17th of Sun's Dusk, 4E 965

The Legend of the Dragonborn

Arch-Mage Lodiramor sat at the desk in his quarters, reading the journals of his ancestor, Tolfdir. He was looking for records of when the Dragonborn was at the College of Winterhold, and after reading through several of the journals.

The memory of the Dragonborn's arrival is still clear in my mind, yet as soon as he came into our lives here at the College, he has left us with just a note, stating his departure and naming me as his successor as Arch-Mage.

His heroism has been noted, and quite frankly I do not believe in whatever prophecy that states he will bring destruction to the Empire. Therefore it is with great regret that I write of his disappearance, for I believe that he could have been instrumental in bridging the gap between the College and the Nords. Hopefully, the College can be restored without him, but it will likely take more time.

Of all of the allies and friends I've made in my life, none have been more important than him. From his mere arrival, to his contact with the Psijic Order, to his actions regarding the Eye of Magnus, he has ensured that there is a College to teach anyone who is willing to open their minds.

Lodiramor was hungry for answers. Where did the Dragonborn go? Did the Empire succeed in capturing him? And now, after reading Tolfdir's journal, he pondered over the matter of his contact with the Psijic Order. As far as Lodiramor knew, the last noted appearance of the Order was over 700 years ago - potentially, he realized, while the Dragonborn was at the College.

Lodiramor, with the help of his staff, stood and made his way for the Arcanaeum, before it seemed like everything was still for a moment. Lodiramor froze for a moment, but nothing was in the room - so he proceeded on to the Arcanaeum. He made his way for the desk of the librarian, Gultha. She sat there, reading intently.

"Hello, dear Gultha. I require your assistance on a matter of, er...research," Lodiramor said.

Gultha put the book down, and looked up to Lodiramor. "Yes, Arch-Mage? What do you need information on?"

Lodiramor rested both hands on his staff in front of him, and said, "I was looking through the journals of one of my ancestors, a former Arch-Mage by the name of Tolfdir. While he was at the College, the lost Dragonborn came to the College and was involved in an incident regarding the Psijic Order and an artifact by the name of the Eye of Magnus. I was wondering if you knew of any records regarding the Dragonborn, whether it be of his actions here at the College or elsewhere."

Gultha looked at him, appearing slightly puzzled. "I'm not quite sure what records we have. We likely have something that might be of use, but I'll need some time to search the collection for it."

Lodiramor smiled at Gultha, and simply stated, "Good to have your help. If you find anything, feel free to come to my quarters at any time." With that, he left for the outdoors of Winterhold.

In the extreme blizzard of Winterhold, Lodiramor felt right. Despite his old age, he fared quite well in the cold bitterness of the hold. It made him feel young again. And as he walked down the main street, he was reminded of what he needed to protect. For one day, not too far into the future, Lodiramor understood that the one who would likely bring his end would walk through the gates. He reached for the two amulets hanging from his neck - amulets of Arkay, and Julianos - and felt at peace with the idea of death.

But first he needed to find out as much as he could about the Last Dragonborn, who seemingly vanished from time. Whatever he may learn could be of use in defending his people against the evil rising against not only Skyrim, but all of Tamriel. Fact, shrouded in mystery, must reveal itself in time.

After some time, Lodiramor returned to his quarters to rest, hoping that there would be progress made by Gultha by the time he returned.

An image of a man in dark robes flashed, and then was gone. It was then completely dark for several seconds, and then there was a bright light in the distance. Lodiramor stood up, and followed the light. He followed it for so long that he wondered if he would ever reach its source.

After some time, another image flashed before him, causing Lodiramor to stagger in pain. He saw a great castle on its own island, gray and unwelcoming. And again, just as quick as the image came, it was gone.

Lodiramor stood again, and continued following the light. He reached out with his hand to detect any life, but he seemed unable to use magic. Whatever realm he was on, it was most definitely not Nirn. Regardless, he pressed forward.

