Long ago, in the ancient days when men and mer fought for supremacy and dragons ruled the skies as gods, a Doom-driven hero of the dragonblood rose from the ashes of war-torn Skyrim to save this world.
Alduin the World-Eater, the terrible lord of the Dov, at long last escaped from his prison amongst the currents of time. The gods foresaw the utter destruction he would unleash, so they plucked an ordinary mortal from the world below and blessed him, breathing a dragon's soul into his mouth and filling his veins with the dragonblood.
The hero ventured across Skyrim, performing mighty deeds and quickly becoming a person of great import in the eyes of the people. Under the tutelage of the Greybeards, wise monks versed in the Way of the Voice, his mastery of the Thu'um grew daily, and the earth trembled beneath his feet.
He was given many names as he continued in his quest to protect the world from filth and evil: Ysimr (which is, being interpreted, Dragon of the North), Dragonslayer, Dawns' Champion, Crusader, the Merciful. But by one title and one title only was he known by the gods: DOVAHKIIN, the Last Dragonborn.
Alduin, the great coward, recognized a foe that could finally defeat him, so he fled before the Voice of the Dovahkiin. Twice did Alduin try to destroy him, but neither him nor his servants prevailed against the unrelenting force of their enemy's Voice.
Alduin soon came to deathly fear the Dovahkiin, and focused all of his efforts on destroying him. On their third encounter, they did mighty battle at the summit of Monahven, among the snow and howling winds. Against all odds, the Dovahkiin prevailed, his sword sharper than Alduin's claws. The Dark Lord fell, defeated, but not destroyed. For Alduin was no ordinary dragon, if any dragon could be called ordinary in those days. He was a god, the firstborn of Akatosh himself, created for the sole purpose of devouring worlds. With a taunt from behind slashed lips, he fled, crawling back into Sovngarde where he had made his putrid den. He lurked in the mountain passes, licking his wounds and feasting on the souls of the dead to regain his strength.
The Dovahkiin, immovable in his destined course, could not let the vile wyrm escape. He captured one of Alduin's most trusted lieutenants, a mighty warrior dovah, and persuaded him to take him to Skuldafn, a hidden dragon temple high in the mountains where the entrance to Sovngarde lay. He slew the undead slaves that guarded the place, along with their master, Vengeance.
In Sovngarde, by the power of his mighty Thu'um and the assistance of the Nords of old, he slew Alduin. The cowardly king tried to hide in enchanted mists of his own making, but they could not stand before the Dovahkiin's roar.
With Alduin gone, the order of the dragons lacked a leader. The wisest dov, the ones who could put aside their arrogance enough to recognize the Dovahkiin's power, bowed before the might of his Voice.
Even though his primary mission had been completed, the Dovahkiin knew that he still had much to do for a crumbling Tamriel. He and his followers crusaded bravely throughout Tamriel, ridding the land of many of the evils that plagued it. Barrows were cleared, Covens burned, caves cleansed. Much darkness lurked beneath the surface of the world, and it was upon such darkness that the Last Dragonborn's forces warred. With more and more dragons at his command, and powerful magical artifacts at his disposal, he sought to bring peace to a chaotic, death-loving world.
For years he toiled, bringing light into every dark crevice he came across. Veritable armies of follwers, admirers, and explorers follwed him and contributed in the work, and much land became cleansed.
The Dovahkiin rose in power, from a thane, to a lord, to a jarl. The people of Skyrim, by whom he was beloved by all, made him High King when the terrible Stormcloak Civil War had ended. It was then that he brought his subjects, joore and dov, together. There was a great council, at the summit of Monahven, at the very place where the respect the other dov had for Alduin died. There, the first peace between mortal and dragon was formed. But it was not to last.
One of the Dovahkiin's most trusted lieutenants among the dov, a sly and cunning fighter, desired power over the joore, as the dov had wielded long ago in the most ancient of days. He believed that the dov were above all other creatures of Nirn, and sought to rule as his eldest brother, Alduin, had.
He took a great following of dragons and men with him, and together they rebelled against the Dovahkiin and his kingdom.
A great war ensued, greater even then man's first war of freedom from the dov. It was savage and heartrending, dragon against dragon, brother against brother. The slaughter was so great that even the Dovahkiin, the mightiest warrior ever to walk the earth, began to fear that even victory would leave the world in an irreparable state of ruin. When the war started to shift towards the traitors, however, the Empire of the Medes, a close ally of the Dragonborn, sent aid, as did the great nations of Morrowind and Hammerfell. Their warriors were mighty, and the war raged on.
