Skyrim Day 060 - My Dragonborn Initiation

15 Frostfall, 4E201

Ivarstead

~~~

Waking at Ivarstead meant one was either on her way elsewhere or preparing for a walk up to High Hrothgar. For myself it was the latter, but as I reviewed my list of tasks, I realized that the final fragment of Gauldur's amulet was right next to Ivarstead on a small island sitting amid the lake. Expecting nothing but Draugr, I thought retrieving the fragment would not take much time and chose to do that first.

I was not the only one interested in completing the amulet. Inside the tomb lay the mostly-eaten corpse of a Nord, next to which a family of Skeevers had set up a den. After disposing of the vermin I noticed a copy of 'Lost Legends' in the nest of refuse, the book that likely drove the hopeful man to the cave in the first place.

Unfortunately the only exit from the room that I could find that was not leading back to Ivarstead was a pit next to the dead man which ended at a very cold. small lake some twenty feet below. It was deep enough to prevent injury and faced a door common to the Nordic tombs scattered around Skyrim.

The tomb itself was not very interesting. As I thought, I faced Draugr and some spiders, though a puzzle gave me pause for some time. The walls along a staircase leading to a burial room were lined with four animal motifs and I knew to look for the rotating pillars in the room to match them to. But the motifs were in two pairs, one on each side of the wall. It took time to guess what order the motifs needed to be arranged in and took more time and effort than the Draugr lord I encoutnered further inside.

Before him though I came upon the dessicated corpse of 'Lord Gerimund', the court mage of Windhelm at the time of the three brothers' rebellion. According to the book, Lord Gerimund and a host of warriors was tasked with tracking each of the brothers down  and this he did successfully, slaying each one. The death of the third brother, Sigdis, also resulted in the death of Gerimund, after which he was evidently buried with Sigdis as a sort of guardianship.

I expected the former mage to rise and attack me as I passed his bier, but his corpse was merely a corpse and I left him to his rest.

Sigdis himself lay in state in a watery chamber with two pedestals. As expected, he burst out of his coffin dramatically, flinging the stone lid against the cavern wall with a very solid-sounding crunch.

He had a little trick, teleporting himself around the chamber as he summoned two identical Draugr to lob arrows at me. But I had a trick of my own: Vokun's staff of fireballs which I had derided as useless. The burial chamber's small size meant that one blast from the staff nearly always hit Sigdis and his minions, making the battle very short-lived. I claimed the third fragment of his father's amulet, though I do not recall what I am supposed to do with the three pieces. It can wait.

Having finished with Gauldur's traitorous sons, I had only to walk back up to High Hrothgar, suffering blinding snow and stinging ice while under attack by bears and trolls. For such an important place there seems to be no interest in any sort of patrolling to keep the path safe for travelers.

No one answered my knocks, so I let myself into the Hall where a Greybeard was silently meditating, oblivious to my arrival.

After tracking down Arngeir, the only Greybeard who actually speaks, we all congregated in the Hall, the solemn monks surrounding me as Arngeir warned me that they would speak the required ritual in the Dragon tongue. My surviving this would prove I was the true Dragonborn.

What followed was one of the most painful experiences I can remembering suffering. Their words sounded to me as utter nonsensical moaning, but each syllable felt like someone had hit me in the head with a hammer.

When they finished I could not tell if twenty seconds had passed or twenty minutes. My head was pounding, my ears ringing, and my fur was refusing to relax. I must have been quite a sight. As a consolation I was taught 'Dah', the ancient word for 'push'. With that I can use my "voice" as a bludgeon against my enemies, but having suffered that already I believe a knife in the gut is a more merciful choice.

With nothing else to do there and no place to sleep I had to descend the mountain at night, slipping on ice and nearly falling over the side several times. Eventually I made it back to Ivarstead in one piece and handed over another ten Septims for the inn's bed. Tomorrow I think I shall try to find the remaining pieces of Mehrune's Razor so that I can bury it somewhere, then do what research I can about Gauldur's amulet.

Skyrim Day 059 - Where Be Dragons?

14 Frostfall, 4E201

Ivarstead

~~~

I delivered the Razor's hilt to the misguided Silus and he just about caressed it, marveling at how it seemed to mold itself to his hand. Having never wielded Mehrune's Razor I cannot say if it actually does that, but the man appeared to be enamored by it. I shall have to be careful in returning the remaining pieces to him, if I do at all. I suspect no one who voluntarily seeks the Razor comes to a good end.

