A blue sky stretched as far as the eye could see, disappearing behind snow topped mountains in one direction and vanishing through the leaves of a dense forest in the other. A handful of clouds, light and fluffy, danced in the wind as the warm summer breeze blew throughout the land. It was peaceful right now, as it should be. Farmers tended to their fields nearby alongside a large dirt road that emerged from the forests and spread out all the way towards the city gates in the opposite direction. The main city was built up in the mountains, a large pagoda-style palace built into the very cliff faces. That was where the royalty lived, no doubt. A large mass of houses and shops made up the second distract where the middle classes lived. Their homes were also of oriental design, with sloping, tiled roofs. This was surrounded by a great wall made of stone that wrapped itself around the base of the mountains, protecting the town from the front while the mountain itself protected the rear. Guards could regularly be seen patrolling the top of the wall. Spread out far and wide across the grassy plains surrounding the mountain were farms that grew crops, wheat and animals. It was very productive and everyone seemed happy with their lives as each day started and ended.

Far down the dirt road however, there was a small roadside tavern where pedlars and visitors to the city would often stop and rest their weary feet. It was a nice little place, mostly made of wood but offered rare luxuries that other taverns and inns did not possess. A perk of being the last place in and first place out of the city no doubt. They had fine foods and fine drinks for sale at reasonable prices too. It was a surprise to see that they hadn't been ransacked by thieves. The bottom floor of the tavern was the inn, where the food and drinks were sold. A wooden staircase to the left of the main entrance lead upwards to the bedrooms. There were about ten in total, decked out with large beds and silk sheets. It was very lush. Not the kind of thing for a certain man though, whom sat outside at one of the tables, drinking appeared to be some type of alcohol from a small white cup. The bottle itself sat upon the table in front of him. What was odd about this fellow, was how he managed to pour himself a glass of his drink without spilling a drop. What's odd about this you ask? Well, the thick black with red trim blindfold that covered his eyes would make pouring a drink for anyone pretty difficult.

He looked about thirty years of age. Long grey hair, tied back of sorts by his blindfold, reached down to his lower back. His face was thin, but had a strong chin and cheek bones. A small grey beard was neatly trimmed under his bottom lip. Under the blindfold, a large scar ran down across the man's eyes, which would answer why he wore it in the first place. His torso was of an athletic build, thin but tonned. His arms were strong with muscle clear to see. A tight dark red sleeveless shirt was worn on his torso, revealing more scars that dotted his shoulders, upper and lower arms. The scars were both clean as if made by a blade and torn as if made by the claws of a beast. Donning his legs were a pair of loose-fitting black pants. Two overlapping diamonds were sewn into the outside of either leg, the same colour as his shirt. Knee high boots, armoured out of blackened steel were covering his feet and lower legs. The same overlapping diamond design was painted onto them. Gauntlets matching his boots protected the backs of his hands and wrists, leaving his fingers bare to the elements. A large brown belt was tied about his waist that had a cloth surcoat falling down before his groin, which too donned the double overlapping diamond design.

The soft chirping of birds came from one of the nearby trees and the sound was delightful, as the silver-haired man once more took hold of his bottle of alcohol and poured himself a drink as easily as any man could. A wooden clunk came from the table as the bottle was placed down, a soft 'plish' coming from within that indicated that the vessel was nearly empty. The silver-haired stranger tilted his head at the sound, directing his right ear towards the table where his expression turned to one of surprise.
”Hm... Didn't think I got through it that quickly...”
He muttered to himself. His voice was young and calm, befitting that of any thirty-year old. A soft patting down of himself eventually lead to a soft jingle of coin as he pulled a purse from out of his belt. Giving it a subtle wiggle, the silver-haired man pondered for just a second, tilting his head away from his drink to 'look' out across the plains that surrounded the area. A small group of travellers were heading past on their way towards the city, a couple of horses carrying their wares were with them. More merchants it seemed, out to trade their stock to earn coin for food no doubt.

”Barman, a second bottle of sake please.”
The stranger asked as he 'looked' back towards the tavern and smiled softly as he heard soft footsteps approach. The waitress approached, female, small build, early twenties. There was a soft musk about her, possibly from having bathed with jasmine flowers or something. It was a nice smell, but the silver-haired stranger remained silent as he listened to the young man greet him.
”Good day sir. A bottle of sake is ten gold.”
She explained, to which the blindfolded man nodded his head, opened his purse and managed to collect ten gold pieces without any trouble. He placed the coin in her hand and just smiled at her as he heard her turn away to fetch his drink.
”Oh and could you bring a second cup, please?”
The waitress stopped, turned and nodded. He didn't see this of course, but knew of her movements from hearing them. With the chirping of the birds still coming from the nearby trees, the silver-haired man returned his purse to his belt and turned back to face the table, where he waited patiently.
Don't leave me waiting now...
He thought to himself.

“Praise to The Veils for keeping them safe another night. I pray to He of the Banners, take me soon, so I may see them again. Death, don’t stay your hand.”

He inhaled slowly and held his breath. Eyes still closed, part of him prayed that the mantra would be enough, that when he finally opened his eyes, he would no longer be here. Yet another prayer he made that went unanswered. He still lived. Lying on his back, he found himself looking up at the patchwork canopy of the forest above him, fresh sunlight defying the dense foliage to dance on the forest floor below.

“Another time, then…” He whispered.

He centred himself, senses settling into tune with the world around him. Birdsong and the industry of the natural world ebbed and flowed in his ears until it nestled into a muted ambience over which he could think clearly. Getting to his feet, he made his way up a mossy escarpment to a small waterfall, tumbling its way down a series of miniature rapids made by smooth, polished boulders. Kneeling down he scooped a handful of the clear, glacial water from the stream and washed his face. He hesitated. As the ripples made by his hands calmed, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror of the stream. He barely recognised himself anymore. Although he had to concede, that was almost the idea. He wondered what she would think of him if she could see him now. His jaw tightened.

His face was a labyrinth of scars and valleys. If faces told stories in their imperfections, his was writing new chapters every year. Where once had flown a mane of dark hair, sat a shaved scalp, riddled with yet more scars, these ones self-inflicted and accidental. He had some regrowth but it would do another day before he would have to take a blade to it again.

Returning to where he had bed down for the night, he gathered his things. Rolling up his threadbare bed-roll, he wound it tight, threaded it with a leather lanyard and wrapped it around his waist. He strapped on his sword belt and quiver and slung his longbow around his shoulder and chest. Patting himself down, he found a new tear in his brown trousers. Another spool of thread would have to go on the list of things he needed. The Gods knew that a new pair of trousers was a luxury he neither wanted nor could afford. The perils of sleeping rough. He had to return to civilisation for certain supplies and he knew he needed work. Sell-swords don’t make much from trees and bracken. He made off down the slope, following the stream to where he knew it would end.

He smelt the inn before he saw it, the chimney stacks bellowing smoke which carried with it the smell of rabbit and seasonal vegetables. Normally, that would light the heath in the belly of any traveller, but he had eaten rabbit daily for months and even the promise of fresh, well prepared vegetables couldn’t prevent the bile lashing at the back of his throat. Breaking clear from the undergrowth and onto the path, he stopped. There was something else there, more subtle than the smell of food but unable to be masked by it. A sensation somewhere between scent and knowledge. Something, or rather someone, familiar. Familiar doesn’t always mean friendly.

He didn’t want to speak the name for fear that its mere utterance would make the man’s presence a certainty. His brain took the choice away from him.

“Nomi…What are you doing here?"

It wasn’t fear that gripped him, at least, not fear of the man himself. More a fear of what his appearance would mean. For both of them. He centred himself again, he couldn’t avoid the inn, he needed supplies. Anyway, his senses could be wrong.

But they never were.

Sure enough, the sight of the blindfolded man sitting casually outside the inn proved his senses right again. He found no comfort in that fact as he approached. He knew it was senseless to try and avoid Nomi, it always was. He was the one person whom would not be fooled by his change in appearance. After all, it mattered little to a blind man, even one as gifted as the serpent that was coiled at the bench in front of him. He didn’t sit down, he didn’t speak, he merely stopped in front of the table, let his hand fall on the pommel of his sword and waited. He knew it wouldn’t be long before Nomi broke the silence.

The sun was still slowly rising up into the near clear-blue sky. It wasn't even midday yet and there was a man sitting at the tavern drinking sake. Actually he had nearly polished off a whole bottle by himself. The owner didn't seem to mind though, since he was getting coin at the end of the day. So long as no trouble brewed and no fights broke out. There should not be any worry of that, after all, the one who was drinking the sake was blind. What could a blind man do if he managed to get into trouble? A subtle wooden creak came from the stool upon which the silver-haired man sat as he adjusted his position, wanting to remain comfortable for as long as possible. It was a couple hours walk to the city from here, perhaps longer for the blindfolded man. That all depended on whether he'd encounter any ruffians wanting to 'take the load' off of a poor blind man's shoulders. That was something to worry about later on though. The tall yet slender man didn't seem to be in any rush to leave this peaceful location just yet.

The songbirds in the nearby trees continued to chirp their merry song and the sound of distance hoes digging the earth across the road in the farms, added to this relaxing melody. There was the rustling of leaves within the warm breeze and the dusty footsteps of travellers and soldiers heading up and down the road.
”A man could get too comfortable here...”
The blind man mumbled to himself as he brought both his scarred arms up before his chest and crossed them over one another. He wriggled his toes within his metal boots, tapping his toenails against the roof of them a couple of times. Sounds of footsteps grew louder and the scraping of wooden stools told the silver-haired stranger that more guests had arrived to the tavern and had taken a table nearby. Sounded like there was three of them, all male, all young, perhaps not even in their twenties yet. The blind man slowly turned his head to angel an ear in their direction and listened in on their conversations, mostly which revolved around 'wanting to be more then farmers' and along the lines of 'wanting to prove themselves as something better!'.

