[pagebreak]
<p align="center">
The Curse of the Rumiirua : Being the Journal of Jebidiah Halfwitch
</p>
[pagebreak]
<p align="left">
<img src='img://Textures/Interface/Books/Illuminated_Letters/I_letter.png'> lost my entire family to those damn things. Let's get that out of the way right now. My wife, my three children, even my hunting dog. Later, my brother as well. I know his wife will never forgive me, dragging her man into my madness and rage. I lost everything, including my soul, which wasn't doing me all that much good anyhow, truth to tell.
Rumiirua, they call them. And it's as good a name for those thrice damned sons of whores as any, I figure. But even so, these aren't like most Undead. If you've been around Tamriel at all, you've probably seen your fair share of critter and beast, or heard tell of them at least. Dark days, so they say. Animated skeletons aren't so troublesome a thing. Neither are normal Undead. They're mostly dumb; they don't travel in numbers too large, and are not so fearsome. There are a variety of ways to take one out. Typically, a Mage has set a few on a mission of a personal nature. Once that mission's complete, they usually just drop back to the dirt. If not, well like I said, if you know what you're up against and prepared, they're just not too formidable.
Rumiirua are nothing like that. First off, most of them are still full of meat. That's the thing, see? You smell them first. All that rancid, rotting meat. And you don't know where they are or how many. You just know they're close. And that puts the fear into you. That fear combined with the smell and all the other people in the vicinity panicking… it's easy to lose your self in the chaos.
That's when the attack comes, coordinated and precise. These things have still got their wits about them. Well, mostly. Like I said, these are not normal Undead. These move with a purpose born of something personal. You can tell there is some coherent thought left. And you've never seen vicious until you've seen these things move as one.
My name's Jebediah Halfwitch. There's a story behind the family name, but that's a tale for another day. And someone else will have to tell it. This story, assuming I get to finish it, is about what happened that night. And what I've done since. Some of it's true, those parts I witnessed myself. Some of it is speculation, parts that other more imaginative people have thought up, or heard from still others. But it may as well be true. You can believe or not. I don't care much one way or the other. By the time anyone finds this, I'll likely be worm food. But you would do well to listen, for I've found their weakness.
Magic folk; wizards, mages, necromancers and the like, they say there are other worlds. Worlds beyond counting. And they say there are doorways between worlds that can be traveled through, if you have the keys, that is. I've never witnessed such, but that doesn't mean it's not true. They tell of worlds what have strange square buildings climbing so high into the sky they get lost in the clouds. Worlds that have flying machines. Worlds with cities up in the clouds, where people travel between the stars faster than light in giant ships. I don't believe all that, but I guess you just never know, do you?
Story I heard, there was a very powerful, very evil sorcerer from some other world. Eternia, he called it, a strange and wonderful place of both science and magic. A noble name, I reckon. But evil can come from good lands, and good can come from wicked places, so they say. Well if there's even a lick of truth to it, this sorcerer might just redefine evil. Not the kind of evil of gods and demons. No, I mean the darker evil of mortal ambition combined with a sociopathic lack of empathy or any consideration for one's fellow man.
This sorcerer was committed to total domination of his own world, but had emissaries and apprentices that would conquer other worlds in his name. That's where Mannimarco comes in. Maybe you've heard that name, if you've journeyed through much of Tamriel, that is. Mannimarco was one of his apprentices, and well on his way to conquering this world. I won't bore you with history you probably already know. He came very close to succeeding and was waging his endgame against to Mages Guild. Which at that time, would have been the last bastion of hope. His arrogance cost him his victory. He engaged in a direct confrontation with both the archmage Trabonius Artorius and his successor, the archmage Hannibal Traven. Together they brought him down and believed the realm to safe, with his passing. They even displayed his head on a spike outside their temple as both a warning and a trophy.
That was the end of the conflict, until the sorcerer learned of his apprentice's defeat. Upon hearing of the loss of Tamriel to his empire, he cursed to land to destroy not just those who stood against his plan, but all occupants of the realm. First he slaughtered an army, and then cast a spell reanimating the dead. He set his zombie army out across the land gathering numbers to their rank as they went on a journey of hundreds of miles to the Mage's Guild. You see, the zombie army was just the beginning. Any who were killed by the zombies, the Rumiirua to be precise, would be reanimated themselves and join the march to Mage's Guild.
That's the story. The Legend, if you will. And like all legends, just enough truth mixed in with the bullshit to keep everyone believing and repeating it. I suppose the origin of the monsters doesn't matter all that much. I'd heard the stories of a zombie army just outside Skyrim. Didn't pay it much heed. Till it came ripping through the walls of my home that is.
