Beyond Chaos – A DiceRPG

“What a nice old lady,” Adam whispered, following the Priest to another stall so they could buy more clothing.

“For once, looks are not deceiving, for Sayf adh Shabah, though she may be called Ghost Blade, was forced to take the blade, she did not choose it,” Dunes said, frowning slightly, for even when he was young, he could feel the gentle warmth that emanated from the woman. “She was young when she found the blade, and though she wished to give the blade away, who would protect her and her family? There are many who do not fear the Divine as they should, who would take the blade from her forcibly, and perhaps commit greater atrocities against her and her family.”

“Yeah…” Adam could feel his own heart drop, thinking of something happening to his children. His sons had been killed quickly, painlessly, and so he had cut their heads clean off, of the Vice Commander and his apprentice. His daughter, however…

Adam was glad he had tied himself to the Iyr. Chained as he was, could he have survived the previous year without them? Could he have forced the combination of Orders, to create one of the greatest Orders imaginable, to force close their gates for a whole century?

“Kal Shabnam,” Dunes began, before turning over his shoulder to explain. “Once they have reached Experts, others may refer to them as Kal, and it is good manners to do so, though they themselves cannot call themselves a Kal until they are Masters, which she is.”

“Oh?” Adam said, raising his brows. ‘I suppose it’s not extremely hard to identify an Expert, and only slightly more difficult to figure out a Master.

“The Ghost Blade was one of the few who reached Expert as quickly as you, and while the average warrior with talent gains the rank of Master at almost forty, she did so at thirty,” Dunes said, a tone of reverence permeating through his words.

“That’s amazing,” Adam replied, for she was a woman in Aswadasad, and not a fool of a father in the Iyr with a system which allowed him to cheat his way to the top.

Dunes glanced back towards the half elf, who held a small smirk of satisfaction. It took a moment to realise why, the Priest shaking his head lightly. ‘Oh, Adam.’

“That other name you mentioned, what was it? Radiant Blade, was it?”

“Sayf adh Mashi’aya, The Radiant Blade,” Dunes confirmed. “Please do not speak her name, for if she comes, my heart will give up.”

“Is she that strong?”

“It is not that she is so strong, she is,” Dunes stated firmly, glancing back towards Kal Uli for a moment, the Priest clearing his throat. “It is that her blade is one of duty. She swore herself to the Shen’s family to assist, and she is considered a peer of the Western Scimitar, our King’s Sword, though…”

“Though?”

“Sayf adh Dahab, The Blade of Gold, is not a title in use at this time, for the sword has not chosen it’s wielder in centuries,” Dunes informed.

Adam gasped, his eyes wide, the half elf’s mouth agape. “You’re telling me there is an Aswadian Excalibur? Mo Dunes! Why are you only telling me this now?”

Dunes chuckled, holding up his hands, as if he had little choice in the matter. “You have spent so many years in Aldland, hearing of its tales, and we have spent but weeks in Aswadasad, and there is much to speak of.”

“I don’t know man,” Adam replied, flashing a wide smile. “I need to know everything about this sword!”

“Soon,” the Priest assured as he approached a wooden stall, draped with hundreds of scarves, many packed away neatly, others behind the stall within the gahdun that was blocked off by wooden fences, the dim light peeking through doing little against the half elf’s eyes.

It was the devilkin woman, however, whose skin was almost pure white, like snow, which caused the half elf’s eyes to stutter away from the scarves. Her eyes an icy blue, head wrapped withing a heavy scarf, and thick clothing which would have meant she was sweltering in this noonval heat, and one might have thought she was a fool, for this was not the Aldish heat, but the Aswadian heat. Her face was covered in tattoos of black, her eyes a half glare, and as Dunes approached, she crossed her wrists in front of her, forming a cross with her arms, and the half elf slowed his steps, but Dunes returned the gesture, the pair bowing their heads.

“How may I assist you, Mo of Jabal Adh Aswad?”

“I have come to procure scarves, for my family, friends, and many others,” Dunes admitted, reaching through multiple layers of clothing, for stashed within his sash was an item that he could only spend in certain places, and this was such a place. He placed down the golden object, a half moon stamped with the Shen’s profile upon one end, and an inscription of a phrase which one could use to find when it had been cast, trailing all the way to the other side, where a hole that matched the size of the portrait allowed one to keep the gold hanging, displayed proudly to reveal one’s wealth. The golden object, only used for certain transactions, worth one hundred gold.

