm writing again, I should provide an update. Not writing here unfortunately, if that is what you were hoping. You can find my new project here

It's my first ever web page and I'm writing it using notepad, so expect 'functional' rather than beautiful. Also, don't be surprised if even chapter 1 is still clearly under construction when you visit. Give it a look and see what you think - I'd appreciate any feedback either as a comment to this post, or via e-mail at the above site.

Sorry if this wasn't the news you'd been hoping for, and thanks for checking back.

-Victoria

p.s. - That isn't to say Oblivion Diary will never return, its situation remains the same as it has for the past 10 or so months - although the fact I'm writing again might be an encouraging sign.

Oblivion Diary Closed Until Further Notice:

I regret to announce that I cannot forsee any real likelihood of Oblivion Diary continuing in the short term due to my own personal commitments. I feel this especially unfortunate as I had already planned (in some detail) the paths the story would take. Rather than 'end' this story in a single (likely brutal) entry, which would be both anti-climactic and erode the entire narrative, I will simply leave Oblivion Diary until such time as I can give it the effort that it requires. I am sorry for the rather scattered updating schedule (and long gaps) prior to now - however it is now evident that I cannot continue developing the plot, short of turning it into some kind of 'stop-start' travesty.

Given the chance, I will continue Oblivion Diary at a later date, as I believe the story and characters have potential, and I enjoyed writing it. However I do not believe I will have the time in the coming months to write the time consuming entries required - or if I did so, the quality would be compromised through a lack of time. The fact that I have yet to play Oblivion (the game) to any extent greater than that told here (yes, this really is the entirity) has also served as a hinderance - in the little time I have had available to play, the game has (for now) failed to maintain my attention. While this latter point may change once I have hardware capable of running it effectively (read, once the next generation of high end GPU's are released), there is little likelihood of me having an opportunity to apply myself to Oblivion Diary in the coming months.

I would like to thank those who have followed Oblivion Diary, and especially those that have provided feedback. Farewell.

-Victoria

31 - Alexander - Journeyman:

The journey to Anvil was indeed long, although I stopped at the Imperial City on the way, hoping to talk again with Brother Andrew. Unfortunately the temple was deserted, and none would admit to know anyone by his name. I left slightly bemused, but with nothing else to occupy me in the city I simply continued onwards.

The roads cannot be considered safe - certainly for simple citizens - for I suffered from several bandit attacks en route. Fortunately none seemed particularly capable at combat, and I am left with the feeling that perhaps the residents of Cyrodiil (or at least the low life’s I have encountered) are relatively unskilled at combat; at least compared to the Redguards of Hammerfell. I killed the bandits, finding I could now put aside my former inhibitions relatively easily – it helped that none chose to speak (beyond demanding my money).

Anvil is ringed by a tall stone wall, as indeed it seems are all such towns in Cyrodiil – a testament to its military past. The roads were quiet, with many having chosen to dwell in the safety of the towns in these unsettled times – the Emperors assassination had left many distinctly unnerved. Perhaps it was the scarcity of travellers that caused the bandits to resort to me as a target despite my clear combat abilities.

Aside from the presence of the guards, I suspect the imposing Fighters Guild building also allays civilian fears – the tall, smooth stone walls once again adorned by red banners. Azzan, the Guild head, was easy to find – the Redguard appeared to spend his days in the office on the top floor. I was issued my contract swiftly (for which I was thankful considering my long journey) – the job being to clear up a problem involving rats for one “Arvena Thelas”.

Killing rats would be a simple (if demeaning) task, but it transpired that I should protect them rather than kill them. Thelas - a Dunmar lady - appeared to keep them as pets in her basement, but something was killing them. Immediately upon entering the basement I encountered the problem – a mountain lion. It was already in the process of attacking one of the rats (a rather one sided battle), but while it was thus distracted I killed it easily - a single blow to the neck ending its life. Unfortunately the rat now appeared wild from its injuries - immediately attacking me, and leaving me with no option but to kill it.

Thelas appeared shocked to learn of the lion (I admit I was surprised myself, although I know little of the native wildlife), and tasked me with hunting down any in the area, pointing me in the direction of a local woodsman who would assist me in tracking them down.

