Here in lies the thoughts and memories of 'Nae, The Last Dragonborn.

Written by my own hand.

I shall try my best to tell my life as Dragonborn, as truthfully and as honestly as I remember it.

Why you ask?

To share my knowledge and experience for future generations to use as they see fit perhaps? Or perhaps I just don't like the idea of some bard making up some ridiculous song about me, without an ounce of truth to it. Or maybe I just want to reminisce about happier times before I forget them completely.

In any case, these are my stories and this is how I shall tell them and in no particular order. I shall with you what I feel was, or rather, is important. Whether they makes much sense to you is neither here nor there. They made little sense to me at the time, but things rarely do. It's only much later that you can truly get an understanding of why certain things worked out they way they did.

But I digress...

So these are my stories, and I hope in time you will understand the Dovahkiin a little better. Understand the choices I made, the people I helped and the struggles I endured for Skyrim and for Tamriel itself.

But where to begin?

The Trap, the Dragon and the Claw

My life has never been simple. My birth, my upbringing, my life choices... Not as complicated as it became later on, but never ever simple. Which probably explains why I got caught up in ambush and sentenced to death on my first day in Skyrim.

I was tired, half starved and with all but a couple of gold coins to my name when I stumbled across the border into the Nordic homeland. I'd like to think that was why I wandered so blindly into that trap. But in truth I was careless. After wandering for so long, been to the places I'd been, you get to know when an ambush was about to happen. So I was careless. Why? I guess it was because I simply didn't care anymore. Whatever self preservation I had, had left me as soon as I decided to make for Skyrim.

Life hadn't been going so well.

But, such a welcome I suppose makes for a better tale to tell, or at least have some bard sing about it at your expense.

Not to say I was expecting the ambush. I didn't expect it at all. A not so friendly welcome from a border patrol, a few Orsimer slurs here and a shake down for the last few coins I had in my purse. Sadly, nothing I hadn't suffered in the past, but something I had come to expect. Something I could deal with.

It was only when I woke up in the back of that cart, listening to a horse theif and some Nord talking loudly did I realise I had been captured. I think I just sighed. I hadn't the money to get out of jail.

But then, as I said my life is rarely simple.

I was to be executed.

As first impressions go for a country, this had to be the worst.

So it went all along as these things do. The horses stopped.

'End of the line' The Nord said.

We shuffled off one by one, and waited for the imperials to read our names off. Say what you will about the empire, but they organised.

The horse theif tried to run. Big mistake. He was shot down by an archer. Impressive, he was moving pretty quickly too. A Stormcloak with a big mouth followed after, cursing the preistess they had roped in for the occasion. Blessings always helped, if not for the condemned but for the person doing the condemning. His head rolled into the basket, sliced clean off.

I was next.

To be honest, when they called me up, I was still bleary from the nasty knock my head had been given back on the border. When they asked who I was, I mumbled out something and nodded along with whatever my captors said. Stronghold? Of course, I'm an Orc, I must come from one. I was about to die, so why bother to correct the poor bastard? Besides, it made me smile. The first time I would ever enter a stronghold would be in a coffin.

I did wish he'd stop staring at my eyes though. I have very noticeable eyes for an Orismer woman, blue as the sky and as piercing as a conjured ice shard. Some young Breton boy told me that once. I wondered if he ever became a bard..

Either or, people tended to stare. Or maybe it was the hair?

I shuffled forward, the woman in the barely used armour barked at me all the way. Or at least it looked that way. Too shiny and clean, not enough dents, seemed a waste of good armour to me.

She shouted again.

What was the hurry? I was bound, unarmed and surrounded by at least fifty soldiers who seemed to know what they were doing. I wasn't likely to try anything. I will never to this day understand why she was so eager for me to die.

I knelt down, slow, unhurried, and laid my head down on the block. I twisted my neck to look at the axe that was to cleave my head from my shoulders. Not bad, it looked sharp and heavy from the way my executioner was having trouble holding it. But was made in a hurry, my father could've made one better. I wondered if my parents would be annoyed.

And that should've been the end for me. No sooner had I reached Skyrim, I was to leave it just as quickly. Simple right?

Then I saw it. The dragon. Perched like some giant bird of prey, waiting for the right moment to swoop and devour us all.

Was I scared? Was I terrified, was I filled with hope of a possible escape? I can't say I felt anything. I guess mild surprise more than anything else.

What can I say, the day hadn't turned out at all how I expected. So a dragon turning up out of the blue wasn't exactly an ask.

For some reason or another, I remember that for a moment at least I had the dragon's full attention. It only made sense much later on, but for a while I thought I was just being stupid. Time slowed to nothing. The dragon stared at me with its blazing red eyes, and I stared right back. Terrifying, but magnificent all in the same breath. The ebony beast certainly seemed interested in me, or at least it felt like that I was the one it had come for.

But as in all things I have found, these moments, although at the time seemingly endless, never last.

For the first time, but certainly not for the last, I felt the power of a Dragon's voice. The shout or Thu'um as the locals called it. I fell onto the ground hard, head swimming from the raw power of the shout. The sky turned black, and the dragon turned its murderous gaze to the rest of Helgen.

And soon there were shouted orders, and screams and fire, and my senses came back to me all at once. I managed to pick myself up from wherever I had found myself and ran.

The rest is a blur. I've tried from time to time to piece it together into one cohesive story when people have asked me. But in all honesty I think I'll never manage it.

