Moded Skyrim|| The Journal of Artorius 8 : Grand Deceiver

The Journal of Artorius Valiente The Beast of Lake Ilinalta Frostfall, 4E 201 After our battle with the vampires, I took Witchbane to a smith to have the damage repaired. While the blade was being tended to, Inigo and I stopped to read the local notice board. Most towns in Skyrim have one, filled with announcements, odd jobs, and desperate pleas from those with nowhere else to turn. One notice caught my attention. A family had been slaughtered by a beast of unknown origin, leaving only a young boy alive. The man who posted the bounty had taken the boy into his custody and offered a reward for the creature’s head. He instructed any willing hunter to visit his cabin in the autumn forests. We found the cabin and met the man caring for the orphaned child. His grief was plain, and his account of the killings left little doubt that something unnatural was responsible. He directed us toward a cave near Lake Ilinalta, where the beast was believed to be hiding. Inigo and I followed the trail and soon discovered that the creature was no ordinary animal. It was a werewolf. Yet before us stood something more complicated than a mindless monster. The beast spoke, and in its voice I heard the remnants of the man it had once been. He told us that he had suffered from a terminal illness. Desperate to escape death, he had made a bargain with a Daedric Lord. The price was the sacrifice of his own dog. But the moment he raised his axe against the animal, the bargain revealed its true nature. Fur spread across his body, his bones twisted, and he became a werewolf. The cure he had begged for had become a curse. He spoke of the hunger that followed his transformation, a terrible craving that robbed him of reason and left the beast in control. It was during one of these episodes that he had slaughtered the boy’s family. When his senses returned, he was left with the memory of what he had done and the knowledge that he might do it again. He did not deny his guilt. He did not ask for forgiveness. He asked me to end his life. I questioned him, searching for another path. Surely there had to be some cure, some means of separating the man from the monster. But he insisted that death was the only answer. For now, he could still speak with reason, but once the hunger took hold, he would lose himself completely. He warned me that any attack would awaken that hunger. If I struck him, he would fight back. I stood before him with my sword in hand, wishing there were another way. As a servant of Stendarr, I have been taught to show mercy to those who suffer and to offer redemption where it remains possible. But mercy cannot mean allowing innocent people to die simply because I cannot bear to make a terrible choice. I whispered a brief prayer and raised my sword. I aimed for his heart, hoping to end his suffering swiftly. But the beast’s instincts were faster than I expected. It caught my strike and retaliated with terrifying strength. I evaded its first swipe, only for the second to hurl me backward across the cave floor. Before I could recover, the werewolf lunged. Then came the sharp whistle of an arrow. Inigo’s holy-water-coated shaft struck the creature, interrupting its attack and giving me the moment I needed. I forced myself to my feet and drew a wooden stake from my belt. Such weapons are more commonly used against vampires, but desperation leaves little room for preference. I drove the stake into the werewolf’s leg, slowing its advance. As it staggered, I gathered what strength remained in me and thrust Witchbane into its chest. The beast fell. For a moment, the cave was silent, save for the sound of our breathing. I looked upon the creature’s body and wondered whether the man within had felt relief at the end, or whether the curse had consumed him entirely before death could claim him. I knelt and offered a prayer for his soul. Then I called upon one of the fire spells my old mentor, Askeladd, had taught me. Flames engulfed the fallen beast, reducing its remains to ash so that the curse might leave nothing behind to haunt another soul. We returned to the cabin with the news that the creature was dead. It would not bring the boy’s family back, nor would it erase what had happened. But the beast would kill no more. I have faced vampires who delighted in their cruelty and monsters that knew nothing but hunger. This encounter troubled me more than most. The werewolf had been a dying man who made a desperate choice, and whatever mercy he sought from the Daedra had been twisted into a nightmare. I cannot say whether he deserved forgiveness. That judgment belongs to a higher power than I. But I pray that Stendarr will see the man who remained beneath the curse, and not only the monster he became. — Artorius Valiente