~D~
Opening of Part One: Destiny
(Dez)
The sunset lacks warmth, the boy thought. For all of its purpose, it cannot burn bright enough to warm Keizaal.
He was like ice, still and unbroken, the rock beneath him frozen cold, the snow around him pure white. He was another soul in the wintry environment, a part of the land as much as the trees and brush. Though a chill sat uncomfortably in his bones, he had forgotten the discomfort. He noted how the world felt uninhabited, quiet and unmoving. With careful eyes, he observed the apparent emptiness of the wilderness, always alert.
It was not empty, he knew. There were animals that thrived in even the harshest of winters of the land. There were deer that had shaggy pelts to withstand the frozen nights and strong noses to help them find food in even the emptiest places. There were wolves that hunted them, strong and bound together by their instincts, pack animals that knew how to hit their prey with merciless efficiency to bring a swift end. There were bears with crushing physical power and size, armed with aggressive fearlessness and brutal strength. There were the deadly sabre cats that preyed on all lesser creatures and had the bulkiness of a bear, the swiftness of the wolf, and the fangs of a dragon.
The dragons. The dovah. Great immortal beings of claws, scales, and fangs that roamed the skies above. When they roared, their thunderous calls carried for miles across the snowy lands of Keizaal. Their wings casted shadows heralding doom for their prey. Their might inspired awe and fear in both man and beast. The strongest of living creatures, they held the highest rank of all predators.
Gods, among men, among beast.
Masters of power.
The boy had always thought them incredible. He'd never been granted even the slightest glimpse of the dovah, though he had heard plenty of tales of their strength and ferocity from his mother - enough to imagine them in his mind's eye. He intended to change the dovah's absence from his existence. He knew, one day, he would seek them out, as thousands of others had. The life he currently had would not hold him forever to these seemingly-empty woods.
He let out a small puff of air. Pride and solemnity filled his soul, burning warmly a fire of determination. Refusal to wrap his arms around his chilling frame stubbornly seized him. Instead, he kept his vigil, hands held loosely upon his knees. With the steady passage of time, the light crept down the sky, taking with it the small amount of warmth provided. The darkness continued onward, pushing the sun down the horizon. He felt it wasn't long before the first of the stars and constellations spanned the dark heavens above. They glittered and twinkled like odd magicka lights. He looked to them, their luminosity empty of any significance other than the reminder that he was alone.
Of course, his isolation would end sooner than he wanted. He heard footsteps, coming from behind. He cast a glance back and then forward again, pretending he had not done so. He gave a huff of assumed responsibility to disguise his true motives for sitting there, silently feeling that it would not help him.
A woman stepped forward to stand beside him, brows furrowed with recognition. Warm, thick clothes protected her from the elements. A gleaming pendant dangled from her neck. Her gloved hands fidgeted together, turning a ring on her hand. White powder covered her boots almost up to the knees, evidence of the distance she'd traveled. Her eyes shined knowingly, looking at the boy before turning to look at the stars. The boy did not spare her another glance. For a moment, no words were spoken.
She broke the silence, her breath pluming in the air. "You have not moved, Miraak, for nearly six hours. What are you intending for yourself? Death by freezing?" Her voice, though reprimanding, was not unkind.
"I intend no such thing." Miraak attempted to contain a shiver of cold. He finally felt it. Or rather, the lack of, as the chill had numbed his body. "My blood is warm enough." He was stubborn.
"Then perhaps a bear or a pack of wolves will eat you? Come home, Miraak, you know that your father is...stubborn."
"He has no right to deny me the knowledge of the mages."
"For now, he does. And as I am your mother, I say you need to come back home. You freezing to death will not change his mind."
"I will not freeze..." When she did not respond, he continued on a different topic, "Mother, what you said the other day... Are you really leaving?" He asked in his solemn tone. He finally turned his gaze towards her. Their eyes met. His could not hide the uncertainty he felt. "What am I going to do? What is Tovitaa to do? She is even more reliant than I think you realize."
His mother chuckled, putting a hand on his shoulder. Her eyes glimmered in the starlight. "You know one only needs their mother for so long, Miraak. You and Tovitaa can fend for yourselves now... My...duties call me back."
"One day, I will join the Dragon Order, too," Miraak declared. "Father cannot keep me here forever."
"I suspect that is truth. For now, try to learn from him. When you are stronger, you can find the mages yourself. Everything you need to know now, you'll learn from your father. But when the time comes for you to seek your path, don't forget the significance of your name."
