'My apologies, friends.' Drelis looked pleased with himself, as if nothing was wrong. 'I was engaged in a rather heated bargain with a traveler who wished to sell some old journals. I tried to convince him to donate them instead but...'
Phane interrupted. 'Woah, woah. That's not the story we were waiting to hear.' He sat down and pushed a tankard of ale across the table. Lalaine scowled at him, but offered no retort.
'Ah yes, forgive me.' He looked over the table and frowned. 'Where is the mead?'
'The barkeep ran out of mead,' explained Lalaine. 'So we'll have to put up with beer or ale unless we can all afford wine.'
'On the plus side, the beef stew is remarkably good today,' added Phane.
'Alright then, where did we get to?' Drelis had only brought a single book with him this evening; it was Lydia's diary, or at least a copy of it. 'Ah yes, the climb to High Hrothgar. Now, neither of you have ever been to Skyrim have you?'
'Nor have you,' said Phane pointedly.
'I was just going to say that the Throat of the World is one of Tamriel's tallest mountains. Only Vvardenfell's Red Mountain ever stood higher. The Wrothgarians, Dragon Tail, and Jerral mountains do not compare, mighty as they are.' Drelis held his hands out, framing the scene in his mind. 'Can you imagine the dizzying height? The view from the slopes must be breathtaking, and the winds fierce.' He stirred from his reverie. 'But back to the story. Khargol and Lydia had rented rooms at the Vilemyr Inn, remember? They left before dawn. A solitary hunter greeted them on the lower slopes, making his way back down the mountain after a pilgrimage to the top. He warned Lydia and Khargol to watch their footing, there were drifts of snow on the mountain that could shift and slip away without warning.
'As they climbed higher and higher, they felt the temperature drop. Snow fell, lightly, obscuring their vision. Distant peaks became grey silhouettes, indeterminable shapes rising out of the earth to touch the sky.
'I can only imagine what a formidable sight the mountain must be from its base. To see that you have so far to climb must be daunting at first. Lydia writes that she tried to count the seven-hundred steps, but lost count at three-hundred odd and tried to focus on keeping her footing.
'There was another pilgrim on the path, meditating before a shrine. There was a number of shrines on the way to the top; when read in order they explained, in simple terms, man's first struggle to break the chains of their tyrannical dragon overlords.'
'And I'd wager there are books you can read at home, warm and cozy, that go into more detail.'
'Phane, you really are hopeless.' Lalaine put a hand to her head. 'It's not about reading the inscriptions, it's about climbing the mountain to read the inscriptions. The physical effort required is like a... a...'
'A form of meditation,' finished Drelis. 'Your mind must be clear and focused on one thing. The remote solitude, the mountain air, the silence of the snowfall. The experience must be quite humbling. I would be overjoyed with the opportunity to attempt the pilgrimage, but I doubt I'd make it half way to the top in my current condition; I've never been one for physical labour or long hikes through the countryside. But two strong, fit, healthy warriors with the determination of having Skyrim's fate in their hands? Two adventurers who had been summoned to the peak for the first time in as long as anyone can remember? Well, even they had trouble!
'Lydia mentions that they stopped several times before the top. She says that the air became thin towards the summit, that their breathing was harder and more laboured. They were both exhausted by the time they reached the gates of High Hrothgar itself.'
'And now we get to hear about the greybeards!' Lalaine said excitedly. 'Come on Drelis, don't stop now.'
'As you wish. When the duo entered the halls of High Hrothgar, the greybeards appeared to greet them. The greybeard who spoke to them was named Arngeir. He was one of four, and the only one who was not silent for the encounter. The voices of the greybeards were so powerful that they could kill with a whisper, kill with a word, and bring down a mountain with a shout.' The looks on the faces of Phane and Lalaine amused Drelis greatly. 'Arngeir asked Khargol to prove his ability with the voice, the thu'um as he called it. He spoke of destiny and the dragonborn. Tiber Septim himself, before he was known as Talos, had journeyed to High Hrothgar to seek tutelage from the greybeards in ages past.
'Khargol left Lydia to warm her feet by the fire, joining the greybeards in the courtyard beyond to learn more about the voice. Anyone can learn the secrets of the thu'um, you see, but only a dragonborn could learn to shout in the ancient dragon tongue ask quickly and easily as Khargol was doing.
'When Khargol returned to Lydia, he explained that he had a quest to fulfill for the greybeards so that they might tutor him further. Khargol was to recover the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller from an ancient barrow in the Hjaalmarch.
'And so they began their descent back down to Ivarstead.'
'Wait, that's it?' asked Phane. 'That was all that happened at High Hrothgar? Some history and diction lessons? Surely there was more to it than that.'
'Ah, but they were very important history and diction lessons,' mocked Drelis. 'The shouts that Khargol learned from the greybeards were vital to his success. Not only that, but his time at High Hrothgar served to foreshadow that which would come later. You see, there were not four greybeards on the mountain, but five. The true master of the voice lived on the very peak of the mountain in solitude and contemplation. To meet him though, no, Khargol was not yet ready to withstand the trials he would have to face.'
'So... so finding the horn, it was a test of some kind?' asked Lalaine.
'You could say that. When we next hear about High Hrothgar, I think you might understand. Let's not get distracted though, there is only a little more to read in this day's entry.' Drelis licked his thumb and turned a page in the old diary. 'As they made their way down the mountain, Khargol saw the aurora dancing in the sky for the first time.'
'An aura? Is this a magical thing?'
'Not an aura, the aurora. The northern lights. It's a celestial phenomenon,' Drelis explained. 'Imagine, if you can, great bands of green and turquoise light waving slowly and majestically across the sky. Scholars and mages have debated the lights' origins and purpose but an agreement has never been made. All those who have documented it have described it as a beautiful sight and something that every traveler should see before they are too old to wander the world.
'It was full night before Khargol and Lydia returned to Ivarstead. They rented their rooms at the Vilemyr inn again, thankful for the much-needed warmth and comfort that a straw-filled mattress could provide.'
