Meet Iro Carvder

Iro stood before an army. His absolute favorite place to be. The dry Tretyed ground cracked beneath his feet. His heart pumped. War tended to have that effect. Blood raced through his veins. Green blood, as if that was of any importance. Faster and faster the pressure grew, his heart would burst. Almost. . . Iro made the choice. A feeling that could only be describes as some sort of door opening rushed through him, like a dam breaking. Then he ran. Oh what a feeling, careening towards men who thought his head would look much better on the end of a spike. Iro started his usual ritual of forgetting. Battles were not fun. Any man who told you they were hadn’t been to one. So Iro forgot about them.

Iro’s body knew what it was doing. His mind would simply slow him down, and speed was everything. At the moment Iro was running faster than a horse, maybe, he’d never actually timed anything. But Iro didn’t have to focus on the running, so he would think of any old thing. He planned his week, that included yelling at his brother, drinking with Gaty and sleeping at any given moment. Iro would wonder philosophical like things such as how many coasters he could balance on a man’s head before he woke up. Or if that egg drink really helped with a pounding head as much as that peddler had said it would. And where he was going to find an egg in the camp supply wagons. Iro would also teach himself little tidbits he was certain would help him one day, Red’s fire to whatever Estnav said. Last week Iro taught himself the alphabet backwards, and a month ago he had unlocked the secret to dart throwing. If only he could remember what that secret was?

Enemy archers took knee and readied their bows. Iro thought about how he should get a pet turtle. Arrows zipped through the air, one clipped his cheek but Iro avoided the others with a quick pivot. A turtle would be fun. It wouldn’t run away, or at least not successfully. What do they even eat? Will ale kill a turtle? Their shells look cool, and I could let it loose in my tent without fear of hurting it if it got stepped on. Iro had momentum to spare, so he hurled himself through the archers and made it a good 3 feet before running into a burly man with an axe. All Jakavarans were burly, but this man was burly be their standards. If Iro didn’t know better he would have assumed the man’s axe needed a shave. Who was he trying to kid? Iro didn’t know better, and that axe had a mustache.

Iro swerved around and sliced the man from shoulder to stomach. Iro hadn’t even realized his knives were out, a gift from his brother, the twin blades stood a foot and a half long and angled half way down the blade, one handle had a few carvings on it. Iro’s mind always got in the way. Time to forget. Would I need to wash a turtle? Or is it just a better idea to get an owl? Now there’s an idea! It can clean out the mice! Then I won’t need to get a new pair of boots once a month! Or can any creature eat that much? Maybe 2 owls. I can always give one to Gaty.

On he went. Slicing, cutting, running, lots and lots of running, and overall trying not to die. Always finding new and inventive ways to not die was the only way to keep up with all the new and inventive ways people tried to kill you. When Iro was first introduced to the world of war all anybody had was sharp things on a stick. Now there were nets flying about, catapulting rocks on a string and most recently fire. Someone always managed to bring in fire, Iro was surprised it had taken them this long. Yes, it was hard finding new and inventive ways to not die, but Iro had learned from the best, or at least that’s what his teacher said. 5 years of How to not die and not be aware of it. Iro had been push beyond limits he didn’t know he had. The longest years of his life were spent in a dirt training ground with Estnav yelling at him. Estnav was very old for his age, always grumbling about. It didn’t seem right to have your slightly older brother become your grandfather/vocalizing teacher/man who was “Here to set you straight.” And Iro’s disciplinary officer, as if the man didn’t enough power.

Through a spearman, around another axe bearer and under a man on horseback, Iro made his way through Jakavaran ranks. Not that he was aware of it of course. He was weighing the disabilities of molting on the advantages pest control. He was on the idea of finding a hawk now, the owl was no longer an option. Iro didn’t like the idea of it staring at him in the night. And by that reasoning cat was crossed off too. As was fish, but for a completely different reason. He wouldn’t shame a fish by placing it in the same category as cat. Fish were quite prideful, as was evident from them choosing to live in water. Land wasn’t good enough for them. Iro understood after living in a desert for Tint knew how long. The introduction of fire tipped sharp things on a stick did not help the situation.

