Adam recalled many of the fights with his brother and sister, most of them over a great many silly things. The way his sister wrote with her pen, with that awkward grip of pressing the back of the pen against her palm whilst her fingers clasped around the length of it like flower petals gripping it. The way his brother would borrow Adam’s game controller and not return it when promised, and so they would fight about such a matter since the pair would want to use it at the same time, and Adam would blame his brother for breaking his own controller. These were the matters in which he fought with his siblings, and yet he would never even think to kill any of them.

Well, not seriously anyway.

He could still recall the scene, the splatter of brain matter that had painted the ground, the rage the man had possessed, the woman’s head that dropped to the ground. They replayed over and over again, as though a tape stuttering to only show the worst of it.

Tough Save

D20 + 6 = 26 (20)

Success!

He swallowed down the bile that was churning down in his throat, finding comfort in the fist against his lips. He closed his eyes tightly as the people continued to move around him, heading back to their homes. He could still hear the others building the fire pit. When he opened his eyes, he could see it was more like a pyre now. Was it for those that had just died?

Sonarot placed a hand onto Adam’s shoulder, snapping him out of his thoughts. He looked up at her as she motioned with her hand and her head, leading him back to her home.

“I should have warned you,” she said as they walked back to her home. “I hadn’t expected for it to surprise you so.”

Adam raised his eyebrows. How could she think it wouldn’t surprise him? How hardcore were those of the Iyr that they just thought this sort of thing was normal?

“Well…” Adam said, though paused since he had no idea what he wanted to say. He just shrugged as a response, and she nodded, understanding that he was lost for words.

They returned back to her home, the small room providing him with warmth. He hadn’t seen anyone killed in this room, and it had only been filled with good memories. Adam was as quiet as a mouse as Sonarot began to cook within the large clay pot, cooking a mass of various vegetables.

“Is it normal to kill your brother in the Iyr?” Adam asked, finally. The courage had grown with the silence, until the silence had grown to anxiousness.

“When there is a feud,” she began, “one can only rid it through a rite.” She continued to check on her vegetables, shaking the pot every so often. “At the very least they will find those lost.”

Adam wasn’t entirely certain why that was a good idea, but she didn’t seem to want to elaborate. Sonarot continued working on her vegetables.

"We of the Iyr understand that such behaviour does not seem normal to outsiders," Sonarot said. "We understand that our ways are foreign, strange, and as some would say, barbaric."

Sonarot tossed some leaves into the vegetables and then poured in some water, letting the stew cook. She then sprinkled in pinches of salt, and then some liquid that was pink.

"There was a time when we were almost no more,” she said. “The people of our generation do not know the feeling of such a thing, for all we know is prosperity. When I was a girl, all I knew was the Iyr, and the thousands of Iyrmen around us. The walls provided me comfort, the people more so. I would see my cousins and elders go out to adventure, returning with copper, silver, gold, gems and artifacts. They did so to protect our home, as I did when I grew, and my child will when she grows. We always have, and we always will."

Sonarot stared at Adam. "We are free to perform our rites, for we are prosperous. We have a great many people, and to send a few to guide the lost souls home, it is a great honour. There are those that wonder why more should die when we have lost one already.” She smiled, as though she had made a great joke. “Those that die in the Iyr are never lost. They continue their story beyond.” She waved her hand, reaching for the ceiling. “We do so because we have thousands, and the families are not yet threatened." She gazed down at the pot.

"We of the Rot, there are only myself, sister, brother, and the two children of my siblings.” She looked down to her stomach and smiled again. “And my own soon to come.” She rubbed her stomach gently. “My husband is lost. My son is lost. We will be moved towards the inner layers, and my sister and brother will have more children. Mirot will no longer adventure, not until the name is safe. My daughter will be protected, and she will have a great many children of her own, should she choose so. My family line will end with her if she chooses against it, and no longer will the row of blue diamonds and the single blue sun light the world." She did not sound sad, for this was just a fact of life.

"Once Jurot returns," she said. "We may be at peace once again."

"Will he return?" Adam asked.

"If you fight well."

"I will."

"Then you have your answer." Sonarot then brought out two cups and from a small cabinet brought out a bottle, pouring the half-elf a drink. "For his memory," she said. "For the brother and sister that have gone to find my lost son."

Adam sipped it and then pulled away as his senses blared like an alarm to try and stop him. It was strong, the flavour so tart and sour. One would have thought it were poison with how he reacted.

She smiled at him. "In one," she said, motioning with her hand to knock it back in a single go.

Adam did so, not wishing to offend her. He brought the cup up, waited a moment, and then knocked the drink back in a single fluid motion, as though he had practised it a thousand times, but he would have hated to try this a thousand times.

It was tart, sour, and far too strong for him. He was a British man, mild of manner, and mild of tastes. Yet, after a moment, it tasted… fine. Not fine, good. He slapped his tongue against the roof of his mouth a few times and then narrowed his eyes. It tasted like berries of a sort, and the after taste was quite sweet. It lingered for a long while, long enough for Sonarot to continue her story, and remained long after.

