Note to the Reader: I present to you no meter nor style. I present nothing but simple poetry. Poetry of war? Perhaps. The true author of the content is me, of course, but I take the pen name of Julius Cripitis, an Imperial Legionnaire. He presents nothing special about his writing, no iambic pentameter; but retelling of his life in duty.
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Background: The year is 4E 7; after the crisis, millions of taxpayer gold flooded into restoration projects of Kvatch, the Imperial City, and the Anvil Chapel. Complaints sprung up from Morrowind because of this: somebody had been freeing their slaves, thus they had no labor. The government searched for new labor sources, and slavers flooded into Argonia in search of wealth. They gathered slaves and sold them to the government for a high price. However, Argonians ambushed and killed slavers that had taken their brethren; and as a result, a small conflict arose between the nations. The Imperial Legion wished to quell this threat before it inspired a ful-out war, so small amounts of troops have been sent near the Morrowind-Argonia border.

This is the journal of Julius Cripitus, a soldier in the Legion. He had been stationed in Morrowind under Captain sixtius. There, he and his fellow soldiers will try and be peacemakers, and arbitrate the disputes that arise.
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Midas, 16th Evening Star 4E 7

The hands of Arkay dipped down again,
and had taken another life;
For the freezing grasp of winter,
are causing our people strife.

But yet the frozen tundra,
has yet to stop our foes;
For yet again the conflicted,
the path of violence they chose.

Blades were drawn and arrows flew,
blood had stained the ice;
Even we, the arbitrators,
our mediation did not suffice.

'Twas the people of the swamp,
had lost more brethren;
then their darker foes of Vvardenfall,
who are poised to strike again.

Yet I foresee, in blood-bathed snow,
retaliation is nigh;
Arkay is close, the snow's nefarious,
many more have yet to die.