Beyond Chaos – A DiceRPG

‘To think the Iyr had slaughtered all the soldiers and then took over their fortress to rest a night,’ Korin thought, and yet it was he who was currently slicing the onions thinly for the sake of his nieces and nephews, who were all excited to eat his meal, surrounded by their family, accompanied by the sight of blood still around the place, a gift of sanguine from their families.

“Next time, it shall be I!” Nirot declared, holding up her fist, half glaring towards her niece.

“Yes!” Jirot replied, holding up a fist.

“I will fight too,” Uwajin said, suddenly wide awake, her eyes narrowed in such a glare.

“Okay, kako,” little Jarot called.

“Mummy, you are okay?” little Karot asked, reaching up for her mother’s hand, holding it within his own.

“I’m okay.” Vonda smiled, picking up her son, and holding him on her lap, brushing through his hair, pressing her lips against his cheek. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay…” The boy remained buried within his mother’s bosom, not wishing to let go of his mother, who was so soft, so warm, so gentle.

Adam reached down to ruffle his daughters’ hair, the two cackling under their father’s touch, and as he lifted the pair up, their tails swirled in circles. “It was a shame the Aldishmen made such a mistake, for there was no need for such death, but what could the Iyr do?”

“Daddy, the Aldishmen are not nice!” Konarot declared.

“I do not like them!” Kirot agreed.

“There are some good Aldishmen, I suppose, the likes of…” Adam paused a long moment. “Mummy is technically an Aldishman?”

“Mummy is not an Aldishman, mummy is mummy,” Konarot stated.

“Oh? She is?”

“Yes.”

“If you say it, it must be true, but are there not Aldishmen like Brother Mork and Tork, who are so sweet?”

“They are not Aldishmen, they are northerners,” Kirot stated.

“Oh? They are?”

“Yes.”

“If you say it, it must be true, but what of…”

“…”

“…”

“…”

A long silence befell them all.

“What of… Manager Rick? Manager Remy and Manager Jeremy?”

“They are not Aldishmen, they are Managers,” Konarot said.

“…”

“…”

A silence continued.

“They are, um, of the United Kindom?” Konarot replied, tilting her head.

“Ah, I see,” Adam replied, for that was something he could not refute. “I suppose they are. What of little Merry, for he is still an Aldishman, he lives within one of the villages, right?”

“Merry is special,” Konarot replied simply.

“Merry is a good boy,” Kirot agreed.

“I see…” Adam closed his eyes, for his daughters were so wise, and as always, he was unable to defeat them in the battlefield of facts and logic. “I suppose, as the months pass, I’ll try and think of decent Aldishmen…”

“You can try,” Konarot replied, narrowing her eyes towards her father, for though she was not Jirot, she was still her sister.

There were many within the fortress who were not Iyrmen, like the Seventeenth Blade, who had been requested to remain within the fortress for the night, and in the morning, the Iyr would allow him to leave, and though he could have been unwise to consider it a threat, he understood that he had not drawn his blade, and he had spoken politely, and so his chances of dying were only half, and he did not need to make such a chance worse than the flip of a coin.

It was they, who remained within the fortress surrounded by such Iyrmen, who had no idea about the bloodshed soon to spill the land, as horns blasted, bells rung, and steel clattered.

It was within one of the many fields of the Iyr, those in which the children would play, the Iyrmen gathered, at least one from each family, many numbering two, and those were only the Experts, for there was also a Master from this family, a Grandmaster from that family, all with tattoos upon their foreheads, for they were Iyrmen. The Iyrmen shuffled into position, and though murmurings had echoed through them, quickly, the murmurings stopped, for they were Iyrmen.

A single figure stood before them all, though there were others who remained within the shadows nearby. Her figure cut lean, purple skin, coiled horns, a staff upon her back, upon her tattoo the same as those of the Kat family, and yet she did not possess a name at this time, and within her hands, beads. One hundred beads. Round. Except for two, which were squares, one white, rubbed so through daily prayers, and the other, red, one she did not touch purposefully, though she had done so a few years past, and then a decade or so before, all for the ones named Rot.

Today, she touched the red bead.

“I recall a great many of you complained two years ago,” Elder Peace said.

