Irileth went charging up the hill to Dragonsreach, her mind racing with worry and adrenaline with the mind-boggling news she just received: A dragon attacked the Western Watchtower a couple of hours outside of Whiterun. Barging in through the big doors of the keep, she made straight for the arrogant prick of a court mage that was Farengar. As she turned the corner of the study, she stumbled as a loud "Oof!" could be heard. Looking to see the cause, she smirked at seeing the Arch-Mage heaving on the floor.
She quickly remembered her reason for storming in, wiping the smirk off. "Farengar, come at once! A dragon's been sighted nearby." The cat perked up at the news, a soft, almost resigned sigh escaping him. She supposed he would be useful if they were to confront the dragon, and her personal dislike of the cat didn't matter when it came to protecting her city. "You too, cat." Running up to the war room where the Jarl waited, she heard Farengar squeal like a newly-engaged girl.
'That insufferable pig…' she grumbled to herself. She was somewhat mollified to hear that the Arch-Mage evidently shared her opinion of the man, if the scowling sigh was anything to go by. Reaching the top, she saw the Jarl standing near the war map, looking old and tired. A guardsman, looking ragged with singed clothes and hair stood nearby, hands on his knees and a far-off stare of horror in his eyes. Once everyone of note had arrived, the Jarl started speaking.
"So, Irileth tells me you came from the Western Watchtower?" he addressed the guardsman.
"Yes, my lord," the guard – Harald if she remembered correctly – replied, in a dead, monotonous voice that would make a bonewalker shudder. She groaned inwardly, annoyed by the laggardness of the situation.
"Tell him! Tell him what you told me, about the dragon!" the Dunmer interjected forcefully, hoping that her urgent tone could get the lot to hurry. The guard started a bit, but no life came into his dead eyes.
"Yes…," he replied at length, "it came from the south. It was fast… faster than anything I've ever seen." His eyes jerked around unseeingly, his mind seemingly trapped in a nightmare.
"What was it doing? Was it attacking the watchtower?" the jarl asked in a newly urgent, business-like tone, putting a small, brief smile on Irileth's face. Here was the man she swore to serve, the man she would be glad to die for.
"No… it was just circling close. But it didn't need to attack! The eyes were enough!" the guard went on frantically, belying the evidence that the charred clothing presented. "Itdidn'tneedtoitdidn'tneedtotheeyestheeyestheeyes…." He devolved into an incoherent mess of panicked rambling. The Arch-Mage stepped up to the broken man and put his hand glowing with a soft sea green light on the man's forehead. The man calmed down and passed out, but not before giving a bloodcurdling shriek of utter terror that sent people jumping.
The jarl let out a long-suffering sigh, before ordering a guardsman nearby to take his unconscious colleague to the healer at the temple. Turning to Irileth, he said, "Irileth. Gather some more guards and get down there. Arch-Mage, I would appreciate it if you could join her."
The cat nodded before asking, "Would it be alright if I headed there immediately? It would give a greater chance of more survivors." The jarl nodded his acceptance, and the Khajiit left without another word. Turning to follow, the dark elf started thinking of who she could pull to combat this threat to Whiterun. Regardless of what might happen, she was sure that this would be a day unlike any other. History would be made without a doubt.
"Irileth!" the Jarl called after her.
"Milord?"
"This is not a death or glory mission. Scout out the situation, and report back," he ordered her with an almost resigned tone in his voice.
An hour later Irileth marched up to a pile of boulders a couple of furlongs east of the tower. The watchtower looked like a hurricane had torn through it. Granted, it had always been a fairly dilapidated structure, but the damage caused seemed almost unbelievable. Boulders lay strewn across the plains, up to two hundred yards away even. Smoke and ash were rising slowly from the ruins, a silent tribute to the dragon's might.
