The path to the Iyr wasn’t quite so obvious, as the trees continued up the hilly side, until eventually they stepped out onto a path that led right to the gates. The gates were thick, about ten feet tall, made of some kind of hard wood. They were centred within the stone walls, which spread out until they disapspeared into the hills on either side, a pair of watchtowers looming over half way between the door and hills. Three guards remained on the watch tower, looking out towards the newcomers who had emerged a few hundred feet away.

One of the guards pulled out a horn, but then paused. He leaned over to spy the people and waited for them to approach.

“Visitors?” the guard called out.

“Paul is here,” Mirot shouted back.

The guard disappeared away with his horns and then a moment later there was a drumming which lasted for three strikes before the doors began to shudder and open, welcoming the group to the Iyr.

A pathway of long trodden dirt, about ten Iyrmen wide, led forward for a short way. The walls on either side of them was of hill and rock, as sturdy as any Iyrman. There were a large number of stone huts up ahead, with blankets that conformed to the rocky ceilings. Adam could spy the stone beneath some of the blankets which had been torn by the elements. Each blanket was colourful, all different in design. There were patterns and shapes of all sort of designs, many that repeated the same design but with different colours.

Mirot led the group onwards until they could finally see the town proper, which actually started a few hundred feet ahead, with large walls that covered it. As Adam glanced around, he could spy that most of the people out here were adults. There were a few children that ran around, though they were all at least seven or eight years old.

Every single person carried a weapon.

The Iyrmen carried an assortment of weapons; axes, bows, swords, and daggers were littered across the Iyrmen, whereas the children each wore a dagger at their side. The attire of the adults was mostly derived from cotton and furs, whereas the children all wore cotton. All of them wore sandal boots.

A large man appeared, with a gut that would put Orosot to envy, though at least Orosot kept it hidden from the world. He had dark hair and dark eyes of the Iyr, and his hair was long and luscious, the envy of any man or woman. The man smiled wide, a smile of shining white.

“Paul!” he exclaimed in a heavy accent as he stomped by and then wrapped his meaty arms around the man. Paul tensed up within the heavy man’s arms as he was casually lifted up, in armour and all. Eventually the large man dropped him, though not after a crushing hug.

“It’s good to see you as well, Uruban.” Paul stretched and shook to reduce the damage of the hug.

“I see you have brought many guests,” the large man said, his eyes falling across everyone, noting the teens before he then looked at the cart. The shine in his eyes only brightened. “Who?”

“Jurot.”

The man’s eyes snapped to Mirot. “A great blessing,” he said as he nodded his head. “I will take you to her.”

“I will do so,” Mirot said. “The honour is mine.”

The large man sighed and then eyed Mirot up. His lips puckered slightly as he narrowed his eyes, as though they were seconds away from coming to blows, before he nodded.

Mirot turned and then motioned with her head. “Let us go, we still have a long walk ahead of us.”

Adam watched as the pair of wagons were kept aside and Jurot was taken by a pair of Iyrmen into the hill. Adam threw a look to Paul, who nodded and then motioned Adam to follow along.

The town of the Iyr was surrounded on either side by thick hill walls, though the skies were open and clear. Adam noted the amount of people that came to greet Paul, who met each one with the same level of respect.

There were a few children who tossed a pebble at his feet and then ran away, though Paul managed to kick one up and then toss a pebble back to a child, tossing it over their heads. The child dropped down and picked up the pebble before scattering away.

“Seven” the child exclaimed. “Seven!” They disappeared behind a hut.

They marched through the town, though had to follow the winding paths of the huts, which were placed as though on a grid, alternating from one side to the next like a chess board. The paths nearest the walls were clear though, and were wide enough for a pair of Iyrmen to run abreast.

Then they came across another wall and some steps upwards, before the gates were opened to allow them through, as though another layer of the Iyr was opening up its arms to embrace the group.

The buildings here were more oblong, at least twice the length of the previous huts, as well as a little wider too. They were similarly covered in blankets, each a colourful fingerprint on the land of the Iyr. The huts were also scattered slightly, though their path was a little straighter. They continued on for some time until they found the centre, a large circle that was near barren, save for the dozens of children playing with one another, though they walked around them and continued further, accompanied by the noise of about hundreds of Iyrmen all about. Again each of the children were armed with daggers, those that were taller, short blades, axes, or short bows, and then the adults had their assortment of weapons.

