The walls of West Fort were large, made of thick stone. The city was large, and spread all across the land, starting from the sea, and heading towards the mountains to their right. Adam could spot the walls continued all the way to the mountains, losing themselves to the horizon in the distance.

“How many people are in West…” Adam’s brow twitched. “Is this place West Fort or West Port?”

“West Fort is West Port,” Jurot replied.

“Oh?”

“There are almost two million people in West Fort. It is the capital of West Aldland,” Jurot stated.

“Is this the place Duke Lionheart is from?”

“Yes.”

“Ah.” Adam slowly nodded his head. “You think we’ll meet him?”

“No, he is fighting on the front line.”

“Oh. Cool. I’ve met with the Duchess, so I thought perhaps I could meet the Duke.”

“…” Jurot blinked. “You have met the Duke previously.”

“I have?”

History Check

D20 + 6 = 8 (2)

“When we first made our way to the Iyr,” Jurot explained. “A carriage made its way to Red Oak from the villages. The handsome man with yellow hair and blue eyes.”

“Oh. You know what? I think I do remember that.” Adam slowly nodded his head. “I remember he tried to scare me. He hated me for being a Half Elf, right?”

“He disliked you for it, yes.”

“Didn’t he try to threaten the Iyr?”

“He tried.”

“Hmm. What do you think?”

“What do I think?”

“Can the Iyr take on West Aldland.”

“West Aldland is difficult,” Jurot said. “Almost as difficult as North Aldland.”

“Why is that?”

“The warriors from North Aldland are considered the greatest of all Aldishmen, they are the hardiest. South Aldland’s warriors are greatest with the bow. East Aldland’s warriors are greatest on the sea. Central Aldland possesses the greatest cavalry. West Aldland, however, may not be the greatest in any of these regards, but they are decent in all matters.”

“Ah, a jack of all trades.”

“Yes?”

“Ah.” Adam slowly nodded his head while Jurot tried to understand what Adam was talking about. “Jurot, why is everything always about the army?”

“There is a civil war.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Adam looked around, seeing how peaceful the land was. “It’s always weird when war happens. Lots of death. Lots of, you know, other bad stuff. Lots of migrants, refugees, and so on. Feels weird. I, uh…” Adam glanced back to the rest of his companions, before sighing. ‘Yeah. War is real. Probably best not to think about what the great patriots of each country are doing to their enemies.’

The road led to a set of large gates, each manned by guards wearing a scale tunic over mail, wielding spears in hand, with blades at their side. Long rectangular shields rested on the ground, a hand resting against the top of each, as though daring the group to act up in front of them. Their helmets were open faced, with what appeared to be angry eyes glaring down from above.

A guard held up a hand, and the group stopped some ways away, before the pair of guards lifted up their shields and disappeared, before the gates opened, revealing the inside for only a moment, the mass of buildings disappearing as the guards marched down to meet them.

“What business do you have in West Fort?” a guard asked, while the other was eyeing the group up.

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“We’re here to meet some friends who had business within West Fort,” Adam said, before motioning his head to Jurot to reveal the silver plaque the Duchess had gifted them.

The guards, disarmed by the plaque, eyed up the group. They whispered between one another, before one took the plaque, the other still glaring at the group. After a short while, the guard returned with the plaque, before handing it to Jurot.

“We cannot allow you to enter until the Hour of Lion has passed,” a guard said.

Adam looked to Jurot, who bowed his head. “Okay,” the Iyrmen replied, simply.

“What’s the Hour of Lion?” Adam asked as they made up a small camp off to one side, a short distance away, but in front of the guard’s sight.

“A celebration for the knights who will soon leave to war,” Jurot replied. “Once the parade is over, we will be allowed to enter the city. The parade usually starts at noon and ends a few hours later.”

“So we’ve got a short while to kick it?” Adam sipped some of his water, throwing a look to the city so close, and yet so far away. “We should probably hide Lucy and Mara, don’t you think?”

“It is a good idea.” Jurot nodded

The sounds of distant drums soon rolled towards them, before they could spot at least a hundred heavily armoured warriors on horse back, each adorned in at least breastplate over chain, though most wear full plate armour from head to toe. They road mighty steeds, each great and powerful, while a carriage followed them, also pulled by great steeds.

The hundred or so riders trotted out of the city, spotting the group from the distance, and ten soldiers broke off towards them. Each wore yellow cloaks, and carried long spears in hand as they approached the group.

