Beyond Chaos – A DiceRPG

It was raining that day.

The light rains of duskval fell upon the roofs, the melancholic melody providing the group company as their carriages shuddered onward. The newly built road wound this way and that way around the hills, but swung generally straight towards the wide river. Adam remembered taking the river years ago, accompanying the Iyr down south, where he met Lucy for the first time.

The carriages slowed to a halt, and the half elf inhaled deeply. He stared out to the hill, which were so different to the hills of the Iyr, so… unsafe. He stepped out, furrowing his brows in confusion, seeing the fort was still a ways away. His heart quickened for a moment, only for it to slow as he stared at the pair of figures in front of him.

One was bronze of skin, with long hair, dark like the night, which fell to his upper back. His square jaw was thick with hair, wild and ragged. The young man wore a large greatsword upon his back, but it was the yellow five pointed star and the purple flowers, inversely coloured to the Gek family, which was his greatest weapon.

The other was grey skinned, his hair having grown, untamed, as though it had grown over the last season, his face also thick with a beard that had grown in as long. Just like his companion, he also wielded a greatsword upon his back, but it was the tattoo on his forehead which was his greatest weapon, a weapon which was identical to another within Adam’s company.

The pair stood, each adorned in the thick furs the Iyrmen often wore in the Aldish lands, for the theatrics of it all. Their furs were worn, roughed from months of remaining upon the road, not just any road, but this road in particular.

“The sheer audacity of you two being this close when you should have returned a few weeks ago,” Adam said, shaking his head at the pair.

Amokan smiled for a moment, but it quickly dropped, as though he had been stabbed. “We expected you in nightval.”

“What are you two doing here?” Adam asked.

Amokan eyed up the group, noting all the familiar faces, save for the figure in the armour, and the drakken, who was no doubt one of those. “Waiting.”

“…”

Amokan stepped towards the half elf, and embraced him, patting his back. “I am sorry, Adam.”

Adam slowly nodded his head, shaking the Iyrman’s forearm. “Yeah.”

“Adam…” Timojin called, before taking the half elf’s forearm in both hands, squeezing it gently. Timojin shook his head slightly.

“Yeah.”

Amokan shook Jurot’s forearm, the pair holding one another’s gaze, speaking an entire conversation with their entire gaze. “They do not know?”

“I do not know,” Jurot admitted.

“They would not have let you come without them if they did.”

Jurot slowly nodded his head, as the pair of Iyrmen greeted each of the others within Adam’s company.

“Hmm,” Rajin groaned quietly as his grandson shook his forearm.

“You raised him well,” Jarot said, patting Timojin’s shoulder.

Amokan smiled towards Dunes, slowly nodding his head as the pair shook forearms, and once he was done greeting the group, he turned towards the carriages, but other than the one figure in the dark armour, he found no others. His eyes scanned across the group again. He narrowed his eyes in thought of the missing figures.

“We are close,” Dunes said, approaching Adam and Jurot. “I wish to pray over you, Lucy too.”

“Sure,” Adam said. It was when Dunes raised his sword that Adam noted which blade he had brought, Thunder’s Triumph. He furrowed his brows, since the blade wasn’t his, but Ranya’s.

“My Lady. I wish not for the strength to vanquish my enemies, but the strength to see tomorrow.” Dunes’ voice was loud, proud, and full of conviction, warmth flowing from his words over their bodies.

Health: 112 -> 122

‘Oh,’ Adam thought. “Thank you.”

“Thanks,” Lucy said, bowing her head to Dunes, who had spent a Third Gate spell for her.

Dunes swallowed, bowing his head in return, while Jurot also nodded towards the Priest.

The group continued forward, approaching the large earth walls of the fort, veering their carriages to one side, before stepping out into the rain a short ways away.

As Bael stepped out, feeling the rain against his skin, he sniffed the air, tilting his head. ‘Hmm? Isn’t that…’

“Halt!” called a guard, adorned in full chain, glaring at the strangers. It was upon seeing they were Iyrmen that the guard relaxed slightly. “Here to support the gathering?”

“We are here to complete our duties for the Iyr,” Jarot stated, almost growling at the guard.

The guard eyed up the rest of the fellows, noting that some were not Iyrmen, but the Iyrmen had also recently brought someone who wasn’t an Iyrman. “Alright. The Iyr’s tents are on the north western side.”

“Of course,” Jarot replied, grinning wide, but stopped the next words upon feeling a hand on his shoulder.