We encountered the pride in a clearing just outside the city walls, but even after killing them it remained unclear what had drawn them into the city. Thelas, however, had a theory; her neighbour – Quill-Weave. Initially it seemed mere paranoia to me, but never the less I was duty bound to fulfil my contract, and I therefore followed Quill-Weave for much of the day. A tedious task, made all the more tiresome (albeit easier) by the fact that she spent much of her day in the Mages Guild. Despite my formidable skills in healing, I felt I could not tail her there without attracting notice, and therefore compromised by following her only after she left the building. Fortunately this proved enough, for as night fell I observed her creep behind Thelas’ house with a piece of stinking meat in her hand, which she laid behind the house.

It was obvious that this must be what had drawn the lions to Thelas’ house – perhaps the rats had been dragging the meat into the basement, and then the lions had been attracted by the scent. As Quill-Weave began to make her way back out of the garden I stepped out of the shadows to confront her, a shocked hissing exclamation accompanying the Argonian sighting me.

She explained (reluctantly) that she had been leaving the meat to draw the rats out, apparently so that the town residents would deal with them, but claimed to have had no knowledge of the mountain lions – and asked that I not mention my discovery to Thelas.

Returning to the Thelas household, I was duty bound to inform her of my finding. She was angry, but fortunately my contract was now over – although I was fairly certain it would not have allowed her to order me to attack civilians, it was never the less a relief to leave.

Returning to the Fighters Guild, I was rewarded not with promotion, but instead with a new task – to guard a shop from robbers. This task, although more dangerous than the last, proved considerably shorter - I remained in the shop until finally (at around mid-night) the thieves entered - and upon seeing me, attacked.

There were three; a Bosner, a Dunmar and a Nord. Initially I took few chances, backing up the stairway so they could not assail me simultaneously. However it swiftly became apparent that they were outclassed, and after dealing a deadly blow to the Nord I pressed my advantage, killing the remaining two in the same minute. I had no regrets – Brother Andrew was right, these three had given up their rights the moment they became criminals.

This time I was finally rewarded with promotion, to the rank of Journeyman, but unfortunately there was no further work for me here. Apparently my next guild task would be assigned in Chorrol, however I decided I would first return to the Imperial City – perhaps the Temple would now be occupied.

30 - Alexander - The Cheydinhal Mine:

I spent until the next morning resting at the temple of the Nine Divines. Brother Andrew led a small congregation, his charismatic speech filling the spherical hall from floor to roof, holding the audience in rapture. He spoke of the creation, the glory of the Nine Divines, and the evil in this world. I stood aside, though his words appealed to me – I felt they had a ring of truth.

One thing was clear – I could not continue on as I had. I spent much of the night discussing the events since my arrival with Andrew. He was sympathetic, but felt my perspective had been flawed. Those outside the law had no rights under the law, and that included bandits – the duty of a warrior is to protect the innocent. He also believed that the Arena was honourable – he felt it was the only place where two “good” individuals could fight. The Divines would see to the victory of those who deserved it, as they would in all things.

I departed with the dawn, my mind made up. What he had said made sense to me, and I vowed now to set aside the rights of the lawless without hesitation. Despite this, I felt I could not return to the Arena immediately, the cruel memories of my blunder still haunting me. Fortunately (in a way) my journey to undertake my initiation into the Fighters Guild would take me far from the Imperial Capital, and I arbitrarily chose Cheydinhal over Anvil as my destination.

A low rumble dispelled any hopes I had of a pleasant journey - a storm was brewing, and judging from the sounds it would not pass swiftly. Sure enough, I had barely reached the Red Ring Road before experiencing the all too familiar sensation of rain drops impacting upon iron plate. It was going to be a long trip.

Regarding the journey, there is little to say. The storm continued into the night, and so did I, eventually reaching the town of Cheydinhal after midnight (by now thoroughly exhausted). The road had not been uneventful, for while I had not actively looked for trouble (walking through abandoned Imperial Forts without pausing to investigate), trouble had found me nevertheless – primarily in the form of Wolves. However, again my journey was interrupted by bandits – I would rather not speak of the incidents. Suffice to say that none proved a challenge in combat, and that I managed to set aside my concern for their life. They had no rights, existing only to prey upon the innocent – of whom I am a sworn protector.