We were having supper when we first smelled the stench. Then we heard the noises; groans. Then we heard the screaming off in the distance. From the farmhouse adjacent to ours, the Jarobsons. I later learned that they all died. Well, maybe died isn't quite right. It was Makiia Jarobson himself who ate my wife's face. Damn all the gods to hell. I can still see the look in her eyes in her last minutes when she believed I would be able to save her. I need a minute.
Ok, like I said, we were having supper. I sat at the table with my two boys and my daughter. Thomas, 14. Gregory, 13. And Meagan at 11. Clover was under the table at my feet waiting for scraps. Amelia had just brought the food to the table. At first we joked about the smell being her supper. I hold onto that memory. The 5 of us laughing, sitting together. Happy. Enjoying each other's company. It was short lived, for I realized as the smell grew so much stronger so quickly that something was very wrong. I was just about to give voice to my concerns when we heard the first screams.
What happened then I cannot bear to relate in all of its detail. The pain is too near. But I will summarize.
I took hold of my sword. As I only own the one, my boys grabbed garden tools to wield in defense. And out into the night we strode. Ready to seek out the danger and defend the homestead. In the dying evening light I could make out Constance, my neighbors wife, on the far end of my field, struggling with a group of attackers as she tried to make it to the safety of my home. I wondered why she left her home and where her husband Makiia was.
I told my boys wait there at the door and ran out into my field, Clover pacing me at my side. As her attackers surrounded her and threw her to the ground, I believed I knew the nature of the attack and thought to rush in beheading the closest one and thus discouraging the rest, and hold them at bay until Makiia joined me. It was then that I saw them tearing off not just her clothing but her flesh. I was half way to her rescue when they tore into her stomach and began pulling out her intestines. She was screaming like I've never heard anything scream before, but I've heard it many times since. I stopped and stood frozen in horror. Some of them began eating her guts, others seemed to just be watching and enjoying the show. I could not move. I began to truly see her attackers for the first time. Some seemed normal enough. Others were missing pieces. Others had their own guts hanging out. Others looked as if they had been exhumed from a grave and given new life, born again if you will. I could see rancid, mucid flesh hanging where limbs should be. I could see empty eye sockets. I began vomiting where I stood, much of it splattering my pants and boots. Constance kept screaming. There was no sanity in that scream. Only blind agony.
Clover shot off into the fray, barking and growling as he ran. He launched himself at the closest one, the one I had planned on beheading, and knocked him to his side. I couldn't see what happened to him but the yelps were telling enough. He was a good dog. You have to raise them from pups for them to be that loyal. It would take a good amount of time to replace him, train another. I actually remember thinking that.
I finally turned and began running back to my home where my boys stood with scythes and sickles just outside the door. I'd left Constance screaming, bleeding out into my wheat. Clover as well. I felt no guilt. My only thought was of my family. I ordered my boys in and told them to lock down everything. Doors were barred, shutters were locked. Barricades were set up. I tried to explain the situation to them but probably didn't make much sense. What about the situation did I really understand? I saw my Amelia eyeing the vomit on my boots, which were giving off an acidic smell. Saw the horror on her face as she realized the extent of the danger. I ordered her and Meagan upstairs to hide. My reasoning being that if the locks and barricades were unsuccessful, if my boys and I failed, we could still retreat upstairs. We could exit through a window and drop down the porch's overhang and flee into the night. My wife wanted for all of us to hide in the cellar. In my head, I was going to protect our home. I know now the home was irrelevant, and those in the home were everything. I'm sure I knew it then too, but pride was in the way of clear thinking. Fear also. Looking back, I wonder if they would still be alive if we had done what Amelia wanted. My dear sweet Amelia, missing half her face.
At the time it must have felt like a heroic battle. My boys and I defending the home. My wife and daughter safe upstairs. I was an idiot. I don't know how long it took them to break in. Minutes probably. They surrounded the house and began pummeling doors and windows, breaking through sturdy wood and iron latches. Much of my rage and adrenaline dissipated when the first arm reached through the broken window shutters. I sliced it off cleanly at the elbow and did not faze the attacker in the least. My boys eyes grew wide in fear. Suddenly arms were everywhere. Reaching in, pulling boards out. Sword, sickle and scythe swinging with abandon. Limbs and blood and gore covering everything, soaking into the floorboards. And still they pressed on. Nothing would deter them.
