Beyond Chaos – A DiceRPG

Curves as perfect as the moon.

Glowing silver as perfect as the moon.

Heaviness as perfect as the moon.

Yes.

It was perfect.

The blade brought down on the figure known as the Mad Dog, scratching across his skin to paint the thinnest laceration, and as blood bloomed from the beautiful wound, the silver heat of a smite flooded through him. It was not just so, for the words which slipped from the woman’s lips called forth a great magic which rocked his mind, as though hammering his head with her magic.

“Babo!” cried a voice, trembling.

“Out of my respect, I did not hold back,” the woman said, and as her sabre blurred through the air once more, she stepped forward, ready to cut down the wall known as the Mad Dog.

“My greatdaughter’s voice is full of such desperation,” the old man said, and as his brass kissed skin flooded red, his axe fell with a weight.

Rough as the Iyr.

Deadly as the Iyr.

Heavy as the Iyr.

Yes.

It was the Iyr.

The ringing steel forced the woman back, her sabre barely managing to deflect the vicious blow, and though she had leapt back, the Iyrman stepped forward, as confident as she had.

“My greatchildren have not yet seen it,” the Iyrman said, his muscles taut, his body panther lean, forged through this grief, and as the wooden leg fell onto the earth, crushing the grass beneath, the old man’s grin grew even wilder. “Was a Fourth Gate spell always this weak?”

Though he was already bleeding, the Iyrman’s red skin seemed to hide the blood, if not outright stop it as he danced within his rage. Full Moon’s arm shuddered lightly from the force of the Iyrman’s blow, and it was certainly he who once traversed through Aldland causing such havoc.

“Heavy, as perfect as the moon,” the Full Moon chanted, and once more her sabre glowed the purple of twilight under the moonless sky, and her blade blurred through the air, cutting across the Iyrman’s neck, blood spraying outwards, and though she could have staggered a typical Expert, and though the Iyrman winced, for her spell was that great, his body did not shirk its duty, and he stepped forward. As the axe scraped across her armour, the woman’s blade blurred once more, throwing caution to the wind, for to outlast the ones known as Rage Dancers within the Iyr, especially those with such tattoos, was only the greatest fool’s folly.

Yet, though her blows rained heavily upon the Iyrman, it was she who leapt backwards, barely managing to deflect his heavy blows, but again, each time she wielded her Fourth Gate spell, even bringing forth the greatness of the Fifth Gate, though it did not empower it any further. It was not just the Fourth Gate spell she wielded, for with every blow, she struck with the might of a secondary smite, the very same which one might describe as a certain fool’s bread and butter, striking the Iyrman with blows which could stagger, and perhaps outright slay a typical Expert.

No.

She was certain of it.

Had she fought an Expert, every blow would have forced an Expert to kneel.

Even though she knew the great fortitude of those known as Rage Dancers, shouldn’t he had fallen by now? If he had been any other Rage Dancer, the Iyrman certainly would have taken a knee before her, and yet the smiling beast stepped forward, covered in wounds which would have killed lesser warriors, those whom had reached even Master, and were he even a typical Grandmaster, even an Oathsworn, he would have met his end at the tip of her sabre.

Yet…

“A Paragon?” Jarot mused as her blade cut into his shoulder, the Iyrman flexing his shoulder muscle, which was almost like steel when he danced, and he grinned wide. “Yes. Yes! You should be at least that strong to dare have such courage!”

The ringing of magical steel continued to fill the air, and though the Iyrman was covered in blood, his grin did not falter.

Then, there came a point when her blows did not even cause him to wince. For there was one particular type of blow which could cause those of the Rot family to wince, and Oathsworn were able to wield such great powers, but it was those who had reached the title of Grandmaster who could wield such grand smites. Paragons could wield them four times.

Four times.

Though Jurot had managed to resist the first, when he had not begun his dance, the rest had struck him to his core to the point he had to fight his arms to step forward and attack. Every blow was laboured, but as her blade struck his steely body, he flexed and grinned wildly.