A pity the war has already ended. You may have been able to make a name for yourselves there.
Thought the stranger as he returned to facing his own table. His original sake bottle was still on the table and had about two cups left in it, but he seemed to be waiting for something. A small sniff of his nostrils told the blind man that food had been ordered. Rabbit with vegetables. Very nice. It was almost enough to make a man's mouth water, but the silver-haired stranger did nothing of the sort. Instead, his senses had picked up something much more interesting. He had trouble hiding the subtle grin on his face, but managed to succeed in keeping his expression stoic for now.
I knew you'd be here sooner or later. Like a child's kite, once you catch the wind, you can never let go...
A fresh pair of footsteps were drawing closer and closer, but unlike those of the peasants, the soldiers or the tradesmen, these feet carried something far heavier then armour or wares. An objected blocked out the warm sun, covering the blind man in shadow. But he didn't move at all, save for his chest raising and falling with slow breathes through his nose and his hair softly swaying within the breeze that danced past. That breeze also brought about a... well, a rather unusual stench.

The blindfolded man tilted his head the smallest fraction, but it was in the direction of the tavern as he heard the sounds of the waitress returning to his table. Her footsteps stuttered for just a second, as she paused when seeing a new stranger standing beside the table which sat the blindfolded man. She had been wondering why he had asked her for a second cup when he was clearly drinking alone, but now seeing this new figure, it made sense.
Oh, he was expecting company? Why is this man dressed so different though? He looks like he's been sleeping in the forests over inside a bed...
The pretty young woman kept her thoughts to herself though as she reached the blind man's table. She placed down a small circular wooden tray which sat the new sake bottle and a fresh cup. Bowing in thanks, the blind man turned her way and returned the gesture, though his was more a nod of the head. In silence, the silver-haired stranger reached for the fresh sake bottle and poured a cupful into the clean cup. He then placed the bottle down and filled his own cup up with the first bottle he had been drinking from.

Picking up the second cup, he placed it on the table opposite him with care and precision before he returned his hands to his lap, sitting with back straight and head forwards. Again, there was only silence from the blindfolded man for what felt like several minutes, before he eventually let out a sigh and tilted his head towards the man who continued to cast a shadow over him.
”I don't know what could be keeping you on guard so much, but you're making the place look untidy.”
The blind man, known as Nomi Yanimura to very few people, sniffed a couple of times and actually 'looked' up towards the face of the stranger blocking the sun from him. Under his blindfold, his right brow could be seen raising, his facial expression shifting to one of concern.
”You been sleeping rough my old friend?”
Nomi's concern shifted to a sneer as quickly as a man could blink.
”Did your woman kick you out again?”
Soft chuckling escaped his lips as he 'looked' back down to the table before him, picking up his own cup in both hands, nodding his head to the stool opposite him.
”Sit down and drink with me! Today is a day can celebrate!”

Jintaru stood for a while looking down at Nomi and he knew that, in his own way, the blind man was staring right back at him. Out of his peripheral vision he saw the serving girl hesitate nervously before re-entering the inn and vanishing from sight.

~She’s afraid…smart girl.~

Eventually he took a seat opposite Nomi but did not pick up the drink his unwelcome companion had poured for him. Never once did he take his eyes off him. A fire burned behind them, from deep within him. This was not the inferno of fresh passion or fury, it was the smouldering cinders of long standing hatred, a contempt that had festered and grown with time, something now that no amount of retribution or penance could tame.

He heard the sound of hooves approaching from behind him. He never took his eyes from Nomi, he didn’t need to. Six mounted men. Bamboo and steelwood armour. Two of them, archers. Doubtless a vanguard returning from one of the Eastern strongholds. The city was in the process of recalling its troops from the war. With fresh governments in place, courtesy of the triumphant, they had no further need for grunts from far off lands, regardless of how influential those men were in winning the damned war. As the cadre of soldiers rode past he saw the war-torn and broken expressions on their faces. Among them was a male, no more than seventeen years old, armour off-set and ill-fitting around not fully developed shoulders. When he left for war he was a boy but war doesn't make a man. War never creates, it takes its toll from each man, woman and, in this case, child, it touches. He will never be a man now, he will always be a soldier. The stain of battle will cling to his heart like pitch.

~He will grow to be a fearsome warrior one day. Then he will die alone and in pain. Never having lived.~

This pattern of thought was getting too close to home and he shook the face away the face that had risen up in his mind. The anger flared but he exhaled it. He turned back to face the blind man opposite him.

“You call me ‘old friend’…I think our definitions of that phrase differ dramatically.” He said, not hiding the venom in his voice. “I had a real friend once, and it has never been you. You weren’t the one who was there when I buried my wife. I had nobody there, two years ago, when I buried my son!” His voice raised but he battled it back down to a hiss. “And now, your toxic presence finds me again. You come with your drink and your jokes and talk to me of celebration?”

Jintaru picked up the cup of sake. Ceremoniously he held it out over the edge of the table and turned it upside down. The clear, sweet liquid inside pattered onto the ground, cloying the dirt and dust together in a pool. Shaking the last remnants from it, he returned it, upturned to the table.

“The only reason I would drink with you, is so that I could get so drunk, on your coin, that I would vomit better friends than you.”

He allowed his breathing to calm and he centred himself again. If there was one thing that was predictable about the man whom sat opposite him, it was that he was unpredictable. Jintaru’s hand slid quietly beneath the table top to the pommel of his sword.

There was a murmur going about those who were also spending their time at the tavern. Most of the other patrons were sitting within the building itself, keeping to themselves, but there was a tension starting to grow in the air. Whispers and soft speaking hidden behind hands were too quiet to make out clearly, but the man with the blindfold knew they were speaking about himself and his shaven-headed company. There was concern and worry in their hushed voices as one farmer eyed the shaven-headed man and noted at how he was staring at the silver-haired stranger. There was a light within the man's eyes that flickered and burned. Of course Nomi knew of this fire that burned within the man sitting opposite him, he didn't need to see it in his eyes. He couldn't of course, but at the same time, he could 'see' so much about the man opposite him then even the sharpest pair of eyes couldn't. It was an incredibly exciting feeling, and the silver-haired man did an awfully good job of hiding his excitement. In fact, as the wooden creak of the stool on the other side of the table took the shaven-headed man's weight, Nomi remained as motionless as a stone statue, hands still grasped about his cup of sake.

”Do they know each other?”
The voices of the patrons were getting clearer to hear for the man without eyes. This one was of a man who too had been drinking sake, as his voice was a fraction slurred, his breathing heavy but strong. Must have been a farmer having a rest or perhaps a solider on his day off.
”I hope they don't fight... The war has already ended...”
This one was the young jasmine-scented waitress from earlier. Her voice was shaky, scared. It sounded like she was gripped another one of those circular serving trays to her chest, perhaps hiding part of her face behind it nervously. There was other chatter, all hushed and whispered, but Nomi cared not for that. There was a man sitting opposite him but there were no words shared as of yet. The silver-haired man continued to hold his cup of sake up, waiting for his company to raise his the same way so they could drink. Nomi could feel the eyes of the man before him staring hard, burning furiously. He was not happy, it seemed.

Even as the mounted soldiers rode by, their gear clanking and rustling with the movements of the beasts they rode, no words were still shared between either man. Ah of course, he was being polite! Waiting for the men to pass so they could speak without having to raise their voices. This was a public place after all and they would not want to disturb the other patrons from their drinks and meals. Though as Nomi continued to hold his sake cup up before him in both hands, he could feel the shaven-headed man being distracted. That, was dangerous. But nothing come of it. The 'statue' offering sake remained as rooted to the spot as the many trees that formed the forest a short distance away.

The smallest of smirks appeared on Nomi's lips as the man from the forest eventually spoke up. He couldn't help it. To hear that tone of his, to feel the anger in his voice within his ears. The lecture came as predicted, speaking of 'real friends' and family. How many times was he going to use that excuse? His wife was dead, yes Nomi knew that. News of his son though was slightly surprising. Not that he didn't believe he had a son, but the fact that he had perished. Rustling of attire still was not enough to falter the sake offering blind man. The scrape of the cup on the table and the splatter of good drink going down to the sun dried, dusty ground. More harsh words from his 'friend' followed after the cup had been returned to the table. Only when he had finished speaking and calmed himself down, did Nomi finally move once more. Slowly and calmly, like he had been doing ever since he arrived at this tavern, the silver-haired man pulled his sake cup to his lips and drank the liquor within. With a tiny 'clink' of cup resting down upon table, Nomi calmly placed his hands either side of his now empty cup.

”My my my, aren't we rude today? Am I right in thinking something has possibly upset you?”
That sneer had returned from earlier and the blindfolded man just 'stared' directly at the man who was sitting opposite him, as if he were staring deep past his face, his flesh and his bones and was instead looking deep into his very mind, or even his soul. Nomi could 'see' the man before him, he was a torrent of wind and fire swirling about, uncontrolled, untamed. He actually felt tiny in comparison, staring upwards at a towering giant ready to lift it's foot and crush the worms below.
”Maybe you've been hiding in your cave or your forest for too long to have noticed, but the war has ended. Young men will no longer be taken from their villages and marched off to battle. Peace has come to the kingdom and a new age has been ushered in. The future holds promise and has room for good things to come now. Is this not reason enough to celebrate?”
Nomi had tilted his head to his right a fraction before shifting his torso slowly in the same direction. It appeared as they he were 'looking' to where the shaven-headed man had poured his drink onto the floor below. The creak of his stool reached his ears as he returned his posture to how it was before, upright and respectful.

