Beyond Chaos – A DiceRPG

“You have to be polite, okay?” the fool fussed, especially upon one he should not have fussed over in such a manner.

“I am always polite, daddy!” she grumbled in return, though she reached out to hold her father’s shirt, not allowing him to escape her grasp.

“Ah! I know you are, my dear. You are always so polite, what is this foolish daddy of yours saying?” The half elf’s smile swiftly shifted from nervousness, to sheer delight, for the young half elf could only smile genuinely when he was surrounded by his adorable children.

“I will brush your hair,” called a voice, of a woman whose beauty could be called unrivalled, but it was perhaps her cunning that was far greater.

“Aila…”

Sara brushed the girl’s hair, though only after the girl had gripped her father’s shirt so tight, it left an imprint of her hand upon his shirt, a memory for the fabric. The woman parted the girl’s hair, all the while her betrothed sat beside her, dealing with the girl’s twin brother’s hair.

“I should cut your hair,” Korin said. “You would look as handsome as your favourite ahm.”

The boy flushed lightly, feeling Korin’s hands work through his hair. “Which ahm?”

“Your favourite ahm,” Korin stated firmly, leaning over to peek down into the boy’s eyes, though the boy glanced aside to his sister, the pair beginning to cackle together. To see them calm now, like this, even Korin’s heart eased. ‘Is it because we are in Aswadasad now?’

“What’s all this?” Adam asked, noting how all the Iyrmen who typically wore heavy armour were adorned within their steel.

“You must wear your armour too,” Jurot said.

“…” Adam hadn’t expected to wear his armour, but if Jurot was telling him to put it on, the half elf went to slip into his new magical steel, all the while the Iyrmen helped the children into their attire. It was attire of the Iyr, the simple clothing, the tunic, the shorts, the sash, for the Iyr had come to restate their claim.

As Vonda finished fixing little Karot’s hair, she approached her husband, slipping a cloak over his shoulders, and a ring upon his finger.

“What’s this?”

“You will soon to go meet a noble in full armour,” Vonda said, almost accusatory. “You should wear the cloak and ring.”

“How can I deny a ring from my wife?” the half elf joked, holding his wife’s hand within his own. “Are you going to wear one too?”

“It is not I who picks fights with nobles,” the woman teased, holding her husband’s gaze, which he dared not to glance away from.

“I suppose that’s right. Isn’t that just our relationship, though? Life and death. Wisdom and foolishness. Beauty and… I suppose I’m a little handsome too, so maybe not in that way?”

Vonda squeezed her husband’s hand, a gentle smile upon her face. Surrounded by death as she was, she knew the half elf wouldn’t go too far, not if she was nearby, even if it was for the sake of the children.

Adam realised her wisdom upon approaching the estate, one of the very many within the Faro’s name, this estate more like a large park for receiving guests, set near the top of a hill, a large manor formed of beautiful sandstone looming in the distance, while at the three long tables, awaited the Faro, adorned in fine clothing, white and silver, surrounded by her guards, and two figures, each whom wore amber blades at their sides.

As their eyes met, the half elf narrowed his own, tensing up, but as a thought crossed his mind, his body relaxed, a gentle smile creeping across his lips. ‘Hmm.’

However, the pair’s eyes then shifted towards those with pale purple and greyish skin, horned, and certainly those who were considered among the worst of all beings, the demons.

As the Iyrmen settled themselves, the children upon the laps of their elders, while another Iyrman stood a step behind, while others sat at the nearby, for every one child, there were at least five Iyrmen, so two sticking to one that was more than acceptable, while three others remained nearby, at the ready.

Those of Black Mountain took their place near those of the Amber Blades, greeting them politely, followed closely behind by the fool and his family, creating a wall between the Faro and the Iyrmen, and the Amber Blades and the fool.

“Sword of the Lady,” the old man called, greeting the young woman. He stood tall, though slightly hunched, his hair thick, falling to his shoulders, goatee sharply pointed like a thick dagger, his moustache now curled upwards, his dark eyes sparkling.

“Kal Kalim,” Lani replied.

“I see you are well.”

“I see you are healthy as well, Kal.”

“Shukhur, I am blessed.” The old Kal Kalim, the Elder of Amber, replied, continuing a conversation with the Black Mountain’s Sword of the Lady, before his fool of a Fariq could cause trouble.

