Beyond Chaos – A DiceRPG

The greatsword was great, that much was for certain. One might say it was Greater Enhanced, for its abilities were truly grand. Though it did not reach the heights of some of the weapons around, for the likes of Jonn, who swung his blade around him to work his muscles, stretching them as a baker might dough, it was incredible.

Why?

Jonn was that kind of Oathsworn.

He could mark an enemy as someone receiving his vengeance, and thus, as Adam would concentrate in a battle, or Jurot would throw caution to the wind, Jonn, too, could wield his blade with terrifying skill.

It was that ability which proved to be so terrifying, but there was another ability, for Oathkeeper, his greatsword, held three enchantments.

A Greater enchantment, thus he could strike easier, and heavier, than even a Basic enchantment.

When he was winded in a battle, instead of becoming weaker, his blade shone with righteous fury, and struck deeper, as though he struck with not a greatsword, but a greatsword and a half.

The last, however, was perhaps the greatest enchantment. It was an enchantment which was in a league of its own, even if someone else wielded the blade, but in the hands of Jonn, who was an Oathsworn? For Jonn, an Oathsworn who could smite his foes?

Whereas one might typically strike true once every twenty blows, taking a momentary chance thanks to Fate, Jonn, on the other hand, could strike true once every ten blows. With his particular ability to mark a foe for vengeance, the chances of such doubled.

It was a beautifully grand blade indeed.

Father John, not a Priest, but a hard working father, huffed. He noted the gleam of orange at the end of his spear, spinning his spear around himself to stretch his muscles, to work them as a woodworker worked wood. As his eyes fell to the spear tip once more, he considered the value of such a tip. It was as long as his hand, but it was worth roughly a year of his salary.

As his sweat poured down his body, John closed off his thoughts, inhaling deeply, before exhaling. Perhaps, one day, far in the future, there would be nobles who would consider him more valuable than such a small piece of metal. No, such was ego. All he had to do was thrust his spear.

Yasha was glad Nirot appeared once more to stop John from working too much, the young father lost in his thoughts to the point he hadn’t even felt the ache in his body. She quickly bathed, dried her hair, and changed into her Aswadian shalwar, her armour, and her trusty spear, the kind that had yet to bleed in battle, but was given to her in trust.

“Sis!” called a young woman, waving her hand towards her, as the young women waited for their friend, having already ordered tea.

“Yasha, you have returned?” asked another in finely dressed attire, the daughter of a merchant, she who spoke words of gold with a silvered tongue.

Yasha smiled, for soon she would no longer see this golden daughter, who thought the world was her playground, with those soft hands of hers. “I have.”

“I heard you left to work for some foreigners?” She shook her head, obviously upset because she was working for outsiders rather than decent, home grown folk.

“It’s a business which works closely with the Iyr,” Yasha said, placing down her spear against the table, much to the merchant daughter’s chagrin.

“The Iyr? They have businesses?” Nehir asked, tilting her head slightly, her scarf shifting slightly to hide her slender neck. “I thought they shared everything? Their food, their cloth, their women?”

“Everything,” the other young woman agreed, nodding her head emphatically.

“I’m not sure about that, but they pay quite well for my work,” Yasha said. “Fifty gold.”

“What!” Ekrin gasped, the woman’s eyes beaming, for though she was barely able to consider herself middle class, alongside Yasha, fifty gold was still a pretty sum for them. “Sis, put in a good word for me!”

“That was for guiding them through Aswadasad, once I join them, the salary is twenty gold each month.”

“Just twenty gold?” Nehir replied, tilting her head once more, almost in disdain, for though she wanted to put Yasha down, for an Aswadian to be paid so poorly, it was against the Will of Noor. “Sister, if you require a job like that, I can pay at least twenty five, that much is appropriate for a warrior like you.”

“They promised to train me into a Master,” Yasha politely replied.

“Do you believe that, sister?” Nehir asked, pity within her eyes.

“I would be stupid if I didn’t believe it after seeing how strong they are,” Yasha replied, letting out an exhausted sigh.

“Are they that strong?”

“One of them is the grandson of the Mad Dog,” Yasha informed, thinking about the fool of a half elf. “No, two of them are the grandsons of the Mad Dog, and even though they’re both twenty four, they’re each Masters already.”

“A twenty four year old Master?” Nehir narrowed her eyes. “If it’s the grandson of the Mad Dog, I suppose that could be the case.”

Yasha was pretty sure Nehir had no idea who that was, but considering she could chalk it up to a bloodthirsty savage if prompted, and she’d be right in her guess, she couldn’t call her out.