“Ah? Do you only possess those of Third Gate? Second Gate?” Jarot raised his axe. “This much should be enough.”

For the first time, Jarot’s axe fell, not with just a blur, but as though he threatened to cut the world itself. The Full Moon’s sabre slipped through the air, but her arms felt like lead and shook, and she was unable to defend herself as the axe buried itself into her magical steel, deep into her thigh. As she pulled away from the terrifying Iyrman who had not fallen, though he was covered in streaks of sanguine, she stumbled backwards, falling onto her back, staring up at the moonless sky, though she could only see the black with her blurred vision.

As the Mad Dog loomed over the Full Moon, the very same Mad Dog who had remained on the back foot the entire fight, the Order of Five Moons engrained the silhouette into their minds.

How did he do it?

Though his blows had certainly held a heaviness, unless he wielded a blade which matched their moonsabres, especially the Moonsabre belonging to the Full Moon, there was no way he could…

“Brace your knee,” the Mad Dog called, and once the woman did so, he pulled his axe out of her leg, allowing her to cast her magics to heal herself, and with that, he rested his axe over his shoulder and stepped back towards the children, whose eyes remained upon him. He loomed over Amalrot, staring down at the girl. “Did you see?”

The girl blinked. Her lips trembled and her eyes started to swell with a wetness, but as her mother’s face came into view, the girl stopped, while a gentle hand ruffled her hair, wet with sweat and blood.

The old man’s eyes fell onto his greatchildren, whose eyes sparkled towards him. “To think my greatdaughter would bully me so.”

Jirot blinked.

“If I had fallen into my dance before she struck, I would not have shown you my true greatness.”

Jirot blinked once more. “So cool…”

“So cool,” the children all spoke, their words breathless.

The old Jarot turned to look aside, towards his grandson, who was staring up at him with surprise, and a new found respect, and thinking back to when they fought, all those years ago, the young man winced. Though the old man began to speak, the fool was a genius, and with his brows and eyes, and then by moving his head to the side, peeking at the old man, he told the old man all he needed to know.

“Hmm…” Jarot hummed quietly in thought. However, was there was a need to think so deeply? “To fight a Paragon for so long, the Full Moon of the Five Moons, this old man is so tired, and so covered in wounds, and needs to be taken care of.”

“I can do it!” Jirot declared, scrambling away from her father’s lap, rushing over to the old man, while the others joined her.

“You will not come?” Jarot asked.

“Grandfather, I am learning the way of the Rot family, I cannot heal,” Lanarot replied, shrugging her shoulders.

“Ah. Of course.”

“Of coas,” the children all replied.

“I will assist you in healing grandfather,” Vonda said, causing little Lanarot to flush, and as the girl smiled, she scurried off to her grandfather, and with Vonda’s prayers, the children all assisted in healing the old man.

Karot stared up at his grandfather, blinking towards the old man, and as the wounds gave way, knitting over with the glowing magic, the boy stared at where the wounds used to be. His eyes then fell to his mother.

‘So cool!’

However, Jirot hadn’t realised the mistake she had made, as a figure stepped up.

“It would be my honour if I was to follow my grandfather,” the half elf said, and with his head bowed, a hand clasped over his fist, he greeted the New Moon. “If you are willing, I would like to spar with you under the new moon, Kal New Moon.”

The New Moon held the half elf within her gaze, for the last time he had challenged her, he had dispatched with the Full Moon, and within lust of battle, arrogance, and fury, he had dared to challenge her.

“The Moon Mother Illuminates All,” Mother Crescent half prayed. “I hope you are willing to accept our apology for refusing.”

“Is there a need to apologise?”

The Mother stared at the half elf, who was acting peculiar, even for him.

However, seeing the look within the half elf’s eyes, the New Moon stood.

PATREON FOR 30+ CHAPTERS!

First Jarot and now Adam? 

We’re eating good!