Narniff sniffed the air which smelled of whiffey. He clutched his rifle as he entered the bar, where the bartender greeted him, hollering, "Come! Have a seat! Come—"
Narniff cut him off. "I'm here for some whiffey. I'll be having this daily, so get it right: put some whipped cream on it, and some sugar, and exactly one— remember— one pint of ink from the belly of a darrint squid's belly. I want it raw."
"One whiffey," said the bartender. "Coming right up."
Narniff's eyes darted across the room. "Where's Torin Balen?"
The bartender produced from a drawer, a large squid and a kitchen knife. "What's your business with her? She's my boss."
"She's my boss too. I'm a bounty hunter and you serve Morhellen hog and vodrah beer. Your bar opens from nine to five, you have a wife and two kids, and you live five blocks down from here. Just a word of advice: if I were you, I'd cough up the information I want."
"Alright- Alright. I'll cough it up." The bartender sat next to him quietly and said, "She's near the forests of the Garnin Empire."
"What's the Garnin Empire?" asked Narniff.
"Garnin's a ruthless leader. Not to be trusted." The bartender eyed the tavern walls, then whispered, "Be careful."
Narniff left the bar disappointed, still tightly clutching the rifle as he shuffled through the musty fog towards his cottage. He muttered to himself, "She gotta pay me—"
Torin hollered, "Pay you what?"
Narniff turned around. "Pay me a dozen okane for my work. I captured Ronin-Sareb."
"You aren't getting paid a dime," Torin reached for her sword. "Not with that ghastly attitude."
Narniff rifled through a leather satchel, and boasted a tin of Ronin-Sareb's ashes. "I have captured the ronin, and I expect my payment by tomorrow before the Sun sets over the horizon, or you become my next bounty." Nariff looked over the horizon. "You still have twenty-four hours. The Sun sets soon. Be ready."
"I will not pay you a dime." Torin gripped her sword.
Narniff shouldered his rifle. "Then you will not bear ownership of his remains. And I will have yours, as it is right."
Torin said, "I'll pay you thrice what I owe should you tackle this next bounty."
"I don't take orders from you any longer," said Narniff.
"Your bounty is a guru serving in The Wildsmoke Empire's main religion, Pallechism. He's believed to be working in the occults, primarily with the witch Yermane, to create some sort of demonic entity—"
"I'll be back by morning. With his ashes." Narniff huffed. "Expect my visit or don't—"
"I'd be cautious." Torin emptied out thirty okane from her pack, onto the gravel roads. "The occults are dangerous. And one last thing—"
Narniff slipped curses under his breath. "What is it?"
Calmly, Torin said, "The flowers and the weeds grow from the same soil, and your eyes betray you ninety-nine times. The hundredth time it's too late, as the garden has turned weedy. Careful where you poke the rose, you may catch your finger on a thorn—"
"Cut to the chase," said Narniff.
Torin explained finally, "You wouldn't want to look at Yermane the wrong way. He might kill you if you squint too much."
***
Narniff squinted at him a bit too much. Yermane said roughly, "Your business is unwelcome here." Yermane shooed him to the doorway. "I see you're not leaving."
"There's an objective reason for me to leave?" Narniff settled onto a chair and leather pillow.
"No reason, you're just unwelcome."
Narniff got up from his bruised seat. "And there's a bounty on your head. So I'd phrase what I'm saying carefully if I was you."
Yermane began to question him in a provoking manner, "You're engaged to the boss, huh? You two are espoused."
Narniff scoffed. "I'm not espoused to that visceral liar. I'm a bounty hunter. I'm not allowed to engage in marital affairs with a woman—"
"You tell yourself that, sure," Yermane said. "But that is not what your clan believes. You work for The Wildsmokes: your empire, yes? Bounty hunters and people are wedded to people and bounty hunters, and amongst their own."
"But I have morals," said Narniff. "I don't marry."
Yermane said, "A bounty hunter has no morals— only wit. He has no grudge— only mission. A bounty hunter has no pride— only honesty. You are not who you speak of yourself."
Surely, Narniff whispered, "I am who I deem myself to be."
Yermane stiffened. His fingernails twitched for his gun. "Then you are a liar." His head dipped. Narniff put seven bullets into him.
***
Narniff arrived at the tavern before the Sun set. He clutched his rifle as he shuffled past drunken patrons, and made his way to a bar stool. The bartender watched him as he arrived, and sat down at the nearest table, and said, "One whiffey, with whipped cream, some sugar, and exactly one pint of ink from the belly of a darrint squid.
The bartender prepared his drink nervously. "On it." First poured the whiffey. The pleasant drink exported from the debauchery-ridden empire of The Haror, poured like a slithering viper. Then he mixed in the sugar. Then he mixed in exactly one pint of ink from the belly of a darrint squid. Then he poured on the whipped cream.
Into the bar walked Torin, toting a handgun and looking warily. She announced loudly to the drunken patrons, and to Narniff, "I brought the payment. Where's Yermane's ashes?"
Narniff replied, "Okane first, then Yermane." Narniff removed a dismembered thumb from his satchel.
"You're always the wary one," Torin replied delightfully. "I shall leave you with my remaining dues, then be on my way. I have clientele more eager than you are."
Narniff counted out the silvery coins she deliberately piled up on the rusty stool adjacent to his. His eyes darted from the stool to the tavern entrance. Torin's plopping footsteps quieted down, the bar patrons' drunken cheers and shouts filling the room. The bartender slid Narniff his drink, just as he had asked.