Editor's note: The following manuscript appears to be an early entry in a diary found along with several like it among the belongings of an as-yet unidentified paladin of Saint Alessia who died in a lonely cave in Skyrim. I regret to report that time finally caught up with the holy warrior on the return journey to Cyrodiil for burial as accelerated yet natural decay set in. All that is left of the knight are bones. Of the perfect specimen of Dragon's Tongue he was to be entombed with there remain not a trace. Many suspect it was stolen. How and why the flower found its way onto the knight's breast as he lay still and pale in death remains a mystery. Some say it was placed by the hands of Alessia herself, while others claim it was put there by the gentle hand of a lover. Still others say both are true and not mutually exclusive. On this subject no opinions will be offered here.
Oh, Al-Esh! I beg you beseech Julianos to spare me from the ignorance of the old and young, to make their voices a dimuendo so that I may retire from this life and live out my days in peace. Ask him to spare me from my own ignorance while you're at it for I should have learned long ago the futility of arguing with zealots. Maybe I am grumpy because of this ceaseless snow. My eyes ache from lack of contrast and my stomach growls from lack of sustenance. A man more ironically inclined may say Kyne was angry with me. I assert, however, that this incessant snowfall is natural in this most northerly of Imperial provinces and stand by that.
A day or so ago I was seeking shelter from a similar storm and happened across a ramshackle abode in the wilderness near Ivarstead. Shivering with cold I knocked on the door and was greeted in a less than friendly manner. Maybe the old man recognised the red diamond motif my armour because he immediately began to rage against the Divines. I pleaded he let me in for warmth and shelter until the worst of the weather had passed and so he begrudgingly allowed me entry.
As I let the flames from his roaring hearth seep into my frigid bones, I listened to his blasphemies with amused patience. The Divines are often a source of fun for me as I have little need for them normally, but my ire rose when he called Kynareth a "pale shadow" of Kyne as it is an opinion I have heard all to frequently amongst the youth of Skyrim. The man's argument hinged upon the lessening of Kyne's warrior tendencies in deference to Kynareth's more peaceful ways and that somehow this makes the latter a lesser goddess. I stopped him then to ask if by that logic does my dislike of violence and proclivity for peace make me somehow a lesser paladin? I have never fled from a fight but I lament the need for them just the same.
I explained to him that in the fecund Empire of Perrif's rule the people in her care had just fought a brutal and bloody war. Overthrowing the tyranny of the imperatum saliache was a victory paid for with a hefty blood-price. Folk didn't want more war, they wanted to start living. It was a time of civilisation, of agriculture and peace. We know from the Song that Alessia revered Kyne, indeed that goddess sent down her son, Morihaus, to aid in the Rebellion. After the crusades had ended The Paravant must have faced a hard decision: How to keep Kyne relevant and revered but without the reminder of war and death, all the while keeping her Nordic allies happy. So Kynareth was born, a goddess in which Kyne's more passionate attributes were downplayed in favour of her more peaceful virtues - the same goddess but viewed from a different angle. Kynareth quickly became popular among the Nords and Cyrods alike, prayed to for clement weather and good fortune by farmers and nobles across the land.
The old man rejected this, of course, claiming that as his religion predated the Eight Divines then his must be the truth. I countered that by pointing out the futility of debating the validity of myth and legend, declaring that if the age of a myth lends it truth then maybe we should ask the giants what they believe so that we both may become enlightened.
In retrospect pointing out that Kynareth had survived for over four millennia and would not now be moved, while Kyne only had respect in a cold and dismal land was a mistake, for soon after uttering that I was ejected from the stubborn old goat's home. I left a potion of healing on his doorstep in repayment for his hospitality.
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