Beyond Chaos – A DiceRPG

Ever Green was, as one might expect, hard to leave, though for those who knew of a love greater, they allowed their hearts to mourn a moment, before they made their way.

“Do you require an escort?” Asa asked, holding the half elf’s gaze, ignoring the gazes of the Iyrmen about.

“Don’t bring me into this!”

“They are your children.”

Adam flushed, turning his head aside, side eyeing the great figure. “Of coas. Of coas. Of coas.”

“Of coas,” came the echo.

“However, if you believe the Iyr has shown you too much favour, too much mercy, you may come along, I won’t stop you.”

“I suppose it is best for the Hearth of Floria to remain within Ever Green, to keep those who covet the land of the good King away.” Asa smiled innocently, and with that, the Iyrmen made their way, towards the outpost to the north, and, as the days would continue, towards the other outposts.

“We shall take it slowly for the sake of the children,” Sonarot said, holding a grumpy Amalrot within her arms, who squirmed repeatedly while within the carriage, until she waddled all about the outpost when they arrived there in the afternoon, having managed to clear such a long way with ease within their carriages.

“Sorry, Amal…” Adam called.

Amalrot glared towards her brother and glanced aside, but almost immediately approached him for him to pick her up, and with a gentle grunt, he did so.

Meanwhile the Florian soldiers watched over the group, those full of such terrifying figures, some of whom they may have come across during the war, and in fact, one of the soldiers recognised many, for at the very least, he recalled how those three had managed to fight the Hearth of Floria, the red skinned Iyrman, the one armed woman, as well as one figure who looked so different, but was still a beast, even with his wooden arm and leg.

The soldier made the wise decision not to bother them.

Thankfully, the group continued along their way, slowly, cautiously, almost, and as they went from outpost to outpost, they were finally leaving one to make their way to Red Oak, except…

“Oh my, oh my, it seems I am going to be so spoiled today,” Adam said, wrapping his arms around his triplets, keeping them all within his arms, as Jirot and Jarot settled within Vonda’s arms, while Sonarot held Amalrot, and Taygak held Lanarot upon her lap.

All the children of the Iyr were within a singular carriage.

Adam wondered if they had ever been, perhaps near the beginning of the journey, but they had usually spread them out to allow all the appropriate Iyrmen to remain.

It was only when they had arrived towards Red Oak did he realise, for five Iyrmen were missing.

As purple threatened to blanket the sky, within one of the small camps along the road, the five figures sat, three with their swords over their shoulders, one’s sword was planted beside him, for it was too big, and the other tapping his finger along the shaft of his spear.

Somehow, Jarot hadn’t killed any of them.

Then they appeared.

Tall.

Red.

Dark.

The figures numbered five, and they approached the five Iyrmen with a confidence that betrayed they did not know who they were, or they were strong enough to be so ignorant. It was they who were born of nightmares, and as the other five stopped, far enough away where one would need to raise their voice to speak. The Iyrmen felt the gazes tickle them.

An Iyrman stood, the same Iyrman who had been tasked with this duty.

“Do you wish to fight one by one, or five at once?” the Iyrman asked.

“…”

The first Reaver stepped forward, with eyes of piercing bronze. It was this Reaver which drew its long blade, wicked, jagged, the kind that would not just kill a man, but torture him.

The Reavers awaited for the Iyrman to don his shield, and draw his blade. It was a beautiful blade, formed of silversteel, the guard was formed in the shape of the sun, and upon the pommel, an etching of a rose.

“This sword was designed by my greatnephew,” said the Iyrman.

A loud groan escaped into the air as one of those behind him resisted the urge to slip into his Rage Dance in order to calm his heart, tears threatening to slip down his eyes. The Iyrmen turned towards his companion who continued to make noises, all the while the others turned their head away from him, and one even began his meditations.

The Iyrman returned his attention back to the creature before him, whose jagged blade was ready and eager for his neck.

A moment of silence passed.

Then, the two stepped forward.

“It is a shame I am not worthy of such a blade,” the Iyrman said, for even after pushing through his limits, he brought his shield up, and tilted his body, the sword of the creature before him striking viciously against his armour, and, with a sharp breath, the Iyrman pushed through his limits once more, cleaving the neck of the Reaver.