Iro’s comrades had arrived, as was evident from the screaming. Iro would strangle the man who had said battle was fun. Or I can always strap him in boots and throw him to the mice.

Pain flashed through him. His arm? Or it could have been his shoulder. The injury couldn’t have been that serious or Iro would be dead. I’ve been going at this the wrong way! Iro thought as realization dawned on him. I need to train the mice! That’s the best way to go about it. Why didn’t I see it before? How? That is the question. Do camp mice diets consist of anything other than boots and my favorite shirt? And gossipy men? They don’t eat the food, Primaries, I would eat boot if I could avoid eating that slime. I’ll steal Estnav’s favorite shirt, they should like that even more. It’ll be cleaner.

Iro cut his way through a line of short swordsmen. Just managed to avoid a lance, then another, then another, a dagger sliced his leg and by sheer probability fire had been involved. Next he was faced off a club welder, the man was stabbed in the eye. Iro’s following opponent went down with a slice across the knee. Blood pumping, daring to burst his heart drummed faster. He gained more speed with the growing pressure, and the faster he ran the more his heart rate and blood pressure rose. And so came the loop.

Training mice is too time consuming. How long would it take to train a lizard? Tint knows the things are everywhere. Even if I can’t train one, I could sneak one into Estnav’s dinner, that’s just as entertaining.

Iro must have been out here for hours, he had sort of seen the sun move. Time was hard to follow when you weren’t thinking. Iro was facing three men, one held a set of clubs, two broadswords. He ran forward jumped kicked two of them, each man fell back. The other sword bearer swung down on him, Iro crossed his knives and caught the blade. He held the blade in such a way that when moved his hands out the two angled parts of the blades hooked around the man’s sword. Once caught, he tried to pull away, but Iro kicked him in the chest with a spiked boot, send the man backwards and ripping the sword from his hands. Iro released the broadsword and continued on his way through the army.

Iro spun and sliced his way along, not the least bit aware of what was really going on around. If anyone around Iro had simply listened for a moment, they would hear him humming. Inside his head Iro was at an inn, and there was music. He hummed along with the tune of the drummer and fiddle, there were words to the song, but he had no idea what they were, but he remembered the tune. His mind wandered away from the inn and back to the pet dilemma. A lizard really isn’t the worst idea. Iro thought, he was the tiniest bit serious now. He needed something to pass the time with, playing with a little scaly creature could work, he would just need to find one that wasn’t poisonous. He could see Gaty getting himself bitten by his imaginary pet all too well. Animals didn’t like Gaty, not that Gaty like them, so it seemed to work out.

Iro rushed at at a soldier the Jacavaren’s referred to as one of the Galtri. The man was fully armored, and his helm had two horn like twists of metal at the top. He held a mace bigger than Iro’s head. The beast before him charged, growling loudly, the Jacavarns around him rose up cheers. The Galtri swung at Iro, who leaned back in a dodge. There was a space in the man’s armor, between the the shoulder and torso, to allow movement. The man swung again, a spike ripping Iro’s green uniform. Iro pivoted and came into position, then he stabbed that space, aiming sideways, for the heart. The heart was different in Motley, but it was still in the same place. The Galtri coughed, falling backwards. Iro pulled his knife out of the man as he fell, it was covered in brown blood.

Iro readied himself against the rush of men who’d been watching the ever so short duel. Iro ran at the ever closing circle around him, smacking into three men, the circle broke. The three Jacavarens were thrown back at the force of his speed. He continued running, his twin knives held down at his sides. He stopped, swinging at a man who was close to throwing a lance at him. All the while Iro’s mind reminisced about the time Gaty had gotten chased around by an officer’s horse. The man had almost gotten himself bitten three times.

Iro felt another pain, this time on his forearm. He had no idea what it was from, but that didn’t matter. Knowing who had wounded him didn’t make the wound instantly heal.