Beyond Chaos – A DiceRPG

[959] – Y04.059 – Trouble in Red Oak II

Rajin’s hands were too swift as he grabbed little Jirot, pulling her to his chest, while the carriage charged past. For one moment, his heart beat too quickly for his old bones, but it had already calmed the next moment. ‘She is definitely your greatdaughter!’

The horses came to a swift stop, the carriage driver pulling the reins, the commonfolk all quickly pulling back from the scene. The carriage doors opened and a figure stepped out of the carriage, half in shock. The abrupt stop had certainly brought his heart aflutter, but it was what he had seen within the town which had set his heart ablaze. The man, who had few wrinkles across his face, with bits of white within his sun kissed acorn hair. He wore the finest of clothing under his breastplate, and at his side was a long blade, one that had been forged by one of the finest smiths in West Fort.

“What travesty befalls our land for goblins to walk before my path freely?” the Count growled aloud, while his knights dismounted from their horses, and took their place beside their lord.

Rajin narrowed his eyes towards the Count, the most major reason why Zijin had asked him to come. “Count Joseph Westmoon.”

“Iyrman,” the Count replied, to the one Iyrman he should have known, considering he had been quite active in his lands many decades ago. “Do you escort these pests?”

Rajin heard a crack beside him, and he reached out an arm to block Jarot from moving forward. “These children are my greatniece and greatnephew.”

“Has the Iyr fallen so much that you have adopted vermin into your land?” 

“…”

“Step aside, Iyrman.”

“Uwajin,” Rajin called, the young woman, who had been awake since Rajin had caught Jirot, quickly scooped up the children. “Get back within your carriage, Count.”

“You should deal with the vermin before they make a mess within the town,” the Count said.

“Yes,” Jarot agreed, his lips forming a wide grin.

“Leave at once,” Rajin stated. 

“Do you believe you are upon the Iyr’s land?” Count Jacob asked, narrowing his eyes.

Rajin did the disservice of glancing aside to the six guards, two of whom were knights, probably at the level of Masters, and then the other guards, who may have been as powerful of Experts. Though, individually, they were weaker than either of Rajin and Jarot, a group like that, including the Count who was probably greater than an Expert, was quite awkward to face.

“You should know how protective we are of our children,” Rajin warned.

“Since when were there goblins in the Iyr?”

“Since I have accepted them as my own,” Jarot growled back. 

“Do you not follow our laws?”

“We follow the laws of your King in this land,” Rajin assured. “However…”

“If you harm my precious greatchildren, the Westmoon shall only be spoken of in tales,” the old Mad Dog growled, daring to threaten them even while crippled. 

“You should understand that our family has a special relationship with such vermin.”

“Yes,” Rajin replied, still holding out an arm. “Even now you have been unable to defeat them. We Iyrmen are different. You must know that the family which rules you were picked by our ancestors, as they were for East Port and Gold Port.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“In the history of our people, not once has Aldland defeated us,” Rajin said. 

Count Westmoon narrowed his eyes. “You Iyrmen believe you are so great with the stories you pass by a time long forgotten. We are not the Aldland of old.”

“The time is not forgotten,” Rajin stated.

“We are still the Iyr of old,” Jarot added.

“I will show you mercy, Iyrmen. You are outnumbered, and you should not wish to face us, for we are not any normal family. Surrender the vermin, and be on your way, and I will forgive your audacity for interrupting my day with your foolishness.”

“Outnumbered?” Jarot asked, glancing across all the Iyrmen around. “There are only a few hundred of you?”

“Jarot,” Rajin said, inhaling deeply. “If you kill him here, we will have to return the children home.”

Uwajin glanced between the pair of them. At some point, she wasn’t sure when exactly, but the negotiations had broken down. Rajin had tried to call for peace, but he spoke in a way which completely disregarded the noble’s honour. ‘There’s a reason you failed for the position, grandfather…’

Jarot swallowed. He didn’t want to ruin the children’s day, but… 

Wasn’t there one thing more important than their day?

Jarot felt his heart throb. He began to shake as the heat completely filled him. The Iyr had many rules, but there was one which was greater than them all. The Aldishman had threatened his greatchildren, and he could have let the noble go, but within the hearts of his innocent children, wouldn’t they feel it? The silent killer which would creep within?

How could he do it?

How could he allow them to doubt.

“Jirot, Jarot,” the old man managed to choke out, fighting off his rage for a moment longer. “Watch carefully!” The old man’s voice roared through the town. “Babo will take the Count’s head and gift it to you!”

Jirot and Jarot blinked, holding onto Uwajin’s collar, the young woman’s eyes wide awake. She never expected that today of all days, on a day she was to assist her grandfather in spoiling the children, would she see the backs of both the Bearded Dragon and the Mad Dog.

“How impudent!” the Count shouted. “You dare to threaten me?”

“Protect the Count!” the knights shouted in unison, while blades were drawn with expert swiftness, or rather, Expert swiftness.

The six warriors stepped forward, each adorned in breastplate over chain, or full plate. Each equipped with the best weapons afforded to their station, with the weakest being Experts, enough to ask for respect from the King himself, and would be able to retire peacefully, with full bellies and pouches. Except they were still in the prime of their life, and ready to face the two old men, one who was so old and thin, one might have though he could blow over with a breeze, and the other? He who was unable to carry both of the vermin in each arm, and wore a wooden leg which caused him to limp forward towards them? Two dying old men, their stars long faded, their names lost to time.

The pair hadn’t drawn their blades to kill in so long. Rajin, who had taken the position of Family Elder, hadn’t needed to fight in decades. 

