Beyond Chaos – A DiceRPG

“We have always said it, the Aldish are fools, to trouble Iyrmen children…” Afraz tutted, his eyes dark and full of anger. “To kill a man’s sons and daughters, they should have expected worse.”

“We have dealt with it,” Laygak replied, catching the older man’s eyes. 

“It is certain you have, for you are the Iyr and your children were killed,” Afraz stated, as though it were a truth of the universe. “The children, they are well?”

“They are doing better now, and with a father like theirs, and grandaunt watching over them, they will remain well.”

“Good, good” Afraz replied, gently nodding his head, brushing along his thick moustache. “Tell your grandaunt, now that the years have passed, she is welcome in Aswadasad once more, and in this village, which is so close to Arisa.”

“I will tell her,” Laygak promised. “You are welcome within the Iyr too.”

“No, no, no. I cannot go. If I go, it will be awkward for her husband.” The old man’s lips twitched slightly. “Since I am so handsome, she will fall for me.”

Laygak smiled, shrugging his shoulders. The old man fussed over Taygak, making sure she ate the flatbread, the soup, and even brought her more fruit and vegetables, for the old man knew what it meant for her to hold no tattoos. However, the old man had done so much for Gangak, and she spoke so highly of him, that Laygak was sure he needed to do more for him. 

“Do you have any apprentices?” the young Iyrman asked. 

“No, no, no.” Afraz held out his hands. “At that time, I lost everything. Not my sword, not my handsome face, not my silver, but everything else? My love? My joy? My pride? I drink all I can. If there are beasts who draw too close, the young deal with them. If there is greater enemies, I will go. If the Reavers come, I will face them, tipsy, with ice in my heart. No sons, no daughter. No wives, no mistresses. No apprentices. My master died so many years ago, but I still remained filial, I went to his funeral, but… no more. Shukhur, this is my life.”

Laygak nodded his head slowly, understanding that the old man had lived a brutally depressing life. “You did not lose everything, Drake of the Hill. In the Iyr, we still speak your tales. My niece, Jirot, the one that troubles her father most, she speaks of your tales. She says that her greatmother’s tales are best, and you, Afraz, are not so bad.”

Afraz laughed, slapping his knees in laughter. “Then I will die with such praise in my heart! I ask you, Iyrmen! Speak my tales, on and on, so that the world may know I, Afraz, have lived!”

Laygak smiled, for he understood the pain of Afraz, for he was a Gak, whose tales would have long been buried in history, if not for the fact he was an Iyrman.”You, Afraz, have lived.”

Afraz laughed again, the chill still within his heart, and the old man reached out for his drink once more, ready to drown the chill in the warmth of the alcohol, making sure the young Iyrman before him also drank. 

“He is Aldish,” one whispered, the woman eyeing up Mork, who ate his stew and drank his milk. “He is too pale not to be.”

“Such beautiful pale skin,” the other woman agreed. 

“Beautiful? The Aldish must cleanse their skin, for their hearts are too dark,” the young man stated, annoyed that Mork was currently seducing away the woman he was crushing on. ‘I should beat him. At least he’s not red, or worse, grey.’

Tork yawned, stretching out his back and neck. “John, you done eatin’?”

“I’m done,” John replied, getting up and stretching, glad the Aswadians had shown mercy, the meal only lightly spiced, barely enough to tingle his tongue. 

“Bavin,” Tork called, and the young Iyrman stood, for though they were in Aswadasad, it was best to go about walking with an Iyrman, for it made many think twice, and he could already feel the glare of the various villagers about, unlike the glares his brother received. ‘Different blanket, same fleas.’

The group found little bother within the village, each taking it upon themselves to make sure there could be no bother, and after each of them began to spill gold and silver for the various crafts of the villagers, and even though they were paying exorbitant prices for such, the villagers seemed far more eager to host them. 

Mork, taking the hint from the half elf, had called forth lightning, upon Bael, who eagerly accepted the lightning and tossed it into the air with greater might than even the Priest, the flashing blues illuminating the air, and causing the Aswadians to cheer. 