Fortunately the gate to Cheydinal was open despite the lateness of the hour, and after a cursory interrogation by the miserable guards (the storm yet continued unabated) I entered without problem. The long road had left my legs leaden; I simply entered the first Inn I could see – the Newlands Lodge – where I purchased a simple room, collapsing swiftly into a deep sleep.

While woken early by the sounds emanating from below (the land lady, Dervera, had warned me to expect disturbances – this was not a peaceful establishment) I did not in fact rise until after mid-day, such was my fatigue. Finally need stirred me; I had not eaten that day and was short on money. I needed the income that the Fighters Guild would provide, and with that in mind I departed the Inn in search of the Guild hall.

The Fighters Guild stood besides the main road, red banners fluttering proudly in the cool breeze, the air freshened by the passage of the storm. Unfortunately I entered now as the lowest of the low in terms of rank, but everyone had to start somewhere. Expecting a relatively menial task, I was unsurprised to be instructed to convey a weapon shipment by the Orc Guildmaster, Burz gro-Khash.

The recipients of the order were in a mine just north of the town, and I arrived without difficulty – handing out the steel bow, sword and hammer to the three assembled guild members. They were here to clean out a Goblin infestation, and I joined them in this. Although not strictly the task assigned, I felt it would be a valued contribution.

‘Infestation’ had been a fair assessment – there seemed to be an entire tribe in these caves, but none matched their viciousness in skill, and it was a simple - if tedious - task to clear them from the mine. Upon reaching the base of the mine my companions thanked me with a gift – ingots of silver and gold from the mine. In truth I feel slightly ashamed to have accepted it, for I suspect it was not theirs to give – but doubtless the open metal vein will be taken into account when the Guild is paid by the miners.

Returning to Cheydinhal, I stopped en route to hammer my iron equipment back into shape, silently thanking the generosity of my adopted parents. Already I missed them a little, and vowed that once I had attained a respectable position here I would return and visit them.

Burz seemed satisfied with my performance (I might even go so far as to say ‘pleased’, but it is hard to tell in an Orc), rewarding me with one hundred Septims – before promoting me to the rank of Apprentice! Unfortunately not all the news was so welcome – there was no work here for one of my rank, and I must now journey to Anvil for my next task, which I would receive off ‘Azzan’.

Departing the guild, I donated a coin to Bruccius the Orphan, before leaving by the main gates. The journey to Anvil from Cheydinhal would be long, but the Imperial City lay between.

29 - Alexander - A Torturous Mistake:

I lay in bed for a time, staring at the ceiling. A man had failed to see this dawn due to my action...and my inaction. My adoptive father had always said I had a gift - an extraordinary talent in combat. Here it had been proven – I had delivered a mortal wound on instinct alone. I had trained with the intent of defending others, but was defending myself alone a worthy act? I had no immediate answer, but there seemed little honour in it.

Paradoxically, while my skills at combat appeared to have developed only too well, my other ability – for which I had been better known among the people of Hammerfell – had achieved nothing. Had I simply been too late in casting the spell of healing? If so, my immediate reaction of disgust had fuelled further injury to the wounded, simply through my inaction. My hesitation had cost a life, and I now vowed never to hesitate again – not when I knew what was right.

What then was I doing now other than hesitating... contemplating the past with regret. In line with my new vow, I forced myself to rise, and - with a sensation almost of revulsion - clad myself in my iron armour. Leaving without a further word to Nerussa (and hoping she would forgive my lack of manners) I turned towards where the Imperial City awaited me.

The rising sun shone from behind the walls, lighting the sky as I paced across the immense bridge that spanned Lake Rumare. The light would have blinded me, but for the fact that I walked now in the shadow of the Palace Tower – so great as to be visible from the very borders of Cyrodiil. The gates hung open, guards standing to attention on either side, and I strode into the city.

Standing in Talos Plaze I gazed around in open wonder. Here stood a guard, dressed in intricate ornate armour, there a marble house – generations old, and here - the great statue of a Dragon. I suppose in time this shall become familiar to me – certainly the inhabitants seemed to be keeping their heads down – but for now, the sights were new and wondrous.

