Fredas, 19th of Heartfire 4E201 Evening
Arngeir
DEZ
Fate
How many mortals throughout the ages have attempted to define "destiny"? Innumerable beyond counting. Prophecies come and go, mortals claim their actions dictated by fate, and yet it is wild and fickle, far beyond mortal influence. Even the Elder Scrolls, in all their power outside the threads of time, speak never of things that MUST be, but only things that COULD be. If fate exists, is there a such a thing as free will? If it does not, wherein lies mankind's purpose? SU'UM AHRK MORAH. Regardless of the answer, all one can do is live on.
"LINGRAH KROSIS SARAAN STRUNDU'UL, VOTH NID BALAAN KLOV PRAAN NAU!"
Three long weeks did we wait for the return of the Dragonborn, poring over old tomes to prepare for his return, and then to pass the time. Once did I ascend the mountain, to consult with our leader, fretful for the safety of our charge. In response, he chuckled with a gentle voice, that the Dragonborn was "doom-driven," and that if his fate were to die, it would certainly not be within such an inauspicious place as the tomb of Jurgen Windcaller. Wheresoever his destiny ends, it would be much later.
"NAAL THU'UMU, MU OFAN NII NU, DOVAHKIIN, NAAL SULEYK DO KAAN, NAAL SULEYK DO SHOR, AHRK NALL SULEYK DO ATMORASEWUTH!"
Nevertheless, I still breathed a sigh of relief when he returned to our doorstep with horn in hand. The gravitas in his demeanour proved further his readiness for this last test, and our Greeting. In sooth, his journey was more enlightening than I expected, or hoped.
"MEYZ NU YSMIR, DOVAHSEBROM! DAHMOON DAAR ROK."
Unflinching, he remains standing betwixt the four masters, the unbridled power of our Voices washing over him like a waterfall. "Dovahkiin. You have tasted the Voice of the Greybeards, and passed through unscathed. High Hrothgar is open to you."
He breathes deep, centering himself, before opening his eyes. "Thank you, masters. I am honored to receive your tutelage, and hope to make the best of our unfortunately short time together. Where must we begin?"
I would say that his patience requires work, but it is a sad fact that he is correct in his haste. "I often find that a very good place to start would be the beginning. We five Greybeards shall teach you all we know."
"Five?" he asks, puzzled.
"Aye. Our leader, the eldest Greybeard, lives alone on the peak of the Throat of the World. He is keeper of knowledge entrusted only to himself, and eventually you. When your Voice can open the path, you will know you are ready to Speak with him, and know what he knows."
A look of contemplation crosses his face for a moment, before he replies, "Well, I am sure I have much and more to learn already. I will trust that whatever your leader has to tell me shall be known when the time comes. For now, the beginning it is. Is there elsewhere we might sit and discuss things? Preferably, uh, with a hot meal?"
His last is said with a grin and a plaintive grumble from his stomach, to which I chuckle. "Of course, Dragonborn. This way." I sign master Borri to prepare the night's meal, as we move to the dining hall nearby. Austere as the rest of the monastery, but the fire pit at its center warms the room and ourselves, the banners hanging above proclaim our mantra; LOK BO, THU'UM TU'UM - Sky Above, Voice Within. "So. The beginning. Before the beginning even. Long, long ago, in the Merethic Era, before recorded history, all of Mundus was ruled by the Dragons. They and their Dragon priests, mortals who carried out their will in exchange for gifts of power, ruled over the mortal races, man, mer, and beast. Their power grew to tyranny, and as happens to most tyrants, the mortals under their reign rebelled, despite the power of the dragons. They stood no chance, slaughtered in the thousands.
"It was during this time that the Goddess Kyne took pity on the people, calling out to a dragon named Paarthunax. He was a great general of dragonkind, but he too was dismayed by the dragons' despotism, and together they taught the mortals to use their Voice as the dragons did."
"And thus began the Dragon War," the Dragonborn intones gravely.
"Indeed, Dragonborn. While mortals were no longer helpless against the dragons, the war waged long and bloody until the most powerful of the Tongues - those mortals who had mastered the Thu'um - Shouted the lord of the dragons out of the world, thus all but ensuring the dragons defeat, fleeing to the five corners of the world."
As Master Borri sets a hearty stew before us all, the Dragonborn frowns. "And yet, these Tongues were not Dragonborn. I've always wondered where the Nord tales of Dragonborn warriors originated when the Trials of St. Alessia are the first documents to reference a gift from Akatosh of blood and power. And none of that mentioned the Thu'um."
"A good question, to which the answer is both more simple and more complicated than you might imagine. While it was Kyne who gifted mortal the ability to Shout, there existed individuals in those dark times who could not only call upon the Storm Voice, but Shout as the dragons did, and claim the powers of fallen dragons just as could other dragons. These legendary Dragonborn persisted in oral traditions into the next eras, but eventually gave way to more contemporary beliefs of the Dragonborn in relation to Alessia, Reman, and Tiber Septim, great people that existed past the time of the dragons. But the Nords have always considered themselves Children of the Sky, great warriors who still have natural talent in the Thu'um, and so have kept these old tales alive, the pinnacle of strength to strive toward. What is now Skyrim was the epicenter of the Dragon War as well, and its scars can still be found, though the dragons were long gone."
"Until now…" We sit in silence while we finish our meal, the simple herbs and meat warming our bellies and filling us with strength. "What does it mean, exactly?" the Dragonborn interjects into the quiet, "To Shout as dragons do? To claim a fallen dragon's power? It has happened several times now, and there is always a rush of knowledge and memories, it fills my mind to the brim and I have felt myself becoming more and more… intense and volatile in my emotions and actions. I worry I may be changing too much, that I may not recognize myself come the end of this whole endeavour."
