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Maeara's Journal: Day 43, What have I become?
9 years ago
General
I do not understand this. I do not know how this has happened, or why, but something is dreadfully wrong. The last thing I clearly remember of last night was...Sleep. Resting, beneath the trees on the ridge overlooking the Silent Moons Camp. The sound of the Imperial Scouts with their horses nearby. And then moon rise... I awoke with a start. Something didn't feel right. My head swam, my chest tightened...
The moon seemed to turn the color of blood, and then...Nothing.
I blacked out, but I still have...Flashes.
Blood on snow. Claws and fangs, unfamiliar and yet...My own.
The smell of fear, acrid and sweet.
And howling; screaming. Fury and animal fervor.
I somehow know that there is no reason to enter the Silent Moons encampment anymore. I feel it in my gut, in my soul. All I'll find there is death.
My stomach turns. The memories...These are no hallucinations, no dreams. No vivid delusion brought to life by a troubled sleep. The taste of hot blood and wet flesh, the feel of rending muscle under razor sharp claws...
I remember wind rushing past, the feeling of the ground falling away as I pounced and flew through the wilderness. The sound of heartbeats, the smell of the wild and the rush of excitement as cold snow crunched under strong...Paws?
I awoke, cold and naked, soaked to the bone in a field not far from Whiterun. I was covered in blood and filth, and as I came to my senses a roll of thunder and a flash of lightning revealed that I had left a trail of gore in my wake. I had fallen in it, slept in it...But none of it was mine.
I washed away what I could in a nearby stream, watching for pursuit, for attack. No weapons, no armor...Just an Argonian, alone in the storm. Yet I somehow knew even if I was attacked, I was able to defend myself. My mind reeled, but I understood on an instinctive level what I have become. A Werewolf. Somehow...That mad woman? The one who bit me, perhaps? Or maybe a cruel prank for defying Vaermina...But no, Hircine is the Daedra responsible for such curses.
I returned to my campsite from the night before...Found my things. Scattered, discarded. Peeled off in a frenzy. And there, nearby...The Imperials. A trail of death, their mangled bodies strewn about the snowy fields and rocky crevices.
I followed the trail even further. Stumbled across a Stormcloak Camp, probably the one the Imperial Scouting Party had been watching for the last few days...Or what was left of them. They fared no better than the Imperials. Worse, in fact. I didn't try to count the bodies.
I just...I went home. I need rest. I need to think, to plan. I have to speak to Mages, healers. Perhaps Erandur can help me? Someone has to know what I can do...The full moon has passed, but I can still feel the pull of it in my blood. What have I become, and what's more, what am I to do about it?
The moon seemed to turn the color of blood, and then...Nothing.
I blacked out, but I still have...Flashes.
Blood on snow. Claws and fangs, unfamiliar and yet...My own.
The smell of fear, acrid and sweet.
And howling; screaming. Fury and animal fervor.
I somehow know that there is no reason to enter the Silent Moons encampment anymore. I feel it in my gut, in my soul. All I'll find there is death.
My stomach turns. The memories...These are no hallucinations, no dreams. No vivid delusion brought to life by a troubled sleep. The taste of hot blood and wet flesh, the feel of rending muscle under razor sharp claws...
I remember wind rushing past, the feeling of the ground falling away as I pounced and flew through the wilderness. The sound of heartbeats, the smell of the wild and the rush of excitement as cold snow crunched under strong...Paws?
I awoke, cold and naked, soaked to the bone in a field not far from Whiterun. I was covered in blood and filth, and as I came to my senses a roll of thunder and a flash of lightning revealed that I had left a trail of gore in my wake. I had fallen in it, slept in it...But none of it was mine.
I washed away what I could in a nearby stream, watching for pursuit, for attack. No weapons, no armor...Just an Argonian, alone in the storm. Yet I somehow knew even if I was attacked, I was able to defend myself. My mind reeled, but I understood on an instinctive level what I have become. A Werewolf. Somehow...That mad woman? The one who bit me, perhaps? Or maybe a cruel prank for defying Vaermina...But no, Hircine is the Daedra responsible for such curses.
I returned to my campsite from the night before...Found my things. Scattered, discarded. Peeled off in a frenzy. And there, nearby...The Imperials. A trail of death, their mangled bodies strewn about the snowy fields and rocky crevices.
I followed the trail even further. Stumbled across a Stormcloak Camp, probably the one the Imperial Scouting Party had been watching for the last few days...Or what was left of them. They fared no better than the Imperials. Worse, in fact. I didn't try to count the bodies.
I just...I went home. I need rest. I need to think, to plan. I have to speak to Mages, healers. Perhaps Erandur can help me? Someone has to know what I can do...The full moon has passed, but I can still feel the pull of it in my blood. What have I become, and what's more, what am I to do about it?
Koryx
~koryx
Mama Jo
~josephh
OP
Seriously; that full moon was rough. The mod runs from 11:00 to 5:00 A.M. as a Beast. Lot of time to go on a frenzy, and unfortunate that the mods I use had additional victims available in the form of more active Stormcloak and Imperial patrols. She ate a LOT of people.
ninjacharles
~ninjacharles
ahhh yes lycantropy
