My-re and the Rirorni, General Pol, stood on the shore of the Lake of Mists with crates of supplies watching four boats approach. One warrior disembarked and approached them. He wore well-oiled leather armor. His golden-brown arms and legs boasted perfectly carved muscles. His round helm covered his entire head, including a nose guard with thick rivets around the opening, so only his scowling mouth was visible. His helm hid his eyes in shadow.
“I bid you greetings Lord Protectors, my name is Captain Darien. I’m here to escort you to the Isle of the Eye.”
“Translation kid,” General Pol said turning to My-re in the Rirorni native language of Rathiri.
Kid? “He said for you to wait here for the next boat,” My-re replied back in Rathiri.
“What!?”
Darien then gestured for them to board the long boat on the shore of the Lake of Mists.
General Pol understood she didn’t translate Darien’s dialogue accurately. He grumbled under his breath a few moments, composed himself, and said to her, “Apologies if offense was given. My travels have been long and my mood short. I will be at a disadvantage until I learn this cursed Alastarian dialect. Therefore, I would be in favor, if you untangled their words for proper meaning.”
My-re rolled her eyes and reluctantly nodded.
My-re and General Pol boarded the craft with Captain Darien following. The two oarsmen began rowing them across the lake.
Captain Darien looked at the brooding Rirorni. He began, “Any wait on the shore was out of necessity. The creatures in the lake have been restless lately. Once we reach the Isle of the Eye, an ambassador will take you to your quarters where you can eat, relax, and refresh yourself. Training as a Lord Protector will begin tomorrow. The arena games are every two weeks, so you can test your metal against fellow Lord Protectors as often as you like.”
My-re was about to translate, but General Pol seemed disinterested and ran his hands through the grey waters of the lake.
Darien continued. “Rirorni, a word of caution. The Lake of Mists are filled with all sorts of strange and extremely dangerous creatures, so casual boating, swimming, or dangling digits in the waters is at one’s own peril. One of the worst near the shores are Sawfish, which are highly territorial, ill tempered, and all-around nasty pieces of work.”
General Pol noticed Darien talking at him. He turned to My-re for the translation.
“The fish bite.”
Pol quickly retrieved his hand from the water and nodded to Darien, he understood.
The trip across the lake seemed endless. Everywhere My-re looked there was nothing but the mist. They could have been going in circles for all she knew. The only sounds were the oars pushing them through the waters and the occasional splash in the distance.
Captain Darien turned his head and motioned for the oarsmen to stop rowing. Several heartbeats passed. General Pol opened he mouth, but Captain Darien put his finger to his lips for silence.
My-re saw a gargantuan, dark shape pass right under their longboat. She couldn’t help but hold her breath until the creature descended into the depths.
A minute passed and the rowing began again and My-re found herself pulling in her arms and legs a little tighter to her body.
In the distance a light began to burn through the mist and their boat headed towards the source. She heard multiple voices in conversation and a harbor began to materialize through the haze.
A longshoreman tossed Captain Darien a rope and helped guide them to the docks. He then nodded with respect, extended his hand towards My-re to help her ashore, and said, “Lord Protector.”
My-re accepted the gesture.
Captain Darien, General Pol, and My-re were soon traveling down the creaking, wooden dock. She saw a sign that read Willow Beach. The fishing village on the southern tip of the Isle of the Eye was nestled among beautiful willow trees. She breathed in the lake’s aroma of fresh seaweed and fish.
Greeted by the sounds of construction, the three entered the town. Workers scrambled across new wooden rooftops of gladiatorial guild houses, and one new tavern. Townsfolk haggled with merchants for the latest catch from the Lake of Mists. Lord Protectors strutted in white cloaks bragging about past and future deeds to anyone who would listen as other warriors rolled in and out of the taverns.
My-re thought, though called Willow Beach, the place was actually rather rocky. Captain Darien motioned for them to follow him towards two men standing and watching them approach.
The first was a Lord Protector, donning the white cloak. He was a rock-solid mountain of a man much closer to seven feet, than six. He wore oiled leather armor over his well-defined chest and abdomen. Rounded pecs and a solid core enhanced the armor and made it look good. His golden-brown arms and legs boasted such perfectly carved muscles that artists or even healers would likely pay handsomely, so they could draw or study his build. My-re admitted she wouldn’t turn down the offer to touch his physique to feel what a perfect specimen felt like.
The other man wore fine tailored robes of a mage, who didn’t seem much older than My-re, and had deep blue eyes with a fair complexion with a splatter of freckles across his youthful face.
As they approached, Captain Darien made introductions.
Motioning to the mountain-sized Lord Protector, Darien said, “My-re and General Pol, this is Deth of the Skull Squadron stable. He will be one of your stablemates and will take you to your quarters.”
Turning to the younger man, Darien said, “This is Spymaster Timshard. I must say, I’m surprised to see you out of the Academy of the Eye’s archive room.”
“Yes, yes, I do need to get back. However, my aunt asked me to attend the welcoming of the latest Lord Protectors to her isle. Normally, there would be more fanfare, but you know the duties of my aunt are never done,” Timshard remarked.
“So without further delay.” Timshard straightened his robs and bowed with grace towards them. He pulled out a scroll, cleared his throat, and announced with great elaboration.
“Hail My-re and General Pol, mighty gladiators of Alastari.
I bring you humble greetings from the Isle of the Eye. In honor of your courage on the arena sands, and in recognition of your proven skill at arms, you have been bestowed a great honor and for now and evermore will have a place in the realm of gladiator prowess.
Many thousands of Lord Protectors now compete with steel and sinew in brotherhood on the Isle of the Eye. You are a hero to this land and have taken your place among the mighty.
Each of you has been granted title and land and henceforth shall men and women call you Lord Protector. May you bear the name proudly and with honor.
The greatest pinnacle of your mastery of training awaits thee my Lords. May the gods of thy faith protect you even as you shall be a Protector to the Land. May victory be your eternal companion.
Signed, Shelia Greywand, Lady of the Ice Garden, Witch of the Northern Waste, High Sorceress of Glacks Island, Lady of the Fire, the Enchantress of—.”
Timshard interrupted himself, “You get the meaning.”
General Pol looked to My-re for the translation.
“Welcome to your new home.”