“Are you sure it isn’t a cult?” Ekrin asked with concern, reaching out a hand to hold onto Yasha’s. “If you need help, I’ll go to speak with your grandfather secretly!”

“It might be a cult,” Yasha joked, smiling. “They seem honest enough, though.”

“Isn’t that how it always begins?” Nehir was trained not to roll her eyes so overtly, but her raised brow was equivalent.

“I’ll have faith in them since they have faith in me.”

“You should have faith in Lord Noor,” Nehir stated.

‘I’ll ask him to train me into a Grandmaster, then I’ll beat all your guards senseless!’ Yasha smiled politely.

While Yasha had to endure speaking with the women she grew up around, Tork let out a long sigh, staring up at the sky, so cloudy it was, the rain dancing along his grey skin. He had been considering his options for a while, but after a while he realised he was Tork, a horc, and he was going to spill so much blood, one might confuse him for an Iyrman, since that was what he was born to do, it was in his blood.

However…

‘He seems to have taken a bout of a warm heart,’ Tork thought, deciding against speaking with Adam for now.

Mork shuddered, wondering why he was feeling a warmth in his heart for the past few days, looking up towards the clouds, the crackle of lightning striking nearby, thunder rumbling. He was certain he could hear the storm in the night too, but it was awkward, since it seemed to lull him further into slumber within his comfortable bed.

It was the next morning when they were all ready to leave, their carriages rolling onto a nearby ship, but it was not that ship they were most interested in.

Kizwolima stood beside Adam, holding onto his sleeve, all the while the mermen waited to one side, beside their undersea carriage. One of the figures they dared to make wait was the Merman Prince, his long curly hair falling down his back, a golden trident slipping through over a shoulder, adorned in golden scales which shimmered so brightly, threatening to blind those too close.

Adam could feel how tight his chest had become, the darkness of anxiety filling his heart. He swallowed, trying his best to speak up, the half elf clenching his fists tight, trying to gain his courage.

‘Should I send Bael?’ Adam thought, for how else could he assure she was be safe?

“You do not have to worry,” Bael said. “He will not fail his task.”

“You know how the rich are, especially the royals,” Adam replied simply.

“…”

‘Should I beat him so hard he won’t even think about it?’ the half elf thought. ‘Last time I beat him senseless, he dared to misbehave after, so if I beat him properly, if I take an arm, he should understand. If the Emperor wants to come and get beat, I’ll beat him too.’

“You do not have to worry,” Bael repeated, since Adam was emanating that kind of aura, his eyes filling with the intent to see blood. The flashes of the previous year filled Bael’s mind, and though he wouldn’t mind, they did need the mermen to take the child to safety.

“Kizwolima…” Adam began, his throat constricting once more. His eyes began to burn, the half elf flexing his muscles, feeling the rage within his heart. ‘Just an arm or two!’

“If you will not say your greetings, I will,” Bael said, reaching into his cloak, taking out a pair of daggers, a familiar set, the steel shimmering so brightly, mesmerising Kizwolima. “Be careful to not cut yourself on your daggers, it would be embarrassing.”

“Ooh.” Kizwolima gasped, reaching for their handles, the blades themselves covered in leather, and as she grabbed them, she gasped even louder. “Ooh!”

Bael smiled, for no doubt that tingle of magic was decent enough, Legendary, and though he had burned a sliver of his Spark, he didn’t have enough time to channel the storm for an appropriate time to make them Legendary Enhanced. He frowned slightly, feeling as though it was too cheap.

“Hmph! I have a gift for you too!” Adam complained, reaching into his own robes, taking out the silver token, a familiar token to many of the businessfolk. “This silver token, if you bring it to the business, we’ll grant you help, or a Greater Enhanced weapon.”

Bael smirked. ‘Greater…’

“Ooh!”

“Don’t eat it.”

“I know!” Kizwolima huffed, clutching at the silver token, holding it tight in hand. It didn’t tingle as much as the daggers, but her heart still felt so warm.

‘I’ll just take the life of one of his guards and then he’ll understand, right? As long as I don’t harm the Prince, it should be fine?’ Adam thought.

“That girl,” Bael began, holding the Prince’s gaze. “I favour her.”

“I understand, Your G-,”

A flash of blue filled the air, the crackling of lightning rumbling through the air an instant later, as the lightning blasted the Merman Prince off his feet, though he made the fortunate choice not to draw his trident, instead blocking his face with his arms as his body flung over the docks towards the sea.

‘Bael! What the fu-,’

“Noorhabi!” Kal Fadi gasped.

The Faro blinked.

PATREON LINK

Bael reminding everyone Adam isn’t so bad.