Omen: 2, 15

The morning was full of life and cheer, as the villagers thanked the Iyrmen profusely. There was more dancing, drinking, and singing. Even the young were getting in the mood, with parents slipping the tiniest amount of alcohol to the noisy brats.

Even Adam, who the villagers remained weary of, had been thanked by several people.

“I’ve never thought elves were so bad,” one lied.

“Aye to that! I always says you leaf ears are pretty as you are good,” another lied.

Eventually, the Chief appeared, an innocent smile on her face. She grabbed onto Adam’s large hands and shook them. “Even when you fought, you thought to look after us wee folk,” she said, before pulling his hands towards a building. “Allow me to introduce you to-“

“Oh?” Adam called, looking over his shoulder. He dug his feet into the ground to stop the woman from pulling him along. “I think that was Jurot,” Adam said, pointing over his shoulder to the Iyrman who was currently talking to the boys. “I should really go, I don’t want to make an Iyrman wait.”

“Are you sure?” Chief Merl began, holding onto his hands tight. “I’m sure he can wait while you meet my-“

“What was that?” Adam called out behind him. “I really should be going. Thank you so much for the food, and I hope that you can get the walls sorted out. I’ll try and swing by some day to check up on the village and make sure there aren’t any bandits about.” Adam smiled and quickly retreated from the woman, saving his chastity.

“What a shame,” the Chief said, sighing as she watched him go. “Merl had just started to feel better.” She shook her head, walking in to the building to see her recovering granddaughter. “I’m sorry dear, but it looks like the Iyrmen needed him.”

“It’s alright, grandmother,” the beautiful young woman said. “We’ll meet again, if the Lord of Fate allows it.”

“Is the elf man really going to join us?” a boy said, cautiously eyeing up Adam as he approached before looking up at Jurot.

“Adam is a good man,” Jurot said. “He bet his life to save you.”

“He did?”

“Haven’t you been paying attention?” another boy said. The story had been told several times, but the boys were more eager to hear the actual fight, rather than what happened before it. “Of course you’re a Baron’s son.” He rolled his eyes.

The boy frowned. “Our Knights are still highly valued in East Aldland.”

“Everyone knows we up north have the best Knights,” the Count’s son replied.

“Nu uh.”

“Yes we do.”

“What about King’s Sword?”

“King’s Sword doesn’t count. He’s the King’s Sword!” The Count’s son shook his head. “Don’t forget, we have the Knight of Death.”

“Well, he doesn’t count either.”

Adam watched as they quickly went from complaining about him joining them to power ranking the various Knights of the Region, from the Knight of Death, to the Knight of Flowers, to the Mountain Knight.

Once they were ready to leave, the Iyrmen took their positions. Argon at the front, the children behind him. Eshva covered the left flank, Kandal the right. Tazwyn brought up the rear of the children. The prisoners remained behind Tazwyn some ways, followed by Jurot and Adam, and finally Dargon.

They walked along the bridge above the river, before stepping onto the land of the Iyrmen. The moment they passed the river, Adam felt a fuzziness within him. Even the children, who had been discussing how the Mountain Knight could obviously defeat the Knight of Flowers, since the Knight of Flowers was still quite young, stopped talking. They glanced around, trying to find why they were sensing a fuzziness.

Adam glanced around too, trying to get a sense of things. ‘What is that?’

Wisdom Check

D20 + 1 = 3 (2)

“What’s wrong?” Dargon asked, smiling to himself. ‘How does it feel, stepping on our lands?’

“I don’t know,” Adam admitted, not understanding the fuzziness within him. It was like he was being tickled through his navel, but there was also a feeling of the gentlest feather crossing along the back of his neck. “But I don’t like it.”

“You don’t need to worry,” Dargon said, patting Adam’s shoulder. “We’re in our Iyrlands now.” He, like Kandal, enjoyed the company of the half elf. He was as queer as he was enjoyable to be around. It wasn’t a boring journey, partly due to the half elf’s eccentricity.

The group continued, following the main path, which led ever forward through the forest. As they trekked through the forest, Adam noted the the river, which had curved to their side. “If we follow the river, will we get to the Iyr?”

“Yes,” Dargon confirmed, tying his greatsword to his back in a different manner. “We’re not too far from our people. We should arrive by dusk fall.” There was no additional statement. There was nothing which would go wrong on the journey, so arriving by dusk fall was merely a matter of fact, and with his greatsword tied differently, they would know to come.

“Phew,” the elf girl said, sitting on a rock. The group took a momentary rest, their third already. The children weren’t used to walking so much through the forest, which had decreased their speed.

“What’s your name, little half cousin?” Adam asked, resting up against a tree.

“Why do you want to know?”

