Beyond Chaos – A DiceRPG

Afraz couldn’t help but laugh, listening to Adam’s tales, the old man reaching out to pat the half elf on his back. He made to speak, only to burst out into laughter once more.

Indeed, what could be funnier than showing those old fogies what’s what?

“Ahm, have you thought about coming back with us to the Iyr?” Adam asked, still noting the aura of dourness emanating off the old Aswadian.

“I was born and raise in this land, and I intend to die within it,” Afraz replied, the old man smiling a reluctant smile.

“You know, my daughter is a big fan of your stories. If you come by and just spend a little time at the Iyr, when we pass by this way, we’ll escort you back.”

Afraz smiled awkwardly, but he hung his head low. He had already resigned himself to die here. Though he had never brought his blade to his neck, there was no reason to step out of the village. The rıghtful source is novęlfire.net

“It’s a little rude of me to say due to my ears, but it’s never too late to hold a fire in your heart, whether you’re five or fifty, or I guess, seven or seventy?” Adam’s own smile was awkward. “If you have a price, just say it, what could be too much for the likes of my children?”

“It’s too late for that now, but I will live well with the thought that your daughter, who troubles you so, enjoys my tales.”

“Perhaps, if she’s willing to step out of the comfortable Iyr, I’ll bring her here?”

"Please do!”

The group remained within the village for the night, before stepping out the next morning to a smiling Afraz, who waved at them, watching them go. He looked up towards the sky, the sun at his back, and wondered. He, who had retired so long ago. Perhaps if he hadn’t, would he be known as well as the likes of the Radiant Blade, Scholar Muh, or even the Sleeping Dragon of Arisa?

They approached the military outpost by late afternoon, Korin’s magical steed a blessing indeed, where the Order of Black Mountain spoke with the military, and once they were done, Dunes returned to Adam.

“It is awkward to stay, but they have allowed us to take camp nearby,” the Mo said.

“Sounds good to me. I assume I won’t be able to, you know…”

“No.”

“There’s a stream nearby at least…” Adam frowned. “Are you sure you can’t ask them for it so we can complete our prayers?”

Dunes inhaled sharply and made his way to speak with the military outpost, who allowed them to enter the fort in order to bathe and complete their prayers.

Adam sighed slightly, thinking if perhaps they shouldn’t just continue, but let it slide. The Naqib eyed up the half elf, who wore such a symbol around his neck. She was a younger woman, no doubt a Young Lady of a family, who wore such fine, shiny armour, the curved blade at her side beautiful, magical, no doubt. She wore a scarf around her head, only revealing her eyes, which narrowed with suspicion at the half elf.

“Who is that one?”

“He is Mo Adam, a friend of Black Mountain, and the Iyr,” a soldier replied.

“His tattoos, is he an Iyrman?”

“No.”

“The Iyr will pay well for such information, a fake Priest…”

“…”

The Young Lady narrowed her eyes further. “Did you not say Iyrmen travelled with them?”

“Yes.”

‘So he must be related in some way.’ “Mulazim, was it not the Iyr who slaughtered so many of our warriors northward a few years ago?”

“That is… true, Kal.”

“Should we not gain justice for that day?”

The Mulazim hoped the Naqib was joking.

“Bring them to me,” she said, her eyes following the disappearing form of the Mo.

The Mulazim stepped out, approaching the group. He went alone, the man adorned in breastplate over chain, a blade at his side, though perhaps his greatest weapon was his experience, especially when it came to Iyrmen. He noted all the looks upon him, and then the sight of the figure with red skin and horns. He paused.

“Mulazim,” Jurot called. “What brings you here?”

“There is… a little trouble,” the Mulazim said, eyeing up the rest of the figures, noting just how many Iyrmen there were, bowing his head to the various figures all around. “The Naqib hopes you are willing you step within the fort for questioning.”

“What trouble is there?”

“There was a massacre at the forest a few years ago, and she wishes to hear the tale from the Iyrmen’s perspective,” the Mulazim said as diplomatically as he could.

“Okay.”

“What fortune,” Chosen began, grinning wide. “It seems the Naqib is wise.”

