Dawn had yet to grace Red Oak, but the Iyrmen had awoken bright and early. They trained early in the morning, running laps around the Adventurer’s Guild, sparring lightly with one another and other adventurers.

“How are you so strong when you are so young?” an older adventurer asked. He was in his mid thirties, almost twice Jurot’s age, and he had been hard pressed when facing the young Iyrman.

“I am Jurot, son of Surot,” Jurot replied, simply.

The adventurer sighed, before laughing. “So that’s it, is it?”

Jaygak stretched out her entire body, basking in dawn’s light. Kitool sat beside her, meditating.

“Jurot,” the Hakorian Lady called.

“Lady Shamia,” the Iyrman replied.

“I wished to thank you again for your assistance, back with the gem troll, and once more.”

Jurot nodded. “It is my honour as an Iyrman.”

“I grew up hearing of the distant tales of the Iyrmen,” she said, smiling. “I had the pleasure of meeting Iyrmen previously, for there were times an Iyrman passed by with their adventuring companions. It was always so wonderful hearing their family’s tales from their lips.”

Jurot nodded. Iyrmen were like that. They always passed on a tale or two everywhere they went. Even he would speak of his family’s tales when he passed by through villages, usually over dinner.

“I didn’t expect to meet the descendant of Great Giahroh. Where are my manners? I didn’t expected to be saved by the descendant of Great Giahroh, twice. His was my favourite tale.”

Jurot let out a long sigh through his nostrils, his lips twitching slightly. “Yes. It is a good story.”

“Is it really true?” Lady Shamia whispered.

“We Iyrmen do not lie.”

“I hope that we can meet again when I am less busy,” Shamia said, noting the look of her bodyguard.

“Yes.” Jurot nodded.

Jurot quickly bathed, and made his way out of the Guild.

“Don’t eat too much,” Jaygak said as the Iyrman left. “Adam’s invited us all to eat.”

“Yes,” Jurot replied, simply.

Today, it was Jurot’s turn to do it.

Red Oak was bustling already in the morning, with the sounds of labourers moving about, guards passing through the streets to check for any troubling folk, and the servants of Nobles who were going off to sort the affairs of their masters.

He approached a tavern, one which could house at least fifty people comfortably. Two Penny Tavern, in where one could buy a meal and drink for two copper coins.

It was guarded by a man in his mid forties, who wore a chain shirt, and carried a blade at his side. He rolled a set of dice, before noting the Iyrman. “No trouble, Iyrman.”

“Yes,” Jurot replied, before stepping into the tavern. It was half full with all sorts of fellows who preferred to stick to the shadows. He settled himself in a corner, looking out to everyone, his gaze falling across them all. The fellows glanced at him, and quickly shuffled so their backs were to the Iyrman, not wanting to give the Iyrman a reason to draw that axe of his.

“What do you want?” A young man approached, carrying at his side a dagger, as all those within the tavern did.

“Potato. Egg. Buttermilk.” Jurot placed down three coins with his right hand, a copper coin which was sandwiched between two silver.

The worker waited for the Iyrman to withdraw his hand, though Jurot was busy scanning the room with his eyes. Once his eyes were done scanning the room, he released his hand, causing the worker to swipe them away as they quickly stepped away from the savage.

“It’ll be out shortly,” the young man said, quickly scampering away from the Iyrman.

Jurot waited for the five minutes to pass, his eyes glued to the shadowy folk before him. They continued to feel his gaze against their backs.

The same worker cautiously approached, clearing his throat. “There’s no buttermilk.”

Jurot remained quiet for a long while, far too long. The worker waited, clutching his dagger belt with one hand. Twenty seconds of silence passed before the Iyrman spoke.

“Peach wine, then.” Jurot placed down two gold coins with his right hand, waiting for only a moment, before pulling his hand back, allowing the servant to swipe the coins, before they retreated away.

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The food was brought before him, piping hot. Jurot waited a short while before eating the potato, unbuttered, but slightly salted. He then made work on the scrambled egg, before he picked up the clay bottle of peach wine. He sipped just the smallest amount, before he placed the bottle onto the table.

The worker eventually noticed Jurot sitting there, silent, glaring at him. He swallowed, before approaching the Iyrman. “Yes?”

“It is bad.”

“Excuse me?”

“The peach wine.” Jurot stared up at the worker.

Peach wine was a staple for the Rot family, something which they brought out with even the flimsiest of reasons.

The worker bowed his head slowly, taking a long moment to think. “I-I’ll go call the boss. Please, follow me to the back, mister Iyrman.”

Jurot stood, far too quickly for the shadowy folks, who tensed up, and the worker stepped back. However, the Iyrman followed the worker to the back, to a small room with a table and a set of wooden seats. A candle illuminated the room.

Jurot waited for the ten minutes, before he heard the steps approaching. He looked to the opening door, where a young man appeared, smiling at the Iyrman. He wore a dark outfit, a simple outfit, and he wore a dagger at his side. On his collar was a plain copper pin.