“There is so much gold to spend?” the woman asked.

“I have many scarves to buy,” Dunes replied.

Adam wondered if this was some kind of code, fairly certain it was, so he remained silent. The woman eyed up the half moon, which was the size of one’s palm, heavy and thick, before she slipped it within her many layers of clothing, and she bowed her head.

“I wish for those from the far east,” Dunes stated.

“I will take but a moment, Brother of Black Mountain,” the woman said, drawing her curtains, leaving them to the front of the stall without worry.

“The far east has the best scarves?” Adam asked.

“No, but they are considered to be luxurious, and I wish to buy a few to gift for my children’s fifth birthdays,” Dunes said. “I may not be able to return for some time, so it is best I do so now.”

“Why won’t you be able to return?”

“The business will remain busy for some time, due to the Reavers,” Dunes replied, certain he would be allowed to remain at the business. There was the slightest chance he would be forbidden, but he was sure his Priest Commander would be wise enough to understand.

Wouldn’t he?

“I suppose so, but if you want to come by now and again, just let me know, and if it’s dangerous, I’ll come along and maybe I’ll bring some of my family along, I mean, I’m sure my grandfather would love to feel the heat against his skin, and my grandmother’s exile has passed, so we can just have a little family outing, and if some Reavers want to come along and give us something fun to do, wonderful,” Adam replied, half joking, half serious, the smirk upon his lips dissuading any notions of arrogance.

“Then I should bring Amira, Ranya, and Enisa, for it would be good for them to feel the heat against their bones, for the cold makes one brittle, and the best of steel is forged in heat,” Dunes replied, half joking, half serious.

“I should probably…” Adam began, though he stopped, feeling the chill within his heart, a pang of anxiety which cooled his bones.

The woman returned a short while later, finding the half elf’s eyes scanning across all the scarves. She undid several wooden walls nearby, revealing the fences were double layered, and she placed down the wood in such a way to expand the stall outward and inward, drawing the curtains out to extend the space of her stall slightly, feeling confident thanks to the Black Lion who accompanied the pair, he who allowed them to walk freely through the market.

The woman brought out a small basin of water, allowing the man to rinse and dry his hands, before he felt each swatch of scarf, each white, but there was also swatches of black, to see how it felt dyed too. Dunes felt the different blends, the different materials of all the swatches of the scarves, finding a few which would be good to gift to his wife, to his children, and all his nieces and nephews.

“Mo Dunes, I did not complain when you spent that much gold, right?” Adam asked, his voice laced with a threat.

Dunes smiled, nodding his head gently. “My friend here, Brother Adam, will wish to spend much coin on such scarves, as well as those of simpler designs and means.”

“I have many wares,” the woman replied, her voice calm, almost seductive, but not for their hearts. “If you have the coin.”

“I need to buy at least a few hundred scarves,” Adam replied without missing a beat, for how dare she suggest he could not afford such items?

“One hundred?” the woman asked.

“More,” Adam replied. “I want to buy a few of these nicer ones, for my wife, who is…”

Dunes glanced aside to see the half elf struggle to not speak so highly of his wife, half embarrassed, half annoyed, constantly fighting the urge to show off, but he couldn’t show off too much, just in case it was too dangerous, even with a Mo of Black Mountain and a Kal of Black Lion.

“My wife is the most beautiful, most wonderful, Priestess,” Adam said, before Dunes grabbed him by the elbow.

“She is a Priest,” Dunes corrected to the woman. “He is still not comfortable with Aswadic.”

“Oh! Right, right, because Priestess means something else, doesn’t it?” Adam said. “Sorry, my bad. You’d be even more surprised to learn what kind of Priest she is, and it’s definitely not a Priestess.”

Dunes sighed, unsure if even he and the Kal of Black Lion could babysit Adam, though thankfully, the half elf’s twitching lips revealed he was doing his best to keep himself out of trouble. “We would also like to buy a scarf of every colour. Adam, will you be able to afford every colour?”

Adam scoffed, reaching up to his collar, popping it as he threw his shoulders, the half elf reaching up to pretend to fix his turban. “Can I afford it? Can I, Adam, High Alchemist of the United Kindom, not the union between countries but the business near the Iyr, afford a scarf of every colour?”

A arrogant pregnant pause.

“I mean, I don’t know? How much is it?”

Adam’s rich, but he might not be wealthy.