Sheogorath had never really thought to wonder where Haskill came from. As far back as he could remember, the man had just served him with unswavering loyalty. Was he a member of the Greymarch in disguise? No, he couldn't be. He wasn't a Daedra, just a normal old Nord. How boring.
So one night, he gave in and asked his servant where his origins were. "It's a long story." said Haskill as he served the Madgod another helping of cheese. "I'd rather not talk about it."
"I insist."
Haskill sighed. If the Madgod was acting slightly sane, that meant that he really wanted to know. "As you wish, milord.
"I was born in Skyrim, but immigrated to Cirodiil when I was about twenty years old. I was without many posessions, so one night, as I was about to starve, I stumbled across a shrine belonging to you, milord. The disciples there fed me and treated me with kindness, even if it was mad kindness. The urged me to approach the shrine and thank your madliness for your help in restoring me to health. I refused.
"You don't seem to remember capturing me in the woods that day and making me pay of my debt to you through indentured servitude, so I'll pretend it didn't happen."