On my way out of Dawnstar I was accosted by a highwayman who demanded all of my valuables, else he would "gut me like a fish". I paid him no mind and continued walking by. Evidently surprised, he chased after me, yelling his demand for my goods. When he was close enough I spun around, smacked the dagger out of his hand, and held my own to his throat. Perhaps he shall return to gutting fish.

I was walking towards Whiterun for what felt like the hundredth time, intending to take the crossroads towards Ivarstead, thinking about the return of the Dragons. How did the Stormcloaks control them? Did they control all of them, or just the one at Ulfric's would-be execution? Whatever the case, why was the civil war at a standstill? Were the Dragons under anyone's control? If not, why did one intervene to save Ulfric Stormcloak? Mulling such thoughts over my head, I was completely surprised by sudden roaring and the rush of wind following a low-flying Dragon overhead.

When the Dragon attacked I was just outside of Whiterun, a few minutes walk from the crossroads leading to Ivarstead. It seemed to have shown up just for me, stopping on the side of the road to stare at me for a few moments, but the arrival of six Whiterun guards distracted proved more interesting. As I hurried to load my crossbow the beast landed in front of the nearest farmstead and killed two of the guards right away.

Concerned about hitting the surviving guardsmen, I left my crossbow on the side of the road and hurried across the stream to join them. The guards were too preoccupied with the Dragon to comment on the oddity of a Khajiit rushing to fight alongside them, but I imagine my presence raised a few proud Nordic eyebrows.

With myself and three guards fighting against it, the Dragon evidently felt hard-pressed and took to the air, quickly diving upon a lone guard standing in a nearby field who was prudently keeping his distance with his bow and arrows. The man looked to have been instantly crushed beneath the Dragon's claws as it landed on him and the beast dismissively picked the man's corpse up in its mouth and flung it in our direction, taking flight once again.

Rather than do what I would have done and rained fire on us from the sky. the Dragon landed and started to clumsily crawl towards us. It was an odd sight. But against four foes it fell quickly and my accursed "gift" claimed another Dragon's soul, much to the amazement of the surviving guardsmen. I left before they collected their wits and dragged me back to Whiterun, an episode that would have been an embarrassment for everyone.

I discovered a Stormcloak camp between Whiterun and Ivarstead and was invited in the same as at the other campsites, apparently mistaken for a merchant. The leader of the camp, Hjornskar Head-Smasher, growled that the next Imperial he saw was a dead man. I bit back the retort that his blade would have been better served against the Dragon which attacked Whiterun not more than four hundred yards from his camp.

Near the crossroad leading to Ivarstead I was surprised to find a decapitated head impaled on a stake along the path through the mountains. Deciding to investigate, I crept past the unfortunate head and came upon three charred, impaled bodies displayed around a cave.

The gruesome display marked the cavern's occupants as vampires, but once inside I realized they were mere bandits. The only thing of note was that the bandits had taken the trouble to capture and hold several of Skyrim's most dangerous creatures inside of cages. The cages all opened to a pit in which the rotting, mauled bodies of those unfortunate enough to be captured lay.

Thinking I was going to be eliminating a nest of vampires, I entered the cave only to find cruelty and depravity common to the lawless and desperate. The cave is clear now, but within a week or so I am certain others will move in anyway. Such a waste of time.

I arrived at Ivarstead after nightfall and just in time to help the guards chase out a bear that decided on a late dinner in one of the farmers' fields.

Tomorrow morning I will visit the Greybeards and return their horn. Then I may return to Riften to close some business agreements there, then return to collecting the remaining pieces of Mehrune's Razor. Such is my plan, but I am sure something will occur to make everything utterly impossible once again.

