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Thread: A Cat and His Girl (Tana/Kazahan Moments)

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    SkyClosed A Cat and His Girl (Tana/Kazahan Moments)

    The Rift was not one of Kazahan's usual haunts in Skyrim. Trolls and bears were plentiful in the forests, especially closer to the sloping white sides of the mountains where snow fell soft and silent and slow enough to make one think the flakes were suspended on little strings. In addition to the wildlife, the Jarl and her people were staunchly supportive of Ulfric and his Stormcloaks; Khajiit were not looked upon with anything less than suspicion. They were little more than Thalmor spies or agents. In nearly every city in Skyrim Kazahan was barred entry unless he had business with someone already inside and the paperwork to show for it, and he knew he would have to send in Tana to buy supplies if a caravan was not nearby, if only to save himself the trouble of having prices hiked and goods withheld from him.

    Tana Little-Bear was enthusiastic and young; two things that did not endear her to the thirty year old Khajiit. She needed experience and knowledge before she could be useful. Innocence was a flaw.

    "Before Khajiit will send you into a city with my gold, especially one with a reputation like Riften," Kazahan said lowly to the Nord girl, "you will learn the value of the most important items to travellers: food, potions, and metal worked items. Nothing else."

    Ahkari watched them with muted interest and amusement, and nodded to Kazahan as he sat across from the Caravan leader.

    "It has been some moons since Khajiit has laid eyes upon you, Kazahan," she said. "Not nearly enough time for you to become a father of so old a child, especially one without a tail."

    "Of course she is not my child," Kazahan hissed, cutting off Ahkari. "But as long as she is with me, I will make her useful. She has her own vengeance, and in return I will make her able to visit it upon whatever unlucky soldiers or mercenaries have so stirred her ire. But she has no real skills. So now she will learn how to buy and sell things."

    "One of the most crucial of skills is to estimate value," Ahkari nodded, and turned to look at the girl. "How much will you pay Khajiit for this time and lesson?"

    Kazahan snorted.

    "How much gold could you have fleeced from such a child? And certainly you could not have done so to me."

    Ahkari glanced over to Kazahan, who pushed over a thick Saber Cat pelt, folded over. Within was an assortment of objects and potions to be sold. The Caravan leaders eyes once more took in Tana.

    "Speak, child. Kazahan will not speak for you."

  2. #2
    Tana Little-Bear didn't pout, but she certainly did look crossways to Kazahan with a well-practiced scowl. Her short time with him had been hard, and she was beginning to take on certain habits and behaviors that her much older caretaker demonstrated on a daily basis. She certainly didn't hate him, even if there had been a few instances that she'd voiced the sentiment in the heat of some form of admonishment from him. Her words were normally ignored, and it was usually not a very long time before she grudgingly admitted that no, she did not hate him.

    Now though, as she turned her sour disposition to Ahkari.

    "I know that," she snapped out of instinct.

    A deep breath, but her guard was still up, and her next words nearly accusatory.

    "How do I know that your lessons are worth anything."

  3. #3
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    "I would not have brought you to her if she was worthless," Kazahan said, but there was a slight tone of amusement in his usually humourless voice.

    "She has your cutting tongue, Kazahan," Ahkari said, annoyance flitting over her ears. She kept her eyes on Tana though. "Allow me to show you why he brought you to me."

    She flipped open the sabercat pelt and looked down at the assortment of goods.

    "If you want to make real money, you should sell food. Fresh food, travelling food, any sort of food. All people are your captive audience then," the Caravan leader said, picking up and eyeing an orcish war axe. She looked up at Kazahan, who returned her gaze lazily.

    "I will give you five gold pieces for this," she said. Kazahan snorted.

    "Ridiculous. It is an Orc weapon. Well balanced, not dull. You would charge me well over one hundred gold pieces for such a thing. Fifty."

    "That's almost half it's value, Kazahan. No no no. Fifteen."

    "This one can drop to thirty."

    "Make it twenty five and we will agree."

    Ahkari counted out twenty five gold pieces and Kazahan handed over the war axe. With the axe in hand, Ahkari turned to look at Tana.

