Yasha picked at her chicken upon rice, the various vegetables neatly arranged to the side, eating the bits one by one. Her eyes sometimes trailed towards the beautiful red scaled woman, her horns pointed out, ready to skewer the world. She had heard of the Dancing Sword of Fire, who hadn’t? She was related to one of the most terrifying red dragons across the land and had already made a name for herself in the last thirty years, the woman taking little bother from the Noor worshippers of Aldland, one of many paving the way for Yasha to make a name for herself. It was the only reason shy she didn’t dislike her epithet in its entirety, for perhaps one day she would be spoken of within the same breath as Melek.

It was a jest of her heart to even consider it, but couldn’t a woman dream?

Yasha began to understand that the world she knew was so much larger than she had ever known, for as an Expert, she would have been almost a beacon for the commonfolk, but compared to the likes of Melek and many others, she would be considered a passable guard for their homes. The fact that she had met so many legendary figures within days, even beyond those of the Order of the Five Moons, revealed to her how small the world was too. Vast and wide as the oceans, as minuscule as the lakes in comparison.

Zabir’s eyes drifted towards the woman too, feeling his heart ache with anxiety. He knew what she was, who she was related to. The half dragon Melek, who was known to love a good fight, even picking fight with the most random of people. It was a surprise she didn’t pick a fight with Scholar Muh, though perhaps that was because of Scholar Muh being Scholar Muh.

Who fought with Scholar Muh other than the Radiant Blade?

There were some rumours of the woman causing trouble for the commonfolk, but they were rarer than one might expect.

Nobby’s eyes, too, fell upon the woman, her beautiful red scales, her strong build, her beautiful blade, no doubt gifted to her by her dragon parent. He furrowed his brows, uncertain of her strength, and his own in comparison. Yet, so many knew of her, and though he was considered strong, almost as strong as Jurot, no one had heard of him. No one knew of Nobby.

‘If I am not known… can I protect?’

Then there was the fact…

In his first fight, in his first duty, he fought the Reaver. There were a pair, but only one stepped forward, as though taunting him, knowing he could not face even the single one. Nobby, he who had been trained by the grandsons of the Mad Dog, guided even by the Mad Dog at times. They say he was talented, even greater than Jurot, but what could he do when he finally fought an opponent that was strong?

“How is your father?” Scholar Muh asked casually, as one might normally ask about the great dragon who once caused Aswadasad to tremble so many years ago.

“As fine as always,” Melek replied, giving nothing to the fact that her father was currently recovering, for he had gone to deal with a few Reavers who had dared to step upon his land, but as they fought, he found them to hold a near bestial fury for himself. He had taken a lighter wound, but greater than he expected, so great, he made sure to warn his daughter about the danger they posed. However, if there was someone who knew such terrible information, Scholar Muh would be one of those who would somehow know, the fellow who was so close Lady Erudite.

Jonn’s eyes remained focused on Scholar Muh, who was considered to be wise, and strong, and just, with so few figures who could match his grace. He was a charming fellow, too, someone who could have been an Oathsworn with as much luck as he was a Monk. The one thing about Scholar Muk was that he was hard to kill. Not because of his great ability to face certain death and completely decimate anyone who were to send him off to Lord Sozain, but also his swiftness, which made him hard to touch, like the Radiant Blade, and in the, perhaps not quite so distant future, Kitool.

What about Jonn? He always believed he would learn the same path as his previous brothers, those he would have died for, and yet abandoned him so easily once the King asked. A single sacrifice, to make sure they knew they were still below the King. He had sworn his Oaths for Adam now, but how far would that take him? Would he be able to reach the Peak, to defeat the likes of Scholar Muh, in ten, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty years time? Scholar Muh would have passed, but what of the next Scholar? The next legends who would rise up in this generation?

