The Lady could feel the heat beating down upon her face, though it was the cold sweat of meeting someone utterly insane, which only proved his words of being that man’s grandson.

“My Lady…”

“Mind your tone, Kal,” the Lady replied, her voice full of frustrations, for the faris undoubtedly had her own assumptions about the matter, but considering she held no fear in her words, she had no idea what kind of a monster the half elf was related to. “The Mad Dog is not just related to Butcher Marmuk, within Aldland, he is the Butcher.”

The faris was uncertain of why the woman had grown paler, for though the Mad Dog was certainly a monster, what sway did he hold here? So what if the half elf was the Mad Dog’s grandson, did that mean they needed to retreat so overtly?

“If you still wish to remain my faris, you should quieten your thoughts,” the young noblewoman stated firmly, her voice almost threatening.

Kal Saffiya fell quiet, even within her thoughts, for the Lady had never berated her this much previously. A faris and their Lord and Lady were almost as close as siblings, or parent and child, where one held the power of a parent, the other the responsibilities.

Lady Lena thought back to her grandfather, who, even in his old age, could claim to be one of the greatest fighters across the land. Where once he held salt and pepper hair, his hair was now silver, the old man refusing to dye it, as many might have, even his own siblings. He, who could once wear the full plate handed down his family for generations without ache, he, who wielded one of the greatest blades across the entire land.

There was a time, recently, when Marmak had trekked across Aswadasad. Her grandfather had been requested to keep an eye on him, and he sent back word to the Shen, one of the few times he denied the Shen’s request.

‘If you wish for fifty Gold Hands, send one hundred to meet the Butcher.’

The fear of the Butcher had been thoroughly ingrained within the woman, but her grandfather, who would sit her upon her lap when she was a girl, crying that her parents hated her so, he would speak to her a great many tales. He would always threaten to send her parents to meet with the Butcher, to see if they would bully her still.

It was during those times, she heard the name of the Mad Dog. The way her grandfather spoke of the two…

‘When you were born, I came to see you with my two greatest friends, my farisi,’ the old man had said, when his hair was still peppered with black, his moustache dyed orange, which would tickle her whenever he kissed her cheek. ‘Kal Radi the Boar. He was so big, bigger than even ahm Tahweed, who eats one whole goat whenever I invite him. Kal Isra, Silver Sword of the Sands. Her blade could cut the wings off a fly as it buzzed all about. The pair were as strong as the Scimitars, stronger, I would boast.’

The young girl’s tears had dried as she listened to the tales of the farisi, who had protected her grandfather, who had shared their fortunes and misfortunes together.

‘When you were just a small girl, they picked you up and used to play with you. When you were still wearing clothes around your waist, your little nappi, they left. This was the time when Forgryn was killed. It was at that time, a young noble was killed by an Iyrman, and his farisi too. Radi and Isra went to bring him to justice, but even they, together, were unable to defeat the one who now holds the title of Butcher Marmak.’

The old man had held a look, a look that reminisced upon a time long forgotten.

‘After their deaths, I received a visitor. It was him, the Butcher. He spoke to me, of what he stated to be the truth, that he only fought for the right of his cousin. He requested a small favour from me. He said that his cousin, the Mad Dog, had gained a bounty of ten thousand gold within Aldland, and though he had retired, and the bounty had retired with him, he wished to gain that bounty. Do you know how much ten thousand gold is, betti?’

‘Big money,’ the girl had replied, nodding her head confidently.

‘Yes. Ten thousand gold, even for we, whose wealth eclipses hundreds of thousands of gold, is still no small sum. There are few who gain such bounties, ten thousand gold, one hundred thousand silver, one million copper. Most are Iyrmen. Those who survive with such bounties could be counted upon one hand. Most are Iyrmen.’

‘Is he dead now?’

‘He still holds the bounty, which has caused the deaths of more nobles, and even great farisi, whose names will fade, blowing away like sand. Likes the names of Kal Radi the Boar, and Kal Isra, Silver Sword of the Sands.’ The older man pulled his granddaughter’s head to his chest, holding her so tenderly.

