--Excerpt from an interrogation in Cyrodiil.

So, you want to know about me, do you? That’s rich. No one usually asks about me except whether or not I can be of use to them. You’re right, it is a sad existence, but that’s pretty much how everyone’s life goes, right?

Where to begin? Well, as you can see, I’m an argonian. I think the scales gave it away. And before you ask, I was born with red scales; I didn’t get that way soaking in the blood of my enemies. I get that a lot. Apparently when you have blood-red scales and stab people, they make up shit. Makes ‘em feel better I suppose.

What, the markings? Nice, aren’t they? It covers every part of my body all the way down to my toes. No, I’m not going to show you, and no, I don’t know where they came from. Did you know they glow when I use magic? It looks pretty cool. I’d show you if it weren’t for these bindings. I just had them one day. And it’s not a disease. Ask the healer whose nose I broke a few minutes ago. And tell that bitch to watch her mouth when she’s talking to her patients and maybe they’ll refrain from rearranging her face.

No, the markings are not from an argonian ritual. Why? Because I already went to Blackmarsh and they said they haven’t slightest idea where it came from. I’ve heard every excuse from Hist mutation to branded by Sithis. If you want to take a stab at it, be my guest. I gave up trying to find an answer years ago.

Look, can we talk about something else? I’m sick of the only thing people want to talk about is my markings.

My past? Shit, this is awkward. I don’t remember my past. Not a thing. I remember a voice and woman, that’s all I got. It could be a side-effect of the markings—I don’t know. What did the voice say? “I shall return for you and I shall return for you.” How the fuck am I supposed to know what means?

So all these years, I’ve been roaming, stealing, and partying. What else is there? A life of honesty? Look, when most people think you look like something that crawled from the depths of oblivion you don’t get much honest work.

Well, it’s been fun and all, but I need to get going. I’ve lingered here long enough and I have places to be.

How am I getting out of here tied up? Easy, while I was rambling about my past, I was undoing my bindings. You guys need to work on your knots.