Beyond Chaos – A DiceRPG

It was pristine.

White as snow.

The golden trim almost radiant, all along the archways.

The symbols of the sun, which stood upon the spires, like proud soldiers. Five domes swallowed the sky, but the central dome threatened to swallow the heavens, crafted of silver mosaics that shimmered under the sun, hundreds of thousands of pieces, each cleaned meticulously by devoted hands.

The Royal Temple of the One Sun imposed upon their hearts.

The children’s eyes remained upon the temple, which seemed to swallow the entire world, their hearts pounding so heavily, the anxiety of seeing such a grand place filling their hearts.

It was large, easily capable of it was to hold at least a hundred thousand people with ease, the contrast of white and gold, and the greens and the various flowers, rows of fountains, canals, and waterworks, and, yet, eerily, it held such few within, for it was closed today, as it was most days, only maintained by the Shen’s great wealth, for it was not so far from where they stood that the Moon of the Sun remained to heal.

There were others too, figures dressed in pure white, golden sashes and belts around their waists, with curved blades of quicksilver at their sides, each wearing full beards and turbans, which hid their helmets, save for the chain which fell upon their shoulders, those who guarded this place, the weakest of whom were Experts.

As the family explored the temple, this time accompanied with as many warriors they could get away with, even the likes of Butcher Marmak, who would never be allowed to step within this place, if not for the young woman who accompanied them, she, herself, accompanied by Kal Kachya, her very own faris, who dared to wear her steel within such a place.

“You know, Amira, I, too, am a Princess, for I am a Princess of the business,” Jirot mused, waddling beside the Amira, for if she, the green skinned girl, with her amber eyes, did not walk beside the Amira, certainly she would not feel comfortable, for standing beside the girl, the woman was safe from any and all Iyrmen, and she was not foolish enough to cause trouble, so her father had informed the girl, and so the girl had managed to gather from how stressed she constantly seemed whenever they met.

“As the granddaughter of the President, I am certain you can claim that you possess such a grand title, although I was told there were no nobles in the Iyr?” Miriam asked.

“I am not a Princess of the Iyr, but a Princess of the United Kindom, for my grandmother is the President, and that is like the Empress, and her children are all like various Kings and Queens, or maybe they can be Dukes and Duchesses, but even then, the children of a duchal family are considered Princes and Princesses, so that means my brothers and sisters are Princes and Princesses too, just like me.”

Miriam considered how the child was a sibling to her elder triplet siblings, each of whom possessed such blood within them, so it was not entirely out of the realm of possibility one could refer to the girl as a Princess through their connection, and yet she was certain many nobles would not accept such.

“I can see the logic within it.”

Miriam stopped.

The figure ahead remained completely within her sights, for he was that man, adorned in plain white shalwar, a turban of sun yellow atop his head, a golden sun pin within the centre, an amulet of a golden sun upon his chest. He was older, his skin dark, his eyes grey, and though he was beginning to lose much of his vision, he did not wear glasses. A beard of white spilled over, covering his chin and neck, his moustache vibrant orange, for he would apply the henna every few days, to the point his moustache was almost permanently stained so. Beside him, two figures adorned in white, each wearing yellow turbans, and each carrying such steel beside them, and in front of him, another half dozen, behind him, another half dozen, those who were Priests of the Sun, each at least Experts, those who could wield Third Gate spells, especially Aswadasad’s most favoured Third Gate spell.

“I heard the temple is tainted by bavwa, and though my eyes are so old, are they to be deceived, for I would not expect even you, the Amira of our great nation, would possible desecrate our temple so.”

“They are Iyrmen,” Amira Miriam stated firmly, feeling the intense pressure from behind her, and though one figure made to step forward, another had done so, though remained entirely tense, his eyes holding such a glare within the temple, except it was the amulet upon his chest which remained threatening.

“They look like bavwa, they sound like bavwa, they smell like bavwa,” the Grand Malawi said, ignoring how close he had flown to the sky, for it was but a single hand which had granted him his life this day, for the woman brushed along her husband’s shoulder with such a tender touch.

“Iyrmen, those who are related to the Iyr and the business,” Miriam stated firmly in their tongue, and though some Iyrmen did not understand their tongue, the word bavwa was enough, and there were still others who spoke the tongue, and unfortunately, so did she.

“You claim that these children are Iyrmen?” The Grand Malawi turned towards the Iyrmen, noting the filthy bavwa, the filthy devilkin, and though it was not he who possessed a vile blood, he was not as pure as those with such dark skin, those loved most by the Sun.

“The children are Iyrmen, so the Iyr states clearly,” she, with skin of red, spoke, her complexion of those who were cursed by the sun, though they believed themselves to be so adored by fire.

“It is you, the father of these bavwa, who-,” and the Grand Malawi would have been interrupted if it wasn’t for her hand upon the father’s shoulder, “they call the Crazy Father, and you, who worships the Lord of Death?”

Adam’s entire body was tense, but after a moment, with his wife’s touch relaxing upon his shoulder, he let out a soft sigh. “I am the father of these Iyrmen you see before you, and it is I, the one who has worshipped the Lord of Death by taking the head of many who Kings have demanded I do not, and yet I place the word of the Divine above the word of Kings.”

Adam had made sure not to say he considered the words above Grand Malawi’s, for his wife had rubbed his shoulder, knowing his thoughts better than himself.

“Yet, you dare to bring such an ugly thing into this temple?”

Adam’s neck tensed up once more, and the heat filled him, for how dare he speak such words in front of him, in front of his wife, in front of his children? Yet, he could not move, for his wife would not allow it, but if he did not move, wouldn’t his children b-,

“Ugly?” exclaimed a certain child, and with a blade like finger, and with fury in her eyes, she pointed towards the old man, claiming his life. “With a two copper beard like that?”

Vonda had reached down towards her daughter, but froze in place at the girl’s words, for the girl spoke words she should not have spoken to a Malawi, or to the Grand Malawi, the one who possessed so much power, it was he who could shackle the Shen, and yet he should never have spoken the words to the girl, for it was she who could shackle the Crazy Father. The woman quickly brought her scarf up, covering her mouth, though her eyes revealed how much she tried to refuse the laugh to slip through her lips.

The Iyrmen around had been ready, for no one could deny them their rights, not Lord Noor, who was considered supreme within Aswadasad, and not even Baktu, who was supreme within the Iyr, for a child’s heart must remain protected, by blood and steel. They wore such pure, such intense, such vile hatred upon them with a readiness to draw their blades.

Even the Amira’s eyes darted to the side, towards the little girl, who also wore such pure, such intense, such vile hatred upon her face, and even her finger, which shook so violently.

How dare he.

How dare someone call her, and her twin brother, ugly?

How dare he, when they took their beauty after their mother?

Little Jarot glanced aside to his sister, seeing the fury in her eyes, and her eyes, which glistened with such rage, she was indeed a member of the Rot family, and his own face contorted into a mixture of tears and rage.

It was then a sound pierced the air.

It was loud, piercing.

It was like the squeal of a pig, for as the Ray, who had been raised to control her emotions, had managed to hide them away, unfortunately, as the tears poured down the half elf’s face, he continued to squeal and cry and laugh, the tension within his body complete giving way to laughter.