One removed their helmet, revealing his handsome face. He had dirty blonde hair, and green eyes. He was at least in his forties, and wore full plate. Dangling from his side was a short belt with a golden ring. He eyed up the group, his eyes going towards the figures in the cart.

“I am Lord Zakaria Tallhill,” the leader said, while one of his companions trotted up beside him.

“Jurot,” Jurot replied, stepping forward.

“What are so many Iyrmen doing so far north?”

“We have come to West Fort on business.”

“I have heard that you had a silver plaque from the Duchess of East Port.”

“Yes.”

“May I see it?”

Jurot reached into his tunic, all the while a rider, who had flanked the carriage, rode up towards the Lord.

“Commander, may I speak to the Iyrman?” called the young rider that had ridden up.

“Do you know of this Iyrman.”

“I do,” the rider said, before undoing his helmet to reveal a younger Aldishman, that with dirty blonde hair and grey eyes. “Jurot, wasn’t it?”

Jurot nodded. “Sir Roland Fords.”

“It’s been quite a while,” Sir Roland said, flashing a charming smile.

“Yes.”

“Why have you not come to visit our estate?”

“I did not make my way to West Aldland.”

Lord Zakaria eyed up Jurot, noting the tattoo on his forehead. He squinted his eyes, taking in the tattoo. “How do you know of each other?”

“I met Jurot more than a decade ago, when my family travelled north. His father, aunt, and some other Iyrmen,” he said, looking to Kitool and Jaygak, noting their tattoos, “accompanied us on our travels. They assisted us when we came across a pack of dire wolves.”

“It was a good fight,” Jurot replied, recalling the memory. “Father slew two dire wolves, and aunt slew two, but almost fell to the third.”

“Your father only killed two because he was too busy protecting us,” Sir Roland stated, smiling. “What a great warrior he was, and I’m sure you are just as great.”

“I placed first in the Noonval Tournament,” Jurot stated.

“Hah! Of course you did!” Sir Roland laughed. “Did you all fight in the tournament?”

“Kitool took second, and Adam took third, only surrendering to Sir Roseia and Sir Karra,” Jurot confirmed.

Lord Zakaria was certain of it now. One of the riders beside the Lord approached him and leaned in to whisper something into his ear. Though the Lord had heard the specific phrase, and though he was certain the member of the order was right, his eyes did not go from Jurot to the cart.

Originally, he had planned to request coin from the group, at least ten gold, which would have paid for the horses’ feed for a short while at least. Yet, upon seeing the group of Iyrmen, and not just a group of Iyrmen, but Iyrmen with that tattoo, he fell still and silent.

“What of the rest of your group?” Sir Roland asked.

“We hold at least one Master, and the weakest are each Experts, or near Experts,” Jurot stated.

“The entire group?” Sir Roland asked, spotting the teen Iyrmen. They were each probably eighteen or so? Experts, though?

“Yes. They all placed well in the tournament too. Nobby was first place, and my Cousins placed second to seventh.”

“They’re really Experts?” Sir Roland asked once more, looking across the entire group. “What of the porters?”

“Yes.”

“…” Sir Roland stared at the group, and then his eyes fell to Jurot. “How amazing. Do you intend to sell your blade to fight in the war?”

“No.”

“If you are, I hope you’ll join the WAF.”

“We will remember your words.”

Sir Roland nodded. “A pleasure to see you again, and I do hope you will visit our estate one day.”

“I will remember your words. If we come to West Aldland again, I will surely pay a visit.”

“We should be leaving,” the Lord said, before leading his horse away, leaving the soldier beside him stunned, while Sir Roland retreated back to the company. The third soldier was certain he had warned the Lord, but he wasn’t going to do anything?

“Your family is pretty cool, eh?” Adam said, chuckling as he watched the company leave.

“Yes.”

“It feels weird they didn’t start any issues…”

“Lord Zakaria is a Baron, and Sir Roland is the second son of a Count,” Jurot said. “It would have been awkward to deny Sir Roland his respect.”

“Yeah, but still. The Baron was giving you a weird look.”

“Yes.”

“I wonder why…” Adam watched as the company left, riding away as about twenty riders fell behind the chariot to protect it from behind. “What’s the WAF?”

“The Western Auxiliary Force,” Jurot replied.

“Ah.”