Beyond Chaos – A DiceRPG

Amber eyes soaked in the walls of the fortress, so familiar, for they were certainly the walls of Iyrly designs, though they were formed of darker stone, the layout different enough to cause a chill to run through them, yet familiar enough to remind them of the warmth of home.

Had it truly been this place which they had lived, upon the border of the Iyr, when those of the Order had come and brought a finality to the little boys?

Even Adam, staring at the fortress, was unsure of this fortress, for it was layered, three layers as previous, but not quite the three layers he was familiar with, for the fort seemed to have gone through a structural puberty, the smallest section deep within larger than the fort at its zenith when it was used for the business. The three layers were staggered, and not as symmetrical as the Iyr typically enjoyed, with the inner fortresses leaning leftward, towers looming over to spy upon the village, and each inner layer was raised, with steps leading inward, the first set upon the top right, the furthest away from the central gate, then the sets for the inner most layer upon the left bottom left.

The buildings were as expected, some formed of wood, others formed of stone, but each with the Iyr’s stoic flair. Plain, well made, firm, though sparking no inspiration of the heart, save for the warmth of those who knew how grand these walls were.

‘The Iyr moves so swiftly,’ Jurot thought, for certainly the outer layer had existed five weeks ago.

Perhaps it was not these stone walls, those which stood two Adam’s tall, and a further Adam tall even further within, which one could consider the reason as to why this fort was considered well defending, but the hundred or so Experts, the dozens of Masters, the dozen Grandmasters, and then even the trio of Paragons, though the numbers of each had ballooned that day.

There were a great many familiar faces among those who were new to the fortress upon the border, those who held as much fame as those who had begun to escort them, and it was they who seemed to have been waiting for the group.

“Do we require so many?” Jarot growled.

“For the sake of our greatnephews and greatnephews, we thought to step out,” Butcher Marmak replied simply, the man who wore a smile as comfortably as Adam wore his armour, a large greatsword upon his back. The Butcher, who was to Aswadasad as Mad Dog was to Aldland, seemed to radiant a glee, to think he would be able to return after so long.

Jarot should have expected that he would have come along, however, he noted the other faces, of the Twin Sun and Moon dragons, and he narrowed his eyes. However, before he could complain, the Iyrmen spoke up.

“Konarot, I will watch over you,” one of the elderly twin women said, she who wielded a spear.

“Kirot, I will watch over you,” her twin added.

“Karot,” Baztam called, reaching down to ruffle the boy’s hair. “Since you are so meek, I will show you how to gain the wildness of your greatfather.”

“Clean your neck,” Jarot warned.

“Jirot,” called a voice, of a bald woman, with the lightest of wrinkles around her family tattoo. The tattoo was a deep blue semicircle, the flat side pointed up, at the centre, and deep red hollowed ovals, which went out either way. She was dressed in the Iyr’s clothing, a belt tied at her waist, with a staff formed of wood that was made of pure white.

“Nano…” Jirot called out to her grandaunt, who had been so busy recently, for she was Shaool, one of the Ten Paragons of the Iyr.

“I hope you are willing to escort me through Aswadasad,” Shaool half joked.

“Nano…” Jirot pouted.

Then there was the grey skinned Iyrman, tall and thin, though well muscled, with a thick beard, braided down to his chest. He wore a greatblade upon his back, which had earned him the title of Bearded Dragon.

“It seems we are to accompany one another once more,” the Bearded Dragon called, his voice almost a whisper, reaching down to ruffle his greatnephew’s hair.

“Babo…” little Jarot replied, as meekly as his brother was accused.

“I shall watch over Taygak,” Sokikez said, for though she was no Paragon, Taygak did not require equal attention to the rest of the children, for Taygak, not quite an Expert, was under little threat.

“Lanarot,” Shayfev, Mulrot and Malfev’s cousin, called, but upon seeing the Mad Dog’s glare, she let out a soft sigh.

“I will watch over my granddaughter,” Mad Dog threatened.

Amalrot peeked up towards the old man, whose skin was dark, lightened by scars. A lean muscular form, though with a touch of retirements across his gut, with whitened hair, long like a mane, two braids falling down his shoulders. His eyes were dark, though not quiet as tired. Though his forehead wore no tattoo, though he was not born within the Iyr, it was he who had retired the previous Elder Wrath, and had joined the current Elder Wrath’s family, for he was Ashmir, the Lion King, previously considered one of the strongest figures across all of Aswadasad.

