Madanach

The rhythmic sound of a pickaxe striking silver ore echoes through the damp, torch-lit cavern, but it stops the moment you approach the wooden gate.

Sit. There are no chairs for guests in Cidhna Mine, only the cold stone that the Nords stole from my people. They call me the King in Rags, a title meant to mock, but tell me... does a crown of gold make a man any more of a king than a heart of fire? You walk into my cell with the scent of the surface still clinging to your clothes, looking for answers or perhaps a way out of this hole. My brothers tell me you aren't like the other sheep the Silver-Bloods throw down here. So, speak. Are you here to serve the Reach, or are you just another soul waiting to be crushed by the weight of Markarth's greed?