Much like Thyra, Zainat refused the offered seat in the wagon, although for different reasons. No self-respecting Ashlander would be pulled by a horse, and despite the fact that Magnus was beating down upon him without mercy once they left the shade of the (to Zainat) strange and alien forest, he continued to walk, his heritage and the fact that he had spent the past few years within the Alik'r Desert building up tolerance to the sweltering heat aiding him greatly... Although he did cast a few envious looks at the few who chose to ride rather than walk. He took a quick sip from his waterskin, and then turned his mind towards his cover story.
"I am Sul-Matuul, exile of the Urshilaku tribe, working as an authentic Ashlander rug seller. A faithful worshiper of The Black Knight, come to visit the great Mosque of Ebonarm, as well as to sell prayer rugs in the market." He said silently, before shaking his head slightly. He could almost hear his ancestors crying out in sadness at that statement, and he rubbed the back of his neck, thinking.
"No. Sul-Matuul is my ancestor. I will not dishonor his legacy by stealing his name and claiming to be an exile. He turned his mind towards the legends of his tribe, remembering the names of the ancient heroes. Alandro Sul, who was shield-companion of Nerevar during the War of the First Council, and a child of Azura herself. He chucked slightly, shaking his head.
"The dwemer would know that name. I need something inconspicious, like... Pilun... Yahaz." He smiled, already putting the finishing touches upon his cover story. He strode over to the Redguard, Rashad, and quickly brought up the last minute changes to his cover-story... Only to be shot down. There was no time to change his cover story, he was told, and if it were to be changed, it would be so sloppy that the gate-guards would know it was a lie almost instantly.
Disappointed, Zainat slunk back to his spot just behind the wagon, and looked down at his clothes. Instead of a breastplate, he was wearing a Thawb made from white linen, and over that a a Bisht, and the craftsman who made it had obviously put a bit of time into making it. It was plain looking, but extremely comfortable, and very easy to maneuver in. Instead of the boots he normally wore, he was forced to wear the chappal, the bastard lovechild of a pair of shoes and a pair of sandals. Apparently followers of Ebonarm wore these as they are easier to remove when entering into a Mosque, but Zainat found the entire notion of removing one's clothes while praying to be insipid. Azura, Boetheia and Mephala did not demand that one removed one's clothes while praying, and anyone who did anything else was a damn N'Wah. Instead of his gauntlets, he wore a simple pair of linen gloves. As he was posing as a follower of Ebonarm, he would not be able to make physical contact with a woman unless through a barrier such as this. Again, this was only something that a S'wit would come up with. However, there was one peice of clothing he did not mind wearing, the Taqiyah, a type of skull cap that followers of Ebonarm tended to wear, and over that, a plain, purple silk Keffiyeh that covered much of his face.
"This is the one thing I don't hate... It would be useful in an Ashstorm as well as a Sandstorm." He muttered to himself in Dunmeris as he continued to trek alongside the wagon.
He had originally intended to wear his Chitin armor into the city, claiming that no one would look twice at an Ashlander with Chitin armor, but it was quickly pointed out that that was only the case in places that Ashlanders were known to be common in, and that wearing that armor would only serve to bring attention to him and his companions... Or, friends, as he was beginning to think of them. Especially since he was supposed to be a merchant. He had reluctantly agreed... And began stripping the chitin plates off the armor, leaving it in its base form: Netch Leather armor. Every single piece of Chitin armor was, truthfully, a suit of boiled Netch leather with Chitin Plates strategically placed so that it would provide extra protection. Even his helm was essentially a boiled Netch Leather helm that had a chitin plate attached to the it. Almost immediately as he had began his work, a fellow Dunmer had approached him and explained that, while the Netch Leather would certainly blend in much better than his chitin armor, anyone who touched it would know otherwise. Netch leather was filled with nematocysts containing the (thankfully) domesticated poisons that permeated the netch's venomous flesh, and even the slightest touch would cause the skin that touched the leather throb, albeit barely perceptibly. It was not a painful sensation, but a pleasantly energizing one, but it would definitely cause unwanted attention if someone touched it.
While those points were all very valid, Zainat deeply missed his armor, and truly felt naked without it. Thankfully, however, his weapons were much easier to smuggle in with him... Mostly because of their weight. He had hidden his chitin bow, along with his arrows, inside the many rolled up prayer rugs that he had been given by various followers of Ebonarm within the camp who happened to have more than one. His shortsword was -much- easier to hide within his Thawb, so that while he appeared to be some defenseless rug-trader, he was anything but. He knew that his skills in sneaking would make it much easier to conceal the blade from any Dwemer who intended on checking if he had weapons on him.
As they neared the city, Zainat climbed into the wagon, taking Thyra's place. After all, he was just a rug trader, here to sell his wares at the Bazaar, not a warrior trained to kill. He had to keep up his appearances, and no merchant would walk while his wares were stacked within a wagon. Better to keep an eye on his rugs than allow someone to steal them.
-- Helgathe, The Marketplace, 16 Rain's Hand --
"I want one hundred Drakes for that." Zainat said to a young, surprisingly light skinned Redguard who had obviously came to the city so as to make his Hajj. He hated this buying game with a passion, yet was forced to play it so as to not loose his cover. He had rented out a stall in the market, and had set up his wares so that if any Dwemer came asking questions, he could truthfully tell them he had been selling prayer rugs. He would much rather be brousing the market stalls, especially the famed spice section. Even growing in a isolated Ashlander tribe, he had heard tales told of the Grand Market of Helgathe from the occasional House Dunmer who traveled through the Ash Wastes to take counsil from the Wise Woman of his tribe
"One hundred Drakes!? You must be majnoon!" The Redguard exclaimed, and although Zainat had no idea what the word 'Majnoon' meant, he figured it had to do with insanity, or something like that.
"Do you know how much time it took to make that? Let alone the time it took to bring it all the way from Morrowind? That isn't even counting the price it took to ship!" He responded, acting defensively. Please just pay the hundred drakes and go away. Zainat thought, however, wanting to end this as quickly as possible. Still, the proper forms must be respected, and he silently poured the man a cup of coffee, something he had seen the merchants of Morowind do many times while they haggled with customers.
"You are crazy, Dunmer. I will pay you twenty septims." The man responded, scowling at Zainat.
"Twenty!? I have a starving family that I must feed! I could not go lower than sixty septims."
"Thirty."
"Fifty."
"Fourty."
Please kill me, Azura. He silently prayed, before speaking once more. "I cannot not go lower than fifty septims! If people heard how badly you took advantage of me..." He trailed off, waiting for the Redguard to respond.
"Fourty five. I'll not pay more." The Redguard said at length, emptying the cup Zainat had poured for him.
"Deal." Zainat said, a bit too suddenly as the Redguard counted out fourty five septims, while Zainat handed the prayer rug the young man had bought to him. "Ma'a As-Salaama." Zainat said as the man turned to leave. He knew a few words in the Redguard language of Yoku, and knew that it was a polite thing to say when someone is leaving.
Zainat sat back in his chair, and sighed, looking around the Bazaar with envy. "I'd give anything to be able to browse these stalls..." He said in Dunmeris, rubbing the back of his neck. "Never got to come here before the Dwemer came." He continued to scan the marketplace with his Ruby orbs, until they settled on a familiar figure only three stalls away from him. Thyra. He whistled sharply, and then waved at the Nord woman, hoping that Thyra would be able to ease the boredom of working as a merchant.