Word of the Dragon
Today I journey with my companions to face the World Eater in Sovngarde. It sounds to me like a tall tale a bard would weave for young children. Riding atop the backs of our allys the Dragons Paarthurnax and Odahviing we shall fly off to do battle with a legend in the land of the God Shor. With me my faithful Housecarl Lydia forever bearing my burdens, Vilkas and Farkas Companions in truth, Ulfric Stormcloak the would-be King, and Aranea Lenith the last Priestess of Azura. We shall ride into legend as either the conquering heroes or the fools who thought themselves capable of matching Alduin. I leave this as evidence of our choice to stand tall as proud warriors of Skyrim and of Tamriel.
It is done. The World Eater is defeated, but not I think dead. There was no soul for me to consume, his hide and bones burned to ash then were swept away by the ethereal winds of Sovngarde. Can you truly kill the World Eater? We lost many to the Black Dragon. Both Odahviing and Paarthurnax were unable to journey with us to the final confrontation, lacking such destructive power on our side was a heavy blow. If not for the endless horde of honored dead within Shor's Hall we would not have succeeded. I along with my companions fought side by side with legends such as Olaf One-eye, Jurgen Windcaller, and even Ysgramor himself. Like an endless tide the great warriors of the past poured out through the Hall of Valor and did battle with the most ancient of foe of Man.
No words could possibly describe the skill of arms of those brave men and women. Many were consumed or killed by Alduin in that mythical place. Unburdened by the mortal realm and fortified by the souls of the dead Alduin was able to use the full extent of his power. It was the combined might of hundreds of users of the Voice that brought the World Bane low. Crippling his wings and robbing him of his flight was what won us the battle. His fall from the sky dealt him more harm than all our previous efforts combined. Like a horde of ants we converged upon his form hacking and slashing hoping to end the wyrm. As if directed by the hands of fate itself I was the one who struck the final blow, wielding Volendrung I was able to breach his thick scales and drive bone deep into his skull.
Of those that journeyed with me Ulfric and Farkas were slain only to be reborn in Sovngarde as the Honored Dead. For our actions each one of my surviving companions was awarded with something, I dare not ask what as this trial was unlike any other I have encountered. To compare rewards would be to cheapen them. I myself was given the ability to call forth the shade of any of the great warriors in Sovngarde to fight besides me. Before Tsun sent us back Ulfric asked a boon of me for the price of his aid and death. He asked that I help restore Skyrim to what it once was and what it could be again.
I had thought that my role as the Dragonborn had come to a close with the defeat of Alduin, I was wrong. With each telling of my journey my legend grew and my story was told again until it reached the shores of Solstheim. There the rumors of my deeds found the ear of Miraak. He felt affronted by the masses calling me Dragonborn so he engineered a confrontation. Into the depths of Apocrypha Lydia and I were forced to tread to find him. Along the way my power grew. From the Black Books of Hermaeus Mora the ability to wield magic as a mage was unlocked within me. As a Dragonborn I learned new words of power. Some of which were so terrifyingly in their scope and power that I have not since used them for it is my sincere belief that they should best be lost to history. I have since gone back and destroyed any mention or depiction of those Words. Other Word Walls gave me the ability to shroud myself with the ethereal form of a Dragon. My faithful companion Lydia and I did battle with him and his dragon thralls only to come out of the incident victorious. It appears to me now that the whole event was put in motion by Hermaeus Mora, as to what purpose I do not know. I have since searched through every source I could for tale of his deeds but Miraak the First Dragonborn remains a mysterious figure in history.
For years I was busy mending the broken land of Skyrim, putting down bandits, putting down petty squabbles between Jarls, and unifying the people under one name. It was within this time that Ragnar Torenson, Dragonborn, and Ysmir became the High King of Skyrim. If not for the presence of Jarl Balgruuf the Greater I fear even now I would be trying to unify my homeland. With my ascendance to the throne and relocation to the Blue Palace I was forced to confront a troubling part of Skyrims past. It seems that Pelagius the Mad was driven into insanity by the Madgod himself. At the end of the ordeal a few things became clear to me. Sheogorath had indeed been replaced by the Hero of Kvatch and Jyggalag had been freed. This new Madgod was of a lighter tone than the previous and was in some way atoning for his predecessors transgressions. I was given the Wabbajack for my efforts, I have locked the staff in my lowest and most secure vault where I hope it will never see the light of day again.
