Beyond Chaos

'What have I gotten myself into now?' Maharan thought, sitting within one of the most prestigious Orders across the land. He was fairly certain, after hearing the nonsense the half elf spouted, that the young father was insane, but he was equally as certain that everything the half elf had spoken was true.

Maharan glanced aside towards Yasha, who didn't seem surprised by the half elf's victory, and as Maharan thought back to the half elf defeating the sand giant warrior, he understood the half elf was not just a typical individual. However, what was that he had said? He had killed the Grand Commander of High Garden? He had never heard of an Order called High Garden. Except, the way the others reacted to the words, it must have been one of the greatest Orders in Aldland.

Maharan then thought about the half elf's words. He said something else, didn't he? That the man was the previous Fariq of a different Order? The… Thousand Hunts! He knew of that Order, even as far east as the Confederacy.

'How strong are you, Executive?'

Yasha sipped her pink tea lightly, her eyes darting between the various servants nearby. The servants, the workers, they were those who were paying their tax through physical labour to the Order, rather than through coin. The Order collected taxes, as one might have expected of it, but it also received donations, so it was flush in silver, but it always needed bodies. She assumed some of them might have been criminals, or those who had lost their purpose in life, forced to join the Order by their parents in order to become a part of its heritage, some hoping the children were talented enough to become proper warriors and members of the Order.

Yasha's eyes then fell to her grandfather.

"I am watching over my granddaughter, and these fine people of the United Kindom, to see if they are compatible," Zabir admitted, sipping his pink tea lightly, his eyes sparkling with delight. It was the kind of look that said he had already made his decision and now was just along for the ride.

"Have you known them for long, this United Kindom?" the Sheath asked.

"Not long," Zabir admitted. "We travelled from Arisa to Dahab, spent some time in the capital, the business met with a few individuals, and dealt with some business, mostly of relaxation, they did not go see the Ice Palace though, a shame for it is so beautiful, but they wished to come here specifically, I heard."

The old warrior, one of the Sheaths, smiled, nodding his head. He could prod the old man more, but it would have been rude. Instead, he leaned in slightly. "I heard of your tale, not just from sister Fatima, but I heard of you. Zabir, Guard of Arisa. There are some who followed your path, but none who became a Mulazim, none who remained a member of the town guard."

"Shukhur, I was blessed to be born in Arisa, which saw my talents, and allowed me to grow so strong. Not as strong as the Sheaths, I wouldn't dare say such words, but decent."

"How strong are you?"

"Between Expert and Master."

The Sheath raised his brows in surprise, for though Zabir was not as strong as a Sheath, he was still quite powerful. Every Sheath was a Master, it was required to be at least a Master to gain the title, but a guard who was between an Expert and a Master was already an impressive feat. If he had been born in Black Mountain, he would have certainly become a Sheath with his work ethic.

"Brother Zabir, I knew I heard your tale for a reason," the Sheath said, pouring the old man a drink. "If the business does not suit you, I will invite you to stay in Black Mountain."

"It is a great blessing, but I must watch over my granddaughter," Zabir said, smiling politely. "If it does not suit her, I will take you on your offer."

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

The Sheath was almost offended, but he thought of the half elf, as well as all the figures who seemed to be a part of the business. He wasn't sure how many of these Iyrmen were a part of the business, but if even one or two of them were members of the business, then Zabir could not offend him with his rejection, for such was the United Kindom.

John sipped his pink tea, wincing slightly at how sweet it was. 'How do the Aswadians drink this tea daily? It's too sweet for the bones…'

"What are you looking at, Shakarath?" Aneesa asked, the Sheath smoking from her pipe, blowing out a pink dragon which rose to the heavens. She wore her breastplate, but upon her shoulders fell a long scarf, her lips painted deep red, her eyelashes and brows holding the same red, while her eyes were full of a mischievous light. She was tall and thin, while her companion was the opposite.

