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A Dwemer Dovahkiin

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This journal belongs to Akita. Please note the runes on the first page, if you continue to read this and are not me, well lets hope you like fire.

 

I woke cold nearly three weeks ago now. It was darker than normal for Ayleid rooms. And the air, it felt as if something was smothering the place. I still couldn’t believe my father had sent me away, it wasn’t right. My spider, named Skitter, didn’t wake up like he normally would. I found out later that it was because his joints had rusted and the soul gem used to power him had run out. Which is still strange. Maybe the magic from the fort had slowly sucked all magic from his soul gem. But that doesn’t explain why his joints would be rusted shut.

But thats not the point. When I left my room the magic around me, it shattered. Broke. Severed. The walls, stones were missing, holes had formed and, the magic. Oh the magic. Once it flowed through the walls almost as well as steam flows through my home city. Now? It was suffocating. Trying to find a way out, but there wasn’t any magic to leave. It was terrifying. It was a ruin, I still don’t know what happened.

When I reached the surface, the entire land had changed. Flowers I had never seen sprouted up around me. And when night fell? I couldn’t even see recognizable constellations. The stars had changed. How much time has to pass for, for that to happen? Apparently? A lot. A lot of time. I reached a city, Brasi? Bravil? Brazil? It was a city of men and lizards (???? Which y'know I can -kinda- see) and cats(On two legs. They were Bipedal. Bi-PEDAL ?????) and elves. I didn’t recognize them though. One thing I did note, there weren’t any Ayleid, Dwemer, Chimer or Snow Elf.

Some asked me where my family was, or I think that’s what they were asking. It’s a human tongue that they speak. Mixed with other languages but it seems everyone speaks it. Which, if I could speak it, would be a relief. Unfortunately? I can’t. I did pick up people calling me a “Dunmer”. Just because my skin is almost stone in colour and my hair as black as night does not make me a “Dark Elf”.

I managed to ask where I could find a bed and a map. I was pointed towards an inn. It was rough and the beds no better. I miss home. I was handed the map the next morning. Where the Ayleids had left was now a “province” called Cyrodill. My home was far to the north, that I knew. Which was now called, Skyrim. I stayed one more morning and saw elves dressed in gold tinted armour dragging men out of their homes and tying them together. Some they killed. It was like watching the Ayleid slave runs or the experiments all over again.  

One stopped to glare at me. The owner of the inn forced me behind her with a snarl. There was a conversation and then the elf shrugged and stalked off to join the rest of his patrol. I was later told that they were looking for Talos supporters. Not that I know who Talos is in any way shape or form.

The days following were a blur, supplies to be gathered, languages to be learnt, and most importantly - the ability to get out undetected. The entire town had taken me under their wing. In was infuriating! They would just pop up asking if I needed anything or if I was alright. When I finally learned a good portion of the vocabulary (with of course the help of magic, bless my Mother wherever she is for the thought to teach me that spell) I told them that I was alright and they were being annoying. They had the audacity to laugh and ruffle my hair! My HAIR! Do they have ANY idea how long it takes to get it to look even slightly decent? How dare they?!

Not the point. I had to travel through the sewers. I burned my clothes, you just can’t get that smell out of clothing. Yuck. The land was very interesting to travel. I stopped at a different city a few days in, I believe it’s name was Cheydinhal. It wasn’t as bad as the first city, seeing as I could speak their language. But the city itself was failing. Beggars were a constant, one almost at every building. I didn’t step into their Chapel. It felt almost disrespectful to even think it, one of the priests called to me trying to get me to come in when I stared at the building. I walked off in the opposite direction.

The trek from their to the border wasn’t as hard as I’d thought it’d be. I still didn’t have any idea of how much time has past (and still don’t as I write this) but I’d wager on maybe a thousand years? I’ve collected a few books on history, most of the ones I could buy for cheap were related to the Chapels and I get the feeling that they’ll be very biased in their information. Which would be a problem if I could read them. Not like I could read Ayleid but this is almost a hundred times worse.

I made it to the border two days ago. Being asleep for as long as I have means that I apparently missed the fact that there’s a Civil War. I got arrested for not having the correct paperwork. Which was highly annoying. But I mean, with my track record? Not uncommon. The beheading for crossing the border however? Completely new.

There was a dragon. A DRAGON. I thought they’d all been killed off by the men? With an Elder Scroll I know is locked up in Mzulft. But that’s not the worst of it. It razed the city to the ground and almost promised to destroy the others, but I could’ve sworn that it looked exactly how Alduin had been described in the writings with the Elder Scroll. On that note, no matter the dragon if it came back that means that someone or something is bringing them back to life. Which brings me to present, in another Inn ready to head out at Dawn to a nearby city called (and I know this one) Whiterun.

OH and everyone thinks I’m just a fucking Dunmer. Apparently they’re the “modern?” Chimer. So, I’m looked at as a member of a race that hates the Dwemer (me) almost as much as the Snow Elves. Great.