"Yes, Mother."
"And take care of your sister... Come along then, Miraak. Perhaps, one day, you'll understand."
She reached out her hand to him, but he didn't take it. Instead, he stood up. He nodded, and she pulled her arm back, an understanding smile on her face. Soon, he wouldn't need her anymore. He was growing up. She felt a surge of pride in her heart. She turned heel and started walking. Miraak followed her, wishing he wasn't so short. If he were taller, he knew his father would not be so restrictive. The man would see his worth if he could just look him in the eye without dropping to his knees first to do so.
Then, being a mother, she smiled and began to recite his favorite poem verse.
"Allegiance guide,
Replace the cold dying light.
Save us with warm white.
Give us a chance to see,
The old world that thrives where new should spring.
Take heart...
That world will cease to be."
He never questioned where it came from. He did not feel any desire to. It was special to him, because it signified all of what he could be. Despite being named for the random verse, he felt the opposite were true - that it actually existed because of him. It brought a warmth to the coldness in his being, just thinking of it.
"Mother, why do those words seem so important?" He asked softly.
"Because that is you, Miraak. That is your destiny. I cannot express its significance for us all."
He never questioned her answer. He believed it without a doubt.
Not until it was too late.
.
That World Will Cease to Be
Tol Lein Fent Dir
.
I. Slaughtering Grounds
(Golt do Dinok)
"Miraak!"
"Miraak!"
"Miraak!"
The words rang in his head like a massive heartbeat, the kind found only in the chest of a dovah, large and powerful. His own name was chanted in his ears, ringing forth all of its mighty power, empowering him with adrenaline. The implications were understood that he deserved their cheering praise. As it should be, he knew, for he was Miraak, son of the servants of the Dragons since the first men walked the cold, harsh lands of Keizaal.
Fate decreed it so.
Miraak knew his place in the world, and so should they. His was a place of power, of prestige. Those fools surrounding him held lesser ranks. They knew this. They should not rise, unless they were stronger. They should not disrespect, unless they were mightier. They should not speak, unless their voices were cunning. They should not protest, unless they were strong-willed. They should not turn on him, unless they were able to kill him.
He greatly despised fools, like the one currently challenging him.
Miraak raised his staff. Though he could not see the flicker of fear in his enemy's eyes from such an angle, he knew it was there. Regardless, the mask before him stared impassively. The man charged abruptly, howling wildly, weapon raised. Was it a sword? Or a staff? A spear? He didn't know. He never looked because he did not care. Miraak unleashed his own attack.
Fire engulfed the challenger when he swung his weapon. Miraak's last impressions of the insignificant priest were of a lot of pain-filled screams, and a pile of ashes that drifted on the cold wind. He lowered his staff that still glowed with energy, gazing contemptuously at the pile of cinders that remained of his former opponent. He turned away, thoughts churning. The sunlight glinted on his golden mask, warming his blue robes. However, that warmth was hardly responsible for the burning sensation in his soul. Despite the end of the fight, the fire of the battle blazed on in his heart, ready for more.
He turned to the crowd of onlookers, all of their blank masks looking back. Silence had fallen over them. Their chant had ended appropriately with the death of the challenger. No one had expected a different outcome, he determined, and they shouldn't have. He raised his hands. He lead the men and women of this temple as High Priest here, ranking as a member of the Dragon Council - a Dragonlord. These priests who followed him, all were dedicated to the dragon they worshipped, and the temple itself was his own.
They would listen to him and remember what punishment lay in wait for those who housed defiance in their hearts to his rule .
"Does anyone else believe themselves worthy to take my mask, my staff, my very title?!" He demanded. When no one said a word, he continued, "look at what impertinence has cost one fool of a man!" He pointed to the ashes, which had stained the snow gray.
The smell of burnt flesh assaulted his nose, but he ignored the acrid scent; it only made him want to fight more. However, he needed restrain the wild feeling. He succeeded, through sheer practice, while his gaze raked the onlookers. Not a single word arose from them. It seemed to Miraak that there would be no more blood for this debate. Typical. After a moment, he faced away from them.
His eyes flashed quickly, still bright with the recent moment of danger, however quickly it'd been done with. He wanted dearly to actually fight, though. He'd barely even tried, and the other was dead now. No one else would challenge him after such a display…
At least, not today. There are always fools to come.