"We of the Iyr are not a people of a single culture. Within our homes, within our layers, we have hundreds of different rites between our families. You can see the blankets against the sides of our home, or even the roofs, each a different rite. We follow the path of old, where blood spilt is not blood wasted. There are those of the new blood, those afraid of the Iyr returning to its once feeble state…"

Sonarot smiled wide. "You have seen the many layers, yes?"

"Yes."

"It was not once so. Once there was only the first three layers… this largest layer, the fifth layer, is a layer that has only recently come, in the past two centuries. Our ancestors worked and toiled for our home, and now we are safe. Even if the Empire would come, they would not be able to invade. We have hundreds of wards, hundreds of mages, thousands of warriors, and a great many tools at our disposal."

Adam could only wonder what kind of foolish people would try to assault the Iyr. If they had wards to stop people from coming in, and they were as powerful as he expected, he doubted there was a force that could take the Iyr.

"There are a great many of our children that will leave the Iyr. They will adventure, and some may find a partner. They then may return and marry, starting a new family. The partner is then one of us, a man of the Iyr, I believe they say?"

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Yes, I've heard the phrase many times."

"Do you know why they say such things?"

"No, not really…"

"It was because we forced the men to leave, to go and make a name for themselves, and then return once they were true men. True men, those that had dealt a hundred deaths. They would be judged on what they had killed. Then they could marry, and only the strongest would have progeny. To be a man in the Iyr was something earned. Women remained behind to protect the Iyr, to make sure the men had a home to return to. They faced monsters, and we faced man."

"Oh."

"After some generations, once we were safe, leaving the Iyr became a choice. For a generation no one left, until strangers came to our door, begging us to aid them. They were the first of the Guild Men, like those of Paul's ilk." She smiled. "Fortune smiled upon the Iyr, and so many left, taking the old rites again. It is one of our most common rites. Nine in ten of us do so, for one in ten take solemn oaths to remain and protect the Iyr against any threat. If anything were to happen to those nine, then we would still have a great many who would be here. True men and true women, they all had once called them, but now it is just a rite of adulthood, the same as those that swear the oath to remain forever."

"So they'll never leave the Iyr?"

"Never."

"Oh…" It sounded like the worst death imaginable, to have never explored beyond the walls of the Iyr.

"It sounds queer, doesn't it?"

"It does."

"Yet it is a choice afforded to us. The freedom to choose, this above all else, is what prosperity has brought us. If our freedom is taken away, then we will live in that misery. I will be moved into the inner layers so my child is born in peace.”

"Can you protest such an action?"

"I will not."

"Can you?"

Sonarot stared up at him. "I choose against protesting."

Adam remained silent for a long while. "I never used to care about freedom," Adam said. "That was a life long past, and now it is all I care about. I wish to be free, to do as I please, with whatever strength I have. I think I understand…"

"I believe that you do."

Adam hoped he did. The Iyrmen were strange, but that was because they had to grow up in such a way. Threatened to extinction, they keep their blades. They die on their own terms, Jurot to a bear, a brother to a brother. Was there solace in such a thing? To die by the hand of your family…

There was a knock at the door. "Sister, paint and meat."

Sonarot opened the door to welcome Mirot inside, who was carrying with her a large portion of cooked meat over a clay tray. Turot was carrying with him a small pot that was covered by a lid, with a paintbrush that went through the little loop of the handle.

"You will guide Jurot home," Sonarot said. "In order to guide him, you must show him he is welcome by showing him the symbol of his home, the symbols he has never worn.” She paused for a moment. “You must wear them for him," she said, her voice calm and low.

Adam nodded. He wasn't sure what she meant by it, but he didn't need to know. It seemed important to her. This was part of their customs, and if it'd help bring back Jurot's spirit, he would do it.

There was a knock at the door. "Sister,' Gorot said, "I have the fighting clothes." Once he was invited inside, he revealed to Adam the fighting clothes.

They were a pair of black shorts that would cover him from waist to his lower thigh area. A hot flush began to sweep across the half-elf's face. Was everyone going to see him mostly bare?

"You must first bathe," Sonarot said as she stood.

"I will take him," Mirot said. "Prepare the paint."

Adam seemed to have no choice in the matter as Mirot grabbed the shorts and a large blanket, with the pattern of blue diamonds and the single blue circle. She then led Adam out, heading towards the hillside wall to the side of the layer.

Within those walls were paths that continued through, and the path Adam followed led to a large lake and a small grove across the lake. There were a few people here bathing nude and swimming about the lake, men, women and children. There were warriors of the Iyr, across the lake near the grove, dressed in some sort of cloth and wood clothing, holding spears made of bone. They remained still like statues as they guarded the grove on the opposite side. Adam glanced about and realised the only way to get to them was by swimming along the lake.

Mirot stepped aside and then scooped up some clay like substance before she squeezed it together and then dipped it in the water. She held her hands clasped together over the substance before she revealed a… small bar of soap?