I wonder how much to tell him; there is much to learn, but what is mine to tell, and what is our leader's? "To change is not always a bad thing, Dragonborn. Indeed to never change is to be as the dead. Tell me, first, what did you understand of what we Spoke to you earlier?" I ask from curiosity as much as to delay my own answer.
"Hm. A few things seemed familiar, but… it's odd. I think I know what you Spoke now, though I'm sure I did not before."
"Truly?" I can see the others' eyes widen in surprise as I'm sure do mine. "Will you speak its translation to us, then? To be sure."
He nods, clearing his throat. "Long in sorrow has waited the Stormcrown, with no worthy head to sit on. By our Voice we give it now to you, Dragonborn, by power of Kynareth, by power of Sheor, and by power of Atmora-of-old. You have become now Ysmir, Dragon of the North. Remember these words." He glances around in the following silence, and continues, "I take it I have done another extraordinary Dragonborn thing, no?"
How amusing we must look, if the Dragonborn's smile is aught to go by. Simply astonishing. "…ahem. To answer your initial question, all dragons possess the innate ability to learn and project their Voice. Language is intrinsic to their very being; there is no difference in the dragon tongue between debating and fighting. Dragons are also able to absorb the power of their slain brethren, becoming stronger in the process, though I cannot say I have heard or read of dragons being overtaken by the fallen spirit or becoming a different being in so doing.
"The Dragonborn is a mortal born with those selfsame abilities; the blood of Akatosh flows in your veins as it does the dragons. What you have already learned in the last few weeks took even the most gifted Tongues years to learn. Normally to gain insight into the Words of Power requires one of three methods. Meditation, through which you gain understanding of a word's true meaning, as the Greybeards do. Forcibly taking the power from another through force of domination, as in absorbing the power of a slain dragon. Or, as a willing gift from another Tongue, as Kyne and her dragon ally did to the Tongues of eld. So yes, Dragonborn, you are right in that this incident is unprecedented, even for what you are. Without meditation, domination, or gift, you gained understanding of many new Words of Power."
"Normally, I would make a joke here about natural talent, but I imagine it more important to understand how this might be possible. Have you any ideas?"
"I am… uncertain." Movement catches my eye as Master Wulfharth signs to me rapidly. "Ah… Master Wulfharth is reminding me of an old theory; that the Dragonborn have often been theorized to possess unique traits beyond the ones that bind them together. That they are born into times of great strife with power necessary to overcome the threats that face the world and their peoples. St. Alessia slew no dragons, but she was gifted the ability to dream of freedom and give it a name to the slaves of the Ayleids, while Tiber Septim was gifted the ability to unite the nations and individuals that had warred against each other for years. Or perhaps they already possessed those gifts, and Akatosh chose them because of that. No one truly knows, and likely no one ever will. Perhaps your insight is similar?" Master Einarth signs to me understanding from knowledge. "Perhaps your gift for understanding others before jumping to violence; that you seek knowledge in order to relate to others."
"Hmm… It has a ring of truth to it. I am a bard first and foremost, still. Or at least, I consider myself so. If Akatosh had wanted a warrior, there is no dearth of choice in Skyrim, let alone all Tamriel. Unless he thought a man who could already sing would pick up Shouting faster," he says with a wry chuckle. "…I became a bard for many reasons. But the greatest reason I continue to cling to is the hope that my craft can bring people together - a common bond of emotion that could connect even the most bitter of rivals. If that is what Akatosh chose me for… well, I can only hope to do my best." A yawn suddenly overcomes him. "By Y'ffre, I think I have more questions now than when I arrived."
"I am sure, Dragonborn. Thankfully, they need not all be answered this night. Let us retire, and in the morning, we shall begin your training in earnest."
Master Borri takes our empty bowls to clean as the rest of us head to our quarters. I can tell, though, that sleep will not come for me so soon. Too many thoughts, too many questions, too many ideas. Kneeling before a window, I meditate, and pray.
Hear me Kyne, goddess of storms, and the bringer of rain, the Mother of Men and Shor's Warrior-Wife. The world is at war, caught in Season Unending, and we are charged with a weighty responsibility. Help us to guide this Dragonborn, chosen of Akatosh. Help us teach him to discover his duty and his destiny, give him the power and the wisdom to do what is right and what is necessary.
Her answer is the howl of the winds along the mountainside, a portent I know not how to decipher. The howl of violence, or the howl of emptiness. Only time will tell.
"Lingrah krosis saraan Strundu'ul, voth nid balaan klov praan nau. Naal Thu'umu, mu ofan nii nu, Dovahkiin, naal suleyk do Kaan, naal suleyk do Shor, ahrk naal suleyk do Atmorasewuth. Meyz nu Ysmir, Dovahsebrom. Dahmaan daar rok."
"Long in sorrow has waited the Stormcrown, with no worthy head to sit on. By our Voice we give it now to you, Dragonborn, by power of Kynareth, by power of Sheor, and by power of Atmora-of-old. You have become now Ysmir, Dragon of the North. Remember these words."
This chapter is heavy on exposition for one major reason; the absolute mess of Dragonborn and Talos mythology - as well as trying to make the information known to certain parties consistent (such as the identity of the eldest Greybeard, something that is supposed to be a great surprise, but is blatantly obvious if you read basically anything beyond the MSQ dialogue). I say this not to complain, because the uncertainty and contradictory nature of much of the lore is part of the fun, but to explain how much I had to wade through to reach "the truth" of things when the Greybeards should have truth of who Tiber Septim was when he showed up at their doors and then trained him. The idea of Dragonborn powers beyond Shouting and absorbing dragon souls is inspired by and extrapolated from Kirkbride's post about Alessia. In all, these next few chapters including this one are about laying the foundation of how I think the Storm Voice could and should function when unpaired from game mechanics.