After five grisly years, most of the dov were slain, and legions upon legions of men with them. The two sides remained almost perfectly matched, but the traitors saw that they soon would fall and vowed, as murderers do, to drag as many warriors down as possible to their doom with them.
At the final battle, a-last ditch attempt from the traitors to gain control of Skyrim, the balance tipped in favor of the rebels. All of the forces of both sides flocked to battle, sensing that there struggle would soon end, one way or the other. The forces of the Dovahkiin and his forces were cruelly put down, and put on the edge of terrible defeat. Just as the ancient city of Solitude was about to be razed to the ground, and the gods looked on in fear, The Dovahkiin summoned Akatosh himself, God of Time and Father of all the dov.
His power was unlimited, and he struck down the forces of the enemy, burning them with the very fire of the sun. The evil forces were put down at once, and Akatosh gave his sons their just rewards.
He cursed all of the dov who had rebelled, weakening and shrinking them into reduced, mortal beings. They rode the currents of Time no longer, and they became weak as unto mortal men, easily killed by any skilled enough.
But, to those dov who had stayed loyal to the Dovahkiin, his youngest and chosen son, he gave a choice:
They could continue to live on Nirn and until the End Times as the last of the true dov, or they could come and dwell with him once more in Aetherius.
All went with him, save three-
Paarthurnax, the wisest and eldest living of the dov
Odahviing, the fierce, bloodscaled champion of the Dovahkiin
and Mirmulnir, the mournful undead warrior.
Before Akatosh departed with his sons, he placed fifty of his newest- and final- creations, down on Nirn: The female dov.
The Fallen mortal dov had been given one compensation for their fall- the gift of continuing through their sons and daughters, and passing on their knowledge and power to new generations.
After Akatosh departed, the traitorous dovah was brought forth, weak and humiliated. Akatosh had not turned him, but that was only so the Last Dragonborn could extract the proper punishment upon his head. The Dovahkiin was a man of mercy, and yet this sad, twisted, and unhappy being had commited crimes that could not be pardoned.
The Dovahkiin destroyed him, and devoured his soul, and his name has been lost to the ages forever.
The remaining dov pledged themselves once more to the Dovahkiin, humbled and fragile. The Dovahkiin promptly forgave them, on the grounds that they would serve him and his descendants and spend all their days in peace with the other races of the world, unless in dire need. They gladly and gratefully agreed.
Skyrim was a happy land in those days, though the absence of sons, daughters, mothers, and fathers throughout much of the continent still stung the hearts of the people.
The order of the Kalzinkril (which, being interpreted, is brave and honorable guardians) was established then. The land, while saved, was still in dire need of help. The Kalzinkril, servants of the Dovahkiin, were not just mighty warriors, but also generous benefactors. There were many widows and orphans in those days, and men, mer, beastfolk, and dragons worked together to rebuild what had been damaged.
This season of rest was over far too, soon, however.
For the Aldmeri Dominion, the evil government of the High Elves of the Summerset Isles, had been watching and waiting, marshalling their forces for the time after the Dragon Rebellion. They knew the Empire of the Medes, their most hated enemies and rivals, would be crippled after such a long and bloody war.
When their forces had been deemed of suitable strength, the elves attacked. The Altmer were shrewd and clever, and had great mastery over magic. They were strong, and cunning. They had the strength of the Bosmer and Khajiit peoples, who they had conquered long before.
Their first pushes into enemy territory were all but unchallenged. The border guard, at minimum strength due to the scarcity of good soldiers, was easily overpowered. By the time the Medes had realized what was going on, much of southern Cyrodiil had already been lost.
What followed would be known as the Second Great War, the terrible sequel to the last culmination of elven and human enmity.
The weakened Empire was no match for the Dominion, and rapidly began to crumble. The Thalmor took town after town, city after city. The Imperial soldiers, for all their courage, were crushed underfoot as the terrible elven army marched ever closer.
The Empire summoned a mighty host, the greatest army that it still had, to protect the capital, the Imperial City. The Thalmor marched straight for it, and the two clashed right at the gates.
The Battle was long, and thousands died on both sides. But when the dust cleared, the outcome became clear as well.
Just hours before the elves overran the city, the Emperor, Titus Mede II, had sent his fastest messenger to Skyrim, to beg for aid from the Dovahkiin. He also requested. In the event of his death, that his good friend do his best to avenge him.
