Beyond Chaos – A DiceRPG

“Oho! Yarkez, huh?” Adam asked, reaching up to his chin, trying to recall the figure. He was certain he knew of that name somehow. 

History Check (Intelligence)

D20 + 3 = 14 (11)

14!

“He uses a bow, right?” Adam vaguely recalled the figure within his mind. Dark hair, dark eyes, and a… goatee?

“Yes,” Jurot replied, impressed the half elf recalled such a figure considering how shortly they had met. No, it was even more impressive, considering they had met for but a moment years ago, and Adam, who struggled to recall such figures, had somehow managed to recall him? “We met him a few years ago. He was travelling with his son at that time too.”

“He’s still travelling with his son?” Adam whispered, furrowing his brows towards the Iyrman. 

“Rangers sometimes do so.”

‘Ranger?’ Adam thought. ‘Oh? Rangers, huh? We should find a Ranger so we can move quicker. Plus, don’t they know Goodberry too? Wait, do they also get to switch their spells?’

While Adam thought deeply about things that did not really matter, the father and son duo sat within the estate, keeping an eye upon the commoners, each of whom spied the pair up. They were adorned in lighter clothing, though each wore blades and daggers at their side, they carried bows upon their backs. The older Iyrman wore a tag of Steel, while the younger man who a tag of Iron, but it was stamped quite some ways into it.

‘Steel?’ Esther thought, eyeing up the middle aged Iyrman. Even she understood what it meant to own a Steel tag, something she could only dream of. Bronze, which the son was close to reaching, was roughly at the level of an Expert. Steel? At the upper end, one would be considered a Master. Somehow two Iyrmen were guarding their families, one almost an Expert, one almost a Master.

“Don’t see many wielding a bow,” Amos admitted. 

“There are few, but the Kez family is such.”

“What do they call you?”

“Yarkez the Bow,” Yarkez replied simply. 

“…”

“You may know of my wife, Raining Bow Sokikez,” Yarkez stated simply, while Warkez sat up a little taller, a smirk upon his face.

“Your wife is Raining Bow?” Amos asked, his brows shooting up in alarm. 

“Mother is so well known?” Warkez joked, his lips twitching towards his father, the Iyrman crossing his arms as he sat with pride. 

“Who is that?” Samuel whispered to a frozen Esther, her eyes glued firmly to the pair before her. 

‘His wife is Raining Bow?’ Esther thought, clutching at her knees, trying to still her thundering heart. “Raining Bow is…”

“They say she surpasses even Whirlwind Arrow with her skills,” Amos said, keeping Yarkez’s gaze.

‘Oh!’ Samuel also raised his brows in surprise, since who in Floria did not know Whirlwind Arrow, who was considered among the best warriors across Floria period, not just one of the greatest archers. 

“She is greater,” Yarkez replied simply.

“Greater than Whirlwind Arrow?” Amos asked. 

“Yes.”

“How do you know?”

“Whirlwind Arrow is only a Grandmaster, and while I wear a tag of Steel, my wife wears a tag of Gold.”

‘Gold?’ Amos thought, his mind racing, for it was said those who wore tags of Mithril were considered Grandmasters, like Whirlwind Arrow, but those who wore Gold were greater. 

‘Is every Iyrman related to someone so powerful?’ Esther thought, beginning to understand the ridiculousness which was the Iyr. ‘How…’ 

At the fort, as the group began to call it in for the night, Commander Joseph approached Mork, who had finished his prayers. 

“It may be a little late, but the Windy Warhawk is leaving tomorrow in the morning. If your group is in a rush to leave, you may leave upon it.”

“The Windy Warhawk?”

“Aye.”

“Thank you, Commander. I will let the Executives know.”

Commander Joseph winked at him, nodding his head, allowing the Priest step away. Since they were going to leave the next morning, it was a good idea to at least return the favour they had shown. ‘I should ask for a morning prayer before they leave.’

Mork did just that the next morning, though he kept his prayers brief, so the group could make a swift exit.  The Commander and a pair of soldiers escorted them through the docks, the salty air striking them with a deep chill. The large buildings far more expansive than in other parts of the town. Various porters rolled their barrels, carried their crates, and shouted creative expletives, and as the Commander led the group through, some even tossed expletives towards him.

“Oi, you nightskin bastard!” shouted a sailor, throwing up an obscene gesture towards the Commander, who stopped.

“Racist Ho, I thought you would have drown in your sick, you worthless fishlover.”

Hobert shook his head, spitting to the side. “The swill they’re bringing from up north, they’ve got us paying an extra silver per bottle. I just stick with the lillies now, and there’s enough ‘col in to help my little Ceecee fall asleep, maybe.”

“Isn’t Ceecee…’

“What, King banned four year olds from drinking did he?”

“I thought he was five?”

“No, Willie’s…” Hobert thought for a moment. “Aye, Ceecee’s five, yer right. Willie’s six, ain’t he?”

“Ho, they’re twins.”

“How am I meant to tell ‘em apart then?” Hobert shrug his shoulders. “What’re you doin’ around these parts anyhow?”