Shakarath was shorter than the average fellow, but much wider, his muscles barely contained within his armour. He, who had sparred with the Poison Sword Dragon, and was so easily defeated, stared at the young man nearby, he whose hands were rough and worn from life. "Sister, that young man…"

"Is he that good?" Aneesa asked, and as her eyes darted to the side, noting the young man sipping away at the pink tea awkwardly, she tilted her head. "He isn't so bad."

"If I could take him, I would mould him into the greatest First Blade."

"The greatest?" Aneesa's eyes fell upon the figure who once held such a hope, back when she was just a little girl, and the inspiration for her to become one of the Sheaths.

"What a great tale," Taher admitted, leaning in to the half elf, smiling wide. He reached out towards the cup with his whole hand, sipping at it lightly, while he picked up the biscuit his free hand, with his thumb and finger. That particular hand and arm was much thinner, though more than enough to pick up a biscuit to nibble.

"Now that I've told you my tale, isn't it your turn, oh Kal Taher?" Adam mused aloud, flashing a cheeky smile.

"I was born long before you, half fae, my father a warrior of Black Mountain, my mother, Jamila the Beautiful, though if you are within the Iyr, you may know her as the Sword of the Second Dawn."

History Check (Intelligence)
D20 + 3 = 19 (16)

'I've been in the Iyr for years but I'm not Trained in History?' Adam tilted his head to the side, trying to recall the name. "I vaguely recall it."

"Jirot spoke the tale a long while ago," Laygak said, recalling it instantly since the girl had wanted to sit on his lap. "She spoke of it when she spoke of Barak the Rock's tale."

"Ooooooh, yeah, Barak the Rock, I remember him," Adam admitted, nodding his head. "The one who killed…"

"Gaffar."

"That's the one," Adam said, nodding his head once more, narrowing his eyes. "So how does Lady Jamila come into the picture."

"Gaffar was a friend to Lady Jamila, Sword of the Second Dawn, who almost killed Barak."

"Yeah I do remember that now."

The older man smiled, sipping his pink tea, before placing it down. "A few years later, my brother Salim was born, the two sons of the Sword of the Second Dawn. It was no surprise that Black Mountain coveted us, and my mother, in her wisdom, allowed them to covet us. She was closer with Five Moons, and she always joked she wished she had daughters."

Adam chuckled with the old man, shrugging his shoulders. "Well, that's because she didn't have daughters like mine."

The older man chuckled, nodding his head. "They could see I was mother's son. I was a prodigy, so they said, and I studied for years. By the time I was ten, they knew I would become the strongest First Blade. I had such a potential, they had the means, and as my brother, Salim, grew, they noticed he held such great abilities too. I became the hope for Black Mountain, so too, was my brother."

Adam leaned in slightly, listening to the old man's tales, noting the way he closed his eyes to look back to another time, the old man smiling.

"I fought so many great warriors, those of my mother's generation. They showed me great respect, and favour, for though my mother made many enemies, she was too beautiful to hold a grudge against. I fought the likes of…" The old man shook his head, unable to name the great warriors, far too many to speak, and he was unsure of who was most impressive. "Many great warriors."

"Who was your favourite to spar?"

The old man let out a soft sigh, leaning back in his chair. "My favourite was Ahmed. We called him Uncle Ahmed. He was weaker than me, though he was years my senior, because his mother was not Jamila the Beautiful, and he was not raised in Black Mountain. Ahmed, he was a man of Aswadasad. He held a blade in his hand young, as a guard, and fought in various wars. He did not know the clean fighting of the Orders, he knew how to fight to survive. He was my favourite, because even though he called me Kal Taher, his blade treated me like a monster."

Adam smiled, mirroring the older Taher, whose eyes beamed.

"No. He was my second favourite to fight. There was another. A warrior whose name was troublesome in Aswadasad, a warrior who made a name for herself during the Tariff Skirmishes."