The Reavers narrowed their eyes, though watched as the figure before them cleaned the sword, then sheathed it. The figure, who had defeated one of them so easily, reached down to pick up the jagged blade, which gave way to a blade seemingly formed of bronze, gleaming beautifully under the purple sky, and he turned, not even watching the Reaver’s form slip into the earth.

“Shall I?” a figure in heavy armour asked.

“I only allowed your cousin to step forward for he was entrusted with this task, but it is I, who the children have always called babo with such affection,” the Iyrman said. He was tall and lean and old, though looked much younger than any of this peers. His head was shaved smooth, his thick moustache and beard as white as snow, and he wore a gentleness upon his face that betrayed a bitterness. “To think you have not learnt your lesson, yet, Duteous, to dare to think you will be able to gift my greatnieces and greatnephews before I.”

“…”

The Iyrman, with his spear clutched tightly behind his back within a tight grip with one hand, reached out with the other, his neck tensing, gritting his teeth, for even he could not contain his rage. “Whoever is next, come quickly, for my darling greatchildren await.”

The Reavers weren’t sure what he was saying, but certainly, he spoke words which were meant to be disrespectful.

As the next Reaver stepped forward, also with bronze eyes, it drew its sword, and readied itself. Then, the two engaged in a terrible melee, and the Iyrmen thought perhaps his rage had clouded his mind, for immediately he was upon the backfoot, however, the Reaver’s blade remained frozen in place, for the peaceful aura overwhelmed him, until the Iyrman’s spear threatened to pierce through his skull. However, as the two continued their wicked melee, it was obvious whose brother he was, for as the Reaver swung his blade, the Iyrman dancing along the tip of his sword, moving in the wind like a leaf, until he revealed his epithet, and as he planted his spear into the earth, his wings unfurled, and he descended upon the Reaver, and as his onslaught oppressed the Reaver, it was with a final blow, his two hands formed like talons, striking within the Reaver’s very core, which caused the creature to fly back fifteen paces.

The Iyrman inhaled sharply, clapping his hands together, and thus he let out the annoyances within his heart.

‘You should have let him fight first,’ the other Iyrmen said with their eyes to their leader, who remained silent.

“Baktu is Benevolent,” the bald Iyrman said, and with that, he claimed the sword of bronze, which was slightly thinner and slightly longer than the previous blade.

“I suppose I shall-,” an Iyrman in heavy armour said, but the gruff Iyrman stood, grabbing his greatsword.

“Hmph. Since the Gek started the fight, they can end it. I will go next!” Marmak declared, and though Shagek made to respond, the Iyrman shouted. “You should have prayed the Mad Dog had not allowed me to take his place! For I am not as merciful as he!”

Shagek and Shasen glanced between one another.

“I shall treat you as though you were nobles of Aswadasad, so, all three of you, come at me at once!” Marmak threatened, holding his greatblade in a single hand, having slipped into his dance, the red hot heat forcing its way through his body.

Shagek and Shasen stood, for since Marmak had coveted their prey, it was only right they stand.

Marmak fell silent. ‘Damn it.’

Shagek drew his sword.

The sword within his hand was just a sword.

A silver wheel pommel, a handle wrapped in brown leather, a guard which jutted out with little flare, a blade of steel grey slightly longer than one’s arm.

A hilt. A crossguard. A blade.

It was just a sword.

It was this sword Shagek wielded.

Shasen, too, drew his blade. Compared to the sword Dogek had wielded, it was a touch thinner, a touch longer, a touch prettier, but that was to be expected, for it was formed from his greatnephew’s touch. It was a beautiful blade, with an etching of a rose upon the pommel.

The Iyrmen understood those with eyes of bronze were among the strongest of Reavers, but unfortunately for the Reavers, they had come across these five, the weakest of whom was only a step away from the realm of Paragon, and it was he who had stepped out second when he should have stepped out first.

“Why are you so angry at me?” Marmak asked, hoisting the bronze sword over his shoulder. “I fought after you.”

“I shall inform my greatniece of this matter,” Malfev assured.

“If you inform her, will she not grow upset as we not informing her of why we stepped away?”

“We shall see.”

Shasen and Shagek both exchanged looked before turning to look towards Dogek, who, thankfully, continued to wear his helmet.

PATREON FOR 30+ CHAPTERS!

You really should have let him go first...