Unmatched Baggage (Kazahan)

[Calloway Sharr]

"Oh, pish-tush," Calloway dismissed his guide's concerns flippantly. "It all comes down far faster than it goes up. Besides, would you prefer to sleep on the ground? I don't think so. No one would. Not anyone sane, in any case," he prattled on. Unclipping his sword, the tailor set it down upon his bed, then unfastened his broad sword belt. "Besides, if it's going to snow all night, I'd think you'd be grateful for a quality tent, and a raised cot and heavy blanket. Even the rug conserves some heat. It's not like I do everything for show, you know."

Spectacles still perched upon his muzzle, the tawny Khajiit sat down upon his cot with a gentle creak, then reached back into his bag to rummage around once more. But instead of something else ridiculous, like a bookcase, or a full-length mirror, he withdrew a simple wooden plate, then food to place upon it. Smoked salmon, cured venison, a pair of tomatoes, and an apple were sat out, and then a wheel of Elidar cheese was produced, followed by a knife, and another plate. Removing his gloves, Calloway made simple, deft work of cutting proper, bite-sized portions of everything, and loaded both plates before extending one to Kazahan.

"Should you wish to warm anything up, you may," he said. "But I think I'll stay inside. The more we keep the tent flap shut, the warmer it'll remain in here. Wine?" He had reached back into his bag to withdraw a bottle of Alto wine, and a pair of goblets. Who said you can't have the comforts of an inn whilst on the road?

[Kazahan]

"Such displays mark us as ripe targets for bandits," Kazahan answered, unhooking his sword from his belt and laying down in his cot, the sword still grppied in his hand. "Sleep. We will awake early and leave before the sun has risen.

[Calloway Sharr]

"Well, good thing we're in a mining camp, as there shouldn't be bandits around," Calloway replied.

A glance back displayed that Kazahan did not intend to dress down to go to sleep. Barbarian, Calloway thought. Sleeping in your day clothes was both unhygenic, and prematurely induced wear upon your clothing. Tossing and turning in bed, pulling fabric both against your body, and pinched under the weight of it; Calloway wept for Kazahan's seams, knowing it would only be so long before they gave out. No, to care for one's clothing was to care for oneself, and Calloway made sure that he was properly taken care of on both fronts. Seating himself on the edge of his cot, he tugged his boots free one at a time, and laid them on their sides so that they would not develop a crease near the ankle. Overshirt came next, then the ringmail vest he wore beneath it. Standing, he manipulated the many buttons on his fly, and despite the tightness of his trousers, he still had room for perfectly tailored undergarments beneath. Undershirt added to the neatly folded pile, the slender Khajiit withdrew a silken nightshirt from his carpetbag, as well as a sleeping cap, and donned them before putting his clothes away.

Only then did he kneel beside his cot and whisper his prayers to the nine divines, careful to keep his voice down, as he knew not who might be listening, outside the tent. Prayers done, he stood, blew out the candle lanterns, and crawled under his bearskin blanket to get some sleep. After a day of brisk travel, it came swiftly to him.

-----

Come morning, Calloway held a plate of bacon, two fried eggs, and some hashed potato with green onions beneath his bodyguard's nose, steam still rising from the plate's contents in the crisp morning air. Half the tent was already packed, Calloway's cot and all its bedding having disappeared back into his carpetbag, and he sported a fresh change of clothing silhouetted in the light of a single candle lantern. Where his previous day's ensemble had been a festival of greens and browns, today's was a similar outfit in browns and greens, a brown wool felt fedora gracing the top of his head instead of his leather one, while his cape lay folded over his bag.

"Good morning, Mr. Kazahan. Breakfast is ready," he spoke softly with a cheerful smile. It seemed that Calloway Sharr was something known as a "morning person."

[Kazahan]

Kazahan's first movement was a quick tightening of his grip on his sword, and the next was a swift arc, bringing the point of the sword up to Calloway's head. His eyes opened and he growled lowly, sleep swiftly dissipating from his mind, though he didn't seem to be fully aware of himself yet.