”Besides, I don't know what you're talking about. Me? Toxic? Ridiculous. I'm but a blind man enjoying his sake on this peaceful summer day. What is so toxic about that? Perhaps the toxic one if the man who is shouting, the man who has fire in his chest, the man who currently holds the pommel of his sword like a frightened child clings to it's mothers hand. Don't be frightened, my old friend.”
Soft chuckling escaped his lips once more, the blind man 'looking' down to the table as he took hold of his first sake bottle and emptied the rest of its contents into his cup.
”Oh, and try to keep your voice down - ”
The blind man's left hand rose from the table and he jabbed a thumb towards the tavern, pointing out the patrons watching them from the door and behind the windows.
” - you're disturbing the peace here. That's not like you at all.”

Glancing around at the looks of concern and, in some cases, fear, on the faces of the other patrons, Jintaru allowed himself to take a breath and let his hand fall from the pommel of his sword. He wondered what she would have made of his outburst. She’d have been disappointed, he never would have lost his temper were she still there. Perhaps that was part of the problem, she wasn’t. He let his eyes pan back to the smug, silver-haired man sat opposite him.

“Aren’t we both to long into this for you to be playing the feeble blind man card, Yanimura?” He said, adding his own sneer to that of his companion. “We both know that I know you better than that.”

He glanced over to the waitress who still lingered near the table. It wasn’t a smile he gave her but something close enough to it that he hoped it would clean the last remnants of worry from her soft features. He hadn’t meant to scare anyone and she seemed to be the only one in the vicinity who still seemed on edge.

“Miss…” He began. He saw her flinch, he tried harder with the smile and she approached the table. “Do you have any young men or boys working here? A kitchen hand or housekeeper, perhaps? Someone quick and reliable?” He asked. “You can tell the owner I am willing to pay him for the boy’s time.”

She hesitated before nodding.

“Yes, Sir. There’s a boy that works in the kitchens preparing the game for the cooks.”

“Excellent, send him out as soon as possible and have him bring another bottle of sake and a fresh cup, please.”

She nodded again before scurrying away. He turned back to face Nomi. He was silent for a time. He had allowed the silver haired man to goad him into losing his temper once and didn’t want to rise to any more of his jokes and insults. He did his best to stifle the flames. Conversation around them had returned to normal now and Jintaru let his elbows come to rest on the table in front of him. Somewhere over his right shoulder, a flock of ravens whirled skywards, shrieking their wordless curses to the heavens.

“War never ends, Yanimura. You know that as well as I do. The Gods know we’ve both seen more than our fair share of it. Darkness bleeds, it’s about the only thing either of us ever showed any real aptitude for! And it never ends. The colour of skin differs and the continents change but He of Banners continues to play. Even during peace time, in the charred memories and broken minds of those who have seen it, lived it, it never stops, the march continues.”

He thought once more about the boy soldier who had ridden past shortly before. Innocence murdered. He was brought back round by the sound of the kitchen boy approaching. He was no older than twelve. As requested, a fresh bottle of sake was placed on the table and a white porcelain cup was set alongside it. She boy hovered, unsure about where to stand or quite why he was there in the first place. To his credit, the boy spoke first.

“You sent for me, Sir?” He said, rounding the table to stand at the end of it, between the two men.

“Yes.” Jintaru began. “Do you see the city there, away in the distance?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Could you run there and back before nightfall?”

“Yes, Sir. I was able to run faster and further than my older brother by the time I was nine, Sir.”

“Good.” He replied, pulling a coin purse from the fold of his tunic. “Then I have a job for you. I want you to run as quickly as you can to the city, try not to stop if you don’t have to. Find a tavern called the Tattered Standard and go inside. Once you’re inside, ask for a man named Ornestoro. Do you know what a D’ol Dathri looks like, dark skinned, bright eyes?”

The boy nodded.

“The man you are looking for is D’ol Dathri. When you meet him, I want you to pass on a message. I want you to tell him ‘the ploughshare grows bored of the fields’. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Repeat what I’ve asked of you.”

“I’m to run to the city and find a man named Ornestoro, in the Tattered Standard, and tell him ‘the ploughshare grows bored of the fields.”

“Sharp lad.”Jintaru nodded. Taking five coins from the purse, he handed them to the boy. “Once you have delivered the message, simply walk away and run back here. The rest of your payment will be waiting for you upon your return. Go now.”

With that, the boy turned a ran off. He was right about one thing, he was fast. It wasn’t more than a minute before he was lost amidst the trail dust and heat haze. Jintaru picked up the bottle of sake and uncorked it. Leaving the upturned bottle where he had left it, he filled the fresh glass, raised it to his lips and drained it. The cool, sweet liquid ran over his tongue and down his throat. He exhaled.

“So…what do you want, Yanimura?”

The sun's rays were getting warmer still as the fiery orb within the heavens flew higher and higher into the sky. Less people were passing the tavern now, as the heat was starting to get a little comfortable. Mostly for those who were moving their wares or patrolling the road in their armour. A small handful of other patrons had arrived at the tavern and disappeared inside, not even giving the two men at the outside table a second glance. Both cheers and laughter rang from within the wooden building which seemed to help wash away the tension within the air. The group of three men sitting nearby had stopped looking over their shoulders and had resumed their own drinks, chatting amongst themselves. They were still slightly on edge though, one of them still softly clutching the handle of a dagger that was hidden inside his shirt. Not with murderous intent, but out of worry, maybe even fear. If he got jumpy at the sound of one man raising his voice, he would not do well if he were called up for war.

As a small smirk appeared on the blind man's lips, he moved his left hand to pick up his empty sake bottle and place it carefully to one side. Then he took hold of the second bottle he ordered and used it to fill up his cup again. As he returned the bottle to the table, he twisted it around slightly, listening to the bottom of the clay bottle scratch softly on top of the wooden table.
”Yes, I think I have overused the 'blind man' card too much these days.”
The scar across his eyes, mostly hidden by the blindfold, was proof enough that the man could not see anything, but the way he moved his hands and was able to find his sake bottle, pour himself a drink and consume said liquor without spilling a drop, might have told another story. Maybe he was just used to not having his eyes available to him and could simply remember where he had left things? His head rose up until he were looking back towards the man sitting opposite him.
”But enough of 'knowing' about me. What I wonder, is why your head appears to resemble that of a monk whom has started a pilgrimage and forgot to bring a dagger with him.”

Gently, Nomi picked up his cup and emptied the contents into his mouth. He held his head up, nose pointing towards the sky as he felt the flavour of this fresh sake coat his tongue and his throat. He let out a satisfied 'ahhh' as the small white cup was returned to the table. Nodding his head a handful of times, the silver-haired man approved as he brought his head back down and allowed a pleased smile to spread across his lips.
”It's been a long time since I have tasted sake as good as this... Perhaps I'll buy a couple bottles for the road.”
He said aloud, not caring if the shaven-headed man was listening to him. He knew he was. Nomi knew that the man sitting opposite him would not be able to truly relax while in the blind man's presence. Nomi rested both his hands on the table, his fingertips tracing the lines of the wood, his fingertips subtly scratching at the natural material. Ever since the shaven-headed man had sat down, Nomi had kept his hands on the table, in view of his 'old friend'. He wasn't here to start a fight and so kept his hands in sight, away from his own weapon.

Curiosity was certainly growing within the silver-haired man though as he listened to the man opposite him call the waitress over. She did appear nervous, more so ever since Nomi's company had arrived. The blind man didn't look her way. He instead kept his face towards his drink and the man sitting with him. As the young man walked away to carry out the shaven-headed man's request, Nomi cocked an eyebrow and turned his right ear towards the man opposite him slightly. War never ends? He was correct. Even though it seemed the kingdom was at peace, somewhere out there, a man was plotting revenge for his fallen lord. One day, blades of steel would be drawn, arrows would rain from the sky like rain and... if the Gods were truly unhappy, those of the magical nature would get involved and set the very heavens themselves on fire.
”And we'll see more before our time on this world is done.”
His voice was dark and heavy, a sinister smirk spreading from ear to ear. It felt as though Nomi's own aura was growing with darkness, spreading thicker and wider like fog and consuming everything around him. But as quickly as the blind man's voice had turned, did this feeling vanish, returning what was normal, back to normal. A trick of the mind, a display of Nomi's power without him actually doing anything.

As the young man from the tavern approached, Nomi took up his sake bottle and poured himself another drink. He 'looked' to the man opposite him as he heard the plish of fresh sake in a fresh bottle being placed down onto the table. So he'd drink his own but not that which was offered to him? The 'monk' had his reasons and Nomi just grinned subtly and paid it no mind. Once the boy had understood what was asked of him and headed on his way, Nomi was impressed with the boy, which he revealed with several soft nods of his head.
”The boy wasn't boasting. He truly is fast. You think his arms are as agile as his legs?”
The blind man asked before he straightened his posture from being leaned to the right as he 'watched' the boy start his journey towards the city in the distance. He heard the 'monk' opposite him gather up his own bottle of liquor and pour himself a drink, swallowing it as if he had not drank anything for months. Nomi remained as solid as a statue once more, refusing to drink his own cupful of sake at the same time. The blind man did grin however when asked what it was he wanted. Nomi leaned forth slightly, his stool creaking under his body weight.
”I want to know what you want with Ornestoro, in the Tattered Standard.”

Ignoring Nomi’s jibe about his hair, he poured himself another cup of sake from the bottle and replaced it on the table top. For all his foresight and blackened wisdom, there were some things the silver haired man simply would not understand. Even if he could understand, Jintaru decided there would be limit on the soul sharing he was willing to do with his unwelcome companion. He heard Nomi’s musing on the boy’s agility and knew just what Nomi meant. You think his arms are as agile as his legs? Nomi clearly wondered if he could swing a sword well, if, instead of seeing out his life as a kitchen hand, whether the lad’s true calling was combat.

“I pray to She who Nurtures that the lad never has to find that out.” He said.

