Kuzarath sighed in frustration as his brother once again ran off. He wore simple light steel armor, which he shined daily and buffed so it looked brand new, and his fur was softened down, grey with a solid white line down his head, neck, and back. He and his brother were the only Khajiit left out of a family of five.
His brother ran back, out of breath. "Kuza, look what I found!" he held up a small coin purse, obvious dropped along the road, "Lussk, what have I told you about running off?" Kuzarath was less than pleased, and his dark hissing voice showed it.
Lussk was Kuzarath's younger brother. He wore steel plated armor which was dusty and dented, but Lussk did not mind. Lussk's fur bristled up and was solid white, but for the red streaks of fur down his arms. To show this birthmark, Lussk had shortened the sleeves of his armor to show off his muscled arms.
Lussk had always wanted to be an accomplished warrior, and this goal often caused him to make thoughtless decisions. They turned out well, but Kuzarath swore they would be the end of him some day. Kuzarath, meanwhile, relied on planning and execution to get through situations. His main goal was to eventually find a peaceful home and settle down, maybe join a tavern as a Bard. He loved his lute and played at night when they would camp.
"Lussk, it is almost dark. Let us go find a place to rest." Kuzarath was tired from his brother's adventuring, and he never liked to be out on the road at night. "There's a hold nearby, Whiterun." Lussk was consulting a map he had on his person. "Good, let's go already!"