DJORN - The Last Iayani

“When the new world came there was a forgetfulness of the past. This new time does not remember magic, or the civilizations of old. The lands of today go by new names, and ever since the ascension of mortal men, the lands have split and the seas have risen again. This is not the same world I remember…”

— Agamemnon

Beside the peak of the great snowy mountain to the north, there came a holler. Past the white bliss and heavy winds there echoed a screech, not of pain, but of vengeance. Black leather boots tackled the deep terrain, digging into the ground with force just to be lunged forth again. Djorn turned to the Arab that had accompanied him.

The small man, with a colorful vest and meek arms, carried in his arms Djorn’s flintlock and rapiers so that their holy essence need not touch the earth of this sinful land. It was a principle Djorn held, that when he traveled outside his homeland his blessed blades were not to touch foreign soil. He practiced this sternly.

The Arab, Ajul, was a small and chattery fellow. He had been hired by Djorn at the foot of the mountain, before the rogue could comprehend the torturous nature of the climb. These mountains, amidst the middle of Greenland, stood above a bizarre plot of dunes that extended past a few miles before becoming forests by the shores.

To the nomadic gypsies who had settled in those dunes, the north was no trouble as their kind, called the Shahul, had traveled every kind of environment before settling there. Djorn knew only his companion’s need for gold and his willingness to work for it. A trait Djorn appreciated seeing this far out in the world, especially where the rogue was custom to so many cheats and thieves.

The cry in the air came again, this time louder. Djorn raised his head towards the light blue skies. Turning to Ajul, the little man began to mutter something in Shahul-speak. Djorn, turned noticing the utterance of one word. A name. Iayani. Djorn looked back ahead, past the snow being blown up from the ground and into the blind air.

The screech called again, and this time started a few feet from where Djorn and Ajul had stopped in their tracks. Ajul was shaken, ready to run at a seconds notice, or disappear beneath the thigh-high snow. The snow almost cleared, and past the blistering wind Djorn could make out a shape. It was something like white fur, dancing about sprinkled white winds.

Then, as quick at the scene was spotted, there came a massive boulder flying from the cyclone of the battered winds. A rock, larger than both the men, was hurled from this white wall of windy snow and was directed at Ajul who was crushed upon contact. By the time Djorn had realized what had happened, he was ducked, admiring the large crater the boulder had left beside him.

Slowly turning, the rogue could make out a trail of snow stained with blood. His eyes followed back behind him Ajul sat beneath the snow and the weight of the crushing rock. The Arab was dead. Djorn dropped to one knee, gave a salute to his fallen companion and got back up. He ducked into the snow, making sure to not be the next target of whatever had thrown the boulder.

Djorn noticed his rapiers sitting above the snow, not touching the earth. With haste he pulled his blades to his sides as he hid under the warmth of his coat. Deep into the snow Djorn sank until all that could be seen was his tall hat and the giant rock he crouched beside. As the white air blew away Djorn began to make out the figure quite clearly.

Past the wind marched a giant man, covered in white fur and with a blueish-gray face, resembling an ape. The things palms were the same color as his face and black claws stood at the end of each of his fingers. This was the Iayani, Djorn said to himself. A race of primitive northern ape-men who once held civilizations in the land of ice and snow.

Djorn remembered, reading about them and hearing the tales of the Iayani during his travels with the Shahul gypsies. Djorn did fear these creatures, so much as he felt sorry for them. It was said that a decade ago their kind was extinct. Now it would have appeared that the scholar’s books were wrong.

Based on what the natives had told, this Iayani looked to be healthy, in his prime and standing seven feet tall. As the yeti stepped closer, Djorn removed his hat, pulling it below the snow with the rest of his black outfit. From within his coat Djorn pulled explosives with wire. Positioning the explosives under the giant rock, the rogue planned to combust the boulder once the Iayani was close enough.

As the yeti stepped lively, Djorn followed in front of him as the beast circled the rock. Djorn moved past bloodied snow, sinking face-first into the cold, icy ground. Staying one step ahead of the beast, Djorn planted his explosives in the pockets of Ajul, and lit a small match as the creature was on the other side of the great rock.

Diving, once again beneath the snow, Djorn crawled for cover through the soft terrain. With burning flesh he pressed past the bitterness until popping his head up a good fifteen feet away. Once he had the yeti had heard him. The beast looked over at him, let forth a roar which shattered the mountain’s winds and reached for the boulder.

Djorn felt his fate was sealed as the yeti picked up the rock, rearing for another throw. The rogue closed his eyes as he could barely make out the Iyanai holding the massive rock above his head. Then, like fate, the explosives within the pocket of the crushed Ajul, who sat at the yeti’s side, went off, blowing away the left leg of the last Iayani.

As the beast fell backward, into the snow, so too did come the falling boulder he was holding. As the beast hit the floor there came a following blow which crushed the chest of the creature and once again gave wind to the strict sounds of the storm. As Djorn approached the deceased body of the yeti, he looked to the side to see the mutilated body of Ajul, who’s corpse was damaged in the explosion as well.

Djorn, removing the gold coins he had paid Ajul from his pocket, looked it over, deciding not to take it. Instead, as in line with Djorn’s sense of right, the rogue took the four gold pieces and placed them over the eyes of Ajul and the fallen Iayani. Djorn did this so that they may both have to chance to pay for passage over to the other side.

Djorn’s vision of the afterlife. A dream. Taking to his feet again, Djorn knew he could not go on without a guide. Holding his rapiers above his head, Djorn looked up to see the placement of the afternoon sun and located what cardinal direction he was facing. Turning south, Djorn walked with his valuables being held over his head, back down the mountain to the dunes where he would finally get warm again and recuperate from this unexpectedly vicious journey.