The following is a copy of the contents of a half-burned letter found within a shanty in the outskirts of Daggerfall. The author is unknown.


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I find myself looking into my mind, trying to piece together the fragments of a puzzle that has confounded me for year upon year, never failing to become a malevolent maelstrom that tears asunder every fiber of my joy and happiness. It is a plague, a black dread that haunts my every step, hiding in the shadows of my conscious until such a time it deems to strike out, impaling me upon is jagged spear of depression and hopelessness. Every measure I take to avoid its suffocating grip is one step too short, for as long as the sun sits bright in the sky it will be my shadow, forever stitched to my thoughts with the thread of my being. It stalks me, always watching, ever present, and always whispering evident truths into my ear, truths that my will for joy and solace begs are not so. I cloak myself in hope, but it is naught but a permeable veil; translucent.

I am a hopelessly romantic cynic, a self placed hermit in a society in which I believe compassion has no purchase. My every want and will is a paradox that further strips away the flesh of my sanity; I am forever strapped to the post, condemned to a never-ending lashing by my every thought.

I seek fellowship, compassion, and solace in both my mind and my physical being, yet I shun society - my prejudice against its ignorance breeding a hate within me for all that it is - and turn inward towards my darkness, holding my veil of hope over my eyes so that it will advert my sight from the scourge within - a doomed crusade from the start. I reach out desperately for my salvation as I purposely sink myself in despair.

I have envisioned the antithesis of my solace as a black void, for the lack of that which I harbor an unequal love for has bred this child, this pit. Within it I have tumbled down and down farther, down until I found treacherous footing at its furthest depth. Here I have made my fight. I claw for the twinkle of fleeting light at the mouth of this great abyss, yet I blindingly deepen the blackness in my struggle, descending further and further down until that spark has faded to naught and I am consumed in a self born darkness.

I lay the fault of this internal hell’s beginning in my own hands. I cast my eyes upon a face of the likes I have never seen before and took this image into my soul, tearing a hole in its spiritual fabric so as to make a place for this person, no, this feeling, in my very being. I have lost sight of this face in the physical world, its smile never to grace my eyes again - that person, that feeling, is lost to me with no hope of return. In her absence, the engraving of that feeling upon my soul has twisted and blackened. I seek to find this feeling again, though I know not where to look. I wish for nothing but to tear that perverted essence from its place within me and cast it into the depths of Oblivion, yet, if I do, how will I know when I am presented with its pure form once again, and what would become of that gaping hole in my soul? I have placed all my being into seeking out this illusive part of my soul so that I can be rid of this sickness within my heart and mind. Though, as I seek I turn away. I have found that which would fill this vacancy yet I have shunned it as I do all things, for it was not pure.

I am forever stuck in a paradox of my own creation, my prison. This Ouroboros of self conflict and despair has driven me to my edge though I still cling to a sliver of hope for my sanity and my soul.

This journey within has just begun, but I fear the answers I seek lie without, in a world I wish no association with.