Confessions of a Khajiit Fur Trader Content . " My execution is tomorrow . The turnkey asks what I ' d like for my last meal . " Bring me paper , I say . A quill and a candle . Perhaps the Jarl would like a confession . I would rather pass the time . When my father ' s harem burned down and our family fortune was lost to the ashes , my brother and I set to begging in the gutters of Elsweyr . I will never forget the first time we stole a traveler ' s purse . It was almost by accident . Just a slip of the claw and the pouch fell into our hands . We ate like kings that night . We slept in a warm bed for the first time in months . Soon after , my brother and I took up the knife . The gang we joined treated us as the dirty orphans we were . We robbed , we scammed , we cut and ran and years of debauchery and hard living took their toll . I lost half my left ear in a knife fight with a blind drunk Argonian . I wanted to give up , but my brother , he dreamed bigger , better . My brother wanted to make it to Cyrodiil and become legit merchants . We had a plan . One final heist of a northbound caravan said to be filled with jewels . Something went wrong . My brother could not stop the horses on time , and I stood helplessly by and watched the wagon plummet over a cliff . But as I picked through the wreckage , my devastation turned to excitement . There were no jewels , but there were plenty of luxurious wolf pelts , horker tusks and mammoth hides , more than enough to buy my way to Cyrodiil . I ' d follow in the footsteps of so many of my kind . A traveling merchant , someone with a respectable profession . I had all the furs bundled in my pack when I saw my brother ' s broken body . His ears were still warm , and I shut his eyes for the last time . This was his dream . And he would want me to go . But what I wanted , well , the caravan guards were coming . I had to go , but I couldn ' t just leave his body to rot . My brother gave me my first skin . It was to be a memento . But in the darkness of the fence ' s cabin , the coin hit my hand heavy . Then she looked at my brother ' s pelt and offered three times the amount of any other fur . Disgust caught in my throat , but did not live very long . I realized the cost of such a forbidden luxury . The value , the demand , the respect . This is what I wanted . It became easier . A dark alley , a gag in one hand and a quick slice across the throat . Gently hold the body as it bleeds . I became faster , my cuts precise and fluid . I peel the skin with one motion and kept the merchandise pristine , in one piece . I became rich . Far richer than anyone in my family had ever been . Yet I was careful . My stronghold was well - hidden , and practically impenetrable . I hired the men that used to employ me . We moved frequently on less traveled roads when we hunted in the wild . We stalked the back alleys we used to sleep in when we hunted in the city . I grew so rich that I no longer needed to dirty my own hands . Patchwork colored furs fetched the best price among the Bosmer . Argonians preferred the pelts completely skinned and tanned . Orcs prized the thick , waterproof leather of the Argonians . Humans most often bought tails and ears . I had to employ an alchemist and a master craftsman for a couple odd requests , but I didn ' t ask questions when the gold piled up . And now I ' m a prisoner . Maybe I became careless . Maybe I let too many secrets slip between the sheets . The raid of my fortress was a massacre . They took me alive , barely . That was their mistake . My enemies should have killed me when they had the chance . I have one lockpick . And the northern wall of my cell is weak from disrepair . My head shall not roll tomorrow . I am not finished with the trade . There will always be buyers . Someday , I will sell my own skin for a king ' s ransom , as my name is legend . And yours shall rot in the gutters with your bones . - The Fur Trader