Kyne's-Kiss Breathsnatcher Speaks at the Moot of Maws

You know me, lakedwellers. Yes... know and spite. That is our nature, under the moon and under the lake. Evil outsider is not alone enough for us, the blood-lipped stalkers, tasters, those who grope the water jealous for the crunch of ice above, and turn our heat to hungry ice, and fill our implaceable bellies of the living. We revile and despise, and that is why we meet at this Moot to discuss how to stay away from one another, to draw the borders and lay our claims. You have all known me, longer than the ice ate your insides and demanded from outsides, and I have known you, lived my warning for I am Kyne's Kiss. Our business here is not done. Yes, Hoar-Beard Bloodgash, I know. Morthal yours, no one else wants it. Sifrid Gougemouth, your face grave-wide, smiling, once again you own your pond, the only one with chill in all of the Eastmarch. Congratulations, beasts! Monsters, born of corrupt blood! We may all be alone with our fear and our fearing. Our prey's alert, our predator's worry. Isn't that how it has always been.

Shut up, Yiggrim! You don't fool me, and you won't fool anyone. We're all cowards! Driven away, it's truth! We butcher and bleed them, and tear them to pieces, strong in defeat, in fleeing, like Nords! It happened long ago, didn't it? So long, how many of you were there? Don't answer. None of us were really there. When the Bloodline was named, after a family, as in other lands. Volkihar, they were called, the family, Volkihar, their Castle, a brooding sentinel staring at Skyrim. Looking for what's wrong until it came to them. None of us knew them. But we know our maker, our rapist, our tearer into the unlife, don't we? Isn't his name one we've all come across, once or twice? Harkon Kingsblood, we once called him, now only Harkon. Traitor in deed, killer, caster, occupier of our name-right! We have no love for him, our maker, murderer. He has only hate for us and our country-blooder ways. We seek secrecy, give no tell. No more lakedwellers in Skyrim, no one who's heard of such things. The Southern-Bloodeds came up with the Southern traditions. The Underworld changed as the Over did. Now no True Nords, praising Kynareth, loving peace and plow.

Now I see I have your attention. Gripping your pride by the gristle. I laugh at your ambusher's pride, your heathen rewards! And at my own. "Breathsnatcher," you say with your baleful eyes. "Speak not of the surface which we venture in rare, and hunger for only its nectar." But the surface is our reflection and we are its. If they are what's true and for the living then we are what's true, and against them. Our paranoia, our malevolence, our lack of anything to the tune of compassion. Stay away, we say! We are warriors, and test by might! Hold onto that pride, Maws! Doesn't that taste sweet, don't you want to tease more of it free of where it was once held, clutched firm as a glacier? The glacier shifts, it's a miracle in the unliving!

I have heard from my prey, when I tease them, ply them for the tales of the other-world above. Nords reclaiming, re-taking. I have heard of another upworld's war, between Dawn's Guard and the "Noble-Bloodeds", who seek like the Nords to raise themselves to the surface. I have heard from the most powerful of the Souther-Bloods, them saying, to me, ME, they are Volkihar! They claim a birthright! They claim it True! They want strength, we are warriors!

Let us give it to them. Let us progenitor like Harkon gave to Volkihar. Never has he ever called himself that, nor his family, his court, so genteel, why would he? He was a great King, and they, a lowly family. He took something from them, let us take something from him, and make Kings of ourselves, of our own name, the Volkihar!

If you do or if you don't, Ice-Bloods, Maws, I will take the Souther-Bloods into my own hands and rend their blood and give them my own. I will birth our bloodline, built for a cruel Skyrim, all new as the land rebirths itself.

You all live forever, you eating Maws, never-giving, selfish fiends of ice and submit-to-drowning. But you can still die slow. That's where you're going, Volkihars, only a memory already. You can be that way.

Or you can join me and my unholy war. Our bodies bestial. Our hearts, chilling with passion. Subtle seeking to tearing. Join me, and we will retake the Bloodline that is ours, and give them what they seek, and yes, yes! Let us tear down the Kingsblooded from their court, OUR CASTLE, and slough the fear and fear no more! All forces rising! It's time!