“Babo,” the girl called, reaching up to hold his hand, the girl squealing with delight.

“I would be considered your papo,” the Lion King replied, for it was her blood father who had entrusted her to him, and it was her son’s friend who had somehow managed to become her brother, so papo, ahm, or he supposed, uncle, was his title.

The girl blinked. “Babo!”

“…”

Adam looked across the figures before him, many faces he recognised, most of them related to him in some way, even spotting Chief Iromin’s cousin among the fellows, but as he counted them all…

‘How many Paragons are they sending?’ the half elf thought, counting at least ten.

Bael eyed up the sand giant who sat with the Iyrmen, and it was quite the thing, for her, someone at the level of a Grandmaster, to be considered but average, it was truly a terrifying force. If one included all those stepping out, even with the children, the average strength of an individual would be greater than a Master, close to a Grandmaster.

However, it seemed as though the Iyr had not finished, for a beautiful figure appeared, flanked by several figures cloaked in darkness, wearing wide brimmed hats with cloth covering their faces. Her skin was deep purple skin, horns curled out to the side, adorned within the Iyr’s heavy robes. She held a staff in hand, for though her family wielded glaives, she was a Shaman of the Iyr.

“I shall escort you as a Shaman of the Iyr,” Lokat said, smiling warmly at the children, who returned a smile to the woman, though the smiles were strained.

“To think our first meeting would be like this,” one of the cloaked figures said, raising his wide brimmed hat to reveal a familiar tattoo, deep blue semicircle, the flat side pointed up, at the centre, and deep red hollowed ovals. “I have heard that my greatnieces and greatnephews… no, I have heard that my greatnieces are such trouble.”

“Babo Samool?” Jirot called.

“Ah?” Samool replied, a man with pale skin, dark hair, dark eyes, but a bright smile. He wore a spear upon his back, and at his sides, thin blades, though much of his body was left to the imagination, for he wore the shadows as the girl wore trouble. “You know of this greatuncle of yours?”

“Yes.”

“Your nano informed me that you were intelligent, but I underestimated your intelligence,” Samool said, still smiling brightly, though the aura of death clung to him.

“Babo Samool, Captain of the Fifth Death Swords,” the girl said, half accused.

“I have come to escort Shaman Lokat, but I will request my Vice Captains watch over you, my smart little niece and my strong little nephew,” Samool said. “Although, at first they should have escorted the guests from Black Mountain, but it seems alternative arrangements were made.”

Vasera eyed up the Iyrman, whose eyes smiled, but she could feel the stench of death stain him, as the stench of death also stained Kitool. It was one of the Iyr’s paths of martialhood, one that she hoped she would not be on the receiving end, for she had heard rumours of those who were not even Grandmasters who could be cleaved down by a dragon’s talons, and still stand.

‘So they must be a Master followed by two Experts and… no, is he a Master, his Vice Captains a step above Expert, and then ten Experts?’ Adam thought, for they wouldn’t send those who were less than Experts, especially after what had happened to Lokat a few years ago. What had happened at the magical forest, when he first realised that Lokat and Elder Peace were related, had been something which he couldn’t get out of his mind. The Iyrmen had sent quite a unit, not all of them this strong, but certainly, at least a hundred Masters, to deal with the three hundred or so strong army of Aswadasad, which they had slaughtered without a single casualty. Though there were fewer Iyrmen, forty or so, the weakest was…

Adam tilted his head, glancing aside towards his cousins. ‘Wait. Aren’t they Masters now? So…’

Adam didn’t count the Silver Fate Squad, for they were acting through the business, but all those the Iyr had sent were at least Masters, save perhaps the ten who joined Captain Samool.

“Jurot,” Adam whispered.

“Yes?”

“Are we invading Aswadasad?”

“I hope so.”

Adam turned to look towards Jurot, whose lips twitched slightly, and when he felt his wife’s gaze upon his skin, the Iyrman’s lips twitched once more.

“I hope not,” Adam said.

“It would be good to show the children,” Jurot said.

“…”

“…”

“Iyrmen,” Adam whispered, shaking his head.