Mirot showed no signs of slowing down, and again there were children that tossed pebbles towards Paul, though this time he didn’t pick any up, for there were too many of them now. They approached another wall, for the fourth layer of the Iyr, which seemed to only grow bigger and bigger with each layer.

The surrounding hills had encroached towards the centre so cause the end to be narrow, with a single warrior lazing on the top of the wall, which was perhaps about ten feet tall. The guard threw a glance over casually, the beautiful young woman seeing the approaching strangers. Her teeth went wide as she hopped down the wall and landed ahead of it, waving at them.

“Paul!” she exclaimed and then rushed over, and once again Paul was crushed by one of the Iyr. She wasn’t quite as muscular as Mirot, far more lithe, and she carried a pair of short blades at her sides. She also wore a uniform of sorts, a black cloak over her furs, with a medal pinned to keep her cloak pinned around her neck.

“Amaban, it’s good to see you,” he said. He brushed her hair gently and then threw a nod at the wall. “You’re meant to be on the other side, aren’t you?”

Amaban looked back over towards the gate, and then spent a moment processing the situation, before turning back and proudly nodding. “That’s right,” she said. “I am meant to be on the other side of the wall.” She leaned over aside to see the small group behind Paul. “What’s this? Another dead?”

“That’s right,” he said.

“Your nephew?” Amaban said, looking at Mirot.

Mirot returned her question with a nod. “Open the gates, we need to speak with Sonarot.”

“Izimishal, open the gate!” Amaban exclaimed.

“What?!” came a voice.

“Open the gate!”

“You open the gates!”

“I’m on the other side!”

“Again?”

“Yeah, Paul is here.”

“Paul?” said the voice, quizzically.

The gates opened to reveal a young man, in his late teens, with long black hair and a scar across his face. He was traditionally handsome, with a square jaw, as well as thick eyebrows that lines his forehead. He too wore the black cloak that was pinned around his neck.

“Oh!” he said. “Paul.” Izimishal walked over and then shook Paul’s arm. “Father would love to invite you in.”

“I’m on business today, perhaps another time.”

Izimishal bowed his head. “Another time.”

With that the group was allowed through, entering a much smaller section of the Iyr. There was a large cuboid building in the centre that went across close to a few hundred feet across. It was white, with a number of pillars that kept it up, and it was open through the pillars so you could see the wall, which was about an equal distance away that side too. There were also few buildings near the hill walls that were uniformly built, each a tiny white cube in comparison to the large open building ahead.

“Always a sight,” Paul said. “You should come here during the first new moon.” Paul smirked. “The Iyrmen know how to party.”

Adam made a mental note of that and nodded his head as they continued along, circling around the temple. Then they came to the large walls and gate that stopped them from entering the fifth layer.

“How far does this go?”

“A few more, but we’re almost half way through.”

Adam looked up at Paul. They had been walking for what seemed like forever, even the sun was beginning to fall and dusk was going to welcome them.

“Not long now,” Mirot said as they went beyond the gate. “My sister lives within this section.”

Yet when the doors were open, Adam could see that this section of the Iyr was the most vast, as of yet anyway. There were a great number of trees on either side, and there were what seemed like hundreds, if not thousands of cuboid buildings, and each floated a blanket that was different over the roof or on one side of the walls.

The area was a thunder of noise, with all kinds of people chatting, singing, brawling, and so much other liveliness that Adam wasn’t sure if these people knew how to be quiet. As they continued, he noted a woman appear from her home and then toss a ball towards a man, who stepped aside to avoid the unseen ball before turning around to look at the woman.

“Bring Amina for dinner, you lout!”

“She will be ready for dinner once she has finished her arrows, you cow!”

The woman disappeared and brought back out a club which she threw at the man.

Adam looked up at Paul. He hadn’t expected the great warrior of the Iyr to deal with their issues in such a manner, though it did make sense.