Skyrim Day 048 - Up the Mountain, Down the Mountain

3 Frostfall, 4E201

Ivarstead

~~~

With my dour housecarl in tow I left the inn of Ivarstead and ventured into 'Shroud Hearth' barrow, a tomb not only "close" to Ivarstead but actually inside the town itself. It was typical of the tombs built during the first Era with the exception of the rumor that a ghost haunted it. Draugr are one thing, ghosts are another.

The innkeeper said that once you got close to the barrow a voice would echo from the depths warning you to stay away. Echoing this warning was 'Wyndelius', a Dunmer mage who had descended into the tomb a year ago and was never seen again. Whatever the reason for his disappearance I felt confident that Lydia and I could handle anything the ancient Nords had thought of.

They had not thought of what we found. As soon as we descended underground a voice wavered through the corridors warning us to turn back. Now, I have not been in many Nordic barrows or tombs, but the all of the ones I have explored lacked a vocal warning at the entrance. Intrigued, I crept on, disarmed several traps for my bumbling housecarl, and found a blue blob slumbering next to a lit fireplace.

The blob wound up being Wyndelius, driven mad after an obsessive need to locate a Dragon's Claw key in order to gain access to the rest of the barrow, where, as usual, untold treasures awaited him. But he started paranoid, certain that others would follow him to the barrow and unlock the secret before him. His solution was inspired, if a bit overworked: he mixed a potion to wrap his body in an illusion to make him appear as a ghost and used it to scare off other would-be adventurers.

But he kept drinking the mixture and searching fruitlessly for the Claw, eventually driving himself mad to the point where he actually believed he was a vengeful Draugr spirit from the First Era. This would be why he immediately attacked Lydia as she, not for the first time that day, demonstrated a complete lack of understanding of the words 'stealth', 'cautious', and 'quiet'. She killed him in seconds without a word to him or me. The deranged writings of his journal revealed the strange trajectory his life had taken and I took it as proof to the townspeople that the barrow's "haunting" was no more.

Rather than deliver the journal back to the innkeeper I decided Lydia and I would first ascend the supposedly seven-thousand steps from Ivarstead to the monastery of the Greybeards at the top of the mountain. Just before the village's bridge was a man busily collecting wax-paper packages into a cloth sack and as we went to pass him by he stopped us and asked if we were going to the monastery. We were and he offered to pay us to deliver his sack of goods to the Greybeards. The man, Klimmek, admitted that the steps were getting to be too much for his aged knees Having no reason to deny his request, I cheerfully agreed to carry his goods up the mountain, then immediately handed the sack to Lydia.

There may or may not be seven-thousand steps, but the journey upwards was more symbolic than I anticipated. Along the path were nine stone markers, each inscribed with a bit of knowledge about dragons, the Dragon War, and the abilities of the Dragonborn. I wrote each one down:

Marker I

Before the birth of Men, the Dragons ruled all Mundus

Their word was the Voice, and they spoke only for True Needs

For the Voice could blot out the sky and flood the land

Marker II

Men were born and spread over the face of Mundus

The Dragons presided over the crawling masses

Men were weak then, and had no Voice

Marker III

The fledgling spirits of Men were strong in Old Times

Unafraid to war with Dragons and their Voices

But the Dragons only shouted them down and broke their hearts

Marker IV

Kyne called on Paarthurnax, who pitied Man

Together they taught Men to use the Voice

Then Dragon War raged, Dragon against Tongue

Marker V

Man prevailed, shouting Alduin out of the world

Proving for all that their Voice too was strong

Although their sacrifices were many-fold

Marker VI

With roaring Tongues, the Sky-Children conquer

Founding the First Empire with Sword and Voice

Whilst the Dragons withdrew from this World

Marker VII

The Tongues at Red Mountain went away humbled

Jurgen Windcaller began His Seven Year Meditation

To understand how Strong Voices could fail

Marker VIII

Jurgen Windcaller chose silence and returned

The 17 disputants could not shout Him down

