Confessions of a Blood Drinker
by Solomon Philbrick

Hi, my name is Dolemite and I’m a bloodaholic.

I know that I’m supposed to take responsibility for my actions, but just how much personal responsibility can a video game avatar have? I mean, I never asked to be a Wood Elf in the first place. It would have been so much cooler to be a Redguard or an Orc, but my creator wanted to make a character who would be good at stealing things and sneaking around instead of doing manly work like fighting and casting deadly spells. I didn’t ask to be a short, pointy-eared punk that the girls in Tamriel would ignore (unless they wanted some stolen jewelry or something,) so I only feel partly to blame for what has become of me.

Look, I was just a kid. I woke up one day from total oblivion and found myself in a jail cell outside the Imperial City. The Emperor decided to let me out for some reason involving an heir to his throne, but he never really explained anything. So, next thing I know I’m out in the Imperial City with no friends, a few lockpicks and a sword. Having no talent for fighting I found myself stealing crap from unwary storeowners and picking pockets in order to make some cash, but the merchants in town wouldn’t buy stolen goods. How is a man supposed to go off and save the world without a few coins in his pocket? I’m not asking for pity here, just a little understanding.

pb1.jpg Soon enough, I wound up back in jail because I had no money to pay the fines for all of this bad behavior. I’m sure a lot of unfortunate stories start this way, so it shouldn’t come as much of a surprise, but I was just a naive young stripling and had no idea of how the world really worked. Anyway, I served my jail sentence and they let me back out into the cruel world of the Imperial City in much the same condition as I was in when I was busted. I was idling around the Market District one day, since I had nothing better to do, when a strange person approached me and told me to be at a certain place in the harbor around midnight. Since I had no parents or responsible guardians, hell, since I had no childhood at all as far as I could remember, it didn’t seem like such a bad idea to go off in the wee hours of the night and hang around the harbor, so I did just that. And that’s what led me eventually to the sorry state you see me in now.

The man I met in the harbor promised me work if I went and stole something and brought it back. No problem, I thought, even if I get caught nothing’s really going to change. So I broke into someone’s house and stole his diary, thereby becoming a member of the Thieves’ Guild. I was a natural. I could sneak right up to an Imperial Guard in broad daylight (oh, how I miss the daylight) and swipe the keys to the castle without him noticing a thing. I rose up in the ranks until I was working for the master thief, the Gray Fox himself. It was while working for the Gray Fox, though, that my life took the ultimate downward turn.

One evening I broke into a vault that was supposed to contain a magical item that my boss wanted, when an old hag with a magic staff attacked me. It was a pretty intense fight, during which she bit me. Well, that set me off. I’ve said I’m not much of a fighter, but damned if I wasn’t suddenly a Gladiator after that. I mean, she bit me. That really pissed me off. So, I cut the old bitch to ribbons and took my loot back to the Grey Fox, and didn’t think much about it. After a few days, though, I started having the strangest dreams about people bleeding and my nonexistent family on fire. Weird shit, since I’m normally a pretty peaceful sleeper. Next thing I knew, I couldn’t go out during the day without getting a really bad sunburn, and I don’t mean the kind you get when laying out on the beach too long. I mean, there was smoke coming off my skin, literally. After a few more days, I started looking really old and no one would talk to me. I started spending days indoors and only going out after dark, but I found that if I concentrated real hard-like I could make the night light up and even see living creatures through walls. That was pretty cool, but it still wasn’t much fun being the only person awake except for my fellow thieves.

pb2.jpg Then one night I came across this homeless guy sleeping near the harbor. I don’t know why, but I had this strange urge, like an itch. So I bit the guy, and while I didn’t feel quite as strong afterward, I certainly felt a lot better. Moreover, I looked almost normal again and people would talk to me. That was when I began to understand what had happened and that was when I began to lose control.

This homeless guy was a handy target for blood, always at the right place and at the right time. I didn’t have to break into anyone’s home to find blood, since the old coot was always lying out in the open. One night, though, I was taking a sample (that’s what I like to call it) and the bastard woke up. Before he could make a bunch of noise and attract the guards, I put an arrow through his head. There went my easy blood supply, but when I went to bed that morning some new guy came right into my room and told me about a new group I could join, the Dark Brotherhood. Well, things couldn’t get much worse, so I took the job.

In the past few days, I have murdered numerous people, from traitors to pirates and even a few of my old friends all for the Dark Brotherhood. I stand before you all today, a thief, a murderer and a shell of a man who is hopelessly addicted to human blood, for which there appears to be no cure. If anything, I hope I can serve as an example of what not to be and an example of what happens when a gamer makes a bad mistake and does not simply reload a botched mission.

Thank you.

Philbrick's a pretty good thief too.

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