Beyond Chaos – A DiceRPG

“Akh, the world I know, is the world I know, but this world, I do not know it,” Faizal said, pouring wine for his companion, though Afraz held out a hand, not wishing to drink it, and the world became ever so strange. What happened to this world, for today was just any other day, and yet today was a new day, and last year was just any other year, and this year, it was a new year. 

Faizal’s inner crisis reached even his wine which he stared towards like a lover he had only brushed sleeves with. 

“You have grown old, akh,” Afraz half accused. “You should stop drinking, or you will die young.”

“Why are you acting as though you will not right back to drinking once you return home?” 

Afraz narrowed his eyes, but sipped his sour goat milk, because the fool was right, so he couldn’t deny it. “Akh, you don’t have to worry, because we will all be dead before he rises.”

“What?”

“I do not understand it myself, but it may be the fae in him.”

“They think differently because they live so long,” Faizal stated, letting out a long sigh, as though what he said was truth. In some ways, it was partly true, even Afraz had to give him that much. The half elf, with his fae blood, would remain within his prime for most of his life, with his supernatural fae strength, beauty, will, the half elf would be able to claim a position for himself for generations to come. Faizal’s eyes then fell to the Iyrmen nearby. 

Would they allow the half elf such freedom. 

“Do not think of such terrifying things,” Afraz warned. 

“I do not wish to think of them either, but I cannot help myself,” Faizal said, sipping the wine lightly, allowing the sourness to stab his tongue. “Boy is not weak in the slightest. A Master in his forties, and though we carried him upon our backs when he was but a babe, it was not as though he could not do so without us.”

“How are your families?” Afraz asked, to ease Faizal’s heart. 

“Well, well, for the paltry silvers we send home are enough to deal with their needs,” Faizal said, hiding his smile behind another sip. 

“My grandson has quite the business.”

“A business?”

“He is an… Executive?”

“Executive?”

“He holds a great position, and he is the High Alchemist of the business, though the business mostly deals with magical weapons.”

Faizal tilted his head, turning to look towards Afraz. “Your grandson, who is a Master, and can defeat Grandmasters, is a High Alchemist of a business which deals with magical weapons?”

“Yes,” Afraz replied as though it were truly that simple. “He is looking for a great number of warriors to join his business. Did you know what he said to me during our journey?”

“What?”

“He said, jiddo, when I compare the Five Moons to we of the United Kindom, I realise that though we possess a great number of warriors, each who could go steel for steel against their greatest, we are perhaps only half as powerful. It is this business, that has only taken to the world for… three, four years? It is this business which he considers so.”

“He is comparing the business to Five Moons?”

“Shukhur, that is the kind of thoughts my grandson has.” 

“Do you intend to join?”

“No, no, I am an old man now, how can I join?” The old Afraz replied, shrugging his shoulders. “Who am I to cling to my grandson so? How can I stay when I will steal Flame Brand away from her husband? How can I do such a thing, this dying old man, who died so many years ago.”

“Do it, you dark hearted bastara, look at the way he treats you, the way he speaks of you, he holds so much joy in his heart for you,” Faizal said, for though only a handful of conversations had passed between the creature that seemed to appear to be a half elf and this damn fool, and yet the half elf spoke so highly of the old man, and treated him like he was truly his own grandfather. 

Afraz, the Drake of the Hill, sighed, glancing aside to Maharan, who was currently speaking with the villagers, speaking of his own tale of saving the Chief’s cousin, the very same one eyed Karmin who accompanied the group here. Afraz reached up, his eyes falling upon little Kirot, who said she wished to learn how to fight with a greatsword, or perhaps another greatweapon, and the girl, so red she was, with red eyes, red skin, a dark tail, that seemed to sway with a heaviness, the kind that denoted the fact she was not truly a woman of fiery blood. The old man’s heart ached. 

