In the Depths, Final

4E206,
Fifth Waking
I'm very tired... the sniffing had eventually turned to scratching. It had doggedly continued until exhaustion over ruled fear and I found myself unconcious. Not even in my rest did I find reprieve. No, instead I dreamed. At least I hope it was a dream...

In this dream I was not alone. I had lifted my chin from my chest and found myself being scrutinized by a ghostly, ethereal figure. It was the features of a High Elf shrouded by a hood that I spied from my spot on the floor.

He seemed to sigh and lifted himself from the bed. But when I blinked the elf was right in my face, my forearm clutched in his hand. I remembered the grip was tight and very painful.

With his hand, he guided my quill to my journal and spoke...

Wings in the Dark.

And now, as I look at my journal, there it is. Writ plain as day in the pale blue light.

When I read the words aloud, I nearly leaped from my skin. I haven't spoken since just before entering Raldbthar. How depressing my voice was. Hoarse with no use and my throat ac-
(Here there is a ragged slash in the page)

I will get out! Blast these Falmer to Oblivion- or the Void! And praise the Dwarves for their wrathful amnuculi! The thing had clobbered and pierced and crushed my jailors (whom I found littered and mangled outside the door) before wandering off again. I write this from beneath a glowing mushroom, where I had observed those wretched bastards flood the outside of the field base. I was long gone before they began to search for me. I returned some murmur-screams later to salvage what I could.

Obviously my evasion of my pursuers had left them angry. All of my provisions were gone. Something peculiar happened after that. I KNOW it hadn't been the passing of an hour yet, but the murmur returned. Louder than I had ever heard it.

My eyes were drawn over the rise to the city. I could only just see the suggestion of light there. The hanging light orb perhaps? And then... a shadow passed over it. Something... large. Another distant sound. One that I felt in my chest and travel up through my feet more than I heard. I wondered at it for only a brief moment before I fled. This will be my last journal entry until I escape.

(The final entry is difficult to decipher as though the hand that wrote it shook terribly as it was written)
It was there. Down in that dark place. Terrible wings carrying it. Breath like that of Red Mountain, scales so like the metal that the Dwemer used...

They let it loose, like a guard dog... or the wrath of a god...

If only it had killed me. The way back was open. I reached it in my flight, pursued by wings in the dark... I thought I was free. Even with an evil arrow in my shoulder.

But... I will never leave. The arrow must have been poisoned. I grow weaker and weaker. But I do not think I am to die.

I hear the sniffing. It hounds me...

Please. Take this journal to calcemo markarth.

what is in the depths... leave it... flee...

sniffing closer

This journal was recovered by a would be adventurer in the ruins of Raldbthar. She quickly brought it to Calcemo of Markarth who upon reading the first reference to "Dwarves" nearly sent the journal flying. After perusing the journal further, he was said to have sat down, reading from cover to the last page. He sits often there now. Contemplating the ruins he has long studied in silence. The adventurer was said to have relocated to Whiterun as a farm hand. Grakus' body was not with the journal.

(And the final chapter of in the Depths. My theory on the possibility that the Dragonborn wouldn't have randomly Shouted at that hanging orb and the relationship between the Falmer and Vulthuryol. A guard dog taken by the Dwemer or a figure of worship to the Falmer, summoned through use of the Voice (which all Nords do possess to some degree))