Eventually they veered towards a side and came upon a building. It was a long cuboid, though it seemed to be split in half. One one half of the wall was a blanket of black with red patterns of diamonds that repeated along the edges, a single stripe going down the middle. The other was black with a pattern of blue diamonds, and in the middle was a single blue circle.

Mirot walked over and then rapped on the door. “Sister, open up.”

A woman opened up the door. She was tall and heavily built, long black hair that went down to her shoulders, dark eyes that were tired, and she had a round, pregnant belly.

‘Oh no.’

The woman looked over to the group and then to Mirot. “Who are these guests of yours?”

“One is Paul,” Mirot said.

Sonarot turned to face Paul with a knowing look and then nodded for him to enter. She turned and left, heading back inside. Paul stepped in and Adam looked at Mirot. Mirot nodded, motioning with a hand for him to enter, and so Adam stepped inside.

It was fairly light, for there were open windows all along near the top, and a single window across the side which allowed in even more air. The room was fairly long, though there was a giant stone wall that cut the home in two. One one side was a bed, under it were a number of blankets, and there were a fair number of cabinets, drawers, and such. There were a large number of blankets that were used to cover various items, and along the walls were various weapons. There were a pair of axes, well used and well taken care of, that were displayed along the wall that cut the pair of homes.

Sonarot waddled her way to bring over a table, though Paul stepped in to help her move it. She retried a pair of stools and then looked at Adam.

“Who is this one?” she asked.

“This is Adam, a friend of Jurot.”

“My foolish son made a friend, did he?” she said with a small smile. “A friend is Jurot is always welcome in my home.”

“Thank you,” Adam said, though his throat had clogged up.

She smiled at him, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. She then brought Adam a stool as well before sitting down on her own. Paul sat down beside her and Adam joined him.

“So?” she said. “Who has my son met with? Goron? Ashmar?”

“Gale, I would presume.”

“In the forest was it?”

“On the same day he faced a herbearvore and a pair of brown bears, along with Adam here.”

“So you were there?” Sonarot asked.

“Yes,” Adam said, trying to clear his throat.

“Tell me,” she interrupted. “I wish to hear it all, you would give me that much?”

Adam nodded and then began to tell her the tale of Jurot on his last day. She watched intently, with Paul sitting there awkwardly. Adam cleared his throat when he finished and then the woman stood, going over to her cabinet. She withdrew a large pot and then placed it on a small rail over a tiny firepit near the window, and then she grabbed a small branch.

“One moment,” she said as she left, returning a few moments later with a lit branch before she lit the firepit up. Then she went to grab some herbs and sprinkled them into some cups.

“So how long did you know my son?” she asked as she went through the process of making them tea.

“Not long,” he said. “A week or so.”

“Was that the first time you had quested together?”

“No, we slew some rats together.”

“Some rats?” she asked.

“There were some giant rats in the sewers, and a large number of them. We slew thirteen, fourteen, something like that?” Adam glanced over at Paul, who returned a nod. “Other than quests, we shared some jam doughnuts together and he missed my duel.”

“Your duel?”

“Yeah, he kept celebrating into the night that there was going to be a duel, and then he missed it in the morning.”

“That does sound like my Jurot,” she said. “It’s a shame he will not meet his sister, but he is with Gale now.”

Adam stared at Paul awkwardly. Paul just raised his brows, giving him a gentle look.

“We have brought back his body.”

“I thank you, the both of you, for bringing him back to me. I will see that his soul reaches home.” She poured in some hot tea for them. “It is late, I will place out some blankets.”

“I have some business with Iromin, but Adam would be more than happy to accept your generosity.” Paul gave Adam a look that meant Adam would be more than happy to accept.

Adam sipped the tea. It was lightly flavours with the herbs. He swallowed it and his nerves together.

Paul stood and then placed down a handful of gems onto the stool. “This was your son’s share of the quest,” he said as he then held out an iron tag with a cross through it. “We posthumously brought him up to iron, as was more likely his rank.”

She accepted the token and then Paul left, leaving Adam there with the mother of the dead man he had brought back.

“You grieve for him,” she said. “I can see it in your eyes.”

“I let him die,” he replied. “It’s the least I can do.”

“He is with Gale now,” she said. “There will be tales of his heroism for generations to come. Jurot of the Iron. He reached iron within a week and then died, having fought three bears, along with his friend Adam.”