For whatever reason, Nomi seemed full of questions, the man always seemed to be, some more intrusive than others. But Jintaru realised that he had nowhere else to be until the boy got back from his errand, so he wasn’t going anywhere. Plus, Nomi was certainly right about one thing; the sake was good. He lifted the cup to his lips again and drained the liquid from it.

“Ornestoro is, what I suppose one might call, a business associate of mine. He’s what the D’ol Dathri would call a paenetiri, We have no comparable word for it in our tongue but it translates roughly to a whisperer, a trader of secrets. He is a peddler of information.”

Jintaru filled his glass again as laughter erupted from the table accommodating the group of men. He had noticed the man’s hand on his dagger and had kept him in his peripheral vision ever since. It seems the air around that table had grown more relaxed. Whatever joke or anecdote had been told, it was a big success. The girl emerged from the tavern with three steaming bowls containing the hearty stew and large chunks of flatbread. It was well received by the hooting men but Jintaru noticed the hand of the man who had been holding the dagger linger a little too long on the girl’s arm and prolonged eye contact which clearly made the girl uncomfortable. She smiled, with the awkward look of someone born into servitude not wanting to offend whose to whom she was catering by showing her revulsion and fear. The moment between them didn’t last very long as she soon scurried back into the tavern. Jintaru allowed his muscles to relax but remained wary of the men. Although he never really looked away from his companion, his attention returned to Nomi.

“A little over a year ago, I was hired by the old D’ol Dathri Czentulu – the ruling house in D’ol Dath – to help them crush a rebellion. They would have had me fighting skirmishes in the desert, routing rebel armies and eventually breaking down the resistance. I told them that open warfare like that may stab at the body of the serpent, letting it die slowly. I offered to cut of the head.” He drained his cup again. “Ornestoro was that head.”

Returning his cup to the table, he sat forward, leaning his crossed forearms on the table. He glanced over Nomi’s shoulder at the city, wondering absently how long it would take the boy to get there and deliver his message to Ornestoro. He wondered if he could keep up that speed all the way there. Nomi saw it in the boy but Jintaru didn’t like to consider it, but with the right training, the lad could be one hell of a warrior. He mentally shook the thought away.

“Now, when I need information about certain topics, I go to Ornestoro.”

Jintaru pulled out a simple long-stemmed wooden pipe, a leather pouch and a small stone from within the bedroll around his waist. The pipe had a thin layer of faceted stone around the rim of the bowl, the same stone as the tiny flint. As he opened the pouch, an earthy but sweet smell of herbs permeated the air. Distinct among the orchestra of scents were tortoise sage, honeywort and wild lavender. Packing the pipe with the blend of dried herbs, he put the pipe into his mouth. Picking up the flint, he scratched it delicately against the stone on the pipe. With each scratch, sparks leapt from the rim and into the packed bowl. It took a couple of strikes but the herbs suddenly caught and a whisker of smoke began to dance up from them.

The wooden stool supporting the blind man's weight creaked subtly as the bare armed man crossed sad arms across his chest, sitting with back straight and head lowered slightly, as if he were looking at the man opposite him from over the top of a pair of spectacles. A grin was on his lips as his right index finger tapped against the skin of his left arm, 'watching' the shaven-headed man and listening to his words carefully. Nomi too could still 'feel' the gentleman sitting on the nearby table still clutching at the dagger within his robes, but unlike the 'monk', he actually wanted to see what the patron of the tavern was going to do with it. Initial thoughts were that young man sitting with his friends was clutching said dagger out of fear for the 'conversation' between the blind man and his companion, but as time passed and the man called Jintaru calmed and centered himself, the dagger clutching stranger still held onto said weapon. It was hidden from view and it seemed not even his friends knew of his actions, but the 'monk' and the blind man were onto him.

”You have an associate? I find that hard to believe.”
Nomi leaned forth on his stool slightly, rocking the seat onto it's front two legs for a second as the silver-haired man took a closer 'look' at his old friend's face. He didn't seem to be lying, which wiped the grin from Nomi's face and caused him to raise an eyebrow in curiosity. His right hand unfolded itself from before his chest and the blindfolded man rubbed his first two fingers across his right cheek, tracing a scar he had there a few times. He appeared to be in thought for a moment, his mind wondering, working things out. As a gust of wind blew by, catching several strands of Nomi's long hair and blowing it across his face, the fingers tracing his scar swiftly snagged the hair from before his face and tucked it back behind his ear.
”A peddler of information... I might have to visit this 'Ornestoro' friend of yours.”
Both of the blind man's hands were plonked onto the table, rattling both the sake bottles and their respective cups gently. The noise caused the gentlemen at the nearby table to glance over their shoulders briefly but the smile on Nomi's face and the soft chuckling that followed, seemed to ease their minds.

”Don't you worry though my old friend. I have no desire to seek information about you. That would be a waste of time.”
Nomi said with a teasing grin. His grin faded as he noticed his 'friend' had tensed up slightly. Nomi turned his head in the rough direction of the three nearby men and he too noticed the tension between the dagger clutching patron and the jasmine-scented waitress. Jintaru was preparing himself to pounce if he had too. Fear was in the heart of the waitress as one of the three men took hold of her wrist, but as he eventually let her go and her footsteps carried her safely inside the tavern, Nomi couldn't help but grin once more towards the shaven-headed man.
”Would you be able to reach that man before he pulled his dagger before I could reach you to stop you?”
The question came from out of nowhere and the blindfolded man just 'stared' at the man opposite him as he relaxed after the small confrontation on the table nearby had subsided. Nomi was very curious to know if the 'monk' had kept up with his swordsmanship while he wandered the forests, or if he had laid his sword down ever since the war had ended. He must have fought during the war. Jintaru was a warrior through and through, a damned good one at that.

The silver-haired man's sentence did not go unheard by the man with the hidden dagger though, as he flinched as haunched his shoulders for the briefest of seconds. It appeared he pretended not to hear and quickly he picked up his chopsticks and dove into his meal, eating quickly and loudly, perhaps in an attempt to drown out Nomi's conversation with the shaven-headed man. Nomi just chuckled to himself and snatched his cup of sake from the table, drinking the sweet liquor down.
”I guess only a coward would carry a concealed weapon on them, wouldn't you agree?”
Nomi's voice had rose and his grin was getting wider. At the same time, the silver-haired man brought his left knee up and tapped the toes of his armoured boot against the pommel of Jintaru's sword, as if hinting at something. Was he speaking of the man on the table nearby, or of the man sitting in front of him? The blind man didn't seem to have a weapon on him at all. There was no sword at his waist, nothing on his back and there wasn't a blade to be seen resting against the table. The tightness of his sleeveless shirt revealed there was nothing hidden on his person either. His arms though, told stories of the battles he had been in from the scars and how well developed his muscles were. But where was his weapon?

”Did House Czentulu pay you for eliminating Ornestoro, but you took their gold and allowed the 'head of the serpent' to live? You're just as bad as I am, my old friend.”
As the 'monk' retrieved his pipe from his belongings and set about filling his pipe with herbs, Nomi moved himself. Reaching down to his right hand side, a satchel was propped up against his stool. The opening of the buckle on the front rustled softly as the leather cover was lifted open. The blind man's hand buried itself into the satchel, which was suspiciously well guarded for any prying eyes to peek inside. A second passed and the silver-haired man sat back upright where he pushed his hands towards the man opposite him. Pressing his hand down onto the table, part of an ancient scroll was revealed, with rotted edges and text in an unknown language. There was an image in the middle of the scroll though, a jet black crystal about six inches long and the shape of a kite, with the widest section about an inch across. Four faces were on the lower section below the widest part and six were on the top part. About two inches from the bottom were small notches were each of the faces met one another. Nomi sat forwards and rest his left elbow upon the table, his 'eyes' staring straight at the 'monk'.

”Do you know what this is?”
His tone was quizzical, testing. It sounded like Nomi knew of what the image was of and was simply seeing if the man opposite him did. A dark aura was coming from the paper, subtle and invisible to everyone who couldn't sense it, but to those training to use their senses for extraordinary feats would be able to detect it's presence. Nomi 'watched' the man before him like a hawk watched it's prey from the skies, waiting for an answer.

A wry grimace wormed its way across Jintaru’s face, he knew that Nomi could tell that his remarks and attempts at goading a reaction from him were sinking in but he’d be damned if he was going to make it easy for the blind man.

“Why does my having a business partner come a surprise to you. Until recently, you’ve been the antisocial one."

His own jibe released, Jintaru filled the small porcelain cup with more sake and took a sip. It truly was good sake but after knocking back three cups in no time at all, he decided to slow the pace down. He swilled the liquid around the ornate vessel, watching the miniature tidal waves roll around its edges. The liquid danced and roiled within the cup and he mused very briefly on how elegance could be found in the simplest things. Without looking up, he continued.

“As far as visiting Ornestoro, I wouldn’t bother. Ornestoro doesn’t trust nor do business with strangers on account of the fact that the last stranger he met had been sent to kill him. Without a way in, he would never meet with you.”

Jintaru allowed what Nomi had said about seeking information on him being a waste of time to wash over him. He would come to roll the phrase around his mind for some time afterwards, however. Nomi had the habit of doing and saying things deliberately to evoke a reaction from him and this could very well have been simply one of those things. Nomi knew a lot about him, after all, they had known each other for more years than Jintaru cared to recollect, but he didn’t know everything. At least, he hoped he didn’t. Then came the challenge. This permeated the vague reverie in which Jintaru had momentarily shrouded himself. He was centered again. He placed the stem of the pipe between hi teeth and drew on it. The amber of the burning herbs pulsed within the bowl and he drew the fragrant smoke deep into his lungs before letting it billow slowly out over his lips.

