De La Grande Bibliotheque de Tamriel
Saban: Tro dura-hi. Go Tuwhacca. Nogo Tuwhacca.
Saban: Shami. Shami. Go kukri.
Saban: Nogoh. Ngaro. Tuktura. Nogoh. Shami! Shami! Shami! Shami!
Saban: Go kukri nogoh! Ngaro! Tuktura!
Saban: Nogo go Tuwhacca.
Saban: Nogo Tuwhacca. Shami. Beteki matana, Sura.
Coyle: The soulgem.
Saban: Tro dura-hi!
Coyle: The ring.
Saban: To-trang no mo.
Saban: To-trang no mo.
Basil: What is it? Did it work?
Saban: A'Tor no mangai, Sura.
Coyle: I'm sorry, Cyrus.
Basil: What's wrong? What happened? What did you do wrong!?
Coyle: It didn't work.
Basil: What now, Redguard!?
Cyrus: The sword...
Saban: Uta-teni.
Cyrus: ...His soul is in the sword.
Coyle: Mother...?
Cyrus: How did this happen?
Saban: A'Tor no mangai, Sura.
Coyle: She doesn't know. It was --
Basil: Who cares how it happened? It's over, Cyrus. We can't follow a sword. You've failed us. We are through.
Cyrus: Is this how you will honor your Prince then? Cautious I've thought you, Basil, but never before a coward.
Cyrus: We all have waited for the Prince's return. Now that he has returned, you walk away.
Cyrus: The form is different, true, but his spirit is here. Here. And isn't his spirit the truest part of him? Did it occur that maybe he chose this shape and symbol as the sign of his intentions?
Cyrus: Aye, perhaps that soul, in hated delay, snared helpless in a jewel while his men hid and shirked their duties, his duty, perhaps that soul honed itself to this and by no mistake comes to you now, in no more fine and final form as this, a sword. You say you cannot follow a sword? Well, I say that you have strayed from your own too long! Why are you here but to FIGHT? Your Prince has shown you the manner of his purest mettle, AYE! In metal itself! And this true unerring razor's message is clear beyond words, for now's not the time for words, but for brave hands, bright swords, and blood. Aye, boys, it's about blood now! Too long frozen in your veins! And you'd rather yourself be rigid than follow me. Well, if you won't, then shamefully know that your Prince will! For his blood be solid, too, but straightened to steel and tempered in death! Rise alike as he! As swords! As we are Crowns alike as he!
Cyrus: The Prince is dead! Long live the Prince!
Basil: What shall we do?
Cyrus: You shall secure the harbor, we can't have any more of them coming in. Once that's done, take it to the Imperials still left on the water. When they see the harbor is ours again they will make sail for the mainland.
Iszara: What about you?
Cyrus: I'm going into the Palace to kill the Governor.
Iszara: You can't do that alone. How will you get in?
Cyrus: I won't be alone. And the Prince shares secrets.
Coyle: Let me come with you, Cyrus.
Iszara: And you aren't going without me.
Cyrus: No, you help Basil and the League take the Harbor. If we storm the Palace Richton and his men will dig in. It has to end now. With the League running amok in the water, the Palace will be near empty as they try and stop you. I'll reach Richton easy and remind him whose seat is the throne of Stros M'Kai.
Iszara: They will hear of this in the rest of Hammerfell.
Cyrus: Then let's make sure it's loud.
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