It would have to wait until they forgot his power, and he'd have to remind them once again.
A deep rumbling resonated from nearby, the voice equivalent of a chuckle to express a dovah's amusement. The dragon perched on the nearby archway, balanced by his wings, situated comfortably. His tail curled down one of the long supports, the tip of it resting upon an altar carved into the stone. His scales were purple-white in hue, his eyes yellow. Long slits for pupils stared out at the scene before him. His wings rested languidly to the side, tattered with age. His black claws gripped the hold beneath him, gouging into stone easily. Horns curled around his head, and more jutted from his spine. He was not among the oldest of his kind, but he was impressive to look upon for his loud colors. Many dragons had muted scales.
The dovah spoke in his deep, carrying voice. "Miraak, aar do dovah. It seems your suleyk holds mastery today." Miraak, servant of dovah, his power undenied.
"Geh, Thuri Sosvulzein." Agreement came from the servant.
A snort of fire puffed from the dragon's nostrils. "Ful kos nii, Miraak. I am pleased...by the...genun." The dragon confirmed the argument and expressed enjoyment of the fiery display.
With that, the beast lifted itself upward, wings sending eddies of snow into the air. Miraak watched Sosvulzein's departure silently, his robes swaying in the wind. The rest of the priests and guards began to file out of the area, returning to the temple. The snow crunched under their heels, but other than that, not a single noise arose from them. Miraak watched their retreating forms, and his mind formed a single, fitting word.
Pathetic.
Of course none of the others would even try. If only I could fight someone with true power again... It's been so long. That fight would be a glorious and worthy battle, indeed.
Footsteps behind him rang in Miraak's ears, drawing his gaze. He saw a very familiar figure approaching him. He tensed, eyeing the newcomer with unease and gripping his staff tighter. He felt the wind gust through the arena, kicking up soft snow between them to blur the air for a few moments. The visitor wore dark crimson robes embroidered in golden threads woven into the shapes of flowers and small cages interlocking with each other. Impressions of vines lined his mask, curling up the sides. A purple aura surrounded the iron, indicating the magicka it held.
Miraak knew him all too well.
"Vahlok," he growled.
"Miraak," came the response he anticipated. Such conversation between them often became a sort of game - an unwanted game of hateful words.
Miraak felt the dark storm clouds of irritation rising in his chest. "What do you seek from me?" He asked tightly.
After all, this was his father, though it'd been a very long time since he'd spoken that word to him. He eyed Vahlok warily. Ever since he was old enough to think for himself, he'd always felt a little cautious. There was just something he couldn't place about the other priest that set him on edge. It was a combination of many known facts and many unknown secrets. He did, however, know with certainty that it related to the one question that had never been settled between them. The question was simple.
Who was the stronger?
That was Miraak's side of the problem, and he was itching to find out. He wasn't sure Vahlok reciprocated the curiosity, but if not, he was a fool.
Still, it was unlikely he'd ever find out the answer. They both held the same ranking on the Dragon Council, and there was nothing but punishment to be gained from defying the orders of the dragons not to fight one another. The council had sworn peace amongst itself long ago, if only to keep law in the wild lands of Keizaal. Besides, the dovah gods didn't appreciate the loss of worthy followers unless the reasons were their own.
Miraak's very blood always burned with the need to challenge, and more often than not, he found himself exerting great self-control to rein it in. At times, it took all of his strength not to try and provoke a fight. Otherwise, he would have challenged every other Dragonlord in Keizaal, which was the entire council. He was aware that would have indeed been foolish. Still, he had always been restless, even when he'd won the place he'd sought - a seat on the council itself. There was a certain lack of satisfaction that had made his victory stale not long after it had happened. There were no higher ranks to obtain, and it had suddenly left him empty and purposeless.
He refused such thoughts further, for they only fueled the fire in his heart and the irritation in his mind.
Vahlok waited a few minutes, as though sensing the readiness to fight in the other. When it didn't go away, he spoke. "I am here to bring you something."
That was unexpected. Miraak felt a little surprised.
The other proffered his hand and Miraak stared at it curiously. There may have been suspicion in his gaze, but the mask hid it perfectly. It seemed one of the functions of the object besides granting the wearer exceptional power was to alienate him from his fellow man.
In the palm of the older priest's hand, lay a small ring. The piece of jewelry was a dull brown-green color. A decorative jewel with the likeness of an emerald was carved into the shape of a skull, tentacles flowing from where its mouth should have been. The tendrils curved around each other to form the band. Oddly enough, it seemed vaguely familiar to Miraak.
