“Jirot reminds me of you when you were young, sister,” Tonagek admitted.
“You can say that this soon?” Sonarot replied, her lips forming an even wider smirk.
Tonagek bowed his head. “I can because it is true.”
“She does not cause trouble for father, she adores him too much, but she likes to test me,” Sonarot said, letting out a soft sigh, one full of satisfaction.
“I will place the boy to sleep so that I may drink with you,” Tonagek said, standing up to place the boy aside.
Sonarot watched as her brother took the boy away. Tonagek, who had been so prideful, who had come face to face with all manner of beasts and monsters, who had considered to fight for the position of a Great Elder, had become so small after the death of his son so recently. She waited for him to return, though was unable to think of words to soothe his aching heart.
Though the Iyrmen welcomed death, the death of a child was so different, and even the hearts of Iyrmen, which were often considered to be made of steel or stone, could only ache for the children of the Iyr.
‘Are you safe?’ Sonarot thought of the young Iyrmen who had left, those she had raised from when they were babes.
Nirot’s heart pounded within her chest as her axe cut through a duabears skull, letting it fall, allowing another to climb up to take its place. Though she was red hot with rage, she had a different task, the same task as her cousin and his trainee, the same trainee who could defeat her. They were trained with the Rot family’s ability. While the rage of Naqokan allowed her to smite her enemies, and the rage of Uwajin allowed her to strike with greater fury, the rage of the Rot family was the kind which did not empower their strikes, but rather their bodies.
The ability of the Rot family was to push through almost any kind of damage. While most rage dancers could push through the pain of a duabear’s claw, or a birdcat’s bite, it was the Rot family’s rage which allowed them to walk through a Fireball as though they were Gaks, but also all other elements, shrugging off acidic rain, lightning storms, wicked poison, all save for that which assaulted the mind.
Her role, like that of Jurot and Nobby, was to hold the front line. They would take the blows at the front, allowing Naqokan and Uwajin to slaughter as much as they could. Nirot’s blows were more controlled, slicing the heads off the creatures, while raising her shield to defend against their terrifying blows.
How could she, a young Iyrman who was to turn nineteen this year, stand beside her cousin? She, who had claimed the rights of an Expert before turning twenty, something which many of the one hundred could not? A pike struck the duabear from over her shoulder, Bavin’s mighty strength pushing it away from her.
Bavin, like the farmers, were using larger weapons from behind the Iyrmen. It was not a position most Iyrmen would want, but the young man, who had been gifted such a grand opportunity due to his grandfather, did not want to shame his family.
The memory of returning back to the Iyr as an Expert filled the young man’s mind.
He had returned with the news, and had shocked the entire family when he had defeated his twin sister, who had mastered the basics of the Vin family way, but was not yet an Expert. He had never understood why his sister had been so prideful of her family, nor why she was so eager to fight, but upon seeing his sister’s smile when he had defeated her, he understood.
An itch appeared at the back of Bavin’s neck, the young man wishing to step forward so he could form the vanguard, but he forced the thought away. He would remain beside the farmers, who were in little danger, and would make sure nothing would happen to them.
It was not the time of Bavin, or the time of Iyrmen, but the time of Fate’s Golden.
Amira held her blade tightly in hand as she watched the carnage unfold before her. It was one thing to see Iyrmen bathing themselves in the blood of their enemies, but to see the porters and the farmers working with systematic efficiency, as though they had been trained by the Order of Black Mountain. She had yet to step forward to attack or assist in any capacity, even including throwing javelins. At least Jonn and Korin had cast a spell on the priests to increase their defensive abilities, but she had only drawn her shield and blade. She scanned the area for threats, something the keen senses of the wolves rendered near useless.
Stolen story; please report.
Even Adam had stopped throwing out his fire, focusing instead on catching a break point within their line, which did not come. The Iyrmen were too sturdy, their weapons also eager for blood. The farmers and porters, who assisted with their longer weapons, finished off any creatures which dared not to die within moments to the Iyrmen. Vonda and Dunes both held up their spell, Spectral Sentinels, one of the greatest spells within a priest’s arsenal.
The warmth of the spell surrounded the area, large weapons of light, like Adam’s own Spiritual Weapon, floated in the air. Though, unlike the Second Gate spell, this spell affected a wide range around the priest, easily five metres on either side, its effects only applying to foes the priests picked. The spell then rained upon a holy wrath upon its foes while they remained within its light, also slowing any foe within its range.