Small fires were burning, the fragrant autumn heather mixing with the stench of charred human flesh to leave even the hardiest of soldiers green around the gills, the housecarl no exception. The air was hazy with ash, adding to the shimmering of the heated air. Looking to the dozen guards she dragged along, she noticed that all of them looked green, yet determined to go on. Pride stirred within her for the fortitude of her men as she started handing out orders.
"Erik, Bjald, Asgan, Torbeld, Soris, spread out and form a perimeter. Stay close to the tower, yell as soon as the beast comes back. The rest of you, with me, we search for survivors." 'And gather the bodies…' was the unspoken yet clearly heard conclusion to the last order. Sure enough, the first body was found next to a collapsed walkway as they neared the tower. Two more bodies, burned into unidentifiable charcoal, lay at the rubble heap that used to be the stairs leading up to the tower's entrance.
She had forgotten about the Arch-Mage until the cat appeared at the entrance, a grim set to his shoulders with his face hidden beneath his hood. "Three dead, one crippled for life, two psychologically scarred, seemingly beyond repair," he said in a curt, business-like tone. "I healed their life-threatening injuries, but conserved my magicka as much as possible. I am sure the dragon will return before nightfall."
The next half hour was spent gathering the bodies and preparing the corpses for the trip back to the city. A squadron such as the one that was posted at the watchtower consisted of eight men, and seven of the eight was lost to the guard force, probably forever. Irileth's mood darkened further when the Khajiit informed her that the survivors said the eighth was devoured by the dragon. An entire squadron lost, and this was only one dragon.
The Arch-Mage suddenly looked up, squirming uncomfortably. As he opened his mouth, a shout from the southern end of the tower drew her attention. "Kynareth save us, here it comes!" The dark elf fell back on years of serving in the Legion as a Preafect, barking out more orders and encouraging her men. The cat took up a spot in the archway of the tower, claws filled with churning ice.
"This is it! Get to cover! Make every arrow count!" she all but screamed. Her mind was empty of all thoughts except those pertaining to the upcoming battle with the mythical beast. Her long-time sword was unsheathed, swirling ice indicating its enchantment, and she let her off-hand sparkle with lightning, preparing to throw all that she had at the dragon.
The dragon came swooping down from the high mountain range that separated Falkreath and Whiterun, twirling around the peaks before making a beeline for the tower. It let loose two earthshattering roars, leading to she and her men cringing under the auditory assault. A torrent of flame burst from its maw as it attacked the top of the tower in a flyby, sending whoever was unlucky enough to be up there scampering back down for cover.
Irileth's finely honed battle instincts led her to closely observe the dragon. Its bright burnt gold scales shone in the early afternoon sun, its wings a clearly defined two-tone pattern, with olive green at the trailing edge. Its head was massive, with four large horns forming a loose frill that curled back to its neck. Irileth could clearly see the fangs as it swooped over, each as long as her arm and half as wide, curling out around the lips in a permanent, malicious grin. It was about 30 feet in length, of which half was the body and the other half was neck and tail. The wings were tipped with five razor-sharp claws and a dewclaw, each at the end of a finger-like supporting bone. The tail itself ended in a spade-shaped bone blade, seemingly capable of slicing man or mer in half.
The dragon came to a lurching hover after it made a single pass around the tower, flapping its great wings slowly, eyes fixated on a spot 20 feet from her. The slitted eyes made her gut twinge uncomfortably even in passing, and she could see why the guardsman that delivered the news was driven mad. Following its gaze, Irileth was stunned to see the Arch-Mage standing, arms tense but lowered, and seemingly having a conversation with the damned thing!
Only a few short sentences later, all spoken in a guttural, incomprehensible language she had never heard before, the dragon seemed offended and let loose a massive gout of flame. Instinctively closing her eyes lest she be blinded, she heard the Arch-Mage grunt. When she opened them again, she saw the cat had been pushed back by the flame, straining to keep his arms and the ward spell they were holding up against the fire.