The spars also began, with Tanagek and Chosen running a gauntlets, each defeating five warriors back to back, and Adam thought about stepping forward, but Dunes and Jurot kept a hand upon his shoulder. Taygak, too, stepped forward, to an awkward young man, who was at least eighteen, several years her senior. However, unfortunately for him, she was adorned head to heel in steel, and understood he was a sacrificial lamb for the young woman. 

“Haha! Thank you so much for sparring with out Taygak, Faizal!” Adam called, shaking the young man’s forearm. He glanced aside, wondering what he could gift him. Adam was certain handing over coin would be awkward, but what else could he gift? “John. Bring the spear.”

John stood, clutching the spear tightly in his hands, approaching the half elf. 

“I hope you can accept this spear as a gift,” Adam said, handing the bloodsteel spear to the young man. 

The young man glanced aside towards the Rais, whose eyes fell to Dunes, who nodded his head, allowing the half elf to cause a little bit of trouble, and with that, Faizal accepted the spear excitedly. 

Adam let out a soft sigh of relief. ‘If it’s this much, they won’t hold any hard feelings, will they?’ 

John sat to one side, feeling his heart sink a little, though he killed the disappointment within his heart. Once the villagers had their fill of fun for the evening, they began to slip away to their homes, and those of the United Kindom, save for one. 

“Oh dear, oh dear,” Adam said, reaching out to hold John’s shoulder. “It seems as though I gifted away the spear I handed to you. I guess, once we’re at the Jabalhab, I’ll need to buy you an even nicer spear to make it up to you.”

John’s heart beat quickly for a moment, his cheeks flushing slightly. He noted Adam’s expression, that of contentment, for he had found the perfect excuse to lighten his purse even more, only causing the young father to wonder just how much the half elf was able to spend on their journey. At some point, wasn’t he going to run out of gold?

Afraz eyed up the older Aswadian who had accompanied the half elf. He slowly bowed his head, and Ashmir returned the boy of his own head, eventually the old Aswadians shared their drinks, Zabir also joining them.

“Does he know who you are?” Afraz asked.

“He does,” Ashmir replied.

Afraz smiled, pouring them each drinks. “I still remember the beating you gave me.”

Ashmir shook his head lightly. “I have forgotten most of my days.”

“Noor bless you,” Afraz said.

Ashmir nodded his head lightly, respectfully, in a way that suggest he cared little for the Divine. 

“Why did you fight?” Zabir asked.

“I almost joined the arena after what happened, but Ashmir stopped me,” Afraz said.

“Hmm,” Ashmir replied. “I remember. Your hair was longer.”

“So was yours.”

Ashmir smirked. 

The next morning, the carriages were ready to roll out of the town, towards the road north easterly, heading up towards the next village. Several guards joined them, and since the horses were to be used to send the tax to the nearby town, they instead joined as drivers, eager to guide them forward. The villagers were shocked by the pouches of silver Adam offered to each of the families, as well as the Rais, on top of the gold coins he was offering to each of the drivers. 

“Hey, you said we couldn’t give money for hospitality, but I’m not giving money for hospitality, I’m giving money for the service the guides are providing,” Adam said, shrugging his shoulders innocently, as though he didn’t know what he was doing. 

‘Should I go too?’ Afraz thought, staring at the carriages, but his heart sank. ‘My time is long over.’

As the carriages finally slipped away, Afraz held up his cup of grainwine, and tossed it over the wall. He shuffled his way down, finding the Rais ready to tell him off once more. 

“You should behave properly!” the Rais grumbled at him. 

“Behave properly? I kept the Lion King company.”

“You! This is why-,” the woman began, before freezing. “En?”

“That old man, the one with the spear,” Afraz said, only realising they both wielded a spear. “Ashmir, the one that did not wear the armour.”

“En?” The Rais remained frozen in place. “Is this another one of your…”

Except… didn’t it seem like his tales were true?

‘I wonder if they will meet Ramizash?’ Afraz thought, feeling the intense heat upon his skin, for the noonval sun always beat so heavily upon him and his frozen heart.

Goodbye Afraz.