Beyond Chaos – A DiceRPG

Bavin’s cheeks flushed pink from the attention of their gazes. Ashmir thought to save him, as the Order members prepared to greet him, but thankfully another stood up, stopping the approaching figures.

“May I also request a spar?” the red skinned Iyrman asked, smiling brightly towards the group. “Though I am not as talented as my cousins, I too am an Iyrman, a Gak, who uses the blade, and sitting within this Order, I feel the burning desire within my heart.”

A young man who had joined them to listen to their tales stepped forward. He was fairly tall, with angular features, his skin dark, save for the lightness of a scar across his cheek for when he had once offended a great figure who had let him off just a single mark. His annoyance seemed evident enough, having remained far enough away from Dunes so as to not lay his hands upon a Mo, but as he stepped opposite the Iyrman, he grinned.

Laygak smiled in return, drawing his sword, holding it out in front of him. Neither wore their shields, for it was a simple enough spar between two warriors, each of similar age. ‘What a handsome fellow…’

“My name is Bilal,” the young man said, flipping his sword over the back of his hand before taking a wide stance before the Iyrman, the kind that was obviously asking for death, so full of inefficiencies. However, Laygak could feel it. The look within his eyes that dared to face the world, though he was born with misfortune.

“Laygak.”

“I heard that your companions fought in a tournament years past,” Bilal said. “Did you also fight in the same?”

“I placed fifth.”

Bilal’s eyes widened, the young man standing a little taller, grasping his blade with both hands in front of him. “A finish within the top ten is marvellous.”

“I placed after my companions, Nobby, Nirot, Uwajin, and Naqokan. I placed fifth after them, and above the one who placed sixth.”

Faool glanced aside, Bilal catching the look, realising why the Iyrman had said something so ridiculous. Bilal smirked.

“Nobby, was it?” Taher asked, recalling the name. “You are the one who fought the Reaver, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“I heard it was strong.”

“Yes. I lost.”

“It was close,” a voice called out, causing almost the entire Order to glance his way, one of the few who could do such a thing. He reached down to steal a piece of Kizwolima’s fruit, one of the few who could do such a thing, the girl gasping in betrayal.

“You look young,” Taher accused.

“Yes,” Nobby replied.

“How old are you?”

“I am twenty one.”

‘This is getting out of hand!’ Taher thought, for how could anyone suggest that a twenty one year old could face against the likes of a Reaver? “How strong are you?”

“He is greater than an Expert,” Jurot said, placing down the cup of pink tea, shielding the young man from the eyes of the Order. “He learnt the way of the Rot family.”

“The same path as the Mad Dog?” Taher mused, noting the body of the young man. If he was barely beyond an Expert, and yet could clash with a Reaver, it wasn’t just because he was a Rage Dancer, but that his physical prowess was among the greatest. He had already spotted John, but Nobby, too, held such great natural ability.

Even Tanagek and Chosen understood, for they knew that Nobby was roughly as experienced as them, though he was their junior by a few years, and yet though they themselves held great natural talent, Nobby was someone who held great talent even among those with great talent.

“The Reaver, was it truly as strong as a Grandmaster?” Taher asked.

“They were stronger than your Sheaths,” the voice said, drawing all their eyes upon him once more, this time cutting a piece of an apple for the girl, who thanked him and munched upon the apple loudly.

“We will speak of what we know in the evening,” Jurot promised, unsure why Bael was picking a fight with them in such a way. “I hope you will spar with our companions.”

“It is always a pleasure to do so,” Taher replied, for though he was just a crippled old man now, he was still the First Blade’s elder brother, and so if he made such a promise, the Order would need to keep it. “I do not recall a time when so many Iyrmen visited us at once in such a manner.”

Laygak smiled, more than eager to allow his companions to show off, but he supposed it was his turn. His sword felt heavy within his hands, his heart throbbing wildly. He was just glad that the young man ahead of him was just like him, although, he supposed he wasn’t exactly like himself.

As the fellow stepped forward, Laygak clashed blades with him, the ringing of the steel duller than the previous bouts. The pair were both Experts, but they understood what it meant for their blades to sing with such a dull tone.