    "How much would you charge for this weapon, girl?"

  4. #4
    "Seventy five."

    Her arms crossed over her chest as punctuation to her answer.

    "It wasn't easy getting that thing, and I'd charge for the effort in getting it on top of what it's worth on its' own."

    Tana pursed her lips, giving a little bit more thought.

    "I would also have taken fifty, and two healing potions, though."

    The girl gave a scrutinizing look to Ahkari then. It was not a look of prejudice or distrust, but more a look of a studious nature. She watched and tried to learn from facial expressions. A sniff, and the girl nodded to herself.

    Yes, she was satisfied with her answer.

  5. #5
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    "There are three problems with the price you are asking," Ahkari said. "First, you assume that your effort directly effects the price of your wares. Time and effort only effect value when a service is ongoing. Protection and magic are the most expensive. If Khajiit had asked you to retrieve certain items, then you can charge for time and effort. But if you come to sell and trade, an item's value is linked only to the value others will place in its usefulness. A waraxe, for example."

    The Khajiit lifted the weapon.

    "There are many weapons like this. That diminishes its value. It is Orc made, which increases its value. It is used, which diminishes its value. It is in good condition, which increases its value." Ahkari set the axe down. "Who will buy it? How big is that market? How much are they willing to spend? How long will this one need to hold on to this before it is sold? I ask myself these questions. I must pay and feed and water the others in the caravan, I must pay for other merchandise, and often this one must bribe guards to set up nearer to the city. I must pay Ri'saad for the money he has loaned me to start this caravan. Buying goods at so close to actual value will leave me without a single coin. And this is a business. At the end of the day, I must have coin left over, or for what purpose am I running this venture?"

    She fixed Tana with an inscrutable slit eye.

    "One should know, and do not share this information or the caravans upon learning of it will never do business with you again, that merchants will usually not go above a third of the item's value. Sell your wares with this in mind: if an item is valued at thirty septims, this one will sell it for thirty five and buy it for no more than ten."

  6. #6
    She would never dream of divulging the information that Ahkari offered, but it would be silly to voice that fact. Instead, she let only a simple nod drive home the point.

    Still though, Tana couldn't help but try to claw for as many credits as she could, and biting her lower lip, the girl made a face.

    "I shall find an amulet of Zenithar, then. And people will pay what I want them to."

  7. #7
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    There was a swift beat of silence where Ahkari said nothing but just looked at the girl wryly, but her retort was lost by Kazahan starting to laugh. At first it was just a few huffs through his nose, but within moments he was full on laughing and slapping his knee.

    "Amulet of Zenithar!" he gasped in Ahkari's direction. She narrowed her eyes at him.

    "I wish you luck, girl," Ahkari gritted out underneath Kazahan's laughter. "They are rare and hard to find unless perhaps the gods favour you. But perhaps they do."

    The merchant leaned forward.

    "Khajiit does not remember ever hearing Kazahan laugh. Have him tell you the story sometime. But this one's pride can only take so much right now and he will not quiet. The lesson is over."

  8. #8
    At that, Tana rocked back on her heels a bit, looking questioningly to Kazahan.

    "I don't get what's so funny about it," she finally grumped, her eyes narrowing.

  9. #9
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    "No," Kazahan gasped as his laughter finally died down. "You would not."

    He didn't explain any further, shaking his head and standing up.

    "If the lesson is over, then let us stop wasting time, yes? The shop keepers await you."

  10. #10
    Her first day in the marketplace hadn't been bad, but it hadn't been great either. Her haggling skills were less than impressive, but Tana found a slight edge in making herself seem just a little bit more pitiable than she really was. A few 'inconsequential' sniffs, a slight bite to her lip in some cases, and she was able to at least talk a few people down by a septim or two. Not much, but it was a start. Her wanderings through the city weren't in any way limited to the market, and she found herself meandering around the docks for a short while, watching as the fishermen went about sorting their daily catch.

    An hour later found her passing through the small cemetery, behind the Jarl's longhouse, and even into the company of a few of the city guards. One of them, a woman, told her some stories. Nothing long, but they were interesting all the same. The other, a great big burly man, was leaning against the stone wall, his helmet off and resting in the crook of his arm as he bit into a sweetroll. He chewed, swallowed, then pinched off a small portion before handing it down to her.

