Beyond Chaos – A DiceRPG

“I was the one who found them,” Dunes said. “It was a terrible sight. Goblins, starved, forced away, eating one another. The three that we saw were beasts, but those two were so small, each I could hold within the palms of my hands. I thought, the world was cruel, but these two, newly born, should leave painlessly, unlike those around them. Adam almost killed me.”

The woman raised her brows in shock. “For two bavwa?”

“I saw the bavwa, but I could still see, at least a little, they were innocent babes. It would have been a mercy to send them away painlessly. You and I, we had seen them as bavwa. Goblins. Vermin. Adam? He saw them as children.”

The old woman listened intently to the Priest’s words, and she noted how heavily the shame marked each word.

“It was the first time that I had ever seen Adam so furious, that furious,” Dunes admitted, recalling the look within the half elf’s eyes. He knew last year, the half elf held such a look for a Vice Commander, but he had been on the receiving end of it first, all those years ago.“I should have adopted them myself. They are the most wonderful children, Mustashalur. Jirot, though she is brutal with her words, she is equally as sweet. Jarot, named after the Mad Dog, is the complete opposite of his greatfather. Sweet. Meek. So free with his love.”

The old woman could see the smile upon the Priest’s lips, a man who truly loved the children. The guilt in his eyes remained, though quickly faded, for he had earned the right, last year, to embrace the children tenderly.

“It was no surprise to any of us when Adam took Kizwolima within his protection, for that is Adam,” Dunes admitted, his smile growing wider. “He is the Crazy Father, but it is not just his own children he protects. There was a time, a few years ago, Adam adopted orphans into the business, not as his own. You know the name Marshal Bayamin Gravesea?”

The old woman sat up taller, for she knew the name Gravesea, who didn’t?

“Not even Lord Benjamin Gravesea, Marshal of the East, could lay a hand upon a child within Adam’s protection,” Dunes stated firmly, as though it were fact. “When we first met, before Jirot and Jarot came into his life, Adam adventured through the land. A gryphon killed a child near Ever Green. Adam rushed to the boy, brought out a diamond, and revived him. No one asked him to. He asked for no reward. Adam always jokes that our relationship is transactional, but I do not believe it.”

The old woman hadn’t heard this tale from the Iyrmen, though she supposed that they did only speak deeply of what happened last year. However, if Adam truly did such a thing, then he was probably a decent enough young man, if a little queer.

“Adam did not know it at the time, but that child knew the figure we now call King Merryweather. He earned himself a favour from the King, which he used to free himself, and myself, and his family, of the crime, the sin of his fatherly vengeance.” Dunes fell quiet for a long moment. “Yet I see so many criticise him. Those of the Orders, who swore their Oaths, and yet do not keep them.”

The disdain within the Priest’s voice struck the woman deeply, his eyes gleaming darkly with vitriol.

“I will dare to say it,” Dunes whispered, narrowing his eyes. “Adam is greater than even King Merryweather.”

The woman felt a shiver run through her, sitting up even taller. “High praise, though such words will cause you trouble.”

“I do not speak of his strength, though I would bet upon him even if he faced the King. Yet, though I know it, there are those who know it deeper than even I. It is not just I! Jurot, his brother, knows it. Lanarot, his sister, knows it. Kitool, his best friend, knows it. His family, his friends, those who have accompanied him for all these years, they know it. Jirot and Jarot, such precious children, they know it too. They know their father is the greatest. To them, he is first place.”

The old woman’s lips twitched into a small smile, though the young Priest spoke such troublesome words, how could she deny the words of the children?

“My daughter, she will turn two this year. She is so adorable, and Adam speaks the truth, for my daughters are the most adorable,” Dunes began, holding the woman’s eyes. He would not allow her to look away. “Ranya has the prettiest red skin, her horns still so small, no bigger than the tips of my thumbs, but her horns will be as pretty as her mother’s.”

At first the old woman smiled brightly, but her smile faded slightly upon realising what Dunes was trying to say.

“Amira grew up within the fort, though she grew up unable to learn the magic of the Divine as I had,” Dunes said, his voice neutral, but such was damning enough. “The Aldish had treated her with the minimum of respect afforded to her from one of Black Mountain, daring to send her to hard labour when they seized her upon her journey during the war. If not for the name of Black Mountain, I do not know how they would have treated her, or how so much of Aswadasad would treat her.”

“She is a decent young woman, I am sure,” the old woman said.