“Perhaps you could stop me getting to him, perhaps you couldn’t. But I know, as quick and skilled as you are, you couldn’t stop an arrow. I could have one nocked, drawn and loosed before you could stand. But don’t worry, Yanimura, I have no interest in harming this man on a whim. And I agree with you, only a coward would carry a concealed weapon. I’ve made no secret of mine, Nomi. I walked up with my sword belt on and my bow on my back. I have concealed nothing. However, only a fool would warn his opponent before he attacks.”

He smiled again, taking another sip of sake. He looked at Nomi’s arms and face. Despite being scarred and battle-worn, his silver-haired companion still had an air of youth about him, a look that he had found missing in himself when washing in the stream earlier that morning. The tracks and welts on his face were deep, in places, wounds that may very well have killed him on another day. The smooth, shining skin of scars ran roughshod across his brow, cheeks and jaw. A small sliver of his upper lip was missing completely and he knew his body told a similar tragic story. He wasn’t ashamed of them, rather the things he had done in order to get them. She would have been ashamed, her and Chahatsu both.

“Your arrogance in ever matter is only matched by your ignorance in this one, Yanimura. I didn’t keep the Czentulu’s gold. I had no need for it. It turns out Ornestoro put a higher value on keeping his life than did those of had sent me to take it. I sent their gold back to them, along with the heads of the men they had sent to accompany me. I had no moral standpoint in that war or any war I have fought in since. I didn’t care who was victorious, I still don’t.” He drew on his pipe once again. “What I care about is how much a person is going to pay me to aid in that victory. There is no such thing as betrayal when loyalty is bought.”

He sat back, calming the fire in his blood once again with another deep draw on his pipe. It was times like this that made his grateful that he had included lavender in his herb blend. When the man revealed the scroll fragment, that fire went out. It was replaced by a cold urgency, not fear, but a distant cousin. He was suddenly alert and things started to make sense. When he first emerged from the forest and felt Nomi’s presence, there was a pall in the air, subtle but noticeable. Now, with the source of this aura sat right in front of him, it was an onslaught for his senses. This wasn’t just magic, this felt like old magic, the type that was around at the time of the Gods. It practically bled power, its energy spilling through the cracks of the table. He sat back and let his hands fall from the table and into his lap.

“Where did you get this and why in the Hells did you bring it to me?”

The scent from the herbs that Jintaru smoked could easily be smelled by the blind man. He could probably have caught this scent from the other side of the tavern, but being this close to the man as he puffed on that pipe, did make the silver-haired man's mind wander. The concoction of herbs within that pipe... It was an odd mix at that. It wasn't just your typical tobacco and even if it was, the blind man questioned where the 'monk' would have earned the coin to be able to purchase it. The answer was obvious and as clear as the blue skies overhead. If the man with the shaven-head was to earn money in any way, it was be via his profession, his way of life, the way of the sword. Nomi knew that the only man Jintaru would consider a lord, was no longer part of this world. It was the 'real friend' he had mentioned earlier on during their meeting. If that man was still alive, would the pipe-smoking man be in a suit of armour, a head full of hair, clean washed and tied back neatly, standing beside the throne of the man he called 'friend'?

What a waste...
Nomi thought to himself as he 'watched' the man puff on his pipe, smelling the smoke seconds before the breeze took hold and cast it away into the air. His thought returned to him as Jintaru spoke up, asking why it was a surprise that he had an associate. The blind man just smiled and tilted his head slightly to the right, grinning wider when told he was the antisocial once. The 'monk' spoke the truth. Nomi always travelled alone, always fought alone. He was on his own side and no one else’s.
”Until recently you say? What of the time I joined your little circus fool and his large green freak, the pathetic woman from the castle and all those other imbeciles? I wouldn't call that being antisocial.”
The silver-haired man drummed his fingers of both hands on the tabletop, the wooden tapping causing the jasmine-scented waitress to peer over towards the table in case that was one of Nomi's ways of getting her attention, but she vanished back inside the tavern after she finished bringing some tea to an elderly couple who had moved outside the tavern to enjoy the sunshine.

”Was the last stranger Ornestoro met, you by any chance? Oh and I warn you not to say things as 'without a way in', because you don't know if I might be in the mood for a challenge.”
Nomi cocked his head back and flashed a bright but sinister smile at the 'monk'. The blind man tugged his right arm up and took hold of his sake bottle, tilting it over his white porcelain cup and listening to the liquor gently plish out. As the shaven-headed man spoke of him being able to draw, notch and release an arrow before the blind man could stand, Nomi nodded his head in agreement, a look of sincerity on his face.
”I reckon you could manage to do that, yes. Believe it or not, I've not fought since the war ended. I feel a little rusty.”
The silver-haired man rested both his elbows on the table, cupped one hand over the other and then lay his chin upon his hands, keeping his face in Jintaru's direction but his ears were locked onto the man with the hidden dagger, feeling him flinch ever more when the 'monk' spoke of men who hid weapons being cowards. There should be no more threat of him doing anything stupid from here on out, especially with two men nearby who were fully aware of what was hidden upon his person. The feeling made the blind man grin.

However the next set of words that spilled from the sake and herb smoked breath of Jintaru were words that did not belong to the man. Nomi frowned, visibly so at that and he pushed himself back off the table, sitting up straight where he crossed both his arms across his chest. Was this a lie to try and make the blind man doubt what he knew of his 'old friend'? No, he would not lie about things such as this. War had always plagued him and it was war that took his family from him. But there was something odd here, something that was nagging the deepest part of the blind man's mind, so deep that he was unable to scratch it. There must have been something that this 'Ornestoro' stranger had done or said to the 'monk'. Jintaru, going back on a Houses demands all because of gold? Since when did this man ever have need for gold?! Nomi didn't look impressed as his mind was clearly working hard on trying to figure this all out. Perhaps there wasn't anything to figure out and this man that sat before him was just as mysterious and unpredictable as the blind man himself was? No, that's not true. Jintaru was a gullible fool in the past. Something must have happened to him since the day everyone went their own way. Since before the last war had started.
”You're a sell-sword now? What's become of the honour, the respect, the loyalty? These words you speak, they are not of the man I once knew. What happened to you?”

After having 'watched' and indeed felt the change within the 'monk' upon the reveal of scroll fragment, Nomi's smirk once more spread across his face. He leaned forth and coiled his fingers about the fragment, gently picking it up off the table before folding it up neatly and carefully within both hands. The power resonating from it was indeed of magic long forgotten, the text in a tongue that too was long forgotten. With as much care as handling a new born child, Nomi returned the scroll fragment back into his satchel, which was closed and fastened securely before both his hands were returned to the table. The veins within his fingers and across his palms had turned a darker shade of blue, close to black, like ink was surging through his veins. They returned to normal when basked in the sunlight however and Nomi just couldn't stop himself from grinning.
”I didn't lie when I said I hadn't fought since the last war. No, I was within Mor Sgiathatch, the Black Mountain far to the north where the Gurtha Orcs roam.”
The blind man rose his right arm from the table and pointed a finger out across the farmlands that surrounded them. There was nothing on the horizon, just endless plains as far as the eye could see. Mor Sgiathatch was roughly a two month walk from here. Nomi redirected his pointing finger to the satchel beside his stool.
”I found that there. I wonder if Ornestoro can confirm my suspicions on what I think that image is of? This is why I revealed it to you. There was something telling me in the back of my mind that you had to this this scroll, at this place, on this day. Now I think Ornestoro is the man who can point me in the next direction.”

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.

“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?” He stared at Nomi. Why could he not hate him? “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.”

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.

“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.”

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.

“You say sell-sword like the words leave a bitter taste on your tongue, old friend…” He emphasised the words, he wanted Nomi to know they were not meant. “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.” He was conscious not to awaken a finally hushed atmosphere so he spoke in whispered staccato. “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.”

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.

“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.”

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.

“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.”

Jintaru smiled to himself. He had been foolish.

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

The crackling and snapping of the burning herbs in the end of Jintaru's pipe was a relaxing sound to hear, much like a basic camp fire that burned with sticks and branches of trees. The blind man recalled the times he had spent under the night sky, a make-shift tent slung over a low hanging branch and a burning camp fire crackling away to ward off the beasts of the night. Much of his time spent in Mor Sgaithatch didn't allow the opportunity to relax. The orcs that ruled there were hunters and guardians both. They guarded the Black Mountain, their home as viciously as a cornered fox would would fend off attackers and they hunted down the fools who thought they could venture deep within the Black Mountain to reclaim the rumoured treasures hidden there. Burial tombs of long gone kings and queens, vaults of weapons and treasure that belonged to the most powerful of warriors. There's even whispers of items being hidden there that once belonged to the Gods themselves. Treasure hunters just could not resist the call of Mor Sgaithatch. No one ever returned with the treasures that are supposed to be buried there. Most returned empty handed. More didn't return at all, caught by the Gurtha Orcs.

Nomi chuckled and poured himself a cup of sake, shaking the bottle subtly afterwards to hear it was about one quarter full. Seems he had gotten through this one quicker then expected as well. The blind man allowed the clear liquor within his cup to still and he placed both his hands down around the porcelain cup. His thumbs pressed together as did his index fingers with the sake cup sitting in the middle of the 'triangle' that his hands made. He seemed to be staring into the liquor like a fortune teller would stare into their crystal ball.
”I suppose Orcs and Dragons are on different levels. Perhaps those imbeciles did come in useful at times as distractions, but I never needed their help, only yours.”
Things did not exactly go as according to plan ever since the Dragons had been defeated all that time ago. No amount of thinking or pondering had revealed an answer as to why things had turned out the way they did, but alas, here they were. Nomi just smiled to himself and kept his 'eyes' on the sake cup between his hands.
”What become of the circus boy? He's one of very few people I've met who could manipulate the elements. I had thought those who could channel the elements through their hands had all perished long ago.”

