Beyond Chaos – A DiceRPG

As the rays of the sun beat upon Arisa, a figure remained within pale shadows. Another shadow approached towards him.

“Uncle Bael,” called the girl, her red eyes curious, thin tail swaying behind her in thought. “Are you sorry?”

“I am.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” the girl replied, reaching out her hand. “You must say sorry to kako, okay?”

“Okay.” As the half dragon loomed over Amalrot, he reached out a hand, brushing the girl’s hair. “I am sorry, little Amal.”

Amalrot pulled away towards Ashmir’s neck, hiding away from the half dragon who was certainly a dragon. She remained against the older man’s neck for a moment, though her curiosity got the best of her as she turned back to look towards Bael. He was still there. She quickly hid once more, wrapping her arms around Ashmir, threatening to choke him, if not for the case his neck was tougher than stone.

“…”

Jirot glared up towards the half dragon, and as the pair held one another’s gaze, the girl let out a soft sigh. “Since my kaka has said to show you mercy, I will show it.”

“Thank you.” Bael remained stone faced, as the girl continued to glare up at him disapprovingly. “Shall we buy some cheese for little Amal?”

“She is not little! She is chonky!” Jirot held up a finger, having riled herself up once more, for she was her greatfather’s greatdaughter.

“Shall we buy some cheese for chonky Amal?”

Jirot huffed, and then stormed off to her greatfather, grabbing his hand. “Babo! We must…”

Jarot remained silent as the girl stared out towards the exit, the girl quickly hiding her head against her greatfather’s leg, not for the first time.

“If we do not go now, the best cheese will sell until none remains,” Gangak half joked, causing the girl to peek up towards her, and after a moment, Jirot finally pouted, resigned to the fact she had to go.

‘The one I kill should be decent,’ Jarot thought, and then considered the nearby Order who had troubled his grandson.

Then came the question of which.

‘Should I beat someone?’ Bael thought, but as he thought of those across Arisa, he let out a sigh. He looked towards the west, towards where the sea lay, and there, his heart wandered. It was at times like this he missed the likes of Prince Merza, or another merman brat he could bully until his heart was satisfied. Perhaps in a thousand or so years, he too would…

It was at this time a greater intermission began at the auction, with the nobles, merchants, warriors, crafters, and all the special guests mingling together.

‘I shouldn’t have been so arrogant,’ the half elf thought, considering how there were many here who could still defeat him. Jurot, he could go blow to blow with, but Lanarot? Sonarot? Even Vonda?

“I hope you are able to forgive me, Mo, for the transgression of bidding against you for such a fine spear.”

“I did not expect your greed to reach the sun,” the half elf joked, causing Mohammed’s brows to shoot up towards the sun, his lips curling into a crescent moon. “Besides, it was the…”

“Alluard Emarak, the son of Niza Elijah,” Mohammed said.

“Well, ultimately, even I could not defeat my sister,” the half elf joked, letting go of the spear, for if his sister wished to spoil their grandmother, what could he do?

“Perhaps there is a spear which will suit your grandmother in a short while?” Mohammed said, as a figure approached the group, coming to greet the merchant, the Ray, the Mo, and the Iyrmen.

“Shukhur, how do you do?” the old man asked, his brows like sticks, his moustache like sticks, his beard like a stick, his body almost as thin as a stick, though he radiated a tender warmth of a grandfather. He was adorned in cream, a long cloak of black over his shoulders, a grey scarf loosely upon his head and shoulders.

“Shukhur, jiddo,” Adam said, realising he probably should have referred to Mohammed the same way, but he was so used to calling Ashmir ahm. “I am blessed by the day to be so bright.”

“Shukhur, shukhur,” the old man said, settling himself beside Mohammed, reaching into his cloak, revealing a small flask, pouring a drop into an empty cup, offering it to the merchant. “What many guests you have, cousin.”

“Noorshukhur, we are fortunate to have met,” Mohammed replied, letting slip quite the sly smile, sipping the drop, shuddering lightly from the intense flavour, like honey and a field of flowers blooming simultaneously.

“Asaym, Ray, it is my blessing to meet any of Life’s Rose, who are so noble.”

“Thank you, jiddo.” Vonda bowed her head lightly.

“Ray, Ray, there is no need for this, no need,” the old man said, holding up a hand. “I am but an old man.”

Adam could feel the aura radiating off of this fellow, so if he wanted to pretend he was an old man, what could the half elf do but to accept. ‘I hope one day I can pretend to be just a random old man. Though, if I’m a half elf, will I even wrinkle? I probably won’t be able to…’

Kitool caught the old man’s gaze, bringing up her hands, palming her fist and bowing her head lightly, causing the old man to return the gesture.