“I didn’t expect such an esteemed guest,” the young man said, taking three steps to the table, beginning with his left foot, before placing down the clay cups, both on his side of the table. He poured the wine, first to his own cup, and then to Jurot’s. “I heard you did not like the wine.”

“It is bad,” Jurot replied, simply.

The young man sipped the wine, before offering the Iyrman the second cup. “I’m sure this is to your taste.”

Jurot accepted the cup with his right hand, before sipping the wine. He placed it down. “It is bad.”

The young man continued to smile, but his brow pulsed. His hand blurred, going to his dagger, before he thrust it towards the left side of Jurot’s neck. “My precious peach wine is bad?”

“Yes, it is.” Jurot could feel the cool steel against his neck.

“Any last words?”

“Son of Surot.”

The young man slashed with his dagger, snuffing out the candle’s light, then the pair moved the seat Jurot had been sitting on moments before, finally pulling apart the plants of wood to reveal the steps down.

The young man grabbed the candle and began to walk down the steps, and after three steps, the candle lit aflame once more. Jurot followed him once the candle’s dim light filled the darkness.

They walked through a long tunnel, which led out to other series of tunnels, each of which were blocked by wood some ways in, not that either of them could see that far.

After a ten minute walk they entered a large room, one which was easily a hundred paces long in every direction, full of tables, drawers, and ten people. There was a large map of the town on a wall, which was marked with all kinds of colours. Several tunnels led out towards other business who were in the know.

Each worker wore a copper pin, though there was a middle aged woman who wore a silver pin against her collar. She looked to Jurot, who had appeared the evening before, and nodded. Since it was not their first meeting since he had returned, Jurot did not respond with a nod, as expected of him. If he had, he would have had to explain, quickly, that he was really Jurot, and not some imposter. There was always a safeguard even after passing the first dozen.

Jurot eventually led the young man to the table he had sat at last night, and he motioned his head to the red book, passing the next two safeguards. The young man waited until Jurot began his tale, before he opened the book to confirm what had been written down by a compatriot.

Jurot mentioned the reason for marking the tannery, which had already been marked on the town map, and then mentioned the business with Crowseer and what had occurred during the quest. It didn’t take long, as most of it was quite vague, which would be sent back to the Iyr for Elder Lykan and the others to confirm before passing on to the Elders within the Main Iyr.

Once the young man confirmed the information, he bowed his head, and let Jurot leave, who made his way out, following the same way he had come. He stepped up into the dimly lit room, where he noticed a new candle, one which had been replaced not long after they had left. He picked up the peach wine, and then made his way out, holding it in his right hand, passing the final safeguard.

“Iyrman,” a young urchin called. His hair was dark, a dirty dirty blonde, but there was something more to him. Even though he had lost weight, Jurot recognised him from the previous year. He couldn’t forget, as the boy was the one who had led him to Pam’s bakery. The urchin held out his thin hands. “Please.”

Jurot stared into the urchin’s ocean blue eyes. He placed down a gold coin, and wrapped the boys fingers around it. “It is yours,” Jurot said.

“Thank you, Iyrman,” the boy whispered with a raspy breath, his eyes darting around to see which urchins had seen.

Jurot remained with the boy for a short time. He didn’t forget the face, but there was something else about the boy’s face. The hair, which was dark from dirt, hiding that it was truly blonde.

‘Sun kissed hair. Ocean blue eyes.’

They were two descriptors which Jurot had been trained to recognise. Jurot paused for a moment longer, but realised it was suspicious. “Come with me.”

The urchin followed Jurot, glad that he was protected by the Iyrman, as then he could at least spend the gold and eat his fill. Then, he could scatter the coins and run, grasping at least a silver and a few coppers.

The scrupulous guard stared at Jurot. “Iyrman, back again?”

“Yes,” Jurot replied, simply. It was the only time he could use one word, and that was to state one of two words. If he had said no, the guard would understand that blood would need to be spilled.

Jurot set the boy down in the corner, and the same worker who had served him earlier cautiously approached the Iyrman.

“Egg. Potato. Buttermilk.” Jurot placed a silver coin between two copper coins.

“What was that?” the worker asked, wanting to confirm the order.

“Egg. Potato. Buttermilk.”

The worker quickly swiped the coins, and left, all the while Jurot had slipped something into the boy’s hand. “Do not show.”

The boy stared at Jurot, but nodded his head.

“Do not drink,” Jurot stated.

The boy continued to stare up at Jurot, but nodded his head again.

Jurot left, leaving the boy to eat, before he’d inevitably be choked out by the workers so they could see what was in his hand.

Jurot paused at Thundersmith’s smithy, writing down a note as the Dwarf worked away on a piece, ignoring the Iyrman.

“Thank you,” Jurot said, before he left.

The Dwarf understood to leave the Iyrman be, and that he’d need to smith an axe for the Iyr, which would pay him double for the use of being out of sight to write down a message.

Jurot could have gone to his room, but going to the smithy would have given him a small alibi, and he made his way right to where Adam had invited all the guests for breakfast.

He handed Kitool the paper. The Iyrman read it, nodding her head, before handing it to Jaygak. Once she had read it, she burnt the paper.

There were just three words.

He is Ool.