Beyond Chaos – A DiceRPG

The blackness faded as colour filled her eyes, at first the blueish tint of darkness, then the grey stone of the people of the mountains. She furrowed her brows, and groaned, for it was tiring, sleeping so well, but as she did, a face appeared before her, causing the girl to twitch. She blinked, noting the look on her face, the tattoos on her forehead, and the girl smiled shyly.

“Amal,” the woman called, a familiar word to the girl, for it was the word used for her, Amal.

Amal reached up to hide her face from the woman, peeking at her through her fingers, giggling gently as she rolled over to hide herself.

Sonarot stared down at the little girl who rolled over and shifted onto her knees to try and stand, reaching down to hoist the girl up, planting a gentle kiss on her forehead, brushing her hair tenderly. The woman allowed Amal to cackle and giggle until she had calmed, though it took a short while until the girl was just smiling. All the while, the woman thought deeply of how the girl had become her daughter.

“Let us wait for your father to return together,” Sonarot said, brushing the girl’s thick hair with a hand, parting it towards the centre, rubbing her daughter’s forehead with a thumb gently.

“Ada?” Amal asked, blinking up towards the woman innocently.

“No,” Sonarot replied, with a small smile, leaning in to nuzzle the girl’s nose. “I apologise for taking you from him, little Amalrot.”

The girl giggled, feeling the woman’s lips against her cheek, the girl retreating to the woman’s bosom, who continued to hold the blue babe within her strong arms. Amal continued to giggle even as the woman lifted her up, causing her to clap.

“Huff! You are so chonky, are you not, my dear Amal?” Sonarot asked, leaning in to nuzzle the girl’s nose, causing her to squeal once more. ‘Since I have taken you from Adam, I must match the affection you would have received from him.’

It was unfortunate for the girl that many of her cousins and her nieces and nephews had turned five, for they would not be able to spoil the girl during the mornings, however, thankfully, there were still those who would be able to play with the girl, to welcome her into the Iyr.

“Ah, cousin Amalrot, you are finally awake?” Laygak asked, causing the girl to glance his way, then turn her head to hide within the nook of her mother’s neck. “Since you are looking away, I will eat all this fruit?”

Amalrot’s head snapped back towards her cousin, hearing the magical word. As her cousin spoiled her, it was her brother who was about to cause a much greater mess.

“How are you, my nephew?” the woman asked, after greeting the young fellow by slapping his shoulder rather roughly, dropping down beside him, inviting herself to impose upon the group, which seemed the most interesting. The others, they were merchants who sat with warriors, but this group were warriors, pretending as though they were merchants, she presumed.

“I am well,” Uli said, sitting down after the woman, having stood to greet her.

“How is sister Ellani?”

“The Mustashalur is well,” Uli confirmed, smiling awkwardly towards the woman.

“Shukhur, shukhur,” the woman said, glancing at the group, noting the many Iyrmen, as well as a few famous faces.

“These are those I am escorting, many who are members of the United Kindom,” Uli said, introducing them to the woman. “This is Kal Shanaz, Spear of the Ten Rivers.”

Adam raised a brow, certain he had heard the name previously, though he wasn’t sure where. However, since it was a name that made him think, she must have been quite the somebody.

“Are you escorting these Iyrmen?” Shanaz asked in Aswadic.

“I am.”

Adam glanced aside to Jurot, smirking slightly, since technically he was escorting one of them in particular, who was not an Iyrman.

“What is so special about these Iyrmen?” Shanaz asked.

“One is the descendant of Hadi Tanagek,” Uli replied.

The woman turned to face Tanagek, who wore the tattoos, which had seemed so familiar to her, and now she understood why. “Hadi?”

The young Iyrman replied with a bow of his head, causing Chosen to glance aside, until he heard the Aswadic title for his granduncle, the young man smiling, sitting up taller.

“Do I know of your families too?” Shanaz asked in the Aldish tongue, her voice heavily accented. Her eyes fell upon the half dragon, who seemed to be sleeping, snoozing away lightly.

“It is unlikely,” Kitool replied.

“My grandfather is the Mad Dog, who is Aldland’s Butcher,” Jurot replied.

“That being said, the Butcher is also our granduncle,” Adam said, elbowing Jurot lightly, who nodded.

“Your granduncle?”

