Southwest of Helgen, winter.

There’s a sea of snow out in the hinterlands now. Back in late summer, Misha the Road Witch warned us about it’s coming. I threw her a gold piece in hope she could forestall it. Maybe she just delayed it’s onslaught.

Out practicing lightning skills today. Insights galore. I picked a camp of Stormcloaks to lacerate with my magic. Many died quickly. But their leader, I’m not sure of his name, was blessed with a ring that seemed to negate my spell.

He hurled himself at me with murderous rampage. I’d taken away his men, and now he would–at night no less–try to take a vampyre’s right to exist from her.

I wasn’t having it.

Doubling down on my lightning, he finally fell to the snowy earth, writhing as I tortured. Death was denied him, but did he pray, did he pray for death under his…