Given his sleeping position, he had not moved once during his sleep.

[Calloway Sharr]

"Crimeny!" Calloway exclaimed. If it were not for the light of the candle lantern, he would not have seen the movement with enough time to react. Stumbling backwards, he half-tripped on the rug, and fell square on his tail. It was only be some magical act of balance that he managed to keep the plate from spilling all over his perfectly clean wardrobe, which would have been a fate worst than actual injury. Using his left paw to pull his hat back up off of his face, Calloway scowled at the sword-point that hovered where his head had been. "Fine. Cook your own stupid breakfast, then," he snooted.

[Kazahan]

Kazahan merely looked at the scowling Calloway with a small twitch, before standing and sheathing his sword.

"...where did you get the plate from?" the mercenary asked after a moment, finally aware of the thing that bothered him the most out of this surreal morning already. Stone Hills did not have dishware as clean as the plate Calloway was holding. Plates were somewhat inefficient, as the most common food eating while travelling was stews and soups, which meant bowls were far more common than plates.

[Calloway Sharr]

The smaller Khajiit's eyebrows pinched in an annoyed glare. "I pull an entire pavilion tent, two cots, bedrolls, blankets, a rug and a table out of my bag, and you ask where I got a plate from?" He snipped. Climbing back to his feet, he extended the plate one more time to his bodyguard. "Do you want it, or not? I've already eaten, but if you're going to let it go to waste, I'm sure I could cram down some more."

Behind him his tail flicked and snapped like that of an annoyed kitten, his ears doing their best to flatten back while stuck through the holes in is fedora.

[Kazahan]

Kazahan eyed the food for a short moment before closing the distance and taking the plate from Calloway.

"This one must ask, if only for peace of mind," he said, holding the plate to his mouth and using a knife to shovel the food into his mouth. "How did you pull so many things out of such a small space?"

[Calloway Sharr]

Calloway could not help but close his eyes at the sight of such appalling table manners. Or, standing manners, as he did suppose he had already packed the table. His eyebrows performing a dance somewhere between anguish and annoyance, the tailor took a measured breath before opening his eyes once more.

"It's enchanted," he replied. "That's why I need to get to the shrine. I need to take out something that someone else put in. Also, I had flatware, if you had been able to wait another moment." He held up a fork and table knife in his other paw, then idly flicked them back over his shoulder into the mouth of his bag, as they appeared to be no longer needed.

[Kazahan]

"Wastes time, and clutters up unenchanted baggage," Kazahan answered, wiping his knife off onto his shirt and resheathing it on his belt. "It is unnecessary."

He handed the plate back to Calloway, and adjusted his cloak.

"Khajiit will be waiting for you outside," he said, and left the tent. He turned and made his way down to the fire where the miners and other assorted people had gathered, and most were sleeping. A couple were awake, however, and watched his approach with intent.

"Ho, cat," one said as Kazahan crouched by the fire. "It's not often we see two of you slinking about with no caravans nearby."

"Greetings. Though, if you wish to see the sun rise in a few minutes, you will refrain from speaking to this one in such a manner," Kazahan punctuated his threat by pulling his sword, a curved steel Falcata that was obviously well cared for. On his back was another sword with a long and straight blade, and bow as tall as he himself was. The Nordman eyed him but closed his mouth.

"Good," Kazahan murmured. He looked at those still awake and studied each one. "How dangerous are the roads leading east?"

"No more or less dangerous than usual," another miner spoke up. He eyed Kazahan curiously. "Heard tell that there might be some trolls slinking about the mountain passes again, but with the war no guards are being risked for such a dangerous fight when the Jarls are afraid of a Stormcloak raid. Other than that, there's the usual wolves and bears and sabercats. Stay on the roads though and chances are you'll be fine."

"This one does not like taking chances." Kazahan sheathed his falcata and eyed the other two miners, who stayed quiet.

"You any good with those weapons, Khajiit?" the first miner spoke again. "Or are they just for show?"

Kazahan stood and unsheathed his Falcata once more before striding over to the miner, who stood quickly but fell backwards to keep himself away from the large Khajiit.

