Beyond Chaos – A DiceRPG

“To think I would have the honour to face against the Gek family’s sword!” Commander Terryn Greyfort almost exclaimed, holding out his magical blade towards the young man who was roughly decade his senior. The youthful excitement remained within the Commander, as it remained within the young Tanagek, whose blade remained pointed towards the Commander, brimming with magical might. “My heart is drumming with delight!”

“I was recently gifted this sword,” Tanagek replied, his own eyes holding a youthful glare one might have expected, though it was heavier, this glare, for it was a glare which was full of the expectations of the Iyr, and not just the Iyr, but those which the Iyr stood for.

“Am I to blood the blade?” the Commander asked.

“It is my honour for you to do so,” Tanagek stated firmly, for the likes of Commander Terryn Greyfort, who was from such a family, and who was considered a great warrior, was acceptable enough to blood the blade.

The Commander continued to hold out his blade, but what was it that he felt? The fellow ahead of him was adorned in full plate like himself, and certainly was a decade his junior, and he had travelled across the land perhaps for a decade at most, closer to a half decade, the Commander assumed.

And yet he could feel something greater emanating from the young man before him.

Tanagek held his blade out ahead of him, focusing every thought onto it. It was the first clash since stepping out with his nephews and nieces, those who were watching him with such expectant gazes. They had known a Tanagek who was weak, unable to defeat their father, unable to defeat their uncle, and his own cousins, too, watched, and they had known a Tanagek who was unable to defeat their brothers.

Is that all he amounted to?

The fight had already begun, not through steel, but through the hearts and minds of the two warriors, but it was only once their hearts had settled, that their nerves and worries drifted away in the wind, did their steel finally move. Their blades cut through the air, as though threatening to break the air itself. Tanagek’s blade, fell with a burden the Commander could not imagine, and as the blade blurred through the air, the Commander’s own blade reached out to meet it, the ringing of steel filling the air.

It had been a most vicious bout, though it only lasted the span of a moment, for the Commander stared deep into Tanagek’s eyes, meeting his gaze through his visor, and with that, his eyes slowly trailed to the side, towards his open hand, which he could not feel, missing a blade, and then his eyes trailed downwards towards the steel at his neck, almost slipping through the chink between his helmet and chain. Even if the blade wouldn’t have been able to cut through it, and even that the Commander was uncertain, it certainly would have broken his neck had the young Iyrman not stopped himself in the last moment, much to his own arm’s dismay.

The Commander had yet to even press the Iyrman himself, barely having defended himself for a moment before he had last the bout, all the while his arm shook violently. Even so, staring into Tanagek’s eyes once more, he could see something within those eyes, not the arrogance of youth, but the confidence of a young man of the Gek family. The sword play he had wielded was but basic swordplay, outside of wielding it with extreme skill, but he had yet to even wield his family’s sword before he had defeated the Commander.

A silence born of shock fell through the camp.

Tanagek stepped back, allowing the Commander to catch his breath, the young Commander inhaling deeply, flexing his muscles, the feeling of his hand returning to him. He looked down at his hand, managing to form a fist through much effort, and as he began to kneel to reach for his sword, the young Tanagek dropped down to lift it for him, returning the blade to the Commander.

“I should have expected such a result when I saw your gaze,” the Commander said in the best of humour, smiling wide, with a hint of awkwardness, for he had lost so thoroughly in front of his soldiers.

“It is only because I wield this sword,” Tanagek admitted, holding it out for the camp to see.

It was a beautiful blade, formed of silversteel, and all could see the guard was formed in the shape of the sun, and upon the pommel, an etching of a rose.

“What is the name of such a fine sword?” the Commander asked, for he had felt its brutal heaviness first hand, surmising it to be among one of the greatest he had come across.

“Heart of the Silver Son.”

“A beautiful name,” the Commander said, noting the iconography of the sun, formed similarly to the silver sun which rested beneath the silver rose of a particular figure before them.

“It is a gift I am undeserving of receiving, but I thank you for allowing me to ease my heart,” Tanagek stated, and it was the first time he spoke without a second thought of keeping his intentions hidden.

The soldiers around still could not believe their eyes, for regardless of how talented the young Iyrman could be, he was barely a man, and had defeated a figure who was considered quite talented himself. Their Commander, who was no slouch, for he was a Master at thirty five, which so few warriors could dare to reach even in their lifetime, and yet...

Heart of the Silver Sun? It was truly a grand blade if it allowed the young Iyrman to defeat their Commander so effortlessly.

Tanagek returned to the Iyrmen, noting the look within his father’s eye, the kind that he decided against acknowledging, but he was still his father’s son, and so his heart swelled with pride, and it was the kind of look which annoyed his uncle. However, he stepped towards the children, noting the twins were firmly burrowed within their greatparents’ chests. He then turned to face the triplets, each of whom wore the eyes of strangers, for no longer were they silver, but red, though he recognised the glistening awe upon the surface.

“Did I fight well?” Tanagek asked.

“Yes!” the triplets replied, with Konarot and Kirot giving him a thumbs up, followed quickly by Karot.

“Did you hear what the Commander said of this sword?” Tanagek asked, holding Karot’s eyes, causing the boy to flush, though a wide smile appeared on his lips, causing Tanagek’s heart to swell further. If nothing else, at the very least, he did not shame his nephew upon this journey.

“I unfortunately cannot allow my cousin to claim all the glory himself,” Chosen said, not even allowed his father the chance to pretend to tease him, for the annoyance within his heart burned brightly. “This sword of mine, the Sword of the Silver Son, has yet to draw blood, and it would be my honour if the Hawk of the Hills would be the first.”

The woman was older, within her sixties or so, but was built almost as well as Nobby, tall, wide, her curly hair falling to her chiselled jaw, her rough skin not quite as rough as her eyes, her one good ear twitching lightly as she heard call of her epithet, and seeing the look within the young Iyrman’s eyes, she smiled.

“I should have expected someone who was related to Bloodblade Shasen to hold such a spirit,” the woman said, Elaine standing, rolling her shoulders, causing her armour to jangle lightly. “Unfortunately, you will find that I am twice as aged as the Commander, so I am twice as strong.”

“You are still a spry sixty,” Chosen replied, holding up his blade, that which had been gifted to him by his nephew. Yet, as he held it, his muscles continued to twitch, and emanating from the young man was a vicious aura which fell upon the older woman.

“Out of respect for the Iyr, I will not hold back,” the older woman said, drawing her own greatblade, which caused her muscles to scream at her, until they finally relaxed, for she had been born with such a natural strength.

Mosen hadn’t even been able to give his son encouragement as the young man burst forward, his blade threatening to pierce the heavens that was the Hawk of the Hills. As his eyes fell upon his son, he considered why the young Iyrman was so eager to step forward towards the likes of a Grandmaster.

“Would you like to bet?” Tonagek asked.

“How much?”

“One gold.”

“Okay,” Mosen replied. “My son will claim victory.”

“How disappointing, for I wished to bet on Chosen too,” Tonagek joked. “I will bet on the Hawk of the Hills.”

The ringing of steel caused Mosen to ponder on the chances of his son’s victory.

Just how amazing was it?

This Silver Son?