There is something very amiss within the Fighters Guild. Whilst I am trying not to let inherited prejudice cloud my judgement, I cannot ignore the sense of guile and duplicity I feel every time I speak with the Khajiit, Argonian and desert man.
Whilst traveling through Tamriel I have encountered those who are insufferably optimistic, and will trust the first stranger to happen on by; but also those who will trust in nobody, and drag all around down under the weight of their pessimism. I was always taught to be honest with the man who asks for your loyalty, and loyal to the man who asks you for honesty.
I shall follow the guild to Oblivion if it means I get paid, but my hand shall ever be on my hilt when in their company.