Jurgen the Calm built His home on the Throat of the World

Marker IX

For years all silent, the Greybeards spoke one name

Tiber Septim, stripling then, was summoned to Hrothgar

They blessed and named him Dovahkiin

It sounds straightforward: Dragons ruled the known universe by themselves, then "men" came into being and were subjugated by the Dragons. As is always the case, Men declared war, this time on the Dragons and were overwhelmed. Kyne, said to be the widow of the Nordic depiction of Lorkhan, then collaborated with a friendly or neutral Dragon so that the Dragons' "shouts" could be learned and used by the Men.

The fifth marker says that the Men, after a long struggle, defeated a dragon named 'Alduin' and drove him "out of the world", whatever that means. Now apparently masters of Mundus, the Men conquered the rest of...where ever they had started and founded the First Empire.

But here is where I realized that the markers were not describing a Tamriel-spanning event, but one that likely only spanned what is today the province of Skyrim. The "First Empire" described on the marker could not have been the first Imperial empire, for the creation of that also began the tradition of the Amulet of Kings and the Dragonfires, implying that the ruler of the first Imperial empire descended from the Dragonborn.

If my assumption is correct, then the markers described the migration of the Nordic people into Skyrim, where they fought the Dragons and learned how to use the Dragons' shouts. With that power they won the war and claimed Skyrim for their own. The First Empire of the Nords did not last nearly as long.

I do not know of Jurgen Windcaller, but it sounds as if the Nordic First Empire invaded Morrowind, only to be defeated at Red Mountain, a site of much conflict throughout the ages, apparently. Jurgen meditated for seven years (or weeks, or days...), fought seventeen other Nords, and then constructed the monastery where the Greybeards now reside.

There they remained apart from the world until they named Tiber Septim the first 'Dovahkiin', starting the Septim Dynasty and with it, the Third Era. The stone markers end at that event, but the monastery was just beyond it anyway. Having counted the steps and lost my place twice, I can say there are definitely not seven thousand steps, but somewhere around six hundred and fifty or so. I met two Nords undergoing their own pilgrimages up the path, but it was much shorter than I thought it would be and I just cannot see why it is held in such reverence by everyone else.

The supply chest was nestled between the staircases leading to the main entrance and Lydia dumped the sack inside with barely concealed relief, acidly remarking that she had, in fact, sworn to carry my burdens. It is a wonder that one of us did not push the other off the mountain.

Inside, the Greybeards were waiting.

All of them were men, old, bearded, and clothed in featureless grey robes. One introduced himself as 'Arngeir' and asked me for a "taste of my Voice", which was a particularly odd way of asking me to use the Thu'um forcefully placed upon me. I found that I could draw the power forth voluntarily if I focused, making it much less disorientating to use. The sound of the word 'Fus' caused Arngeir to stagger and the dust on the floor to be blown against the wall, satisfying their request for evidence.

Then he actually asked me why I had come! I bit off the first reply that came to mind, realizing that the question was a test of sorts. So I simply answered that I had come seeking knowledge as to what it means to be 'Dragonborn', as many people in Whiterun were calling me that after the death of the Dragon.

Arngeir assured me that the Greybeards were here to teach and guide the Dragonborn, as they always have been, and one of the other Greybeards taught me another word: 'Ro', the second of three words which together would create a blast of air that could level a building. The word I already knew, 'Fus', was the first of the three and by itself is not particularly potent. With 'Ro', I can now send both words hurtling out of my mouth and into my foes with greater strength.

Or I could just sneak up on them and stab them in the back as I have been doing.