“I heard you speaking earlier,” the old man said, pushing Rushad’s shoulder lightly, causing him to clear this throat awkwardly, and he stood, excusing himself to a nearby outpost. “To reach the realm of Master at your age, no, but barely into your early twenties, it is so impressive, so impressive.”

“Ah, well, what can I say?” the half elf replied, his lips forming a playful smile. “It is our blessing we were troubled by so many who did not know their place?”

“What a fiery spirit! I can see why they troubled you!”

Adam coughed, feeling his wife’s gaze upon him, the half elf flushing. “It was rarely just my fault, but one could suggest that my words piled on greater trouble…”

“Yes, that much is certain, but what can one do, for one’s youth is the time for trouble.” The old man considered the trio, each of whom were quite young. It was rare for those at their age to become Masters at their age, well, even twenty three was unheard of, but twenty five or so, that was for the talents of a generation, those who defined an era. The likes of the King of Floria, the Knight of Death, and even now, there were a couple of Aldish, a couple of Aswadians, each who could claim such. It was they, those who had been provided tens of thousands of gold to sharpen their blade to the realm of Master, who would be known throughout the twenty first century.

The old man noted none of the Iyrmen wielded weapons, however, their way of fighting was not unfamiliar in Aswadasad, for while many in Aldland fought adorned in steel, steel in hand, there were many Aswadians who fought with steel in their hearts, their bones on the line, like himself.

“Jiddo, I am Mo Adam, Executive of the United Kindom, and this is my wife, Ray Vonda of Life’s Rose, and…” Adam continued to introduce them all.

“Shukhur, this old man, his name is only Muhammed now, not to be confused with my cousin, Mohammed,” the thin old man said, smiling warmly.

Mohammed, the merchant, smiled, for it was one of his many fortunes to know so many great warriors. “You know of his cousin, Black Tiger Fist, who was beside me when we first met.”

“Oh!” Adam said, blinking. ‘He was… Level 15 or so, I think? Is this old man also that strong?’

“Shukhur, I am blessed to be related to my cousin, Jamal, Black Tiger First, as they call him. Though, he is stronger than I, for I retired…” The old man thought. “Thirty years ago?”

“You don’t look a day over forty,” the half elf said, his sister’s head snapping towards him at his obvious lie.

“I can see how your tongue fed the fires,” Muhammed said, causing the half elf to tear up as he tried to stop himself from laughing.

Meanwhile, as the old man spoke with the group, the myriad of foods and drinks now settled among their tables, the smell of spices in the air, the gentle thrumming of music guiding their hearts open, the sun reaching towards the zenith, the various nobles and merchants continued to speak.

“What are they doing within these lands if there are so many Reavers?” Saib Walid asked in their tongue, though his voice did not reach far, for many of the Iyrmen were the kind in which, once they reached Grandmaster, they could speak and hear one’s soul. He was adorned in cream, with various red trimmings along his collar and hem.

“The Reavers do not reach as far as the Iyr,” a woman replied. She was adorned entirely in dark green, almost black, cream accents in respect of the Shen’s commandment. Her skin bronze, her eyes amber, her lips painted a colour so dark, one might call it black, though it was a deep green, her nails also painted the same, for it was the only paint which held neutrality, blessed by Lord Noor himself, to work various concoctions, in which the paint had no effect.

“I have heard otherwise,” Walid stated

“Regardless, are their hearts like ours?”

“It is a good fortune,” Alluard Emarak said, for though Walid raised a good point, there was a bigger picture to look towards. “The Iyrmen will remain within their Iyr, and it is we of Aswadasad who will claim great glory, and will strengthen themselves.”

The pair beside him considered the words, for it was true a large number of soldiers had been sent north, and even the youth had gathered to volunteer, but how many had gone who were considered their great warriors?

How many sleeping dragons had awoken within even Arisa itself?

If their warriors fought well, they would see a new generation of Experts, and the Experts who had stepped out may even find themselves enduring long enough to reach Master, and the Masters into Grandmaster, and the Grandmasters…

It was a boon, perhaps, for the Iyr to remain holed up within their mountains. The rumours the Iyr had sent its greatest warriors along with a handful of their children had not gone unnoticed, and had been all but confirmed, though some of the rumours suggested many other sleeping dragons remained. They were certain the numbers here represented less than half, but it wouldn’t be less than a fifth or so, for was it so easy to raise Grandmasters and those close to Paragons?

No.

That was impossible.

PATREON FOR 30+ CHAPTERS!

There’s no way the Iyr has a bunch of great warriors.