Adam awoke.

'Another dreamless night.'

Omen

4, 14

His eyes could see the form of Sonarot moving silently as she brought out various pots. Adam shifted to reveal himself awake as the blanket slipped aside.

"Good morning," he said, rolling his shoulders back. The pillows had been rather comfortable, and the many blankets had provided him with great warmth over the night. It was as though he had been laying on a cloud.

"Did you have dreams of honour?" Sonarot asked.

"I don't dream," he said.

"Everyone dreams," she replied, "even elves."

"I don't."

Sonarot left it at that. She wasn't going to fight someone about whether or not they dreamed.

"I dreamt of fighting my husband," she said. "His axes could not reach me." She brought him some bread. "They will sing for my son tonight. There will be fights at noon and dusk, and drinks after each. Would you like to join us?"

"I would love to," Adam said.

Fights at noon and dusk for the dead? Songs? This sounded like a mighty fine time to him, and if this was to show respect to Jurot and to guide him home, Adam could at least do that much.

There was a knock at the door. "Auntie Sonarot," the little voice said, "jam and biscuits."

Sonarot opened the door, and standing there was a stalwart six year old, feet planted on the ground as steady as a statue, with a bundle in his arms. At his side was a dagger.

He looked over to see Adam, his face a mask of constipated anger. He was the kind of child who always looked angry, that was obvious enough to Adam.

"A fey," the boy said, raising a brow so he looked aghast.

"Only half," Adam replied.

"So you sleep?" the boy asked.

"Yes."

The boy frowned. "Ack,” he scoffed, unimpressed.

"He does not dream though," Sonarot said, lifting the package.

"Everybody dreams!" he exclaimed. "Even Gale of the forest dreams!”

"Not Adam."

The boy pulled his head aside, cocking it. His face twitched as if to sneeze as his brain tried to understand.

"What do you see when you sleep?" the boy asked.

"Blackness."

"I see carrots and bread," the boy replied. "I even saw a sword today, and mother. I saw uncle too, with his axe and shield, and mother was with him. There were two mothers."

"Sounds like a crowded dream."

"Thank sister for me," Sonarot said. "She should join us for breakfast.”

The boy turned to looked at Sonarot. "We have a dwarf at our home," he said. "And an elf." The boy looked to Adam. "He doesn't sleep, he prances."

"Trances?"

"Yeah, prances." The boy nodded and then with that he left.

"Don't mind him. He misses his sister, she's gone on a task with a few of the others. Her rites are soon."

Adam nodded as though he understood what she was talking about. Sonarot spread some jam over some bread and then offered them to him, eating her own slice. She also brought over more vegetables for him, carrots and onions, though the onions were sliced and spiced.

Adam looked up towards her. "Would you keep my siblings a secret?" Adam asked. “No one knows I had siblings, and I care not to explain what happened to them.”

"Those words will stay with me," she said. “They may be gone, but their memories are with you.”

"Thank you."

Silence filled the space as they ate. A knock at the door encroached the silence moments later.

"Sister, breakfast." It was a familiar voice.

Sonarot opened the door to reveal Mirot, the boy, and Thunderhammer and the elf boy, Laefsing. Behind them was a large man, who had a short blade at his side. The man looked to Adam and gave a nod of his head. Each of the new intruders had brought with them a small package, and the man dragged along some stools and cushions.

“Gorot,” he said as he reached over and shook Adam’s hand whilst the others situated themselves.

Adam stood and shook the man’s hand. “Adam,” he said.

“I have heard some tales of yours from the short ones,” he said as he sat down. “I would like to see just how strong you truly are.”

“Well…” Adam glanced between everyone. “There is a duel I’m meant to be partaking in soon. I believe Paul is going to be sorting that out and then I’ll be facing one of the warriors that came with us>”

“Will the duel occur during the noon or dusk?”

“I’m not sure,” Adam replied. “I’ll speak with Paul about it.”

Gorot looked at Sonarot. Sonarot smiled. “I would love to see it whenever you choose to fight.”

Insight

D20 = 3 (3)

Adam was trying to figure out if that meant something, but he couldn’t quite read the pair. Eventually the group ate together, with Mirot and her family providing a substantial stew of beef and vegetables.