However, such abilities were usually for those who were more experienced. Typically, one would gain the ability when they were in their thirties, for becoming a great priest was a long, arduous rode, which many priests only dreamt of. Yet, here were two figures, both in their early twenties, who knew Third Gate spells, and had known such for years.
The stakes. The pit. The spell. The Iyrmen. The pikes. The arrows.
Though the birdcats and duabears wished for the group’s demise, to feast upon their flesh with supernatural zeal, they could only find death. Of course, before all of such defences, there was one Amira hadn’t expected.
Fireballs.
Three Fireballs.
Three Fireballs after casting two Third Gate spells to keep the towers up?
‘He must know Fourth Gate spells,’ Amira thought.
“That was… much easier than I expected,” Lucy panted, surrounded in a sea of blood and guts. Mara stood beside her, and though she was also covered in blood and guts, she stood with a refined grace beside her liege.
“Weren’t you meant to stay back?” Adam asked, slipping Wraith back into his belt.
“You stepped back so we stepped forward,” Lucy retorted.
“I guess that makes sense…”
“I need a bath…” Lucy said while the last dying growls and screeches of the remaining duabears filled the fort.
“Before that, we should make sure the fire doesn’t spread from our end, or theirs,” Adam said, making his way to the wall of the fort to check the giant blazing wall which surrounded the other fort.
“Is that Wall of Fire?” Dunes asked, staring at the outpost. “Do they have a Priest of Noor?”
“Might be from another kind of caster,” Adam replied, trying not to smirk. “It’s a miracle the area hasn’t caught fire yet.”
“Perhaps it is a Priest of Noor,” Dunes said, shrugging his shoulders. “I doubt it, but there are stranger things.” His eyes fell to Adam expectantly.
Adam shrugged his shoulders too, before gathering everyone together to check on their wounds. As expected, the Iyrmen had taken the brunt of the damage, but they were each still relatively healthy.
“I’ll heal you all a little, and Jonn will do the same,” Adam said, placing a hand on Laygak’s shoulder, and then Faool’s.
Lay on Hands: 35 -> 5
Adam placed a hand on Laygak, Faool, Nirot, Naqokan, Uwajin, and Nobby, each of whom had been in the thick of things. Once they were healed, Jonn did the same, while Adam kept a few points in his back pocket, just in case.
“Good work,” Adam said, patting Fred’s back.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Keeping an eye on our flank is more important than you think, Fred,” Adam stated firmly. “Not everyone needs to draw their blades to be useful.”
Fred’s eyes fell to the magical steeds, each which would have no doubt been able to do his role better, though they had remained within the fort, staring at the various walls to spot anything which could have snuck around.
“I understand now,” Amira admitted to Dunes, while the younger Iyrmen began to butcher the creatures, and the older Iyrmen went to check on the other fort and deal with any rogue flames.
“No,” Dunes replied. “We have met no grand figures, yet.”
“What of those in the Iyr? Burg and Wing?”
“They do not count,” Dunes replied. “They were due to the Iyr. Adam…” Dunes wasn’t sure what to say, but he recalled the words which had entered the Iyr’s lexicon.
While the group began to set the tea, a pair of Iyrmen finished their own tea.
“The Rot family will not act alone,” Tonagek stated after swallowing the least of the tea. He could barely taste its flavour, though he was certain it was plum flavoured.
“Will you come?”
“Half dragon. Demon. Goblin. These are Aldish terms, for Aldish ways. The children, they are your grandchildren, so they are my family too,” Tonagek replied sternly, the other Tonagek shining through for only a moment, before it slipped away back to the boy Sonarot knew.
“What of Adam?” Sonarot asked, staring into her brother’s eyes, though her eyes were relaxed, without judgement.
“Adam…” Tonagek thought about the young man, who his sister had all but adopted into the family. His story was well known to him, for they had crossed paths in the most awkward way, and yet it was perhaps one of the most significant mark upon the boy’s journey.
Tonagek recalled the phrase which had entered the lexicon of the Iyrmen, something which had been used to make sense of a young man who was equally as terrifying as he was embarrassing. A young man who would face against the likes of Emperor Shama, Lord of Flames, even if it meant his death, and yet would shirk at the sight of his daughter, who bullied him so eagerly. A young man who was terrified of the Iyr, and yet would give them plenty of reasons to kill him.
“Adam is Adam.”