‘They’ve been waiting all this time for these lot, then?’ The guard nodded to Amokan and Timojin, having brought them drinks and food now and again, though the pair had hunted well enough by themselves.

As the group stepped within, they noted all the buildings made of wood, earth, and stone, the fort not just any little outpost, but large enough to house easily hundreds of people within. They also spotted a large number of tents around the perimeter, near the walls. There were dozens upon dozens of different buildings, most large, some small. The handful of people walking around were Florian soldiers, considering the purple they wore, and the bows and short blades they carried.

Though it was raining, there were many figures out in the open, each gathered together in open aired tents, which protected them from the rain, but not the chill of duskval. The various members of the Orders gathered together to discuss not just matters of the Reavers, but also their stories, and while some formed bonds together, others readdressed old wounds.

Rajin led the group forward, his eyes darting all around, and as the various figures glanced their way, he bowed his head towards them. Some held looks of vague recognition towards the Iyrmen, others glared, while some held suspicious gazes towards the group, including towards the two red skinned figures who wore no tattoos upon their foreheads. Luckily, there was a drakken and a figure in all black that took much of the attention, and of course, the figure in purple armour who walked alongside the crippled Iyrman.

“The Iyr keeps sending cripples?” one whispered to another, before feeling an elbow at his side.

“Careful. It might just be the Mad Dog, and then you’ll end up like the Vice Commander of Black Snow.”

“What are the chances it’s him?” The heavily armoured fellow chuckled.

Rajin continued to lead the group forward, through the large fort, which was more like a village than a fort, a heavily guarded village filled with hundreds of Order members and soldiers. He just needed to get to the Iyr’s section, speak with Elder Peace and her aides, and figure out a way to end this cleanly.

Rajin stopped.

He hadn’t heard the wooden leg striking the stone beneath for two steps, and he glanced backwards. It was then he followed the Iyrman’s eyeline, but he had already understood upon seeing Jarot’s gaze.

There he stood. In his breastplate, wielding a blade at his side, and though he did not wear his full plate, his amulet provided his greatest shield. His salt and pepper hair was cut short, his neatly trimmed beard had been worked that morning, and he wore a smile he did not deserve.

It was him. The First Vice Commander of the Thousand Hunts.

“Ja-,”

“Sir! Kris! Huntsmaster!” Jarot exclaimed, his voice blasting through the air, bringing many gazes to him. His wild grin spread across his face in an instant, but it was his eyes which held a greater wildness within, the wildness that had thought to have died so many years ago, of a Mad Dog whose name had begun to fade.

Kris turned, noting the appearance of the Iyrman, whose wild grin spread a darkness over him, but he smiled upon recognising the face, a smile which only caused Jarot’s grin to spread further. “What have I done to have such good fortune? What is it that brings the great Mad Dog to our camp?”

‘It’s really him? The Mad Dog?’ The young man quickly glanced aside.

Jarot’s grin had grown so wide it caused his eyes to narrow. A flash of heat spread through him and his skin began to turn red.

“So,” came a whisper upon the wind, causing the old man to tense up, “it’s him?”

Jarot turned his head slowly to see the heavily armoured half elf beside him, standing completely tense, doing his absolute best to remain still. “I will speak with him.”

“Okay,” Adam replied.

Kris paused for a moment, feeling all the attention fall to him from the entire group, noting the glares from the entire group. ‘Why do they always look as though they want to slaughter?’

“We have come… to complete our duties,” Jarot said, his neck pulled taut as he smiled at the First Vice Commander of the Order of the Thousand Hunts. He could feel the itch at the back of his skull, telling him he could do it now, and it would be the end of it all, but though the boys were his greatsons, there was another with a greater right.

Timojin stepped in front of the demons, noting how Mara had stood, crossing her hands over her navel, while Lucy’s fists strained to the point he could see her veins.

Amokan pressed his pinky against his cousin’s elbow, his words low, almost drowned out by the gentle rain. “Wait.”

Jurot closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, before exhaling. The shadow gripped at his heart. He also wanted nothing more than to behead the Vice Commander, but if he did that, then what of his brother?

As the rain fell, the water dripped down his visor, blocking his vision. The half elf swallowed, feeling the burning in his eyes, and the burning in his heart. He closed his eyes, understanding that if he saw the man for a moment longer, he would be unable to control himself.

We’re going to eat good in January.