The blind man instinctively clenched both his hands into fists and drew them back off the table and into his lap where they remained hidden beneath the table. Slowly the silver-haired man sat back and upright, 'looking' towards the shaven-headed man. His words of it being impossible to meet and speak with Ornestoro both intrigued and frustrated the blind man, but he allowed no emotion to show on his face as he sat there in silence and listened to the 'monk'.
So why will he speak to you then? Because you turned your back on House Czentulu? No, there has to be more to it then that.
The thoughts ran through the blind man's head several times, repeating themselves over and over again, but nothing arose from it. No clue, no hints, nothing. There was definitely a connection between Jintaru and Ornestoro that the blind man had to, ironically, see for himself in person. That time would come soon, all Nomi had to do was sit tight and wait for the kitchen hand to return from the city.

”You frown at my words, calling those we travelled with as 'imbeciles', but you speak of honour and loyalty meaning nothing to you? Come now, you're basically bad mouthing your own family and your dead king. I know you better then anyone else to have come into contact with you. The man who sits before me is not the man I once travelled with, correct, but he is still sitting before me at the same time. He's asleep, slumbering deep inside of you. You've locked him away, trapped him within your very soul, ignoring him, shunning him. You've turned your back on everything that you once loved because you're powerless to stop bad things from happening to them. Your wife, your son, the dead king. You turn away from your problems instead of facing up to them.”
Nomi let out a hearty laugh and slammed one of his hands onto the wooden table, rattling both the sake bottles which somehow managed to stay upright and spilling some of his sake filled cup upon the table top, which dripped down through the cracks onto the dry floor below. His face turned sinister, his body flexed as he tucked his elbows into his waist and tensed himself up, trying to make himself look bigger.
”All it will take to bring out the man I know, is to draw a sword and swing it at your head.”
The blind man once more chuckled and he relaxed himself, shaking his head from side to side as he repositioned his sake bottle so it sat a little closer to his cup. He then brushed the back of his fingers across the table to wipe away the sake he had spilled, still chuckling throughout.
”Sadly I don't have a sword so I can't put this to the test.”

Nomi said nothing from this point on until he had heard the man sitting opposite him finishing speaking. The blind man could feel the frustration brewing within the 'monk', which was being tamed well by the herbs he smoked no doubt, but the frustration was still there. He even spoke it aloud to confirm it. Jintaru liked to think himself not a fool, but today he had been just that. With a nod of the head, the silver-haired man spoke up.
”I've heard rumours about Ornestoro, but had no way to confirm them. You've now confirmed what I thought. When the kitchen hand returns from the city, we're going to see Ornestoro. You will speak with him, you will show him this scroll fragment and you will find out where I can find one of these crystals. After that, you can go on your way and live the rest of your miserable life as you see fit and I will go find the crystal. We can part ways at that point and you'll never see me again.”
Nomi cracked a smirk from ear to ear and he leaned on the table with both elbows, 'staring' hard at Jintaru's face.
”How does that sound?”

Annaveya Kushrina - The Northern Cross

0054 Hrs. 12 Hours to Present Time

"Piracy you say?"

Came a mild voice as a setting of manila folders scattered themselves across a table made of steel. Smooth, nimble looking fingertips plucked them up from the table. Deftly filing through the pieces of collected intelligence, a pair of eyes inflicted with heterochromia glanced upward first to an attentively standing crewman. A light smirk played across her lips as the reflective bill of her captain's cap tilted downward with the further inspection of the report. Brushing a stray strand of platinum blonde hair off her cheek, she lightly set the folder down upon the table and looked up to the uniformed officer.

"Well, how much confidence do you place in this report?" She inquired first, looking curiously to the man.

"Ma'am, I would say with about fifty percent certainty according to our networks." He replied, while standing at parade rest; his gloved hands tightening nervously as the leather that made them cracked from the strain.

"You idiot. Why did you even bother to bring this to me to begin with?" She hissed seethingly in turn.

Annaveya's inquisitive expression turned to one of rather blatant disgust. Leaning forward to rest her elbows upon the table, she lifted the captain's cap from her crown as one golden eye and one sapphire eye stared down the officer. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead as her fingertips folded together and her elbows came to rest upon the table. Strangely intense was the woman's gaze as she seemed to loathe the very expression of the man that faltered before her. Fifty percent was hardly conclusive, and she knew it all too well. Rather than dealing with Piracy, she and her bloodline were famously known for being exceptionally ruthless.

Places that pirates were known to linger had often been reduced to rubble by the Kushrina Mercantile Empire's capital ships. Places much like the one that sat so aptly described by the report sitting on the table before her. Yet their actions would have to be explained to the crown, time and time again. Bothersome bits and pieces that was diplomacy, really. While the Kushrina family practically owned the Heavens above, those of actual royal blood held the authority of the Earth. Unlike royals, the Kushrina family would be held accountable for their actions.

Rampant carpet bombing of a local tavern via a cannon barrage from a Kushrina ship was often frowned upon, even in the face of overwhelming evidence and certainty. Protests against their brutality when it came to protecting their assets happened often, but none could deny their effectiveness in such a measure.

Even still, fifty percent was a rather interesting number. Perhaps it was time for her to touch down and partake in some cat and mouse-like investigation once again.

"Officer, inform strike teams one and seven that we'll be going on an special operation. Subtlety is key here, after all."

With a fearful nod in recognition of her order, the officer bustled away nervously and left the Captain in her office alone once again. Still even then, she thumbed through the report, biting her bottom lip as she read the details. A fifty percent chance were not odds she liked, but it was enough to warrant closer investigation. Intelligence Assets had been falling rather short as of late, the Northern Cross would have to discuss with her father about rescinding the current spies and replacing them with new, more competent ones soon enough.

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1254 Hrs

Two hours after infamous Kushrina Ship so aptly named The Dauntless Wind had docked at the closest city to the Tavern, Annaveya stood in a small clearing of the forest where a gathering fourteen of men and women draped in blackened leather armor and subtle but sharpened weapons and crossbows stood. She herself stood proudly with a long crimson cloak whose edges were embroidered in gold. Upon her the outer portions of her thighs sat a pair of flintlock pistols, and upon her back hips sat a pair of solid-tang knives.

"You all know why we're here. We're going hunting." The girl spoke concisely, with that ever present arrogant smirk on her lips. Looking to each of the men and women who stood before her. "This is our standard maneuver, I will go inside and inspect what's happening. If there is an overwhelming number of pirates, you will receive a signal within the hour. If it is one shot, that means we're moving in and being careful about the shots we take. If two, practically the entire tavern is filled with the rats. Execute everyone on sight. Understood?"

A resounding grim nod through the masses acted as acknowledgement of her order, of which there was only a final one. "Surround the Tavern, form a perimeter. No one gets out without use seeing to them first. Pirates will be executed, civilians will be set free. I will begin the infiltration once the perimeter has been set."

With barely a whisper of wind, the fourteen dissipated into the wild, leaving Annaveya standing there as she casually made for the nearest road through the forest. Along the deep ingrain of wheels against the dirt she would travel nonchalantly, looking inconspicuous as the dim lights that marked where the objective existed slowly but surely neared. She took her time, as the small strike team silently and stealthily dipped through the darkness to get their positions. Through the tall grass, they crawled, covered in mud and bits of the surrounding environment to remain invisible, in the shadows they would remain patiently in wait.

As she strode from the edge of the road into the tavern's clearing, there was a crickets chirrup three times in swift procession. It was a signal from their end. All were in position, all were simply lying in wait as the Captain casually made her way up to the Tavern's front door. Keeping her hood dipped low, the girl would meander towards the tavern's front bar and then she would slide to sit upon an empty barstool. Lofting a finger up to order a drink, the beautiful looking woman would order something that seemed a bit strong for someone of her supposed ilk.

"Whiskey, on the rocks please. If you don't mind." Was her request as slid the hood off her head to bring the platinum hair falling about her shoulders and mid-back. All the while, she listened, eavesdropping on conversations that lay scattered throughout. Listening for key words, or perhaps oddly spoken tongues for the sake of code and secrecy. It would only be a matter of time before she discerned whether or not this place needed to disappear or not.

God help them all, if she chose for them to no longer exist.

1230 Hours

Sailing in on a tiny airship dinghy, Edoric Thatch held his rough, brown hair aimed towards the sky with the pride that one would expect from the admiral of a Leviathan-Class Battleship. Tall and charming, the air of adventure (if not recklessness) hung about him as his black eyes, full of pride and confidence, looked towards the future. The wind gently blew his two Steambreaker swords against his legs like kittens playing with a hanging thread. Enjoying the days of his youth, the pirate captain laughed to himself as he took a sip of kumis.

In other words, he was completely fucking delusional. The tiny barely-airworthy airship gently drifted towards the airship dock with the grace of a duck who’d been given a bullet to his feathery bits. Edoric ignored the fact the balloon was slowly leaking and his ship was sinking in the air.

While others would brand him as a pirate, he prefer the term Gentleman Pirate. Dressed like both a noble and a airship pirate, he held himself to the “Rules of being a Gentleman Pirate.” No one knew how many rules there were and if it was just another thing he could make up on the spot.
“Rule number 41 of being a gentleman pirate your head high.”

At the age of 25, he had build himself quite a formidable resume of piracy. His crack shot aiming gave birth to tales of him being able to take out engines from a mile away. His sword spun stories of him capturing ship by beating the entire crew by himself. His magical banana on the other hand… Edoric said that he was still working on a book for that.

Reaching the outstretched dock of the Airship Dock, he began throwing assorted objects into a large wooden chest. Tool kits, spare bullets, extra clothing, his collection of pictures of various gravure idols and pin-up girls, the magically frozen banana sometimes used as a weapon, and a bucket of paint amongst other things.

