Interlude: The Lords

Interlude: The Lords

The Dwarven woman drank from a small cask of ale, tasting the delicious ale which had been buried for years under the Iyr. She sighed once she had finished the entire cask, tossing it aside. Her eyes fell across the figures which were leaving, specifically at the Half Elf. “That stranger is still clinging to the Gek boy?”

“Don’t bully the children,” Strom said, drinking from his cup. It was a fruit wine, one which had been gifted by the Jin family. “He is a Nephew of the Rot family, and that boy is the child of the Rot family. You should be careful being so rude within the Iyr.”

“Who are you to tell me what to do?” the woman asked, before knocking back another cask of ale as though it was a cup. She drank the entire cask in a moment.

“I’m the one who cleaned up the huge mess while you were asleep!” Strom snapped back towards her, before pouring himself more wine. “Do you know how troublesome it was when the Demons came and you refused to wake up?”

“They had ruined my sleep so I had to sleep for a few more centuries after,” the woman replied, simply.

“A few more centuries? It’s been a millennium!” Strom slapped the table. “I had to ask that kunjas bastard to help look after my Empire! Do you know how much he charged me? A hundred islands! A hundred islands, damn it! He loves a good fight, and he still charged me?”

Even now the sting of losing those one hundred islands back then hurt his heart. A hundred islands across the border, gone. However, if he didn’t make the deal, the Demons would have wreaked greater havoc along the lands, and he had been worried about the Iyr, who had also called for his assistance.

“How is that my fault?” The woman sighed, rubbing her stomach. “The people of this land are too weak. I bet the Dwarves were more useful.” The woman nodded her head to her point.

“The Dwarves?” Strom scoffed. “By the time we were done, they were still discussing if they should send the axe throwers or hammer holders, and that was only because the sword grippers were too busy standing around doing nothing! Those damn punks take so long to decide what to have for breakfast!” He drank another cup of wine, before pouring himself and the other Lord before him, some of the sour wine.

“They’re good people, the Dwarves!” The Dwarven woman shot back the cup of wine. “I won’t have you speaking ill of them!” Her face scrunched together, but she enjoyed the sourness.

“What? Are you going to fight this old husk?” Strom smirked. He knew that she was too lazy. She had dropped her previous form for this Dwarven form because it required less strength to move around. The lack of a beard had unnerved him, however.

“Hmph.” She turned her nose up at him, throwing him a dark look. “As if I need to. You’re too weak to fight now. If that old Black Lion was here, he’d be a nice fight.”

“Aren’t I stronger than him even now?” Strom wasn’t sure how he felt about his companion speaking so poorly of his strength like that.

“Why would I hold back against you? After my sleep, I’ve grown more powerful.” Her eyes went from dark to light in an instant, and she was barely able contain the smirk on her lips.

“I was wondering why you seemed to hold a brighter look in your eye.” Strom smiled. If he had his Spark, it would have been a good fight, that was for certain. “How powerful are you now?”

“The Iyr has asked for your help because of your relationship with them,” Strom stated. “Didn’t you get all those drinks?” He motioned to the pile of casks which numbered in the dozens, and there were many more which were being brought to her.

“If only I had better company than some dying old man!” She dropped down, staring up at the sky. It was hard to see the sky when she had been deep in the earth.

“You never know, ol’ Shama might come here too.” Strom wondered if he truly would come. He wanted to see the face Shama would make when he realised Strom had given up his Spark.

“At least he’d be a good fight,” the woman grumbled. “I haven’t had the chance to stretch since I awoke.”

“Didn’t you go meet the Dwarves?” Strom asked.

“I did, but they refused to keep their end of the deal, so now I’m here.” She narrowed her eyes further. The Dwarves had refused to hand over the ale in a timely fashion, and so she left them, but only after messing with their mountain.

Strom smiled. “I thought you said they were decent folk?”

The Dwarven woman sat back up, narrowing her eyes further until they were almost shut. She grabbed a cask of ale and started to drink it, but this time slowly, so she could casually change the topic of the conversation once she was done.

The Chief sat in his gazebo, breaking apart a date, before chewing it slowly. Though it should have been sweet, he couldn’t taste it due to all the stress. ‘One Lord is already trouble, but two?’

The Chief sighed, throwing them glances every so often. Elder Story had informed him that the pair wouldn’t dare to cause trouble, though it would have been difficult to stop the woman if she decided to go on a rampage due to her unique abilities.

When Adam had arrived, Iromin had almost gave himself to Baktu, but the Half Elf had luckily decided to step aside. One of the Lords favoured Adam, and the other despised him. It would have been difficult if Adam started a fight with her unintentionally.

Iromin had made sure that Elder Forest and Elder Gold had understood the situation with the Lord. They had stockpiled their ale for a while, and had dug up ale they had left in the earth for generations for this moment. It was one of the few trump cards the Iyrmen had kept, and they had to reveal it so early, all because Strom had chosen to die.

‘Baktu, please watch over us.’

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So many interludes...