Stenvar looked up from his meal to find a tall, gray Khajiit at his side, eying him coldly. Just the flash of his eyes made the Nord hireling a little uncomfortable, but he knew better than to let something like that stop him from making money.
“You looking for a bit of help? 500 septims, and I'll watch your back as long as you need me to,” he advertised with a light smile. The adventurer merely shrugged, rooting around in a pocket for the necessary coin.
“Hm. Bhaskara has been working hard these days. Having somebody to lighten the work would not be worthless,” he said firmly, rattling the coins in his hand before handing them over. “You will follow Bhaskara's orders to the letter?”
“Sure,” Stenvar said, standing and following the Khajiit as they braced the cold of Windhelm once again. He still found the Khajiit way of speaking a little strange, but he had picked up quickly that Bhaskara wasn't one to refer to himself as 'I'. The caravan workers he had met that one time had been like that as well. But those Khajiit had been a lot...friendlier than this one. The moment they had made it through the gates, he had turned away and began walking quickly, to the point where the hireling almost had to jog to keep up.
“Where are we heading?” he asked, just a tiny bit awkwardly.
“Bhaskara was promised gold if he was to venture into a cave and find a certain staff. Bandits will be inside, as usual,” Bhaskara informed him, his tone strictly professional. It wasn't anything Stenvar wasn't used to-- sometimes, adventurers just wanted to get the work done, make the coin, and get themselves fed, so it didn't bother him much at first.
At first.
As they walked onwards, he still tried to make a bit of conversation. Each question was answered shortly and with an irritated look over his shoulder, until the Nord settled for falling silent and keeping a few steps behind. Even then, Bhaskara looked over his shoulder again, finally opting for the jab he knew would anger the man most.
“This one has gotten quiet, hm? Surprising. Nords are stubborn fools, do not know when to quit.”
He knew from experience how proud the natives of Skyrim were of their heritage. Sure enough, Stenvar's face had grown darker, and the Khajiit looked back to the road, smirking to himself. Behind him, the hireling trudged along, arms crossed and glaring at his employer's back.
Self-assured, conniving bastard! he thought, infuriated. For everything he had been forced to tolerate over his years as a sellsword, the one thing he couldn't tolerate was an insult of his race as a whole. And from a Khajiit?!
He needed the money, he reminded himself. Truly, living in Candlehearth Hall was a pain, and he'd love to finally have his own home, but he wasn't quite rich enough yet. So, if dealing with a racist pest of an employer was the only way to get himself on that road, it would have to do.
"Warmness From Your Presence" 1/?
Stenvar looked up from his meal to find a tall, gray Khajiit at his side, eying him coldly. Just the flash of his eyes made the Nord hireling a little uncomfortable, but he knew better than to let something like that stop him from making money.
“You looking for a bit of help? 500 septims, and I'll watch your back as long as you need me to,” he advertised with a light smile. The adventurer merely shrugged, rooting around in a pocket for the necessary coin.
“Hm. Bhaskara has been working hard these days. Having somebody to lighten the work would not be worthless,” he said firmly, rattling the coins in his hand before handing them over. “You will follow Bhaskara's orders to the letter?”
“Sure,” Stenvar said, standing and following the Khajiit as they braced the cold of Windhelm once again. He still found the Khajiit way of speaking a little strange, but he had picked up quickly that Bhaskara wasn't one to refer to himself as 'I'. The caravan workers he had met that one time had been like that as well. But those Khajiit had been a lot...friendlier than this one. The moment they had made it through the gates, he had turned away and began walking quickly, to the point where the hireling almost had to jog to keep up.
“Where are we heading?” he asked, just a tiny bit awkwardly.
“Bhaskara was promised gold if he was to venture into a cave and find a certain staff. Bandits will be inside, as usual,” Bhaskara informed him, his tone strictly professional. It wasn't anything Stenvar wasn't used to-- sometimes, adventurers just wanted to get the work done, make the coin, and get themselves fed, so it didn't bother him much at first.
At first.
As they walked onwards, he still tried to make a bit of conversation. Each question was answered shortly and with an irritated look over his shoulder, until the Nord settled for falling silent and keeping a few steps behind. Even then, Bhaskara looked over his shoulder again, finally opting for the jab he knew would anger the man most.
“This one has gotten quiet, hm? Surprising. Nords are stubborn fools, do not know when to quit.”
He knew from experience how proud the natives of Skyrim were of their heritage. Sure enough, Stenvar's face had grown darker, and the Khajiit looked back to the road, smirking to himself. Behind him, the hireling trudged along, arms crossed and glaring at his employer's back.
Self-assured, conniving bastard! he thought, infuriated. For everything he had been forced to tolerate over his years as a sellsword, the one thing he couldn't tolerate was an insult of his race as a whole. And from a Khajiit?!
He needed the money, he reminded himself. Truly, living in Candlehearth Hall was a pain, and he'd love to finally have his own home, but he wasn't quite rich enough yet. So, if dealing with a racist pest of an employer was the only way to get himself on that road, it would have to do.
It didn't mean he was going to enjoy it.