    "You look like my little one," was the simple explanation for his unexpected generosity.

    "Oh."

    But she accepted the gift none-the-less, and it had been a long time since she'd last had a sweetroll.

    The woman only smiled as she knelt down.

    "Well, don't stay out too late, girl. When it starts gettin' dark, it's best to be home."


    And as the evening sun dipped low in the sky, the girl took the woman's words to heart, passing through the city gates once more and out to the small encampment of Khajiit. She could already see Kazahan, sitting at a small fire, two small silverfish and a bit of venison roasting on a makeshift spit.

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    Somewhere near the Haafingar/Reach border

    Sometimes life was humorous.

    An orc-maiden, barely five years older than the Girl, challenging him to single combat, for instance.

    'I will die before going back to Larak!' She'd said, drawing her sword, ignoring her male companion's dying wheezes while his blood stained the stones of the road.


    "You are too slow," he grunted to the prisoner, nudging her ungently with the hilt of his sword. She snorted even as she tripped and barely kept her feet. "We will arrive at Mor Khazgur either way. Dragging your feet will not save you."

    "They will take me, but not allow you entrance to the stronghold," she said. Kazahan hummed.

    "If that is true, then this one will simply take you elsewhere and free you. Or kill you. Khajiit has not decided yet. Which would you prefer?"

    Morag the orcess looked at him with no small amount of fear. She glanced down at the little Nord girl who seemed to be the Khajiit's companion.

    "Is... is he serious?" she asked.

    The day was bright and shining, and Kazahan and Tana were on their way to return an Orc who'd thought to escape her lot in life.

  12. #12
    She'd walked in silence during a majority of their trek, her thoughts far away and very much not on the prisoner that Kazahan intended to return to her fate. Only when the Orc woman addressed her did Tana blink, finally looking up and over to meet dark, fearful eyes. Musings over where they would be headed to next vanished in a split second, and with a grumbled curse, the girl eventually let out a muttered prayer to Talos beneath her breath, asking for patience.

    "He's always serious," came her answer after a long moment of locked eyes.

    Blue gaze narrowing, Tana Little-Bear frowned as she looked from the Orc to Kazahan.

    "I bet we'll get at least enough septims to buy more potions," a thought, "... or at least some ingredients to make our own."

    Of all the things that her Khajiit mentor had taken upon himself to teach her, perhaps the strangest thing that she'd found a keen interest in was potions, and the myriad of ingredients that could be combined to concoct such magical elixirs.

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    Morag glanced between the two of them and frowned.

    "It figures," she spat to the side. "Listen, maybe we can make a deal."

    Kazahan ignored the young orc. Instead, he focused on the Girl.

    "Are we already low on supplies?" he asked. The Girl was already his superior in alchemy; though to be fair his interest waned beyond simple healing elixirs and potions that loosened traders' pouchstrings.

    Morag fumed.

    "Listen, I can —" Kazahan shoved her forward with the hilt of his sword once more.

    "Quiet, or perhaps you may not make it back to the stronghold alive."

  14. #14
    For now, she ignored the Orc's protestations and Kazahan's dutifully rough treatment. Instead she focused on the running tally that she was putting together in her head.

    "Well, a few of the healing potions were used the other day after we ran into those frost spiders... " An involuntary shiver at the memory. Frost spiders were the more terrifying creatures to find in Skyrim; not because of the danger, but... well, they were spiders. Big spiders.

    "And I used the last of the defense potions when that pack of thieves tried to rob us."

    There were other things that she wanted as well, like a cup of milk and maybe even a pheasant thigh if she could scrounge up enough coin.

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    "How could you not tell where or even when they were going to spit?" the Khajiit asked crossly. "They are spiders. Not subtle creatures. Usually."

    Morag grumbled to herself about it being ironic that he was criticizing another's lack of subtlety. Kazahan prodded her again.

    "But if we need the supplies then this one will not kill the bargaining chip."

