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[1388] - Y06.288 - A Man of Trouble VIII
🕑 Added 2025-10-02 17:00:14 +0000 UTCAzra escorted them along their way, even as far as that particular village, wishing to hear their tales, but also to spend more time ruminating on Adam’s offer. She would refuse, she would have to, since her mother hadn’t given her permission, but she wished to fantasise about it at the very least. Her eyes then fell onto Tanika, who was enjoying her walk through the hills. Thankfully, the smallfolk were the kind to only travel about ten to twenty miles a day, while she had walked about twenty to thirty typically while within the caravan.
‘There is quite a large number of individuals within the group, from sand giants to those of Black Mountain, to the typical Aswadian and Aldishmen, and even the likes of the Iyrish. There was definitely something about this group that was out of the norm, and though she had heard so many tales, and assumed it was because a few of the individuals, she cursed her misfortune for being unable to join them. However, she was excited to see how they would deal with the most obvious disadvantage they would soon approach the plains between the hills, and the village set within the valley of the hills.
As the last week of noonval passed by, the Iyr enjoyed it’s seasonal festival. The first morning, the children made their lanterns, holding their wishes.
“Kaka?” Virot asked, having not yet started to paint her lantern, the girl adorned in simple clothing at the moment.
“She has not returned yet,” Vonda replied, reaching down to brush her daughter’s cheek tenderly, the girl leaning into her hand for a moment.
“Papa?” Virot asked.
“He has not returned either.”
Virot leaned away to grab a brush and looked around, spotting the green. She painted her lantern with great focus, and once she was done, she found the yellow, but before she could add the colour, her mother grabbed her brush.
“We should use our hands for the eyes,” Vonda said, hugging the girl, who was covered in paint, and once they finished painting their lanterns, they all washed up and changed.
Virot wore a blue sleeveless dress, with a frilly skirt which looked like ripples in a pond. Atop her head was once a long hat, but she had already thrown it off with defiance, while charging up to her eldest sister so she could lead the girl through the festival. The other children also wore similar outfits, though Konarot picked up the hat and shook it lightly before placing it on Virot’s head.
“No!” Virot cried aloud, reaching up to her hat, but Konarot placed her hands on the girl’s hat. The pair glared between one another, and Virot relented, holding her sisters’ hands as her brother held Damrot’s hand and they all waddled off to explore the festival.
Larot let out a soft sigh, staring out to the world around him as the Iyr enjoyed its festivals, in the middle of changing them due to the significance of the Reavers, but they decided to keep it fairly typical this year. His eyes darted to the side, towards Lucy and Mara, who had also decided to take the week off in order to watch over the children, though the anxiety across their expressions revealed who they wished to spoil.
Even as the days passed, Virot continued to ask for her sister and brother, but they did not materialise. Tears slipped down the girl’s cheeks freely, but her mother soothed her, the girl sucking her thumb as she cuddled up to her mother’s bosom.
The old one armed Iyrman let out a low groan, almost a growl, as he thought of the aching heart of his greatdaughter. It wasn’t just Jirot and Jarot who were missing, but Mulrot and Gangak, who were certainly with the children, watching over them, but it also meant there was a void within the Iyr for these children who adored not just their siblings, but their nanos too.
‘How long will you keep my previous greatchildren, Elder Story?’ Jarot thought, though what could he do, when Elder Story was involved, it was a grave matter indeed. Since they hadn’t heard bad news, it meant it was good news, so he had to resolve his aching heart.
“Virot, come to me,” Jarot called, holding out a hand.
The girl glanced his way, looking at him all forlorn, the girl climbing off her mother and then rushed up to her greatfather, who lifted her up with ease. The girl returned to sucking her thumb and rested her head against his chest, the young girl’s eyes closing.
Jarot kissed her temple, for the girl did not bully her, so it was a gravely serious matter indeed. “Do not worry, they will return soon, safely, and you will cause much trouble, yes?”
The girl remained silently, cuddling with the old man, allowing him to hold her close to his chest. Indeed, what a terrible time it was for the little girl, who was too sad to even cause trouble.
“Mahmahmahmahmah,” Xarot called, crawling to his mother on all fours, the boy staring up at her with a bright smile, trying to climb up, but his mother lifted him up and held the boy so tightly.
“Xarot, are you enjoying the festival?” Vonda asked, smiling warmly down towards the boy, who squealed with delight, before he twitched, noting the appearance of a familiar form, as the bald old man reached out a finger and poked his nose.
“You are so swift now, even I am struggling to keep up,” Malfev joked, as the boy hid his head into his mother’s neck shyly. “Oh ho ho, are you hiding from me, my Xarot?”
“Eeeeeh,” the boy replied, cuddling up to his mother’s neck.
“What of you, Monarot, will you…” The old man saw how she was already fast asleep, snoozing against her mother. He smiled, brushing through his beard lightly, before his eyes darted between the children, noting the hopeful look of the triplets. The old man relented, picking them up and carrying them away at high speeds.
Pam watched the old man leap away, moving with such ease, and considering her own husband, who was quite the prodigy, she wondered if she should learn to fight.
‘Do not worry, kako, I will protect you, so stay comfortable,’ the little green one said, patting her knee gently.
Even as the last day of the festival passed, the twins did not return, and while the triplets wished for their father to return, Virot sniffled as she called out for her sister and brother, sending away her lantern, only quietening once Vonda had picked her up, while passing Xarot to his greatfather, who held the boy close, the pair staring into one another’s eyes, saying nothing as they both remained silence, waiting to see who would pull away.
It was during early duskval when it was finally before them, the village that was set within the valley of the hills.
‘Ah,’ Adam thought, noting the red dragon, more like a red serpent, that darted from tower to tower, hiding behind it as she glared at the group, before finally descending behind the village walls, unable to be seen by the group. She was paler than typical dragons, Adam gathered, but she had been rather quick to move, and he barely saw her from how far away she was.
“It is ill fortune we will meet with Lady Manixzur, there is a high likelihood she will turn us away, but thankfully you are here,” Dunes said.
“Me?”
“For once, even though you may easily provoke her, you will also interest her, since you are you,” Dunes said, with a complicated expression on his face, hoping the half elf wouldn’t go too far. “Lady Manixzur enjoys hearing interesting ideas and discussing such things, even if they are absurd.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“You're the only one I know who has such audacious ideas.”
“I'm annoyed by how right you are.”
“It is a compliment,” Dunes said.
Adam narrowed his eyes, causing the Priest to smirk lightly, winking at him, before they continued up to the hill fort village, where a dozen guards waited for them upon the walls, and certainly, many dozens more out of sight. Each held crossbows, save for four, who seemed to lead, the four glaring down at the group, while one stepped forward, holding an arrow that was tipped with black.
“Deathsingers, what brings you to our village?” the leader asked, a young woman who also eyed up those from Black Mountain, their suspicions high.
“We wish to pass,” Tanagek replied simply. “We are looking for two of those from Black Mountain who passed by previously.”
As they spoke, Manixzur’s throat rumbled, not appreciating the fact that there were so many of the Deathsingers, those known for their want of slaying dragons, as well as those from Black Mountain, who she did not like upon her land.
An old man, adorned in a flowery patterned robes, as well as a short scarf that hung over his shoulders stepped up beside the dragon, noting how the dragon remained tense.
“Lady, what is the issue?” the old man asked, who was certainly just a gardener, so the villagers said.
“The Deathsingers, they-,” she began, only to notice the old man tense up slightly, reaching up to his beard.
“Now that’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time.”