With the assassination of Emperor Titus Meade II the world fell into chaos once again. It was later learned it was the work of the Dark Brotherhood in an attempt to relive their glory days. The Empire crumbled within months of the Emperors death, his heir was unable to manage the internal and external strains the position forced upon him. It looked as if the Aldmeri Dominion would swoop in and seize everything. It is fortunate that a civil war rendered them inert. A group of scholars and mages uncovered the truth of the Void Nights, the event that led the Khajiit to ally with the Elves. As it turned out it was a Thalmor plot that went awry, but the ensuing chaos ended up leading the beast folk of Elsweyr into joining the Dominion. With the plot uncovered the Khajiit seceded, violently.
It was during this time that a coven of Vampires were attempting to bring eternal darkness upon all of Tamriel. My hand was forced and the Dragonborn once again took to the field of battle, accompanied by my ever faithful companion Lydia. Oddly enough it was with help from one of their own that allowed me to prevent the Unending Kingdom of Night. To make a long story short I saved the world and killed many vampires and Falmer. As a minor side note it should be noted that a true Falmer has been found. Not one of those twisted wretches the Dwemer cursed us with but a true Snow Elf. Gelebor believes there may be small holdouts of true Snow Elves hidden deep from the eyes of man and Mer.
It finally occurred to me that Lydia had not been by my side through everything solely due too her duty as my Housecarl or loyalty to the Dragonborn. I have taken Lydia as wife and have her rule as Queen by my side. Our marriage and her subsequent appointment to Queen was met with mixed reactions. Many wish I took a more diplomatic approach to my marriage and wedded someone who would benefit the Kingdom. But most of the common folk saw the uniting of me and Lydia, a woman who helped slay Alduin, as something out of a song and legend. Our daughter Helga was born a little over a year after the wedding.
The surviving government of Cyrodil has asked for Skyrims help in repelling the Aldmeri. I called a moot to determine the course Skyrim would take. In the Mead Hall of the Companions every man woman and faction of importance was represented. The Jarls of each Hold, Arngeir of the Greybeards, Vilkas Harbinger of the Companions, Karliah Master of the Thieves Guild, Archmage Savos Aren of the College of Winterhold were among the most notable. There was also representatives from each Craft Guild, Orc Stronghold, and the newly reformed blades. Skyrim would march to war once again. Any man or woman capable of wielding a weapon was given the chance to fight under the banner of the Dragon King. Any criminal was given the chance for a pardon by joining the growing army. Most of the remaining bandit groups brought about by the civil war were persuaded to join. These criminals needed a purpose in their life and this war fulfilled that need. A few of the more violent Dragons had agreed to accompany us on our journey. I left Lydia and Jarl Balgruuf in control of Skyrim as I lead the army south. With me and the Dragons the forces of the Dominion were quickly turned aside. What I thought could take years took months. Upon breaking the backs of the Dominion forces besieging the Imperial city our forces were celebrated as heroes. Within a week the Imperial Council, instituted after the death of Titus Meade II, proclaimed me Emperor.
