If you are reading this then that means you are alive unless you are a ghost and I assume that you are not unlike me in the ways of adventuring and taking spoils for yourself. You have come upon me at a most indecent time. For I am dead, or I believe I am by the time anyone reaches me. If you can save me, though, that would be most helpful to me. There is a lot of blood.
Anyhow, I am writing this to warn you of the trials ahead in this horrible dungeon. I understand that there is something of great value at the end but the path there will not be an easy one. For I know this myself as I tried to reach the end myself but then decided against it and tried to turn back.
That was my undoing or is my undoing. I'm not dead yet. Or am I? Well, if I am indecent when you arrive, will you at least make me presentable? I don't mean touch up my war paint or anything but you could wipe my mouth of any blood or vomit? I would greatly appreciate such a notion of camaraderie.
This may perhaps be my last journal entry. Please do help yourself to any of the other pages of my journal, for they may help you on your way. With my dying words I would like to apology for harassing the chickens in Falkreath and for tricking the children in Whiterun to drink mead. Yes, it was I and not my companion Lydia that did it. Some thane I was. Some Dragonborn. To Sovngarde I go, and if you would adventurer please take this journal to [intelligible] and tell them I am again sorry for not being able to stop all those [intelligible] from [intelligible] all over the place for I did not think it would have made their house so very pink