After a few moments of the stalemate, the dragon flew up and around the tower, looking for easier prey. The Arch-Mage let out a feral snarl that startled Irileth with its sheer rage, bloodthirstiness given meaning with the growl. She was shaken from her stupor by the Khajiit retaliating against the dragon, flinging spikes of ice in its general direction. She concentrated, aiming for the wings, and let fly her own magic, the smell of ozone filling her nasal cavities as the lighting made the dragon twitch a bit. It was a small reaction, but more than the ice that got stuck between scales without actually penetrating, merely unbalancing the winged demon.
The dragon continued flying around the tower, blasting guards with fire every time it got the chance. The arrows that were flying proved to be little resistance for the lizard, shrugging them off like flies. Her magic proved to be most effective, the Arch-Mage not attacking for the moment. Catching her breath under a broken arch, she sought out the cat and found him pulling two injured and unconscious guards into the tower, hands and claws awash with a soft golden light. Doing a headcount, she found 4 other guards left, shooting arrows as they could from behind scant cover. More bodies, charred and ripped to pieces, were spread around the tower.
The dragon was circling high, seemingly relishing its position of power. The Khajiit came up to her side, before asking, "Got a plan?"
She was momentarily surprised, but didn't let it show. "We need to get this scaly bastard on the ground. Arrows are useless, and they're almost used up anyway. Fire and ice are ineffective as well." She fixed the Arch-Mage with a steely glare at that, before ordering the cat, "Use lightning or something, and get that lizard on the ground. You alone can do it, and then we'll end it with swords. Go, I'll draw its attention." She ran out, charging up the last of her magicka in a lightning bolt that struck the dragon at the junction of the left wing and body.
It abandoned its previous targets, coming to hover in front of the housecarl. Her heart was beating fast, but the adrenaline overwhelmed the fear as she shouted Dunmeri war cries and insults. Behind her, static crackled ever louder, and she knew the Arch-Mage was following orders. Just as the dragon opened its maw to burn her to a crisp, a roar that put all Nordic war cries to shame erupted from the Khajiit. A blinding white light flashed above her, pounding the already damaged left wing of the dragon.
A quick peek behind her left yellow spots in her vision, the cat glowing a blinding white-blue like the lightning that flowed from him. The Arch-Mage kept up the barrage, all but destroying the wing in a magical display that awed Irileth to no end. With a deafening roar of pain and outrage, the dragon lurched to its left, the intact wing twitching ineffectively with the residual electricity still coursing through its body. A rapid descending spiral was all it could do as it lost nearly all lift and control, plummeting to the ground. With a sickening crunch, the remaining wing bones snapped as the beast crushed them underneath itself.
A pained roar burst from the dragon as it raised itself up to stand, the broken wing hanging limply at its side. The four remaining guardsmen let out war cries as they unsheathed swords and charged the lizard. The dragon may have been grounded, but it was far from finished. The first guard was too close, and couldn't avoid the veritable river of fire that came his way. The other guards managed to reach the dragon without attracting its focused attention and soon began harassing the giant reptile, making sure to stay out of the flames' reach.
Irileth herself moved around the outside, hoping to flank the dragon and attack it from behind. The three guards remaining did an admirable job of keeping the dragon's attention divided, but they were tiring quickly. As she closed in on the dragon's tail, sword readying for a stab, she saw the Khajiit standing roughly 30 feet in front of the lizard, arms taut and static sparking brightly all around him.
With a commanding shout, brooking no argument, the cat ordered, "Move it!" Even she, a veteran of many wars and experienced soldier had to admit she was impressed with the authority in the shout. The yell had the side effect of attracting the dragon's attention as the guards gratefully scattered. Lightning crackled and ozone swamped her sense of smell as the dragon opened its jaws, flame dancing in the back of its throat ready to burn the mage to a crisp.