I realized it was a futile effort and was just about to enact our retreat and forfeit the house when one of them grabbed Gregory, my youngest. I heard him yell and turned to look just in time to see two of the attackers wrench his head from his shoulders. I went numb. I stood there, seeing but not understanding. It was Amelia who reacted. She saw from the top of the stairs. She ran down the narrow flight and shot across the room with unbelievable speed, stole Gregory's head away from the two undead leaning through our window, and began trying to re-attach it to his lifeless body. It may sound absurd, but it was more than I could do. I was still standing where I was, watching the horror unfold around me. I could hear weeping. I could hear her telling Gregory it would be ok. I saw the hands reaching for her from behind. Hands that belonged to Makii of all people. He was dead. One of his eyes was missing. There was a line of drool hanging from his mouth. One of his hands reached into her mouth, grabbed on for all it was worth and began pulling with inhuman strength.
As half her face and scalp were pulled away, the paralysis finally broke. I ran to her and pulled her away from the rancid things invading our home, one of whom was my neighbor. I had helped him deliver a calf, for god's sake. And now as I looked back he slowly brought the scrap of Amelia's beautiful face and hair to his mouth and began chewing. I carried her upstairs yelling for Thomas to follow me. I remember him asking about Gregory but I don't remember answering him. I remember carrying Amelia down the hall and into our bedroom, Thomas and Meagan close behind. I remember locking and barricading our door while my two remaining children looked after their mother who was fading fast.
“What do I do?”, Thomas yelled. I had no answer for him. I knelt down before her and held her hands. She looked at me and I have no idea if she really saw me, but there was an intensity in her eyes like she was trying to convey something. It could just be wishful thinking. Like I said, she was fading fast, bleeding out. There were no final words. No “I love you”. Just coughing and gurgling blood and sputtering. And that look in her eyes. Then she was gone. Just gone. An exhale and no inhale following it. Meagan began crying. Thomas looked to me to see what to do, but again I had no answer for him. My wife was dead on the floor in front of me. My youngest son dead downstairs. I had no answers.
That was when the pounding on the door began. I knew we didn't have long. I began to prepare for our escape, quickly gathering a few items we would need on the road. They began to tear through the wood and I moved to push the dresser back in place reinforcing it, yelling for my children to grab the few items I'd gathered and climb out the window. That was when Amelia woke up. It was not Amelia anymore of course. But I didn't know that. For the briefest of moments I was so happy. I had been wrong. She wasn't dead after all. Then she grabbed Meagan and buried her ruined face into Meagan's neck and began chewing. With a large chunk of Meagan's flesh between her teeth, she jerked her head back violently, ripping tendon, tissue, and the carotid artery. Blood sprayed the room with an unbelievable pressure. Thomas was drenched in it. I began to scream “No”! It was all I seemed capable of. Repeating it over and over.
I moved to pull Meagan away from Amelia and my wife began to growl at me. I threw Meagan in Thomas's arms telling him to back up, which of course was terrible advice. I turned to face my wife. I could see in her eyes it was no longer her. There was nothing but an evil hatred emanating from them. I understood what had to be done. Thomas did not. I took up my sword and brought it down through her skull, separating the half of her face with skin from the half without. Thomas began screaming. I stood there panting and turned to face Thomas just in time to see hands burst through the door he had backed up against and grab him. He dropped Meagan and screamed as he was pulled though the broken door. I rushed to look through the doorway but already the hall was too crowded with the undead to see him. But I could hear just fine as they were eating him alive. Screaming for me to help him for what seemed an eternity. That word will haunt me for as long as I go on. Dad. Screamed though the lips of a son I could not help. Over and over. I recall the first time he said dad when he was learning to talk. It was the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard. Now it was the sound of nightmares.
I looked down at where Meagan lay on the floor. She had also passed. She took her last breath lying at my feet and I hadn't even noticed. I was too busy listening to Thomas scream “Dad”.
I can't tell you how much I wish I had just sat down and held Meagan in my arms and waited for them to take me too. I have no idea why I didn't. No idea why I climbed out the window, dropped to the ground and ran away. But run away I did. It's all a blur. I really don't remember any other details until waking up in my brother Isaac's home just outside Whiterun two days later. It's a days journey to the small village where he lived and I must have run the entire way. He told me I was delirious, dehydrated and covered in blood when I arrived.
I told my story and passed back out. Apparently he rode to my farm saw for himself the devastation. Upon waking again, I asked questions he wouldn't answer. He simply said it was as I had described. He gathered all the men from his village and held a meeting at his home. Relaying all the details I'd given him to the others while I just sat and listened. Many of them had also seen firsthand the grisly remains. He wasn't the only one to investigate it seems.
