Prologue

What follows is the tale of Haakig, as told to me some months after the incident of the Failed Warp. He was a simple Nord mercenary during Skyrim's civil war, but was caught up in events that affected all of Nirn. While he never wanted to be remembered for his part in the events, I sought him out to learn his side of the story, and preserve it for future Psijic Order historians.

Chapter 1 – A Night's Vision

It had been a long day of cutting trees and dragging them back to the pile. I knew I would have to fetch the horses and harness them to the drag chains so I could move all of the trees to the mill. There was enough lumber there to last a couple of months at the mill. I had thought that maybe my muscles would forgive me by time the lumber from those trees was cut and sold. But for that night, I was tired, and my makeshift bed on the ground was all I wanted. Cutting timber may not have paid as well as other jobs I had done, but the work was vital to the survival of a small town.

I had barely closed my eyes, when I heard an odd sound, of wind, stone, and bones. I struggled against sleep to open my eyes, and when I did, I was not laying down. I was standing, but not in my camp. It was dark, far darker than the night should be, but I could still see the walls of a cavern. Looking up I could see a sky full of stars. But I was underground, or was I? In the walls around me were gaps, filled with bodies of the dead, the ancient dead. Then it wasn't a crypt. It was a tower built of well fitted stones. I could see the land spread out before me, lit by the flickering lights of the aurora, and there were walls looming over me as I stood on a balcony.

I tried to focus on the walls as they changed, my mind refusing to believe what I saw. The walls were rough stone, now they were finely smoothed marble. The wind blew, but it was quiet. Tall, elegant people walked past me, corpses stared back at me. I closed my eyes, but nothing changed. I could still see the stars and the dead bodies. I tried to focus on the wall, one spot, staring at it and trying to understand.

An ancient Altmer walked into view. He was bent over and dragging one leg as he moved, yet walking on his own power without aid of a staff. His skin was shriveled and pulled tight across his skeletal face and hands. I would almost call him a Draugr, but the spark in his eye was full of life and energy. A ghostly apparition, with form, and yet so unsubstantial, I could see the stars through him. His robe was old, but not ragged, showing glimmers of well worked golden embroidery on fine black velvet, fitted in a fashion popular many centuries past.

He greeted me with a rich, resonant voice, the words coming with the tone one who had lived long in Cyrodil and the Imperial City.

Waving one hand across his robes, almost dismissively, "Greetings, Haakig. I see that you look at me and see only my body as it is now, lying in some forgotten tomb. Once I was important, and known throughout the Empire. Champions and Guild-masters sought out my wisdom. But as any mortal, I made rash decisions and took actions that led to the state you see me in now. I am dead, and yet alive. I am bound to this world and cannot pass on, and I have accepted this fate."

He turned and gestured to the tower behind me, "I am bound to the tower you would call Reachwind Eyrie, and yet I still maintain great interest in what happens in the mundane world. To make the endless days pass for me, I have called upon you to ask a small favour."

A favor? Why would he summon me to ask for a favor? What had I done to gain his attention? Why me? In an instant, swift visions came to me, hitting me like shards of ice in a storm. All of the crypts I had explored, the times I had emptied urns, and looted a long dead skeletons. Even as I questioned myself, I knew the answer. The dead I had looted may have been forgotten by men and mer, but not by the dead themselves.

His deep voice continued on, and I was glad he couldn't see my thoughts, "All I ask is for you to bring a few small items to me that so I may see them with my own eyes. Some of them are historically important, but are not really valuable to any one. Others are very mundane, but tied into deeper stories involving blackmail, adultery, or corruption of very influential people. In return I will tell you such tales as I know of forgotten history, and tell you of lost treasures to compensate you for your time."

He looked at me, those nonliving eyes burrowing deep inside of me. Somehow, I knew I could have shut my eyes and gone back to sleep. This would all be a dream, forgotten as soon as I woke, no matter how odd it seemed then. In the morning, it would all be a faint memory, forgotten by the time the morning dew was gone. But the memories of the tombs I looted, burial sites I disturbed, and the bodies of the men I killed and left to rot would never leave me. He offered me salvation. In my own mind, without a spoken word or even a nod, I accept his offer.

He smiled softly at me, and turned his head with a brief nod of acceptance. The eyes which burned with life beyond the grave, cease to stare into my very spirit, and I felt a sense of relief. He knew my choice, before I knew it myself. He acted as if he was accustomed to men paying attention to him, one used to giving lectures and having people pay attention.

He spoke to me again, his hands folded in front of him, teaching me a lesson of deceit and betrayal. "One such case is the Frost River Brewery. Not many years ago, a pair of Nord brothers, Borvir and Rundi, sought to start a brewery in Winterhold, and sell their special brew across Skyrim. They faced many problems and were ultimately unsuccessful. Blame for the problems were placed on a competitor, who held exceptional power and influence. Gold and time was short for the brothers, so they joined the College of Winterhold, trying to re-establish themselves and deal with the problems. In the college they met two others, a Redguard woman named Yisra, and a Khajiit of unknown gender named Ilas-Tei. No one will ever know for certain what they planned, but it was clearly not something the College would approve of, and they were forced to work outside College grounds. To prepare for their part in the plan, each of the four had a special spell, item or potion to work on. They would each go to a remote location and return to the College a day or two later. This went on for some time, each of them learning and growing more skilled. One day, the four of them set out, but never returned. Their mentor was concerned, but never sought out any answers. All I ask is a token from each of the missing students. The brothers both carried daggers, the Khajiit wore a ring, and the woman had a necklace. Should you find anything else of value, feel free to take it as a bonus, and if you should determine how they died, and who was responsible, it would be wise for you to remember it, in the event you face a similar situation."

As he finished speaking, he started to fade out, and the world around me turned into a vague sort of map. It was Skyrim, rivers and lakes were clearly marked, the main cities were shown, and four other locations stood out, the images just as vibrant as if I was standing there. One spot was halfway between Winterhold and Azura's shrine, a small shrine in the blowing snow. The second was a collapsed tomb I knew to be Journeyman's nook. The third was on the main coastline, near to Dawnstar. The fourth one was north of a tomb, across the sea from Winterhold's college. As these four marks began to fade, a fifth mark appeared, a Dwemer Tower, the very one I stood in now, surrounded by a fair meadow of green grasses on the top of a mountain near Markarth.

Then the world darkened, and I feel myself falling into a deep sleep, but a vague whisper caught my ear, just before everything went black, "Bring the items to the balcony of this tower, and we shall speak again"