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Bright Lady! Umaril. Your most blessed champion extinguished by a lowly Man. How? How have these heretics arisen from their place in the mud? How have they thrown off their yokes they were bred to wear? How have they robbed your chosen people of our temple? Is this the treachery of Boethiah at work? Or Molag Bal? Or Mephala? The wicked schemers and liars! How could this happen?
* * *
Lady of Light, I've chastened my hands for their mad scratchings in my grief. Forgive your flawed servant for her impertinence. Know that I am ever faithful. Your will is my will and your workings are not for me to know.
* * *
New word has come. The Men spill out of the Temple of Ancestors in a ravenous stampede, still thirsty for our blood. They are the wretched horde of Namira unleashed to devour us. Several of our sister kingdoms have already fallen to their advance, others have thrown in their lot with the rebels. Cowards and opportunists. I'd sooner make a pact with Vile.
* * *
The other kingdoms are drowning. Thrashing around in desperation. Narilmor tells me there is a desperate plot to find the Wrathstone, as if there was some singular thing with the power to turn the tide of this war. Our forces should stand united against the Men, not search for fables!
* * *
The others will not listen. They will not assemble against the Men as they should. Already a unit marches northeast to besiege the Dwemer city. There is no proof that they even have the Wrathstone. Don't we have enemies enough?
* * *
Our Lady spoke to us. Only once before has she graced us with her attention. Upon our coronation. She brought us dire news: our empire will crumble. This beautiful kingdom we have preserved for her will become our grave. All is not lost, though. Because we are loyal—because we are pure—she entrusted us with a great secret. She has given us a piece of the Wrathstone to keep safe. It will be buried here with us, kept here in secret, until she comes to reclaim it. Bright Lady, we will prove worthy of the gifts you've given us and this sacred charge. We will watch over it always.
* * *
I do not doubt our Lady's purpose, not for one moment, but that does not dull the pain of watching our neighboring kingdoms cling to a desperate hope that we know is vain. We cannot tell them that they will never have the Wrathstone, only watch as they claw at every nook and cranny looking for salvation. Poor fools. It's not meant for you. Just flee.
* * *
The rebels have finally reached our walls. The fortress above is soon to fall. The vaults of our city already crack and crumble under the hammering siege above our heads. I see the terror in my people's eyes and it breaks my heart that I can offer them no solace. Your sacrifice will not be forgotten. Our Lady has made certain that we'll carry your memory through the ages.
Men will not set foot in Garlas Malatar. It is our tomb now, and the time to seal it is nigh.