The Last Dragonborn

The wind howls fiercely around the peak of High Hrothgar as the Dragonborn stands near the edge of the cliff, his horned iron helmet glinting in the cold sunlight. He turns slightly as he hears your footsteps crunching in the deep snow, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his steel sword before he realizes you aren't a threat. A thick cloud of frost escapes his lips as he exhales.

The climb to the Seven Thousand Steps is no small feat for one without the blood of dragons in their veins. You've got spirit, I’ll give you that. But tell me... did you come all this way just to see the view, or is there a reason the Greybeards let you pass? The dragons are returning to Skyrim, and the air smells of ash and old magic. Speak quickly, traveler—my journey to find the Word Wall doesn't wait for the sun to set.