“Excuse me, are you going to pay-“ the Harbor master began only to be cut off by Edoric.
“Oh, mind helping me lift this?” Edoric slammed the top of the chest down.
The Harbormaster gave him an eye, “Excuse me, I am the Harbormaster, not some docile servant?”

Edoric jumped up on to the floating dock, curiously looking at the planks wobble as he landed on it like a child. After hopping on the wood a bit more as if to test it, he turned to the old Harbormaster and said, “Correct. You are not a docile servant, but a senile old man slaving away for someone else I suppose.”

“W-w-why you…” the old man’s face wrinkled even more then it already was as he turned a lovely shade of purple.
“I would recommend you to change your career, perhaps a goat herder?” Edoric stole a cart from a passing couple, “I hear goats are all the rage these days.”
The old Harbormaster stormed off as Edoric hauled his chest on to the flatbed cart. The old wooden create had seen a long life with the thin dinghy, Edoric almost felt like he was separating a family, but he had no family to compare the feeling too.

“Sir, you must pay the docking fee.” Edoric felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning around he saw the face of a younger, but sterner man dressed in the same manner as the old man from before who was now standing behind the new serious man, a smug look hung on his face.

Edoric ignored the duo and pushed his cart forward, waving the men off, “I haven’t heard of any docking fee.”
“Sir, you have an airship parked on this dock, do you not?” the man’s voice was flooded with anger and annoyance as he pointed to the tiny dinghy that seemed to be sinking even at the dock.

Edoric stopped in his tracks and with speed that could make birds jealous, he spun around on the heel of his boot. His long coat swept up in the wind and revealed two flintlock pistols in holsters that would otherwise be hidden. One single, swift motion of his hands and one of the pistols now found comfort in his hand. With the crack of the gunpowder, the tiny airship’s engine exploded, Edoric shot is own vessel.

“What vessel do you speak of?” Edoric asked as the cabin of the airship plummet to the ground below in a fireball as the hydrogen in the balloon caught fire. The two men stared in disbelief at the fireball and the ensuing chaos below.

Edoric continued to push his chest on the cart down the jetty as he smiled. His feats of marksmanship were made possible by the magical artifact occupying what would have been his right eye, Black Cat’s Eye. It was something he had been forcibly given in his childhood after loosing his eye to an airship accident. While it did hurt when it was put in, it gave him many wondrous abilities:

He poked it with his finger, he could feel it tick and move on its own in his head and the gentle warmth of magic as he resumed walking with his chest, “Yo ho, yo ho, a pirates life for me.”

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1300 hours

Edoric walked down the cobbled road as the tavern came into view, his chest of goodies safely stored away. He had been told that he could find shipmates to help him on his journey and Edoric decide to waste little time venturing to this city. It was humble little place, not too much to show on the outside. But as Edoric came to learn form raiding merchant ships, the outside doesn't have to be fancy for the inside to be filled with goodies.

He slowly trotted down the path and allowed himself into the fine establishment. The smell of an open flame filled his nose and the scent of alcohol soon followed. People of all sorts of background and status filled the seats and tables, Edoric spotted a few who seemed capable of operating an airship or knew how to fight. They drank to themselves or gambled away the coins. One elf even sat in the corner, ominously staring from the corner as he threateningly sharpened a quiver of arrows. Jumping up on to a wooden table, he thought to himself, Rule number 106 of being a gentleman pirate, know how to make an entrance.

He fired off his two pistols into the roof to attract everyone attention, “Heeelllloooo everyone, I’m wondering if any of you fine fellows would like to embark on a journey with Captain Edoric Thatch. I’m sure many of you have heard of my exploits.”

Edoric bowed and smiled, perhaps he would be able to find it this time, the lost treasure he had been seeking the last decade, the Iron Cage of Golden Sun.

Jintaru let Nomi speak, the Gods knew the man loved the sound of his own voice. Whilst he pulled on his pipe, occasionally sipped his sake, the goading and arrogance of the many before him was taking a pair of bellows to the fire in his veins. He had to remain calm, the silver-haired bastard wanted him to lose his temper, wanted conflict, lived for it even. Jintaru was not going to give him the satisfaction. But Nomi had crossed a line.

“The man you once knew…is dead, Yanimura. There is no slumbering, nothing shunned nor pushed aside. He is dead. Honour and loyalty are as meaningless as the lives of those who dedicate themselves to those ideals. It took me a long time to learn that lesson, but learn it I have.” Knocking the charred herbs from the bowl of his pipe, Jintaru replaced it within the folds of the bedroll slung around his waist. His tone was calm but inside, he was levelling mountains. “We’ve had a drink together, we’ve exchanged words and it is has been as civil as we get with one another but I swear to you, if you ever speak of my wife or my son again, especially to presume to tell me what have and haven’t done for them, I will take your head from your shoulders. Do you understand?”

He stared at Nomi for a long time. He wanted the man to know that this was no idle threat. He then poured what was to be the last of the sake from the bottle into his cup and let the vessel sit in front him. He wanted to rip worlds apart, he wanted to paint a new atlas with blood and bones. In that moment, he wanted to pile corpses to the heavens and scream curses in the faces of the Gods. But he didn’t. Instead, he took another sip of sake and looked back at the man opposite him. He wouldn’t appreciate the irony of this until later but had Jin Long still been ‘alive’, the almost blinding rage that burned within him would not exist and he would be centred enough to have felt the leaden tone of the forest, to have felt the presence of people hiding within its embrace. But the anger was winning, robbing him of something important.

“I have a better idea, Yanimura.” He began. “I will do no such thing. I will go and speak with Ornestoro, and pick up my next job, with no involvement from you whatsoever. Then I will carry on with my “miserable life” never having to care what you want or why you want it.”

He heard the young woman approach but he sensed her first. A mixture of aroma and energy, royalty, he had spent enough time in the service of others like her to recognise the way the air seemed to writhe over her skin, as though hesitant to touch her. She didn’t belong here, and if she didn’t belong here, why was she here? And why was she so brazen about her own presence? Not a runaway then. Before he could ruminate much further on the appearance of the woman, a man approached the table at which he and Nomi were sitting. In what must have been his early fifties, the man walked with a slight hunch and a shuffle that spoke of gout or arthritis.

“Excuse me, Sir. But a group of men just down the road asked me to give you these.”

With that, the old man placed five coins down on the table in front of Jintaru. The same five coins he had given the boy. The old man shuffled off on his way and Jintaru picked up the coins from the table.

“Perhaps the lad isn’t as quick as I first thought.”

Just then, two blasts came from within the tavern which drew Jintaru’s attention. He snarled silently, he hated guns. A coward’s weapon, a way to distance oneself from killing, of pretending you’re not taking someone’s life. There was commotion inside but it didn’t seem like a brawl. He didn’t really have time to dwell on it. The boy had gone unpaid for his work. This needed to be rectified.

Like the embers that burned in the end of the 'monks' pipe, was the fire too burning through the veins of the man calling himself Jintaru. Nomi could feel it on the skin of his bare arms as if he were standing before an actual fire. It was magnificent, a wonderful feeling coming from the shaven-headed man, but is words were still concerning for the blind man. Perhaps he really was speaking the truth and had 'killed' his old self in order to try and live life anew. A pity that the silver-haired man was still living and breathing to remind the poor pipe-smoking warrior that his past would never leave him. He would always be haunted by his nightmares, by his mistakes. However, the middle-aged blind man had felt as if his former comrade had been teased enough for one day. He didn't want to make the fool explode from anger so soon. Nomi needed the shaven-headed man before him alive and well, and preferable sane, for when he met with Ornestoro. The tricky part was going to be how the blind man would get an audience with the 'peddler of information' if Jintaru continued to refuse to ask for him. That was if this Ornestoro was as silent and as cautious as the 'monk' had described.

This is interesting. I doubt there is anyone else who knows about this scroll fragment... I have a couple of ideas where I could start to look, but I really don't want to walk back to Mor Sgaithatch...
The blind man thought to himself as he watched the 'monk' clear his pipe and tuck it away into his belongings. The shaven-headed man's threat came as little surprise, what with how much he had been provoked and goaded. THIS was the man Nomi remembered. These words, these threats, that look in Jintaru's eye, the look of wanting to desperately kill someone, to kill the blind man. This was 'Jin Long'. Nomi smirked and remained silent, though there were several taunts and insults just dancing on the tip of his tongue. Instead, the silver-haired man just crossed his arms over his chest and allowed a smirk to remain present on his lips.
No, I must get an audience with this Ornestoro and my only key to him is sitting right in front of me.
Nomi tilted his head a fraction, turning his left ear forwards slightly as he seemed to 'feel' something approaching. Pushing it to the back of his mind for the time being, he spoke up instead.
”What is it you consider 'work' these days? If the man I know is dead, then that sword by your side will be blunt and your ability to fire those arrows, useless.”

As he sat here 'watching' his friend stare back at him, a figure was approaching the tavern with a very unusual air about her. She carried a scent that both intrigued and wanted to make the blind man retch. It sounded like she had a hood or some type of cloak covering her person, but the silver-haired man could see through that as if it weren't even there. His brow tightened a fraction, any emotion of teasing or provoking the 'monk' had vanished entirely and was replaced with concern. A quick 'glance' at Jintaru told the blind man that he too had felt her approach. Nomi grinned again and he tapped a finger on the table before the 'monk' a couple of times to regain his attention.
”Whatever plans you have in mind for yourself, have to wait. It seems we're in the company of Miss Annaveya Kushrina. Do you know her?”
He asked with a lowered voice as his grin grew wider. This day was full of surprises! What on earth was someone like her doing in a place like this? And if she wasn't enough herself, there seemed to be someone else approaching the tavern as well. This chap, he was loud and full of himself by the sound of things. He smelt like he had drunk an entire tavern's worth of alcohol. As they both disappeared inside the tavern, the blind man returned his attention onto the 'monk' sitting at the same table.

