Spoiler The Diary of a Dwemer

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OtarTheMad

New Member
25 Rain's Hand 4E 202

I was on lookout duty at the gates of my great city. Mzinchaleft, my home, was barely visible from my post. I smiled to myself, happy to know that my shift was almost over. I gazed over the plains of Skyrim, wondering at how desolate it was. I wonder how the Nords and the Snow Elves managed to sustain hemselves on so little. When I began to descend the ladder that led to the snowy path leading to Mzinchaleft, I saw a great flash of light, then nothing. When I awoke, I found myself on the ground, the snow dampening my face.

As I heave myself to my feet, I wonder how long I was out? Still dizzy, I wander to the gates of the city. I open them and peek inside. Nobody is there at the atrium. I head on further into the city, but I encounter no living soul. Suddenly, I hear footsteps around a corner. I rush to the source of the sound. Alas, it is no Dwemer's steps, but those of a Falmer. I ready my bow, my weapon of choice, useful for aiming at enemies high on the watchtower. I pull an arrow from the quiver, and retract the string. I aim at the Falmer's head. Too late does he realise his doom awaits him. An arrow through the head, and the Falmer collapses. I rush to his corpse. He carries nothing of intrest. I descend further through the city, similarily dispatching Falmer, calling out in the Dwemer tongue whenever I neared a house. Before long I reached the final chamber. Here were the stairs to Blackreach, and the lift to the surface. A dormant Centurion stands there, ever watchful. I pass it by, and pull the lever. The lift trundles up, until at last I reach the surface once more. In front of me I glance a cobbled road. I find this strange, but I decide to follow it. After several hours of walking I reach what seems to be a village. I also find this strange, seeing that it stood where before there had been barren marshlands. A Nord in strange armor approaches. He says to me; "Greetings traveller! you look tired. Theres an inn, down the road, if you need a place to stay." I am puzzled by this, but kindly ask the Nord, in their tongue; "What might be the name of this settlement of yours?" "Morthal," he replies, "capital of the hold of Hjallmarch". This makes no sense to me, but I ask no further questions. As I make my leave, the Nord remarks; "Nice armor! Found it in one of those old Dwarven ruins, I suspect!" This is what puzzles me most of all, but still I ask no questions. Some more Nords in similar armor were able to point me in the direction of the inn, where I write now. I am tired, I am hungry, but I must not rest. I must set out to uncover what happened to my race, and what the futre has in store for me.

Bedchuzzar Nedgreb
 

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