General:Vampirism and Lycanthropy

Book Information
Archived Link:	primagames
Writer(s):	PRIMA Games Staff
Publication Date:	Jun 5, 2013

Vampirism and Lycanthropy

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The following was published on the PRIMA Games website to promote the release of the Legendary Edition of the The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim: Prima Official Game Guide.

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A recent discovery of parchments close to Bleak Falls Barrow has unearthed some interesting revelations about the agitated minds of those that seek to change their demeanor through the transformative states of Vampirism and Lycanthropy. May this be a warning to explorers seeking power; it can come with a sometimes uncontrollable thirst for blood...

The Path of the Lycanthrope

The sworn statement of Dawnstar guard Ollrod Wet-Beard, regarding the nocturnal attacks last Morndas traced to the were-beast of The Pale

Being, in part, the sworn statement of Dawnstar guard Ollrod Wet-Beard, regarding the nocturnal attacks last Morndas traced to the were-beast of The Pale.

I was awoken from my bed by a terrible roar (louder even than the pelting snow) coming from outside. I woke Snilvir, and made haste for the door, opening it a crack to peer outside into the blizzard. The main thoroughfare outside the Windpeak Inn was awash with blood. I witnessed a guard sitting on the cobblestones, gasping for breath and holding his chest. I couldn’t make out the shapes in the dark, but something darted by him. It was faster than a Khajiit with its tail on fire, and four times the size. I looked again, and the guard was gone (his limbs were subsequently located near Iron-Breaker Mine, by the smelter) . I heard indistinct yelling, and saw Rustleif in front of his forge, lighting a torch with his bow at the ready. More guards shouting, then a scream that turned abruptly into a gurgle. I’m ashamed to admit I shut the door and spent a few moments convincing Snilvir to head out first.

When I heard Snilvir’s curses, and came outside as quickly as I could. He had deep gouge marks across his arm, which we quickly staunched. He waved his sword toward The Mortar and Pestle. A huge, hairy beast with arrows embedded across its back, began to pick up speed. Being a reader of Experimentation in the Physicalities of the Werewolf by Reman Crex, we correctly identified the creature as a Vargr; larger than a man, filled out with thick black fur, sporting the eyes of a lunatic and the teeth of a snow wolf. We ran in opposing directions away from Dawnstar. This was, I assure you, to coax the werewolf away from the villagers.

The plan was successful, as the hairy blighter landed on Snilvir’s back and began to tear at him, by the rocks near the entrance to Quicksilver Mine. Now the Barracks had been risen, and reinforcements began crossing the harbor, but were bogged down in the fresh snow. As I explained to Brina, they arrived too late to save poor Snilvir, who subsequently died of wounds too deep and gruesome to explain the nature of. Then the werewolf was gone; vanishing into the gale. It was tracked to the west, as far as High Gate Ruins. We informed the Legate at the Imperial Camp, planted Wolfsbane, and increased patrols at night and during inclement weather.

By the breath of Akatosh, the wolf-man of Dawnstar will not prevail.

The Path of the Undeath

The final confession of the deviant Henrig Iron-Blood, hated Volkihar Vampire

The light burned my eyes, despite the usual greyness of the day, and the thick blanket of clouds shrouding the Velothi Mountains. I felt drained, and my skin seemed stretched too tightly across my bones. The soaking rain didn’t ease my discomfort. I sat at the shore of the cursed Lake Ilinalta. A sunken-eyed and hollowed-out fellow blinked back at me.

“You’re looking a little pale, friend. Been at the mead again?” Borfinn the guard, had wandered a little too far from his post at Riverwood. He waved at me from the road, and approached me in the twilight. I clenched my teeth and fists as my vision turned crimson. Blood boiled. I lost consciousness in an instant. The next few moments were a blur.

When I regained my vision, Borfinn lay mangled at my feet, his blood dripping from my claws. I rose to my full height, unfurled my wings, and bellowed across the water in triumph. The transformation was complete: My time in the servitude of Lord Harkon at Castle Volkihar had not been without merit: For I was now one of his flock.

Flitting across the lake, skimming my toes over the silent surface of the dark water, I spied the lights of Half-Moon Mill. I vaguely remembered hearing rumors of Hert and her husband Hern were also tainted with the same disease that I bore. Hern was chopping wood when I landed on the shore. I raised my hands and attempted to speak, but my greeting was twisted into guttural snarls. A moment later, an iron axe narrowly missed my head.

“Hert! Nightspawn from the north! Fetch my sword!” Hert clattered out of their home with two weapons drawn. One landed at Hern’s feet, but never got to his hand: I relished the tightening grip on his neck as I picked his thrashing form from the ground, throttling him with delicious vigor. Hert let out a shriek as she heard Hern let out a snap, and his body turned limp. Then she was on me, valiantly striking at my indistinct form with impressively measured – but ultimately pointless – sword swings. But I was already a mist, vanishing into the churning spray of the water wheel, and leaving Hert to her anguish.

When Borfinn shambled back into Riverwood, the other guards immediately noticed something was amiss. Their suspicions were confirmed after Borfinn lunged for Camilla Valerius, and the walking corpse was brought down by a peppering of arrows. But this was a mere distraction, as two rock-hewn devils landed among the townsfolk, sending them screaming and scattering. I plucked one of Faendal’s arrows from my back, and turned to register my disapproval at the rapidly-retreating Bosmer. He slowed considerably and sagged to his knees as his life essence – and the color from his cheeks – slowly drained to feed my ravenous hunger. Chaos overtook the village.

Orgnar charged out from the Sleeping Giant Inn with both hands clutching an oversized hammer. Hod had followed him out, unbuckling his iron war axe, which he now swung wildly about his head. One of my gargoyles had already met its match against the might of Alvor’s anvil hammer: It thrashed backwards as the blacksmith’s deftly-wielded weapon drove it off the pier and into the White River, where it floundered and finally sank. Now the other was lashing out with hardened talons.

The tide was beginning to turn. For a collection of backward yokels, the citizens of Riverwood knew how to band together and thwart a now ill-conceived attack. Orgnar was nursing a head-wound, but Hod had successfully dispatched my other minion. I knew panic for the first time, as my powers grew dim. I had just taken a head from one of the guards, and blinded another with a furious flurry, when I heard a faint, but distinct voice up against my ear.

“Ever felt a cold blade between your ribs?” A woman’s whisper, followed by a sharp pain and immediate enfeeblement.

As I sit here under Dragonsreach, waiting for the Jarl to show clemency over my abhorrent condition, I know Balgruuf the Greater to be a just and fair man. I am now aware of the true nature of my curse. But Harkon’s words are still whispered, here in the silence of my cell:

“Men will tremble at your approach, and you will never fear death again!” I resist! I resist these evil temptations: This hated monster and his revolting clan were fiends of the highest order, who tempted and controlled my will! My actions could not be helped… I was a vassal of the Volkihar! I seek mercy!

— The final confession of the deviant Henrig Iron-Blood, hated Volkihar Vampire, put to death, 14th Sun’s Dusk, 4E 201