The lizard got pushed back by yet another blinding beam of electricity bursting from the Khajiit, the sparking river flooding its mouth. It tried to snap its maw closed, hoping to protect its softer innards, but failed, its muscles convulsing helplessly under the magickal onslaught. The stream abruptly cut off, allowing Irileth to take a look back at the Arch-Mage. His long fur (the little that was visible underneath his hood) stood on end, small sparks flitting to and fro, and two eyes were glowing brightly with the magickal leftovers. If it wasn't for the circumstances she would have found the sight comical, the cat looking all fuzzy and frazzled.
The dragon lay on the ground, twitching on the edge of unconsciousness. It had lost a lot of energy in the loss of the wing and the immediate cauterization of the wound. The Arch-Mage suddenly appeared behind her and strode past her, swiping her sword from her with a strength she didn't expect from his scrawny body. With rapid strides, the cat neared the fallen dragon, the dark elf slowly following behind. He paused as he came near, looking into the half-closed eye of the reptile. A somewhat pitiful groan escaped the dragon. For some reason, the Arch-Mage looked startled at this for a few moments before he recovered.
With a grunt, he lifted the sword high and plunged it into the eye. It gave a final twitch before falling limp, never to rise again. The three guards left started cheering, and even Irileth, renowned for her dourness, felt the corners of her mouth twisting into a smile. With a slight smile in her tone (her men would say it indicated positive exuberance) she started congratulating them. "Well done boys. Let's get a closer look at this thing, see if it is really dead… Not that there is much left. Excellent work Arch-Mage."
She noted that the Arch-Mage didn't react to her statement at all. He was staring at the corpse in a strange way, his emotions hidden by the hood. If she had to take a guess, it would be a mix between horrified and shocked. Walking closer, she asked him, "What's wro…."
Before she could get any further, she saw small flakes of flame rising from the corpse. "What the…. Get back!" Making good on her words, she turned to see the Khajiit still standing stock-still in the same shocked position he was. She considered turning back to get him, but the flames on the dragon were growing stronger and brighter, while the Arch-Mage looked rooted to the spot. From out of nowhere, a wind began blowing, with the flames becoming a billowing ball of colours, hovering above the dissolving scales and flesh as the skeleton became visible.
With a soft roar like thunder, the dragon finished dissolving, leaving a handful of scales hanging on the edges of the skeleton. The kaleidoscopic fire began to rapidly flow towards the petrified cat, swirling and surrounding him, puffing his cloak and hood. With a flash, the flames seeped into the cat, absorbed as if his clothing was nonexistent. With an odd-sounding croak, the Arch-Mage collapsed, leaving behind three awed Nords and one utterly bewildered Dunmer.
"Drem, lot dovah! Zu'u lann tinvaak!"
Shock is the best way Ako could describe the dragon's reaction to hearing its own language spoken by a Khajiit. The dragon faltered momentarily in its flight before coming to a lurching halt, hovering near him. A growl of shock, surprise and discontent emanated from the dragon. As the dragon drew closer, Ako could feel his thoughts becoming clouded, consumed by the strange, alien thoughts that had begun all those months ago in the barrow. He pushed them away, clearing his mind again.
It grumbled out a reply in a very deep voice, reminding Ako of an earthquake or an avalanche. "Joor tinvaak Dovahzul?" After a few moments of tense silence, the dragon grumbled again. "Fos los hi? Wo los hi?" Its voice, as alien as it may be, was authoritative, all but demanding an answer. The strange feelings and thoughts that plagued Ako returned now, demanding defiance to the dragon, crushing the mortal impulse to cringe and hide.
He replied with a smirk on his face and a taunt in his voice. "Ferviit lahzey. Wo los hin in?" This was the wrong answer. A roar, consisting of three words, "YOL TOOR SHUL!" followed as the dragon let out a fierce blast of fire that would have left nothing of the Arch-Mage, not even ashes. Strangely, the foreign thoughts had warned him this was the most likely outcome, the dragon wanting to destroy, to dominate his arrogance and defiance. He was ready to defend with his strongest ward spell.
