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[1387] - Y06.287 - A Man of Trouble VII
🕑 Added 2025-10-01 17:00:20 +0000 UTCAs the carriages slipped out of the village, taking the large number of guests, the Wise stared out towards them, watching as they shrunk while heading towards the horizon. With the sun at his back, the rays of warmth tickling his fur, he contemplated what he had heard the previous evening.
‘The world is so large,’ the Wise thought.
The carriages continued along their way, following the straight road ahead, handing out the scarves and spears to each village, each settled atop the hills, their hillfarms and hillgoats welcoming the group, who did their best to pay for the various guides along their way. The various lionfolk who joined them on their adventure enjoyed the free coin they provided, even if they were to donate most of it to the village.
“This is as far as I can guide you,” the lionfolk said, eyeing up an imaginary boundary. “I wish you many fortunes, friends.”
“You as well,” Dunes replied, clasping a paw within his hand. “May Lady Arya bless you.”
“You as well, Black Sword,” the lionfolk said, before waving at the group as they continued towards the next village.
The drakken villagers eyed up the group, each adorned in fine scales armour, their weapons forged of steel, simple, but well made, and each wore jewellery that made even Saibs envious.
“A Mo of Black Mountain,” one of the drakken villagers greeted, reaching out a hand to shake Dunes’. “How do you fare today?”
“Well,” Dunes admitted, before informing the villager why they were here.
“I recall they passed by not long ago, two of yours, one a devilkin, another a human,” the drakken confirmed. “Shukhur, was your journey safe?”
“It was, for…” Dunes motioned towards the Iyrman driving the carriage, Jurot bowing his head towards the drakken.
“I see!” The drakken then noted Dunes’ look, who motioned a head to the rest of the carriages, and after the drakken checked the carriages, noting the baby, the child, and then the teen, his smile faded slightly, his eyes holding Dunes’ gaze.
“There is no need to worry,” Jurot assured, with Dunes translating for him, causing the drakken to relax slightly, though he wasn’t sure if he could be so relaxed when there were so many Iyrmen travelling this way. “Are you heading… eastward?”
“Yes.”
The drakken let out a hum of understanding, since they would soon pass through to meet Manixzur. “Many blessings to you, Mo.”
“Thank you.”
The process was similar here too, the Iyrmen handing out the spears in the scarves, and the drakken sparred with the group too. Many spoke between themselves in their tongue, the tongue of the dragons, which very few of the group understood.
“Lord…” The Chief knelt before Bael respectfully. “May we ask for the purpose of your visit.”
“I am here accompanying the group, and escorting the girl,” Bael said, pointing a finger.
The Chief thought of Taygak, but as he noted where the finger was pointing, he blinked. ‘A merman?’
Kizwolima snoozed lightly to one side, not realising there were many staring at her. Bael peeked out towards the nearby drakken, many of whom remained to one side, understanding the meaning behind the colour of his scales. Even if he may have been a half dragon, he was half an azure dragon, and while the drakken treated all half dragons well, it was another thing for the kind who did not roam this land.
So what did he, of all figures, have to do with a merman?
‘Poor girl,’ the drakken thought, assuming Bael had slaughtered her entire family.
“Your spear is sharp,” the drakken woman admitted. “What is your name?”
“Yasha,” the Aswadian woman replied.
“Farah,” the drakken woman replied. “Are you already an Expert?”
“I am.”
“Your grandfather, you said he is a Mulazim.”
“He was, he is mostly retired,” Yasha admitted.
“Are you a guard for the group?” Farah asked, resting her spear against the nearby cabin, before nodding her head to a young drakken, who rushed off to bring them snacks, as an older drakken brought a pair of water basins.
“No, in this group, they don’t need a guard,” the young woman admitted. “I am mentoring a fellow.”
“Are you teaching him the spear?”
“Yes.”
Farah noted the rest of the figures within the group, including the large number of Iyrmen, understanding why Yasha wouldn’t be required as a guard. “I’m sure you have many stories to tell of your adventure thus far!”
Yasha smiled awkwardly, certain she couldn’t speak most of the tales. What could she say about the group? She began to explain how she became a member of the group, and how she had almost come blows with the Wild Cobra Sword. It was then she couldn’t help herself.