“She is,” the Mulazim replied, in the sense that she wasn’t that wise, but what could he say? He sighed, eyeing up the oldest pair within the group, or at the very least, the oldest looking pair. One looked vaguely familiar, the other, the Iyrman, held that kind of presence. ‘Naqib, please.’

As the group approached the fort, led by the Mulazim, the fellow smiled towards the Naqib in such a way, and the woman smiled in return, holding up a hand for them to stop, but before she could speak, she noted the appearance of three figures which caused her heart to skip a beat.

‘…’

“Mister Bael, look,” the girl said, pointing up towards one of the towers. “It looks like a manta ray.”

“It does,” Bael confirmed, a slow smile beginning to slip through.

The Naqib wasn’t sure which group of three was more terrifying, the three children surrounded by Iyrmen, or the three whom watched over the children, from the vaguely familiar figure, to the half dragon, to the Iyrman with the bow.

Then there was the Black Lion who had entered earlier with Black Mountain, though now that she thought about it, hadn’t he stuck by the half elf’s side?

“Good evening, I apologise for the rudeness,” the Naqib said, flashing a warm smile. “I was informed of your arrival recently, and I hope you took no offence to our request, however, I could not, in good conscious, allow such fine folk to remain outside our safe walls, especially with so many children.”

Ashmir narrowed his eyes, for she was certainly the child of a noble, with how she described them as folk in that particular manner. She did not know enough fear, that much was for certain.

“Mulazim, please escort them to one side, and I will send for the appropriate refreshments,” the woman said, her voice barely muffled by her scarf, and by the relief of having not continued with something she would certainly come to regret.

The outpost was made of a wooden fence that ran all along the perimeter, then upon a raised mound, the fortress proper was built of stone, with three towers, one to the north, one to the south east, the last towards the south west, allowing the sun free passage over the centre of the fort, unabated. The buildings were made of stone too, most painted white, some painted yellow, grey, or black. There were dozens of soldiers, each in groups of ten, as one might have expected, each adorned in scale, with curved blades at their side, their turbans a deep blue, almost black. They were soldiers indeed, for they held a great pride within themselves, and glared towards the newcomers.

Once the group had settled themselves, the half elf returned, right when the Naqib had worked up the courage to return, for she couldn’t just leave them be within the outpost.

“What are you guys doing here?” Adam asked, noting the appearance of the woman, surrounded by a pair of bodyguards, and another older man, who smiled politely.

“The Naqib wishes to hear the tale of what happened at the forest all those years ago,” Jurot replied.

“The forest?”

“The Awakened Forest.”

“Oh! Isn’t the Naqib lucky?” Adam’s lips formed a smile as his eyes darted to the older Aswadian man. “After all, my brother and I were there.”

The Mulazim blinked, and the Naqib flushed slightly, partly because the half elf had looked to the Mulazim, but also because…

What?

He was there?

“I am the Mulazim,” the Mulazim said.

“Oh.” Adam flushed. “Let me guess, it’s the young woman who is the daughter of a famous noble family?”

The Naqib blinked, doing her best not to react to the obvious provocation. Her eyes darted to the Mulazim, the fury simmering within her eyes, but what could she do? He was still a Mo, but even then…

“Mo, is there a need to be so rude?” the Naqib asked.

Adam closed his eyes, taking a long moment to inhale and exhale. “Sorry, I got a little too comfortable after my bath. I apologise, Naqib. It’s just, I’ve had great trouble with nobles, and nobles have great trouble with me.”

“What kind of trouble do you have with nobles?” the Naqib asked, suddenly far more interested in this justification.

“They dare to look down on me because-,”

“Adam,” Jurot called, holding the annoyed look within Adam’s eyes.

The half elf then smiled. “Ah, well, I suppose the typical reasons why nobles get into fight with… people they think are commoners. Although, that being said, the Amira has been quite nice to us, compared to almost every other royal we’ve met.”

“You have met with the Amira?” the Naqib asked.

“She treated us rather politely,” Adam said, with a tone that implied he was rather fond of the Amira’s behaviour, something a commoner shouldn’t dare to suggest. “She even gifted myself and my brother a set of necklaces for our wives.”

“Of course, the Amira is always polite, but how did you come to meet the Amira?”

“I beat up a lot of important-,” Adam began, pausing. “Oh, no, actually, it was because she wanted to buy magical weapons.”

The Naqib blinked.