Beyond Chaos – A DiceRPG

“Hmph!” The girl grumbled quietly, her hands wrapped behind her back, shambling back and forth, as though she were a petal upon the waves.

Little Jarot sat, almost more exhausted watching his sister pace about in front of them than she was walking.

“There is need for your father and mother to spend time alone, as you like to with your brother, even if you should remain within my arm forever,” the old Mad Dog said.

The girl huffed once more, inhaling sharply to argue with her greatfather, but she let out a sigh, deciding to show mercy to the old man, since he had spent so long cuddling her against his strong chest, still vaguely recalling the ghost of his heartbeat against her cheek. Her eyes darted towards the dark sky, the same dark sky the Iyr welcomed day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year, and from what Jirot had read, century after century.

They could also say it was millennia after millennia.

The stars shone brightly that day, as they would in all days, even when the sky was grey. The twinkling stars, a painting a prince and a pauper could enjoy without the need to spend a single copper, or the mountain of gold snatched from the soul of the most noble by those who insisted to be called most noble.

These stars had been so beautiful when when he was a baby, the boy remembered. They were so beautiful as they made their way southward across Aldland, coming face to face with various nightmares one should not, especially one so young.

It was this season, duskval, in which he had first met his father.

It was this festival, duskval, in which he had first enjoyed with his father.

‘You might be an Emperor where you come from, but this is the Iyr,’ his father had said, to such a terrifying figure. ‘Don’t think you can act as you please.’

It was at that time, the boy thought. He recalled how the Emperor, Shama, could dare to threaten his father, but…

‘Lord Shama, you cannot touch my daughter.’

It was his grandmother who had berated her father, and then the Emperor, for daring to touch her daughter, a Child of the Iyr.

It was at that time, as a babe, the sound of clashing steel caused his heart to tighten, but these days, such a sound was almost like music to his ears.

‘Are you so confident in the Iyr’s abilities to protect you?’

‘No, I’m just an idiot.’

‘Idiot,’ the boy thought. It was a word that meant something bad, but when his dad used it, it was a word so comforting.

It was raining that day, too, and yet, though sometimes the rain brought a grief to the boy’s heart, it brought joy too. Perhaps it was not nightval, in which he emerged from the egg, into the snow, his sister nuzzling against him the moment he had been born, but duskval, in which his father had held him so tenderly, which was his favourite season?

No, his sister’s affection was also the best.

His eldest sister finally stood, for her heart ached too much, and she led her two younger siblings away, following the comforting scents, finally approaching the wall, dropping down, accepting her younger brother beside her, as her younger sister sandwiched the boy between them.

“Little ones, what are you doing here?” called a voice, of an Iyrman who carried a bow upon his back, a short blade and a dagger at his side. He was older, in his sixties, perhaps seventies, with short hair, a beard that had grown over the course of a month, and he wore a kind expression, tempered by sleepiness.

“Sitting,” Konarot replied.

Tarvol paused for a long moment, considering the girl’s word. “May I sit too?”

“Okay.”

Tarvol sat near the children, leaning back against the wall. He glanced aside towards the triplets, considering what their greatuncle had told him about them. ‘You said you left because of one or another reason, but it is because they are so cute, is it not?’

Meanwhile, their mother and father cuddled together within the estate, settled within a corner, wrapped in a blanket. Vonda sat upon her husband’s lap, who thought of her weight, which held a comfortable heaviness, which anchored him to the world.

“I’m sorry,” Adam whispered into her ear, the pair having spoken of this and that, and now that they were cuddling, Adam couldn’t help but apologise.

“What are you apologising for this time?”

“Everything.”

Vonda pressed her head against his, planting a firm kiss on his lips, brushing his cheek tenderly. “I will consider forgiving you.”

Adam flushed lightly, but was more glad she spoke those words instead of just forgiving him immediately. He wrapped his arms around her wait a little tighter, pulling her closer, nuzzling against her neck gently. Her scent was so sweet, floral, as always, but this time with a particular sweetness that had cost him many pouches of gold, and in Adam’s opinion, was more than worth it.

