16 Last Seed, 4E201
It has been a long time since I have felt the urge to write down my thoughts. The curse of the now-forgotten Dagoth Ur turned out to be just as I feared: I am well over two hundred and twenty years old. If his curse had turned me into a vampire I would not have been surprised by this, but instead I alternately benefit and suffer from an immunity to diseases, an inexhaustible well of magicka to draw upon, and as of seventy-five years ago or so, the healing of wounds within moments that would otherwise take weeks.
But I am getting ahead of myself. So that I shall not forgot, I may as well start from the last time I kept a journal.
After the conclusion of the Oblivion Crisis I stayed in Cyrodiil for some time leading small patrols of volunteers out of Bruma to walk the roads of Cyrodiil just to keep them clear of predators and bandits. Later, as the Empire continued to die, the provincial cities became unable to afford a salaried Guard and I would regularly visit each city to train volunteers. It was not a glamorous life, but there was a measure of certainty and peace to it. I would learn, much later, that some of the volunteers formed a band calling themselves the 'Keepers of the Razor', though I never learned what the Razor actually was or what they did.
Morrowind's Red Mountain erupted a few years after the Crisis, destroying most of the province and likely killing everyone there I had met. Smelling a wounded foe, the Argonians withdrew from the Empire and invaded Morrowind, weakening the Empire greatly after the Legion failed to respond. The High Chancellor was assassinated a few years after that and the remainder of the Council slid into impotency.
They manged to place a madman upon the Throne for a few years and the Throne lost its hold on the rest of the races. The Orcs were driven from their home by the Bretons and the Redguards and the High King of Skyrim gave the island of Solstheim to the Dunmer in what I would have called a generous gesture if I had not spent time on that island already.
The insane Emperor was soon overthrown by a bandit warlord who styled himself 'Emperor Titus Mede' after marching his troops into the Imperial City. I prudently buried my Imperial Dragon armor somewhere in the hills of Bruma and left the province via the Pale Pass before anyone of the warlord's started looking for the 'Champion of Cyrodiil'. I had a suspicion anyone who would be looking for me would not be seeking an autograph.
I disappeared into Skyrim for a long time, taking odd jobs and occasionally serving as a bodyguard to merchants and the like. It was not a satisfying life, but the world continued to become more chaotic and I relished my near-anonymity in the home of the Nords.
The Thalmor seized the Sumerset Isles maybe ten years after the Emperor's coronation and contact with the province was completely lost for almost seventy years. The floating Daedric city of Umbriel ravaged Black Marsh, Morrowind, and Cyrodiil before it left as unexpectedly as it arrived, further weakening the Legion.
Fifty years later the disappearance of the moons Masser and Secunda triggered the two years known as the 'Void Nights' between 4E98 and 4E100. The Thalmor were quick to credit themselves with the return of the moons, earning the gratitude of Elsweyr which would break from the Empire soon after. Fools.
With a Thalmor-allied province so close to the Imperial City war was inevitable. After the ascension of Emperor Titus Mede the Second the Empire was limited to three healthy provinces: Cyrodiil, High Rock, and fortunately for me, Skyrim. Without the continent-spanning taxes and manpower, the Legion was a shadow of what it had been during the Crisis. So when the Thalmor invaded in 4E171 the Emperor fought a fighting retreating from the Imperial City to link up with the Legion in Skyrim. The Imperial City was occupied by Thalmor soldiers and I often wonder if Martin's statue still remains. Probably not.
In the following year the Emperor returned to Cyrodiil and re-occupied his city, taking such losses that he signed the White-Gold Concordat peace treaty, surrendering to all of the Thalmor's demands. The local government of Hammerfell refused to recognize the treaty and continued to battle the Thalmor, causing the Emperor to formally remove it from the Empire. Hammerfell actually "won" its battle and became an independent, though impoverished, province some time later.
As for Skyrim, a band of rebels took the undefended city of Markarth after the Emperor had marched back to Cyrodiil with Skyrim's legions and were eventually driven out by a Nord Jarl, Ulfric Stormcloak, and his militia, a battle which became known as the Markarth Incident.
This act of loyalty to the Empire bore bitter fruit, for the White-Gold Concordat forbade worship of Talos and the Empire was forced to adhere to the treaty, apparently going back on their promise they made to the Jarl in exchange for the return of Markarth. Ulfric was arrested and later released, becoming the Jarl of Windhelm. Peace in Skyrim followed for a number of years and I left the province and returned to Cyrodiil just in time to take part in a three-way war within Bravil between the guards and two powerful skooma dealers. After that business was concluded I continued to wander about, mostly laboring on farms and such for a few days at a time. No one remembered the 'Champion of Cyrodiil' any longer and that's fine with me.
But you can only wander around the same places so many times before people start questioning why you never seem to age. So it's back to Skyrim I go, a land that likely thinks all Khajiit look the same anyway. On a lark I tried to dig up the Imperial Dragon armor of so long ago, only to discover I have completely forgotten where I buried it.
Having sought for so many years to keep a low profile, I have also forgotten much of what I used to know about magicka and combat and I hope to keep it all forgotten, lest I draw attention upon myself that I really do not want. All that has to happen is that someone sees a sword slash upon myself close up and heal in seconds and its to the Thalmor I will go, a fate I am eager to avoid.
Tomorrow I will sneak into Skyrim again via the Pale Pass and take up work somewhere for awhile. I confess to being completely bored with my unending life and have come to the realization that despite all the benefits it provided me, Dagoth Ur's curse is really just that. I do not anticipate making many journal entries in the times ahead, for what excitement follows a day of chopping wood?