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Literature Text
Dear Adventurer,
If you are reading this then that means you are alive unless you are a ghost and I assume that you are not unlike me in the ways of adventuring and taking spoils for yourself. You have come upon me at a most indecent time. For I am dead, or I believe I am by the time anyone reaches me. If you can save me, though, that would be most helpful to me. There is a lot of blood.
Anyhow, I am writing this to warn you of the trials ahead in this horrible dungeon. I understand that there is something of great value at the end but the path there will not be an easy one. For I know this myself as I tried to reach the end myself but then decided against it and tried to turn back.
That was my undoing or is my undoing. I'm not dead yet. Or am I? Well, if I am indecent when you arrive, will you at least make me presentable? I don't mean touch up my war paint or anything but you could wipe my mouth of any blood or vomit? I would greatly appreciate such a notion of camaraderie.
This may perhaps be my last journal entry. Please do help yourself to any of the other pages of my journal, for they may help you on your way. With my dying words I would like to apology for harassing the chickens in Falkreath and for tricking the children in Whiterun to drink mead. Yes, it was I and not my companion Lydia that did it. Some thane I was. Some Dragonborn. To Sovngarde I go, and if you would adventurer please take this journal to [intelligible] and tell them I am again sorry for not being able to stop all those [intelligible] from [intelligible] all over the place for I did not think it would have made their house so very pink…
If you are reading this then that means you are alive unless you are a ghost and I assume that you are not unlike me in the ways of adventuring and taking spoils for yourself. You have come upon me at a most indecent time. For I am dead, or I believe I am by the time anyone reaches me. If you can save me, though, that would be most helpful to me. There is a lot of blood.
Anyhow, I am writing this to warn you of the trials ahead in this horrible dungeon. I understand that there is something of great value at the end but the path there will not be an easy one. For I know this myself as I tried to reach the end myself but then decided against it and tried to turn back.
That was my undoing or is my undoing. I'm not dead yet. Or am I? Well, if I am indecent when you arrive, will you at least make me presentable? I don't mean touch up my war paint or anything but you could wipe my mouth of any blood or vomit? I would greatly appreciate such a notion of camaraderie.
This may perhaps be my last journal entry. Please do help yourself to any of the other pages of my journal, for they may help you on your way. With my dying words I would like to apology for harassing the chickens in Falkreath and for tricking the children in Whiterun to drink mead. Yes, it was I and not my companion Lydia that did it. Some thane I was. Some Dragonborn. To Sovngarde I go, and if you would adventurer please take this journal to [intelligible] and tell them I am again sorry for not being able to stop all those [intelligible] from [intelligible] all over the place for I did not think it would have made their house so very pink…
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One for Dad
I was back in the house where I could feel the melancholy
of the lonesome, crowded west.
The same house but all the memories seemed so far away.
The smell of fresh paint hung heavy in the air,
and the walls I had once scratched and dented were bare.
A film of neglect clung to the books he never let me touch,
“Always end up damaged.” he’d say.
Not realising that love changes things,
makes friendships stronger, give things sentiment.
Those worn covers and creased pages,
not a sign of carelessness but a sign of greatest care.
There were the bottles of wisdom placed in the cellar,
full of learning, but paling to the lesso
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She fidgeted nervously as she stepped closer to the big door. Her white dress flowed with the light wind and she tucked a few strands of white hair behind her ear. Her breath hitched as she neared the two black guards standing outside the door. She tried to make her breathing even out as she stopped in front of them, looking down at the ground in fear.
“What do you do here, miss?” One of the guards asked and the girl tensed.
“I wish to enter and gain color.” She said, barely holding the trembling away from her voice.
“Then look up at me.” The other guard said and she complied. She stared with wide eyes a
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This is fanfiction right? Well this is just a letter/journal the Dovahkiin wrote before dying alone in a dungeon. FUS RO DAH and all that yeah. This is also a parody of all the journals I have found in Skyrim. Ridiculously silly.
© 2011 - 2024 Pandazilla
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Lol nice. I imagine other travelers taking the other pages of his journal for toilet paper or kindling.