This is my tale, my name is Rashiid. I am what the imperials call Khajiit. I wish to tell you of my fall from grace. How I became a husk of a man. I tell you this in hopes that I may prevent you from making the same mistakes.
I was born a noble of Elswyr. I had everything that I could ever and I was happy. I spent many a day warming myself in the amber rays of the sun, and spent many a night entwined in the sheets with beautiful women. Greater than my carnal lust was my unquenchable thirst for knowledge I studied all manner of things: alchemy, martial arts, and Magicka and I even learned to pick a lock or two. Then one day, my father Jiraan summoned me to his chambers. He said that while I had performed well in my duties as a student, I was still not a man of the world. He asked that I journey to Cyrodiil. When I refused to leave, his Akaviri guards dragged me from the castle. I was but 16 summers of age. His last words to me were that I was not to return under pain of death for 5 summers. His guards spirited me away to the border of our country in a wagon driven by lizard mounts which the khajiit call Q'entadi. I was thrown rudely from the carriage. I stood from the ground and brushed myself off. Thankfully my father had arranged for an escort of sorts Unfortunately, the escort was in the form of gruff Imperial rangers who could not have cared less for my noble birth. They were there merely to point me in the direction of the road to Bravil and then they rode off to fight crime, rape churches and burn women or whatever in Oblivion those bastards do in their free time.