"It appears you believe Khajiit is good enough," Kazahan said lowly. "And that is all the answer you need."

[Calloway Sharr]

"It is unnecessary," Calloway aped in the lowest register he could muster once Kazahan was out of earshot. Shuddering at the thought of wiping cutlery on his own clothing, the tailor resumed his normal voice. "Simply barbaric. I refuse to believe all Khajiit act like that."

Muttering and griping, he set about dropping Kazahan's cot and bedding into his bag, followed by the extinguished candle lantern. By the time his bodyguard returned, Calloway dropped the central tent pole in, letting it drag the canvas of the tent in with it, leaving only the rug beneath. Fastening his cape about his shoulders, the Khajiit moved his bag, simply rolled up his carpet and dropped it in, as well, before flicking the bag's clasp shut. "Told you it would go down easy," he chirped to Kazahan. Ready to go when you are."

[Kazahan]

"There are bandits on the road ahead," Kazahan said shortly. "A miner must have contacted them. We will make as if we are going to follow the road north to Dawnstar, and as soon as we pass the mountains, we will turn to the East and make as direct a course to the shrine as can be made."

He glanced back to the group, which unsubtly eyed them. Kazahan turned, and marched out of the miners' camp and onto the road.

"We wish to be off the road by sunrise," Kazahan said lowly, Stonehills slowly getting smaller behind them before it was lost in the thick forest of pine trees.

[Calloway Sharr]

Carpetbag slung across his back, beneath his cape, Calloway's saber and buckler were both within easy reach, if needed. Not that he expected to need them, or hoped to by any stretch of the imagination, but he would be ready. Pre-dawn trekking down the path was simple, and the ground solid and easy underfoot. But as the rosy fingers of dawn stretched through the trees ahead, Calloway followed his guide off of the main trail and into the brush and forest beyond, where the going was not so easy. Steep climbs, harsh rocks, or the occasional impenetrable thicket blocked their path, but despite his prissy appearance, the tailor made no complaint, and he did not lose ground behind Kazahan.

The occasional wildflower or herb found their way into the small satchel pouch on the tailor's hip as they went, including berries and weeds which had no honest purpose and were better known to the poisoner than the apothecary, while some flowers were picked simply because they were pretty.

One such bloom, a wild snow daisy, found its stem threaded through the buttonhole on Calloway's lapel, a fitting feature for his earth-toned attire, and he smiled brightly at the thought of an outfit completed. Such thoughts got him looking to his guide, and his smile faded. "Mr. Kazahan," he spoke in soft voice, "Are you warm enough, out here? We are heading into colder lands, still: is your attire sufficient to withstand such climate?"

[Kazahan]

"I have travelled through these lands in less," the mercenary grunted. "But the cold's teeth can bite through the warmest of clothing here."

The ground was beginning to be covered completely in snow, sloping noticeably to their right and before them as the mountains rose proudly into the sky.

"As long as we take shelter during the coldest hours of the night and have a well kept fire, the cold will only be uncomfortable."

[Calloway Sharr]

"If you're uncomfortable, you're not alert. And if you're not alert, you could well be in danger," Calloway quipped. "I would prefer it if my bodyguard were to remain alert, if it is all the same to you. In fact, stop."

To ensure that the larger Khajiit obeyed, Calloway quickened his pace and hop-stepped into Kazahan's path, a stern wall of impeccably-tailored attitude. From the moment he'd met Kazahan, the tailor had been eyeing his measurements, guessing as to his dimensions. He could have easily reached into his pack and pulled out some woolen jerkin approximately Kazahan's side, but if Kazahan was to be seen in Calloway's handiwork, the Imperial Khajiit would allow for no less than a perfect fit.

"Arms out," the tailor instructed. From his sleeve he produced a waxed fabric measuring tape, and set about taking quick, accurate measurements before Kazahan could truly complain. "Done. When we break for lunch, you'll have something proper to wear, under that armor. I clearly don't have time to tailor you a set of woolen hose to wear beneath your outer clothing, like I'm wearing, but it'll be better than what you've currently got. And more fetching, I'll say."

