<div class="floatleft">(http://i362.photobucket.com/albums/oo62/cimsoderholm/Sochiportrait.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Sochi Temujin<br/><strong>Place within Hierarchy:</strong>Old Timer<br/><strong>Role:</strong>Act<br/><strong>Position:</strong>The Khan (Weapon master, horse rider and miracle archer)<br/><strong>Location:</strong>The Big Tent<br/><strong>Wearing:</strong>His old worn out leathers and furs, very archaic as always<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Chloe, Kepler<br/><br/><hr/><br/>Sochi glanced up as the Chloe and Kepler approached. The thick strands of smoke reached out and started to envelope the two. They opened up like books before him. There was some sort of tension between them, mostly from issues they had within themselves. While only had a fundamental grasp of it he realized that the tent was filled to the brim with it. Tension. Just about the most suffocating thing that people could express. Subconsciously, sure, but still no less distressing. Giving the two a smile and a slight bow he motioned for them to have a seat.  Chloe's words slipped out of her, meant for him but now directed at young Kepler. Sometimes it wasn't easy to be a listener, especially when others were around too. The young man seemed taken aback by the seemingly random comment, perhaps even hurt on some level. He seemed to be a nice kid, but a rough diamond. He showed respect but kept his mind inside, bubbling until it burst. Not very healthy for the soul.<br/><br/>"Oroin mend."<br/><br/>The words hung heavily around them for a moment. Most were used to Sochi's tendency to speak his native tongue around the others. He remembered still how confused it had made Elizabeth the first time she tried speaking to him. It mostly ended in an awkward goodbye when he met new people, but they always returned sooner or later. He offered the two youngsters sitting besides him the pipe to share. While the tobacco was rough and stung like a bee in one's throat, it left a pleasant feeling inside. To the mongol shamans of old smoking was a way to release one's spirit to the ancestors for as long as the smoke drifted around. So long as you let the tobacco burn out your spirit would return to your body. Superstition or not, it still felt good in a spiritual kind of way. He sat in silence, his attention centered on Kepler and Chloe while in the back of his mind he wished he had brought his instruments. He had never liked western music and tonight was no exception.