Beyond Chaos – A DiceRPG

“It seems your blade is full of desperation too,” Elaine called, finding this young Iyrman was as she had expected, a genius. His great strength even threatened to force her back, though as their steel clashed, their wills within their own battles, she couldn’t help but think on how his sword carried a weight that such a young soul shouldn’t carry.

“Do I have such a luxury?” Chosen replied, the pair clashing violently, but as he raised his shield, his arm pulsed, his ears rung, his heart thundered.

She, too, held such a look.

‘How dare you.’ Chosen’s thoughts came to him between the ringing of steel, barely able to set the pace as his blade swung wildly through the air. ‘To those innocent children, whose skin were the colour of the leaves in dawnval, whose eyes were more precious than ambers, whose affection was the greatest under the sun.’

“Jirot! Jarot!” Chosen called, though he did not have the courage to check to see if they were watching, instead he hoped they would see how violently he fought for their sake.

Elaine, called the Hawk of the Hills, only because the title Bear of the Hills had already been taken when she was making a name for herself, and because the others wished to tease her, for she was not as swift as a hawk, not as graceful, and certainly not as pretty. However, in her years of facing a great many foes, even coming across various Iyrmen in her time, did she ever cross blades with such a vicious monster?

She supposed she couldn’t hold back.

Her blade threatened to cleave Chosen in half, who had managed to save himself with his shield, though his arm throbbed, and he could barely hold onto it. She, too, swung her blade with wild abandonment.

The Sword of the Silver Son.

It was as much as a gift from his nephew as it had been from his cousin. The Hawk of the Hills was worthy enough, for she was a Grandmaster, the kind that could go blow for blow with greater Iyrmen than he. If he had not wielded it, he would not have stepped forward, for the sake of the children. However, in this time, and many more, Chosen placed his trust in the half elf.

‘I probably won’t be retiring my axe any time soon,’ the half elf stated.

It was the response to the question of how powerful the enchantment was.

It was a stupid question, Chosen had thought at the time, for the half elf had enchanted the weapons with the intention of using it to face against foes Chosen could only dream of facing.

With that will, he had to entrust in the half elf, this time, and many more.

“Will he lose himself?” Tonagek asked.

The ring of steel echoed, and Chosen fell backwards, though planted his foot deep into the earth, and kicked himself forward.

“No,” Mosen replied simply, not because his son wouldn’t lose himself, but with all the Iyrmen here, he would be unable to. He would entrust in his son, this time, and forever more.

Chosen’s body screamed at him, but this body of his had been forged against such great warriors who could rival the Hawk of the Hills, and many who surpassed even her. Bloodblade Shasen, his own granduncle, had fought him often enough, when the fool would ask, and sometimes more, sometimes less. He had fought his own father countless times, a man who could certainly defeat the woman, for though they were both Grandmasters now, his father could outlast her terrible blows, which threatened to bisect the young man. Once, under careful observation, he had even the Mad Dog, who may have held the rank of Grandmaster, and who was also a man whose thirst for blood reached the sky, but whereas Elaine’s blood reached this sky, the Mad Dog’s thirst for blood reached the sky beyond the skies.

Then, of course, he fought him. It was after the time in which his heart had been wounded so thoroughly, and the price of mercy had become too much, and he had little thought to one’s ego.

Whereas Elaine’s blows struck deep into his bones, Adam’s blows threatened to strike his heart.

Something was wrong.

Elaine panted for air, feeling the sheen of sweat upon her skin, for this young man wasn’t just an Expert. No, certainly, though his face was so full of youth, he was a Master. Even as she struck with the force to cut a bear in half, his body refused to break, and even as she managed to force the blood to spill from his nostrils, even as he drooled and spat like a savage beast, his blade still threatened to take an eye, or perhaps her other ear, which pulsed with an ache she hadn’t expected.

‘Regardless of why you feel you must claim victory, I will end this bout now!’ the woman thought, and she swung with as much strength as she could muster, with a swing that threatened to break his shield in half.

‘Papo! Even if you are strong, I am the Demon Lord!’

‘Papo, you are so strong. I am babo, and babo is stronger.’

Chosen’s eyes glazed over a moment, but his hand refused to let go of his blade, and as Elaine stared at him through her visor, their eyes met.

‘Is it not enough?’ Elaine thought, and that thought returned, the thought that something was wrong. It was not because Chosen had yet to fall, though a great many would have fallen. There was something else.