[Kazahan]

Kazahan's eye twitched again, which was becoming an unwelcome habit in the presence of the Imperialized Khajiit and his rather jarring logic. Since when did soldiers and fighters expect to be comfortable when out in the field? If mere discomfort distracted him, then he'd quite deservedly die at the hands of a more disciplined (or lucky) opponent.

"It is unnecessary," he said. "Khajiit will buy essentials with the pay from this errand."

If you do not get Khajiit killed first.

"Wasting time in this area will cause more problems than it will solve," Kazahan continued, digging in his travelling pack without looking. He tossed a small sealed horker-skin bag, like a flat lumpy pouch, to Calloway; a heavy meat odour permeated it. Within was at least a dozen strands of dried meat. "If you become hungry, eat that."

[Calloway Sharr]

"I'm talking about giving you something, not having to buy anything," Calloway snorted. His measuring tape was deftly tucked back into his cuff, vanishing as if by magic, while they walked. Small tricks such as that gave subtle clues as to the tailor's other life, but to the untrained eye they appeared as little more than the flashy showmanship of a salesman.

When the horker-skin bag of smoked and dried meat was thrown his way, Calloway thanked the Nine that he was wearing gloves. Nose wrinking even before he opened the bag, the Imperial Khajiit pulled a face of pure disgust and sealed the bag once more, extending it between his fingertips back to its owner. "No, thank you. I have my own food," he replied. "And mine is less apt to attract the nose of a troll, on these winds. Impressive as your build may be, I doubt even you could handle such a beast on your own, and I know I certainly could not. I've heard tell that some trolls like to ravage the bodies of their slain victims. I'd prefer that even less, if you don't mind."

[Kazahan]

Kazahan took the meat back and slipped a piece into his mouth, letting it sit there, eyeing Calloway.

"You exaggerate," he said. "Trolls only eat their victims."

[Calloway Sharr]

The brim of Calloway's hat flicked as he gave a snort of derision. "I'm only repeating what I've heard," he replied. "But as I find either outcome equally unpleasant, I think we ought to do whatever we can to avoid contact with trolls, in general."

The tailor did not need to look down as his left paw slipped back to pop open the clasp of his carpetbag, and his gloved paw tucked in momentarily, only to come out with an apple, and took a bite. "These are better for your breath, in any case."

[Kazahan]

"They left the road," Brun wiped his nose. "Least that's what the miner who followed 'em said."

Ferren sucked his teeth.

"Did the cats know we were here?" he asked. Brun shook his head.

"No way. They didn't even get close to our part of the road. Miner said one of 'em looked dangerous. Maybe he made a lucky guess. Figured one of 'em let us know?"

Brun watched as Ferren gripped his sword handle tightly. Things weren't going well for the new Bandit Chief. A string of missed opportunities and a spike of deaths among the company left the group largely discontented. Ferren had heard of the two Khajiit with a pavilion and bacon and eggs and bet a good amount of his standing in the group on them being a hit worth making.

"They'll be looking to hit the road south of the Giant Camp. That's not too far from us. Let's cut them off there."

***

"In either case you are dead beforehand. What does it matter what happens to your body after that?" Kazahan asked rhetorically. At least it seemed rhetorical, as he slowed down and stood taller, most of his attention taken by something to the North of them.

He then turned to look east south east.

"We must be careful," the mercenary said. "Giants to the north, and a ruined fort to the south east. As we are only two, such encounters are not to our advantage. We will weave our way between them."

The trees made way before them, cleared on either side of the narrow road that wound down to the south and around the mountains. Kazahan stepped out from the tree line and into the cold clear sunlight of day; it was not yet noon, and so there was no chance of hiding before a group of men and two women exited the forest just a dozen or so meters away to their left. Kazahan froze and stared as they caught sight of the two Khajiit, and stopped themselves.

"Run," Kazahan grunted, turning to the south and making his way down the road. "Run, now!"