"What a peculiar piece of jewelry," Miraak said before he could stop himself. "What is it's purpose?" He could feel the faintest hum of magicka resonating from it, barely noticeable.
"Well," Vahlok said. "I suppose I can fin-"
"Where did you get it?" Miraak demanded. "I feel I have seen it before."
"This came from the south. A small...trinket...from a...fellow priest who met death not long ago." He shook his head and continued. "I thought something strange like this might fascinate you."
It was, in fact, very fascinating to Miraak. He carefully hid his interest. There was another reason he disliked this man. He constantly seemed to pick up on the little things that others didn't think twice about. Miraak had to act carefully, or his intentions would be read as easily as a book.
"It is...odd." Miraak gave an inch.
He found he could not take his eyes off it. He peered at it through his mask, studying it without moving even an inch closer. He felt as if it called to him, urging him to claim it. His hand twitched, longing for it almost against his will.
Vahlok took notice of the faint movement. "I will take it then, if you would rather..."
"Well, Vahlok, it would be an interesting study, if you would part from it," Miraak said too quickly, already losing too much ground in their odd, verbal altercation. How he hated it!
Both glared at one another, almost hostile. Pride and ambition had widened the gap between them. Now there was a silent tug on the abyss as the two spoke circles around each other. The meaningless battle of clever human words was taking place. Miraak grew even more annoyed. He much preferred a physical fight to settle his differences with another; there was never uncertainty as to who was the winner, then.
Vahlok spoke, already setting invisible traps with his voice. "I brought it here first, for your examination. Why would I not be willing to part from it?"
"Then you wish to pass it to me?"
"I will, but do you want it?"
"Stop asking questions you know the answers to."
"I will...when you do."
Miraak felt his frustration starting to bubble up fully. He knew Vahlok was fond of reminding him constantly of his temper, simply by speaking like this. He couldn't see past that expressionless mask, but he knew a victorious self-assured smirk was tugging at the other's face. It had to be.
"This is ridiculous." He exhaled sharply.
"Miraak, you are not making your intentions clear."
Miraak lashed out venomously, having lost control of his anger, "you old fool! You know my intentions well! Hand the damned ring to me!"
He closed the remaining distance between them, glowering. Miraak could almost smell the blood he was more than eager to spill. Fire raced through his veins. Vahlok remained silent. The two never broke eye contact as the ring passed hands. Miraak struggled to contain his fury.
The other seized his wrist. Miraak tensed, ready to strike, but the older priest did not attack him. Warning glittered in Vahlok's pale eyes. The cold air felt oddly thick to the younger priest. He did not speak.
"Be warned. It will be your undoing, Miraak," hissed Vahlok, releasing his hold. "But I have long since given up on trying to teach you anything. Perhaps you will learn, or perhaps you will not..." He spun on his heels and marched away.
The dragon priest clasped his new ring and felt an odd sensation wash over him. Vahlok's footsteps retreated away. Miraak looked at his new possession again, overcome with the desire to wear it.
Not yet... There is still much to do.
He placed the item in his pocket and made for the entrance of his temple. Two silent guards stood on either side of the grand doors.
The temple itself was a work of magnificence, inspired by Sosvulzein and some head priest long ago. The circular structure rested on the crest of a mountain range, balanced by tall supports imbedded in the earth. Beyond the impressive doorway, the majority of the temple led below ground. Outside was the arena, framed by pillars and carvings of the great Sosvulzein along with the altar and resting arch for the dragon. A large set of stairs led down to the pathway, with stones laid to ease the passage of those treading the rocky slopes. The path was marked with grand arches all the way up to the temple.
The chanting voices of the worshippers reached Miraak's ears from beyond the doorway. Inside his pocket, his hand fidgeted with the ring, but he finally released it, scowling as he blew off the last remnants of vexation that lingered from confronting Vahlok. He traipsed down the corridor inside, listening to the praising voices. The chants spoke of the mighty Sosvulzein and his winged glory, of how mortals feared him, of how other dovah respected him, and of how he was magnificent and powerful. Compliments and praises, most of which were probably lost on the one they were aimed at, rose in unified voices.
He strode into a vast chamber, his gaze drawn to the high ceiling above before dropping again. Just inside, a priest stood, admiring a carving that he'd likely already seen a hundred times. He started, turning to stare at the higher-ranking priest behind him.
