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It all leads to this. All the ransacked tombs, all the overturned sarcophagi, all the killing, and sleepless nights, and empty promises paid for in blood—all of it leads to this.
None of my compatriots know the true nature of this place. They slaver over the trinkets we're bound to find, and they whisper about our mysterious employer; but to them, this is just another grave. I know better. The Redguards buried these ashes here for a reason. Something evil dwelt here already. Something impossibly powerful. A harbinger of shrieking fates that will usher in an age of torment the likes of which Tamriel has never seen.
This creature goes by many names—all of them wiped from the histories, and few of them pronounceable by mortal tongues. I found only one: Tzirzhalir, the nightmare behemoth. When I reach the heart of this place, I will call him by name. When we ascend from this cavernous prison, no one will forget that name. Or mine.