“He is undefeated!” a young Aswadian man exclaimed. 

“If I am undefeated against my cats, am I greater?” another replied, leaning in to his companion, elbowing him in the side gently. “I am saying he has defeated all the greatest across the land, while yours has fought one or two decent opponents, and has remained undefeated against kittens when he could have fought lions!”

“Your mother!”

“Your mother! Your father!” the fellow exclaimed as they began to wrestle, not noticing the large number of Iyrmen and the Mo of Black Mountain who made their way past, towards the inn they were staying at. 

As the group stepped within, a heavily armed and armoured individual approached, though stepped past them all to hand a note towards the Black Lion, the pair bowing their heads, before the soldier continued out, their cape billowing behind them. The moment the soldier stepped out, the atmosphere returned back to normal, only for them to remember the Black Lion was still here.

“You may meet the royal family on the twenty first,” Uli stated, for the paper only held the date, and nothing else, but he understood. 

“Oh! Wonderful!” Adam flashed a wide smile, suddenly giddy with glee. “I suppose we should buy a lovely bundle of silk for the sword too?”

“A good idea,” Dunes admitted, thinking about heading out tomorrow to procure some fine silk. As he thought such, Jurot nodded, and with a heart that needed to clear, he stepped out, followed by Nobby, the young man sticking to Jurot like glue, as they had agreed. 

Kitool settled herself beside Kizwolima, taking a look at her sleepy face, the girl rubbing her eyes as she tried to stay awake. She looked up at the young woman, her wide eyes blinking slowly. She popped bubbles towards Kitool. 

“She asked if you’re still hungry, and said that I would be able to buy you more delicious fruits,” Adam said, a wide smile upon his face. 

“No,” Kitool assured, the girl blinking up towards her once more, before bowing her head as Kitool reached down to ruffle the girl’s thick hair. Kitool wondered if the girl was fine, or if she was hiding a storm of emotions within her heart, not wanting to worry others, perhaps fearing they may abandon her. She had begun to understand why the half elf remained so close to her, and why he had placed Bael upon her, as well as herself, Brittany, Tagak, and the other Gaks, each the perfect choice to watch over her. 

There were many who were wealthy who held interest in children, a minority of whom who held pure intentions, like Adam. Scholar Muh was one of them, she was certain of that much, for he was well known to be so charming, and though there were some rumours to disparage his pristine image, there were no rumours of any impropriety, outside of his flirtation with beautiful women. 

Kitool’s thoughts fell to Scholar Muh deeper, wondering if she should have asked him to spar with her. ‘It would have been a fun fight.’

Dunes ordered more kafa, drinking his fill, sinking deep into his chair as he thought about his conversation with the Poison Sword Dragon. He promised to go visit Black Mountain, while speaking with Dunes about this and that, and sometimes about Adam, though the topic quickly veered away once more. He eyed up the inn, noting all the details within it, from the floor, to the walls, to the dome, to the people. It was all so familiar, all which he had missed terribly. The warmth of the comfort which came from familiarity allowed a single seed of doubt to enter his mind. However, as it did, he recalled the meeting with all the various figures of this land, and how they were so eager to press upon the half elf. 

Dunes thought of the Iyr, which had welcomed him so deeply. Then there was the fact that one of the strongest in Aswadasad had currently died, and the Reavers were ravaging Northern Aswadasad. What was he to do for this home of his, which had treated him so well? His eyes fell upon the half elf, who was certainly the answer to all of this. He could not return, not when, if he sat beside the half elf, the half elf would listen to him, for they were friends, almost brothers, Dunes hoped.

“Kizwolima, we can’t,” Adam said, his voice full of worry. “You’ve already eaten so much!”

Kizwolima pouted, glancing down at the floor, her lower lip trembling. She thought about how he had promised, but he broke it. 

“Alright, just a little, okay?” Adam said, relenting instantly for the young girl. “Just a little and you have to eat slowly, okay?”