‘Daddy’s birthday, and mummy’s birthday, and papo Jurot’s birthday, and papo Tanagek’s birthday, is all the same day, so we must make a gift.’

‘It is also my birthday on that day,’ Chosen said.

Konarot blinked. ‘You are joking, papo?’

‘I am not joking, for we were born upon the same day, though I was born right before it turned upon the second, so I am slightly younger, and yet your papo, he bullies me so much.’

Konarot let go of his hand, furrowing her brows deep in thought. ‘Papo, what is your favourite fruit?’

‘I love salya the most.’

Konarot smiled, her tail swaying behind her lightly. ‘I like salya too!’

‘Is it your favourite?’

‘Mm…’ Konarot thought.

‘Peach,’ Kirot had said, causing her siblings to nod their heads.

‘You are a Rot, so I should have expected,’ Chosen teased, though he could see the way they flushed, their tails swaying wildly behind them, brushing away the snow.

‘Papo,’ Karot had called for him one day during the Twilight Month, holding up a small flower for him.

‘Another gift for your mother? I hope my son is as sweet as you.’

‘Papo, you do not have a son?’

‘I do not?’

Karot gasped. ‘Papo! You are pregnant?’

‘I hope not! How will I explain that to my wife?’

‘You are just joking, papo. You are not married.’

Why was it that statement which Karot spoke with such confidence? However, the boy eased his heart, for the flower he had plucked had not been for his mother, nor his father, but for his most favourite papo.

‘Me?’ Chosen had asked.

‘You do not like it?’

‘I do not like it, I love it!’ Chosen had declared lifting the boy up, whose tail swayed so delightfully, for he was so full of delight.

Chosen’s blade cut through the mountain in front of him, his entire body tensing, his eyes whitened, his entire body red hot with rage, and as he gripped his blade tighter, a warm trickle awakened him from his dance, as well as a firm grip on his shoulder, holding back his sword from taking the kneeling woman’s eye.

“You fought well,” Mosen said, squeezing his son’s shoulder, awakening him from his blood drunk stupor.

Chosen’s blade began to shake violently, and as the rage slipped through him, he inhaled sharply, wanting to make to cry out in victory, but he felt his father’s hand upon his shoulder, which eased his wounded heart, and with a gentle sigh, he bowed his head, his sword following a moment later. His lungs ached as he caught as many breaths as he could, and though the woman glanced up towards him, his eyes fell towards a pair currently held within the arms of a pair of monsters.

Mosen held out a hand, assisting the woman up, and she shuddered lightly, barely able to stand, for the Iyrman’s assault had been that brutal. How many years had it been since she fought with such abandon? With such a desperate sword? How many years had she gone without recalled the fear of death at the edge of steel?

“It is because of this blade I was able to defeat you,” Chosen said, raising his sword high, and though it shook violently within his grip, it still reached the heavens.

“It is a grand blade indeed,” the Hawk of the Hills said, for even her own blade, Greater Enhanced, was inferior to it, she surmised. Yet, it was not just the blade which had allowed him to claim victory, but the fact that he was a Rage Dancer, and not just any Rage Dancer, but that of the Sen family.

It was a small solace that it was the sword of the Sen family which had defeated her, though the Iyrmen around congratulated Chosen upon his victory, for they knew.

“It was dangerous to hold back,” Tonagek said within their tongue.

“If you can defeat your opponent without using your family’s techniques, then I can defeat my opponent without using my family’s techniques,” Chosen replied, though while Tanagek seemed as though he could fight another Master, Chosen was covered in a sheen of sweat, blood, spit, and pride. “Did you see?”

“Yes!” the triplets replied, and they held up a thumbs up.

“Cousin Chosen, good job!” Lanarot said, for it was not as disappointing as Tanagek’s fight, which lacked any spilling of blood, and the girl held up a hand, high fiving her older cousin.

Chosen then turned towards the twins, who remained with their heads buried within their babo and nano’s chest, clutching their shirts tight in hand. He let out a sigh. He could only pray it went some way into forcing away the darkness of their hearts.

“It was a good fight,” Adam said, patting Chosen’s shoulder, glad to see he still had his wits about him.

“It was only good?”

“It’s not like she was a Grandmaster?” Adam teased, raising a brow, though he was still proud of his cousin for beating a Master.

“She is.”

“Huh?” Adam blinked.