Lydia and I were led outside to the rear courtyard and there I was taught the word 'Wuld', or Whirlwhind. One of the silent Greybeards demonstrated its use: upon speaking the word he shot forward almost faster than I could see, appearing thirty yards away in a second. I was impressed, but then I was told to try it. I stood where the Greybeard had been, focused inward, and "felt" the power within me. I spoke the word 'Wuld' and a giant invisible hand slammed into my back and threw me forwards, propelling me clear through the gate and past the waiting Greybeards. I lost my footing on the packed snow as I landed, ending up in an undignified, crumpled heap. Arngeir tactfully suggested I practice more on my own, Lydia predictably said nothing at all.

And of course the Greybeards had a task for me: retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller from a tomb called 'Ustengrav', north of Morthal. I mentioned that the return of the Dragons and my becoming Dragonborn was no coincidence and Arngeir agreed, stating that my destiny was bound with that of the Dragons, for better or worse. Before I left he warned me about being tempted to arrogance with my new power, predicting that such a path would only lead to my downfall. With that he bid me farewell, for now.

An archway on the opposite side of the courtyard seemed to lead to something, but a swirling maelstrom of snow and ice made it difficult to see. When I tried passing through the arch I found the wind working directly against me, preventing me from taking a step beyond it. Interesting, but a futile effort right now.

The walk back down the mountain gave me time enough to think upon many things, most of them the simple issue of timing. The first Dragon was sighted as it attack the Imperial garrison at Helgen, saving Ulfric Stormcloak from execution. After that, nothing, save for the remnants of battles that could either be with Dragon or a fire-flinging bandit-mage.

Then Farengar sends me to Bleak Falls where I expect Stormcloaks and Dragons, but just get Draugr, a wall of words, and a stone tablet for my efforts. I glanced at it once and I think the tablet had something akin to a map carved in it and I regret now not looking closer. A week passes and I visit Farengar to see what he has learned from it. As we begin to talk a Dragon attacks an isolated, unimportant watchtower, which is thwarted with great loss of life. I return to Whiterun and am attacked by cultists wearing dragon-face masks, yelling about the inevitable dominion of a "Dragon Priest" named Miraak. So much has happened, all of it seemingly connected, in such a short length of time. None of this is coincidence, but what am I to make of it? The Stormcloaks in alliance with these Dragon cultists? A new, third party in Skyrim's civil war? I do not know.

I returned to Klimmek and was paid a thousand Septims for the delivery, two-hundred of which I gave to Lydia. The innkeeper was pleased to hear that the local barrow was not, in fact, haunted and rewarded me with what poor Wyndelius had been seeking: a brass Dragon's claw set with sapphires carved into talons. The underside was marked with an dragonfly, an owl, and a wolf, the combination that would unlock the depths of the barrow.

The barrow was close enough to make a second expedition possible today, so we entered the slightly less haunted barrow and proceeded to the dial-locked stone slab.

There was far more to the barrow than I think the locals knew about. Behind the door was a further expanse of tomb at least six times larger than what lay before it, complete with Draugr and skeletons enough to keep Lydia entertained.

We flung aside the undead and made our way to the "end" of the tomb where a powerful, though outmatched, Draugr awaited us with a host of skeleton guards at its side. The skeletons fell to single swipes of axe and sword, the Draugr warlord falling quickly after that. Our reward was ancient, decrepit arms and armor, but in a chamber beyond I found another wall of words, this one teaching me 'Kaan', which may be an alternate spelling of 'Kyne', the Nordic version of Kynareth.

I found our shortcut out of the tomb to be darkly amusing: a secret door built into a nearby wall was activated via a pull-chain, which opened directly into the room where Wyndelius had been going insane, the "treasure" he was seeking only a wall away from him the whole time.

We returned to the Inn, rented rooms for the night, and will be moving on tomorrow morning. Where to, I am not sure, though returning to Whiterun to rid myself of my sour companion is an appealing idea.

Skyrim Day 047 - Here Be Dragons

1 Frostfall, 4E201

Ivarstead