‘If you are to meet an Iyrman, you should treat them politely. If you meet those related to such nightmares, of the Mad Dog, of the Butcher, you must run. Even I, this grandfather of yours, who could spar with the Scimitars and force them sweat, cannot defeat those monsters who I pray retire into their mountains, noorshukhur.’

The old man had made sure she could never forget the names of such Iyrmen. She had been told of Flame Brand too, she was certain of it, but Flame Brand’s name did not rise quite so brightly as the Butcher’s. The Orders may have remembered her well, but Aswadasad as a whole did not. The Mad Dog, however, was a crazy fool who had managed to somehow cause nightmares for the Aswadians, though he rarely stepped foot within the land.

Kal Saffiya did not understand, and Lady Lena prayed she would never need to understand.

As the heat bore upon them, the magical chill floated across the trio which remained within the inner complex, the Fountain of Fragrance.

“I think you should get some Amira’s Rose for yourself, and I’ll get something else for Vonda,” Adam said casually, having no clue that the woman before him, Farah, was currently cursing him within her mind. She had sold a jar of Amira’s Rose, but there was so much more she had wished to sell to the Lady, and now she was stuck with this fool who she really didn’t want to sell to.

Except…

She was certain he said he was related to the monster known as Butcher Marmak, didn’t he? She had heard it several times, but she did not wish to accept the truth into her heart, for how could she, when it was Butcher Marmak?

“Amira’s Rose is the finest,” Dunes said, rubbing his beard lightly in thought. “Are you certain you do not wish for it?”

“I think I want to make something more original, or buy something that smells good, but doesn’t sell as much, that way Vonda can have her own scent. It would feel awkward if I am near your wife and then her smell reminds me of my wife. It’s just… weird.”

Dunes let out a small groan of agreement, and if he was to procure Amira’s Rose, chances were that no one else in the business would smell of such. “It is a good point.”

“Do you have something that smells somewhat flowery, but gentle, oh, very gentle, because my children have quite sensitive noses, and it might overwhelm them,” Adam asked, thinking of his triplets, who held the keen senses of dragons, or at the very least, half such keen senses. “It would be something sweet instead, although, she is a Ray of Life’s Rose, so maybe something with a rose?”

“Excuse me?” Farah asked, leaning forward slightly from the shock. “Your wife is a Ray of Life’s Rose?”

Adam inhaled sharply, the various gentle scents permeating the air flooding through to his lungs, and he smirked in a way that reminded the Priest beside him of a particular little mischievous girl. “That’s right! Aren’t I the luckiest man alive? Ho ho ho! Hahaha!”

Dunes was surprised the half elf had managed to contain himself from showing off too much, the half elf reaching up to hide his smile. “It is true.”

Farah understood, now, why the Lady had made such a speedy retreat away. It seemed as though the noblewoman was truly wise beyond her years, and her family would only know prosperity. “Did you say you were a High Alchemist?”

“Yes?”

Farah looked to Dunes, not wanting to offend him, but the Priest did need to speak with the half elf. Dunes, noting her look, leaned in to whisper something into Adam’s ears.

“Oh,” Adam said. “Right. I didn’t think of recreating it, but I guess it’s not like you can take my word for it?”

“The scents will last ten years within their large bottles, these in particular, and after that they will begin to fade slightly,” Dunes said, trying to ease the half elf’s worries. “We can return every few years to buy more, or you can buy a license to make your own, though it is a hefty sum.”

“Like, hefty for me, or hefty for the business?”

“Hefty for…” Dunes was about to make a joke, but he was fairly certain even Adam’s children were wealthier than him. “Me?”

“Alright, but…” Adam shrugged his shoulders and winked. “The business will buy a bunch for you, but first, are you willing to sell more to the Mo of Black Mountain?”

“If the Brother of Black Mountain wishes to buy jars of Amira’s Rose, he is able to do so.”

“What about me?”

“I am uncertain,” the woman admitted.

“Well, I think I have a way to change your mind,” Adam said.

“Adam,” Dunes called, leaning in to whisper into the half elf’s ear. “Please be mindful of your tone and how you phrase your offer.”

Adam blinked. He thought about the next few words that were about to come from his mind and he slowly nodded his head. “Yeah. Good point.”

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When you're so strong, you instil generational fear into people.