The boy waddled along the table, this arms outstretched over it as his hips wiggled from side to side, leading his feet ever sideward towards his prize. Finally, with a hand, he claimed his prize, placing his hand upon the older man’s knee, his innocent eyes twinkling with a greater force than even the sun. 

“You are walking so well,” the older man said, picking the boy up, who huffled with delight, sucking his dummy, pausing to coo, until the older man brought the boy’s head to his chest. 

Xarot closed his eyes, clutching at his baba’s collar, allowing the slumber to take him, for he had played so much that day, and now it was time to sleep. As the arm wrapped around his side and back, the boy melted against the older man, allowing him to escort him to a deep slumber. 

Tonagek glanced to his side, where Monarot clutched at his shirt, the girl also fast asleep, her dummy threateningly to slip out of her mouth. He gently pushed it back into her mouth, the girl beginning to suck on her dummy lightly, stirring lightly, before falling fast asleep. 

Fonasen eyed up the pair of children, who seemed to adore her as much as they adored Tonagek, often even more, for she looked identical to their nana, save for the tattoos upon her forehead. She smiled warmly towards the two, who were growing so well, each causing so much trouble with how they liked to flee away from them, but they always returned to their arms when it was time. 

While the Iyr was taking such good care of the children, the half elf thought about the man he had met the previous day. He was a normal guy, as far as Adam was concerned, he looked like any other Iyrman he had passed by the last few weeks. An Aswadian’s Aswadian, and yet, somehow…

‘That guy was a Mulazim in the Shen’s Eyes?’ the half elf thought, narrowing his eyes slightly, trying to think back to what he looked like, but all he could remember was that he really was like any other Aswadian man, with nothing notable about him. ‘Scary.’

The half elf’s mood to step out that day had all but dissipated, not wanting to meet someone like that again. It wasn’t because the man hadn’t been given off a terrible aura, it was the fact that he should have given off a terrible aura, but hadn’t. 

Meanwhile, Faool made his way through the crowd, reaching towards a worker beside the giant arena, which could easily hold a hundred thousand people within, the stone walls ancient, though not quite as old as the Iyr, for this had been constructed during the time of the Shen of Shens using the other arena’s stone, which had been made during the time the Black Lion had conquered the lands. 

The worker bowed his head respectfully to the Iyrman. “How may I assist?”

“I wish to meet with a particular gladiator,” Faool said. “Sully the Mountain.”

“Even for you, I cannot allow you to meet Sully the Mountain, even if you bring one hundred gold.”

“I have not brought a hundred gold, but I have brought word from the Lion King.”

The worker blinked. 

The room was covered in plushness, from the red pillows, carpet, even rugs upon the carpet, the bed easily enough to hold ten people, though considering the size of the man within, perhaps only six. He was not a man, but a mountain of blue, his large horns curling back, forced that way no doubt, and he was a head taller than Faool, but easily three times as wide, his bicep almost as large as the Iyrman’s head. He was surrounded by at least four women, but considering the legs which peeked out from behind, there were another two who were passed out, for one reason or another, a reason Faool did not think about, and he was glad the heavy smell of perfume filled the air.

“I! Mountain Sully! Biggest of all!” Sully declared, flexing his muscles, daring to show such a boisterousness towards the Iyrman. 

“I have a message from a friend,” Faool said. “He wishes to drink with you.”

“Do you see?” Sully said, his voice crackling like fire, speaking in devilkin. “He speaks of bringing a message from a friend, to drink with me, but what friend does he know of mine? He does not bring silver, nor gold, but he believes his tattoos allow him to show me such disrespect.”

“Yes,” Faool replied in the tongue of crackling fire, for his best friend was a Gak. “However, that is beside the point. I come bearing a message from a friend. He says, come here, or I will drag you out, you two horn bastard who could not touch the tips of my mane.”

Sully’s eyes widened slightly, his lips forming a grin when he heard the crackling of fire from Faool’s throat, but when the young man continued to speak, his face turned to alarm. He flexed, swinging out his arms. 

“Off! Off you daughters of wenches! Whoredaughters! Vile vixens!” the man exclaimed, raging wildly like a beast, his entire skin turning from blue to purple, veins threatening to pop. “There is a lion to strangle!”

As the doors to the inn slammed open, a pair of guards turned to see who would cause such trouble, but neither decided to step forward, for the purple figure looked as though he was about to wring blood from anyone who dared to step in front of his path.