That was the last letter the Emperor ever wrote. When the elves reached his quarters, they cast him from the highest room of the White-Gold Tower. The last remnant of the Septim Empire died with him.
The Dominion then sought to enter Skyrim. With the defeat of the Last Dragonborn and his kingdom, they could finally move to conquer all of Tamriel, and establish an Empire of elven superiority to rule the world forever.
But they learned too late, as all of his enemies did, that arrogance is a poor weapon to wield against a dragon in man's flesh.
The elves entered Skyrim, passing through the narrow passes and blizzards of the Jerall Mountains. They scoffed at the lack of resistance, assuming that the brutish Nords would fall to their blades as easily as their Imperial cousins to the south. They marched carelessly through what they perceived as a desolate, frozen wasteland, for Skyrim was in the throes of winter. But they did not watch the skies, nor did they watch their backs.
When they had finally all assimilated past the mountains, the Doom-drum began beating. The Kalzinkril sprung from their caves and gorges back in the mountains, cutting off the elves' retreat. The dov, recognizing the true need, leapt from their lofty perches and rained death upon them. And, below, the Sons and Daughters of Skyrim came out from their hiding places behind the southern hills and charged, courage beating in their hearts. They had learned from the suffering of the Dragon rebellion, and they were ready.
It was a relatively short war. The Thalmor forces were decimated, and Skyrim's counterattack began at once. The Nords and Altmer fought for control, and at one point only the miraculous aid of the reclusive Argonians prevented the enraged Thalmor from winning.
Finally, after a year and a half, the elves were pushed back to their homeland of Summerset, where they were overthrown by a joined force of the Dovahkiin's invaders and dissidents from their own country. The Altmer had long chafed under the selfish and cruel rule of the Thalmor, and they had been waiting for just such an opportunity as this. Finally, the war was ended.
Thus began the Golden Age of Tamriel.
There was much confusion at first, since the Empire was gone and much of Tamriel was now without a government. Many new leaders were trying to rise up, claiming ownership of as much territory as they dared. Banditry, thieving, murdering, and many other foul practices, which had gone on almost unchecked by the occupied Kalzinkril during the war, ran rampant everywhere. Monsters were starting to crawl from their dank hiding places once again, and the people were full of anxiety and fear over what was to come. The Dovahkiin, although he was more than content with ruling Skyrim, recognized the need for and benefits of a strong, united government. Cyrodiil, along with Elsweyr, Valenwood, High Rock, Hammerfell, and Summerset, were essentially under impermanent military occupation. Clearly, someone had to bring order to these places, and even unite them, if possible. The Dovahkiin was not one for conquest, and yet the makings of a new empire lay at his feet.
He was crowned Kaarstun faal Konahriik (which is, being interpreted, the Warlord), Emperor of Tamriel. With nearly all of Tamriel under his leadership, a great new order began, and justice and order as had never before been seen in all of the days of Nirn began to creep slowly into the eight corners of the world. Together, with his queen of many years, the wise and loving Anekke, his brave sons and daughters, his friends old and new, and his numberless followers, peace was brought to the land.
With the Dovahkiin and his Kalzinkril as the guardians of truth and right, the people of Tamriel began to enjoy an unparalleled age of knowledge, power, and serenity. Nirn's beasts were, for the most part, either driven to extinction or forced to parts of the land where no Men, Mer, Beastfolk, or Dov lived. The Daedra were shunned and hated, except for Meridia and Azura, who had no quarrel with the freedom of the people from Daedric bondage. The more intelligent of the savage races, such as goblins and the corrupted of the Falmer, were either bargained with and given lands for their inheritance in exchange for various things or killed as well.
Dungeons were purged, darkness purified, and the scars of the long Age of Fear over the land began to fade.
A thousand years passed. Then another. Many new and terrible conflicts arose, but the Dragonborn and his descendants were always there to make things right again. His stories became celebrated legends, tales of yore, bedtime stories to be handed down from fathers to sons. They surely would have been corrupted and embellished if not for the long memories and sharp tongues of the Elder Dov.
But the forces of darkness would not be so completely subdued. Unbeknownst to the fair people of Tamriel's empire, evil was brewing, and gathering in secret places. From the bowels of the earth, darkness, long forgotten, began to rise again. The Divines felt the tremblings, and wept, for they knew of the calamities that were to come.