Though his followers all wore nearly identical outfits, Miraak had become good at identifying those most loyal, mostly because he had ordered them to mark themselves very subtly. This man, for example, had a small crescent of white on his shoulder, doubling for a patch for a tear in the cloth.
"Brother Kreniik, gather a few of the guards to prepare the prisoners," Miraak commanded. "It will soon be time to start the trials."
"Yes, Lord Miraak, I'll alert the guards at once!" the man said. He turned, his robes swaying as he marched from the room.
Miraak crossed the large chamber, his footsteps ringing in his ears. Around him, several worshippers mingled, whispering. A few masks turned his way for a couple of moments, then back to themselves. He noticed their presence, likewise. It irritated him.
"Leave," Miraak commanded, "unless you have something to contribute to the upcoming trial."
"Yes, my lord Miraak."
They left without complaint, as they should. He watched them disappear soundlessly out of the chamber, the torchlight casting their tall shadows upon the wall.
Miraak walked into a circle of light glimmering down from the brazier close to his throne. He leaned his staff against the wall beside it. He turned his hand up, and opened his fingers. The odd ring glimmered in his palm, a dull orange color in the glow of the fire. He flipped it over, staring at the dark green gem. He reached with his other hand to his mask. He pushed it up onto his head, narrowing his gaze at his possession. His pale eyes scrutinized the object. When he focused on it, he could feel a tingling sensation in the atmosphere surrounding it - magicka, cold and dark, but much stronger than he remembered when it was resting in Vahlok's palm.
Interesting...
Before he could further study it, he heard low voices echoing into the chamber. It was an easy mistake many made to believe these walls would silence sound. The truth was, voices echoed down the hallways and filled rooms long before the owners of them showed. If one spoke, his presence would be quickly noticed.
Miraak clenched his hand again and lowered his mask. He grabbed the staff and crossed to his throne swiftly. When he stood before it, he spun upon his heel and sat gracefully, leaning his weapon to the side. He waited there, bent forward, arms upon his knees. Soon, a torch bobbed into view in the passageway beyond. Two guards walked in, one carrying the light. The other was looking at the figure between them, his lips twisted into a sneer under his ramhorn helmet.
The prisoner was of a scraggly sort. Under his ragged and torn pelts, his ribs were highly visible ridges in flesh. His hair was greasy and thin, and unlike most of his kinsmen, his face was dotted with patchy fuzz instead of the typical flowing beards of his people. His gaze darted nervously, and he was conspicuously trembling. Bound by steel, he jangled loudly in a grating fashion with every step he took. The guards flung him to the ground several paces before the throne.
Miraak was silent, but his gaze was locked on the scrawny man. He folded his fingers together, growing bored quickly. He just wanted to be done with this so he could get back to his study of the ring, which was infinitely more interesting than these worn-out proceedings. He mentally shook away such a thought, knowing that it was a very irresponsible one. This was his duty to perform, and he'd be dead before anyone seriously questioned his ability to do it.
"Did you steal?" he stated very clearly and simply. "You are the thief they spoke of?"
"I...I...I..." The man swallowed nervously, standing up. The guards' gazes never left his back. The man fidgeted, rattling his shackles.
Miraak leaned against the throne. "I'm waiting," he warned.
"I..I did s-steal, s-sir, Lord Miraak, my lord. Please! I beg forgiveness."
Miraak almost cringed in embarrasment at the display, but merely said, "as I carry the law of Keizaal from the Dragon Order, there can be no forgiveness for criminals." Miraak had to admit, he still didn't have quite the right pitch in his voice, being the head priest. He wasn't feeling very righteous, he realized. He was feeling disgusted.
"My lord, I had lit-"
"Silence!"
The man quivered, but his protests ended in an instant.
"Take this one to the waiting cell," Miraak said dismissively. "He'll have to do for tonight. Bring in the other group..." His voice had all the enthusiasm of a chunk of ice.
The next group was bundled in unceremoniously.
We are unusually busy today, Miraak noted.
There were six guards now, spears and swords ready for any resistance. Four prisoners submitted reluctantly and were pushed to the floor onto their knees. The armored guards stood around them, tightening their grips upon their weapons.
"What is the charge?" Miraak queried. He'd not been informed of this one yet. It'd been quite odd, actually. No one had seemed to know what exactly the charge was that morning when he'd been informed of the extra prisoners.
