Beyond Chaos – A DiceRPG

“You sure have some audacity, niece,” Ellani, Mustashalur of the Black Lions, known as the Mother of Lions, stated.

The woman let out a soft sigh in response, because what else was she meant to say?

The sky had darkened, the purple haze giving away to the blue, the black, and the gold and silvers that were the stars. The noonval night was cold, the kind of cold which set only upon the tips of one’s nose, and barked loudly at one’s skin, but held no bite. Even so, cups of wine warmed the women’s bodies, and under this open sky, the two conversed.

The Mustashalur would not have treated this woman so well if she was a man who held such audacity, but then again, how few men were as humble as she? Perhaps it was only Scholar Muh, who was also so terrible to converse with.

Yet, to come with such a conversation to her?

If the Flower Spear was not one of the links between Black Lion and the villages to the south, then Ellani wouldn’t have shown this much face to the woman, but beyond that, the woman was still a Grandmaster, one who may have never stepped into the realm if not for the terrible life she had forced upon herself. The term flower usually dealt with one’s beauty, but for this woman, it was because she was able to make flowers bloom as she fought, though she was still, in Ellani’s opinion, a rather cute niece.

“I… have also been having nightmares.”

“Nightmares?”

The woman inhaled deeply, glancing aside, towards where the Iyrmen were currently enjoying their nightly meal, though some had begun to retire with the children. She reached up to her forehead, rubbing it gently, for how foolish was it for the woman to speak of such a child’s matter to the woman? Fortunately, she was not known as the Mother of Lions for no reason.

“I would not have mentioned them, but, within my heart, I cannot understand them in the slightest.”

“These nightmares…”

“I do not know what has brought them on, but… it was after the turn of the millennium I began to dream of something. It was at the time I was aiming to step into the realm of a Grandmaster, and… I would dream of this figure, so beautiful, handsome, this figure. I believe him to be fae, but something greater beyond, perhaps. I know he is real, but I do not know what he is. He assisted my prayers, my training, and taught me new techniques, and then one he was done, I stepped into the realm of a Grandmaster, and he no longer came to me in my dreams.” Farah, the Flower Spear, reached up to cover her eyes once more, feeling a deep shudder run through her. “Then, it came to me. I do not recall when, perhaps it was during the civil wars, but… I dreamt of fire and blood.”

Ellani remained silent, though the terms fire and blood were not unknown to Aswadians, for they were quite literal, but it was the figurative meaning which meant what was worst, and as the woman continued, she realised the Flower Spear meant it both literally and figuratively.

“You stepped forward to face the Reavers shortly and then retreated,” Ellani began, not accusing the woman of cowardice, but opening the floor for her to speak.

“The Reavers, I do not believe it is they, though they are powerful.” Flower Spear remained quiet for a short moment. “My nightmares may be warning me of something else...”

Ellani remained silent for a long moment, sipping her wine lightly, pouring each of them another small cupful, each cup barely as tall as half a pinky, and as wide as one’s thumbtip. Each cup only housed a splash of wine, each bursting with flavour, alcohol, and promise.

“Aila, I would not have mentioned it unless I thought the threat was real.”

“There is little any of us can do to prepare against prophecies, visions, and dreams, but I will not forget your words here today,” the Mother of Lions promised, nodding her head, and with that, the Flower Spear stood, clasping her hands in the martial greeting, and excused herself, hoping the old woman would be willing to take her words seriously. If it was her, then she could sleep easy, even if nightmares dared to plague her.

‘To think that a grown woman would come to speak to me of her dreams,’ Ellani thought, though as she closed her eyes, she remembered the little girl, no, the adult woman who had stepped into the Order so many years ago to challenge her.

‘One day, you will see my spear pierce the sky,’ a young Farah had declared after Ellani had beaten her thoroughly, and after asking one of her friends to coincidentally meet with the woman and give her a few pointers, Ellani had kept tabs on the woman’s progress.

Then, it was at the time the young woman had stepped into the realm of an Expert, when Flame Brand’s name had been all but forgotten a decade or so after she was exiled, Ellani had gone to meet with Farah, coincidentally of course, and beat her so thoroughly, she hoped nightmares would plague the young woman for a few weeks, to remind her of the harsh reality of this world.

Then, once the woman had stepped into the realm of a Master, after making her name across the land, and not quite retiring, but stepping back into a more intermediary role between the villages and Aswadasad proper, it was then this relationship began, of a liaison between Black Lion and the villages, a trusted warrior.

Then, she had come, to speak of her dreams, her nightmares, to warn the Mustashalur.