The best I can do is the facts. I got out of Helgan, that much is certain. I wouldn't be telling the tale if I hadn't. I know I had help, an imperial maybe? I didn't care to ask or even care to know if I'm truthful. Hadvar, I think that was his name. I know I managed to pick up a sword, and there was fighting. I know that because when I got to where we were going, I still had it in my hand, soaked in blood.

There was fire too, lots of fire. I remember the heat, and the way the light of the flames blinded me. Not to mention the hairs on my brow and arms were charred to a treat.

I ended up in a place called Riverwood.

Riverwood, as I found out, was a small village. Quiet, barely any people lived there. Surrounded by woodland, plentiful game and a river, it was pleasant, almost tranquil in a way. The sort of thing I was expecting of Skyrim when I crossed the border.

I think one of relatives of the guy who I escaped with gave me a few supplies and a bed to sleep in for the first night. After that I managed to trade a few things for some gold and got myself a room at the local Inn. The Sleeping Giant, nice name.

I was grateful, so very grateful to everyone that I didn't even mind the stares or the odd questions the local children asked me from time to time. Even the dog, Stump, seemed to like me.

The local blacksmith, Alvor, gave me the use of his workshop. The sword and armour I had acquired during my escape just wouldn't do if I were to venture any further. It took me a while to get the hang of working the forge again. It had been a while, but just like riding a horse. You never really forget.

I thanked him by helping out, gathering hides from the local wildlife and generally keeping things tidy.

I stayed in Riverwood for a few days after that. Forging new weapons and armour, entertaining the locals with my strange ways, all the while trying to figure out what my next move should be. Hadvar seemed to be in the mind that I should head to a city called Whiterun and warn the Jarl about the dragon.

I can't say I was overly motivated.

But I knew he was right. I knew eventually I would make the journey north. People needed to be warned. I'd seen and experienced what the dragon was capable of. It was the right thing to do after all.

But for that I needed coin. Luckily, the local trader, Lucan Valerius was in need of some help. Some thieves had stolen their lucky talisman or some such and wanted it back. Camilla, Lucan's sister, tipped me off to where the bandits were.

So off I went to Bleak Falls Barrow, with the new bow I made to retrieve their golden claw. I think I did it more for Camilla than Lucan. I have always been a fool for a pretty face.

Bandits in general annoy me, and the bow I had crafted made short work of them. I was impressed, I was sure it would break or at least buckle under the strain. Looks like I hadn't lost my touch after all. I could almost imagine my parents being proud, all things considered.

I should've have taken the claw back straight away. But I didn't. I told you my life just isn't that simple. I didn't want it for myself. Why would I? Instead, I had found a worn journal from the bandit leader. The handwriting was pretty awful, but I managed to understand enough. The claw held a secret; it was a key for a tomb deep within the Barrow, with a probable vast fortune.

The idea of raiding an unknown tomb didn't exactly thrill me as much as it had when I was a child. Over the years I had seen what happened to overzealous bandits and scholars with too much time on their hands. All ended up mad or dead or sometimes worse.

But I needed the money.

It didn't take long to find the entrance. The place was crawling with undead, or Drugar as I was later told. Ancient Nordic warriors from times past protecting their last resting place. They had pretty good weapons for dead people. I may have taken one or two for myself. Although, I was much more comfortable with my bow.

I came to another entrance, hidden of course, and some kind of door. It was a puzzle. Luckily the journal also held the answer. I looked at the symbols marked on the golden claw. It didn't take a genius to figure out the combination. I placed the claw into its slot, the stones turned and the door gave way.

For the first time in a long time I remember I actually felt excited. I felt like my childhood self, playing the brave adventurer. I was getting the hang of this tomb raiding business.

After more fights with the undead and a few other unpleasant things, I came upon the main chamber.

It wasn't much, more coffins and a few urns. I felt oddly disappointed. I shouldn't have.

Voices filled my head. I raised my bow. I expected more dead, But none came. I moved about the room. The voices grew louder, clearer as I neared a vast ebony wall. They were chanting. Louder and louder they grew until I saw them, strange markings glowing in the din of the crypt. I moved ever closer. My vision blurred, and everything around me faded into black. The markings blazed, and shot out streams of light. And then a word was burned into my mind.

Fus

I didn't know what it meant. I didn't know what any of it meant. But it felt right to know it. It felt right to have it sitting in the back of my throat, ready to be shouted.

I picked myself up, and dusted myself off. I had my fill of tombs for one day.

A lid from the central stone coffins flew off, and out of it came a far stronger Drugar. A lord of some sort, if they way he was dressed was any indication. Of course, there was one more.

It was a tough fight, but eventually I felled the creature. It even dropped some kind of stone tablet. I don't know why I took it with me, but I did.

Eventually I made it back to Riverwood I brought the claw back to its rightful owners. Lucan was thrilled, gave me enough coin to last me a while and a firm slap on the back. His sister even gifted me with kind words that would last me even longer. It was a shame her affections lay with a local Bosmer, Faendal.

After that it didn't take long to gather my belongings. I didn't have much to begin with. Although it hadn't had been the greatest of starts, I would miss Riverwood. It had a simple quiet charm about it. I thought maybe after I talked to the Jarl, I would return. Maybe fix up a little hut just outside its borders and live there in peace.

Of course, as you well know now. My life had never that simple, and my journey to Whiterun would change everything. There I would find my future wife and my child. But also, I would find the one thing I had been searching for. I would find my purpose, my destiny and be given a new name.

Dovahkiin.

Dragonborn.