Bilal held little talent. Yet as he swung his blade, almost desperately, Laygak’s heart stirred. As the pair fought, it was unlike a battle between two Experts, for this was not a battle of the talented. It was that kind of battle, the kind where two young men, both desperate, formed from their lack of talent, from their harsh lives, so desperate to cling to relevancy. Yet, as Laygak loomed over Bilal, he could feel the difference between them. Though Laygak had won over Bilal, he lost.

“You fought well,” Laygak said.

“Brother,” Bilal called, holding out a hand, and Laygak smiled, the pair clasping hands. Bilal’s singular word had asked, and Laygak’s smile had replied.

Laygak stepped away, glad he was able to win in front of his sister, burying the sorrow within his heart. He knew it. He and Bilal were almost equally as talented, that was to say, they both held little talent compared to the monsters that were within their Order, the Tahers and the Adams. Yet, though the pair held such similar talent, perhaps such similar tales, Laygak’s ended here.

‘Is it Fate for us to meet?’ Laygak thought. ‘It is such a shame I have already spoken the words.’

Faool, the only one who understood Laygak’s thoughts, wondered if things would have changed if he had met Bilal a year ago. ‘A great shame.’

“Is anyone willing to face me?” Tagak asked, causing another member of the Order so step forward. The fellow was a tall young man, and from the reactions from his companions, was apparently a surprising figure to step forward. Though one might have thought he was tall, he was also rather wide. His skin as black as ink, his eyes hazel, almost amber, his hair short, but thick, his a thicker moustache hid his lip, a short but thick beard outlined his sharp jaw.

“I am Deen,” the figure said, one of two who had become an Expert so young, the other being the Talentless Bilal who annoyed him to no end.

“It is my honour to face you,” Tagak said, holding his blade ahead of himself. As he did, he felt the overwhelming pressure of Deen against his shoulders.

As Deen held out his blade with both hands, a longsword borrowed from his companion, he continued to oppress upon the young Iyrman. However, noting how well built Tagak was, he realised the young man had also reached the natural peak of one’s strength, just like himself. There was something else about Tagak. He hadn’t felt it with Tanagek, he hadn’t felt it with Chosen, and though Laygak had displayed it slightly, it was Tagak who embodied it.

Tagak had something to prove.

‘Watch me, Laygak, Taygak,’ Tagak thought, fairly certain he was outmatched by his opponent, but even so, he could not step back. If anyone was going to be making a name for the Gak family, it was one who held the name of Gak.

Their steel rang through the air, Deen’s viciousness on full display. He fought as one would have expected of him, his blade flashing white hot with holy magic, a smite exploding against the Iyrman. Yet, as they fought, the holy magic forcing Tagak back, his explosive swordplay, deadly and efficient, to survive the bout, or to at least take an arm, forced Deen back.

The bout came to an abrupt halt when their blades shattered under the force of their heavy blows. Tagak panted, drenched with the sweat of effort, and though Deen was boiling within his armour and under the noonval sun, he was sweating further because of how difficult Tagak was to force away, glad their blades had broken.

Meanwhile the Order were suffering from the whiplash of the bout. Deen, who would one day take the mantle of First Blade, with a talent that was said to have matched Taher, and who had soared into an Expert so young, faced against an Iyrman he had never heard of, who had somehow managed to fight to a stalemate.

Tagak’s heart pounded within his chest. “It was a great fight, thank you.”

“It was my honour,” Deen admitted, wondering how long it had been since he had fought someone around his age who had been able to bring him to the edge.

Tagak, on the other hand, understood the gap between them. He was a few years Deen’s senior, and not only that, had only managed to bring the fight to a draw because of a pair of lucky blows towards the end of their spar. It may have been the way their family fought, but in that fight, he had been especially fortunate. If their blades hadn’t broken, he was certain he would have lost, if narrowly.

“Do not act as though you had lost,” Laygak teased.

“In my heart, I lost,” Tagak replied simply.

“Look at my sister and then speak the wor-,”

“Taygak! Fight!” the teen Iyrman almost exclaimed, standing up, her eyes beaming with the Iyrmanly urge to sweat through battle.

‘You fought too well, Tagak,’ Laygak thought.

PATREON LINK

Oh, Taygak...