“Okay!” Kizwolima’s eyes brightened once more, far too radiant for the half elf, who covered his eyes, not wanting her to claim more from him, not that he’d mind, since spoiling her was so much fun. 

There were many around him who may have thought it was inappropriate, but they all understood the darkness Adam was trying to bury within his heart. Kitool’s eyes fell upon the half elf, her Iyrmanly heart calm, but she thought of the Adam who could have been born after the deaths of his children. It was, in Iyrmanly terms, terrifying. 

Meanwhile, Jurot made his way through the market, heading towards the finer district in order to procure the beautiful silk which came from from the east, though as he approached the district, ready to cross the bridge, a guard held out a hand to stop him. 

“Iyrman. Business?”

“Silk,” the Iyrman replied, reaching into his cloak, before shaking hands with the guard, who noted the glint of gold. 

“Shukhur,” the guard said, allowing the Iyrman through, who noted instantly just how clean and orderly all the roads were within this district, and the air of leisure which permeated through. 

Jurot frowned.

Nobby followed the Iyrman, before they approached a small building, one in which young nobles were currently admiring all the silks to procure, wealthy merchants envying the silks which they could not procure from the source, and guards whose eyes darted towards the two large brutes who approached. One of the Aswadian nobles said something in their tongue, causing the other to flash a wide smile, chuckling lightly. 

Jurot approached the proprietor, Aman, a devilkin whose family worked in silks, and had done so for years. He wore a beautiful silver gauntlet, that was more like a glove, and he eyed up the two handsome men who approached him, already figuring which silks he could sell to such, who no doubt wanted to impress the nobility with their wealth rather than their worth.

Jurot placed down a gem, an amber, worth one hundred gold pieces. “I require silk for a longsword to be gifted to the royal family.”

Aman’s brows shot up in alarm, before a small smile crossed his lips. “Of course, of course, Iyrman.”

“I require it today, for we will meet the royal family in two days,” Jurot stated. 

“Two days? Why would the royal family, the Amira, wish to meet with you?”

“My family is well known in Aswadasad, you have heard the tale of my ancestor, for it was he who freed you from the tyranny of the blue dragons,” Jurot said, and the smile of Aman dropped, and he bowed his head deeply.

“I should have recalled from your tattoo, warrior,” Aman replied, bowing his head. “A hundred apologies.”

“We will meet the royal family because we deal in enchanting and trading magical items,” Jurot said, raising his voice so the nearby nobles and merchants could hear, remaining standing tall and proud as he spoke, for he was an Iyrman. 

“I can find the perfect silk,” Aman assured, picking up the gem carefully, taking a moment to give it a customary glance and pretended to check it, before accepting it. “I will have the silk sent to you.”

“I wish to take it now,” Jurot said, his voice neutral, aware of the gazes upon him. “Nobby, stand taller and prouder.”

“Yes, boss,” Nobby replied, standing a little taller and prouder. 

“In this, a building full of silk, silver, and gold, only we smell of steel and blood.” Jurot’s words cut towards the guards, who narrowed their eyes towards the Iyrman. Yet, as they reacted to Jurot’s words, the shadow of a smirk appeared on the Iyrman’s face, for though there were wealthy merchants and young nobles, perhaps heirs to their families, all around them, their guards were enough only to warm up against. Even Nobby could completely ravage through them, perhaps even alone, if he was the first to act. 

One of the merchants eyed the Iyrman up, narrowing his eyes slightly. He recalled some trouble his son had with Iyrmen, but was it this Iyrman? He did mention something about a half elf, but he decided against speaking of it, instead he approached the Iyrman, curious to hear more about this business. He stopped, only to see Jurot’s knowing gaze, and the wicked smile which encroached upon the Iyrman’s lips. 

“What business do you have with me, Setting Sun?”

‘Ah,’ the merchant thought. ‘It was this Iyrman.’

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Jurot letting them know what's up.