“Escorting the Iyrmen here.”

“Ah yeah?” Hobert eyed up the group, nodding his head lightly towards the Iyrman in the lead, tapping his chest. “You blooddrinkers keeping your head out of trouble.”

“Yes,” Jurot replied. “My brother is not.”

“I also don’t drink blood,” Adam said. “They call you Racist Ho?”

“I ain’t racist, I hate you all equally,” Hobert said, though he nodded towards Bael. “Not you drakkens though. Ain’t going to pick a fight with dragons.”

“No, just the people who hunt them for fun.”

“We’ve got a dragon on our side who yours can’t hunt.”

“Oh yeah? Lady…” Adam paused. ‘No, wait, she’s in the capital of Aldland, isn’t she?’

“Lord Asa.”

“Oh! Right, yeah, Asa.”

“Lord Asa, leafy.”

“He’s Lord Asa to you, to me, he’s Asa,” Adam replied cheekily, not noting just how annoyed the soldiers were growing.

“You’re playing with fire, you are,” Hobert said, suddenly feeling more alert upon the half elf’s words. 

“Don’t I know it,” Adam said, flashing a gentle smile, but Jurot placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently.

“Alright, you damned fishlover, I need to escort them to Windy Warhawk. Do you know where it is?”

“Those absolute,” a horn blasted to cover the next word, which Adam smiled at. “Aye! Course I know! Buncha bastards are out there on the end, where they usually are, the pricks. Heard the deekays are picking a fight since they came so late.”

Commander Joseph inhaled sharply, though if the dockguard were causing them trouble, that meant they wouldn’t be leaving for a little while later. Even so, he nodded to Hobert, who motioned with his head, letting him go. 

“I forget how racist people are,” Adam admitted.

“Racist Ho isn’t racist, he’s just a sailor,” the Commander replied.

“I guessed that was the excuse.”

“They’re a rough bunch, but they don’t care. Out on the sea, even if you hate a man’s guts, you still help him. The sea doesn’t see colour.”

“Yeah, well, still.”

“Then you can say all sailors are racist, but everyone knows elves are the most racist, Brother.”

“Thankfully, I’m only half as racist.”

Joseph let out a loud holler of laughter, slapping the half elf upon his back, and the half elf smirked. 

The group approached the ship, and though they all admired it, for it was that ship in particular, Brother Mork was the one whose eyes soaked in the sight, especially the most important element. The Windy Warhawk was longer than many of the ships around, painted almost black, though more a deep blue. The three masts were contained within obsidian towards the bottom, the sails made of what seemed to be liquid silver, though they did not ripple in the wind. The same silver seemed to cling to the rails of the ship, leading towards the bowspirit, a warhawk’s head, almost lifelike, glaring ever forward. 

However, though the ship was perhaps among the greatest across all the lands, it was not the ship itself which made the Windy Warhawk so spectacular. 

Was it the inasir, the drakken, or even the lyzard, each of whom glared at the dockguard, grumbling between one another. 

Was it the mermen Oathsworn, adorned in their scale, wielding their beautiful coralsteel spears, each an Expert, who flanked the Captain of their ship? No.

Was it the Captain of the ship, a half elf with pale skin, kissed by the colour of the sea, who stood with such authority, he even dared to turn his nose up at the nobleman leading the dockguard?

Yes.

For the half elf was one from the sea, adorned in the various layers of his silks, each deep and dark as the depths of the sea, silver thread forming magical runes along the hems. He carried a blade at his side, made of what looked to be pure gold, worth its weight in platinum, gifted to the family by a great being. Though the half elf was dripping in magical attire, like another half elf, he was more so like the other half elf in another way, for such was not the reason why he was so terrifying. 

No. It was because he was from that family, a family that owned such a ship on such a deep level, that none but their blood held the privilege, from ancient magic of an Oath sworn long ago. 

‘Captain, please don’t summon the wall this time,’ one of the mermen thought, feeling the anger from his Captain rise.

‘Please, Captain, let it be the wall this time,’ another merman thought. ‘If it’s the lightning, we’ll be wanted in this sea again! Do you know how many fine women make their home in this port?’

‘I should bring down the lightning,’ the Captain thought, ready to blast these annoying Florians for trying to check him, as though the daughter of the Marquise could dare to put herself upon the level of his family? A jest most foul, almost as terrible as city air.

“Adam, be careful,” Jurot said. “He knows Fifth Gate spells.”

“Yo!” Adam gasped, forming a small circle with his lips. “Oh.”

“What?”

“That means it’s going to be expensive.”

“Yes.”

John stared at the ship, his eyes full of awe. He had heard of the Windy Warhawk, and after King Merryweather rebelled and formed Floria, it seemed many pardons had been given out, for there was no way it should have been here after what the Captain did last time. ‘It’s really the Windy Warhawk!’

‘He’s going to blast the Lady with his magic,’ Commander Joseph was sure. ‘Do I need to step in?’

These half elves are really out of pocket.