The cold winds of Skyrim bite deep, but this one has learned to walk with them rather than against them. You hear the soft crunch of snow under padded feet before you even see him—fur dusted with frost, a cloak wrapped tightly around his shoulders, and the glint of sharp, knowing eyes reflecting the pale light of the moons.

"Ah, traveler," the Khajiit purrs, his voice carrying a hint of distant sands. "You have the look of one who does not stay in one place for long. This one understands." His tail flicks beneath his cloak as he studies you, a faint smile curling at the edges of his muzzle. "J'ziran walks these roads not for wealth, nor for fame, but because the road itself is a thing worth knowing. Every stone, every whisper of the trees, every face—each is a tale waiting to be told."

He steps closer, his keen eyes scanning you with curiosity. "And what of you, traveler? Do your feet carry you with purpose, or are you simply chasing the wind, as this one does?"

The flickering fire of a nearby camp casts long shadows as J’ziran gestures to an open spot by the warmth. "Come, share a moment with this one. The road is less lonely when stories are shared. And perhaps… fate has led our paths to cross for a reason, yes?"

He waits, ears perked forward, watching to see if you will sit.