My reverie was broken however, by the intrusion of a beggar. He stood forlorn and desperate, his face speaking of sorrow and poverty. A single coin? I handed it over without hesitation, food for a day said he, and my heart lightened with my purse.

Alas my purse was already light enough, for beyond my armour, a sword, a change of clothes and the smiths hammers gifted upon me by my father, I too was in need. I had hoped that the Fighters Guild might provide some income, but it seemed now as if that would have to wait until I journeyed to a far flung town – and I could not travel on an empty purse. Yet I did not begrudge the beggar my gold for even a second; his need was greater than mine, and it merely spurred my efforts.

Walking onwards, I came upon a striking poster adorning a wall. It illustrated a scene of glory, bold combatants standing in the foreground, while in the background – The Arena! Perhaps this could provide me with some income. The idea appealed to me, for the fights would be honourable and against willing opponents. Further, I would use my healing magic upon my opponents upon defeating them, and likewise presumable an official would do so unto me if I were bested.

So it was that ten minutes later I found myself approaching the blond haired Bosner who stood before the Arena coliseum.

“Ah, a fresh face. Welcome! Come to place a wager on the outcome of a match? Or perhaps you wish to become one of our fine combatants?” An enthusiastic patter of speech.

“Not the former, betting is dishonoura…” I began, pausing, before deciding that simplicity would suffice “I would be a combatant”

“Excellent, we’re always looking for new bodie…ah, that is, new faces. Very well, you will be assigned to the yellow team. They’re a little undermanned these days, mainly due to a certain…” he paused, glancing around, before hissing “…witch”

“Do the duels allow magic then? I know only healing magic”

“Ah that’s good…no that shouldn’t be a problem. There is only one person who reall…look, it’s nothing to be concerned about. I wish you luck”

He had already turned away, espying a man in blue robes approaching. A regular customer perhaps… not the 'witch' anyway.

‘No hesitation’ I had vowed, and I therefore strode into the yellow teams’ under works; a dimly lit training facility. Approaching an Orchish gladiator, I was informed in a gruff and dismissive tone that the yellow supervisor didn’t “waste his time on Pit Dogs”, and that I should simply grab an Arena Raiment and head up to the Arena floor.

The armour was lain out upon the side. Standardised armour for all combatants…I approved of that, it spoke of fairness. Stripping off my iron garb, and leaving only my helm, shield and sword, I donned a heavier form of the raiment, before walking up a winding passage which would take me to the Arena proper. Clotted blood marked the floor, and I began to wonder whether sometimes the Arena healers didn’t always get there in time. No…surely they would be trained beyond even my notable skills. This was no time to get distracted; I stepped forth into the harsh blinding light of the Arena.

An announcer’s voice boomed out, introducing the opponent and I – she being a female Dunmar. It seemed she too was a ‘Pit Dog’, and had yet to fight. Perhaps they were easing us in; it seemed a little unlikely that I could otherwise have come up against an unproven combatant. Hoping she would prove an honourable opponent, I nevertheless cast aside such considerations as the gate fell.

We both charged, meeting at the centre of the Arena. She armed with a short sword and light raiment, while I wielding my iron long sword and shield. It became clear almost instantly that she was outmatched, her cuts and lunges positively lethargic compared to my swift fencing and footwork. A series of quick feints threw her off balance and I struck, cutting lightly into her sword arm’s shoulder. She leapt backwards panting.

“Do you yield, honourable opponent?” I asked

She spoke not a word, looking at me in disbelief and…fear? I had never had a woman look upon me with fear in her eyes, and it unnerved me. Would she not yield before I dealt her a serious injury? I had no option but to continue, again easily overcoming her defences to deal a second blow, this time sending her helm flying and landing a thin gash across her brow.

“Will you not yield!?” I demanded again, louder than before

“Do not…mock me!” She spoke through clenched teeth, clearly in some pain.

I struggled to understand her words; did she refer to the wounds I had given her? However, I had no time to formulate a reply, for she charged upon me with a cry. Alas her defence was wide open, and I merely leapt aside lightly, drawing forth a trail of blood from her left hand. She stood again, breathing heavily.

