Beyond Chaos – A DiceRPG

“You fought well,” the old Jarot said, patting his grandnephew across his shoulder, the young fellow still covered in a sheen of sweat.

“I had to fight well, or you would have killed the great warrior.”

The old man’s eyes flashed with a beastly glare, his lips forming a wide grin, all the while Chosen laughed, for he had seen the old man riling himself up. The old man, too, had seen the way the woman looked at his greatchildren, though with little Jarot against his chest, it was difficult to step forward. The old man reached up to his greatson’s head, ruffling his hair tenderly, the boy glancing up from sucking his thumb, the nerves evident on the surface of his amber eyes, though he buried his face within his greatfather’s chest once more, hiding away from his greatfather’s gentle eyes.

The old man’s heart throbbed.

He was not so old he would be unable to spill such blood, however.

“Is it this blade?” Tonagek asked his son.

“Yes,” Tanagek replied.

Tonagek’s thoughts fell to the past, in which he had stepped out of the Iyr to carve a name for himself. He returned now and again to watch over his sons, but he would always return to the lands outside, and that was how he was able to create a name for himself. When he had stepped out, he had gained a Basic longsword, then eventually a Greater longsword, until he came across Wild Thorn Sword, a Greater Enhanced blade that allowed him to reach the heights he had. It was a sword he eventually retired, though felt most comfortable within his hand.

His son had also managed to claim such a blade, a blade that was, in many ways, greater than even Wild Thorn Sword, considering how highly Adam had spoken of it. It was this blade which would carry his son, and his son’s contemporaries, towards the heights expected of them, for they were not simple warriors, and these were not simple blades, and these were not simple times.

As darkness clung to the sky, the half elf held onto his twins, planting gentle kisses on their cheeks, and though the girl wished to ignore her father, she leaned in to kiss his cheek, and the pair hugged tightly, though eventually she retreated back to her nano’s bosom. Little Jarot, on the other hand, was liberal with his affection, the two hugging tight, exchanging several kisses, and even pressing their cheeks together. Those stubby fingers gripped their father’s shirt tightly, until finally he returned to his babo’s chest.

“Don’t bully your babos and nanos too much while I’m not around, okay? I’ll be jealous if you bully them more than me!” the half elf joked, half stepping away, but swiftly returned to shower his twins with his affections once more.

Even though Jirot should have bullied her father, the girl remained silent, the chilly dawnval air was so different in Aldland, not quite as chilly, not quite as rough, too comforting, the kind of comforting that wished for her to lower her guard, and the girl would not fall for it.

Vonda’s hand clasped Adam’s, feeling the chill within his bones, but as she made to speak, she paused, noting the half elf concentrating on calming himself, then he glanced aside towards his triplets, each of whom were waiting to cuddle their father. Adam had thought to walk around the various quarters for a short while, but seeing their expectant gazes, the half elf dropped down in the middle of the room, and opened up his arms for his triplets, who swarmed him, and he fell, his children’s bodies pinning him to the ground.

As slumber welcomed the outpost, the soldiers heard the screams and cries throughout the night, especially those passing around a particular set of buildings. However, it was the Iyrmen, some elderly, some younger, which stood dutifully in front of the pair of buildings.

“You-,” a soldier began, only to find their companions slapping their back rather roughly, causing the soldier to throw a bewildered look.

‘You dogson! Get yourself killed when I’m not around!’

As the dawn’s rays fell across the camp, a ship barrelled its way towards the horizon, all the while a particular figure stood upon the dock, watching the ship grow smaller and smaller with every passing moment.

‘To think the Iyr has birthed such monsters,’ the Commander thought. It had been the most pressing matter, but now that they were gone, and out of sight, and hopefully out of mind, he returned to the soldiers, whose morale had decreased after seeing two of their greatest warriors falling so easily to boys who were younger than any of them.

“Is this the first time you have come across the storm known as the Iyr?” Commander Terryn Greyfort asked. “To consider the Iyr with logic and reason, when they walk the land with not one or two, but a small army of children, is folly of the highest order. The Iyrmen who passed by were not just any Iyrmen, for many of their names are known across these lands, and the young Iyrmen who stepped into these walls are not any Iyrmen, but those who will claim their positions among the greatest of their generation. If your pride is wounded by facing such a reality, then take your blade and swing it a thousand times, and any time you recall them, a thousand times more.”

The Commander waved his hand, dismissing his soldiers, their concerns, and the unfortunate reality that was the Iyr. His eyes trailed upwards, towards the open sky, so expansive, so free, and within his heart, he could feel it, the knowledge that the Iyrmen, once more, will spill blood all across the land.