”I'm not sure who that other person is who just went inside, but I doubt he's anything to worry about. Mind you, it feels like we might currently be surrounded. Can you feel them? Please tell me you have kept up with your training since the last war...”
Though it seemed his words may not have been fully heard, as a stranger had approached their table and placed down a few gold coins onto the table. Five in total, which the shaven-headed man took into his grasp. Weren't those the same coins he had given the kitchen hand earlier? The blind man placed his left elbow onto the table and he turned himself around fully to glance behind himself, the table and stool creaking softly as he shifted his weight about. Who knew what he was 'looking' for, but he soon returned back to normal and faced Jintaru once more. The boy was fast and seemed smart enough from the brief time Nomi was able to be near him. Had he been caught or attacked? It wasn't everyday you saw a young lad like him running as he was. Did someone think he had stole something and had reclaimed the 'stolen goods', returning them to the 'monk'? This was a setback. If Ornestoro was not going to be informed of Jintaru's visit, then neither him nor Nomi were going to get what they wanted.

Before he was able to say anything though, two gunshots rang from inside the tavern and visibly caused the blind man to wince and turn his head away from the sound. This entire area was peaceful, quiet and relaxed up until now. Now there was a general sense of panic and urgenecy spreading throughout each and every patron that eat and drank here. The group of three man nearby all ducked low and the elderly couple yelped and cowered at their table. It seemed the only two people who didn't duck for cover were the blind man and the 'monk'. Nomi had looked to where the sound had come from and was visibly flexing his hands to and from visits. A gun was a weapon for a coward, the same type of coward who would hide a dagger on his person. Nomi hated cowards. If you were going to be in battle, if you were to draw blood from your enemy, then it should be done with a blade in you hands and performed with the skill and knowledge of a man who dedicated his life to that very same blade. Or her life. Nomi had met his fair share of women who could handle a blade.
”Now what are you going to do, my old friend? Find the kitchen hand and leave the fool with guns to harm the innocent, or do you deal with the problem here and hope the boy isn't bleeding out in a ditch somewhere?”
Nomi smirked and he leaned forwards on the table, pressing both his elbows onto the wooden surface as he brought his face closer to the 'monk'.

Annaveya Kushrina - The Northern Cross

Patiently she sat, waited, and listened. Rotating the amber scotch in the colander slowly in her wrist, she partook in only a light sip of the sinful liquid on occasion. After all, there is a special place in hell for those who do not savor good whiskey. Concise as ever, her ears caught little of any piracy trafficking or talk, only of the nonsensical conversation of common blooded and less adventurous folk.

As it turned out, the intelligence report was rather filled with nonsense. For which she managed a sigh of relief. As much as she despised Piracy, the killing of others who weren't involved had been alleviated. For that at least, she was thankful.

However, the calm nature of the little tavern rapidly changed with the zealously grandiose eruption of the one who identified himself as Captain Edoric Thatch. While she didn't face him directly, she smirked arrogantly. After all, in the search for the scum of the earth, who would have thought for even a moment that one of the rats would fall into her lap?

Out of the corner of her golden eye, she watched him gallop about the tavern like a fool. Perhaps in madness, or perhaps in some way to show his cleverness or ability; needless to say, the actual Airship Captain was less than impressed. So she stood, carefully remaining within his shadow behind him as she slid smoothly forward. Her feet as light as a feather while she came up behind the supposed Pirate "Captain", as if he deserved such a title to begin with.

For first time that Edoric would notice the Kushrina Mercantile Captain was the very moment that he felt something cold and hard press against the base of his neck. With it came a very audible click. Marking the sound of a flintlock pistol's hammer being drawn back. Not a split second later, a similar hardness was found at the base of his spine; with a second click of a hammer being cocked and ready to fire if she simply twitched a finger.

"Edoric Thatch, I presume." She softly spoke, ever concisely. "I'm sure you know who I am, well, if you saw my face anyway. But no matter." While the pistol aimed at his spine didn't move, the one upon his neck moved forward. Just past his ear as the flintlock cane snapping down. With an uproarious sound, the shot fired a bright red flare into the distance through the opened door.

Whispers on the wind marked the movement as the fourteen paramilitary members swiftly closed in their perimeter. Four of which swiftly moved with feline grace into the Tavern as Annaveya holstered the first pistol and instead drew a razor sharp knife. Holding it at the ready, she nudged the Pirate forward.

"Shall we take a walk, Edoric? I believe that we have some business to attend to. Primarily that I'd rather not put a grapefruit sized hole through your gut in front of all these fine people."

Edoric hadn't been in a bar this lively in quite sometime. Seconds after making his grant arrival, fellow law-breakers joined his side in a dance of joy and folly while those who didn't stray too far from the line of the law gave him spiteful looks and resumed their drinking as if he wasn't there.

"Rule number 37 of being a Gentleman Pirate," Edoric held a his mug up high, "Know how to have a damn good time lads!"
A chorus of cheer sent cups and mugs up into the air as another round of ale was passed around. The pirate captain wondered if this was what is was like to actually have a crew of many fine men who'd risk their lives for the glory of gold. Perhaps these gents would make a fine crew to find the Iron Cage of Golden Sun.

As he paused in his dancing to take a break from the festivities that had now taken over the bar, a hand gently fell to his shoulder before grasping on to it like a hawk. Edoric could tell that it was none other than the delicate hands of a lady, but why it had the strength of an angry father who had just caught Edoric with the lady who turned out to be the daughter, was beyond the pirate as the air became tense. A soft, pretty voice drifted into Edoric's ear, "Edoric Thatch I presume? I'm sure you know who I am, well, if you saw my face anyway. But no matter."

"I've seen the face of many a women my dear, care to show me your's so I might be able to remember it?" Edoric nonchalantly said before feeling the barrel of the met his spine, "Feisty I see."

The tavern went silent as the girl raised another pistol and shot a flare right out the open door, a fairly pudgy man who had just walked in dived into a potted plant to evade it. As he was marched out of the establishment, the festivities stopped and the tarven went silent. The party leader was just pulled out rather forcefully by someone unknown. It was probably in everyone's best interest to return to some level of sanity in case they were the next to be pulled out.

Edoric felt the wind meet his face as they step outside, the girl swapping her gun for a pointy knife. "What where you point that thing love, wouldn't want you getting hurt." Edoric made as passing remark that seemed to be ignored as four armored men came out from under the shrubbery. Each of them where in black leather and carried crossbows; Edoric scuffed. He'd been held up by stone-armed muggers who looked more threatening. Escaping should prove itself an easy task. Just get the knife away from the girl, use her as a hostage, use her pistols to shoot some of the hired muscle, kill the last two with his own weapons and probally nail the girl to a tree with the crossbow bolts or something before running off.

"Shall we take a walk, Edoric? I believe that we have some business to attend to. Primarily that I'd rather not put a grapefruit sized hole through your gut in front of all these fine people."

"That would certainly be painful." Edoric cracked his finger, "Rule number 72 of being a Gentleman Pirate, always have a way out."

With that, he grabbed the magically frozen banana he had kept in his pocket and swiftly turned around and smacked the girl with it. As she fumbled from the shock of being hit with an enchanted piece of fruit, one of the hired muscle shot his crossbow, which Edoric easily dodged. This is easier than I thought it would be, he thought to himself as he begain to out run his captors.

As he began to run towards the horses, escape right in front of him, something hit him, hard. Apparantly there were more men still hiding in the bushes that he didn't account for. In a split second, he was tackled to the ground and before Edoric could even curse, a solid fist-to-the-face knocked him out. His last fleet thought before blacking out, Dammit, I should have had one last pint, or maybe a woman, I guess discounts at the market wouldn't have been too bad either. I need more oranges.

“I’m a sell sword, Yanimura. What is it you think I do for work? I am hired to fight, my vocation is bloodshed. It’s like we said before; war is never over, and there is always profit to be made by those with the talent for it.”

Jintaru toyed with the idea of finishing his sake but instead pushed the bottle away almost ceremoniously. After doing so, he glanced over his shoulder at the young woman to whom Nomi had referred. The name didn’t ring a bell. He turned back to his companion.

“I do not know her and I do not care to. Perhaps you ought to go and introduce yourself, drag someone else into the enigmatic maelstrom that is your life.” He heard the woman rise from her seat and make her way swiftly into the tavern. “Or perhaps she has more pressing matters than your scroll to think about.”

As the men began to appear around the tavern he cursed himself. He should have heard them, felt them but he realised now that he had let his anger cloud his senses. He shook the feeling of frustration away and stood from the table. He took stock of the armoured men.

They’re trained and well-armed. Makes sense if they’re the entourage of royalty. But royalty in a place like this is strange enough, the armed guards make it even more so. To the Hells with it.

He looked down at Nomi and tilted his head to one side. Something akin to a smile crept across his lips. The blind man really didn’t believe him that the man he knew was gone. He was expecting this current situation to be dilemma for Jintaru. Was it hope that led him down this path? Perhaps Nomi wanted Jin Long back, wanted to have something familiar. The idea tickled Jintaru but he straightened up.

“I don’t know any of the people in that building, Yanimura. I don’t care what happens to any of them. Were they to pay me to fight for them then perhaps my response to your presumption wold be different. But as it stands, the man who fired the first two shots or the woman who doubtlessly went in after him, could murder everyone inside and I still wouldn’t care. I need to speak with Ornestoro, so I need to find the boy. I need to know if whoever has captured him did so before or after my message was delivered.”

Straightening his sword belt, checking the bow still slung across his chest and glancing off into the distance, Jintaru rolled some stiffness out of his neck and walked away from the table, away from the tavern and away from the silver haired man. Before he left ear shot, he nodded back.

“Good luck with finding your crystal, I hope your pursuit of it brings you naught but grief and misery.”