‘What a monster,’ Boy thought, his arms aching terribly, throbbing from clashing with the half elf’s blow. It had been a blow that had marked the magical steel of his sword, something that should be borderline impossible, but somehow the half elf had managed it. He stared down at his bowblade, the hair that was worth its weight in platinum, and was rarer than a virgin’s innocent, and as he tried to tie the bow once more, he could not even will it, not because of his arms, but because of his heart. 

Lightning flashed, thunder rumbled, as the half dragon shot an empty wine bottle, causing great cheers from the children, and even the youth who were watching with excitement, the half dragon grinning wide. He did so again and again, this time keeping his lightning at bay so not to rumble, though Boy wondered, why would thunder emanate if he was shooting out lightning from his finger tips?

“Stop glaring at her so obviously,” Baztam called. 

Marmak rubbed the side of his neck, thankful the Ray had managed to heal him slightly, though healing the woman too was too much, wasn’t it? He was her grandmother’s cousin, so why would she go around healing his foe, though what could he do when the woman was a Ray of Life’s Rose, and also, when the little girl was glaring at him so openly. 

“Babo, how can you cause such trouble on this journey?” Jirot asked, holding up her finger like a blade. 

“…”

“I expected this from babo, but from you?” The girl tutted at him, pausing a moment, wondering if what she said was technically a lie, but she nodded to herself, and then raised her brows towards him once more. “I do not want to see this again from you.”

“I am sorry, my dear.”

“I am so magnanimous, so I will forgive you, but…” The girl side eyed him, and raised her brows once more, this time more pointedly, and the old man reached out to brush her cheek tenderly, and the girl showed him mercy, for she was magnanimous, of coas.

Meanwhile, the other half elf, the fae woman who was barely a step away from death’s door, remained utterly bewildered, as though she was lost within another realm. ‘What madness is this?’

Thankfully, Chosen and Tanagek stepped forward to play with some of the villagers, and though Taygak wished to step forward, she decided against it, as Konarot, Kirot, and Karot each sat about her, wanting to stay near the fine weapon which held such a pleasant smell. 

“…”

“…”

“…”

The pair continued to face off against one another, but eventually even he had to surrender, and he offered the girl his dessert, the blue skinned girl eating away with utter delight. As the Iyrman considered his sister, he turned his head, finding the figure who preferred to stay within the shadows, the figure who wore such fine weapons at their side, a figure who even his keen eyes were unable to decipher. 

Lanarot let out a long sigh, staring up towards the sky, the sun so high, and thankfully her mother covered the girl’s eyes so she didn’t stare directly at the sun. 

“Why are you thinking so deeply?”

“Mother, will I grow so strong all my fights will be swift?”

“If you are too strong, perhaps?”

“Oh no!” the girl cried aloud, reaching up to grasp her mother’s hand. “Mother! What a travesty.”

‘Who taught her to be so funny?’ Sonarot thought, brushing along the girl’s hands tenderly. “Shall I teach you how to win slowly?”

“Mother, it is only you I can trust,” the girl said, and she reached up to hold onto her mother’s hands, those hands which were so rough, and so comfortable. 

‘I should fight too,’ a young Iyrman thought, glancing between her nieces and nephews, as well as her cousins, who had yet to see her fight this year. She turned to look towards the half elf, who had already claimed so many great warriors, then her other cousins, each of whom also had impressive showings. Then, slowly, her eyes trailed towards her granduncle, who had claimed such a fine warrior for himself too. 

Who was left within the land for her? Her eyes fell towards Faizal, who was too busy trying not to draw any attention to himself. He was a great warrior, that much was true, but to fight someone like him…

‘Should I fight the Fariq of Black Mountain?’ Kitool thought. She was fairly certain he would defeat her, but, at the very least, someone like him should defeat her. 

Gangak pinched her greatson’s cheek, the boy twitching and glancing up into her eyes. “It is you, my little Jagak, who causes such little trouble.”

Little Jarot flushed and smiled playfully. “I can be troublesome too, nano…”

Gangak smiled wide and peppered the boy with kisses all over his face, eventually doing the same for her greatdaughter as she charged towards her. 

PATREON FOR 30+ CHAPTERS!

Our Jarot is so lovely, isn’t he?