“I guess I’ll just call you little elf brat then,” he replied, tilting his head back so he was looking down at her.

“I am Amaerabyl,” she replied. She would have mentioned her parents’ names too, but she understood that this half elf wouldn’t know them.

“How are you feeling?” Adam asked.

“Tired, obviously.”

“I’m sure,” Adam said, but he understood she didn’t want to talk about it. He glanced over to the dwarf, who was currently chummying away with Tazwyn, who would listen intently, and then reply in Aldspeak, answering the various questions Thunderhammer posed.

Perception Check

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

D20 + 2 = 11 (9)

Adam sipped at his waterskin, before he noticed two figures on either side of him. He threw them a quick glance, and then tied his waterskin to his side. It was only after he did so that he realised he didn’t recognise either of them. His hand reached for his sword at his side, but he noted how the other Iyrmen had noticed, and yet did not seem to reach for their weapons.

One was a bald woman, with the lightest of wrinkles around her family tattoo. The tattoo was a deep blue semicircle, the flat side pointed up, at the centre, and deep red hollowed ovals, which went out either way. She was dressed in sheets of cloth, which were wrapped around her and tucked in tight, with a belt tied at her waist. At her back was a staff made of wood of the purest white.

Jurot’s eyes snapped to the staff instantly, swallowing as he admired the Iyr Ivory he coveted so desperately. His fingers twitched, wishing to feel it again, but he remained calm. He knew of these two people, especially the woman with the silverdeer skull.

Beside the older woman was a much scruffier woman, a woman who embodied the wildness which some believed the Iyrmen to possess. She wore the skull of a silverdeer as a mask, antler and all, with curly black hair which fell back across her shoulders. The skull was carved in such a way which revealed the tattoo on her forehead, which was a black tilted cross, and several eight pointed stars. Thick furs fell across her entire form, hiding the rest of her body, coloured a tannish grey. Grasped tightly within her hands were a pair of shortswords, made of bone with intricate carvings, designs of the Iyr, which Jurot understood the symbols of.

Thirst for Blood.

Jurot’s heart pounded wildly, for though the boy had spent his entire life within the Iyr, there were beings even he had yet to meet. Yes, he had met the Great Elders, the Chief, but he had never met one of these Iyrmen. It was as though he had met a Great Elder for the first time. ‘I must tell mother and father once I return!’ He had heard his father had met one of them before, though he did not say much more of the matter, and nor would he.

“Argon,” the bald woman said, smiling at the man. Her face held the smile of an aunt, slightly distant, but still lovely.

“Shaool,” Argon greeted, bowing his head towards her. “Come, children. You will leave with Shaool. She will take you to a safe place.”

The boys looked at the two women, especially the savage woman with the shortswords, who had approached with her bones drawn. Her eyes were glued to the two prisoners, though she made no move to them.

“Is she strong?” the Baron’s son asked.

“Stronger than me,” Argon admitted.

Adam stared at the women beside him, each of whom had appeared as though they were his shadow. Seeing the wrinkled skin of both women, he could assume they were older, meaning they were more than likely deadly. ‘I really should stop joking around so much before I worm my way into their hearts.’

“Are they really?” The Baron’s son squinted. After all, one had a staff, and the other bone blades. ‘What kind of person uses bone blades? They would fall apart before metal weapons…’

“Iyrmen don’t lie,” the Count’s son said, staring at the woman with the bone swords. ‘I bet she could kill the Knight of Flowers and the Mountain Knight. Our Knight of Death could beat her though.’

“Ah’ll stay with Tazwehn,” Thunderhammer said, her eyes squinting at the two women. Neither of them had axes, and she didn’t trust anyone who used weapons made of bone and wood. ‘If they were decent people, they’d use metal weapons.’

The elf girl grabbed onto Eshva’s biceps, who flexed them for the little elf girl once more. Though the wood was nice, those women didn’t have biceps like Eshva’s. Though the woman with the shortswords might, but they were all covered up. What was the point of that?

“Then we will continue to take you,” Argon said, glancing back to Tazwyn and nodding at her. She stepped aside from the prisoners, and the two women approached towards Balrog and Mattias.

Balrog stepped back, but the bald woman almost became a blur as she appeared behind him, jabbing him against his back with a finger. Balrog’s entire body frozen still, the veins in his body jutting up against his skin for a moment.

The bald Iyrman leaned in to whisper into his ear.

Perception Check

D20 + 2 = 20 (18)

“Don’t worry,” came a sweet, soft, tender voice. “I won’t kill you, yet.”

Adam shuddered, unsure of whether he should feel glad she was taking Balrog away, or if he should be terrified he might be taken away with her. The bald woman turned to look at him, smiling warmly, like a sweet aunt. Adam quickly glanced aside. ‘If I can’t see her, she can’t see me.’