Cries emerged from the crowd, yet I could not hear the words. Were they disappointed with the fight? An aspect of it? What more could I do… she would not yield. Perhaps her stubbornness then was the cause for the crowds’ impatience. I had won, she had been defeated, and now I should heal her and support her out of the Arena, making way for the next match.

I stepped forward, palm outstretched, but she fell back, tripping as she went – staring at me in abject terror. I approached again, leaning forward and reaching forth – but as I did so she grabbed for her short sword, stabbing upwards. I twisted away, slipping, and fell upon her, the short sword between us. Scrabbling desperately, I leapt back in a single movement, but it was too late - none would now ever come from her.

A pool of blood spread outward from her…from the wound in her chest…from the sword that my body had driven through her. I jumped forward summoning a spell of healing with all my strength, casting it again and again into her still body…but she would not move. I howled in despair, my vision clouding.

I can remember little of the following minutes; eventually I found myself sitting propped against a wall in the under works. None approached, and indeed my fellow fighters appeared to be eying me with disgust. Would they ever forgive me for killing a gladiator? I was desolate, and grabbing my pack (and a purse that had been cast beside me) I left the under works behind without a word.

Upon emerging, blinking, into the streets above, I was approached by the blue robed man I had observed earlier. Before he could speak however, a drunk man swaggered past, swearing at me.

“Cruel Alexander you are…ye…why did ye ‘av to kill ‘er like that? She waz ‘jus a little lady..n you…you tortured ‘err you did! You tortured er' before th' end! N' then...n' then desecratin 'er body wit magic...pah”

“But I…she wouldn’t yield! I tried to save her, I swear I tried!” I cried; but the drunk had walked away, his spittle the only reply.

I felt an arm upon my shoulder; the man in blue.

“I understand my son, I can understand you... and this tragedy, completely” he spoke softly, reassuringly “Come with me, I have a place we can go…please”

“I begged her to yield!” I began “I begged her, but she wouldn’t give up! Why!?”

A look of sympathy crossed his face “Aye lad, these are mortal fights, only one emerges alive. I see you’re in need of help, and I won’t turn away from one in need, come with me to the temple”

I could barely understand his words. Fights to the death? Then the accusations of torture had been because of my refusal to mortally wound the lady? My actions appearing to prolong agony out of evil cruelty? I could scarcely begin to appreciate the enormity of my blunder. I stumbled alongside the robed man, leaning upon him for support as tears streamed down my face.

A beggar clawed at my leg from the gutter; I looked down through swollen eyes to see the man was afflicted with plague. He flinched as I stooped, and I almost hesitated…the recent memories…but I forced myself not to shrink, casting a spell of healing upon him. As my new friend tugged upon my arm, I turned one last time, throwing the blood money from the Arena to the beggar in the dirt; his look of fear replaced now with wonder.

“I see ye have more than one gift friend Alexander, it was wasn’t it? I am Brother Andrew, please come with me and rest at the temple, we can help you there”

Directionless, I simply followed Brother Andrew as we stumbled through the central graveyard; I like a lame man, he a guide. The temple district lay before us.

28 - Alexander - A Departure from Hammerfell:

Today was the day I finally returned to Cyrodiil, and as expected, it proved entirely unfamiliar – despite being the province of my birth. It had clearly been unrealistic to hope that any memories laid as an infant might be reawakened, however in many ways this is a blessing; I may experience the province anew.

Leaving the Border Inn at dawn and bidding my comrade farewell, I crossed the mountain pass into the westerly regions of the Imperial province. I suppose I should have no reason to feel out of place here, being an Imperial myself, but a lifetime of dwelling among the Redguards of Hammerfell has made an alien of a native.

The worn map in my backpack had indicated that the first town that I would encounter was “Chorrol”, which lay a short distance along the Black Road. Before I caught sight of any town however, I was assailed by a wolf. It proved welcome as a chance to hone my swordsmanship skills, and may indeed have helped steel me for my next encounter – bandits! I had barely left the wolf behind me when an arrow shot from the woods, the shaft glancing off my iron armour. Turning, the ambush was clear – a female archer stood some distance away, while a mace wielding Redguard ran at me.