~~~

Waking this morning I anticipated a boring day: the only thing I had to do was visit the irksome Farengar in Dragonsreach palace to see if he had translated the tablet I gave to him. After that I thought I would move on to Solitude, see what work was there, then finally visit Dawnstar after ignoring it over my stupid misunderstanding.

I considered my equipment as I left 'The Bannered Mare' and finding myself low on bolts, set myself the immediate task of procuring or purchasing some wood and steel to make some more. I am no craftsman, but bolts are easy: straight pieces of strong wood, some feathers, and a conical piece of metal at the end. Not complicated. Should an amateur like myself make a mistake, the explosive force of the crossbow ensures that even a poorly designed bolt hurts something, somewhere. Not a reassuring prospect if your life depends on it.

Adrianne at 'Warmaiden's' had wood and steel enough for hundreds of bolts, but I chose to purchase material for forty, any more would be uncomfortable to carry. She watched me fuss over the forge for some time, then offered to lend a hand for a modest price, of course. Frustrated, I agreed and soon had forty bolts of excellent quality at a good price.

Thus armed, I walked through the bustling city as it went about its morning business and laboriously ascended the steps up to Dragonsreach. Farengar was busy studying something and was surprised to see me, but he told me that he had translated the tablet and discovered some interesting things.

What those interesting things were, he did not have a chance then to tell me, for Irileth came rushing into the palace, out of breath and heading straight for the mage's workshop. Seeing this, I stepped aside as she charged past, announcing that a Dragon was attacking Whiterun's western watchtower.

Farengar was ready to charge outside immediately, but Irileth wisely insisted I speaking with the Jarl first. As she turned to go she suggested I come along too, "just in case". In case of what?

Three guards had set out at a run for the city once the tower had come under attack, but only one made it. He was waiting by the stairs leading to the second floor of the palace where the Jarl apparently held council. A map of the province with blue and red flags probably denoted Imperial or Stormcloak holdings, showing that he was not as disinterested in the conflict as he presented himself to be.

The breathless guard made his report, but there was not much to say: the Dragon had dropped out of the sky without warning, bathing the tower in flames and incinerating anyone unlucky enough to find themselves outside. Two guards stayed behind with bows to fight back, three ran for the city, with two of them being grabbed and dashed into the ground by the Dragon's claws. The guard supposed the Dragon would still be around, so the Jarl decided to send Irileth after it, along with guards she wisely called up on her run through Whiterun up to Dragonsreach.

I was dismayed, but not surprised, when the Jarl turned to me and requested that I join Irileth's small army in the fight against the Dragon. His reasoning was that I survived the Dragon attack on Helgen and was therefore the most qualified to fight this one. I wanted to point out that at Helgen I was unarmed, unarmored, and bound, spending most of my time running for my life with my hands tied.

I did not, of course. I simply agreed, as I always do, and then suddenly remembered my encounter with the skeleton-dragon underneath Labyrinthian, which made me feel a bit better for some reason. After all, I had fought and defeated that thing, right?

Farengar was to be disappointed. He may have been the only one in the palace eager to fight the Dragon, but the Jarl denied his request, stating that losing him would mean losing any way of finding a way to effectively battle the creatures. The mage did not put up an argument and returned to his quarters.

As a parting gift, the Jarl granted me the right to purchase property within the city, should I survive the battle. And with that we were off to meet the guards Irileth had collected.

Four guards, a nightblade, and a Khajiit of various skills against a live Dragon. The four guards were likely those unlucky enough to be in Irileth's path earlier and the Captain of the guards was conspicuously missing from the ranks. Perhaps Irileth thought he would be more useful in defense of the city should we fail, but I think she did not have the time to seek him out.

The speech she gave was half-Dunmer, half-Nordic: half melancholy, half bluster. She initially jabbed at the guards' honor, saying she would fight the creature alone despite the odds, then switched to pointing out how much glory would be gained if they won. I think I heard a guard mutter that they were all going to die at some point during the short speech, but the four followed her anyway, with myself closing up the rear.

After a short, nervous jog we arrived at what remained of the watchtower. The structure on either side of it had completely collapsed, along with a parts of the tower itself. The Dragon was no where to be seen.

We spread out to search for survivors. but only one of the two guards who stayed at the tower was left. The other had lost his nerve and ran for the city, but was intercepted by the Dragon. The guard gave us a quick summary of what occurred, but stated that the Dragon was still flying about. Just as he said that we heard a roar that seemed to come from the mountains and suddenly the Dragon was upon us.