Ako grunted as he was pushed back by the flames, arms straining to hold up. He could feel his magicka was dwindling, being drained quicker than he would have liked. A few seconds later (though it felt like an eternity) the barrage of flames ceased, and Ako could hear the flapping of wings as the dragon flew off. The strange thoughts were tearing him in two, simultaneously enraged at the cowardly dragon fleeing the confrontation and rejoicing that he proved the stronger. His own, normal thoughts, merely being relieved at still being alive, were squashed within seconds of being formed, all of his cognitive power consumed by the alien thinking.
He let out a snarl that signalled his preliminary victory, warning all near him that he was going to finish it permanently and soon. He flung magickal ice at his opponent, his own thoughts slowly being released from their prison. Within seconds he regained full control over his thoughts, and was horrified that he was so lost. He could see and remember everything clearly while being dominated by the strange thoughts, yet he couldn't do anything about it, not even think against it.
Ducking behind a broken stack of stairs, he found the broken body of one of the guards. The guard looked to be unconscious, while a bit into the open the charred remains of another was in a pile of ash. Ako worked on autopilot as he quickly did a magickal check over of the Nord, seeing that there were no life-threatening injuries. A small spell to increase the man's natural regeneration and healing followed, and he pulled the injured man to cover in the tower. On the way, he found a second unconscious guard and dragged him to cover as well.
Making his way back to Irileth, having stabilised all the wounded in the tower, he found her taking a breather under a broken arch. She sounded annoyed and frustrated as he asked for a plan, but determined to end the dragon, even unto death, defying Jarl Balgruuf's orders to only scout the situation. The Khajiit cursed himself for not using lightning spells after she pointed out their effectiveness, realizing that the lizard's scales presented a serious hindrance to fire and ice.
Ako was mildly surprised at the Dunmer's willingness to put herself in danger as she drew the dragon's attention, but drove it from his mind and started preparing the intricate primers that led to the most destructive spell he knew. Drawing in power and magicka from his surroundings, from the very air and ground, lightning began crackling around him. His fur became tingly as his thoughts became consumed with destroying the dragon.
A primal roar left his lungs as he released the spell, his arms quivering like a bowstring drawn taut as a river of lightning flowed from all over his body, concentrated into a beam that tore the reptile's wing apart. 'Yes!' the strange thoughts yelled in glee, 'I am the stronger! "Qiilaak!" a growled word burst from his mouth that would have surprised him had he been in full mental control. His thoughts were once again dominated by the strange other part, encouraged by the dragon's crash and fall.
The Khajiit managed to wrench back a measure of control over his thoughts as he charged yet another Lightning Storm, as he had named the beam of electrical energy that destroyed the dragon's wing. Booming out an order for the guards to move out of the way, he attracted the dragon's attention. Somehow, he knew that the dragon would ignore all the others and focus its attention on him. He also realized that the strange thoughts would not have cared for collateral damage had it been in control.
'Not much left, not for me or the opponent…' He knew the dragon was on its last legs, and that his magicka was dangerously low. But he was unusually confident that it would be enough, enough to kill the dragon. Once again, the Arch-Mage's arms quivered as electricity interrupted the dragon's attempt to incinerate the cat. Ako felt his magicka drain to the last drops, leaving the dragon twitching feebly.
The alien thoughts were again tearing him in two, protesting at the sight of a mighty dragon laid helpless, yet celebrating at the defeat of such a mighty foe. All parts of his mind were in agreement as he commandeered Irileth's enchanted sword, striding towards the lizard to put it out of its misery. Slowing slightly as he neared it, he looked into its one visible eye, and couldn't look away. A part of him was utterly shocked at what he saw.
Pain. Acceptance. Anger. Broken pride. Kinship.
