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In the ancient past, my people lived in Nirn. Our great civilization rose from the warm swamps of Black Marsh and our beloved Hist tree was connected to the other Hist trees of the world. But a time of change was coming. The Argonian civilization, as we knew it, was coming to an end. Our Hist tree told us so.
And our Hist tree despaired. It did not want to see the great civilization fall. It did not want to see its children reduced to a more primitive, primeval state. Our Hist tree sought a solution that would keep our civilization intact. That, our legends tell us, is when Molag Bal appeared with an offer we couldn't refuse.
The Lord of Brutality's offer was simple. He would create a place in his realm of Coldharbour for our Hist tree and its children, a place where we could continue our values and traditions just as we had always done. We would not have to fear the coming changes that would sweep through the rest of the Argonian settlements. And all the Daedric Prince asked for, all he wanted in return, was a little of our Hist tree's sap.
Our beloved Hist tree decided that it could spare a bit of sap in exchange for the continued health and happiness of its children. It accepted Molag Bal's offer and the city of Haj Uxith—along with its people and its Hist—slid into Oblivion and came to rest upon Coldharbour's dark and dismal shores.
Did our Hist make the right decision? That's for the leaders of the scholars and the warriors to decide. For me and for most of the common citizens of Haj Uxith? We'd rather have the civilization we know than the unknown fate we were destined to endure before we departed for the isolated islands of Coldharbour.