I.

"There exists," the old man was saying, "an iron door, built into the rock on the edge of Eastmarch, that covers the entrance to a large rock-cut cave."

"A cave?" Valens asked with a smile, his hand cradling a tankard of mead. The fire behind them hissed and crackled and cast wavering shadows on the wooden walls of the inn. The sign outside called it Dead Man's Drink, and he couldn't help but think that the name seemed quite appropriate in the case of the old man and that it wouldn't be too long before he was lowered into a grave in the large cemetery on the other side of Falkreath. Valens absently pulled apart the loaf of bread on the wooden plate before him as the old man nodded and took a deep swallow from his goblet of wine.

"Like the ancient Nord tombs, yes," he affirmed. "But this one wasn't full of crypts and dust. Lore maintains that it was filled with something else."

"So what's inside, then?"

"I haven't been inside—I don't think anybody ever has—but there are stories. They say that it was used to store the wealth of one of the ancient holds. One of the smallest and poorest, mind you, but still, the wealth of an entire region all stored in one place."

"So how do you know about it?"

"When I was younger," the old man said, turning over the empty goblet and looking at it wistfully, "I was part of a group of bandits."

Valens laughed. "You? A marauder? You're not fooling me, old man. I know a brigand when I see one."

The old man said solemnly, "This was many a year ago, even before the Great War. We were once well-known—and feared!—throughout the Rift, but now nobody even remembers our name." He sighed as if he had conjured up some supremely sad memory and then added bitterly, "The Greenwater Bandits."

Valens nodded slowly and indicated for the innkeeper to bring him another bottle of mead. "So how did you come across this iron door?"

"I was always the bright one," the old man recalled. "I read every book we came across when the others would have used them for kindling. I found a dusty old volume after one raid called 'Ancient Sights of Skyrim' and after that our leader had us digging through Nord ruins looking for any treasure they left behind."

"Did you find any?"

"Plenty. But it was when we were excavating an ancient barrow in Eastmarch that we stumbled across the door. After we found it I went back to 'Ancient Sights' and there it was, one mention tucked away in the shortest chapter in the book."

"And you didn't investigate it? A Nord treasure chamber must have been hard to pass up."

"There were stories. Whispers of dark things behind the door. But most of all our leader didn't think it worth our time; every day we were pulling more gold and jewels out of the barrow and none of us wanted to start over somewhere new."

"So you never went inside? Did anybody?"

"I don't believe so. It was hard to find in any case, and it seemed as though nobody had ever heard of it. Are you interested?"

The innkeeper came back with the bottle of mead. Valens let three septims roll across the rough wooden surface of the table and watched as the innkeeper snatched them up and walked away.

"I might be," Valens said in a hushed voice once the innkeeper had left. "I used to be like you, stomping around with a crew of bandits. But I'm on my own now, and a man's got to make a living. Where can I find this door?"

"The treasure hunter's life is not one that should be envied," the old man chided. "What happened to your gang? Why did you leave?"

"We fell on hard times and disbanded," Valens replied, pouring the mead into his tankard. What he was saying was true, he reflected as he closed his eyes and drank deeply. The gang had fallen on hard times but it was when their leader had gotten drunk, stumbled off of the top of his tower and fallen on a hard surface that their group dissolved.

"Ah, the uncertainties of life when everything you've known comes to an end," the old man said, his thin lips curling into a crooked smile. "Liberating, wasn't it?"

"Sure." Valens set the tankard down and wiped his lips with the back of one hand "Where's the door?"

The old man chuckled. "Persistent one, aren't you? Show me your map."

Valens pulled out his faded map of Skyrim and flattened it out on the table. The old man held a wedge of charcoal in between the bent fingers of one who spent most of their life drawing a bow and carefully drew a spot on the border between Eastmarch and the Rift. Valens turned the map towards himself and studied it.

"Right there?" he asked, tapping the map with his index finger. "And you're sure?"

"Absolutely, friend," the old man said, turning his attention back to his drink. "If you find anything in there, be sure to let me know. I always have been curious."

"But never enough to go exploring yourself?"

The old man gave a wizened smile. "You live dangerously for long enough and you start avoiding danger whenever you can. And an old underground chamber like the one behind the iron door? It's best to avoid those entirely. A place that old and that deep—you never know who or what may have made its home there. And I assume you are determined to go there?"

"That seems to be the plan."

"Do be careful, then. From one former outlaw to another, always keep your wits about you." The old man paused for a second and then added almost as an afterthought, "And a blade, too."

"I'll keep that in mind." Valens stood and drained his tankard, setting it down onto the table once it was empty. The old man was suddenly preoccupied with his supper, brought to him steaming on a wooden plate carried by a buxom young woman who had been tending to the inn's patrons all afternoon. Valens walked over to the wooden bar and rented a room for the night, handing over the ten septims and signing the register as the innkeeper commanded. When he was done the innkeeper turned the heavy leather-bound book around and scrutinized his signature.

"Valens Lovidicus?" she read disapprovingly. "Now there's an Imperial name, for you."

"You'll get used to it," Valens said, twisting his face into a smile that held little apparent joy. "I'll be back later."

"Room will still be here when you get back."

Something in the innkeeper's tone made Valens doubt that, but he ignored it and stepped out into the late afternoon chill.