The trip was silent since Arngeir last spoke, only whispers could be heard amongst the group. They were getting close to the peak, and Arngeir felt oddly disturbed by what he said himself. He had a habit of forcing his beliefs onto other people. He turned around, and raised his hands up, signaling the group to stop. The peak was just some more steps away, a strong gust of wind reached the soon-to-become sons of sword, forcing Arngeir's hood off. The thick, furry beard juggled itself in the direction of the wind, following the flow like a sheep follows it's shepherd. His old eyes sat pinned on the image Arngeir wanted to see, but not the actual image that was in front of him. He turned his head to the ground, witnessing his footsteps - a temporary mark on the world that he left without an intention. Tilting his head up, he saw a group of people that were about to leave a permanent mark on the world. They could do more than he could, more than many humans were able to. For the shout revealed that those are strong men, otherwise they wouldn't have been picked. Yet Arngeir still had a poor taste inside his mouth. To him, those men were disgusting, shared no purpose, and denied watching the inevitable happen.
It wasn't his choice, however. Whether or not he wanted The Sons to finally happen didn't matter, for there were greater forces in this world, forces that were meant to be feared, forces that were meant to be recognized, and forces that deserved, demanded worship. Looking at the sons, he saw none of those forces, and he wanted to believe that they would suffer the same fate as the Dragonborn. But that wasn't about to be, and deep, deep in his heart he knew, that those men and women were about to bring change to the world. He breathed in, unraveling himself in the knowledge that was bestowed upon him since he was a mere child by his master. "Lok su, Thu'um sil"
His sad expression, and frowned eyes soon turned into a smile as he had begun to speak
"You have to forgive me for what I said earlier, this old man likes to rant. Without a doubt, you are worthy, and you should be proud of yourselves for coming this far. But without Paarthurnax, the sons are worthless - for he is my master, and soon he will be your master as well. He is the only one left capable of defeating Alduin. I shall return to the monastery, but you will move forward, and talk to Paarthurnax yourselves." as he started to walk beside the sons, his voice could be heard one more.
"Before I go..." he stopped, grabbing everyone's attention. "Know that Paarthurnax isn't a human, or an elf, or any of the mundane races on Nirn. His appearance might surprise you, to say the least, but keep your thoughts to yourself and treat him for what he does, not for what he is."
And with that said, Arngeir left the group and climbed down the mountain, a tear dropping from his eye. As he walked, his words stood with him, he muttered silently but loud enough for people nearby to hear. "Sky above, Voice within". The group walked up as they were instructed, reaching the peak, and witnessing The Old One - Paarthurnax
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Chapter One - Downfall
The incredible sight that was Paarthurnax was revealed to the Sons. A mighty, old dragon - his tail long and flexible, his back covered with tall spikes, filled with the blood of his of another dragon, his scales old and storied, for they've been through many battles and a lot of struggle. His eyes piercing through the souls of whoever looked at them, slowly analyzing what everyone and everything was like. Paarthurnax raises up his wings, letting free a blast of wind, that made the snow nearby burst away, he launches himself in the air and lands closer to the Sons than he was before. His fall was majestic and flawless, slow enough not to startle the ones he will soon have to lead. His long nose was meters away from the group, inhaling enough air for five people. "Drem Yo Lok, greetings Sons of Sword. I am the Wuth Dov, Paarthurnax!"