  16. #16
    She wanted to retort, but bit her tongue at the last moment. It would do no one any good, especially since it was in the past. Course, still didn't make frostspiders any less creepy and nerve-wracking to face.

    "I'll be happy with anything," she sighed while kicking a rock down the road. A thought, and she looked back up to Kazahan.

    "Maybe I can try some of that Honningbrew mead, finally?"

  17. #17
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    "If it does not waste any gold, you may drink your fill," Kazahan answered in his usual short tone. He seemed ready to continue, but a glint of sunlight off metal in the distance caught his eyes. His pace slowed; his hand loosened the two-handed sword in its sheath on his lower back. Tana perked up, noticing his tension, but he ignored her, waiting for the distance to shorten.

    But that glint held a tint to it.

    A minute passed. The towering Khajiit growled, and his left hand gripped the Orc girl by the back of her neck. She cursed and spat, but he kept his attention ahead.

    "Girl," he grunted. "To this side of the road. Say nothing. Look at nothing."

    The glinting was now apparent to all three of them.

    Thalmor.

  18. #18
    Of course the call to look at nothing was met with wide eyes cast ahead, trying to pick out the glinting in the distance. She at least obeyed, moving to the side of that Kazahan gestured to, but curiosity held powerful sway over the young, and Tana answered its' siren call without thought.

    It was when the small group came into full view that she let out a gasp, one hand falling to the pommel of her steel dagger. She didn't draw, but the knuckles of her fist turned white with the force of her grip.

    For a few moments she wondered if these particular Thalmor were responsible for the deaths of her parents; the odds were high that they were not, but still. One Thalmor was just like the rest; haughty, evil, and good for nothing but pushing up purple mountain flowers. She recognized the robes of one, a judiciar no doubt. She'd seen enough of those sort to know one when she saw one. The other two wore the gleaming golden armor of soldiers. There was no doubt that one or all three of them knew magic.

    A fourth person caught her attentions then, in much more shabby state than his escort. He was ragged, and wore almost nothing save for torn trousers and a stained shirt. His hands were bound before him, his head bowed. Shaggy blonde locks told her that he was Nord. Stormcloak, if she had to guess. Who else would a group of Thalmor be dragging about?

    "They've a prisoner," she hissed without thinking.

  19. #19
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    "They do. And you will say nothing."

    Kazahan's grip did not lessen on the Orc girl, even as the Thalmor tromped up the road to them. A mage walked at the head of the line, his robes slightly dirtied. His eyes quickly took stock of the three travelers before him: the Nord, the Orc, and the Khajiit, and his expression smoothed into a professionally superior expression.

    "Move to the side of the road, and do not make any movements," he said with a loud and clear voice. "We will not hesitate to end you. If you wish to die, go ahead and try us."

    "We are already to the side of the road," Kazahan replied, his voice deeper and seeming to grind rocks into dust with its tones. The mage frowned and looked at the towering Khajiit more closely.

    "Do I know you?" the High Elf asked, more himself than Kazahan.

    "No," Kazahan answered anyway. "You do not."

    The Elf frowned but straightened. "If you find any worshippers of that pretender, Talos, you will remember to tell them the Thalmor are coming for them."

    "Of course," Kazahan said, his voice betraying nothing.

  20. #20
    Tana bristled at that, but by the graces kept her features from screwing into a look of hate. Rather, the girl bit her lip as she let her brow knit in frustration, and shifting on her feet, looked from the Thalmor to Kazahan, then back to the Thalmor. Instinct trickled through though, married to a deepset caution and a small bit of fear as she sidled closer to the Khajiit and very nearly leaning against him.

    But then her gaze shifted, to the prisoner. He was haggard, the rags he wore as clothes offering a paltry amount of protection from the elements. He had a scruff, the beginnings of a beard that she could already tell would be streaked with grey, much like the wild mane atop his head. His ice-blue eyes never left the ground, and the fingers of his hands were clenched into fists despite the shackles he wore. But it was his features that made her look twice. The way the scar cut along his cheek... that prominent, wide nose...

    And without thought, Tana let out a gasp.

    "Skjor... ?"

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