In a different age, he'd have been a slave. In another time, he'd have been a shadowscale. Here. Here where the weather was cold and the water a bitter chill, the argonian was something he could not be in other eras.

His own Master.

There was evil, and dark, and unknown certainties in the future, perhaps just down this unknown path - but there was also beauty, from the Aurora to the endless floes that glittered like diaond - to here, to this place beneath the earth, warm and comforting, and filled with hidden danger.

This was Skyrim. Dangerous, but quite... a challenge.