Ellani stared down at the liquid within her cup, and instead of sipping it, she allowed the plants nearby to grow drunk, and she stood, allowing the brisk air to sober her flush cheeks, and she floated away from the courtyard, towards the corridor, and once she was there, she sauntered her way back to the courtyard which held the Iyrmen. She approached a figure, who held his sleeping sister within his arms.

“…”

“Will you call your brother?”

“Okay,” Jurot replied, carrying his sister away.

However, as she hadn’t expected, but she should have assumed, the half elf approached, holding his sleeping twins within his arms.

“Jadda, how may I assist?” Adam asked, only finding the woman staring at him. “Sorry, they would not let me go, and… I dare not to refuse my twins, well, one in particular. I’m sure you know which one. After all, it’s him who causes me the most trouble with how cute he is.”

Little Jarot pulled back slightly from his father, a confused smile that was sleepily questioning his father upon his lips, while Jirot half rolled within her father’s arms.

“You think you are so funny, daddy?”

“That one was funny.”

“Silly boy...” However, Jirot could not refute his words.

Ellani began to laugh, reaching out her hands towards the twins, pinching their cheeks gently, and she continued to laugh even as she ruffled the half elf’s air. “It was my own fault for disturbing you upon your sleep. You may return to your slumber, and I am sorry for pulling you away from your beautiful wife and children, and your wonderful and kind mother and siblings.”

“As long as you know,” the girl replied, smirking at the old woman, for though she was the Mother of Lions, the girl was an Iyrman.

Ellani’s smile followed them, and she stepped aside, noting the way a particular Iyrman was staring towards her. “It is unfortunate I was unable to claim him before the Iyr.”

“The Black Lions are not enough to contain such cursed gold,” Baztam replied simply.

“If you view him as cursed gold, then you do not understand what you possess,” the Mother of Lions replied, and with that, she stepped away, all the while Farah the Flower Spear watched her leave, the woman’s laughter echoing in the distance a short while later.

Farah turned her head, towards where the half elf had stepped away. From what little she knew, the half elf was not exactly an Iyrman, but was quite close to them, and he was somehow related to Flame Brand, and even the monster known as the Butcher, and his cousin, the Mad Dog, who, if she recalled correctly, was like the Butcher for Aldland, though worse in some ways and better in other ways.

Except, why did she call for him? Why did she let him go after seeing him? What was that entire interaction?

The woman had not known until she spoke with Malfev, who was apparently the half elf’s granduncle.

“Where should I begin?” Malfev said, brushing his beard, closing his eyes so she could not see the humour within his eyes, the old man letting out soft hums. “How shall I speak to you of my grandnephew? Do you know who he is?”

“I have heard rumours of a half elf whose tales are… unbelievable.”

“What have you heard?”

“I have heard so much, I do not know where to begin. They call him a hero, a demon, they say he is the same who slew King Merryweather, and then raised him once more out of mercy, and it is said he had slain dragons, and he was the cause of the death of many great warriors, and it is he who is the cause of the Reavers.” The tales spread like wildfire, but as always, the tales had exploded out of control, just like how they had grown out of control when she was travelling through the land, and so many accused her of this and that, much to her chagrin. How many warriors did she have to fight because of someone tarnishing her name, saying she spoke of this figure or that figure rudely? Some of them were true, but those that knew, knew, for she spoke of such words in front of their faces, and they had fought then and there.

“I do believe he has slain a dragon, many years ago, a young dragon in Aldland, but the rest are untrue, as far as I know, but how much do I know of my grandnephew?” Malfev half joked, his lips twitching into a playful smile. “However, if you wish to know, I shall tell you who he has fought just this year, during our short time in Aswadasad.”

“Please.”

“My grandnephew, from my own eyes, I saw fight, the Elder of Amber, the Amber Blade, the Sleeping Dragon of Arisa, though she was a light clash, the New Moon, and Kal Aisha, the one they call the Black Fire Spear.”

“I thought he was younger, for he is your grandnephew?”

“He turned twenty five this year.”

Farah blinked. “A man that young fought so many great warriors?”

“Yes.”

“What did he offer?”

“He defeated the Elder of Amber previously, and he wished to show off in front of his children, so he stepped forward to fight the others too,” Malfev said.

“Show off? I suppose losing against so many great warriors is impressive.”

“Losing?” Malfev asked, tilting his head, as though he was confused by the word, closing his eyes so she could not see the humour within his eyes.

Farah blinked.

PATREON FOR 30+ CHAPTERS!

Losing?