A cracked groan carrying words made its way to Ako's ears. "Dovahkiin… nid…." It sounded as if there was more the dragon wanted to say, but a strangled gasp was all that remained. The words themselves were enough to loosen the other thoughts' hold and give Ako a chance to clear his mind. Translating the dragon's words led him to pause, mind whirling, sputtering in incoherence and disbelief.
The strange thoughts concluded that Ako couldn't care less about what he saw and heard, except that it was the truth and right, and promptly drowned his normal thoughts, assisted by his confusion. Lifting the sword high, his posture screaming his dominance over the fallen foe, he brought it down, caring only about the final victory over the enemy.
As the life drained from its body, a pang of sadness and regret spilt over his thoughts. His mind was a mess, thoughts racing incoherently without rhyme or pattern. 'I dreh it! Krii kin? Nuz deserved it. Laas always bal. Honaat joorre!'
Ako was faintly aware of the Nords making noise behind him, the Dunmer housecarl coming up to his back. All of his attention was focused on the mangled corpse of the dragon, the destroyed eye seeming to glare at him in betrayal, yet pitiful at the same time. He noticed one of the scales on its cheeks flaking upwards, glowing softly like a luna moth, flames licking the air as a smouldering blaze spread outward from the point where it was attached. A few other scales did the same, across the dragon's entire body.
Within seconds the lizard's body was engulfed in a soft, roaring flame as a deep sense of contentment and anticipation filled the Khajiit. As the flames flowed towards Ako, his rational mind was panicking. The strange thoughts crushed the panic, welcoming the colourful fires surrounding him. His eyes rolled back in his skull, bliss shooting through his body once the flames sunk into him, never even bothering to think why his fur was unharmed when the fire passed it.
In the dark, images flashed by his eyes, fuzzy, indistinct and refusing to make sense.
Other dovahhe, appearing to be massive specimens, accompanied by a familial sense of mir. Shattered shards of a ceramic looking material and a rumbling of the word, the name, 'Mirmulnir'. The gol from above, the land appearing homely, instinctively titled Dovahnor. More dragons, nebenaraan. Mock grah with some of them. The okaaz, waves gently washing as giant mammals, okaaronne, play in the surf.
Courtship with a dovahin, battling others for the right to call her liin. The glorious sky-dance that follows. Hatchlings of his own, teaching them the art of Thu'um, claw and fang. Presenting them to the great drogge of the Dov, kah filling him as a sleek white and gold dragonlord praise his offspring. Joorre, offering meat and yuvon as tribute to him, Mirmulnir, even as a lowly soldier in the glorious thur's army.
Arrows flying towards him, followed by a feeling of betrayal. Rahgol overflowing every mindol as he finds the kopraan of his liin, spears sticking out of her slen like a pincushion. The satisfying stench of the joor flesh burning, the screams of paaz nourishing his malice. Hearing rumours of the great thur's defeat, from the jot of a fleeing Fo. The joorre pushing even him, a wuth gein, into hiding. Ages spent in the mountains, hiding away, waiting for his thur's return, planning and nurturing his pain and hatred.
The images slowly become clearer as they continue, not slowing down. He hears Alduin's Thu'um on the ven again. Smelling the smoke and yol from the destroyed joor village. He decides to impose his rel on a nearby jul outpost. Slaughtering the jul, taking one of them to be devoured to satisfy his rahgol.
As he returns to the devastated outpost, he senses a mulaag and presence that confuses him. The strange Kaaz lahzey that defiles the Dovahzul by daring to speak it, taunts him and sends his already boiling rage into overdrive. Indescribable paaz floods all his senses as his precious viing is destroyed by the vile qo the mage wields. He senses the strange suleyk from before growing stronger, and is once again driven senseless by pain. His body all but al, he finally realises what that strength is.
