• The Monastery
    Drevik MacMillan

    Yes, indeed, he WAS an ordinary boy, despite what others said. Jacob Kirgley was a perfectly normal boy. He played with friends, adventured around in the Great Forest, and caused shenanigans. Yes he was a perfectly natural 12 year old child.

    Poor Jacob is dead now. His remains fail to be found. Investigators and the town constables have tried for 14 years to find out what happened to poor Jacob.

    So, now I entrust you, my friend, to keep this secret, even now, as I lay dying.

    I will tell you what happened that fateful night in which Jacob departed from Chorrol and was never seen again.

    What lies within is a horrifying tale of betrayal, murder, and jealousy. What I’m about to tell you may last all night, in this candlelight. You must promise me
    never to reveal the contents of this transcript of events, may Akatosh save your soul.

    Time is running out, I must get to tell the story. Do you promise me?


    Then I say this: I know who killed poor Jacob Kirgley of Chorrol. I did.

    “Hello mum,” said Jacob on his way to the church, dancing around happily. After all, he had nothing to worry about. His family life was good, he had several friends, and he was in love, a perfectly natural 12 year old.

    Yet something bothered him. The feeling of being watched. Lately, he hasn’t felt secure even in his own bedroom. He confided in his dad about it, and he said it was because of THE GROW. His father explained that THE GROW happens to all kids at his age, where they become grown-ups, where he would be a man. He didn’t know what THE GROW meant, he didn’t understand, and it sounded scary. He didn’t want THE GROW. It made him feel uncomfortable. His father had called it “puberty”, but to him that word sounded more complicated than THE GROW. Complication equaled fear. His childlike mind not even thinking about what horrors will befall him in the following weeks.

    Other than this Jacob sang and danced to the church, where he would take lessons in various subjects, taught by the followers’ of Akatosh. It was the only place he felt “safe” anymore. THE GROW watched him, but not in the Church it couldn’t.

    Annabelle Kirgley watched her son go down the road to the Church. The Church was near the Wild Lands, a place where bad men killed each other. The Church was good to the people, however, and it especially helped Anna with her first childbirth, Ryan, and aided her with gold and emotional support when Ryan was killed in a Bandit raid. Jacob was her second child, and she couldn’t bear to lose him.

    “Annabelle, are you sure that Jacob is safe?” her husband said to her. Richard was her second husband; the first one was killed in the Bandit raid that claimed her firstborn son’s life as well.

    “No. Then again, you never know what CAN be safe anymore.” Annabelle sighed. She worried about her son. Her friends told her she worried too much about him. She thought she worried too little.

    “If it would make you feel better, I can send him to Aunt Elli in Skingrad, or Captain Sherwood in Anvil. He’s always been our friend, and Auntie could use the company.” Richard said, wrapping his arms around Annabelle’s petite waist.

    “No, I want to be near him. He’s my only son left, I can’t lose him.” She whispered, and left to go to the Mystic Emporium to work.

    He watched the boy.

    The boy was nice, innocent, and weak. Perfect for the taking…

    The Rat-Man jumped out of the sewers, as he watched the boy go by, grabbing him around the waist and covered his mouth. The Rat-Man started to haul him toward the sewer. His rats were hungry, after all…

    This, my friend, is where I met the boy.
    I happened to be leaving the Palace, after a meeting with my friend to discuss things. I saw the Rat-Man, horrid, retched, and ugly. I saw him taking the boy toward the sewer. I knew I had to do something.

    I pulled my dagger out of its scabbard, a fancy dirk from Skyrim. I charged the hideous Rat-Man. He dropped the boy and whipped a hand with sharp, unkempt nails toward my face. The blood stung, but lost as I plunged the dirk into the Rat-Mans chest.

    He screamed and immediately let go of me, crawling back to the sewers chanting “My babies, help Poppa! My babies, HELP POPPA!” I had no doubt in my mind that was a fatal stab. He crawled back into the sewer, still screaming. The sound died away.

    I faced the boy. He couldn’t have been more than 13 years old. A scared, innocent face in a tiny body.

    “You git, wherever ye be goin’ boy. That was a bad man, and you stay ‘way from them sewers, ye understand?”

    He nodded slowly, and ran off, towards the Church. I can only imagine the guards will be exploring the sewers soon, for the body of the Rat-Man. I continued on, wiping the blood from my knife, and noticed a nick in the hilt. Frowning, I took it to the weapon-smith across town.

    Richard has always been a good friend. His wife, Annabelle, was a dear. They had a son, I didn’t know his name then.

    “Oui, Richard, glad to see you, my good friend!” I said as I walked into the weapon shop. He glanced in my direction, noticed it was me, and beamed.

    “John! Long time no see! What’ll it be today?”

    “I got a nick in my hilt after fighting a rat, near the sewer.” Hey, It WAS a white lie.
    He took my weapon, glancing at it. “Oh, VERY nice,” he commented “Where did you get this beauty?”

    “From a traveling merchant, in the Imperial City . He said it came from Skyrim.”

    “No problem, John, it’ll take a few hours though. Why don’t you try that new shop, near the Oak and Crosier. I think its called…Far From The Mountains. Sells stuff from Valenwood and beyond”

    The guards checked the sewers. There was blood, indeed, but no evidence of the Rat-Man.

    It was like he was a ghost.