It was she, perhaps, who was the most dangerous of all the Great Elders.

“Argon,” she called.

The Iyrman was tall and broad, with long black hair which fell to his shoulders, in his mid to late forties or so. He wore a greatsword on his back that was almost as big as he, with a long grip that was about as long as his wrist to his elbow, the blade itself was as wide as the crossbar, a flat, solid thing that was sharpened at the edges. The entire hilt was wrapped in bandages, which hid how the grip met the crossbar.

“Elder Peace,” Argon replied, bowing his head.

“I recall your complaints, though at that time, out of respect for the children’s father, you remained at bay, for you did not wish to intrude upon the family’s matter.”

“That is correct, Great Elder.”

“It must be to your great delight to know the children, while safe, were attacked.”

“I would rather they were never attacked at all, Great Elder, but now that it has come to this, I ask for your understanding,” the Iyrman said, his eyes trailing up to meet hers.

“There are many within the Iyr who perhaps possess a greater claim, but I know how you, and Tazwyn, and Eshva, and Kandal, and even Dargon, all have clamoured for the right to assist, and so, I shall place each of you as Captains.”

“Thank you for this honour, Great Elder,” Argon exclaimed, for if the Great Elder had called for them, then they all knew they would be stepping out soon, but with Argon and his companions claiming the title of Captain, they all understood that it was a very specific type of war.

“Since it involves the Rot family, I will allow the Family Head and the Family Elder to give their recommendations,” the Great Elder assured, for refusing their authority would cause a mess, and even if she was a Great Elder, she was still an Iyrman, and though she was the Great Elder who was able to mobilise the Iyr as a force, the Rot family could always mobilise themselves. “Kamrot, step forward.”

The bald Iyrman, who wore the blue tattoos of the Rot, who carried a shield in hand, and an axe at his side, stepped forward. “Great Elder.”

“Even if you were not a Master, no one would deny you the opportunity to take the role of a Commander, if you so wish for it.”

“I am of three minds, Great Elder.”

“Speak your mind, Kam of the Rot family.”

“I should take the role of Commander, for I am of the Rot family, and they are my greatnieces and greatnephews, but if I rage, it would be best I do not take the role, and yet, my greatchildren, would they not require my arms to protect their hearts?” Kamrot let out a soft sigh, and as he leaned back, he stared up towards the sky, that which had yet to darken like his heart. ‘I wonder, what would Rirot wish at this time?’

“If you are of such minds, you may choose to take the position of Commander in the future, for we are not lacking in Experts, nor Masters or Grandmasters, or Paragons, especially when those who have stepped out with your greatchildren return.”

“Thank you, Great Elder.”

“Shikan, if you have stepped away from your daughter, I shall entrust to you the title of Captain.”

“Thank you!” Shikan declared, and the Great Elder also did so for the others who one might have expected, from Kaygak to Raool, to Gosen, who had stepped out in place of Fonasen, to Tamfev, whose father would return soon with the children, and even, Yarkez, who had no idea the Great Elder would have accepted his connection to the children’s father, for it was so brief.

For they were Iyrmen.

And this was the Iyr.

“There are three fortresses you must claim, the fortress north of Sev, the fortress north of Lipetal, the fortress below the fortress which has already paid the price.”

The Iyrmen remained silent, for there was one fortress, but south of the business, which was closest, and yet had not been named.

“Upon the third night, at midnight, you shall strike,” Elder Peace stated. “There are but a hundred soldiers within these fortresses, many of whom are merely Trained, and if the children find out that even one of you passed during the confrontation, the seeds of doubt shall take root, and the Iyr will never forgive you!”

The Iyrmen exclaimed in response, and with that, the Iyrmen, each of whom had, but a few hours ago, had been enjoying their day, making merriment, and yet were now drawing their steel, forming their ranks, ten to a squad, led by a Captain, ten squads into a company, each led by a Commander, and three hundred was enough, one hundred for each fortress.

Should Kamrot wait, another hundred may be mobilised, for though the Iyr was, as many thought, only fifty thousand strong, it was fifty thousand, strong.

Not one of the Death Squads had been seen during the assembly.

PATREON FOR 30+ CHAPTERS!

Do we get to finally see it? 

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