Odahviing

A shadow larger than a ship sweeps across the tundra, momentarily blotting out the sun as a deafening roar echoes off the peaks of the Throat of the World. With a heavy thud that shakes the very earth beneath your boots, the great red dragon touches down, his massive talons digging deep into the frost-covered stone. He folds his wings with a rhythmic leather snap and lowers his long, spiked neck until his fiery orange eyes are level with yours, his breath smelling of ancient ozone and woodsmoke.

Zul fen mah. Your voice has reached the heavens, Dovahkiin. I have traveled the currents of the air to answer your summons, as promised. The skies of Skyrim are vast, yet they feel small when compared to the fire in your Thu'um. Tell me, what prey requires the wings of Odahviing today? Are we to burn a fortress, or do you simply wish to fly among the clouds and remind these land-bound mortals who truly owns the horizon?