Beyond Chaos – A DiceRPG

“This is my mother,” the small girl said, as though the older, but young, man had no idea, but he dared not to not know. “My mother is the most beautiful. My mother is the most powerful. My mother is the most wise.”

“Ah, yes, of course,” the hostage replied.

“Of coas,” the girl repeated, nodding her head emphatically, her scarf shifting lightly, and as the carriage stuttered through the city. “My mummy is the youngest Ray, because she is so beautiful, so powerful, so wise.”

“Of course,” the hostage continued to reply.

“Of coas,” the girl replied, continuing on, as her father remained staring directly ahead of him, while his wife side eyed him, for how could he corrupt their daughter in such a way. Meanwhile another husband wished to look to his wife for support, but she was holding their daughter upon her lap, and had to sacrifice her husband to that girl.

As the girl oppressed the young hero who married into one of the greatest merchant families, within another carriage her siblings oppressed their babos and nanos.

“When you fall in love!” Konarot sang.

“When you fall in love!” Kirot and Karot continued.

“You do not know!” the trio sang together.

“When you fall in love!” Konarot sang.

“When you fall in love!” Kirot and Karot continued.

“It is best to prepare their necks,” Konarot said, holding up her hand in the same way as her greatfather, the girl turning to look towards Vibak, holding the woman’s gaze.

The Sun Dragon of the Twin Sun and Moon Dragons held the girl’s gaze for a long moment. “I see. You are Jirot’s sister too.”

Konarot smirked, the girl’s red cheeks flushing a deeper crimson, beginning to cackle playfully, along with Kirot and Karot. Bibak brushed the second eldest’s hair gently, and though the hair looked thick, it felt thin against her hand. The small horns brushed along the old woman’s wrinkled hand, and as the old Iyrman leaned in, she caught Kirot’s eyes, causing the girl to blink, and quickly bury her head within her bosom. Bibak brushed along the girl’s cheek, feeling her warm skin against her hand, and as the girl continued to bury her head within the old woman’s bosom, she wondered if she had earned such a right.

“If you wish to hide within my bosom, you may,” Baztam said, causing little Karot to look up at him, and though the old man was only half joking, the boy leaned back and rested his head against the old man’s chest. “You should embrace me warmly for I am your babo.”

“Babo…” Karot called, looking up at the old man, who was his baba’s uncle. His nana, Mirot, who was to his sister like her own grandmother, and therefore she was a grandmother to him too, for did all not have two grandmothers? From the Rot family, it was Sonarot, and from the Rot family, Mirot, and through Mirot, her husband, and through her husband, this old man, who was a head shorter than most, and yet did not reach the heavens with any difficulty.

“How are you so meek when you are your greatfather’s greatson, your grandmother’s grandson, and your father’s son?”

“Mummy,” Karot replied, simply, the boy smiling brightly, disarming even the old man, who had left a mountain of death from his travels all throughout the lands.

“Ah. Of course.”

“Of coas,” the triplets all repeated.

‘Should I beat the Mad Dog for his greatchildren?’ Baztam thought, and then after a beat, was uncertain if he was willing to covet death, this old man who was at least a realm greater than the Mad Dog, and was one of the few who held such a heart for death. “This greatuncle of yours, do you know why he surrendered the position of Chief to the Chief?”

Karot blinked up towards the old man.

Baztam paused another beat. “Ah. You are your mother’s son.”

“Of coas,” Karot said.

“Of coas,” echoed the triplets, as well as the elders who were assigned over the children, causing the children to cackle.

As the sun bore down Arisa, it did not impede upon the three streams, which swirled around a particular district, upon which a complex flowed out as a fourth stream. Those with long cream shalwars, turbans, and grey sashes pinning clubs to their waists stood at attention. However, as the second group, equally as adorned, approached, one figure threw a look over his shoulder, before shooting up towards one of the elderly men standing at attention.

“Shukhur, bastara, I should have expected you were here,” one said, older, with dark skin, a long beard falling to his chest.