Pleading, begging almost, 'Dovahkiin, nid!'. His smothered words fall on deaf ears. He can feel his sil loosen from its bonds with his slen, the spoils of battle going to the victor. He manages one last look at the skies of Keizaal before he is gone from Lein until the end of time. In the somehow familiar miin of the Kaaz, there is age and power. Who is he with the eyes of dov, in the slen of a kaaz? Then it is black, unfeeling from now to the oblaansetiid.
Ako returned to his senses with a start, finding himself flat on his side. Irileth and her remaining guards were coming closer, indicating that little time has passed since he passed out in ecstasy. His nose twitched as he smelled blood, ash and a million other smells that even as a Khajiit he could never hope to smell. His ears were assaulted with the crackle of fire, the crunch of grass underfoot and the flutter of butterfly wings.
Mind whirling with sensory overload, he forced himself to breathe through his mouth rather than the nostrils. He was shocked to find that he could taste the smells in the air as well as he could usually smell. Opening his eyes, he rapidly closed them again in visual overload. The brief moment was enough to see the reflection of the sun on every drop of sweat on Irileth's ashen skin, the grasshoppers in the steppe downwind of the tower, the elk on the hill beyond Fort Greymoor.
After a few seconds, each feeling like an eternity, the tastes in the air and sounds on the wind diminished to their previous levels. Ako felt crippled by the loss of acuity, despite being incapable of handling the mental load it generated. One of the Nords let out a shaky breath as he exclaimed, awe and shock clearly audible in his voice.
"I-i don't believe it… y-you're Dragonborn!"
Ako tried to reply to this, but only a groan came from him. He slowly pushed himself up, sitting with his arms on his knees feeling haggard. One of the other guards had a puzzled look on his face, and asked the first one, "Dragonborn? What do you mean?"
He replied, "In the very oldest tales, a Dragonborn would slay the dragons and steal their power." Turning his attention to Ako, he said, "That's what you did, isn't it? Absorbed the dragon's power?"
Ako gathered enough magicka to cast a simple spell of revival, healing the scrapes and burns along with restoring his stamina. He immediately felt the headache indicating magicka overuse returning, but ignored it. The Khajiit spoke with a raspy voice, coughing as he did so. "Dragonborn… a mortal with the blood and/or soul of dov, blessed by Akatosh and Alessia…" After a few moments of silence, he continued, not noticing the slip in language. "I don't see what else that fire could have been, but the sil of the dovah."
Seeing the guards and Irileth stare at him blankly, he asked, "What? The soul of the dragon must have been in that fire, and then, somehow, absorbed by me…" His voice softened towards the end, trailing off as his train of thoughts derailed once again.
The guard that spoke up first drew Ako's attention. "Well… there's only one way to find out. Try to Shout. According to the old legends, only a Dragonborn could shout like the dragons without training."
The Khajiit pondered the advice for a few moments, thinking back on his knowledge of Dovahzul. He quickly remembered the words that were inscribed on the curved walls, and subsequently inscribed deep within him. The first word he encountered was – Fus, he realized suddenly, was much more than a translation of Force, new knowledge he never recalled acquiring filling his understanding.
Fus is energy transferred, dominance enforced over another entity, be it living or not, a decree to change the target's state, regardless of what its state may have been at that moment. Fus is change incarnate, every entity remaining stagnant until Fus commands otherwise. Instinctively, he knew his knowledge was incomplete, that there was yet more to know of Fus.
Ako took a deep breath, and another, and despite feeling full, felt compelled to take even a third breath. From deep within him he sensed power rising, bubbling up uncontrolled before erupting in a roar of "FUS!" The roar echoed for what seemed like miles around. A blue shockwave of sorts spread out from Ako's mouth, as if his roar was given physical form. The moment it left him, he tried to aim away from the guards, but it was too late as they were sent staggering, most of them falling to their knees in their exhaustion.
The Arch-Mage himself was forced to take a step or two back, his throat feeling as if he swallowed rocks. He was surprised to see the guards recover quickly from their stumble, chattering excitedly amongst themselves. As the boisterous noise increased, so did Ako's headache. Luckily for him, Irileth seemed to share his opinion on overly loud people.