“Do you eat meat?” Gorot asked.

“Yes, thank you,” Adam replied.

“I know some of your kind are that way,” Gorot said. “I travelled with a few when I was an adventurer.”

“You were an adventurer?”

“You will find that many of the Iyr are adventurers. I am of the Bronze.”

“I am of the Steel,” Mirot said.

“Paul is steel too, I think,” Adam said, trying to recall.

“He was,” Mirot said, “before he retired.”

“How long has he been guild master?” Adam asked.

“A few years now, close to five?” Mirot thought for a moment. “He would be close to ranking if he was still an adventurer.”

“I haven’t had the pleasure of fighting alongside him,” Gorot said. “I believe it was only Karaban that had fought alongside him before she was taken by Goron.”

The name had sounded so similar that Adam had to do take a moment to recall he had heard the name before.

“They say Jurot was taken by Gale,” Adam said. “What does that mean exactly?”

“Gale of the Forest, he takes those that die in his domain. When one dies in the forest, they are claimed by Gale, as Goron takes those slain by creatures of darkness. I believe Gale is Rodogast?” Gorot said as he looked to Mirot.

“Rodogast, Lord of Nature.”

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Smart

D20 + 4 = 18 (14)

Rodogast, sometimes known as Gale, among many other monikers, is the Lord of Nature. His domain is shared alongside his lesser known sister, Broda. His sister often embodies the darker aspects of nature, whereas he is far more jaunty. He has often interacted with the world, usually as a young man or boy, with brown robes, a golden crown, and his trusty Aldwood staff.

“I know him by Rodogast,” Adam said with a nod.

“Cousin Jurot has been taken?” the boy said, his face was making the motion to spit out the food, though that was just how his expression always was. It seemed that he only just began to pay attention to everyone.

“He has gone, Turot,” his mother said.

Turot looked down at his soup. “I will sing for him.” Turot continued to eat his food silently, his face no longer angrily constipated, but pensive. Adam hadn’t expected a child to be able to make such a face, but here Turot was, staring into his soup and trying to figure out how to solve the universe’s most troubling questions.

Adam threw a look towards Thunderhammer and Laefsing, watching them eat the food tentatively. He could only imagine how stressed they must have been trying to eat whilst adhering to human customs, and not just any customs, but customs of the Iyr.

Adam was about to speak with the pair when a knock at the door broke the sounds of Turot slurping on his bowl, still looking ahead to nowhere in his thoughts. The knocking hadn’t brought him out of his thoughts.

“Sonarot,” called the voice of Paul from afar, “is Adam about?”

Sonarot looked to Adam, who took the look as permission to open the door. Adam opened the door to see Paul, no longer in his armour, though still with a blade at his side.

“Oh,” the older man said. “I was hoping to speak with you. Care for a walk?”

Adam looked back to Sonarot. “May I leave?”

Sonarot nodded her head and then Adam stepped out, looking about to see some people already out. Everyone was eating with someone. It seemed in the Iyr that no one ate alone.

“I spoke with Iromin,” Paul said. “He’s the leader of the Iyrmen, and quite the old man.” Paul smiled. “He is allowing the duel on Iyr soil, and he’s wondering whether you can get permission from Sonarot to fight for Jurot during the dusk.”

“Sonarot said that she’d like to see my fight at either noon or dusk.”

Paul stopped and furrowed his brows. “She did?”

“Yeah, she did… is that alright?” Adam asked, staring up at Paul’s peculiar look.

“Then I’ll let Robert and Iromin know you’ll be fighting at dusk, under the rules of the Iyr.”

“What are the rules of the Iyr?”

“No armour, no magic, no shields, no rage, and you must use a single weapon they will provide. You will fight until one is unconscious, they yield, or they die.”

“Well, those are some rules…” Adam said, trying to think about how good he’d be without his chain mail. Though it did mean that Robert would be out of his plate mail, which provided far more protection.

‘No shield…’

“Shall I inform them that you accept?” Paul asked to confirm.

