Beyond Chaos – A DiceRPG

Interlude: The End of Duskval

Interlude: The End of Duskval

It was a time before the land knew the Chaos that was Adam. The winds were cold, especially those which bounced against the hills outside of Jaghi, though that was to be expected, considering the dragon which slumbered in the nearby mountain.

“The Aldish are shivering too much,” Zarmak joked, biting into her jerky, chewing it slowly.

“How much are you eating?” Jonlaf replied, raising his brow towards the woman. “Are you with child?”

“Whose child, yours?”

“You are too weak to have my child.”

“Weak?” Zarmak, reached down for her dagger, only to find Jonlaf’s axe ready to swing towards her, his brows raised expectantly.

“Stop,” Lozys snapped at the pair, causing the pair to withdraw their blades, meanwhile his eyes fell towards the Aldish, who had prepared their tents for the night, while one of their own accompanied them at their fire.

“Why did she have to choose him?” Malfev complained, sipping away at the alcohol. “He will get himself killed in Aldland, how will I console her?”

“Is he so terrible?” Anne asked, the woman sipping the last of her stew, warming her cold body in the night.

“There are few as wild as him,” Malfev admitted, already recalling the wild look in the Iyrman’s eyes. “She is strong enough to cast her own shadow!”

‘Is his younger sister also as strong?’ Anne thought, hearing nothing but praise from the Iyrman.

‘Our cousin, Shayfev, she cried so much. I worry she will not follow our path unless we have cleared it. We bullied her so much, so we should at least clear the path!’

Anne wasn’t sure what madness this Iyrman was talking about, but the Iyrmen had to be this mad if they were this strong. Her eyes darted to the side, towards Zarmak and Jonlaf, then the heavily armoured Iyrman to the side was equally as powerful, if not greater, yet each were barely twenty.

“Does she not know what you Aldish call him? Mad Dog? Mad Dog! This is the problem with you Aldish, you do not see the threat before you until the blade is already at your neck! You should beat him properly so my sister can live freely!”

“If you feel so strongly, you should stop her,” Anne said, unsure of why this was such an issue for him. “You could marry her off to someone else.”

Malfev huffed, sipping his wine, feeling the warmth that flowed through his body. “Even drunk, I cannot have such Aldish thoughts.”

Anne narrowed her eyes slightly, understanding that he used the word in a way that made his tongue feel dirty for even mentioning their name. However, considering his strength, and the plethora of stories, some of which seemed outlandish, and yet held hints of truth, she couldn’t help but be fascinated with the Iyr.

“Do you know what they call my sister? The Rising Swallow! If she is rising, she should continue rising!”

“Rising Swallow and Falling Swallow, at least your epithets are similar.”

“That is right, I should be the one to fall,” Malfev agreed, having taken the meaning to his heart.

“What of your cousin, Marmak? You said he could beat Jarot? Why does your sister not wish to marry her?”

“He could match Jarot,” Malfev agreed. “They are both filled with madness, but my sister, she says that Jarot is...”

“...” Anne waited as Malfev riled himself up, then after an angry sigh, Malfev’s shoulders slumped.

“She is right.”

“What?”

“She does not need to hold back when she beats him.”

‘If half the rumours of the Mad Dog are true, then there is no doubt about that...’

Jonn had filled with such guilt as a boy, and horror, for what kind of idiot drops the blade of such a wonderful hero? He who had slain all manner of monsters, from dragons to even the most pathetic vermin. Vermin like...

‘Goblins are like rats. It is best to exterminate as many as you can. If you leave one or two alive, within a handful of years, you will find a plague of them at your door.’

‘Vermin?’ Jonn thought.

‘You have such handsome ears!’ Jirot had declared, throwing up a thumbs up. Little Jarot had reached for his own, while staring at Jonn’s. The boy flushed slightly, but smiled so adorably.

‘You have such lovely ears, so you must cause trouble!’ Jirot snickered, causing her brother to snicker too.

“Manager Jonn,” Dunes called.

Jonn tensed up, his eyes darting to the side, meeting the Manager’s questioning gaze. He then glanced down towards his hands, firmly glued to his blade, that he had drawn so mindlessly. He sheathed it, tensing up, before relaxing.

Dunes slowly bowed his head towards the Manager, noting the relief, and the guilt, that continued to haunt him. “There is a waterfall within Black Mountain. Ice Fall, we call it. My mentor, Kal Samra, when I was often deep in though about my anxieties, she would threaten me. Dunes, ahmuk, if you keep thinking of useless thoughts, I will send you to Ice Fall. If it was not the cold of the waterfall, it was the threat, that stopped my thoughts. When I left Aswadasad to find Amira, she forced me into Ice Fall, the water falling on my skin like daggers. It was not to stop my thoughts, but to urge me forward. Even then, I thought, this is very cold, please stop.”

“What does ahmuk mean?” Jonn asked.

“Fool.”

Jonn smiled. “Kal Samra sounds like a wise woman.”

“I fear anything else would get back to her, so I must say I agree.”

Mork sipped away at his wineskin, for it was a rare occasion he could. Bael had informed him it would not rain that day, so his mood soured, almost as sour as the wine. As he continued to drink, it soothed the clouded thoughts, the darkness within his heart.

‘He killed them too quickly? What does that mean?’

‘I can’t believe he did not take me with him,’ Tork thought, sipping away at his sour wine. ‘He met the Lord Marshal?’

Bael let out a long, annoyed sigh, the warmth of the alcohol reaching the tips of his fingers. He stared at a particular spot within the village. He reached up to his nose, and the heat of the lightning flowed through him, steam escaping out of him, before floating in the wind as he sobered up. ‘I thought it would be a fun fight. How disappointing.’

In the village, Nobby ate his bread. His son slowly chewed from his own bun, the boy looking up at his father, before offering it to him. Merry was still so small, and barely babbled, but he ate well, just like his father. Nobby looked down at the boy’s face, who stared up at him, before his eyes fell to the bread in his father’s hand. He stared at it longingly, even though he held bread in his own hand. Once the boy was chewing on his father’s bread, Nobby returned back to his thoughts.

“Nobby?” Merl called.

Nobby turned his gaze to meet hers. “...”

“Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Nobby replied, before looking to Anne, who ate her stew slowly, but her cheeks were no longer quite as thin. He furrowed his brows, annoyed at the world, and himself. ‘No.’

Under the same sky, within the large, expansive walls of the Iyr, the two sat together. Rajin poured in the sour wine, which was not like the weak sourness of the Aldish wines, but proper, Iyrish sourness.

Jarot stared at the wine. Though he promised to drink with Rajin, he was uncertain if he could.

“I can bring the milk,” Rajin offered.

Jarot reached for the cup and held it up. “My greatson nibbled upon the tip of the pizza. He eats so well.”

“He eats so well,” Rajin confirmed, the pair drinking their sadness long into the night.

Our Jarot, he eats so well... :')