The Journal of Artorius Valiente : The Rot Below Entry 1 || The Old Prison [A Skyrim Quest Mod]

Journal of Artorius Valiente 27th of Frostfall Riften. Of all the places in Skyrim, I never expected to spend nearly two weeks here willingly. The city smells of fish, damp wood, and cheap mead. Yet after months on the road, even the noise of the marketplace had become strangely comforting. Our wagon sat parked beside the stables outside the city gates while Serana and I enjoyed something rare: Rest. No ancient prophecies. No vampire lords. No dragons. Just quiet evenings spent beside the fire at the Bee and Barb. I should have known it wouldn't last. This morning, a messenger found us during breakfast. He carried a sealed letter bearing the sigil of the Jarl's court. According to the note, the court wizard urgently requested our presence. Apparently a package had arrived several days prior, addressed to no one in particular. The courier who delivered it claimed it had passed through multiple hands across Skyrim before finally reaching Riften. No return address. No explanation. Only a weathered leather journal. Naturally, curiosity got the better of us. By midday we stood within Mistveil Keep. The court wizard looked relieved to see us. "I was told you investigate strange matters," he said. "And after reading portions of this, I wanted no part of it." The old mage produced a worn journal from a locked chest. Its leather cover was stained by moisture and age. Something about it immediately unsettled me. The pages were swollen, as though exposed to damp caverns for years. There was no title. Only a name written upon the first page. Elroy. The wizard explained that several guards had attempted reading portions of it. None got very far. Most claimed the entries became increasingly disturbing. One man reportedly refused to speak about what he had read. Another requested immediate transfer to Whiterun. The wizard handed the journal to me. "I think whatever this is," he said quietly, "it belongs in the hands of adventurers, not scholars." I glanced toward Serana. She had already noticed something strange. The journal radiated faint traces of magic. Old magic. Not enchantment. Not necromancy. Something else. Something buried. We returned to the Bee and Barb shortly before sunset. Now the fire crackles beside us while snow falls beyond the windows. Serana sits across from me with a cup of hot tea, watching silently as I turn the first page. The handwriting is hurried. Uneven. As though written by a man growing steadily more frightened. At the top of the page are the words: "If anyone finds this journal, know that I never intended to go below." And so I begin reading. Whatever happened to Elroy... It started beneath Skyrim. And by the Nine, I fear it did not end there.