The Faro was uncertain if she should allow them, but at the same time, she didn’t want to find herself at war with the Iyrmen. It was only in this particular circumstance, in which the Iyrmen travelled with not just children, for even young Taygak was considered a child, but their actual little children, those barely out of their clothies, which forced even Emperors to bite their tongue. Aswadasad, at its whole, would not be willing to face the Iyr, so certainly she would not do so with her region alone.

“What adorable children you have brought,” Lady Sabreen said, noting the children, each with red skin, those with green, the child who was a blue balloon, and finally the most terrifying child of all, she who seemed to not have a balance of her elder brothers’ wills, but combined them both into something even more terrifying.

“Of course they are adorable!” Jarot half exclaimed, only to find a finger at the side of his neck, though it was without inner energy.

For now.

“You must be the Mad Dog, Jarot, who I have heard so much about from your grandsons, who speak of your name with such praise,” the woman began.

The old man held the woman’s gaze for a long moment, though slowly began to smile. “This old man is so.”

“I can see why you are named after the Great Liberator.”

“I liberated many from this life,” Jarot confirmed, grinning even more wildly. Upon seeing his greatdaughter’s look, the old Iyrman’s smile dropped. “Yes, is a shame, or some such.”

‘Silly, babo…’ Jirot thought, though she continued to hold onto her nano, who smiled down towards the girl for settling her fool of a greatfather down.

‘The old geezer’s acting all cute,’ her, equally as troublesome, father thought.

“The boy upon your lap, is he also known as Jarot?”

“That is right!” Suddenly the air grew dark, the threat within the old man’s tone not unnoticed by those around them. “My boy, tell them of your name.”

Yet, the tiny boy, green of skin, hid his head into his greatfather’s chest, causing the old man’s arms to wrap around him, a thumb brushing the boy’s ear tenderly.

“My brother’s name is Jarot,” said a voice in Aswadic. “He was named after my great grandfather, and I was named after my great grandfather’s grandmother.”

“You speak Aswadic so well,” the Faro said. “Then, you must be Jirot.”

“Yes,” the girl replied, holding the woman’s gaze, all the while she felt the soft hand of her greatmother upon her stomach, keeping her nerves at bay, allowing her eyes to hold the look children of the Iyr were meant to possess.

Adam sat upright, his brows raised in utter shock, for when did his daughter speak Aswadic so well?

“I am Jirot!” the little girl declared. “I am the daughter of Ray Vonda and Mo Adam.”

“You speak with such pride,” Lady Sabreen said, with the courage to smile, for how could she not, under the glare of so many, each of whom could slay even her greatest warriors.

“My grandmother is the President of the business, which is like the Empress, and my mother and father are like the Queen and King of the business, so that makes me like a Princess.”

“I see,” the woman said, not wanting to chastise the girl, feeling her throat clog up.

“It is awkward to call yourself a Princess in these lands, for it is illegal to declare yourself as such,” Kal Kalim said. “Though, if you were my granddaughter, I have no doubt I would call you my little Amira.”

“There are no Princesses in the Iyr, so I do not call myself so, but the business is not the Iyr,” Jirot replied, holding the Aswadian’s gaze firmly, for no one could dare to say she was not a Princess, not even the Faro herself, so her greatfather had said. “You must be Kal Kalim, Elder of Amber.”

Vonda’s eyes fell upon her daughter, who spoke Aswadic greater than she imagined, though the girl had spent so much time reading her books, even across this entire journey.

“I am.”

“My father says you are fair and wise.”

Kal Kalim smiled brightly, chuckling playfully. “Your father is so fair and wise too.”

“My father is fair indeed,” the girl said, for even if she learnt a new language swiftly, bullying her father came more naturally than the existence of language. Then her amber eyes darted to the side. “You are Kal Idris the Amber Sword, Fariq of the Amber Blades?”

“I am so,” the Fariq said, a man whose skin was almost golden, his eyes a deep green, almost like emeralds, his smile as white as pearls, his hair, now white with age, tied in five rows. He was indeed known as the Amber Sword, carrying the titular blade at his side.

The girl held the older man’s gaze, then, while settled upon her greatmother’s lap, she narrowed her eyes, holding the most vicious look within her eyes. “My father… is stronger.”

The Faro blinked.

Yes.

This girl was an Iyrman too.

Though the half elf had wished to wait, the words had been spoken, and the die had been cast, so he stood.