My name is Alicia Skull-Smasher, and I leave behind this record of my life in case something happens to me.

In the year 171 of the Fourth Era, my then-pregnant mother, Amaara Resvan, fled our homeland of Skyrim at the onset of The Great War between the Aldmeri Dominion and the Imperial forces in Hammerfell and Cyrodil; leaving our family homestead in The Rift, and finding passage aboard a smuggler's cart to the southern-most reaches of Black Marsh to escape the war. My father, a soldier of the Empire, was called to the Skyrim-Cyrodil boarder to aid in the fight.
      I was born in Black Marsh a year later, and grew up there. At my ninth winter, our home was raided and my mother was kidnapped by a band of Orcs. I spent the next ten years training in combat, and in 4E 190 went to save my mother. But when I was ready, it was too late. She had perished in Orc captivity, disgraced as a sex slave and left to be eaten by scavengers. In my despair and rage, I slaughtered the camp down to the last filthy green-skin child; ironically earning respect from other Orc tribes in the area, and earning the name "Skull-Smasher" from them.
      In the year 4E 195, I received a visitor from my mother's past, and learned that my father may still be alive in my ancestral homeland of Skyrim. I set off on my own to discover if this was true, doing mercenary work as I made my way north. On my travels, I witnessed the impact of the Thalmor's victory many years ago. The arrogant knife-ears play with the Empire like a cruel slave owner playing with their latest victim. It makes my blood boil thinking about how the Empire just lets this happen in their own territory.
      It is now the 16th of Last Seed in the year 201 of the Fourth Era. Tomorrow, I make for Darkwater Crossing, where I should be able to slip into Skyrim without too much attention. I pray to Talos and Kynareth that I'm able to find my father. I just hope he's not also dead.