Beyond Chaos – A DiceRPG

[1137] – Y06.037 – Doubt II

“Huu…” Konarot’s tail drooped, her body filling with a warmth, but not the kind of warmth that came from her father’s affection, but the kind of warmth of a noonval day which caused her to tire out too quickly. A hand ruffled her hair, causing the girl to bow her head and she quickly fixed her hair so she could see her father once more.

“Watch carefully,” Jaygak said, her eyes falling down to her father, who wore Fresh Snow Zephyr at his side. ‘I didn’t need to say it since you’re so smart, but…’

Kirot’s eyes remained glued to the scene, the girl completely focused upon her father, who looked so small from this far away, and for some reason, looked even smaller in that moment.

‘Daddy,’ Karot thought, his eyes also falling upon his father. He pouted slightly, but the girl at his side made him unable to pout.

“What they saying?” Jirot whispered loudly.

Mulrot’s eyes had swayed slightly, from her greatson, to her husband, and seeing how Baztam had slapped the side of the one armed Iyrman’s shoulder, it no doubt meant the Chief had said he would give up Adam. “Jirot?”

“Nano?” the girl called, reaching up a hand to hold her greatmother’s hand.

“How strong is your father?”

Jirot furrowed her brows, before smirking at her greatmother, as though it were obvious how strong her father was.

‘The strongest,’ little Jarot thought, clenching his fists slightly. ‘Daddy! You are the strongest!’

‘Here I thought you would remain so… Iyrly. You Iyrmen, you are always so difficult when you do not have to be.’ The Countess rushed with relief, her shoulders no longer burdened by the insanity of the Iyr, but its great wisdom which had allowed it to exist for millennia beside the grand dragon that was Aldland. “The Iyr has no need to worry, for I am certain justice will be dispensed.”

Iromin held out a finger, pointing it towards a particular figure, and as he spoke, he pointed to each individual. “Sir Juge Cherrytree. Sir Louis Rubybeech. Sir Ethan Cherryash. Sir Tobias Carminewood. Sir Chloe Crimsonash. Sir Robin Scarletwood. Sir Merrick Crimsonbranch.”

“…”

“…”

Baztam raised his brows at Jarot, whose tension gave way like a rushing river, replaced quickly by the excitement which grew among the Iyrmen. The other Iyrmen remained silent too, but the shift was noticeable, for though they had arrived so relaxed, not expecting a fight. As Adam was offered, many of the Iyrmen tensed up, but as the Chief pointed out the particular figures, they went from one form of tension to another.

The girl’s silver eyed had pierced deep into Jogak’s heart. She had carried the longsword all the way to him, the sheathed blade resting between her elbows, her tail having swayed behind her shyly.

‘Baba, you are Gak. You must use a sword.’

Jogak wanted to mention he already had a sword, but how could he refuse his Konarot, who was not quite as mean with her affection as Jirot, but who could deny that their Konarot was not so sweet of heart? ‘You do not need to worry, Konarot. You may use a sword too, you have no need to worry of that.’

“Excuse me?” Countess Redoak asked.

“Once you have completed your task, you may send them to us, and once we have staked them upon our land, beside the bridge, you may take Adam.”

“…” The Countess remained completely focused upon the Chief, her eyes full of alarm as she tried to understand what the Chief was saying. Surely he wasn’t suggesting that…

Gorot’s eyes fell upon each member of the Oakguard, hoping he could earn the right. One might not have expected it, for Red Oak was one of the smallest towns across all of Aldland, but the Oakguard matched the numbers and the strength of their northern counterparts. Even Sir Merrick, the weakest of all the Oakguard, held the strength beyond that of a Master, greater than even Gorot himself. His eyes then darted from Juge to Louis, each tall, strong, built like Rasam, and who could easily deal with the likes of himself. However, then his eyes darted to those two beside him, his uncle, and the man the Iyrman now called his father.

‘Today is a good day to retire,’ Baztam thought, rubbing the side of his neck.

‘What a good day,’ Jarot thought, a wild grin expanding across his lips. ‘I will cut down a cherry tree and drink peach wine.’

‘Will Baztam allow it?’ Rajin thought, fairly certain he knew where Jarot was looking. ‘I will have to surrender Louis.’

‘Am I your prey?’ Sir Ethan Cherryash thought, meeting the eyes of the Iyrman with the red blade, before feeling another set of eyes looking at him. ‘…’

‘Our responsibility is to allow the children to have fun,’ Shagek thought, and though he had spent so much time in the Confederacy, even he recalled that much. However, considering the strength of the weakest of the Oakguard, and the strongest, who could clash with the likes of himself and his cousin, he supposed the young ones would need to support Adam.