Despite having imagined situations such as this innumerable times, I was nevertheless frozen to the spot in shock. Frozen that is, until the mace finally swung towards me, at which point my training took over. Raising my iron longsword, I deflected the mace to my left while simultaneously stepping to the right. As momentum carried my assailant past me I stepped into his side heavily, knocking him to the floor.

I stepped close and stretched my arm out, to which he flinched. I paused, confused, didn’t he want to be helped back up, so as to engage on equal terms? It was at this point that the second shaft struck, this time impacting upon the chain glove of my left hand. As I spun around, raising my shield, I felt the bandit lunge towards me from behind. Ducking frantically, the mace whistled past where my head had been, and I struck instinctively, my sword stabbing through the torso of my assailant.

He fell screaming upon the ground as I stood there, shocked. The criminal convulsed, clutching his stomach; I stared. Finally, as the bile rose in my throat, I turned, vomiting upon the grass. Shaking now, I returned to where the bandit lay, his movements feeble. The archer had clearly abandoned her comrade, and we were alone.

Reaching out, I laid my gloved hand upon the forehead of the twitching bandit, casting a spell of healing. The spell took effect slowly, but even as the magical energies circulated his body the life gave out. Where my spell had been acting upon a living being, it now found itself in dead flesh. The energies rebounded back into me, leaving a dull ache. I had killed a man.

He had been deserving of death, I tried to convince myself… but all I could see was the agony in his face as he lay dying, choking, his body twitching in agony. And then the sensation of his life dissolving conveyed to me directly by the failed healing spell…it was too much to bear. I couldn’t bring myself to touch his body, and simply began to shuffle towards Chorrol, my enthusiasm turned to ashes.

Chorrol was a large town, by Hammerfell reckoning at least. Granite stone walls stood in a tall ring, testifying to the military past of the Empire. Here I sat by a statue for a time, the effigy itself portraying a dying soldier. The bandit had deserved to die…surely. I forced into my mind all the murders and thefts done by individuals such as he. It had been self defence. I should have just killed him cleanly and walked away. I told myself these same things again and again, forcing myself to believe them. If I could not bear to kill a bandit in self defence, how could I defend others in need? I steeled myself, rose, and walked the town in search of the Fighters guild.

My first conversation in Cyrodiil, if you could call it that, was not in fact with an Imperial, but rather a female Altmer. She paced the streets, an aged (and slightly singed) book in her hands, looking up only long enough to snap out that the Fighters guild was at the top of the town, beside “Teekeeus’ thrice accursed mages guild”. Suspecting a link between the scarred tome and her obvious antipathy towards the mages guild, I nevertheless departed without further comment – I was not inclined to become involved.

The guild hall did indeed stand at the top of the town, and upon entering I was directed towards the guild hall head; Vilena Donton. It seemed that the sole entry requirement to the guild was a clean criminal record, and this not being a problem, I was entered into the Fighters Guild ranks as an Associate. A problem did exist however; there were no tasks available here for someone of my rank. I would have to visit “Cheydinhal” or “Anvil”. If my map was anything to go by, she could scarcely have picked two more disparate towns.

I departed Chorrol in the afternoon - the Imperial City lay between here and either of these locations, and it was therefore towards the Imperial City that I now travelled. My journey was largely uninterrupted for a time, and indeed I took the opportunity to explore the ruins of an Imperial fort – Fort Ash, now a dwelling place of Goblins. The interior was dark, but my fighting skills proved superior to any of the foul creatures I encountered, and here I killed without regret.

As the afternoon stretched into evening I finally caught sight of the Imperial City. It lay on an island, a lake (“Lake Rumare” claimed my map) surrounding it. The moonlight illuminated the marble walls, their reflection dancing in the dark, mirror-like water below. Above this stood the Imperial Tower; a true wonder. The sight was awe inspiring, and with it came the knowledge that this, this amazing display of power and skill, this was my heritage as an Imperial. I would not forget it.

As the night began to advance I finally arrived at the City bridge, finding lodgings for the night at the “Wawnet Inn” - it had been a long day. Worn, weary, and ten Septims poorer (courtesy of the landlady, Nerussa) I collapsed into bed. I had entered Cyrodiil only today, and I have already killed my first man. Is this the lauded life of a warrior? Struggling to even strip off my armour, let alone put my life into perspective, I soon fell into a deep sleep.