Uwajin’s yawn cut through Naqokan’s thoughts, her eyes darting towards Isam, who drank and spoke with the Priest of War, he who came from Black Mountain, a highly respected Order that had been technically unbroken for millennia, though only upon technicalities. The Poison Sword Dragon, considered among the strongest within Aswadasad, not like the Radiant Blade or the likes of Scholar Muh, but upon the likes of those above. Those who could clash with him were those who could resist his vicious attacks, her grandfather being one of the few who possibly could, if he managed to gain the first strike, though if Mad Dog had not retired, it would be unquestionable he could outlast the dragon’s fangs.

“What are you thinking of so deeply?” Uwajin asked, her eyes still glued to the green scaled half dragon.

Naqokan returned a sigh, shaking her head lightly, her sigh saying enough to Uwajin. Her thoughts remained on the Order of the Five Moons, the relationship her family had with Aldland and Aswadasad. Her family was one of two Iyrman families descended from a legendary figure in Aldland with, as pure blooded, and with Rubia, she also held claim to one of the legendary Orders of Aswadasad. Her eyes glanced towards Tanagek and Jurot for a moment, before she looked down towards the kafa, which enticed her.

‘Amokan is aiming to become Chief, but what of I?’ The young Iyrman’s thoughts remained focused on the most important question she could ask herself. She was still in her early twenties, an Expert, but there was so much more she could do with her own talent. Just how high could she choose to fly if she so wished for it? Was it right to stand beside Adam and allow him to bring her up far beyond her typical capabilities? However, was that not what the Iyr did for her? She who had been born in the greatest land across all lands, for no one was poor as an Iyrman, and if she wished for it, she could reach great heights. Outside of half dragons and those of the long lived races, no one could match the Iyr’s abilities to produce ruthlessly powerful figures, not even those born in great wealth.

Naqokan let out a soft sigh, drinking her kafa, her eyes falling upon the half elf who was rubbing Kizwolima’s back, the girl having ate way too much fruit for her own good. There had been a few times when Adam had seemed like a different person, someone with no capability for this, but somehow, the half elf always seemed to behave so tenderly with children, who adored him in return.

The Black Lion stood tall and strong, the atmosphere within the restaurant finally returning to normal as the wealthier commoners and merchants returned back to their meals, doing their best to ignore the terrifying figures within. Uli’s fingers had twitched towards his blade as Bael and Melek confronted one another, but he was glad he did not have to step forward, since if they didn’t behave, the aftermath of such a confrontation would have been terrifying. His eyes fell upon the half elf, who seemed so meek after meeting the Poison Sword Dragon, but he was fairly certain that the young man had defeated Kal Isam.

After all, he had seen it with his own two eyes.

While the group ate within the fine restaurant, there was another figure, pale of skin, whitened hair, eyes of ash, tall and strong, who made his way to a particular district within Aswadasad. It was the largest and greatest inn within the capital, but no one could dare to call it an inn. It was a large complex which overtook an entire neighbourhood, long walls with dozens of different buildings which assisted in tending to every want and need for a hardened traveller.

It was a castle within the city, one which all mercenaries and adventurers flocked to, from those who wanted to spend coppers, to those who wished to spend gold coins, at least, if one could afford it. It was so influential that the Adventurer’s Guild worked closely with the complex.

‘You better be here, Royce,’ the figure thought, approaching the Dakun Manzil, with the full expectation that the Lord Marshal had played the most wicked of pranks, having him step into the capital of Aswadasad in the middle of noonval. ‘Otherwise I’ll gut you!’

“Hey,” an adventurer whispered to her companion, nudging her in the side as they followed behind the large figure. “I swear upon Noor, that is the White Tiger of the North.”

“Has your father slapped you so hard? What is the White Tiger of the North doing in Aswadasad? In the capital of all places?” the other replied, the woman tutting at her companion for being such a fool. However, her eyes fell upon the large blade, slightly curved towards the end, and which weighed far too much for a normal man to carry. “Did he not retire twenty years ago?”

“He could have come here for the sun?”

“He’s from the North.”

“Acha,” the woman replied, shrugging her shoulders.

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I'm sure nothing will go wrong.