BLASTED BOOK

I don't know what this thing is. I don't know where it came from, or how it came to be in my possession. I don't know what foul arts are bound into its pages. What I do know is that books aren't meant to try and eat your head. I especially know that books aren't made to withstand heat that can crack and burst stone. So clearly I was right when I sensed the magic in it and brought it to this enchantment bench.

However, I must come back to the aforementioned attempt to eat my head. I will study it further in the morning.

You too I see.

If you're wondering why you're reading my words, whatever enchantment these ledgers possess allows us to read the writings of others who have them and likewise.

Though I never heard of them attempting to chew on one's head.

Anyhow, my name is Amelin. Yours?

...

I suppose this book has denied me even a few blank pages to keep my notes.

I believe the somewhat papery attempt on my life might have something to do with the enchantment. It only attacked me when I attempted to break it down at this enchanting bench.

With regards to names, I'd rather not give mine to what is apparently a sentient book.

And oh look. Two more mice out of the woodwork while I was writing. How interesting.

Hello. Welcome to the club, keep an eye out for Vigilants

...

Presuming for a moment that self-important priests armed with nothing but robes, maces and holy fervour would even be a threat to me...

They only hunt daedra and other such aberrations.

Have you been hiding under a rock? What you've got in your hands is Daedric and they will kill you for having it. Don't tell anyone where you are.

Ah. Daedric. That would explain many infuriating things. And presuming for a moment that I would be idiotic enough to tell a magic book my location, let them come. I refer you to my previous statement as to the threat I feel from ordinary humans with robes and maces. The cloth burns so delightfully well.

So did Bruma. You are stupid. I hope they get you. I hope the quiet man gets you.

I shudder in terror as I await 'the quiet man's approach.

Quiet man? Are these...do they know who has these?

Oh dear

YERRA LIZARD

I'LL FIGHT YOU

What.

Don't mind the idiot.

What do you mean, exactly. Ought I to have assumed it would suck my soul out through my pen?