Beyond Chaos – A DiceRPG

The young Iyrman remained deep in thought, a rare occurrence, but one that caused his wife to remain to one side, watching over their youngest. Her eyes sometimes crossed over the room towards her husband, who held onto his knees, his thoughts causing him to slip deeper and deeper into greater thoughts.

To think, the young Jurot supposed, the Iyr had methods in allowing them to slip through Realms during the various months outside the Twilight Month. He had always assumed the Iyr could do so, however, it was all but confirmed that they could. It meant he could begin to use his favours and rights towards stepping out in the middle of the year rather than waiting for the last month.

‘To think, this time, they did not require any favours or rights, an offer from the Iyr itself…’ Jurot tried to recall how many times the Iyr, the Great Elders, had offered such freely, proactively towards those he was so familiar with.

Of course, Jurot understood why. Whenever the Iyr did something out of the ordinary, the times when it chose to disregard a great many of its rules, laws, its ways, it was always in service of the Prime Law.

The Iyrman reached up to cover his eyes, but he could still see them, upon the obelisk slabs.

Little Jarot clutched at his father’s shirt, sucking on a thumb, his eyes firmly glued upon his father’s neck, all the while the half elf held his twins within his arms, cuddling with them now that he felt as though he wasn’t going to die from a sneeze.

“Daddy,” the little girl called, her voice almost meek. “Do you know I love you?”

“I know,” Adam whispered in return.

The girl fell silent for a long moment. “Daddy, you have to say it back.”

“Ah, I love you too, Jirot, and you too, my little babby Jarot.” Adam planted gentle kisses on their heads, and though Jarot made to complain that he was a big boy, the kiss silenced him, the boy cuddling up to his father’s chest, the pair filling their father with warmth.

“You silly boy,” Jirot grumbled, clutching at his shirt tight with her chubby hand, sucking upon her thumb. “I am sorry for being mean to you.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Adam said, not using any strength to stop himself from replying so shocked, for he was too tired to allow it to overwhelm him. “I know you don’t mean it.”

“Just a little bit.”

“Ah, right, of course,” Adam replied, hearing the girl whisper the word in return. “I’m a little mean too, aren’t I?”

“More than just a little bit.”

Adam smiled at the accusation within her tone, and the half elf brought them closer towards his chest, allowing them to half sleep on him, the pair’s heads on his chest as he continued to pepper their heads with his affection.

“Jababy, do you forgive me too?”

Jarot blinked, glancing up towards his father, seeing his father’s face through the darkness as though it were dimly lit. The boy shook his head lightly, then he cackled, causing his sister to cackle, and causing his father’s chest to bounce against their heads.

“Jarot, you are so silly!” Jirot giggled, reaching out her hand, taking his within her own, all the while their father embraced them tightly.

As the pair fell to slumber, the poisonous flower known as grief bloomed within their father’s heart, digging its thorns of vengeance deep within.

Jurot carried the large rock, feeling the ache within his muscles, his fingers screaming at him, but he kept a tight grip, until finally he was able to slowly place it down onto the ground. He clenched his fists, flexed his muscles, then glanced asides towards the blob of blue who sat to one side, the girl squealing as she clapped her her hands. The young Iyrman’s ears flushed lightly, feeling the girl’s innocent gaze all upon his form.

“Ada?” Amalrot asked.

“…”

“…”

Jurot remained silent for a long moment, but he couldn’t blame her, for the entire previous year, his brother had monopolised the girl, and though he had to surrender her to his mother, at the very least the girl was his sister.

Amalrot blinked.

“You must allow me to spoil you too.”

The girl smiled, smiling even wide as Jurot lifted her up, only then realising he was drenching the girl’s clothing with his sweat, but that was fine, for he could steal her away to bathe her, and then use that bully his brother who was currently still resting within his bed.

Jurot’s heart throbbed, causing him to pause within his step, all the while little Amal stared at the ground, in which she levitated across within the safety of her brother’s arms.

“Should I have stepped out too?”

“Papa?” Amalrot glanced up towards the Iyrman, who reached down to pinch her nose, causing her to squeal.