“I may not be an Iyrman, but Jurot is my brother, and the Mad Dog is my grandfather,” Adam explained. “I am Adam Fate, of the United Kindom. I have heard of you before, I believe, though I am not very good with names.”

“I am retired now, but I was once considered among the few Paragons of Aswadasad,” Shanaz said.

“Ah! That would be it! How amazing!” Adam grinned wide with delight and excitement. “It is a pleasure to meet you, aila!”

“Not quite as amazing as the Iyrmen you know,” the woman said, reaching up to rub the side of her neck, hidden by her scarf. “What brings you all here, for though Arisa is always welcome to Iyrmen, there are few who could match your pedigree.”

“We…” Adam began, but he stopped, revealing the wisdom he had learned over the year.

“We are here to complete business with the Faro and the Amira,” Jurot stated, for though Adam may not be able to speak the words, it was not quite so troublesome for him.

“Oh? What business is this, this United Kindom?”

“We deal with the craft and trade of magical weapons,” Jurot said, and suddenly a great many eyes fell upon the group, for it was one thing to trade magical weapons, another to craft such.

“You work with such a fine business, I see! Is this why you travel with such fine weapons? Are they magical too?”

“Yes,” Jurot replied, keeping the woman’s attention, however, he was also acutely aware of how many warriors there were here, and though he fought without armour, the same was not said for Tanagek or Adam, and with so many eyes, he should have told Taygak to wear at least some of her armour. Thankfully, the Faro had no reason to cause any trouble.

“Did you hear that?” a large bear of a man, also known as the Bear of the Mountains, asked. He was tall, wide, thick with muscle, the kind of man who could crush a skull between his hands, for he was easily a head taller than any other warrior here, and perhaps twice as wide. A large blade rested against the wall beside him, a blade that seemed to be have forged of a single slab of iron, like those preferred by the Gon family. His thick hair fell to his shoulders, his beard cut short, but still covered most of his jaw and his lips.

“Of course I heard it,” the woman replied, in her forties or so, and the daughter of one of the most famous merchants within Arisa. She was diminutive compared to the bear of a man beside her, more like a kitten, thin as a branch, adorned in green, pink flowers blooming all about her clothing, her scarf a deep pink with tiny white flowers blooming like snowflakes. She was one of the few who could speak to the Bear of the Mountains, for she paid him quite the pretty penny, the shiniest of silvers, so she had declared, though certainly saving his life and somehow managing to send his weapon to enchant had helped.

“Crafting, they say,” another lithe woman said. Though she was adorned in all black, her epithet was the Silver Panther, and wielded a pair of scimitars at her side, quicksilver, though enchanted to allow her to clash against many great warriors, save perhaps the Spear of the Ten Rivers.

“Crafting, they say,” the red skinned woman agreed, her horns covered in golden chains, her fingers slipped between one another, up to her golden rings, each carrying a different jewel, for being protect by the Silver Panther allowed her to wear such.

“It is no wonder the Faro has brought those who seem not to fit within this group,” the Heart Sword, a young man who was thirty years old, said. He was tall, lean, and carried a rapier at his side, the kind of rapier which stated he was not quite an ordinary warrior, for though he was thirty years old, he was a Master, and could match the swordplay of many within the nearby Order.

The young merchant he accompanied nodded his head, barely a man, in his late teens, but tall and muscular, and one might have thought he would grow to become a warrior, not a merchant. He wore fine clothing, but little jewellery, save for the singular golden ring, worth perhaps ten gold at most, and yet no one could speak poorly of his wealth, for his family owned one of the largest fleets in Aswadasad.

“Oho, it is true?” the Roaming Steel Sword asked, adorned in what looked to be sand, for he wore such fine clothing, and wielded quite a beautiful blade at his side. Though he was in his forties, his hair was already salt and pepper, save his beard, which was a bright orange, for his daughter liked to apply henna onto his beard.

“It is,” Abdul said, glaring at the group, for he was the heir of the Setting Sun Merchants. ‘To think you believe you can step onto this field covered in silver and gold. You shall be taught a lesson soon enough, you fools.’

The Faro decided it was finally time to discuss the real reason she had invited them all, those whose wealth could fund armies, and those whose blades could cut them down. She supposed almost all of them understood, but one group was new. Yet, it was they who would be the group who would bring the greatest success.