We continued to march against the elves. As we entered Elsweyr and then Valenwood we were not seen as invading army of foreigners but as saviors. It seems that the oppressive yolk of the Thalmor was less well received than our reports had reveled. It was at this point that Black Marsh, High Rock, and Hammerfell forces joined with us. Our forces fell on the Summerset Isles like a hammer on glass. Any Thalmor or Thalmor sympathizers were summarily butchered, it was not our proudest moment. It was while searching the seat of the Thalmor's power that we stumbled upon their true goal. The destruction of the Towers, the very anchors of the physical world, and the return to life before Mundus. My previous notions of regret for butchering the Thalmor were forgotten. We moved to stabilize Tamriel, both politically and metaphysically. While away from Skyrim trouble was brewing. The Blades while most of their reconstituted order had marched with the army some had remained behind and those few were hatching a dark plot. As an ancient order of dragon hunters their long held grudge against the ancient Dovah overlords compelled them to seek the death of Paarthurnax. For whatever reason they decided to completely ignore the fact that the uprising of man and the eventual victory in the Dragon Wars were entirely due to Paarthurnax's action. The plan was foiled but the death of the Greybeard Einarth was the price. Even in the furthest reaches of Tamriel could Einarth's dying roar be heard and felt. To say that attacking the Greybeards, the most holy and revered order in Skyrim, was a foolish action was an understatement. The leadership of the Blades were executed or exiled and the order itself dissolved. In its place I created the Order of the Scale to function as the Royal Guard and my right hand. A similar plot was hatched by the Dark Brotherhood, they sought to assassinate my wife and child. The deaths of two Imperial Royals were too much of a chance for them to pass up. It too was averted, but this time at the cost of the life of Jarl Balgruuf and a handful of loyal men and women. My reprisal has become a cautionary tale that will be told in hushed tones for centuries to come. I have taken their sacrificial blade as a trophy and I have had the Night Mothers desecrated corpse decorating the walls of Solitude.
It has been many years since I have last made an entry in this journal, I became so busy with my life that many small things fell by the wayside. But I can no longer put this off. The first time I absorbed the soul of a dragon I knew it changed me forever, but I had no way of knowing to what extent. As the years past and I settled into my position as Emperor I began to notice time marched on for everyone but me. My children grew to adults and married, my wife aged, my friends grew old, and my body seemed to take no notice. I look today as I did thirty years ago. At first I thought it my parentage, my mother being half elf I thought I might expect a longer life than most Nords. But I was wrong, it was after a conversation with Paarthurnax that I discovered the secret behind my lack of aging. Dragons are eternal, outside the flow of time he had told me. Before I was Dragonborn I was man but my soul was that of a Dragon. With each Dragon soul I consume I become stronger and moved closer to my draconian destiny. During the days of Alduin I fought and killed twelve dragons, not including the World Eater himself. When I defeated Miraak I took his soul as he too was Dragonborn and with him all the Dragons he had killed over the centuries. I estimate more than twenty made up his power. Since I became High King no less than twenty six dragons have fallen to my Hammer. Few dragons have the resolve to meditate on the words of power like Paarthurnax and turn aside their nature of conquest and power. Will I be doomed to walk these lands forever? Will I bear witness to the end of time where Alduin is reborn and destroys this world?
That old Orc I met all those years ago had the right idea. Die a good death so that you do not waste away. The problem is that I am to most Men and Mer unkillable. My skin is like Steel my bones Ebony. With my bare hands I can crush rocks to dust. With my voice I can call upon armies. With my Voice I can shake mountain. My wife and children have long since passed on. I approach my three hundredth year with no end in sight. While I retain the title Emperor I let my many times great grandchild rule as regent. When one has nothing but time on their hands one must keep themselves busy. I have explored my the width and breath of my Magic that had been unlocked by the Black Books all those years ago. I do not claim to be a genius or prodigy with the magical arts but given enough time even a carpenters son can become an Archmage.
I keep myself busy with trade crafts these days. After I grew bored of Magic I returned to my roots and took up wood working. Seventy years I dedicated to carpentry alone. As I did with many other professions. I occasionally auction off my work just to see what sort of reaction they generate, after spending hundreds of years refining my skills I can safely say my work sells for a tidy sum.
No wonder Dragons seek conquest and dominion, eternity is boring. How Paarthurnax has remained sane is a mystery to me.
I am an absentee Emperor. Once my next heir is appointed as regent I tend to disappear for decades on end. This time I have moved to Hammerfell and found some no name town out in the middle of no where. I have opened up a smithy, most days I make or repair plows. Occasionally I will be commissioned to make a knife or sword but for the most part it is peaceful here.