“You would not be compelled to say such if she was Aswadi, like you or I,” Dunes said, rubbing his cheek lightly, pretending to scratch it. He kept the accusatory glare within his eyes, though it was mixed with the sadness of reality. “I hold such fears for my daughter too, for the world does not view her as adorably as I. I am pleased that her grandfather is so powerful, but I am relieved that her uncle is so insane.”

“Do you trust your countrymen so little?” the woman asked, wondering who the girl’s grandfather was.

“I trust my countrymen, but I have not forgotten our history,” Dunes replied simply.

“There has been little of such during my lifetime,” Ellani stated.

“Little,” Dunes agreed, but understood the pair viewed the words differently.

“He wishes to take you from Black Mountain?” Ellani asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity, for it was such a brazen question, but not as brazen as the half elf’s wishes.

“He may take me from Black Mountain, but he cannot take Black Mountain from my heart,” the Priest replied.

The old woman bowed her head, and raised her cup of tea, the pair sipping the tea to completion. The Priest excused himself, allowing the old woman to ruminate upon his words, his threats, his warnings, constantly churning within her mind.

‘He is that strong?’

The old woman let out a soft sigh, hoisting herself up onto her feet, before taking a walk into the night. She walked out of the fort, approaching the many small cabins which held many of their greater warriors. She walked towards a small estate, in which she found the man practising his swordplay into the evening. He wore a loose undershirt, loose trousers, his tight socks, black as night, like a second layer of skin, as well as his bootsandals. His blade was long, black, and sparkled under even the gentlest of light.

The man turned to see the Mustashalur waiting for him to complete his routine, the figure not daring to allow the old woman to wait. He sheathed his blade and brought up his hands together, bowing his head lightly. “Mustashalur.”

“I see you are working hard,” Ellani half accused the man.

“I must do what I can.”

“It is not as though you had let the Bloody Viper slip through our fingers,” the woman said, still annoyed by how much pressure was upon the man’s shoulders. “You have worked hard.”

Uli raised a hopeful brow towards the woman, his eyes meeting her gaze, the man quickly closing his eyes, though his heart continued to thunder with hope.

“There is a new group which has arrived.”

“It is said there are the family of Mad Dog, Flame Brand, and even Hadi Tanagek,” Uli said, deciding against peeking an eye to see her face, since there was no way such a rumour would flow through unless it was true.

“You must escort them,” the old woman said, placing a hand upon his hair, braided so meticulously. She could feel the sweat of his effort upon her palm, but it was a sweat which would be finally rewarded, so it was the best sweat of all. “You will keep an eye upon them. Do not seek more, just view them with your own eyes and ears.”

“By Noor’s Grace, Mustashalur!” the Black Lion half exclaimed, the relief evident within his voice.

“No,” the old woman said, clenching her sweat covered hand.

Uli winced, though heard her inhale sharply.

“I will give you complete authority to act as you please. If you wish to stay distant from them, you may. If you wish to grow closer, you may. If you make a mistake, it will rest solely upon your shoulders.”

“By Noor’s Grace, Mustashalur!” the Black Lion exclaimed once more, his entire body brimming with eagerness.

“If you complete your task well, I will make sure you are rewarded properly,” the old woman promised, smiling warmly towards Uli.

“Thank you, Mustashalur!” Uli exclaimed once more, half in shock, though his eyes brimmed with delight.

The old woman stepped away, allowing him to train further into the night. She stopped opposite the fortress, and took the walls into her sight. She turned, recalling how a little boy had tripped, almost half a life time ago, and just how much he cried.

‘Huu!’ the boy cried, wiping his eyes, not wanting the others to see his tears.

‘Uli, why do you cry?’ Ellani asked, back when she had been just a Vice Commander.

‘I scraped my knee!’

Ellani had healed the boy’s knee, and then threatened the ground for daring to harm one of their children. Once the boy was laughing, she sent him away to train with the rest of his compatriots.

‘Crying because he just tripped over,’ the slightly older Agadun, but a teen at the time, said.

‘How much did you cry when you tripped over?’ Ellani accused.

‘I did no such thing!’

Ellani laughed wildly, the laugh of a woman still sane, having not yet come blows with those who would become legendary within the next few decades.

As the woman returned to the present, staring at those large, comforting walls, she let out a soft sigh. ‘These children. How could they play politics when they are family?’

As she returned back to her personal residence, a thought passed through her mind. ‘I need to send a letter to the little girl.’

Dunes is a real one.