‘During the civil war, you did not send even one of your greatest warriors,’ the Commander thought, only to pause, looking out to the ship once more. That wasn’t right, for certainly they had spoken of the civil war during their evening tales. It was not just the Mad Dog, but Flame Brand and Silver Drake, who had stepped forward, each considered at least as talented as the Hawk of the Hills, though they themselves may state they were greater. However, what if the Iyr had sent the likes of those within their company?

Shagek, Rasam, Shasen, Marmak, Dogek, any one of these figures could have changed history, and if they had all stepped out together, a great many Florians would have lost their lives, not those of the commonfolk, but those who could stand beside the Hawk of the Hills. Perhaps, those five together, could have dealt with Lord Asa, and even the Blood Knight.

It was this group, so powerful that it was, that made the Commander even ignore the presence of the two demons, as well as the figure who had caused great trouble for their King, who had slain one of the greatest protectors of Floria before it was Floria. Though the Vice Commander had been exiled, in fact, though he had even raised his blade against Floria in the civil war, it was he who had stepped forward to allow his Grand Commander grace, remaining at bay for the sake of Floria, the same Grand Commander who had lost his life the previous year to the Iyr’s shadowy plots, which could even slay a Paragon.

Indeed, for the Grand Commander was certainly not anyone who could lose to someone as young as Tanagek or Chosen, or the likes of Jurot, each born upon the same day.

The flower that was known as Ever Green, greeted them. It was built upon raised ground, the gate, set under the walls of thick stone, loomed at the end of a long, swerving road, paining all traveller’s souls, feet, and calves. Yet, as they saw Ever Green grow ever larger, soon it grew smaller, passing through the most beautiful town within Floria, once the most beautiful town in Aldland, and continued towards the outpost.

“We’re not that far from where I met kako Lucy,“ Adam informed his twins, who continued to grip their greatparents’ clothes tightly.

“Near the magical forest?” Jirot asked, turning her head towards her father, returning back to sucking her thumb.

“That’s right.”

“Shaman Lokat was hurt?” Jirot asked, recalling the tale.

Adam narrowed his eyes, trying to remember if that was the case, but it did sound familiar, and if his daughter was mentioning it, it was probably true. “You even know that?”

“I know it, daddy, I know it,” the girl confirmed, her eyes not quite as vicious as they usually were, instead they were apprehensive, her fingers clutching her nano’s collar even tighter.

“You are right, of course, my dear,” the half elf replied, his heart throbbing.

“Of coas.”

“That’s when I first found out the Shaman was related to Elder Peace,” the half elf admitted, looking down at his daughter and son, who remained trembling, though only lightly within the arms of their babo and nano. However, that had been the first time the Iyr had sent so many great warriors to deal with a matter, and it had been a force that perhaps matched their current force, each warrior a touch weaker, but the numbers were at least twice, perhaps thrice as many.

Even that did not ease the children’s hearts.

“What was his name?” the old Jarot called.

“Southern Sea Sword, or do you speak of South River Dancer?” Mulrot asked.

“The one with the black sword.”

“Derrick the Night Sword?”

“Ah, yes, Night Sword,” Jarot said, suddenly recalling the face of the young Aldishman, whose face was so full of shock after losing his sword arm to the Undying Jarot, covered in a thousand cuts, wearing blood as he wore the vicious beastly grin upon his face. “I shall greet him.”

Jirot turned her head towards her greatfather, an incredulous glare within her eyes.

“What?” the old Jarot asked.

“Babo…”

The old Jarot remained silent for a long moment, the look within his greatdaughter’s eyes filling him with shame. Surely, the Night Sword would not hold resentment against him? Hadn’t he shown mercy by letting him live?

‘Should I kill him for making my greatdaughter doubt me so?’ the old Jarot thought.

“Who is the Night Sword?” Adam whispered.

“One of the geniuses grandfather crippled upon his journey,” Jurot replied, as though that was the only response it could be.

“How many geniuses did he cripple?”

“I am uncertain if it reaches a thousand,” Jurot thought, though knowing his grandfather, he probably did end up forgetting many of those he had slain, some when he was half asleep, some when he was drunk, and others when he did not pay attention during his slaughter.

‘He might be more insane than me,’ Adam thought.

“Yes,” Jurot said.

“Did I say that out loud?”

“No.”

PATREON LINK

We call a lot of people crazy in this.

There’s only one Jarot though.