The Journal of Artorius Valiente : The Rot Below Entry 3 || Saint Adabelle [A Skyrim Quest Mod

From the Palace we descended even deeper into the bowels of the crypts. The passages below were ancient beyond reckoning. Stone corridors twisted through the earth like roots, choked by crimson fungus and lined with countless tombs. Every step carried us further into the Saint-Lich's grief. And there, among the dead, we found her sons. Not men. Not anymore. The first waited within a ruined chapel buried beneath the palace. Clad in ancient armor, he stood vigil before a forgotten altar, guarding it long after the kingdom he swore to protect had turned to dust. The second wandered a garden of fungal growths where no sunlight had reached for centuries. His body was frail and twisted, forever reliving the sickness that had claimed him in life. The third remained in the deepest tunnels below the city. Lost in death just as he had been in life, he wandered the darkness searching for a path home that no longer existed. Each battle was difficult. Not because they were powerful. Though they were. But because every blow felt wrong. These were not monsters born from cruelty or ambition. They were young men whose lives had ended far too soon. Sons mourned by a mother incapable of accepting loss. Each time one fell, I felt less like a hero and more like an executioner granting a mercy centuries overdue. When the last of them finally passed into silence, I saw tears in Serana's eyes. Neither of us spoke. We understood one another well enough. Both of us had seen what grief could do to a family. What it could transform people into. Beyond the catacombs lay the Grand Library. At least, that was what it had once been. Now it resembled a laboratory more than a place of learning. Towers of books rose toward the ceiling while fungal growths spread between shelves like veins. Strange vats filled with murky fluid lined the chambers. Bodies floated within them. Some living. Some dead. Some neither. The Librarian greeted with fungal spells and rotten boooks. His mind had long since surrendered to madness. Within his records we uncovered the terrible truth behind the fungal draugr. The rot was no natural affliction. It was cultivated. Refined. Engineered. The fungus served as a vessel that preserved flesh long after death. Through countless experiments the Librarian had perfected a process that transformed captives into obedient undead servants. The fungal draugr infesting Lich Town were not accidents. They were his creations. Every kidnapped traveler. Every lost adventurer. Every unfortunate soul dragged into the city. All had become raw material for his experiments. Yet that horror was not the most shocking revelation hidden within his archives. Among countless journals and records, one particular name appeared repeatedly. Harkon. Lord Harkon of Castle Volkihar. The pages described a visitor from Skyrim who had journeyed to Lich Town centuries ago seeking knowledge concerning an ancient prophecy. The Tyranny of the Sun. I watched Serana read the name. For a moment she simply stared. Then she read it again. The shock upon her face was unmistakable. Her father had stood within these very halls. Walked these same corridors. Spoken with the same mad scholars. Perhaps it should not have surprised us. Harkon had always pursued forbidden knowledge wherever it could be found. Still, seeing his name written within the records of this cursed city sent a chill through both of us. It was as though his shadow had somehow followed us even here. Yet even that revelation paled beside the final truth we uncovered. The Hierophant. The mysterious figure who had manipulated events from the beginning. The servant of Namira responsible for so much suffering. His true identity was hidden within the Librarian's private journals. Elroy. The very same Elroy whose wife had been sacrificed within Lich Town long ago. A grieving husband. A broken man. Another soul destroyed by loss. According to the records, Elroy came seeking vengeance. Seeking answers. Seeking a way to bring back what had been taken from him. Instead, Namira found him. Whispered to him. Fed upon his despair until nothing remained. Over the centuries he rose through the cult's ranks, eventually becoming the Hierophant himself. The architect behind everything. The kidnappings. The corruption. The spread of the rot. The suffering inflicted upon both the living and the dead. All of it traced back to him. Another tragedy. Another soul consumed by grief. Another reminder that the greatest horrors we had encountered in Lich Town were not born from evil. They were born from loss. And somewhere beyond the library, beyond the palace, beyond the endless darkness below, Elroy waited for us. At last we knew the truth. Now we would have to survive it. With keepers of the palace dispatched we make our way into the ballroom where Adabelles sister awaits.