“Why does Noor blind me this day?” the other replied, older, with dark skin, a long beard falling to his chest, though he reached out, clasping his friend’s hand. “How much?”

“A half day, a full beht,” the fellow said, chuckling excitedly, the pair pretending to punch each other. “It is said there will be Iyrmen.”

“Let us pray to Lord Noor they have sense.”

“Akh, if the Iyr had sense, they would not be called the Iyrmen, for they provoke the ire of all those around them.”

“Shukhur, what can we do?”

“Shukhur,” the fellow said, noting the supervisor making their way towards the pair. “Mulazim.”

“What have I done to you for you to bring such word to me?” the supervisor replied, a middle aged man with a bright orange beard, eyes as sharp as an eagle, the kind which suited his role as a supervisor. “Ahms, I will entrust to you the matters of security this time.”

“The Iyrmen, they bring their children, what is the matter?”

The supervisor reached up to his fiery orange beard and shook his head. “It is different this time. I did not speak it to the others, but…”

The two elderly Aswadians waited for the supervisor to continue, but when he didn’t, only offering his eyes, did they understand, slowly bowing their heads.

With that, they appeared, within their carriages, winding down to the large Three Rivers Library, formed of sandstone, domed with the heavens, a large garden surrounding it from north to south, from east to west, it eventually settled to one side, in which a pair of older men, with dark skin, and long beards falling down to their chest, each carrying clubs at their side, awaited.

Thankfully, she stepped out first, with the beautiful silver symbol glinting under the Aswadian sun, and she herself was such a Ray, disarming the pair, whose shoulders eased. The woman’s smile allowed the warriors around to calm themselves, though as the next figure stepped out, they suddenly tensed up once more, for he was a man who wore an amulet around his chest which seemed to be of the Lord of Death.

“Hello there!” the half elf called, smiling brightly, and his arms twitched, at first wanting to half embrace his wife, but even if she did not allow him the pleasure of being a gentleman and to assist her out, at the very least she would allow him to lift their children, the half elf scooping them within his arms, revealing them to the world.

‘Eh?’

The warriors, that was to say, those who were considered at the very least Trained, with one or two Adepts, stared at the two who were mostly wrapped in cloth, but their vibrant green skin and amber eyes were not the kind to be found here.

‘Bavwa?’

The two older figures glanced between one another, but thankfully the middle aged man with the fiery orange beard stepped forward, smiling brightly.

“Shukhur, what a blessing! Asaym, Ray! Asaym, Mo!” the supervisor called loudly, in front of the warriors, and as he did, his eyes then darted to the figure stepping out, the woman who caused many to glance her way, for the Three Rivers Library was partially funded by the woman’s family, though it was the Steward who assisted on a greater matter, the one who carried their daughter out.

“Thank you for the warm welcome, Shaf,” Alya said, smiling politely towards the man, who smiled in return.

“The chess exhibition will start soon, but allow me to escort you to your tables,” Shaf said quickly, though seeing the woman’s eyes, his eyes darted to the side, towards the half elf, who tilted his head to the side, and then his eyes fell slightly, and he reached into his coat, revealing a small box, holding it out to the boy within the half elf’s arms. “Young man, I have prepared some sweets for you and your siblings.”

Thankfully at this time the triplets had also stepped out, taking their place at their mother and father’s sides, though it was as the pair of old warriors eyed up the short Iyrman did one shout out.

“Oh! Is that the Black Shark?”

Baztam’s head snapped to the side, towards the old man. “You know of my name?”

“My aunt’s cousin’s husband is Twister,” the old man said, holding up a hand, smiling at Baztam.

“Twister?”

“You fought in your youth, it was around the time of the Tariff Skirmishes,” the old man said.

‘Who?’ Baztam thought, closing his eyes.

“He was bald at twenty.”

“Ah!” Baztam said, his brows raising in alarm, remembering that young fellow who smiled so brightly even as he lost his arm.

‘Baztam! Did you see?’ the one armed fellow had said, covered in blood. ‘Even I can cut a drake!’

PATREON FOR 30+ CHAPTERS!

I like Twister already.

Too bad we’ll never see this guy.