Mattias had remained still, having noticed both women were much older than Kandal and Argon, who had already instilled a deep rooted fear within his heart of the Iyrmen. ‘If Argon says they’re stronger, then I’ll just have to believe it…’

“Thank you,” Argon said, bowing his head towards the women, who disappeared with the bandits as quickly as they had appeared.

Adam threw a glance towards Jurot, whose brow was covered with sweat, his eyes beaming brightly. He was still staring at where they had disappeared too, trying to keep them within his sight for even a sliver of a second longer.

“Who were they?” Adam asked, unsure of whether he should have asked.

“They,” Jurot began excitedly, before noting Dargon’s look, “are those who patrol the borders of the Iyr.” His voice had gone from excited, to a practised calm, though it was filled with reverence.

Adam glanced between the pair of Iyrmen, seeing how Dargon was smiling innocently. “Alright,” he said, understanding that he should press further. ‘The aunt probably used her body as a weapon, and the other one…’ The savage woman had somehow exuded no murderous intent, but Adam had noted the look in her eye. ‘No, she probably was just directing it towards the other two.’

The boys glanced between one another, before beginning to try and rank them between all the Knights.

As they continued their journey, the road began to dip slightly, following the sun. The forest, which had grown light for the past hour, soon became sparse, with small bundles of trees a stone’s throw away from one another.

In the distance, they could see it. A giant wall, which stretched from one horizon to the next, following the curves of the hills. The bottom of the wall was made of earth and rock, and was about as tall as Adam. At the top of each hill was a tower, though it was covered by cloth, coloured similarly to the walls.

Spell

Guidance

1D3 = 2

Perception Check

D20 + 2 + 2 = 15 (11)

Unfortunately for Adam, he couldn’t spot whether each tower was manned, as the cloth hid that from him, though no doubt if there was someone manning the towers, they would easily be able to see him, along with miles of the Iyrlands.

The wall reminded Adam of a certain great wall, though he wondered how many miles this wall went on for. “Nice wall.”

Jurot smiled, proudly, nodding his head. “It’s the East Wall, or the Front Wall. Made generations ago, when the Iyr was gifted these lands. It took an entire generation to make it.” He glanced at Dargon, hoping he hadn’t made a mistake.

“With a wall like this, I don’t think anyone would dare to fight the Iyr,” Adam said, glancing along it. “How long is it?”

“Long,” Jurot said, still glancing at Dargon.

“The wall runs all along the hills,” Dargon said. “From coast to coast. Our lands extend beyond the wall, but the wall protects all our people behind it.” He stopped to admire it. Even after all these years, and the countless times he had seen it, he could only feel jitters in his stomach. These were the very walls which had protected him as a child, before he could protect himself with his sword. It wasn’t just these walls which protected him, but those who roamed along the borders of the Iyr too. He wouldn’t dare to claim he had become a shield for the Iyr, not like them, but he was an Iyrman, and he’d spill blood once anyone breached the walls.

“It represents the Front Iyr,” Jurot said. “Beyond these walls, we will see the Iyr. My home.” He shared the same feelings as Dargon and the other Iyrmen. He hadn’t seen the wall from this side often, having only left the Iyr a handful of times when he was younger. The first time he had come by, he had been sleeping on his father’s back, so he hadn’t seen it. He had cried and screamed to his father, who had taken him outside to see it, where he had admired it for hours.

“Front Iyr?” Adam asked, his lips twitching slightly. “Is it because it’s the frontier?”

“It is Front Iyr because it is the front of the Iyr,” Dargon said, but he smiled at the joke too. “Every visitor who comes to meet with we Iyrmen sees this first. Every approaching army which wishes to invade our lands, must first come to pass the wall.” Dargon knew of only a handful of beings who would be able to surpass the wall, but none would dare come. ‘No,’ he thought, thinking about a few days ago. ‘There is one.’

“Didn’t you affirm that no one would be stupid enough to war with the Iyr?” Adam asked, staring at the wall. Unless someone came from the heavens above, none would be able to manage these walls. The Iyr would see the armies coming from miles away from the outposts.

‘No, wait…’ Adam narrowed his eyes. ‘Those two Iyrmen from before, how did they…’

“The current King wouldn’t dare to war with the Iyr,” Dargon said. “Those from distant lands may decide to, though they would need to first rush through the Kingdom, or try to land along the coast before they march up to our walls.” ‘Or they’d have to come from the sky.’

“Speaking of which, you still haven’t finished that story.” Adam squinted at him, crossing his arms like a petulant child. “You promised…”

Dargon chuckled, glancing towards Kandal, sharing a look with him. “Once we’re in Front Iyr, proper.”