Entry 1.

If you are reading this journal, it likely means that my time has arrived. I can only hope that I died in battle, and I am now serving the Nine in a higher place.

My name is Revan Ebonheart. I am a Redguard. Despite this, my family has long lived in Cyrodiil, serving the Empire with our lives. This is because I am the latest in a long line of Blades, the sworn protectors of the Emperors. Or at least, we did before the death of Martin Septim, last of the Dragonborn emperors. Since then, we have fought on the side of the Empire, but never swore allegiance to them.

Less than a month ago, The Great War ended. We aided the Empire in a terrible fight against the Thalmor, a powerful clan of High Elves who siezed control of the Summerset Isles. The peace treaty that they called the White-Gold Concordat sealed the fate of the Blades, letting those damn elves hunt us down without fear of repercussion.

I was one of thirty Blades posted at Cloud Ruler Temple when the treaty was signed. We had not been expecting an attack, as the Thalmor arrived before a courier could. The Thalmor may have killed the courier for the element of surprise. I don't know. What I do know is that in less than 24 hours, we saw a horde of Thalmor marching on the fortress from the west, obviously having come from eastern Hammerfell. There were no less than 400 of them, with a dozen seige engines to boot. We knew not of the treaty yet, so we naturally prepared our arms. It was stated in legend that Cloud Ruler Temple could hold itself against an army, and it was now time to put that to the test.

Seige engines aren't often a problem when it comes to Cloud Ruler Temple. The steep path up the mountain it resides on, along with clear lines of sight for our archers, make even getting them up a treacherous strategy. These Thalmor had obviously come prepared, though, as they had mages escorting the engines and protecting it with wards. We could only delay them, not stop them.

By the time they had finally climbed to the peak, we had managed to shoot down about 30 of the Thalmor, roughly speaking. One of the engines, a battering ram, was brought to bear against our door, while catapults and ballistae bombarded our walls. It was already looking grim. For once in my life, I truly knew fear... and exhilaration.

I was ordered by Blademaster Moru-gon, a Khajit, to go aid Esbern in gathering scrolls from the armory. Together, we managed to pick up appropriate Destruction spells to utterly demolish the battering ram, before it could do any significant damage to our door. I wouldn't know the name, as I am certainly no mage. I just found the scrolls. However, by the time the battering ram was down, they had lined up seige ladders to our walls, and were climbing them to fight our archers.

We rushed to the aid of the archers, even as they were being cut down. The significant lack of any true mages, besides Esbern and... maybe three others didn't aid our cause.

We couldn't bring down the machines in time. I was locked in battle against two foes, wielding my Akaviri katanas, when the retreat horn sounded. I finished them off as quickly as I could, though with no small number of wounds to myself, before rushing to the open doors. Three of my comrades were holding off the Thalmor as best they could to buy us time. May Arkay rest their souls.

I don't know for certain how many of my fellow Blades escaped. We ended up splitting up as we fled into the wilderness, though I believe I saw our Blademaster briefly in the woods as I fled. Only when I was satisfied that I could rest did I do a full-body examination of my injuries. To my surprise, a Thalmor blade had crossed my back and torn off a terrible chunk of my flesh. I hadn't even felt the injury during my adrenaline rush, which I suppose is what they mean when they say that an excited Redguard feels no pain.

I had no knowledge of healing spells, but I had some knowledge of alchemy. It is a talet that has run in my family for even longer than we have served the Empire as Blades. I found the appropriate ingredients to cook up a basic healing potion: some wheat and blue mountain flower. I wasn't too surprised to find them so common around the area, as I am almost certain I had crossed the border into Skyrim by that point. I felt reinvigorated as I downed the potion, though I had little love for the taste. I could feel the potion take effect quickly, healing my injuries and leaving scars in their places.

Since that night, my dreams have been haunted by the faces of my fallen friends. I pray every night to the Divines of bring me relief, or even Vaermina once to show mercy upon me, but no mercy comes. I heard about the White-Gold Concordat's terms in a village called Helgen, though I stayed there only shortly before moving on. It was clear that my time as a servant of the Empire was over, and my time as a refugee had began.