“Yes please,” Adam said. He wasn’t going to run now, not after hearing that he’d be helping guide Jurot back home. He wasn’t sure if he believed it as of yet, but considering how the gods were a very real thing, he figured it would be a good idea to at least give it a chance.

Paul slapped Adam’s back gently and let him be, leaving Adam to himself. Adam looked about the Iyr, noting there were quite a few people looking at him. He nodded and then turned onto his heel and then found himself face to face with a tiny little girl who was staring at him angrily. She was wearing a cloth diaper and a scarf, with a small wooden club at her side.

“Elf,” she said.

“Only half.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Onryhaf, me Zabish.”

“Nice to meet you Zabish, I’m Adam.”

“Onryhaf?”

“Adam is my name.”

“Name, Adam?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, Adam. Me Zabish, am Zabish.”

“Zabish,” a woman called, “leave the feyblood alone, come!”

Zabish nodded at him. She pointed to the woman. “Mama,” she said, stomping away. Adam was sweating, for the girl was probably the most fearsome foe he had come across. He had no idea of how he was going to end the conversation, but he thanked her mother in his heart.

He returned back to Sonarot’s house, the tiny room providing him comfort. He could see his armour and pack in the corner, and the beautiful red bear cloak.

“News of the duel?” Sonarot asked.

“It’ll be at dusk, under the rules of the Iyr.”

Sonarot smiled, and so did Mirot. Gorot nodded his head, though Turot looked up at Adam.

“You will fight at dusk” the boy asked.

“I will,” Adam said.

“You will win?”

Adam stared at the little boy. “There’s only one way to find out.”

Mirot and her son remained with Sonarot as Gorot led everyone out.

“Come, let me take you to Iromin,” Gorot said, and with that the three followed him along.

As they trekked through the Iyr, currently within the fifth layer, they saw Paul and Lazina, along with an old man of the Iyr. His hair was long and dyed red, though there were strands of white throughout as well. He was clean-shaven, with a strong jaw, a flat nose that was quite wide, and small eyes. He was fairly lean for an older man, and walked with the floating grace of a butterfly. He was brocaded in the finest of silks, black like the night, with golden thread that darted all along the hem, the thread forming some kind of pattern. At his side was a longsword, but not like any longsword he had ever seen before, for it was made of bone and metal fused together.

Gorot whistled and the old man glanced over Gorot’s way, his eyes coming across the dwarf, the elf, and then the half-elf. Those dark eyes were vast with experience.

The two groups began to converge with one another, with Paul throwing a nod towards Adam.

“So this is the one they call Adam, he who was with Jurot last?” the old man asked. His voice was like ash, airy with little substance, and yet it was once something that burned with passion. He reached out a hand to shake Adam’s.

“A pleasure to meet you,” Adam said as he shook hands. Adam’s eyes flashed up towards Iromin’s eyes, staring into them. The handshake was firm and through it he could feel the great pool of strength the older man possessed. Adam could sense, even with the lack of his wisdom, that the man had seen some terrors in his lifetime.

Adam recalled a saying.

Beware an old man in a profession where men usually die young.

“Iromin,” the old man said. “You are to fight at dusk.” He bowed his head slowly. “I hope you fight with great honour.”

“I’ll do my best, sir.”

“Iromin,” the man corrected.

“Yes sir, uh, Iromin.”

“We will be watching, and Jurot will too. His father has yet to return to guide him home, and so I will charge you with the task.”

Adam could feel the sweat grow on his forehead. “I will bring him home.”

“Then I will leave you to Joitin, she will create your fighting clothes.”

“Fighting clothes?”

“You are to wear only fighting clothes and paint when you fight, and the fighting clothes will be to keep you protected from the fire.”

Adam’s eyes flashed to Paul for a moment as his heart thundered. “Fire?”

“In case you accidentally fall into it,” Iromin explained, though it did not bring Adam any relief.

With that Adam was led to a small hut nearby, noting that Iromin’s robes at the back had a large white circle that fought off the blackness. The small hut was one of the rare singular huts, adorned in a white blanket with a single black circle in the middle. It was the opposite of Iromin’s.

“Joitin,” Iromin said, “there is need of you.”