In her commanding voice, she brought silence to the rabble. "I don't know much about this 'Dragonborn' nonsense. What I do know is that we have a dead dragon right here."
The first guard interrupted her. "You ain't a Nord, Housecarl, of course you wouldn't understand."
The Dunmer appeared indignant at this, and retorted, "I've been all over Tamriel, and I've seen many things as outlandish as this." The guard looked set to argue further, but Irileth cut him off, "Regardless, we lost a lot of men today, and someone should go see the Jarl and report to him."
Looking at the Arch-Mage, she said, "The Jarl must know of this. Go now." Ako acceded to the command, his magicka was drained rendering him useless when it came to the clean-up.
He turned back to Whiterun, before going back to the base of the tower where all the conscious survivors had gathered for orders. "Listen up, all of you!"
They looked mildly surprised to see him back again, the annoyed face on Irileth growing fiercer each passing second. Ako spoke with ice and steel in his voice, an echo of something ancient slipping into his speech. His hood had slipped back, slitted eyes boring deeply into each of theirs.
"Before I go, I must ask you all something. Whatever you do, if anyone asks you about today, none of you spoke with the Dragonborn. I, the Arch-Mage, am not the Dragonborn. You all saw a traveller attacking the dragon after I grounded it, a big Nord wielding a sword. No one knows who the Dragonborn is, he left with me when I went to report to the Jarl. Does. Everyone. Understand?"
AN: I hope I did the dragon fight justice. As with all the previous chapters, much thanks to empire1003 for proofreading it. For the many Dovahzul words in the chapter, you can see the translations below. Doesn't really add much to the story content-wise, I think, but the presence should certainly be an indication that something is different. I hope so, at least. If you have any questions, comments, or critiques, feel free to send me a message or leave a review. I'm always up for improving my writing. Hope you enjoy, and thank you for reading.
"Drem, lot dovah! Zu'u lann tinvaak!" – Peace, great dragon! I wish (want) {to} converse (speak) {with you}!
"Joor tinvaak Dovahzul?" – {A} mortal conversing (speaking) {in} Dovahzul?
"Fos los hi? Wo los hi?" – What are you? Who are you?]
"Ferviit lahzey. Wo los hin in?" – {A} curious wizard. Who is your master?
"Qiilaak!" – Submit.
"Dovahhe" – dragons
"mir" – loyalty
"gol" – earth, ground
"Dovahnor" – Akavir
"nebenaraan" – juvenile, younglings, wyrmlings
"grah" – battles
"okaaz" – sea, ocean
"okaaronne" – whales
"dovahin" – female dragon (-in suffix indicating gender borrowed from empire1003's notes, who borrowed it from Esperanto in turn)
"liin" – mate
"Thu'um" – Shout
"drogge" – lords
"Dov" – dragonkind
"kah" – pride
"Joorre" – mortals
"yuvon" – gold, riches
"thur" – overlord, ruler
"rahgol" – rage
"mindol" – thought
"kopraan" – corpse, body
"slen" – flesh, body
"joor" – mortal
"paaz" – pain
"jot" – maw
"Fo" – Frost (in this context, refers to dragon breed)
"wuth gein" – old one, Elder one (again, refers to dragon breed)
"ven" – wind
"yol" – fire
"rel" – dominance
"jul" – man, the race of men (not elf or beast)
"mul" – strong, strength
"Kaaz" – cat, Khajiit
"lahzey" – wizard
"viing" – wing
"qo" – lightning
"suleyk" – power
"al" – destroy
"Dovahkiin, nid!" – Dragonborn, no!
"sil" – soul
"Keizaal" – Skyrim
"Lein" – Mundus, the world
"miin" – eyes
"oblaansetiid" – end of time
"dovah" – dragon