Rise of the Dragoons

Post Landfall, Entry III

For the second time in as many days (I think) we are flabbergasted by a ferocious arrival, this time of the Dovahkiin. One of Dragoons rush forward and kneels.

“I am honored, Ysmir”

The Dovahkiin smiles very subtly. “Just a title, young Tongue. I am no god, merely a mortal placed in an extraordinary position and given great gifts by Gods and Daedra alike.”

I ask how he has remained for the centuries since his disappearence in 4E201 (or thereabouts). “Not by choice,” he says with regret. “In exchange for the knowledge I required to save the Skaal and Solthsthiem, I had to bargain with Hermaeus Mora. He managed to name me his champion, and trapped me in Apocrypha, but never allowed me to age or grow old. Good thing I liked to read,” he chuckles lastly.

We inform him of what the Hist told us. “Damn, why do prophecies have to be so damn vague? But Adamantia, that I know of.” He proposes that we travel to the Adamantine Tower. I explain to him that the Numidium, existance erasing clockwork, and a sea of Aether-fire stands between us and the Tower.

“Please. You and your most powerful…what do you call these Tongues now? Dragoons? Yes, Dragoons and you, meet me outside the ruins in 6 hours. We leave at light.”

I have no clue what he has in mind, but we have done as he’s asked. I pray he knows what he’s doing. I have noted, however, as the Dov gathered here, and especially when the Dovahkiin arrived, time seems more stable. Still badly mangled, but not as badly. Could this be a coincidence? Still, big day tomorrow. I rest tonight, for tomorrow is likely the end of all of us.

We step out of the ruins, underneath a sky awash with Aetherfire. The Gods themselves seem to be destroying Nirn. The Dragonborn has gathered all of our Dov outside as well. As if he’s done it before, he grabs a neck-spike on Odahviing. He instructs the Dragoons and myself to do the same. He shouts at the Dragons, “For one more day the Keizaal belongs to the Dov. To the West!” As one, we take flight, and no time to write on the wing.

The amount of time taken (at least apparently) to arrive at Adamantia was amazing. Who knew the Dov could travel so fast? However, I am worried. No sign of the bronze abomination. We seem to have luck at last.

“We’re here, now what?” I ask the Dragonborn.

Before he can respond, we are blinded by a golden light. A pair of what appeared to be Dunmer appear, but something is off. One is half-gold and half-ashen, and the other is half mechanical, half Dunmer. The mechanical Dunmer speaks. “So my City held all the Mundus together. When that Elk Greybeard told me that centuries ago, I told him he was too deep in his mead.”

The bi-tone Dunmer replays “Enough for now, Seht. You can brag later. For now there’s repairs to make.” He turns to us and says “Lower your weapons, for I am Vehk and Vehk, but you may call me Vivec.”

The Dragonborn smiles again. “Now, young Dragoon, you may bow, for you are in the presence of two Gods.”

Jrir Time-Wounded

Former Chronomage, College of Winterhold