Once he had been the Dragonborn, the hero of the Stormcloak rebels. A warrior to that was feared by all. Yet that seemed like another lifetime, to the now old and crippled orc. These days he could barely lift a weapon let alone fight with one. His legs creaked in protest whenever he took a step. His once shining armor now lay in a chest rusting away into uselessness, while his once feared and well used mace adorned a special place on the walls of his home.
The tales of his exploits used to be sung through out all of Tamrial , celebrating his heroic accomplishments. His name was hailed with god like reverence. Now the songs were only sung in taverns by third rate minstrels and bards, that hoped to entertain a bunch of drunks. His no name no more then a legend or that which belonged to the crippled orc.
From time to time, some young milk drinker seeking fame would come along to challenge the legend. They would come seeking a champion, yet all they would find was an old man. Many would give up the quest not wishing to shame themselves by killing such a pathetic creature. Others would challenge him in hopes of winning the fame they dreamed of. Each challenge was accepted.
Now with a purpose the old man seemed to become younger. His limp disappeared and was replaced with the confident stride of a warrior. The scowl that covered his worn and wrinkled face turned to a beaming grin. He donned his armor and felt the familiar feeling of his mace swinging. No longer was he the crippled old orc, now he was once again the Dragonborn, a god among men.
With a feral kind of glee he fought, reminding all who watched why he was a legend. Each challenger fell before him, as he seemed to become young once again in the heat of battle. Unfortunately the transformation would end with each fight and he would become old once again, barely able to stand with the burden of his armor and weapon.
He knew his time had come. With a grim determination he set about his task. The rusted armor was made to shine again, all imperfections removed. The well used mace enchantments were recharged and intensified. His possessions divided between his three children. With all of his tasks complete he set off on his final quest.
His body was found, next to the carcasses of three bears. On his face was a smile. This was the smile of a warrior that had achieved a great victory. For even in death he was triumphant.