Gargamonk

Entombed here are neither my memories nor my musings, but rather a theory, composed of the likeliest facts I have gleaned over years of study. They are not for you, dear reader, but for me. I believe some force has kept me here in this world for centuries. Good or evil, I cannot say; but having lost my memories time and time again, I here attempt to document my past, to leave a record for when I next forget once more. This is, as best I have divined, my tale:

I was born, on a certain day, under a certain sign, to uncertain parents. The day was the 8th of Sun's Dusk, in the year E3 370, under our late Emperor Uriel Septim VII. There are some who claim my birth to be later, in the year 375. This is reasonable, if mistaken, scholarship. There was another child, born on the very same Isle of Balfiera, taken in by priests at the same Akatoshian temple, and found at the same court of Daggerfall in 405. This is not coincidence, but neither was it fate. The teachers of Akatosh took in many orphans, and the chapter at Upvale, the only town on the Isle with a Mages' Guild, was charged with the care of all teenagers of notable magical ability. I believe I met this other child, but given our age difference it is unlikely we were close. His tale is not mine to tell, however, so I shall return to mine own.

The man who was not me was eventually summoned to Daggerfall to apprentice under Popudax, then court mage; I had long since received an invitation to the Imperial City to further my studies under Ria Silvane. Consider that mine are a dynamic people, in whose Bretonian veins the austere and ardent Nedic blood battles that of the refined ethereal Aldmer for dominance. Accordingly, I was inclined towards the more martial callings of Spellsword and Battlemage, towards which General Warhaft was generous enough to (quite atypically) allow me to join the new recruits at training. There... I was mediocre. Eschewing the shield, I was evidently quite comfortable in mail and leather, and learned in the basics of many weapons, but after some months still failed to consistently hit with any of them. Acknowledging the apparent predominance in my heritage, I redoubled my efforts under Mistress Silvane as a Sorcerer.

It was during my training that Silvane discovered the treachery of the Simulacrum. The Battlemage hid his terrible secret by imprisoning the General and myself, and slaying Silvane outright. I managed to escape my dungeon cell, and began the arduous task of reassembling the Staff of Chaos to stop him. In doing so,

I was born four hundred years ago in the High Rock of Tamriel. I am immortal and I am not alone. Now is the time of the Gathering, when the stroke of a sword will release the power of the Dovahkiin. In the end, there can be only one. May it be... the Outlander