Behold the tale of tragedy, birthed in ignorance, of our great and mighty people. Were propserity not enough, it should have saved us. I found myself sheltered from The Diffusion for I was not full to my kin, but half of myself owed allegiance to a Chimer woman of stout personality and fine posture. A folly to the rest of my house, for to them it tainted my bloodline and perverted our race. However, to myself and my sweet Chimer companion we cared not for the opinions of others, nor the disgrace of our lineage, for life in this forsaken plane could take any tragic turn on a whim.

Eager-mindedly we spent our days wandering the darkened paths of our people, venturing into the world of the open and the blue at each path's end, for we knew that to cure ignorance one must thrust themselves into the sea of knowledge until they learn to swim. Luck bestowed upon me in the form of my wife, for the natives of these strange lands trusted not a member of the Dwemer, house Awgwelen, and leastly Awgwelen Drutz, myself. She acted as diplomat, pursuaded these peoples to barter in supplies, to offer shelter in exchange for fine Dwemer craft.

All seemed well in our travels, until returning to an occupied home. A grand counsel of my kin sat dominantly in my estate. Reason was beyond them. They cursed the Awgwelen name, and beset all foul curses upon my beloved wife. T'was then they led me by magic bounds to my cellar, where all my descendants lay spread across the floor in a bloody mosaic. The future of my name met savagery, and was butchered, ended. Insanity swept me faster than any drake of the North, and at the sight of this, the cursed wretches slew my dear Awgwelen Neravet-Ur, for they claimed her a Chimer [censored] who could not have lost her honor, for she was born with none.

Stricken with a grief akin to only a Daedric pain, I was thenceforth exiled from my kin to live out the last of my days in agonizing torment. Unbeknownst to those who outlawed me, I encountered the strangest of human wizards, a man of the North who referred to himself as an "Atmoran." This Atmora, known only to me through now misty stories passed down through cryptic relatives, was of no importance. T'was his gift to me that mattered. Before my eyes, the man changed in to Dwemer. Yes, a stout Dwemer, indistinguishable from the rest. His words bore down on me with the intensity of a most interesting and commanding professor, for he told me that this undeniable magic was taught to him by a Giant of Atmora, whom the last of the Atmorans referred to as He-Who-Shapes-The-Spirit. For intents of remaining quite the opposite of quizzical, this meant that the giant possessed shape-shifting abilities. However, as I was soon corrected by the Atmoran Man, the change was quite permanent, until the wielder of this arcane mystery deemed it un-permanent.

Through perilous travels and the rigours of studying the arcane, this man taught me the trick to this Soul Shaping. And thus, when he deemed me ready, turned me free, telling me to go and live how I wanted. I never saw the Atmoran man again. I presume he returned to his homeland despite the rumors that this now ice-barren Atmora is devoid of civilization. Perhaps he located He-Who-Shapes-The-Spirit, and the two of them are devising the most intricate of arcane plots.

Aside from this perplexity, that is the fate of the Atmoran Man, comes my tale, and the tale of the Dwemer. I Soul Shaped into a Dwemer of different form so that I may infilitrate my people and their kin-steads, in hopes that I may rise to prominence within their ranks and attempt to change their narrow-minded thinking, for I knew that these thoughts could lead only to more folly.

Upon my return to the lands known as Vvardenfell, I found my people in an abhorrent war with the Chimer of the land, people whom I considered to be as equal as I or any of my race. Fearing retribution, for this was a war-alert place, and the greatest of the Dwemer would be on full alert and not recognize me, ask questions, and then possibly execute me, or worse, conscript me to kill the very people from whom my much missed wife belonged, I Soul Shaped into a fly. From there I proceeded to observe our people's workings in the center of the great mountain from which this battle was being fought.

Perhaps the most famous of the Dwemer left himself to his machinations there, at the Heart of the God. Kagrenac, most gifted of Dwarven engineers, toiled away in the broiling heats of the Mountain's bowels. Curious to his intentions, I then Shaped myself into Kagrenac himself so that I may know his plans.

Shock struck me like a thunderbolt, for it became known to me that the power of the world's most mythic beings could come in the form of worship. Kagrenac knew this, and attempted to channel the Dwemer beliefs of logic and reason over the primordial and lesser beliefs of the world's denizens. The Dwemer High Leadership unknowlingly allowed Kagrenac to continue such mystic treason.

The true mistake that not even Kagrenac himself could have foreseen, was success. For in my Shaping into a form of Kagrenac, I saw the birth of two gods, Logic and Reason. The gods conversed over the most logical and reasonable outcome for the Dwemer people, their worshippers. In their quarrels, they came to the perfectly resound conclusion that existence was illogical, unreasonable, and served no purpose. To them, a true state of stability meant Void, and anything of creation violated Void, and thus violated the commensensical (to them, that is) notion that everything must be stable. Thusly, the two newly born gods found the most sensible thing to do would be to simply vanish themselves and their followers, for that requires the least amount of effort, and is thus the most logical and reasonable of outcomes. And thus, as the Two Gods willed, themselves and those that gave them their power, my kin that is, diffused into the Void, and oozed out of existence. The true irony had been fulfilled, for the pompous beliefs of my race in such abstract concepts by standards of this world were stretched to the extreme by the very entitities that these beliefs created.

I had nigh but a second to Shape myself into a Chimer and avoid this harrowing fate. And so, I found the power of the Heart of the God to be interfering more and more with my ability to Soul Shape and found my strength fleeing from me like the Falmer fled the Nords. Tis a shame that my account shall not be read by the scholarly and curious of the world, for I have been trapped down here for quite some centuries now, my life prolonged by the Heart I do not know, but prolonged it is. However, visions penetrate skull and mind of a figure with a Golden Mask, claiming to be a god who will free whatever the land outside has become. My Soul Shaping abilities are all but present, for my time spent in the presence of the Heart has diminished them. Strange, puss-filled sacs have began to form on my skin, and I start to think in random spurts of memory, anger, torment, regret. I smell of rotten decay, of a graveyard filled with fresh bodies that no one has buried. I now lose my will to write, and shall place this piece of parchment within this Dwemer trinket box, in the confidence that some brave adventurer of the future will find this story of mine and circulate it throughout the realms, whatever they may now be.

Angwelen Drutz
Born: Sometime before The Diffusion of my people, I do not remember.
Faithful companion to the Chimer woman Angwelen Nerevat-Ur