It seams my life of obscurity is over. My pursuit of metalcraft has undone me. One of my knives caught the eye of a traveling merchant. He bought it. He sold it. The customer came to me looking to commission a sword or something. but as it turns out he was a rich fop who knew what the Emperor looked like. Having a overdressed dandy drop to his knees and greet his leader in the middle of town is a sure way to ruin your day. Time to move on, maybe basket weaving?
My descendant, the current Regent, got himself killed doing something stupid. With his death the last drop of Lydia's blood has left this world. I should feel sad or angry. All I feel is numb. And annoyed, now I have to retake the throne and create a new line of rulers. Perhaps some sort of council system instead.
My monotony has been broken up finally. The Sload have once again set their sights on Tamriel. I shall once again don my weapons and armor. Let us see if these creatures can entertain me.
I have crushed the Sload and have all but ended their ambitions for generations to come. It seems the Daedric Prince Meridia was pleased with my extermination of the Sload's Necromantic Cabals. She has rewarded me with Dawnbreaker under the promise that I remove all undead that comes before my eyes. During our brief interaction I found her to be pleasant company, if not a little fanatical, I don't know why people are so terrified of the Daedric Princes. So far I have had dealings with Azura, Malacath, Hircine, Hermaeus Mora, Sheogorath, and Meridia. None of them seem to hide what they really are and what they really want which is a welcome reprieve from the politicians that infest the Imperial Capital. I think I shall search out the rest of the Deadric Princes if for no other reason than to alleviate the boredom.
I think I hate Molag Bal almost as much as I hate Peryite.
My wandering in search of the Daedric Princes have opened up new opportunities for me. I shall set out on a grand adventure and seek out sights no one has seen before.
Skyrim is cold, Atmora is colder. I do not recommend you go there. Conversely Akavir is a beautiful place with a rich culture. If only there were no native inhabitants. I do not recommend you go there.
Once again my line has gone extinct. This time it wasn't because of stupidity. Some sort of magically created plague is spreading through Cyrodil, the death toll is catastrophic. With the death of Serana IX Imperial Regent I am once again forced to take the throne. I do not think i can take seeing any more of my descendants die, each time it happens I feel a little more numb to the world. First I shall find the source of this plague and purge it with Dragon fire then I will install some sort of council or elected leadership of the empire.
Some say that greatness is born, I have found this to be the furthest from the truth. Greatness is forged in the heat of the moment, tempered by our actions, and sharpened by the lives of those that surround us. Many see my rise to prominence and then to power as nothing more than destiny, an immutable fact foretold by the Elder Scrolls. They see me as Tiber Septim come again, Shor reborn, a Nord proclaimed Dragonborn who would unite Tamriel under one banner. Some factions have begun to see me as Talos made flesh, a God King and have tried to raise me up as a god to the masses. I have done what I can to suppress these notions. I am no god, and I have no designs to be one… though now that I think about it it wouldn't be too difficult.
I grow weary of life. It is difficult to watch a friend wither and die before you even more so to see it happen to your children, where there should be pain all I feel is emptiness. The only reason I believe I have staved off the madness is because of the few individuals who are as eternal as I. Constant discourse with Paarthurnax Odahviing and Geleborn are all I have to look forward to these days. But even that has grown stale, you can only hear a story so many times before it becomes hollow. It occurs to me that the minds and hearts of men are finite things and should not exist forever. As I watch my twelve hundredth nameday pass me by I feel that my time has come to a close. I have born witness to the death of Gods, the rise and fall of kingdoms, the birth and death of heroes, and the end of my line twice. My goal is Sovngarde, but I cannot find an opponent who could kill me in a way that would allow me entry to Shor's Hall. It is fortunate that I know the location of the backdoor so to speak. In the ruins of Skuldafn lie a gateway to the end. I leave this collection of memories for any who might find a use for them. I go to the end undefeated by any and yet I will never stand victorious because time cannot be fought.
Emperor Ragnar Torenson First of his Name. Dragon King Eternal. High King of Skyrim. Ysmir. Dragonborn. Elvesbane.