Fragment from the Journal of Thoralod Eagle-Heart

JRD963

Why am writing any of this down? To share with someone who might happen to steal this journal or find it on my corpse when I die? Or am I writing this down just to get these memories out? For any reason, I will start at the beginning of my life.

I was born in Windhelm on the 14th of Last Seed, the season of the Warrior, 2E 561. My father had been training me to fight since I first started walking. My father was a proud soldier, he always told my brother, my sister, and I stories about the many adventures he had. I can remember my favorite, the one when he fooled some bandits into chasing him into a troll's cave. Just thinking of it makes me laugh. He was good man, and a good father. I miss him.

I lived a fairly simple life in Windhelm, I did chores every day, but really the worst part about living in Windhelm was the cold. The snowiest city in Skyrim they called it, and indeed it was, but you got used to it, just like the smell of mead around every corner. I remember playing with my brother and sister through the streets, we played games that any other nord children played like catch the elf or slay the dragon, it was a good life, a little hard, but a good life all the same.

One of my favorite memories was the time when I stole a bottle of mead from my father's stash. I took it down into an alley that I always felt safe in, I drank the whole thing in less than two minutes. I didn't feel at all ashamed, you saw the adults drinking mead all the time, but the fact that I did something that probably shouldn't have done made me feel a little bad for it but I was mostly scared of being punished. I tried to hide it but as soon as I got back home my father asked where I was and I soon as I began to answer he smelled it on my breath. I wasn't punished as badly as I thought but my father did keep his stash hidden away better.

I always wanted to be a bard when I was young. Whenever you went to the tavern they would always be playing your favorite songs. The songs about the legendary Dragonborn heroes always got me excited, I'd go outside and I pretend I was a dragonborn imagining myself fighting fierce dragons and saving villages. But back to my bard dream, I attended a small school in Windhelm that taught young nord children to be bards. I always dreamt of going to the Skald's Retreat and learning from the greatest bards in Skyrim. But my dreams would eventually be crushed, my life changed forever.

2E 572 I am eleven years old. This date is well known to all Nords, Dunmer, and Argonians. This is the day the Akaviri invaded. The day those *** attacked my city! My home! My people! My family! My life changed forever! The day Windhelm was nearly destroyed and my family slaughtered before my eyes! And there was nothing I could do about it. After the death of our Queen Nurnhilde, Jorunn, one of two younger brothers to Nurnhilde, assumed command and pursued the Akaviri army. But the rest is history, and my story is not recorded in history.

I was sent to live with some relatives in Solitude, a city that was almost the exact opposite of Windhelm it lie near the border to Highrock where snow rarely fell and the air more forgiving. Solitude disgusted me, it was full of Nords who wanted to be imperials, they wore imperial clothes, drank imperial wine, used imperial weapons and armor. Were they not proud of their heritage!? Where they not satisfied with the way true Nords lived!? Disgusting.

My relatives treated me fairly, but I was sick of being forced to live this life! I wasn't an imperial, neither were they really but back to the point, I'm a Nord! I wanted to be treated like one! But they didn't treat me like one. So I left.

I simply walked out of the city, and I didn't look back. From there I decided I needed some coin to get farther away from Solitude, I crossed through the swamps east of Solitude until I reached a small town called Morthal. I set up in the tavern and advertised myself as a sellsword. I told some lies to make myself seem like a real warrior, like how a single-handedly captured an Orc stronghold.... with my bare hands. It all worked quite nicely, I got final job that would set me up for a while.

The job was to attack a small caravan traveling from Morthal to Dawnstar. Now I wasn't a bandit but the man who hired me certainly wasn't a law abiding citizen, and I suspected as much but I needed the coin. As soon as we approached the caravan we were hit by a barrage of arrows, following it was a legion of well-armed Nord warriors. Upon seeing my boss surrender, I surrendered as well.

The caravan was actually a military supply convoy, the man leading them was an old Nord soldier. I somehow recognized me and proceeded to tell me he knew my father. They had been close friends and fought together throughout many battles. I offered me a sort of pardon, if I signed up and fought for something bigger then myself, then I would be a free man. I agreed. I was 17 years old. I had been a mercenary for three years.

Through out the next four years I ascended through the ranks, eventually becoming a respected officer in the Ebonheart Pact. I was told one day that I needed to gather my best soldiers, we were going to Glenumbra.

We sailed out of Dawnstar, eventually, when neared the shores of High Rock, we used small row boats to reach the shore. I assumed we were probably close to the city of Daggerfall. I was wrong. We stumbled upon the city of Camlorn, the horrors there were like no other, Man beasts from deepest depths of Oblivion roamed this land. Unfortunately we attracted the attention of a few of them, I told the men to retreat and I would hold off these beast. That I did, but I was bitten in the process. Since then I have been plagued by lycanthropy, the so-called Gift of Hircine. A curse is more like it. I have searched long for a cure for my affliction, but I have yet to find one.

I met a stroke of some luck! I was stationed in Eastmarch, and I made a visit to my home. I stick to the taverns when i'm in Windhelm, the memories are too much for me to handle. This night was a fine night to be in the tavern, upon entering I smelled a familiar smell, the smell of vampires. As I searched for the source, a woman beckoned me to the table, not long after I realized this was the vampire. She was well aware of what I was the man at the other end of the table also seemed to suspect that I was indeed a werewolf. I found the vampire woman quite intriguing, I could not seem to turn my attention away, that was until the man mentioned a cure after asking me about myself and what I knew of werewolves. The vampire woman seemed shocked at my interest in this cure, though the beast form provides great advantages in combat, it is against the way of my people. The man mentioned that he knew of a similiar case and he was working to find a cure for them, but he required assistance and I agreed that I would provide him with any knowledge I found.

Sometime after that, my superiors called upon me to lead a special group of soldiers and volunteers throughout the Pact in the interest of protecting our fragile alliance. A blacksmith named Baledir approached me asking for permission to join in, with the interest of learning the ways of blacksmithing from the other cultures in the Pact. My own goals being to locate a cure for my affliction as well as find out if there is any truth to these rumors that my sister still lives.

I have decided to name this little group, The Children of Kyne. A somewhat religious name, but who would feel comfortable knowing there are foreign soldiers marching all over your land, even if they have permission. It is my duty to recruit more members to this group so that we can expand and dominate any force that opposes the Pact!