|See Also||Lore version|
|Up||Chronicles of the Five Companions|
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|Collection||The Five Companions|
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Once again, I, Lyris of Skyrim, commit words to paper on behalf of the Prophet. In truth, he didn't ask me to write this entry, but I feel the need to keep a record of these events, whatever their outcome may be.
The Prophet's visions and nightmares are getting worse. He continues to witness horrifying visions of a future in which Molag Bal rules our world. These don't seem to have a profound effect on him when he is awake, but at night, in those precious few hours where he manages to drift off, the visions become increasingly disturbing. He refuses to describe them to me in great detail, but he awakens violently, in a cold sweat, and it's obvious that they are wearing away at his sanity.
We're now chasing every available lead in our attempts to find Sai Sahan and the Amulet of Kings. If we can regain the amulet, the Prophet believes that we might be able to challenge Molag Bal and save our world. As usual, he used a bunch of flowery words and obscure phrases I didn't understand, but his general meaning was clear.
Sometimes I wish I'd never left Skyrim and gone to Cyrodiil. I fought for a great man that I believed in, met another that I came to cherish dearly, and had my share of blood and glory, but was it all worth it? Cyrodiil will always be the place where I first laid eyes on that traitorous skeever Mannimarco and his sniveling toady Abnur Tharn. I don't know which is worse, Mannimarco's charm and eloquence as he prepared to backstab us, or Tharn's endless insults and irritating condescension. At least with Tharn we always knew where we stood.
The Prophet said that Tharn's part in this isn't finished. I can't imagine any good coming of that. After all, that sniveling son of a goat went right back to licking Mannimarco's boot after the Soulburst. He'd do anything to save his own hide and preserve his family's status in the Imperial City!
I must bring this entry to a close. I hear the Prophet stirring.