If the point of this book, as Jobasha has said, is to create a Nerevarine more familiar to your own sensibilities, why not make a Nerevarine that mirrors yourself physically? Excitedly, you circle ‘female’ and ‘Dunmer.’

“Jobasha had no doubt this would be what you selected,” he says through lips curled into a smile. You choose to ignore the beast’s comment on your own vanity and instead stare in amazement at the page writing itself.

“Just as promised,” you muse to yourself as the page scribes both a name and profession. A self-writing book! Surely, you will be the talk of Tel Mora! How has it been that not a single person has heard of this work? Are there more like this? You pluck the book from Jobasha’s hands, noting to ask him these questions at a later date. Now, you must have this book. “I shall take it, Khajiit.”

Jobasha looks as if he is going to haggle, but then changes his mind. An unusual trait for a beast such as himself, you think with relief. Previously you only wanted the book. Now, with your appetite and curiosity whetted, you need it. Any price short of a king’s ransom would have been worth such a rare and exclusive curiosity. No longer bothered by the expense, you unfasten the coin purse from your sash and place it on Jobasha’s desk, using your other hand to safely tuck the book underneath your arm. “There is sufficient coin for the agreed upon price of 500 septims, plus tip for your recommendation.” To count the gold would be agony at this point. You hurry out the door and into the hallway, stowing the book into your sash before you Recall yourself back to your home.

As soon as the familiar sight of your den comes to view through the mystic haze, you extract the book. Almost diving, you throw yourself into your favorite reading chair and begin to read…

CHOICE OF THE NEREVARINE

Author, You who holds this book

History is made not by those who remember, but by those who assemble memories.

ENTRY #1

I do not know what vexes me to write. Regardless, I have decided to journal my new life here in Vvardenfell as both a means of cataloging my experiences, as well as giving a concrete voice to my own thoughts and emotions. The latter reason, I would hope, will give me sufficient reflection as to avoid the circumstances that led me to this island. Yes, I came to Vvardenfell as an imprisoned woman, but now I walk her earth with a cleared name. I do not understand what machination requires my freedom, though I am not one to complain about my premature release from incarceration, it still leaves me with a sense of unease. Not quite dread, but certainly not a feeling of fortuitousness. So, perhaps it is this very anxiety that is the root cause of my need to scribe; a need for control during a period where so much agency has been stripped from me. Since the events that lead to my incarceration, I have felt as if an unseen hand has pushed me, guiding my actions like a game piece on a board. Let this journal be a small attempt at recovering my independence through the power of the written word.

While it feels silly to do so in a personal journal, I should entertain the idea that a third party will most likely stumble upon this journal. Whether it be plucked from my corpse or found on a bar stool, I would want whoever peruses these pages to at least know to whom they refer. My name is Lolethys Aryon and I am a Dunmer woman who is, as of 3E 427, a mere twenty-eight years of age. As previously mentioned, I arrived in Vvardenfell as a prisoner, but was officially pardoned of my crime as I was processed by Census and Excise. If this journal gives you reason to find judgement against me, I would rather it be on the merits of this journal alone, rather than judgment filtered through the lens of my past actions. Thus, I will not discuss the exact events that lead to my incarceration – sorry to disappoint those who gossip, though I believe there will be surely enough juice in the proceeding pages to fill your hunger for rumors.

Aside from my pardoning, the process at Census and Excise was as mundane as any bureaucratic necessity. The officer, a Socucius Ergalla, did mention that he was expecting me, so that at least informs me that my pardon was not the result of clerical error but indeed a deliberate act. He asked of my my star sign and profession and seemed pleased that I was born under the Lady, as well as my vague occupational description “Freelancer.” Previous to Vvardenfell, I could only say my occupation was married to my illicit activities. Not wanting to reveal the particulars, though I suspect that Ergalla already knew them, I was forced to invent a profession on the spot. My improvisational skills may be lacking, but they are not completely devoid of merit.

“Very well, show your papers to the Captain when you exit to get your release fee,” he said to me as I signed that the given information was correct. A few of the others from the prison ship were also released. By pardon or by time served, I was not sure. One particular (ex)prisoner I recall was named Jiub. Jiub seemed to take particular interest in me as we sailed. Our conversation was shallow but pleasant and he cared enough to wake me up from an intense dream that plagued my sleep, though I cannot recall the particulars of that dream. There was a ruggedness about him that caught my eye, but alas, I was not able to find him after I moved through processing. For the best, I suppose, though I would not have minded an additional body to keep this bed warm. We may be able to blame this whole writing endeavor on sublimation!

Back to more serious matters, my conversation with Captain Sellus Gravius was of much importance and shed light on my current situation. Speaking in official capacity, it was he who informed me that the order for my release was given by none other than the Emperor himself! By the Nine Divine, I cannot fathom how the Emperor could care about someone as insignificant as myself, let alone hear of my exploits. I posited this very question to the Captain, who only gave me the curt reply “I didn’t need to know any more than what I was told.” To make matters even more strange, he gave me a package to deliver! On the orders of, again, Emperor Uriel Septim VII. I have been instructed to ensure this package reaches a Caius Cosades of Balmora. Does Vvardenfell typical ensure its parcel delivery to recently released convicts? I asked this of the Captain, but this only seemed to irk him and he reminded me who these orders came from, and that I was to serve Cosades as I would serve the Emperor. I wondered, is this some sort of trick? A way to force a convict into thinking they are free, only to make them indentured servants to the Emperor. What a choice indeed: lapdog or hard labor? Never the less, I lay here in a rented bed writing away with the package stored in a trunk at the foot of the bed. Along with the package came a letter, which I have yet to read due to lack of light; by the time I had finished with Gravius it was nightfall (and, as I have mentioned, some time was spent looking for a particular potential bedfellow). Here is the letter, now that I have the illumination to read it:

Lolethys Aryon, You have been given these directions and a package of documents. Do not show them to anyone. Do not attempt to read the documents in the package. The package has been sealed and your tampering will be discovered and punished. Follow these directions… [It then lists directions to find Cosades in Balmora, as well as instruction to answer to any further order given by Cosades.] … Remember. You owe your life and freedom to the Emperor. Serve him well, and you will be rewarded. Betray him, and you will suffer the fate of all traitors.

The package now sits heavier in the box. I am managing to suppress my curiosity for the time being, but I do not know how long I will be able to keep this package on my person without breaking that seal… after all, how difficult would it be to reseal? Not to speak ill of my own talents, but if Seyda Neen has a history of importing those who have walked a more shadowed past, I’m sure I could find someone who could make a convincing job of re-sealing the letter.

Alas, the candle in my room is burning low, and the innkeep seemed rather miserly. I shall not bother them for another candle, for fear that I will be charged a princely sum for the privilege. I shall conclude this entry with a declaration: I may owe my freedom to the Emperor, but I am no stooge!

Voting as ended! The results dictate that Lolethys will not deliver the package immediately.