“Do you intend to continue to provoke us?” the Countess asked.

“We have allowed you to keep your walls,” Iromin began, almost disappointedly, “and you have forgotten what provocation is, Countess.”

Adam could hear it in the Chief’s voice. The half elf had heard it once before, and his eyes snapped to Merrick’s, causing the Oakguard to smile slightly in reassurance. Sir Merrick’s smile dropped, for the half elf’s eyes, full of fear, was not because the half elf was afraid for himself.

Chief Iromin inhaled deeply, crossing his arms behind his back, allowing the cool wind to caress him. “We Iyrmen have spent much time warning you of the upcoming threat. Do not forget, Aldishman, for we have warned you out of consideration for our relationship.”

“We thank the Iyr for its warning,” the Countess replied, and seeing the look within the Chief’s eyes, she realised the matter was over. Any more than this, and they truly would speak words which could only be dealt with by blades wet with crimson. “I will send my Oakguard to remove the bodies, and we will consider the matter dealt with.”

“It is fortunate you brought such a small army,” Iromin said as he took in the sight of the army here, an army which wouldn’t have breached the nearby fort, and one which would have easily fallen even if Adam refused out of respect for his wife. “It is also fortunate Ray Vonda was watching.”

“Would you have broken the treaty?”

“If you dare to harm our children, even Baktu has no right to stop us,” Iromin said, and for once, Iromin no longer held the seriousness of the Chief, or the playfulness of Iromin, but the darkness of an Iyrman.

Countess Redoak could see it in the Chief’s eyes, that, if she had made such a mistake, there would have been no helping her. “Mother’s blessings to you, Chief.”

“May Baktu watch over your blade, Countess.” Iromin bowed his head lightly, reaching a hand out to Adam’s shoulder, squeezing it gently, his eyes threatening each of the Oakguard, before he turned and led the Iyrmen away. ‘…’

‘Ho?’ Baztam thought, sharing a look with the Chief, who let out a sigh that meant he had almost allowed them to have their fun. ‘You almost went that far?’

‘Holy!’ Adam thought, following after the Chief sheepishly, the half elf not daring to look back. As they approached the fort, the Chief stopped, holding out a hand to stop the half elf, while the others continued towards the fort.

Iromin led the half elf to the Iyr’s land proper, across the river, their shadows cast long towards the fort and the village behind them. His aides flanked the bridge, allowing the Chief to remain alone with the half elf, though their eyes remained glued to the fool of a father.

Adam swallowed, wanting to thank the Chief, but he understood he should remain quiet for a short while at least. Then, the seconds continued to pass. The silence upon the air grew heavier, and the awkwardness filled the half elf. “Thank you, Chief.”

Iromin remained staring ahead of himself, the sun prickling his skin, while his eyes took in the sight of the hills and the trees, and he stared at the mountains ahead, the mountain which held his home.

“There is much we plant in the Iyr,” Iromin began. “The Iyr bears grains which build our bodies. The Iyr bears delicious fruits which build our hearts. The Iyr bears more, for in the Iyr, we plant even emotions, the seeds of rage, grief, joy, pleasure, duty.”

Adam remained silent, for the Chief continued to stare at the Iyr, seeing his own version of the Iyr, the Iyr he grew up with, which was so similar and yet so different to the Iyr Adam knew.

“There is one seed we cannot allow to take root,” Iromin said, before his eyes turned to Adam. “It is the most insidious killer, more dangerous than even you, Adam.”

“What is it?”

“When your children look at you, do you see it?”

“What?”

Iromin turned to look back to the mountain. “When the Order of High Garden came to us, I had no plans to war with Aldland. Today, when the Countess spoke to us, there was a moment. I could feel their gazes. You felt it too, did you not? They looked upon their mothers, their fathers, their aunts, their uncles, their sisters, their brothers, their cousins. Their gazes were upon me too, the Chief. They do not know it, what it means. Chief. They know what a mother is, what a brother is, but a Chief?”

Adam watched as the Chief sighed, and he realised why the Chief was speaking this way, but he was too afraid to confirm his thoughts.

“When I…” Iromin fell silent again, and before the half elf, he could see Iromin, not as the Chief, not as an Iyrman, but a mortal. “When I look into their eyes, I can see it.”

“…”

“It is doubt, Adam,” Iromin whispered. “Doubt.”

The Countess is lucky she rolled well.