Fruitless. That is the only word that can describe what I have produced in my search for Coldharbour. I have stole into some of the finest libraries and still have learned little more than conjecture and fantasy. Unknown mages attempting to enter the realms of the Deadric Prince's only to never be heard from again. Nothing to direct me on how one is to get to Coldharbour. If the rumors of the soulless one is correct, then there must be a door somewhere, some how.

I have learned that this Worm Cult still exists, though apparently the forces of Tamriel have pushed them into hiding, with the defeat of their master, Lord Manimarco. Of course this is all just rumor, and rumor is never to be relied on. Still, even in such rumor, their is a bit of truth. If I can find my way to this Worm Cult, and if they do not decided to destroy me on sight, and if they have knowledge on how to enter Coldharbour, then it may well be worth trying. So many ifs and yet it seems to be my only option at this point.

I will note here that as I become anxious to exact my revenge upon the Daedric Prince, my hunger grows even more. Through shame I have been able to hold it off at times for days, but now I find myself feeding in a frenzy almost every night. Sometimes not even realizing what I have done until the deed is finished, as if my mind was not my own, but instead belonged to the hunger within. Could it be that somewhere within I am coming to terms with what I am? Maybe in seeking my father, I am acknowledging the beast within me? I do not know. A part of me fears this, but then a part of me is a willing participant. Confronting Molag Bal may be my only saving grace, even if at worst he destroys me. Or maybe that would be the best.......

How do you fight a god? A Daedric prince if you will. Without the assistance of another, it is pointless, and no other will help a child of Molag Bal exact revenge. With this knowledge, and with this acceptance, I find my hunger has dwindled back to a manageable level. I feed only when I need feed now, but the hunger, oh the hunger, is always there.
The shame though has returned double.

As I was lost in my desire of vengeance I came upon a homeless boy who did not understand what I was. I had seen him before, yet I always passed him over. I cannot say why, as in my hunger a meal was a meal, and no one mortal held importance over another in that aspect. I must say, all were completely equal if they could feed the monster within. They were cattle.
Yet this boy.
I had fed, and in fact over indulged myself that night, so that when I did once again come across the homeless boy my mind was clear of desire, clear of my salacity, if only for a few hours.
There he sat on the same box in the same alley he always sat, every time I passed. Usually he was counting his days earnings, earned by begging or picking. I did not begrudge him either, for was I not a beggar, a thief? Did I not give in to my own needs as well?
I walked up to him and handed him a coin, one that was worth more than his entire day's grab. His eyes widened as he looked up to me, and I suddenly felt as if he had discerned exactly what I was. I was almost excited to think such, as if this boy could see past my visage, as if something was special about him.
There was nothing special of him. He was in wonder that one would give him such a valuable coin. He began to thank me, and he caused me to smile. I had not smiled , not a real smile, in a very long time. My smiles are usually kept for my victims, though there is no mirth within those smiles.
There is only hunger.
Not this time. I cannot say what caused it. I felt something was familiar about him, though I could not know what. Perhaps a lost dream of a family worked it's way to the surface of my knowing, when I was married and only dreamed of a family. Before it was stolen from me with this curse.
Before I was vampire.
I patted his capped head, gently like a father would a son, and his smile, missing one tooth, returned my own. As I walked away he watched me, as he fixed his cap properly again.
This scene repeated a few times a week over several weeks. I warn any reader to not mistake any of this for warmth, familiarity, or kindness. Not as I mistook myself even.
There is no warmth.
There is no familiarity with mortals.
There is no kindness.
Then he was gone. Just like that. One week, two weeks, three weeks passed and he was no longer there. I could not fathom he willingly left such a spot that produced coin so well for him. Something else must have occurred, something else must have happened. I could only wonder if there was something worse than I lurking about, and came to the conclusion that it was not possible. The nights were mine, and my indulgences were still my secret. Yet Molag Bal be damned, I did not give in to my blood lust, not with this child.
Maybe the child represented a small spark of mortal within? Maybe he was placed there by a power higher than even Molag Bal, to teach me that I am still able to.....to......to what? Love? No. Feel compassion? No.
I was working through this very thought one evening when I saw the boy again, and he was with a couple. He was acting as if he was their son, and they as if they were his parents. Someone had saved him from the streets, and from the looks of them they were well off. They climbed in a carriage, and the boy saw me. He waved, drawing the eye of his new father to me. I simply nodded and walked on. I not only let him live, but he had found his family. He found good people willing to take him in.

I beg you, the reader, to not read on. Let us leave it at this, please. Yet, I must complete my confession. Stop here, and think better of me. You are warned.

I swear I was only wishing to take a look at the life this boy now had. Why I did not feed beforehand I cannot say. An oversight, mayhaps?
They let me into their home when they saw that I was a kind friend of the boy. The father was less willing, but his new mother said it was nonsense to not allow the child to see people who showed him charity. The child told of how I would give him coin, and unlike so many others, asked nothing in return. It put the father at ease, and made his mother smile. They asked me to sit for a bit, and visit, they wished get to know me.
I obliged them.
I was holding the boy, covered with blood, when I came to my senses. I tried to tell him I meant none of this for him, I truly only meant the best.
He screamed.
I fed again until the screaming stopped.