Adam was uncertain how to feel about it. His name would go down as the man that let Jurot die.

“I’m very sorry,” he said. “I didn’t notice he had died, I was too busy fighting the bear. I should have reached him sooner.”

She shook her head. “That is life. Fate has her story for us all. Tell me your story, Adam of the Iron.”

“I can’t say much about my story before the guild,” he said. “I lived with my parents for a long time. My mother taught me magic, and my father the sword. They died and I had no place to return to.”

“Then tell me of your adventures so far.”

So he did, speaking of what had happened throughout his journey. He spoke of what had occurred since Jurot’s passing as well, and she smiled at the end. She had a gentle, warm, motherly smile. It put Adam’s racing heart at ease.

“Balrog?” she said. “Jurot had met Balrog as well.”

Adam’s eyes raised In surprise. “He did?”

“When he was a younger, a boy of thirteen, his father had taken him on a task. They had come across Balrog, who was about to kill my son, but they managed to come to a resolution.” She stared down at her tea cup. “My son and my husband had both faced many bears together. I am certain his lack of clarity came from such familiarity. Two bears are much more than one, not twice as strong, but even more.”

She reached over and placed a hand on his, brushing it gently. “Do not blame yourself. He would not want you to, and nor would I. He has brought the greatest honour with his dead, as did my husband.”

“How did…” Adam’s throat clogged up again as he felt the burning sting of tears form, though he bat them away.

“My husband?” Sonarot smiled. “He was a fool too. He and Mirot had gone on a task. There were complications with the task, unforeseen circumstances, and only Mirot returned. One must always return to tell the tale, for it is the way of our people.”

Sonarot waddled over and returned with some bread and vegetables for the boy, eating a carrot herself. “Surot had gone with Mirot to find a herb,” she said. “It was for those that were pregnant at the time. They had come across a nest of manticores, creatures with the body of a lion, the face of a wicked man, and the wings of a dragon.” She paused for a moment, as though recalling the scene.

“One or two would have been no issue, but there were five,” she said, as though this were a matter of fact. “My husband remained behind, for Mirot is his junior of three years, and so he fought to allow her to leave. A man does not fight so hard for his sister unless it is to the death, and manticores are not known for their mercy. Jurot was enraptured by the tale when Mirot returned. I heard him cry in the night.”

Adam’s eyes were long burning, his cheeks stained with tears. He hadn’t known when he had started to cry, and he couldn’t find the strength to wipe them away. “I’m sorry you lost your husband and your son,” he said. What more could he say.

Sonarot reached over and then wiped the tears off with her thumb. It was warrior-rough, yet motherly tender. “You are a good boy, Adam.”

Sonarot continued to regale Adam with tales of Surot’s exploits, and the trouble that Jurot was when he was a child. Yet, with every story, Adam could only think of his own family.

“Do you have a name?” Adam asked.

Sonarot nodded. “Lanarot,” she said.

“It’s a nice name.”

“Did you have any siblings?” Sonarot asked.

Adam wanted to say no, in order to keep his secret, but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t deny their existence, he couldn’t forget the memories.

“I did,” he said. “They’re gone. I had a…” Adam leaned back and swallowed harshly. “I had a baby sister I never got to meet.”

Sonarot hugged Adam, letting him cry into her bosom for a while until he was finally calm. She finally allowed him out, cleaning his face with a wet rag and a small basin filled with water.

“I’m sorry,” Adam whispered.

“Don’t be.”

The Iyr had grown near silent in the darkness. She had lain out some blankets for him, as well as a mass of pillows. Adam had ate enough earlier through all the stories that he was stuffed. They turned in for the night, Adam slipping out of his armour so he could feel the blankets on his skin. Adam thought about the loss of his family, and the loss that Sonarot had experienced.

Perception
D20 + 4 = 18 (14)

His elf ears twitched as he caught some sounds. He looked over towards the woman, who was shaking slightly as she sobbed near silently. After a long while he heard her grow silent before she finally fell asleep, no doubt too exhausted to sleep. Adam closed his eyes, accompanied by the silence of the Iyr before he finally gave in to slumber.