Adam stripped down awkwardly before he then lowered himself into the lake some ways away from the rest, though he could feel those hawkish glares. The glares distracted him from the cold, though it quickly invaded his senses moments later.

“Ah,” he whispered. “Ooh…” Mirot offered him the soap. Adam took it gingerly, plucking the soap with his fingers before he then began to wash himself. The soap lathered enough to make him feel clean, though he wasn’t sure if he was actually clean. He did gain an earthy scent throughout though.

Once he was done, Mirot wrapped the blanket around him, which warmed rapidly under the wetness to dry him. The blanket dried itself as well as the water fell through it, dropping down onto the floor. Adam reached for his clothes.

"Leave them," Mirot said. "They will be cleaned and returned."

Adam did not protest. He then slipped into his shorts, which felt like a second skin to him. That old lady really was good at her job, she might have been better than Albert. Adam followed Mirot as she led him back to the hut. These Iyrmen sure knew how to treat a guest, washing his clothes for him and providing him with such comfortable hipster-trunks.

Sonarot was mixing up the paint. It was sky blue, and smelled exactly like it looked, like sky blue. It was one of the very few blues he knew to distinguish from other blues. Sky blue and navy.

"I will paint you for the rite," Sonarot said.

"Alright…" Adam folded the blanket up and revealed his body to her.

Sonarot raised her eyebrows. "You hide your physique well under your clothes," she said.

Adam wasn't sure how to feel about this. His friend's mother was currently checking him out, and so was his aunt. Gorot had appeared and was checking him out too, though he had become beet red by that time.

They began to speak of what Adam had eaten in order to become so big, and Adam refrained from telling them he had taken a performance enhancing drug by the name of reincarnating into a fantasy world.

The pregnant woman then began to paint him, starting with his forehead. "A crown of diamonds," she said, "for the noble roots of Rot, for we can trace our line back to Imrat, who would give birth to children that took the names of Rat, Ret, Rit, Rot, and Rut." She continued until there were five diamonds on his head, not that he could see them. Then she went down to his chest, beginning to paint around his chest and, barely missing his nipples as she painted a large circle. “Then the circle, representing the wholeness of the Iyr.”

She pulled back to admire her handiwork. Adam looked down to see a decently painted circle, though he was viewing it at an odd angle so wasn't sure if it was any good. The guests seemed to find it well drawn, or they were just checking him out.

"It is done," she whispered, though Adam could tell she wasn't speaking to him, but to herself.

With that they ate, a large portion of meat and vegetables, letting Adam eat his fill. Adam would need to rest before the spar to let the food sink in, but the fight was a few hours away as of yet. They all spoke of stories, both of the Rot family, and the family that Gorot had originally come from. Eventually the pair left and Adam was left alone with Sonarot.

He relaxed with Sonarot, learning a great deal about those of the Iyr. They were taught a thousand stories by the time they were ten, a hundred of their own dynasty. They would be expected to create ten stories when they leave, for the ten best deaths. They were a people who were sometimes privately hired, as this was probably what Alten wished to do, in order to complete various tasks. They refused such things as assassinations and the sort, but enjoyed monster hunting. These would count towards their stories.

Sonarot's mother had slain a great wyrm from the eastern land, and Adam believed it, partly because Sonarot showed him a necklace of wyrm scales which she kept. They were a brown-red, like clay, though were quite hard to the touch, and shiny like teeth which never lost their luster.

"These will be gifted to my daughter, from when she is of age and until she is to have her first child. Then they will no longer belong to her, but to a daughter."

"When was the last time you wore the necklace?" Adam asked.

"Before Jurot was born," she said.

"That was quite the time ago."

"Yes, but it was what my mother had asked of me. A dying wish, so our line could continue. A dying wish is sacred, and this was quite easy. She was merciful, for there have been much grander wishes."

"What was the grandest wish you've heard of?"

"From my family? To slay a wyrm, which my mother had done so. I have heard of other families that have asked for more, to slay an ancient drake, or a Sunken Lord."

Smart

D20 + 4 = 23 (19)

Success!

Sunken Lord, a title given to one of the various Lords of the Underoceans, which are the darkest regions of the various oceans. There are a handful of Sunken Lords, though the exact number is unknown to most. They are powerful beings, their only natural rivals being Krakens or Sea Dragons.

Adam whistled. "Did they do it?”

"They tried, though of course we lost them to Oceia."

Adam assumed Oceia was a god of the sea, but he was too enraptured by the story. "Well that sucks. Is it difficult to guide back people from Oceia?”

"No, but their spirit refused."

"O-oh?" Adam stuttered.

"They had failed the dying wish, a great shame. They will wander the ocean depths, waiting for another to complete their task before they are set at ease and return. They may return during a ceremony of one of their descendants, which is why it is important the families continue their legacy."

"Oh," Adam said. "That makes sense."

A knock at the door interrupted them. "Adam," Paul said, "it's time."

Sonarot turned to look at Adam. Her eyes paused against his before she reached out a welcoming hand. “Are you ready?” she asked.

Adam took her hand in his. “Yes,” he said. “Yes I am.”