>>5772175>>5772180>>5772189>>5772190>>5772196>>5772201With a bottle of the finest fermented mare's milk in tow, you set your sights on Uncle Turag. Your plan: Drown his inhibitions in alcohol, engage him in deep conversation, and navigate the murky waters of his mind, hoping he'll inadvertently spill his darkest secrets. With the cool breeze of the evening ruffling your clothes, you approach Uncle Turag's tent. He's seated outside, the glow of a small fire painting his features with a warm, dancing light. The distinctive scar on his face appears more pronounced, making him look even more enigmatic and fierce. "Uncle," you greet, extending the bottle of fermented mare's milk toward him. "I thought we might share a drink." His eyebrows rise slightly, a hint of surprise evident. "Nephew," Turag responds, his voice deep and raspy. "It's been a while since we've shared such moments. I welcome the distraction." As you sit beside him, you pour the milk into two ornate cups. The pungent aroma fills the air, a potent testament to its strength. With a nod, you both take a sip, the sharp taste making you wince momentarily. You start with innocent tales, sharing memories of hunts and raids. With every story, another round is poured, and slowly, the atmosphere becomes more relaxed, the conversation more personal. Guided by Daho's teachings, you weave your words to uncover his aspirations, layer by layer. As the stars shimmer overhead, their brilliance competing with the fire's glow, you notice Turag's eyes gradually glazing over, the alcohol taking its toll. His posture loosens, and the proud, guarded demeanor that he always carries starts to wane. "There's so much potential in our tribe," he murmurs, a sigh weighing heavy on his words, "Boundless territories to claim." "You think father's been too passive?" you probe, feigning casualness, ensuring your own cup remains untouched as you fill his. Turag's face contorts, a mix of pain and resentment. "Dagur's always been satisfied with the breadcrumbs. If only I were born first, I'd have shown our people the true might of a Khan!" Feigning agreement, you chime in, "You'd have been an exceptional Khan, Uncle. How would you have shaped our destiny?" Eyes clouded with drink and dreams, he mumbles, "I'd form strategic alliances, marry into other tribes. The Bataar Khan, he hinted at offering his daughter's hand... if I held the title of Khan." The revelation is a loaded arrow in your quiver. "Why didn't they propose to father directly?" Turag chuckles, the sound tinged with bitterness. "Your mother. Gura might let Dagur play with his toys, but another wife? Never. The Bataar princess is destined for a throne, not the foot of the bed. That's why the Bataar Khan approached me instead."
>>Continue to coax more information.>>Pull back from the current topic to avoid raising suspicion.>>Abandon subtlety and directly question him.>>Claim the drink has affected you more than anticipated and retire for the night. 