The ensuring battle is difficult to recall now, actually. I think most of us fought via sheer terror, with Irileth the likely exception. As soon as we saw the Dragon I ran to the top of the tower and fired bolts at it as the guards battled it on the ground. But they were no match for the creature and we were soon down to two guards and a very irate Dunmer. My crossbow was not making up for our loss, so I ran out of the tower, where I faced the thing with a short battle-axe and hide-covered wooden shield.

I was not, at that point, feeling very prepared for the fight.

Fortunately Irileth proved to be quite proficient with Destruction magicka and we soon fell into an unspoken strategy: she would aggravate the Dragon with fire magicka and when it was distracted with the task of tearing her in two I would close in and hack at its wings, an attempt made against its tail ended with me flying at least thirty feet through the air accompanied by a cracked rib or two. Dagoth Ur was kind enough to knit the bones together within a few minutes, but I judged it unwise to test my luck again and I was not stupid enough to attack from the front.

I think we were trying to drive it away, but our constant harrying gradually weakened the Dragon and when it suddenly whipped around from Irileth to snap its jaws around me I drove the butt-spike of the ax right between its eyes, a gruesomely effective miss, as I had been aiming to put out an eye. Blood sprayed from the wound and the thing shrieked, then collapsed at my feet. Had the swing of my ax been a moment later I would have been rent in two, surely something even my body would not be healing from.

Thinking back on it now, I do not know how I managed such a tremendous feat. The same luck that has always followed me, I suppose. Irileth was openly impressed by my strike, but I had no time to reply before the Dragon's corpse suddenly burst into flames.

We all dove for cover, expecting to be consumed by the inferno, but the flames consumed the entire body in seconds, leaving just bones and ash. Irileth and I stared at the skeletal corpse, then at each other as the surviving guardsman ran from the tower to join us, then a wind whipped up and smoke spiraled from the skeleton, into my nose and throat.

Nausea followed the involuntary ingestion of corpse-smoke and I reflexively sank to my knees. I coughed, expecting bread and cheese, but what came out was not breakfast, but a mighty roar of my own voice. The sound was so strong and loud that it echoed off of the mountains several miles behind us and raised a cloud of ash and dirt around me.

Irileth jumped back with an oath, but the guard helped me up almost reverently. He clasped me on the shoulders, entirely too close for my comfort, and in a voice suffused with wonder exclaimed that I was "Dragonborn".

I had heard the term before. Emperor Tiber Septim was known as "Dragonborn", as were all of the Septim dynasty. But that referred to their connection with the 'Dragonfires' and the God Akatosh, Father of the...Dragons.

I cannot believe I did not see this earlier today: Akatosh, Father of the Dragons. Kerra, present as the last of the Septim dynasty summoned Akatosh to drive Mehrunes Dagon from Tamriel. Now Dragons have returned and Akatosh has evidently marked me "Dragonborn", as the Septims were so long ago.

But I had not realized that then. Still shaken, I asked the guard what he meant and he said that the Dragonborn was said to be a warrior who lived during the Dragon War and was able to absorb the dragons' strength after he slew them. Eagerly, the guard asked if that's what happened and I could only shrug and admit I had no idea what just happened. He only shook his head and told me to shout.

My reply was that if I started shouting now I did not think I would stop made him laugh, but then he urged me to concentrate and search for the Dragon's power within me. I humored him, only to find that I did feel something similar to when the walls of words imprinted their knowledge. I focused on that and what felt like a giant word erupted from my throat. The voice was once again mine, if I ever grow to be fifty feet tall. A coil of smoke flew out of my mouth and the three of us silently watched it approach the mountains, my booming voice diminishing as it echoed across the plain. When the shimmering smoke disappeared into the mountainside my voice echoed back, sounding as if the mountains themselves were shouting at us.

The guard was overjoyed, an odd reaction to a man who had watched all of his comrades die brutally around him, but then he was a Nord and therefore expected to be crazy in that regard.

Irileth said that the Jarl and Farengar would need to hear of this and asked that I return to Dragonsreach to make my report while she and the guard examined the Dragon's remains. As I left I heard a bow twang behind me as she shot a flaming arrow into the sky. Sure enough, I was but halfway to the city when a dozen guards ran past me towards the ruined tower.

