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To Uncle Claudius

I am writing this from the inn in Falkreath, as it it my current residence as of now. I want to let you know that your brother is safe, and is lucky to have survived. Bruma was hard enough to escape; it just happened so quickly. The fire, the damn fire lit up so bright that the snow looked like gold. Ash and daedra rained from the sky killing as many unlucky citizens as they could find, soul trapping most. I just came back from campaign just to have my hometown burned to ash. Me and the guards took action. We rallied the people, made a push to the North gate past the castle, killed any of the daedra who dared strike at us. And that was only Bruma. Mothers carried their children on their backs using whatever they could. Fathers carried life savings and other valuables. We were going to Pale Pass. The people of Bruma were no strangers to Skyrim, and we made no secret about that. But even then, stepping into that pass felt like we just crossed into another world. The first few hours killed off most of the elders and the sick. Children started to disappear and wolves could be heard, along with bears. It was a nightmare. If not for the torches we carried, we could not have even seen our hands infront of our faces. Falkreath was so close, but so many died. Only about a third of us made it, the rest are MIA, or dead. Uncle Claudius, if this letter reaches you in time, dont head to Bruma. There’s just nothing to see there anymore.


Your nephew, Lt. Caius Caligula Bucklae

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