The herbs in Jintaru’s pipe crackled as he took another long pull. He paused, letting the aromatic mixture circulate around his mouth before snatching a breath in and letting the smoke fill his lungs once more. Tilting his head skyward, he allowed the smoke to soar upwards in a column above his head. Nomi was everything he loathed about mortals, regardless of race, he was crass, arrogant, untrustworthy and selfish. He knew the years had changed him, more so since Chahatsu’s death, but he had never been able to hate the man. Despite the flaws that stood as obvious to him as the man sitting in front of him now. Why could he not hate him? He knew he should.

[color=orangered]“You call them imbeciles yet every one of them saved your life on more than one occasion, you demean them yet they were instrumental in keeping you, me and themselves alive?” [/color]He stared at Nomi. Why could he not hate him? [color=orangered]“You deny your need for them even now…without them you wouldn’t be here to make such snide, obnoxious comments. Neither of us would.”[/color]

He glanced as the serving girl vanished back into the tavern. He couldn’t help feeling like she was truly earning her wages today. Jintaru had been here before but he could not help but feel like she had not bargained on such an atmosphere as was there today. He tapped the pipe on the side of the table top and let the embers of the herbs fall onto the ground. He immediately withdrew the pouch again and repacked the bowl. He didn’t light it immediately, instead choosing to leave it sitting in front of his cup.

[color=orangered]“There is no challenge with Ornestoro. Did you know that in every conquest recorded in recent D’ol Dathri history, no paenetiri has ever been tortured? People know that they do not talk, unless they want to. They are spared the barbarism of that due to futility. I speak of a ‘way in’ because there is no force on this earth that would make him meet with you otherwise.”[/color]

Jintaru saw the look of enjoyment on Nomi’s face and knew it was regarding the man with the dagger who had since discarded his fleeting ambition for violence and acclaim. Nomi always liked displaying power, even passively. Whilst he didn’t acknowledge the blind man’s comment about being rusty, it sank in. Jintaru was neither modest nor a showman and he wasn’t a fool either. He knew his own abilities and he knew that, should the man with the dagger drawn his weapon, he could have put an arrow in his neck before the man’s blade saw sunlight. But he also knew that it would be remiss of him to ever underestimate his silver-haired companion. He had seen men lose their lives before for that oversight. He couldn’t or wouldn’t accept at the time, the amount of enjoyment he gained from seeing his words finally alter the painted grin on Nomi’s face when he spoke of his dealings with Ornestoro. It was childish but it amused him.

[color=orangered]“You say sell-sword like the words leave a bitter taste on your tongue, old friend…”[/color] He emphasised the words, he wanted Nomi to know they were not meant. [color=orangered]“Perhaps a little more sake would help you digest them a little easier. Loyalty dragged me to Rikkimaru’s side whilst my wife was murdered in our home, the honour I taught my son cost him his life whilst I was away fighting alongside you and those ‘imbeciles’, as you call them. These things are ephemeral, they mean nothing.”[/color] He was conscious not to awaken a finally hushed atmosphere so he spoke in whispered staccato. [color=orangered]“These things cause good men to die slow deaths at the hands of bastards. The man you once knew? He no longer exists. His tears and blood turned his son’s ashes to ink in the dust, he allowed the flames of his funeral pyre to scorch his skin, burn away his past life and his family name. Jintaru ‘Jin’ Long is dead. I am simply, Jintaru.”[/color]

After striking the flint across the top of his pipe again, he drew deep, coaxing the herbs into smouldering once again. Pipe clasped between his teeth he picked up the cup of sake. Trading one for the other, he drained the cup and put it back on the table. After Nomi returned the scroll fragment to his satchel beneath the table, Jintaru exhaled a lungful of smoke. He watched the veins beneath Nomi’s skin react to the parchment, like his blood became charred. He revisited the question of why his former comrade was unarmed. He found himself concerned about the answer.

[color=orangered]“So you’ve spent the last five years in one of the largest orcish kingdoms, rooting around in caves for a fragment of a scroll? Why? And don’t insult me by pretending it is some idle curiosity.”[/color]

He was no longer interested in the sake but drew heavily, almost reflexively on the pipe between his teeth. Each question he asked himself seemed to multiply itself, asking more and more questions. All Nomi’s talk of fate and ‘having to be here’ annoyed him and made him wonder if this had all be orchestrated by the blind man in order to involve him in something in which he wold otherwise not have been interested, or even would have stood against. He had to focus on an answer he could reach.

[color=orangered]“Ornestoro would know what this is and would be able to tell you your ‘next direction. But without me, he will not meet with you. Certainly won’t speak with you. This is not the usual thing for which I contact the man.”[/color]

Jintaru smiled to himself. He had been foolish.

[color=orangered]“This is why you waited until after I sent the boy to show me this. You let me make contact with him.”[/color]