The Chief listened intently to Farah’s words, his eyes then falling upon the half elf, who held a giant toddler against himself, the girl fast asleep, while he remained completely relaxed, almost falling into a slumber himself. As he stepped towards the pair, Farah stopped him for a moment.
‘What?’
The Chief made the wise decision of leaving the half elf be, for though there were many tales they wished to hear, there were some which were far too troublesome. Unfortunately for him, he and Adam were very similar in one way, and that way was…
“I heard you are strong,” the drakken woman said, a wild grin upon her lips, a curved blade at her side, the woman adorned in a scale breastplate over chain, a long cloak falling down her shoulders.
“Who lied to you?” Adam replied, sitting up as he rubbed his eye. ‘Whoa. I feel so refreshed. I didn’t even take a nap, but I’m feeling so loose and limber.’
“Is there a need to pretend?” the woman asked, raising her brow. “My name is Azra, and among my peers, I am the strongest. I heard you are strong too, at the least, you seem like you are.”
“I would like to fight, but right now, my little Amal is currently in the middle of napping.”
“Amal? The blueskin girl?”
Adam narrowed his eyes slightly, his lips twitching into a smile. “My beautiful daughter, who has such pretty skin.”
‘Ah, so he’s one of those,’ Azra thought, letting out a huff, before her eyes darted to the nearby Iyrman, who had been listening intently. She beckoned him with a finger, and Jurot, being his grandfather’s grandson, beat the young woman lightly, letting out a small sigh of satisfaction, since she wasn’t that weak.
“Adam, will you translate?” Jurot asked, having returned from beating her up.
“Sure.”
“Tell her that I acknowledge she is strong,” Jurot said.
“My brother says he acknowledges that you are strong,” Adam translated, while the woman sat up, flexing her muscles to regain her strength.
“What kind of monster is he?” Azra replied.
Jurot only nodded his head at her words, before leaning in to whisper into Adam’s ear. “Her talent matches John’s.”
Adam raised his brows, his eyes darting to the drakken woman. “My brother keeps singing your praises. He says you are as talented as John, meaning I should probably ask you to join our business.”
“Your business?” Azra asked, listening to Adam’s explanation. “I don’t like to work for others, but if you have a spare magical weapon, I will consider it.”
“If it’s a magical weapon, that is a small price to pay,” Adam said.
“If you go, I’ll beat you,” a woman said in their tongue, glaring at Azra. She was a slightly older drakken woman, slightly thicker built, but Jurot could see the connection between the pair with ease.
“If my mother says I cannot go, then what can I do?”
“What a shame, but I can’t dare to fight against a mother for her child,” Adam joked. “Although, if you’re ever near the Iyr, swing by and we’ll have a chat, if nothing else, we’ll hand over a few silver for a conversation.”
“My word is worth more than a few silver.”
“I meant a few…” Adam thought, trying to do the maths in his head. “At least a thousand silver.”
“My word is worth at least that much!” The woman laughed, almost howling.
“Do you have any intentions of stepping out and becoming a great warrior or anything like that?”
“I may, in the near future, though with the Reavers, I am tasked with defending the village,” Azra admitted, letting out an awkward sigh, since she had almost been picked to join the Territory Guard. She had caused a great mess in order to confirm whether or not her father had pulled some strings to keep her away from it, but hearing that it was seemingly all due to the lack of fortune, she let it slide.
“If you do, come by and we’ll hand over a magical weapon to you for a period of ten years, and then we’ll ask you to return it,” Adam said.
“You would rent me a magical weapon?” Azra asked.
“I would like you to wield a magical blade of our making, advertise our business, and then return the sword with all the stories it holds so that I can gift my beautiful little daughter the sword,” Adam said, leaning down to make kiss noises on top of the girl’s head. “Isn’t that right, my beautiful little… big, Amal.”
‘What?’ The Chief’s eyes replied, glaring at his daughter, not liking the way she was looking at him.
“Did you know she’s only a year old?” Adam asked.
“What?” the father and daughter both almost exclaimed.
