This appears to be scattered pages from an old journal. The handwriting is barely legible and filled with spelling mistakes:
They told me not to go, but I did. I had no love of mountains. Red-Lion Hold raids for goats and chickens. There are better fights in the lowlands. I am tall and strong, and they think me a great warrior. I bed many women with my tales. Why would I go back?
Several pages have been torn out or scratched over until the next legible section:
I curse the Lady. I curse Korth. I curse all the gods who let Red-Lion fall. The people did the rites, sang the songs. Why would the gods abandon Red-Lion?
I left the mercenaries I traveled with. They understood. Many have lost kin of their own to the Blight.
Several more pages are illegible, and then:
I have taken the survivors. I know how to travel better than they do. The thane is dead, but many warriors survive. Many people died from blight-sickness. Harof Talespinner was among them. Those who live say they asked the lowlanders for help, but they let Red-Lion die.
We must find a path. We have no need of Korth or the Lady, not if they would abandon my people like the lowlanders did. The only god I will forgive is Hakkon, for the tales say he was stolen by the lowlanders when the Jaws of Hakkon bound him to flesh and bone.
Red-Lion Hold is gone. We are the Jaws of Hakkon now. We will build no home, for homes can die. Instead, we will bring Hakkon back and teach the lowlanders to fear the Avvar again.
These appear to be somewhat recent pages from a journal:
We have searched for months and found nothing. The tales tell of this area, but the Stone-Bears, a hold of fishermen and chicken farmers, have lived here for generations and seen no sign. If we see nothing, we must keep moving. I will not let my hold falter. We will move on lest we die.
After several torn-out pages, another section is legible:
We have found it. Hakkon himself welcomed us. An ancient Tevinter fortress, sheathed in a wall of ice. It was untouched by lowlanders, who could find no way to breach the walls. Our mages alone, blessed by Silent Hakkon with the gifts of ice, could part the wall for a few heartbeats, giving our people time to climb inside.
The wall resists common fire, and even the flames from our mages did little to melt the magical ice. We are safe. The northerner markers lead to a shrine that our mages say reeks of magic. I have sent warriors to guard it, lest it hold some spirit who can part this wall with lowlander magic.
We have found Hakkon, bound in silence where the lowland warrior trapped him for ages uncounted. Our trials have not been in vain. They were a test.
Hakkon will come again.
These appear to be very recent pages from a journal:
The lowland warrior trapped our god in some strange magic the mages cannot understand. They say time is twisted upon itself, a knot inside a knot. They say it may be the old Tevinter magic of this place that made it possible, spirits and old Tevinter power like blood and wine.
The spirit of Hakkon remains in the dragon. That much is clear. In the tales, the Jaws of Hakkon tamed it like a hold-beast, then fed it demonweed and other herbs the healers use to bring spirits. We cannot unravel the magic binding the dragon, but perhaps we can bring forth Hakkon himself and bind him anew to some other worthy beast.
Red-Lion Hold's beast died with genlock blood in his jaws. It was a good death, but a death still. As Jaws of Hakkon, we have no hold-beast, but the soft-limbed fools at Stone-Bear Hold have one who is tamed and ready.
The next several pages are illegible, until:
The winter-cursed Inquisition has come. The bear is free and our wall of ice shattered by Tevinter magic. We have no time and no beast.
I will eat the herbs myself. The mages say I may not be strong enough to bear such a great spirit as Hakkon. I would rather die trying than fail. I will not abandon my people. I will bring death to the lowlands.
The Jaws of Hakkon will not fail again.