Beyond Chaos – A DiceRPG

As the sky grew grey, Mork inhaled the crisp air, it was not the kind of air that would soon see rain, but it was good enough air. It had only been a night since he had returned, so his muscles continued to pulse with the ache of their adventure thus far. Thankfully they hadn’t trekked on foot, especially across so many hills, or the northern mountains of Aswadasad, otherwise he would need at least a couple of weeks before he would be able to sit and pray right.

‘I have already reached as high as I can go,’ Mork thought. His relationship to the business was very different to others, from the likes of Freddie, and even his brother. He was a Priest, the kind which could cast Third Gate spells. He was not the kind who had joined the business for the chance of a greater life, butt he kind who had joined the business to retire, to enjoy his days peacefully, working lightly, although in this business, it seemed he would need to work much harder, but he was accustomed to such, for he was a northerner.

Tork, on the other hand, wasn’t thinking about how he was retiring within the business, but rather how little he had fought throughout the last few years. He held out a hand, staring at his rough palms, noting the calluses, those which revealed the hard work he had put in his life in order to reach the height of an Expert, a position in which he could happily retire, but his blood boiled for more. The chances to fight had been numerous, but the timing was unfortunate, for others held a greater claim towards such fighting, while he…

“It’s warm in the south,” Mork joked, feeling the chilling air caressing his skin, but compared to the icy winds of the north, this was less a mountain tiger biting into his neck, but rather a puppy nibbling against his cheek.

“It’s not tha same as Aswadasad,” Tork replied, inhaling deeply, the crisp air that would not see rain, but it was good enough. “The Aswadian air’s hot, like fire. This air, air o’ tha southerners, a warm air, weak.”

“They begin with the same letters.”

“Ah’ve never been so good with tha letters.”

“You need to be better, otherwise you’ll embarrass the business when you head out, so they’ll keep you here,” Mork teased his horcish twin, causing the horc to snort, but the fellow couldn’t deny his brother’s words.

“If yer going to say it like that…”

“If you’re.”

Tork let out a low groan, almost a growl, but he winced, since he really did wish to assist the business in a greater capacity, and he knew how those kinds of folk were. He was glad one of the Executives were half elves, and the rest were Iyrmen, especially those with red skin and horns, for they knew it truly, the way that kind would aim their blades so eagerly in order to feel good about their injustice.

“Tork,” Mork called, turning from the sky towards his brother.

“Aye?”

Mork reached over to his brother’s shoulder, gripping it tight, feeling the muscle that was almost like iron. “Go on ahead.”

Tork remained silent for a long moment. The horc reached out and clasped his brother’s forearm, nodding his head lightly, his heart both skipping several beats, and growing greater at ease. Although, he thought, if Mork remained here, who would get him into trouble? What a boring life his brother would lead, not the kind of life for a northerner like him.

Adam finally settled to one side in the corner, his youngest son allowing his father to spoil him, mostly by stealing him away from his mother, the boy having just woken up once more, wiping his eyes, only for his father to smother him in affection. He was so small, so tiny, his skin slightly more tan than Adam’s own, from his mother, his leaf shaped ears twitching lightly, and those eyes of his beamed up towards him with a delight fighting off exhaustion. Thɪs chapter is updatᴇd by NoveI-Fire.ɴet

“Did you sleep okay, Xarot?”

“Hehe!” the boy replied, closing his eyes as his father planted a firm kiss on the boy’s cheek, pinning the babe’s head to his chest.

Xarot had grown so large, he had gained so much intelligence, far too quickly for the half elf’s liking. Adam rubbed the boy’s ear, causing him to squeal with joy, for though his mother gave him so much affection, his father gave him as much affection, appreciating all aspects of his son who he wished to see daily, and yet the world conspired against him. The half elf brushed the boy’s hair, so thick and curly, behind his leaf shaped ears, staring down at the boy’s nape, then to his attire, all the way down to the outline of his clothy, which showed mercy to the half elf.

“You’re so meek too, huh, Xarot?” Adam teased, the boy squealing in response, as his babies always would. He saw Xarot’s face, then little Virot’s, then little Larot’s, though his was so different, then each of his twins, and finally each of his triplets, though they were so much older then. He brushed his son’s cheek, feeling how soft it was, so warm, hot, for the boy was still young, and radiated such heat out.

“He walks with confidence, as though he is his father’s son, and his sister’s brother,” Vonda teased the half elf, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“Darling, do you think Xarot will protect you if you seduce me?” Adam asked, tickling his son’s nose with his thumb, almost causing the boy to sneeze, all the while raising a brow to Vonda.

Vonda understood the half elf’s threat, and considering how long he had spent on the road, he would be more likely for one reason, and less likely for another, to actually follow through…

Who was she kidding?

The half elf would certainly follow through, so she reached over to brush her hand along her son’s leg, causing the boy to squeal even louder, before catching his attention, speaking to the boy, allowing him to squeal and babble in response, while the half elf leaned back, closing his eyes.

Adam’s mind fell to the thought of forming the various warriors into their own units, but then thought of the Golden Savages, who were strong enough they could lead their own units. He thought for a moment, until another thought barrelled through, reminding the half elf they preferred to remain together.

Zabir enjoyed his time to one side, noting all the children playing dragonchess, all the while Dunes and Uli remained near him, the Aswadians sticking together. He thought to ask about the other Aswadian he had seen, but instead noted the Aswadian children nearby, waving a hand towards them, the children waving their hands back with the confidence of those who grew up within the Iyr.

However…

‘If they hold such confidence…’ Zabir thought, considering the Aswadian fellow he had seen, but the thought fell away, since children at their age were often so courageous. His instincts had told him the Aswadian man was more than what he saw, but at the same time, he was growing old, and even if he was, what did it matter to him?

“Kako, look,” Jirot called, pointing to the half dragon, who was certainly a dragon, to one side. “Mister Bael’s napping.”

“He is.”

“Mister Bael likes to nap and drink, and he is really strong, not because he naps and drinks, but because he is strong, he naps and drinks,” Jirot said, not noticing Bael crack open an eye to look at the girl, who was so astute.

“You’re right,” Lucy said, surprised, growing more surprised that she was surprised, since Jirot was Jirot. “I’m strong too, so that’s why I drink and nap.”

Jirot’s head tilted slightly, the girl side eyeing the demon, but she did not speak up against her, since Lucy was so pretty, and so nice to her and her brother, so she showed mercy to the kako who pretended she was a Demon Lord.

“Don’t look at me like that!” Lucy complained, causing Jirot to let out a sigh, the girl shrugging her shoulders as if she had no idea what Lucy was talking about, and as Lucy reached down to grab her, the girl darted to one side, cackling as she fled. “Come back here, you little troublemaker!”

Jarot looked up to Mara, who returned his look, the pair blinking, before even Jarot darted away, causing Mara to chase after him with as much effort as Lucy chased Jirot.

Konarot was currently engaged in a great battle across a field that was no longer than her arm either direction, but it was the greatest battle she had engaged in, for she was going up against Maharan, who did not hold back against the girl. Yet, the girl was probably as experienced as he, Maharan gathered, not realising Konarot had played the game at least once a day for the last couple of years, and sometimes she would play it for hours while her siblings would draw and read nearby.

‘She really is her father’s daughter,’ Maharan thought.