“There’s always need of me,” came out an old woman’s voice. After a moment a tiny old woman, who definitely belonged to that voice, appeared. She barely came up to Adam’s naval, and she was older than old. She had a sea of wrinkles across her face, her eyes filled with even more wisdom than Iromin. Iromin had a few rivers of wrinkles, and he was probably in his fifties or so, but this woman was probably in her eighties. She was wearing silk as well, white after her pattern, and at her side was a pair of daggers.

Iromin bowed his head and the old woman brushed his hair and then turned, allowing the group inside. They entered the small room, which was covered in all sorts of fabrics, with a living area off on one side made up of a bed and assortment of personal belongings.

The old woman brought out some small buns, which Iromin did not refuse. He had set the precedent for all the visitors, who all graciously accepted the bread.

“What need of me is there?” she asked, sitting down on a rocking chair, which was beside an open window.

“Some fighting clothes for two,” Iromin said.

“For Paul and this half-fey?” she asked.

“For the half-fey and another.”

“Very well.”

Iromin turned to look at the dwarf and elf. “Let us speak as well,” he said, leaving just like that.

Adam was now alone with this old woman. He watched her retrieve a piece of string, standing there awkwardly.

“Strip,” she said.

Adam did so wordlessly, though felt as though he was cheating on Albert. The woman went to work, measuring all about his body, and after a moment she was done.

“You may leave,” she said.

“Thank you,” Adam said as he pulled back on his clothes and stepped outside, leaving behind his dignity. He stepped aside in alarm, for Gorot was right there beside him.

“Let us return to sister,” he said.

They returned back to the house of Sonarot, weaving their way through the bustling Iyr.

Within the home the group spoke of Jurot’s youth. Even Turot began to speak about how Jurot would often hold the boy on his broad shoulders and then walk him around the Iyr. He admitted to sneaking out with Jurot too, and his parents looked at him with surprise.

“Cousin Jurot told me not to tell anyone and I haven’t!” he exclaimed with great pride.

Eventually Sonarot proposed they head to the centre to see the first set of duels. “We will send a few of ours to go and find Jurot,” Sonarot said, “and in the evening you will guide them back.”

Adam nodded, though didn’t quite understand. They made their way towards the centre of the Iyr where the large building had been. There was a large pit being built in front of him, facing towards the entrance of the Iyr.

There were four warriors in total, a pair of men and a pair of women. They each wore furs and carried with them various weapons. Noon had yet to arrive, and waiting for it, Adam could see that a great many people were filling up the area. Men, women, children of the Iyr all gathered. Adam could not see a single unarmed Iyrman, from the children to the adults.

“Why are all the Iyrmen armed?” Adam asked.

“It was from a time long gone, when we were almost slain to the last of us. Imrat, the chief, found many principles for us to abide by, and one of them is to be armed at all times. The children who are too young receive small clubs, and they are instructed in their use. Those that misbehave no longer keep their clubs for a few days, and everyone avoids them, letting them know that it means to be unarmed as an Iyrman.”

‘Hardcore…’

Iromin appeared as well, still in his silks, his bone-metal blade at his side. He glanced between the four and then raised a hand. Everyone grew deathly silent, ghost-still.

“Feuds are to be broken,” he said. “Ohmon and Ahmon, twins of Mon, have been feuding for some time. It is time to end the feud.”

He dropped a hand and the pair of men went into a frenzy, striking at one another with their great weapons. A great axe for one, and a maul for the other. The pair struck at each other as though intending to kill one another. The bout lasted for half a minute until Ahmon, with his large maul, crushed his brother’s head like a watermelon, bits of brain matter splattering across the ground.

Adam’s gasp filled the air. Many turned to face him, his face a painting of horror. Sonarot placed a hand onto his.

“Ohmon will seek Jurot,” she said.

Adam threw her a look, his eyes wide, his face pale. He had just seen a man kill his own brother, just like that, and everyone seemed to be watching with great awe. Adam continued to stare at her for a long while before he heard the start of the second bout, where the pair of women fought one another. Again they fought as though to kill one another, until one of the women cut the head clean off from her opponent, the head dropping down.

Adam swallowed a little bile.

The Iyrmen clapped.