Then, he heard a great shout - the Thu'um, and he saw a dragon, perched upon the peak of a mountain. The dragon looked at him straight in the eye, but did not attack. Suddenly, it was as if he were flying, and he was blinded for a moment. When he regained his sight, he saw the Summerset Isles from the sky above. He looked for a moment, before he was flown backwards against his will, through utter darkness.

Lodiramor woke up, dazed and confused. He reached frantically for his staff, and pulled himself by it to his feet. He looked towards his desk and saw a pile of unknown books. He smiled to himself, and began sifting through the collection. Most of them were the records of the keeper of the Arcanaeum of the time, Urag Gro-Shub.

More importantly, however, the matter on Lodiramor's mind was not what information may lie in those books: it was on his...dream. He doubted it were any natural dream - he guessed it was the work of someone who wanted to plant images in his mind.

A castle on an island, a dragon on a mountain, and the Summerset Isles. What was the point of these images? Were they the keys to answering his questions? Lodiramor pondered, as he opened one of the books.

Falkreath

The Imperial Legion marched into Falkreath, led by General Vitertius Mede on horseback. He was flanked by his second in command, Suvren Tedayn, of House Redoran, and Mavla the Bloody, the daughter of the dead Jarl of Whiterun.

They were led to the Jarl's court by two hold guards, and when they came to it, Vitertius, Suvren, and Mavla got off horseback to enter the small palace, led in front by the two hold guards and followed by two Legionnaires - a Nord and an Imperial.

The Jarl, Ilfid the Haggard, was standing upon their entrance. As they approached her, she began to kneel, but was stopped by Vitertius.

"No need to kneel Jarl Ilfid, this is a military matter," he said, gesturing for her to stand as he planted himself firmly in front of her.

"I think it would be disrespectful to not kneel for a Prince of the Imperial Royal Family," she said as she stood back up. "To what do I hold the honor of having you as my guest here?"

"It is a simple request, really. If everything goes to plan, we won't be staying very long," Vitertius said. "As I'm sure you know, Whiterun has been taken over by some dark wizard. The identity of whom, we do not know yet. I would like to set up a garrison here in the city - a fixture of 50 soldiers to guard Falkreath as we lay siege on Whiterun. If the siege takes enough time, more Legionnaires may pass through your hold."

"That won't be a problem, General. You're welcome here in Falkreath for as long as it takes to take control of Whiterun once more," Ilfid said, smiling nervously as she spoke.

Vitertius gave her a salute, and the three turned back to rejoin their forces. But Ilfid spoke once more.

"Wait," she pleaded suddenly. "I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry for your loss, Mavla." Mavla turned fully to face her. "I was close with Logvir, you know. He was a true Nord, as I see you've grown up to be too. Blessings of Arkay upon you, and Talos guide you."

Mavla nodded, and then turned back so they could leave to be with the Legion again. As she breathed in the air, she began mentally preparing herself for battle with whoever killed her father.

That night, as Mavla sat with Vitertius and Suvren, that last piece of the meeting with Ilfid came up.

"You knew Ilfid growing up?" Vitertius asked.

"I saw her a lot when I was young. I guess, when she and my father started to grow old, they made less trips between Whiterun and here to meet each other. Then I joined the Legion when I was 16 - so it's been at least 10 years since I've seen her." Mavla looked pained as she spoke of her father. "I can't wait to put the head of whoever sits on that throne on a stick."

Vitertius was somewhat taken aback by her hatred, but understood her reasons. He nodded to her, and turned so he could see both her and Suvren.

"Suvren...if we don't succeed in stopping this threat here, what will you do if this...conqueror...goes to Morrowind?" He asked.

Suvren lifted his head so that he could look Vitertius in the eye, and said, "I will return to Mournhold, hopefully with the Legion, but I'll be prepared to go alone." After a long pause, he added, "But I don't really want to let it get to that point."

Vitertius nodded and yawned, and then replied, "Let's put an end to it, starting tomorrow. In the meantime, I'm going to get some rest, and I suggest you two do the same." With that, the three slept.