I am Jerrin Bloodlette.
I am always cold.
I am always in hell.


I am vampire.

Me and my dear sweet matron will come up with a plan, just leave it to us.

I watched her on the balcony of the inn for a while, though she did no realize she was being watched. Not by me at least. I am sure many watched her, as her beauty was undeniable. Her skin was dark, even for a Redguard. While I do not feel things as I did when mortal, and can barely even remember those feelings, beauty still struck me. The sensuality, while very real, was not in the way mortals view each other either. Still, there was something sensual about her.
"You barely touched your drink sir," the waitress said to me as she checked on her customers that chose the night air over the smokey inside.
"I am fine," I replied to her, purposefully making eye contact. It ensured that whatever I said resonated well within her, making her feel most comfortable with my suggestions. It was not true mind control, such as some sorcerers have. I could never make someone do something as extreme as kill themselves, unless it was already their wish. Instead it was a simple nudge, and to her, everything truly was fine, even if her customer ordered wine he would never drink.
"I can join you soon if you wish," she offered a smile that would probably break most men, but then, I am not man. I was about to decline, with some proper excuse why, when the hunger struck, and I knew then I would not deny it.
"That would be nice," I said, and my eyes wandered past her smiling face to the dark woman still leaning on the rail looking out over the desert.

Vampires can be discreet, and if we are wise, we can feed with none the wiser, not even the victim. I say victim, but it is not unpleasant for them at all. Much as a night of passion is for mortals, so it can be for the one we drink from.

Her name was Arihel, and she was the waitress I mentioned in a prior entry. She was whom I fed on, off and on, for a couple of weeks. She was changing, and I fear I may have passed the curse on to her. She did not know why she felt weak, and I hoped it was simply from the blood loss. My hope however was being dashed as she told me of the discomfort she was feeling during the day, and the strange cravings she was started to get. She did not elaborate on her cravings, but I knew it all too well. I had to make a choice. Do I finish feeding on her, completely, or allow the disease to take, and make her vampire as well.
Another problem that may have to be dealt with...would she become feral, or keep a sense of who she is. I remember my dear Palina, as she was as a mortal, and how she was when I left her to her fate. She had completely lost her mind to the thirst, a condition that seems to happen more times than not. What is the ultimate factor of result is beyond my understanding, but to this date I have never let another turn, and even as I pondered on it, I knew Arihel would be no different. It was mercy, or as much mercy as one of my kind can provide. This is what I tell myself.

I should have let this journal entry end with my thoughts on Arihel, and how I was merely being merciful, yet I must be honest. The dark skinned lady has captured my thinking even as I ponder the situation with the tavern server. She creeps into my waking thoughts, and even my own dreams. Not as the lust of a mortal, but more as an admirer of fine art, when the admirer feels he must have it. I supply this entry here, and ponder if my decision to show Arihel kind mercy is not, even if a little, subject to my desire to pursue this Redguard, this dark skinned beauty that has captured me, and in some ways, unknown to her, sealed the fate of another.

"A fortification has stood upon this site, guarding the harbor for all of recorded history. Over time, the military Anvil Fortress was gradually rebuilt into the elegant palace known as Anvil Castle"

She was gone. Any that have read to this point would know that I was intrigued, but also in fear, of the Fighter's Guild Redguard. I was told her name is Sinnhia, and watched her for some time. Strong and beautiful, but also seemingly sad and a bit morose, when viewed from afar.
It is not a magical power or some "gift" bestowed upon me from this curse, but my ages of watching others, that tells me there is something more to her than her job, something perhaps driving her first to Abbah's Landing, but then to where?

Did something ill happen to her, had she run into bandits that she could not defeat? Was she victim of some assassins blade? That is not out of the ordinary, for there are whispers of the guilds filled with reprobates having strongholds in this area, thieves everywhere, but they do not run the streets alone. It is not odd to step over a dead body in a dark alley, left for others to find, and to know that they did not escape a black hand.

Alas no. I asked of her, leaving the bartender to believe it was only curiosity. I was not alone of course, many found her attractive, intriguing. It appeared others had inquired, casually, of her, making him laugh.
"Leave that one alone my friend," he warned me, and went on to tell me that she was dangerous. All Fighter's Guild members were dangerous, but her reputation made her even that much more.
Of course I assured him it was simple curiosity. Nothing more.
"She took a ship, to the Gold Coast, Anvil I believe was said," he told me, a grin on his face, as if he knew this would disappoint me.
I gave him coin, without ordering anything. Hindsight says I should not have. He would have took it simply as curiosity had I not, but now he knew he was paid for information. I could not worry on this now. I had to cross the waters to Cyrodiil, Anvil in particular. I was hoping it was far enough away from the centered Imperial City that I would not be caught up in their ever warring. It did not matter, it was where I was headed, but not before a drink.