[1490] – Y06.390 – Adam’s Heart X
Cobra stared down at her fist, noting the calluses which had formed, fresh scars healing over scars of another time. She was adorned in similar attire to the Iyr, grey, with hints of colour, for word had come that the attire within the business had not truly represented its people, now that so many Aswadians had joined. Thus, the grey attire of the Iyr, comfortable as it was, became the style for the business once more.
It was perhaps that thinking, queer as it was, which was why the half elf had brought them here. It was that thinking which had protected them from the wrath of the Marquise who had dared to covet her younger brother, and had gone to blows with the Marshal of the East, Lord Benjamin Gravesea.
Once, she had roamed the alleys of East Port, going from shadowy arena to shadowy arena to bring back silvers for flour, allowing Julia to cook meals for the rest of the children, barely able to keep them from starving to death. Now, without even using the staff that had been gifted to her, her family was well taken care of, each having grown much healthier, the children so much taller than before, their hair thick and vibrant, and even their smallest, Leah, was now chubby enough for her cheeks to be pinched by the oldest siblings.
The woman thought of her training, of the figure known as Kitool, who, though not quite as tough as her cousin, was equally as deadly. She had heard they were considered equals, for while she may lacked toughness, it was her utility, that was the word, utility, her swiftness, her ability to freeze people in place, her ability to frighten mortal souls, which allowed her to take the title of her peer.
‘I will teach you the basics of this martial way, but I will find another to teach you the way of the Ool family,’ Kitool had said.
It hadn’t taken long for Cobra to understand why, for last year, when the woman had disappeared and then returned out of the blue, she was no longer quite the same Executive she once recalled. Her abilities had been simple before, the ability to use one’s momentum to force her foes away, the way of her family was like that of a brawler, and yet, upon her return, her way was no longer about breaking bones, it was about worship to the Lord of Death.
Cobra hadn’t asked more about it, for curiosity of the Iyr was something far more terrifying than even the Executives themselves.
“Sis!” Leah called, the girl rushing up to her sister. “Sis! Look!”
“What is it?” Cobra asked, staring down at the stone within the girl’s hands.
“It’s a rock!”
“Oh,” Cobra replied.
Gilbert followed after the siblings, his bones filled with the deep chill of nothingness, the lethargy which came from not doing anything. Unlike him, his sisters were being taught well within the Iyr, while he only heard promises from the half elf to train him well, and though Kal Lani and John had arrived, there was still nothing for him here.
Viper ushered the group of siblings through the Iyr’s festivals, though the group was far too boisterous, yet the Iyr didn’t seem to mind, for the Iyrmen around handed basket after basket of not just foodstuffs, but clothing, trinkets, and more to the children.
Viper tensed up, spinning upon her heel, reaching for her staff, as a shadow passed her by. Her eyes darted, following the Aswadian who had recently returned to the business, the fellow’s eyes trying to find the twins, Alya and Asya, who were currently waddling about, stomping within the snow, following the scent of the food.
‘To move without a care in the world…’ Bilal thought, uncertain if he should allow the children to grow up with such softness. They were only four, but wasn’t that old enough to begin to learn the nightmare that was life? Isn’t that why the half elf had made sure to gift the children small daggers?
Python meanwhile slept peacefully, within the basement of the estate, where the music did not reach her ears, allowing her a chilly sleep that called her far too close to a final slumber.
Maharan was unsure if he was able to accept the delights of the Iyr, their favour so readily spilled forward out to him, especially those with a particular tattoo, for it was that tattoo which had changed his life, though they had pushed him into the arms of a peculiar half elf. He thanked them with his heavily accented Aldish, but spoke little of it, for he was still learning.
“Kal Maharan, how is the festival?” an Iyrman he had never met before asked in the Aswadic tongue. He was an older man, with long white hair, braided together, falling over his shoulder, with tattoos he vaguely recognised as one of the many families of the Iyr, and while he wore thick clothing, he also wore a breastplate above his clothing, and carried a hammer at his side, a combination rarely found within the Iyr.
“I am no kal, ahm,” Maharan replied, always surprised to hear how many Iyrmen spoke the tongue. “Have I heard of your tale?”
“Ah, I was active closer to Northern Aswadasad and Eastern Aldland,” the old man replied, waving his hand dismissively. “I retired shortly after reaching Master, so my name would not have drifted beyond.”
The Iyrmen speaking casually of such strength always caused Maharan to blink, though considering how many Masters he knew, and how many were of his own peers, he decided against using the logic he had been taught as a child, welcoming the Chaos that was the Iyr.
As the pair talked, Zabir enjoyed his drinks in the corner, not just the fine wine, and not just the company of beautiful women, for though he was but an Expert, within the Iyr, such was acceptable, if not entirely ideal, he was also beyond the typical Expert, he who had been wrought through blood and steel, who had made a name for himself as a Mulazim, who had reached the height when all was against him. This was the fellow who the Iyr admired, and would forever admire.
“So that is when I said, he is no Aldishman, he is an Iyrman!”
The Iyrmen burst into laughter, for though they heard the joke many times each year, they themselves made the joke many times each month, for it was that kind of joke.
“Kal, may we spar?” an Iyrman asked, wielding her spear tightly in hand.
Yasha, who had sipped away at her alcohol smiled, always eager for a chance to face against the Iyrmen. She had impressed a great many of them, for how many reached the title of an Expert at her age? Even for Iyrmen, such was impressive, so they treated her with the greatest of respects, and she returned the respect by thrusting her spear towards them.
It was this clash of steel which caused the greatest of symphonies within the Iyr, for even within nightval, so close to the Twilight Month, which defined the Iyrmen. For there were others with festivals during nightval, but they were sooner, and few wished to draw steel, but within the Iyr, even so close to the Twilight Month, who was afraid of blood? Who was afraid of steel?
No, they were Iyrmen.
Even death was acceptable at this time.
Once Yasha had defeated the Iyrman before her, who was not yet quite an Expert, she panted lightly and glanced aside, towards a girl who came up above her navel, the girl smiling wide, clapping her hands. Upon her forehead was dabbed a particular design in vague paint, but she knew of the girl, for who did not know of the girl? No, Yasha of all people must know this girl, for it was her brothers who had changed her life, and thus, the young woman clasped her spear tightly once more, with the understanding she was unable to step back just yet.
Kal Lani watched from nearby, for Lanarot had wished to remain by her side, along with Elif, who had become her squire, who Lani had already begun to teach fairly basic etiquette. Yet, there was also him, the bald Iyrman, who wore an axe at his side, and wore tattoos that matched that man. He was only a Master, he had said in that casual way, but a Master of his particular family was not like other Masters, she knew.
‘Granduncle, look! It is the Sword of the Lady!’ the girl had exclaimed, revealing Lani to the old man, softening his eyes.
Though his eyes had softened, and though he had heard her title, and though he knew of her particular relationship with the Iyr, the business, and many within his family, Lani understood he was assigned to the girl to protect her, and her life was within the range of his axe.
Although, certainly Lanarot would not allow Kamrot to kill her, Lani thought, considering the half elf’s words.
PATREON LINK
Rage baiting in the Iyr is kind of crazy considering the chance of someone dying is probably closer to 1% than 0.