Vonda half lay upon her exhausted husband, her hand rubbing along his chest to his shoulder, feeling the tension within his powerful muscles. She considered the dreams of her youth, the kind of person she had dreamt of marrying, and though in some ways Adam did not meet the expectations of her younger self, he surpassed them in other ways. The half elf had admitted Vonda had surpassed his expectations in every way, and though he had never lied, she was uncertain if his mind was tricked by his heart.

Sometimes she had asked him how much he loved her.

‘More than the world,’ the half elf admitted. ‘If you asked me to destroy the world, I probably would check to see if you were mind controlled. If you asked me to never step out of the Iyr, I would stay here forever with you.’

Each time, he said something like that, but would say a great many other things, some things poetic, some things foolish, but all of them so like her husband.

‘How heavy…’ Vonda thought, brushing her husband’s cheek with a thumb, her husband whose heart remained chained with anxiety.

During the festival, those from the east also enjoyed themselves.

“Here,” Lani said, feeding her niece a pepper, the little girl shyly accepting the food from her fingers. “Why are you so shy with me? I am your aila.”

Ranya hid her face within her mother’s arm, retreating away from the woman she had met recently. Though Lani would sometimes play with her, her ahm, Adam, was the one who played with her the most, sometimes even more than her own father.

“You should not compete with him in this arena,” Dunes joked, for to step against Adam like this was the greatest folly.

“I can defeat him!”

“Even if you spend the work day with my daughter, you cannot defeat Adam, whose affection reaches even the heavens.”

“We shall see!”

Uli also enjoyed himself within the festival, taking the week off from trying to understand the half elf known as Adam, instead trying to understand the enigma that was the Iyr. Within Aswadasad, he could clash with a great many foes, and alongside many other Black Lions, there would be few he would be unable to hunt. However, each day of the festival thus far, he came to blows with a great many Iyrmen, some his age, some younger, including a particular Iyrman.

During the evening, Uli drew his blade, feeling the magic within it. He held it out in front of him, recalling the ceremony in which the Fariq had granted him this sword. His master would have been so proud of him, but had passed a few years previous. A warmth ran through his veins, towards his heart, for the clash between the Iyrmen and himself had caused a spark, which had lit a fire within his heart.

‘I apologise, for someone like myself is unworthy,’ the Iyrman had said.

To think an unworthy Iyrman was still vicious enough to defeat him so brutally.

“Why are you training even during the festival?” Sonarot asked, finding her foolish younger brother swinging his blade in the air. ‘Defeating the Black Lion should have been enough…’

“Konagek praised me after the bout,” Tonagek replied simply, and though his steps were still unbalanced, his blade remained deadly and efficient.

“Her name is Konarot,” Sonarot replied, though the woman smiled, glad her brother’s heart had healed that much. If this continued, he may choose to step out of the Iyr once more, and return to the figure who said he would his uncle’s position in the Ten Paragons, even if he did step down from it already due to his injury.

There were many hearts which remained wounded, some of those which were Iyrmen, who had been crippled by their adventures outside, those who had dreamt so big.

‘Big,’ Konarot had said, accusing her many years ago.

‘Yes.’

‘One day I am big?’

‘One day.’

‘Oh,’ Konarot had replied, blinking. ‘Big as daddy?’

‘Perhaps.’

‘Mummy is big.’

‘Your mother is quite big too.’

‘Mummy is bigger.’

‘She is?’

‘Yes.’

Sonarot had thought, since her granddaughter had said her mother, who was at least a finger shorter than her father, was bigger, then she must have been bigger.

‘Jirot big girl!’ Jirot had complained at one point, but not in the same way, mostly because she wanted to drink alcohol, though her greatfather, after almost allowing her to drink it, had wizened in an instant and had refused, causing such a mess.

Sonarot’s heart ached slightly, but she forced the feeling away. Instead, she waited, for soon, Adam’s heart would be soothed.

It was at the end of the festival when they finally came.