Beyond Chaos – A DiceRPG

“I was active in the Confederacy,” Shagek explained upon seeing the Aldishman’s face, before pointing his silver blade at the Aldishman, who held a name in these lands, but Shagek didn’t mind killing him first before learning it. “Are you stronger than the Sparrow?”

“…” The Aldishman realised far too late the mistake they had made, for if this Iyrman spoke so dismissively of Vice Commander Harrow, also known as Harrow the Sparrow, there was no way he had any chance to defeat him.

Dogek cut off Wraith Blade’s arm, the Aldishman grunting in pain as he swung his blade with his one good arm, but Dogek’s sword swung down with the grief in his heart. Perhaps, after actually killing Wrath Blade, he could be worthy of their affection?

The Iyrman’s eyes then fell to the fight nearby. Her rapier carved through the air, her body moving as though she herself was a rapier, but flexing far too much considering her age. Her rapier narrowly slipped through the Shade Dagger’s weapons, then pierced through within the woman’s throat. 

Dogek reached up to his neck, where the Iyrman had stabbed her the previous year, it pulsing. Even though he had beaten her so viciously for her words, she hadn’t been quite so easy as most might have expected. 

Shade Dagger dropped her daggers, before she followed after them. Keiwyj panted, feeling the burn within her chest, before she glanced aside to find Dogek staring at her. She stood up taller, still panting for air, unable to form words. 

Dogek bowed his head slowly, and the woman returned the bow, and with Dogek’s acknowledgement, most of the guilt and shame slipped away. 

“Bloodblade, eh?” someone famous from Aldland said, her voice light and playful. “You do not remember me, but I remember you.”

“I remember you,” Shasen replied, his blade, which was as red as blood, holding the woman at bay. “You are the sister of Dire Destiny.”

“Could I request you allow me to step back?” the woman asked, smiling, but the nerves in her eyes were evident. 

“You may request it, but…” Shasen’s tone implied all she needed to know, for things had escalated too far, and Shasen had been asked to clean it up. The moment they had drawn blades, it was over. 

“I see…” The pair paused their clash, Shasen allowed her to step back and compose herself. “My sister always warned me. She told me to be careful, since you are all so… awe inspiring.”

“I apologise.” Shasen bowed his head, seeing the look upon her face through her visor. “Would you prefer it was another’s blade?”

“No, no. If it was another’s blade, I would die with regrets. I have a favour, though...” She waited for Shasen to nod, and when he did, she glanced around, towards the lifeless bodies around her, all Aldish. “Will you return my body to her?”

Shasen inhaled sharply at the request, but seeing the look in the woman’s eyes, the last light of hope, he bowed his head. “Okay.”

“Thank you.”

The pair engaged in battle once more, but the outcome was obvious. However, even to Bloodblade, she refused to fall without at least scarring the Iyrman, leaving a mark he would never forget, but it was not the scar against his shoulder which hurt the most. 

Chosen panted, leaning over to rest his elbows over his knees, the Iyrman glancing aside to his father. “You should not have fought! You fought the last year.”

“Last year, it was a Vice Commander of the Purple Blades, this time it was…” Mosen decided against saying more, since his son would certainly complain he stole all the fun. “Let us drink.”

“Who was it?” Chosen complained, gritting his teeth, but what could he do to his father, who rose alongside the likes of Tonagek? 

Kamrot groaned in pain, the Iyrman dropping to a knee, having barely defeated his opponent. He was moments away from passing out, but he had done it. ‘My eyes are still so keen, even after all these years! Did you see, my greatchildren? Your babo is strong!’

“You fought well, uncle,” Gorot said, also taking to a knee, the Iyrman resting his greatsword over his shoulder, the shark teeth edge wet with crimson, with sprinkles of the pink of Aldish flesh. 

“You should have used an axe!”

“I did not want to embarrass myself in front of my sons,” Gorot replied, before he reached over to his daughter, ruffling her hair. 

“You did not,” Nirot said, who had almost died, if it hadn’t been for her father. Her father almost lost his life in the process of helping her, if it hadn’t been thanks to someone who also used a blade with an edge like shark teeth.

“Damn it!” Baztam snarled, having killed two figures who held a name within Aldland, but before he could claim a third, the battle was mostly over. “Wake up! Wake up!” 

“Granduncle, it is over,” Haytam said, glad her granduncle had come to help her. No doubt he would have thought he had only killed two, but considering he had helped kill three opponents, while also simultaneously fighting two others, she couldn’t help but feel the pride of being a Tam. 

