A lit candle lights the room sitting between a Khajiit and his Altmer master.
"This one thinks we should leave the Imperials alone." The Khajiit sitting very upright and proper.
"None sense, the Dominion needs every bit of Cyrodil as it does its inhabitants." He looks with a squint.
"That means the girl. We need her for the Throne."
The Khajiit tapping his claws on the wooden table.
"The Argonian's are protecting them. They are very sneaky, sneakier than this Khajiit and you hire this one to be sneaky."
"Not a very good Khajiit than are you." The air around the Khajiit begins to move and the illusion spell wears off. To reveal an Argonian with a blade around his neck and to his own.
"Like I said this one thinks we should leave them alone."
I *** slap harder than you punch.