A man named Johnson Russio filled in many details of what he called the Rumiirua. He said the story and warning had been given to him by a campfire one night by a strange traveler by the name of Keldor. How Keldor came by this information or what he knew of their march to the Mages Guild, I have no idea. Neither did Russio for that matter. But all I know of the Rumiirua and their journey comes from Russio. So for what's wrong, blame him.
It was agreed that we would set out with many fighters and weapons and destroy them to protect the village. As I write this now I realize how stupid it sounds. But realize, it was a room full of bravado and men who would not show their fear. As well as more then a little alcohol. And I was too numb to care.
Understand this. The Rumiirua had already passed the village. They were heading (North), presumably to the Mages Guild, and just happened to pass through my land. This village was a couple miles to the west. They were safe. For the moment anyhow.
We picked up their back trail the next day and went after them. My brother's wife Sarah begged him not to go, but he told her the family must be avenged. The look she gave me spoke volumes.
After a long journey we found them in the next village to the north about 30 miles on. A great slaughter ensued, some of which I witnessed. Most of which I can only imagine, but in all fairness, having witnessed the things I have, I believe my imagination is sufficient. Yours will have to be as well. I had intended to write of the battle in as much detail as the attack on my home but realize now there would be no point. A great number of men died, most of which stood up and joined the ranks of the undead soon after. Much blood. Much viscera. Screaming and wailing. It seemed to go on forever. The men were not prepared to fight an enemy that couldn't be hurt. They would deliver killing blows and the Rumiirua would not even react to it. They never stop. They never tire. They march. They devour. And their numbers increase with every man that resists them.
I can tell you I saw my brother devoured. He died saving me. Our modest group of would-be soldiers had been overwhelmed. My brother and I were attempting to retreat. We rounded a corner and the Rumiirua were upon me. I had nothing left and was ready to let them take me. Isaac jumped between us and shoved me away. He looked into my eyes without fear and spoke his last words in this life. He said “Run, brother”, and then they tore him open. It saddens me all the more because he died for nothing. There's nothing here worth saving, wouldn't be even if I weren't dying. The only part of me worth anything died with my family back at the farmhouse. But the rest of me will catch up very soon. I was bitten. And now dark black lines of infection travel up my arm. I don't know if the bite itself is what turns people, or if all that die now join the Rumiirua. But I won't risk it either way. I won't join the march to the Mages Guild. Not if I can prevent it.
I should tell you I also saw Meagan and Thomas. This was before Isaac's death. There was nothing left of my children. They were devouring villagers dispassionately. I managed to cut them down, as Isaac looked on,. He knew it was something I had to do myself.. I took their heads off. That's the trick. Gutting them, taking limbs, it accomplishes nothing. You have to take the head. Which I discovered accidentally when cutting down my poor Amelia. And this is why Gregory didn't return of course.
The battle is over now. All the villagers are dead. The Rumiirua ranks swelled to twice their previous number, and now they move on toward the Mages. I escaped the fate of the rest of them by pretending to be dead, lying underneath a few corpses.
I have to get home you see. That's what I'm doing now. I have the bodies of Meagan and Thomas in a cart, and I'm trying to get back home before the infection takes me. I'm still a couple miles away. I expect to find Amelia and Gregory still in the house. Once I'm home and we're all together again, I will pour oil all over the house, my family and myself. And I will light us on fire with a thankful heart. Our deaths will be of rest and peace. That is my only hope, that the fire will purify me and cleanse my sins. That it will consume me so completely, that there will be no body left to rise again once I am dead.
It occurs to me now as I walk home pulling the bodies of my dead children, that Amelia was right. We should have hid in the cellar.
This is my last rest before setting out on the last leg of my journey. I am in an old, abandoned temple in Whiterun. I have sat here for the last couple hours, gathering my strength and writing all this down. I have spoken my confession to the darkness and the dust, in the shadow of a broken cross. I seek no absolution. I will leave this journal here in front of the altar. I will leave it for my sister in law, in the hopes that someone finds it and delivers it to her.
I'm sorry for your husband, Sarah. My brother. Isaac. He was truly noble and should not have died. Certainly not for me. I know I have failed all those that meant anything to me, and look forward to the release of Hell. If you should come across my family in the nekt life, tell them I'm sorry. Tell them that I love them so much and that I miss them. I hope they're in a much better place now. Better than where I'm going.
I'm so sorry.
I am so very sorry.
. Sans rire ça me plait beaucoup mais c'est vraiment du taf les traductions comme celle-là, on se rends compte du boulot qu'il y a du avoir derrière pour faire ce genre de mod, c'est énorme. 