“Over? How will they give me a new name if I do not slaughter more? They should call me Baztam the Slaughterer!”

“No, it should be Baztam the Bloody Shoulder,” Haytam joked.

“Why are you worried about my bloody shoulder when you are not married yet, brat?”

Meanwhile, Okvar sat beside his opponent, annoyed he had shown such a poor showing to the twins. “Thank you again, Rasam.”

“You are too old now, Okvar,” Rasam joked, though she glanced aside towards the fort, waving her hand at the twins as their father pointed towards the pair. 

“Were they watching?”

“Would you have fought if they hadn’t?”

“I would have fought, but I should have fought better!” Okvar closed his eyes, feeling their tiny breaths against his chest. He thought of the twins, covered in mud when they were born, and then recalled the look in Adam’s eyes when Dunes had almost killed them out of mercy. ‘Why did I not show at least that much to them!’

“Okay?” Marmak asked, cleaning his greatsword.

“Okay,” Bavin replied, the young Iyrman frowning. He was only an Expert, but he should have had a better showing. What would they say?

“Why are you upset?”

“I have disappointed grandfather…”

“No,” Marmak said, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “If he is, I will…” Marmak thought about his chances against the likes of Bovin. “I will ask the Lion King to beat him again.”

Bavin stared up at Butcher Marmak, who had surprised his opponent, and even when the second opponent had tried to kill the Iyrman, she had been systematically slaughtered by the Iyrman who had made his name in another land. Bavin smiled slightly, since even Butcher Marmak, who was to Aswadasad as Jarot was to Aldland, would need to ask another to beat his grandfather. 

Shayfev pierced the Wandering Spear’s skull with her own spear, spinning her weapon, before planting it firmly in the ground. ‘Did you see? My little Jarot, my little Jirot…’

Her cousin smiled, though it was hidden behind his thick beard. His smile dropped. His eyes darted to the twins. ‘I forgot to tell them to watch! I’m sorry, cousin.’ Malfev reached up to cover his face in shame. 

“Okay?” Lozys asked, his arms crossed. 

“Okay,” Yizys replied, as though she wasn’t a match for her cousin, who made up one of the Ten Paragons of the Iyr. 

The song of death began to quieten out, as Blessed Blade Koyah watched the last fight. The two warriors, both Oathsworn, both using a glaive, and both with amazing epithets, like his own. 

“Sorry,” Rajin said, approaching beside Blessed Blade, having decapitated Hammer Hand. Out of respect, he had held back, resisting the urge to take the man’s arms.

“Did I not ask to fight him?” Koyah asked. “I wanted to show off in front of Asorot.”

“He may have defeated you…” Rajin replied, letting the matter of Asorot drop, since though he was a member of the Rot family, Koyah was no doubt still saddened by the boy’s movement. At the very least, he accepted it, calling the boy by his proper name, so he didn’t need to beat Koyah. 

“So? What if he defeated me? It would have been a good fight!”

“You do not have permission to lose today.”

Koyah let out a loud sigh, the older Iyrman glaring at the world before him. “I should have fought to become a Paragon…”

“You fought well.”

“Only the likes of…” Koyah glanced down at the Aldishman, who probably had a wonderful epithet too. She did, but unfortunately… 

“Why are you looking when you are so terrible with names?” Rajin asked.

“I remember some names,” Koyah retorted. “I remembered King’s Sword, Sir… Harold Merryweather.”

“Everyone knows of King Merryweather.”

“He is a King now?” Koyah joked, standing over the dead body whose name he still didn’t know, but at least Rajin did. 

“Vibak, if you take this long, it is a shame to those who returned your glaive,” Rajin said, his quiet voice barely carrying over their clash. 

Vibak silenced Wind of the Tempest forever. “Sorry.”

Vovol yawned, surprised none of the Aldishmen had made a run for it, the woman slipping her arrow back into her quiver. ‘Why did they bring so few?’ 

“Haa…” Keiwyj half limped her way back to the fort, rubbing her back, feeling the twinge that had plagued her for decades now.

“Do you feel better now?” Vovol asked.

“Yes,” Keiwyj admitted. “Did they see?”

“I am sure they saw,” Vovol said. “Mad Dog would have done that much.”

The pair held one another’s gaze. 

Wouldn’t he?

Poor Shasen.

Baztam needs to chill. He’s 2/0/3 just in this battle.