Morndas, 18th of Last Seed 4E201 Evening

Farengar

I am Farengar, of the Secret-Fire. No, my name is not the result of idle gossip over a flame I harbour for this or that maid in town - or man, as some for some reason think. But it is true I have a secret obsession.

Dragons.

Ever since my youth, the Nord tales of dragon-killing legends held me like no other. Who care for the sordid exploits of Ragnar the Dead when massive scaled beasts who razed towns with their fiery breath still existed in legend? Why listen to the affairs of Daedra when one could envision taking to the skies astride a dragon? Yes, that was what inspired me; the magic of eld.

How disappointing, then, to discover nearly all Tamriel's information regarding them was oral and apocryphal. The College of Winterhold held scant few books on the topic. And of course, the College of Whispers and the Synods are too busy jockeying for power to share what little they recovered over the years. I even petitioned the Greybeards atop the Throat of the World for their help, but my query was ignored by the recluses. I suppose with their supposed extinction, nobody saw fit to keep records about dragons. Nothing on physiology, or migratory patterns, or even behaviour. (Unless you believe the stories that paint them all as mindless harbingers of death. Which I don't.) All I could find when I began was the fact that dragons had their own language, spoken and written, and that these words gave dragons the powers told of in stories. I even stumbled upon an alphabet, but no dictionary of words. That was it.

A dozen seasons I spent, following the most minuscule of leads, expanding what little knowledge I had of the fell beasts. Comparing stories to find common links. Looking for vague references in unrelated texts from three eras ago.

Along the way, I suppose I became a mage of some renown, and wound up court wizard to the Jarl of Whiterun. Would I were not tied down, but man cannot live by will alone. And I suppose the extra influence from my position is useful when requesting some obscure text from a private collection. But even then, my obsession was largely ridiculed for its seeming uselessness. Not that I cared what others might have thought; knowledge for my own personal desires was more than enough for me.

Well, at least until yesterday. I suppose some legends aren't to remain solely legends. And suddenly, my amusing hobby has made me the most valuable citizen under the Jarl's employ.

Thus, I find myself poring over my notes, all the information I've gathered in an effort to prepare for... Well, whatever may come. Destruction, most likely. Weaknesses to exploit, strengths to defend against. But there is still so little we know. If only the Jarl would let me complete this recent request, but no, I'm locked up here and...

I feel a tug at the ward I placed upon my door, signaling that someone has entered my rooms. And more importantly, disrupting my concentration. It's annoying, if necessary. I once ignored Avenicci for five minutes once, I was so engrossed in my own thoughts. Doesn't help that the man is more dull than Heimskr's incessant babbling.

Where was I again? Right, visitors.

I step out into the receiving area, and find Balgruuf himself waiting for me. Along with... Some other man? Gods, I hope I haven't met him before; I hate forgetting names and faces. Note to self, look into perhaps making a journal to record people's names and characteristics, so I'm not clueless about every person who walks in.

"My Jarl."

"Farengar, I think I've found someone who can help you with your dragon project. Go ahead and fill Talao in on the details." Odd. The Jarl usually wastes time on pleasantries when he visits. Well, I suppose the current situation has everyone a bit off-kilter, even Balgruuf.

The man in question seems a bit... Shrimpy. Nothing in particular stands out to me; he seems rather bland. "So, the Jarl thinks you can be of use to me?" Certainly no warrior, no armor, no weapons. "He must be referring to my research into the dragons. Yes, I could use someone to fetch something for me."

"That's it?" he asks.

I hesitate for a second. But the Jarl seems convinced, if his look is anything to go by. I suppose it's on him if the unlucky bastard dies. "Well, when I say fetch, I really mean delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may or may not actually be there."

He blinks. Stunned and confused, if I read his expression correctly. "And this has, uh, what to do with dragons, exactly?"

Damn. Definitely spooked him. Maybe I shouldn't have been so blunt with him. My doubts grow, but again, Balgruuf must have chosen him for a reason. Perhaps if I try stroking his ego; I find that works wonders. "Ah, no mere brute mercenary, but a thinker - perhaps even a scholar?"

"Of a sort, I suppose. I'm a bard by profession."

We're doomed.