Then there was Jarot. Jarot. The Mad Dog, they called him, but who had he faced recently? He had faced Dogek, who was quite the legend himself, and though one might have expected their duel to be close, the Mad Dog had been thoroughly beaten. Jarot, who had gone to fight in the war, and had lost his leg to some random no name warrior, while Asa toyed with him. Jarot, who had fought Emperor Hadda, a being comparable to Asa, and had fought the now deceased Emperor along the Chief, Otkan, before she had lost her arm, and Shaool, and he had still been beaten thoroughly. 

Jarot had fought Adam, and had managed to defeat him, but the Adam back then hadn’t even been an Expert. It was easy to beat up some random kid who wasn’t an Expert.

The old legend that had painted Aldland red had long faded, only in the ramblings of the elderly who barely recalled how to eat food.

Except…

During the time of the civil war, when the previous King’s Sword, Sir Merryweather, had raised his sword in rebellion against the unjust King Justinian Blackwater, there was a very particular rumour. 

‘Did you hear?’

‘What?’

‘They say that the Mad Dog’s alive.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah! They say he took the arm of a Vice Commander.’

‘Sounds like auroch shit to me.’

‘I’m telling you!’

‘Didn’t he die?’

‘I’m just telling you what I heard.’

If the Mad Dog was alive, it was a rumour that was more than believable. Mad Dog had been known as the Kid, for he had been brushed aside as one of the maniac Iyrmen who would be lost to time. Except, as the years passed, there were many nicknames that had spread through the lands.

The Kid.

Bloody Jarot.

Crimson Shield.

Undying. 

None of them had managed to reach the heights of four particular names, however. 

Drakebane.

Wildheart.

Deathhand. 

Mad Dog.

Three of those names had gone to become Great Elders of the Iyr. Truly, it was a golden age for the Iyr, and everyone from that generation knew those four names. Surely, many knew other names, especially those in Aswadasad, like those of Flame Brand and Butcher. However, within the top ten, everyone knew of those four, but one could include the likes of Bearded Dragon, The Kid, Bloody Jarot, and Crimson Shield. 

In the top ten names of an era, there was only one figure who had managed to penetrate the top four, but also the top ten multiple times. 

As the Aldishmen watched the fight, some calling for the guards, for the six warriors were no doubt going to kill these two old men, a gasp of shock fell through the air, and so did a loud grunt which fell silent a moment later. 

The crippled old Jarot had spun violently within the air, his axe audibly cutting through the wind, before striking against the guard’s armour, scraping it hard enough to almost spark. The six guards struck viciously at the pair of old men, their blades striking against flesh. 

‘What old fools,’ the guard thought, his blade firmly against the Iyrman, who keeled over, almost kneeling.

Blade against flesh. 

Not through, but against.

Even before the guard could feel the hint of confusion run through his mind, the shadow of a blade cut through the air, striking so harsh against his helmet, it dented and crushed against his face. The guard fell backwards, his blade clattering against the ground, and while they had momentarily let down their guards when they saw the old one armed Iyrman against a knee, they realised it was only to allow the horc to swing his blade freely.

Even now they made the same mistakes the Aldish always made. 

The Bearded Dragon was no horc, for he was an Iyrman. 

An Iyrman whose name would have been known as far and as wide as Drakebane, if only he didn’t lose against his rival for the position of Chief of the Iyr. 

“Careful!” a knight shouted, feeling the intense pressure emanating from these dying old men. “They’re not-,”

The guards were not careless, still trying to protect their Count, who had drawn his blade too, but that was the problem. The Iyrmen were careless, and with the lack of care, their blows so terrible, the old men threatened to kill the guards even with their heavy armour. 

In the moment the knight tried to warn his companions, another had fallen, as the Iyrmen, who accepted whatever blades came their way, with precision that could only be honed through years of slaughtering people like sheep, pierced through the chinks within their armour, their blades slipping through the air, the steel moving like the wind itself. 

‘What?’ the knight thought, his body moving purely from the training he had undertaken over years, trying to flank around the Iyrmen. He was one of the two greatest threats, and even though he was now flanking one of the Iyrmen, neither of them had even turned to face him, while their blades swung down towards the pair. ‘What is this?’ His blade struck across the side of the Iyrman, and yet he had only managed a superficial blow. 

With terror filling his heart, one of the guards cried out, his blade cutting through the Iyrman’s shoulder, managing the deepest blow any of his companions had managed. “Take that, you beast!” He roared, suddenly feeling a rush of adrenaline through him. ‘Yes! Just one more!’ His thoughts rushed through his mind as he grew drunk upon his victory. ‘Just one more and I-‘

Before he could finish that thought, an axe and blade simultaneously struck the knights across his helmet on either side, a blade even cutting through the visor to forever scar him, should he survive the terrible blow. 

There had been a reason why Rajin, who had vied for the Chief position, had been requested to watch over the Iyrmen the guard had tried to cut down. 

“Okay?” Rajin asked.

Jarot flexed towards the three remaining warriors, blood spurting out as he did, and yet the old man, even having taken multiple blades, stood tall and proud. “Okay.”

‘What?’ 

The knights tried to gather themselves, each trying to carve the Iyrmen, like a butcher would carve a pig, but though their blades managed to break through their iron skin, they only painted the canvas slightly red. The knights, in sheer disbelief, watched as their fourth companion, another Expert, fell to the terrible blows of the Iyrmen, whose bodies were hot red with rage.

‘By the Mother!’

“Left?” Rajin asked, as though asking for permission.

“Hmm,” Jarot allowed, turning to face the knight on the right.

“Aim for the cripple!” the knight shouted.

Finally, two Masters turned their attention upon the crippled Iyrman, who was finally panting for air, and wore no shield, which was his family’s way.

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