I grow guilt-ridden in my old age. So many of the young sent to their deaths. All in the name of Forsworn. All in the name of Madanach. My king. Who watches us from behind the iron bars of Cidhna Mine. How long have I served you? Since the uprising of the Nords? Was there ever a time when all that violence hasn't over-shadowed our destinies? What choice do I have but to do as I am instructed?