Varen Aquilarios' Private Note

By Varen Aquilarios

It has been far to long since I felt the grass beneath my feet and wind touching my skin. It was the year 580 when I was taken from this place by Molag Bal, and all I ask tell me that the year is now 582. I have been trapped in Couldharbour for less than two years, yet it feels like an eternity was spent in Molag Bal's Wailing Prison. Although I suppose the inability to move outside of my magical cell made the time I spent there feel far longer than it in other cases would. Akatosh's grasp does perhaps not extend to that Dark Realm either. I remember reading something of that sort in the Moth Priest libraries, but my memory fails me. It does so increasingly often in these days. I feel old, very old. I feel like I am an Earthbone which has been lying in the earth since before Nirn's final shape was decided in the Dawn Era. I was born in the year 536 of the Second Era, I am currently forty-six years old. But it feels as if I am twice that old. I am almost glad that I lost my sight studying the Elder Scrolls, so that I do not have to witness my current appearance. My hair has grown, I keep getting it in my mouth, and it tastes of dirt and filth. But complaining about such things is below me. Or perhaps it is not any more, It's hard to know what the status of a former Emperor is in these days.

Here I go on, complaining about my worthless existence. I should be grateful to the Vestige who saved me. They have given me a chance to right all my wrongs, and save the Mundus from Molag Bal's far reaching hand of domination. Although I prefer not to remember the Soulburst and my hubris at the time I would doom the world by simply ignoring it. I know that I have an important role to play, or at least may have. The Scrolls have told me so, but not even they can certanly predict the future. I keep tring to forget, even though I know that I both can't and shouldn't. I try to forget everything. My marriage to Clivia, my foolish decision to search after the Amulet of Kings, my complete trust in Mannimarco. Sometimes I come to thnk of my nephew, Carolus. He always trusted in me, supported me. He loved his uncle, and he wrote to me each day after he became Count of Kvatch. As an Emperor I always found it easy not to cry, but when I think of all the letters which I will never be able to answer it becomes very clear to me that I am not the man I once was. Back when I was the Emperor of Cyrodiil I though that I was so much better than Leovic, I see now that that is untrue. I like to think that I am a better man now, but I cannot say for certain that I truly am. I think that it is best that I keep my identity hidden from the Vestige, I do not want them to associate me with who I once was. I hope that I in time can make them fully trust me, and maybe in time I can reveal my name. Until then I am the Prophet, and I will aid the Vestige in whatever way I can. Only they can help me make up for my past wrongdoings. They can, and I truly hope that they will. Until then I am nothing but an old Moth Priest, living in a damp old cave.