No, stop that. Find the common ground... Stories! "You see, when the stories of dragons began to circulate, many dismissed them as mere fantasies, rumors. Impossibilities. One sure mark of a fool is to dismiss anything that falls outside his experience as being impossible. But I began to search for information about dragons a while back - where had they gone all those years ago? And where could they be coming from now?"

He nods, his earlier hesitation gone. "To be sure, our own history is often the key to understanding the present." Smart man. I truly hope he comes back alive. "What do you hope to find in this ruin?"

"Of course. I, ah, learned of a certain stone tablet said to be housed within Bleak Falls Barrow - a "Dragonstone," - said to contain a map of dragon burial sites."

"Burial sites? Are you planning to exhume a corpse? Or..." His eyes widen, "Perhaps they're, what, being resurrected."

"Possible. I highly doubt it flew here from Akavir, since all sources seem to agree they all left en masse. Necromancy is an option, though it begs the question why only now has such a thing happened. We don't know, which is where you come in. Go to Bleak Falls Barrow, find this tablet - no doubt interred within the main chamber - and bring it to me. Simplicity itself."

"This is a priority now," Balgruuf interjects. Obviously. "Anything we can use to fight this dragon, or dragons. We need it, quickly. Before it's too late."

"Of course, Jarl Balgruuf." Of course, it only took the imminent destruction of Whiterun to inspire interest in my work. Silver linings. "You seem to have found me an able assistant. I'm sure he will prove most useful." And I suppose I do mean it. A little.

"Succeed at this, and you will be rewarded. Whiterun will be truly in your debt. Speak to Proventus if you should need any supplies for your trip, as I'm sure you're running low after your ordeal at Helgen." With that declaration, which I'm sure he thought very grand, Balgruuf exits, leaving Talao and myself alone. I can't help but sigh heavily. Working with others can be so tedious. But sadly necessary. Back to my research then. Based on the shape of the skull of the dragon above the Jarl's throne, (how ghastly) it seems clear that...

"Ahem."

The sound startles me, and it take a moment to realize it's Talao. Standing in the same place. "You're still here?"

"Yes," he replies with a grimace. "See, while I'm indeed grateful for the trust your Jarl has placed in me, I'm... Well, not a terribly seasoned fighter. In fact, you could say I'm utter rubbish in a fight."

"Your point?"

"I'm about to dive into a Nordic ruin, which from past experience can often house Draugr, bandits, and other things that would gladly tear the flesh from my bones. I need some manner of protection beyond whatever supplies I can gather in town."

Reasonable enough. Smart not to go barreling to his death, at least. "Well, I do have a small collection of spell tomes for sale here, but I doubt you would be able to learn anything of value overnight. You could always find some easily swayed mercenary at the local tavern that's daring or dull enough to join you. Though I would prefer you keep my research between as few people as possible. It wouldn't do to worry the locals about something so trivial as our utter lack of understanding of dragons."

"No, certainly not," he laughs. "Thank you for the information."

As he turns to leave, I'm struck by a bout of inspiration. "Wait a moment." I dash into a side-room I use to store things on which I'm not currently working, to grab... Damn where is it? Aha! There. An old staff, carved into the likeness of a golden dragon. Though it's faded so thoroughly it seems mere yellow now. I return and present it to him. "This is an old staff of mine, back from when my research was... Less sedate. It's enchanted with a basic Fireball spell. Perfect for combating undead and bandits alike. I keep it charged, but old as it is I don't know how many casts it will last for. Better than anything you'll find at Belethor's, though, I guarantee."

He takes it reverently. Or maybe fearfully, as if he's afraid it might explode. Hmm, that's a frightful thought, can staves explode under certain conditions? Add it to the research list. "Thank you, Farengar. I shall treat it well."

"See that you do. I would like it back in one piece, if possible, but better if it should help you complete my task." Strange that I'd part with it after so long, but I suppose it's been gathering dust anyway. Besides, my history is locked safely within my own mind. I wave farewell to... By Julianos, I've already forgotten his name. I'll just check with Balgruuf at some point. Now... All dragon stories feature fire-breathing, so we'll need to stockpile reservoirs of water. Perhaps we can ward against it? Or is their magic so different that they'll be ineffective? What about...