It has been nearly three months since my investigation began, and I have committed a grave mistake—one that has cost us dearly.

Several agents of Stendarr have fallen in the line of duty because of my miscalculation. As for myself... I have suffered a fate I never thought possible.

I have been transformed into a woman.

In the beginning, I believed those merchants were nothing more than a criminal syndicate. I assumed they kidnapped women, corrupted them into depravity, then sold them into brothels or the slave trade. Failing that, I considered the possibility that they were merely another cult devoted to lust and debauchery, much like the followers of the Prince of Lust.

I was wrong.

Catastrophically wrong.

Those merchants are not human.

They are something else entirely—entities, or perhaps sentinels, from a realm utterly alien to our own. Their motives, their nature, even their very existence defy all reason. They possess but a single purpose: to corrupt the minds of innocent young women, reducing them to living vessels of insatiable lust.

Only now do I begin to understand.

Lust is not merely the means by which they corrupt.

It is what nourishes them.

My transformation was no accident. It was deliberate. Whatever protections Stendarr granted me as a seasoned agent have been stripped away, leaving me in the body of a young, defenseless woman—the very kind of victim these creatures seek.

I do not know how long I have before they turn their attention toward me.

Time is no longer my ally. I must finish this journal and deliver it to Stendarr Headquarters before these creatures claim my mind as they have so many others. If I should fall, let this record carry on where I cannot. May it reveal the truth of these abominations, expose whatever weakness they possess, and guide my fellow agents in ending this nightmare before more innocent souls are lost.

It has been a week since I began tracking those merchants, yet I have found nothing. I fear I allowed my determination to cloud my judgment. My investigation must have drawn too much attention, for the merchants have vanished without a trace, likely retreating into hiding until the danger has passed.

With their trail gone cold, I have little choice but to turn my attention elsewhere. Until they reveal themselves again, I shall devote my efforts to investigating the grotesque dungeons and the mysterious tomes that accompany their victims. I have taken to calling these volumes the Books of Depravity, for no other name better suits their lustful and profane contents.

As I travel, I gather samples from the fleshy growths surrounding the entrances of these unnatural dungeons, hoping they may reveal the source of their corruption. At the same time, I continue my search for additional Books of Depravity. More than once I have been mistaken for a degenerate, for only the depraved would openly seek such obscene literature. Yet the moment I present my credentials as an agent of Stendarr, suspicion gives way to understanding, followed by embarrassed apologies.

The work is slow, painstaking, and often thankless. Each sample collected and every cursed tome examined brings only fragments of the truth. Still, if I am to put an end to this malevolent corruption once and for all, I must leave no stone unturned.

It has been ten days since the incident, and at last I have uncovered another lead.

When the female adventurer lost all sense of reason and succumbed to depravity, a peculiar book manifested beside her. Its pages were filled with lewd illustrations depicting the woman herself, accompanied by passages that laid bare her innermost thoughts. Yet something about the book troubles me.

The illustrations are far too lifelike to be mere paintings. They possess an uncanny realism, as though they were not painted by an artist's hand, but captured by the gaze of an unseen observer. The text is no less disturbing. It does not read like the work of an author; instead, it feels as though the woman's thoughts were transcribed directly onto the pages the very moment they crossed her mind.

If my deductions are correct, then this tome recorded the adventurer's final coherent thoughts before her mind was consumed by corruption.

More troubling still are the illustrations.

I no longer believe they are simple depictions. They appear to be the very scenes witnessed by whatever malevolent force orchestrates this corruption—as though the book serves not only as a record of the victim's descent, but as a window into the eyes of the unseen malice itself.

Should this theory prove true, then I am no longer hunting a mere curse.

Something is watching.

The scorching heat of summer left me drenched in sweat, yet it was not the relentless sun that unsettled me—it was what I encountered deep within the wilderness.

A young female adventurer, driven by curiosity and an unyielding spirit, rushed headlong into a dungeon before I could stop her. Adventurers delving into forgotten ruins is hardly an uncommon sight, but there was nothing ordinary about this place.

The dungeon's entrance alone was enough to turn my stomach. It resembled living flesh, its walls pulsing with slow, rhythmic breaths as though it possessed a heartbeat of its own. One could easily mistake it for the gaping belly of some colossal beast, split open and left to fester. Every instinct urged me to pursue the woman inside and drag her to safety.

Yet another instinct, far stronger, warned me to stay away.

In my years as an agent of Stendarr, I have learned one lesson above all others: never ignore your instincts. More often than not, they are the only thing standing between life and death.

So I waited.

Hours later, the woman emerged.

Her clothes were gone. Her eyes were vacant, devoid of recognition or reason. She could not remember her own name, nor where she had come from. Every trace of the woman who had entered that place had vanished. Only one desire remained—a relentless craving for carnal pleasure that eclipsed every other thought. She wandered aimlessly, stripped not only of her dignity but of her very self.

If those wandering merchants are one source of this corruption, then this grotesque dungeon is surely another.

It seems my burden has only grown heavier.

It has been three weeks since I began my investigation, and a pattern has finally emerged. Every fallen woman shares the same disturbing thread.

According to multiple eyewitnesses, each had been approached by merchants dressed in peculiar attire, unlike anything commonly seen in Skyrim. These merchants freely distributed jewelry and other accessories, asking for nothing in return save one simple favor: that the women wear the trinkets and advertise them to others.

No honest merchant gives away his wares without expecting something in return. It was obvious from the beginning that these gifts were merely bait, meant to lure unsuspecting victims into wearing them.
 

Whatever enchantments have been woven into those accessories, one fact is beyond dispute: they carry a corrupting influence that seeps into the mind, body, and soul of the wearer. Their victims are gradually stripped of all restraint, consumed by insatiable lust until every thought and desire revolves around carnal indulgence.

One such cursed ornament now rests upon my table.

Even as a seasoned agent of Stendarr, I can scarcely bear its presence. Merely standing near it fills me with nausea, clouds my thoughts, and leaves a dull ache behind my eyes. I dare not imagine what prolonged exposure would do to an ordinary soul.

If this madness is to end, I must find this merchant and bring him to justice before more innocent lives are claimed by his accursed wares.

Summer has only just begun, yet I find myself compelled to write this account out of necessity.

As an agent of Stendarr, I have spent my life hunting Daedra and every form of malice since my youth. Courage and unwavering faith have carried me through countless horrors, but for the first time in my life, I know fear.

Never before have I witnessed such insidious corruption. A devoted and faithful housewife abandoned her vows without hesitation. A pure young maiden, who had never so much as spoken to a man, suddenly surrendered herself to the most debauched and depraved acts. It all happened in an instant, as though an unseen hand had reached into their minds and stripped away every shred of virtue.

What terrifies me is not their actions, but the terrifying speed with which their minds decayed into lust and carnality.

At first, I believed this to be the work of the Prince of Lust himself. Yet my years of experience tell me otherwise. This corruption bears none of the familiar signs of Sanguine temptation. No... something else is at work—something hidden, something far more insidious, silently poisoning the minds of innocent maidens from the shadows.