As for myself, I stopped at Warmaiden's and asked to see their armor. I was not going to be facing another Dragon with nothing better than a wooden shield. The Elven shield and gauntlets I purchased make me feel a great deal more secure about another such battle, should one unfortunately occur.

But as I stepped back outside I was immediately accosted by two men wearing robes and masks that completely covered their faces. One demanded to know if I was the Dragonborn and I answered honestly, saying I did not know. He accused me of making false claims and announced me to be the 'False Dragonborn'.

His voice continued to rise and he babbled faster, saying that the "true" Dragonborn was coming and their gift of my heart would elevate them to great honor. They mentioned a "Lord Miraak", the "true Dragonborn", then both of them rushed me with daggers. I do not even know how he and his friend had heard about what had only occurred twenty minutes prior to our meeting.

The guards were quick to act.

The masks were bone, carved and etched to crudely resemble a dragon's face, as if I did not have enough to be concerned with already. One of the cultists had a letter on him that gave instructions to board a ship at Raven Rock on Solstheim and sail to Whiterun to begin their search for the "false Dragonborn".

I have vague memories of Raven Rock, images of scaffolding, lumber, and piles of bricks, mostly. A dead Khajiit floating atop the ocean and a giant of white fur and horns inside a cavern of ice. Nothing that gave any hint to this "Miraak" the letter was supposedly from. Another mystery, another problem.

The Jarl demanded a report as soon as I approached and I felt that he was anxious with Irileth's notable absence. His steward and brother were in attendance. For the first time I noticed that a carving of a dragon's head sat above the throne.

He impatiently demanded a report and I responded with what I thought he wanted: dry, without embellishment. The tower was destroyed, lives were lost, but the Dragon was killed. This was not good enough, my response only elicited an "...and?" from him once I was done. A little embarrassed, I admitted that one of the guards thought I was "Dragonborn".

His reply was a great deal more illuminating this time. He spoke of people known as the "Greybeards" and told me that they thought I was "Dragonborn" as well. I have never heard of this group, but he had heard their summons blasted from High Hrothgar, a monastery built in the mountains. These Greybeards were said to be masters of the "Way of the Voice", using sound to project power or effects similar to magicka. The Dragonborn was supposed to be uniquely gifted in this and would normally be tutored by these Greybeards.

His steward, Proventus Avenicci, was dismissive of the Dragonborn legend, but I had an ally in the Jarl's brother who upheld the Dragonborn as a cornerstone of Nordic culture. The Jarl had to intervene between the two of them before it came to blows.

As for himself, Jarl Balgruuf conceded that I had done a great service for the city, possibly saving it from complete destruction. As a sign of his esteem I was named a Thane of Whiterun and reminded of my ability to purchase property in the city. He also assigned me a 'housecarl', a sort of bodyguard, named Lydia. Where she was to be found, who she was, what she could do, all not mentioned.

The Jarl explained that the booming voice I had heard from the mountains were the Greybeards summoning me to High Hrothgar and he laughed when I admitted I had heard nothing on my walk back, save for the pounding of my blood. He suggested that I start my ascent to High Hrothgar via the village of Ivarstead...which I had just left!

Thanking him, I took my leave and made to leave Dragonsreach to re-trace the steps I took yesterday back to Ivarstead. A woman clad entirely in steel plate and wielding a sour expression intercepted me at the door.

This was Lydia, my housecarl, and she did not seem happy about it, though I suspect she is not happy with much at all. Somewhat despairingly she announced herself and her willingness to die for me, if necessary. I cared not much for her tone, but even less for an arguement, so I simply told her we were immediately setting out for Ivarstead and received a silent nod in return. Our relationship did not start off well.

Fortunately the walk back to Ivarstead did not require further conversation or much in the way of action and we reached the mountainside village after night fell. The innkeeper was surprised to see customers, lamenting that a nearby barrow was haunted and keeping people away. I may look into it before ascending the mountain tomorrow.