“If you touch me smelling like that, I will kill you,” Ashmir said calmly, the old man waiting within a private room, one which was large enough to easily house ten of him, or nine of the Mountain, who had almost swallowed the Lion King whole within his arms. However, Sully stopped, still purple with rage, having kept it for minutes, but he retreated away and returned once he was no longer smelling of perfume, and no longer quite as covered in sweat and other bodily fluids. 

Faool remained standing outside, arms crossed, as though he was able to protect the likes of the Lion King and The Mountain, though he supposed his tattoo may be able to do so. 

“You son of a whore!” Sully growled, throwing out a fist, the pair clasping hands, flexing their arms. The pair raged together, trying to pin the other’s arm down, and as Ashmir’s arm pulled towards him, the pair stopped. “Krahahaha! You have grown so soft in the Iyr, ey, Kitten Prince!”

“Their food is well spiced, and these days, only the young ones ask me to spar with them,” Ashmir admitted, pushing forward a box, allowing the man of blue to open the box. As he did, Sully’s eyebrows raised, and he pulled out the cigar, it lighting almost instantly within his fingers, before he inhaled it deeply, the smoke filling the air. 

“Those bastards at the arena say I may only smoke one each month, so I keep my habit to weekly,” Sully said, snorting out the smoke through his nostrils, which filled the air. “I need to strangle whichever bastard taught Kamran how to make these, because I will die before I quit smoking such fine cigars.”

Ashmir took a light puff of a cigar, before handing it to Sully, coughing lightly, for it had been too long. 

“You haven’t smoked since you left?” Sully asked, and as Ashmir shrugged, Sully smoked both cigars at once. “Hoh forhunah foh meh!”

As the pair ordered their drinks and food, Ashmir placing down gems worth tens of gold, Sully took the opportunity to peruse all the fine wines, not that he needed to, but since Ashmir was paying, he needed to make sure his friend emptied his purse appropriately. 

“I have granddaughters now,” Ashmir said.

“Granddaughters?” Sully asked. “You bastard, when did you have a kid?”

“Do you remember?”

“Ah! That woman? She was too young for you then, you monstrous beast.”

“I don’t want to hear that from you, you boar bastard,” Ashmir shot back. 

“The youngest I had was-,”

“I will kill you,” Ashmir replied, not wanting to hear the number, though he was fairly certain Sully hadn’t gone so far as to die by his spear. “My… son. He… is a Priest of Black Mountain.”

“You’re putting out my fire,” Sully accused. 

“He married recently, a woman with beautiful skin, not like yours, but you would like her.”

“I might steal her away.”

“You would not have to worry for me if you did that,” Ashmir stated, since someone else would come for his neck. “I have two granddaughters, with beautiful red skin, two horns, thick curly hair, and innocent smiles. I have more daughters, another son, and three wives.”

“I have twenty women now,” Sully grinned wildly, like a beast. “You could not measure up to me in that way, in many ways, that way!”

“Don’t make me regret my offer.”

“I refuse it,” Sully replied, clenching his fist, threatening to beat the Lion King. “Fighting was in your blood, but you reached the height you wanted to. I will die in the arena, since my blood if made of fire, whereas you, you and yours, you worship the biggest flame in the sky, but your blood is as cold as ice, like your hearts!”

“How is your son?”

“He joined the guards recently, they pay him good coin, and I’m sure they give him plenty of men and women to play with, since his fire burns brightly like mine!” Sully roared with laughter. 

Ashmir thought about asking about his other sons, but they might have hated the old man more than even the nobles. After all, only a handful of people had killed a noble with their bare hands and lived, and Sully was one of them. Even Scholar Muh had barely managed to face him, and that was after dozens of guards had already died by his hand. 

“Oi, Ashmir,” Sully said, the older devilkin no longer laughing. “I have a daughter now, from a young lady who admired me for my strength, whose name I have already forgotten. She’s not pure blooded like my son, so her heart won’t be filled with the same fire. The arena, it’s no good for her.”

“…”

“Will you take her to the Iyr, as your own?”

“I know of someone who would raise her better,” Ashmir admitted. 

“Do what you will with her, as long as she doesn’t have to live a life watching over her shoulder because I killed too many of the wrong people since they asked me to die,” Sully grumbled. 

Ashmir let out a soft sigh, and reached out a hand. The pair clasped hands, flexing once more. 

“Noorshukhur,” Sully said. 

“Die in a fire,” Ashmir replied politely. 

----------------------------------------

----------------------------------------

We all know who is going to adopt the girl...