The journey was nothing like what Hil'Jit had ever been on. A boat took him from Pellitine in Elsweyr all the way to Morrowind. Seyda Neen to be exact. A backwater by anyone's admission though Hil'Jit learned from experience not to say that in front of the locals. He became as used to the ash storms of Morrowind in the five years he spent as a student to the sage he knew as Shows-the-Way. Under the tutelage of the argonian, he learned the 'Way of the Yam', as his master put it. He called them Wardens, since that was what most of the locals called them. It was with Shows-the-Way that Hil'Jit learned to play the flute as well, though now he prefers to play with a group.
The old argonian had been like a father to Hil'Jit. The cubs of the Black Sands tribe had a very peculiar upbringing. They lived in a very communal tribe making a meager living along the border of North and South Elsweyr. His father was a hunter for the tribe, and doing little more than that for young Hil'Jit and his littermates.
Hil'Jit did not blame them, either of his parents. Some people are not meant to be parents, Khajiit included. Shows-the-Way did more than his chosen name implied, he brought people together and gave them the skills to help Tamriel. That's what he did for this Khajiit at least. That's what it looked like he did to countless others during that short five years.
The chains of the realm of the Dominator still haunt Hil'Jit's dreams. The day Molag Bal took his mentor from him was fresh in his mind every time he lay down to rest. One bright mark on an otherwise gloomy time was the companions he traveled with. (He hadn't met most of them until after his arrival in Skyrim).
One that he did find, the same day he would arrive in Skyrim, was the largest woman he had ever seen. Titanborn was her name, at least that is all he allowed himself to call her, with a lady in front. He feared she might squish him when she looked at him the first time they met. After a contact of hers had been murdered in the midst of a scouting expedition, he became the informal fill-in.
Hil'Jit was not a small Khajiit, not one of the Senche-Rhat or the warrior types but he was not one of the usual sneaky and quiet types. He could be, but he stood a head taller than his next tallest sibling.
Hil'Jit was glad to be put to some use in Skyrim, even if for a while it seemed like they were just hunting smugglers and trying to stop an assassination. Which they were trying to stop an assassination, but quickly Hil'Jit found that things were much deeper than simple regicide.
There was magic that was older and more ancient than any mage who lived at play in Western Skyrim.
And it all goes back to the moment the man with a hole in his chest the size of an apple, found his way to the center of Solitude to hand A Khajiit from the Burning Sands Tribe a bundle of notes and a request. Hil'Jit was not one to break his word. Even if he had to delve into the Nordic ruins and kill those disgusting draugr!
And then there is the matter that confirmed his giftedness. What else could be said of the khajiit who never tired and never expired? Most had fanciful tales and while it was fanciful, his tale was anything but fake. Not many else could say they survived the Vice of the Dominator. It was in Morrowind he was betrayed by followers of the Worm Cult. They were the ones to sacrifice him to Molag Bal. But for some reason, that didn't stop him.
His soul was gone. He was one of the few people who survived the process of removing his very being in Coldharbor. By all means, Hil'Jit was a dead man walking nirn. Or undead. They called him Soul Shriven. The Prophet called him Vestige.