"Treason," a guard hissed, eyes flashing behind his helmet. "These fools assaulted a patrol this morning."
One of the captives groaned loudly in what may have been misery. His eyes stared into the floor beneath him.
Miraak's body tensed where he sat. He leaned forward slightly. Not often do we get traitors. Worthless. There is nothing more despicable than treason. These are the worst kind of fools. He felt himself finally getting into his stride, a burning indignation in his veins.
A thin woman in rags flinched. "My hunters were compelled by evil forces!"
Miraak spat, "you were compelled to defy your rightful rulers? Have you no honor, that you'd pin the blame on another, Nid-Gein?!" Nid-Gein. It was a favored insult for demeaning the value of another, especially from a dovah or dovah sonaak - dragon priest - to a peasant. Its literal translation was, 'no-one'. He knew he had the right tone now!
A man screeched before she could reply. His eyes were wide. "Ahh! There's black things in my mind!"
"Slithering! Pinching! Clawing!" yelled another, sounding terrified, hitting the ground with his chained fists on each word. The guard near him raised his blade, but if the captive noticed, he gave no indication.
Miraak regarded these strange prisoners, suddenly feeling odd. This was certainly the first time he'd seen such behavior.
"The mouth! In the floor! On the ceiling! Through the walls, they climb!" Wide eyes turned above to stare at nothing above them. Horrified wailing exploded forth.
The woman shuddered. "See for yourself, My lord! My hunting party is claimed by a Daedra! They are mad! The work of Sheogorath surely!"
A gasp erupted from one of the guards.
"How dare you speak of such a demon here!" Miraak thundered, leaping to his feet. His hand fell to the staff he'd left nearby, unable to stop the impulse. He half expected the creature to appear to its name.
"It is truth!" The woman yelled, desperate. "Or I would not speak such! Treason was never intended! Why would we want such?!"
"For greed," said Miraak without missing a beat, beginning to feel certain that this was some elaborate trick to try and escape his justice. Still, it did not matter. Whether they were faking or not, he had to punish them. Exceptions were not made for any criminal to the Order. The dragon priest retook his seat, watching the strange group silently for a moment. "As one of the priests of the Dovah Relahmik, the Dragon Council, and upholder of the law, it is my task to pass judgment on you who have taken it upon yourself to defy your rightful rulers in the north. I hereby condemn you to..."
"No, no, no, no-"
"...punishment. May the dovah..."
"No-no-no-"
"..hear the pathetic cries of..."
"The barrow! My lord Miraak. I beg it! Seek the barrow under the Hill of Bones! You will understand!"
"Silence!" Miraak returned. He sat, stiff and uncaring. "Take them to the incineration chamber. This land does not tolerate traitors! Their charred flesh and screams of pain will please Lord Sosvulzein... Dismissed, all of you."
"No!" the woman cried out, face full of anger and terror. "This is not right! You people! You have no mercy in your steel hearts! You priests are wicked! The dovah gods are cruel - they want for nothing but our blood and deaths! You are all enemies to mankind!"
Miraak turned his gaze to a priest nearby, suddenly very certain the prisoners were indeed traitors. "Have the others begin preparations for the night ritual, Sister Laana. I must return to my chambers."
She assented and walked away to carry out the order.
Miraak's gaze was drawn down to his hand and with some surprise, he acknowledged what was in his palm. The strange ring from earlier sat there. He shifted it, thinking that he'd once seen it before, many years ago. He struggled to place it in his memory, but failed. There was just nothing in his mind that deemed it familiar, even though it felt very much like it were. What he did know for certain, was that Vahlok was a fool for giving it to him.
.
End of Chapter.
Dragon language(dovahzul) translations -
Keizaal - Skyrim
Dovah - Dragon
Miraak(name) - Allegiance Guide
Tovitaa(name) - Seeker (I took a liberty with this name and took the 'n' off. The actual word was Tovitaan)
Aar do dovah. - Servant of dragon.
Suleyk - Power
Geh, Thuri Sosvulzein - Yes, my overlord Sosvulzein
Sos-vul-zein(dragon name) - Blood-dark-worship
Ful kos nii, - So be it
Genun - Show
Vahlok(name) - Guardian
Kreniik(name) - Breaker
Nid-Gein - No-One
Sonaak - Priest
Dovah Relahmik - Dragon council
Laana(name) - to want