Upon their return, Jurot took the girl to bathe, washing himself, allowing her to splash around in a very shallow bath, though washing her lightly, then as he dried and brushed her hair, he paused, noting the various lotions for the girl’s hair. Whereas Lanarot’s hair required the thinner creams, Amal’s hair was far thicker, and since she was of fiery blood, he needed to apply a different lotion to her skin too. Yet, he was not unfamiliar, for his cousins were those of the Gaks.

“What?” Adam complained, settled within a chair in the corner, beginning to stand, only to find his wife’s gaze suddenly upon him, so he retreated into it once more. “To think you would try to steal Amal from me! Are you confident you can defeat me?”

“If I was uncertain, I would not have stepped forward,” Jurot replied simply.

“Papo, you must be careful, because in this way, daddy is very strong,” little Jirot warned.

“If even you speak the words, it must be true.”

Jirot flushed lightly, smirking, returning back to her father, placing a hand upon her knee. “You see, daddy? Even if I am trouble, I know.”

“I know,” Adam replied, brushing the girl’s hair. “Except, it seems as though papo has already lost?”

Amal’s arms reached for Adam, all the while she called for him excitedly, without the half elf even making a move. Yes, for though certainly they were siblings, wasn’t the half elf’s nickname the Crazy Brother?

No.

However, it was true he was indeed a crazy brother, as the pair embraced one another, exchanging many kisses, nuzzling one another, though the girl squealed and cried with delight, burying her head against his chest. The half elf smiled brightly, holding the girl, who had kept him sane during the previous year. The half elf then thought of the other little girl, considering threatening a particular Merman Prince, but decided to show him mercy, partly because he wasn’t allowed to cast any spells while recovering.

“Papa?” Amalrot asked, noting his paleness, and the dark veins across his skin.

“Don’t you start,” Adam grumbled, lifting the girl up so he could blow raspberries against her neck, reaching up to tickle her ear lightly. “I can still protect you, Amalbaby. You might not know this, but this papa of yours, he’s only lost three times, I think. I lost to babo, I lost to some other guy I don’t want to talk about, and I lost to the combined efforts of your brother and cousins, but that doesn’t count because I wasn’t in my right mind, and also, because I was outnumbered, wasn’t I? I bet I could…”

Jurot’s eyes continued to press upon the half elf’s shoulders.

“Amalrot, isn’t papa Jurot so scary?” Adam whispered, pressing their cheeks together, the half elf peeking up towards Jurot, who felt the fire within his heart, but knew the half elf, as much as he spoke in jest, was genuinely terrified of their bout, regardless of who may claim victory.

“Saya?” Amalrot asked.

“Why is it always food with you?” Adam grumbled.

“I will bring it, kako,” Jirot said, glancing up towards the girl, then reached up to her forehead. “Oh my gosh, my kako is so beautiful! What I am to do? So troublesome, so troublesome.”

As Adam laughed at her joke, for regardless of how many times she spoke the joke, it continued to cause the others around to smile and laugh.

There was another who thought deeply of a specific matter.

The Chief of the Iyr stood within a field, allowing nature to relax his heart. He inhaled the sharp, fresh air of the Iyr, which eased his heart, yet there were too many burdens, too many aches, too many tears.

‘Who else should I send?’ Iromin thought, though that was the easiest question he asked himself, for there were greater questions.

This was the Iyr.

It meant that, didn’t it?

The Iyr, with all its rules, all its laws, all its rights.

In his heart, he understood, there was a need to speak of that which he should not speak, not the unspeakable, but the kind that suggested he held a lack of wisdom, except with all that had already happened during the turn of the millennium, shouldn’t they step forward?

It was Chaos, of course.

He could already hear their responses, about this, about that, but ultimately he understood the words to at least ease their hearts. It was the privilege of the Great Elders, after all, to be able to suggest such madness, and to leave it within their care.

They had already sent so many Iyrmen away to train during such a turbulent time, from the previous year, and then this year, he had sent off a great many, each of whom had left to train their hearts, rather than their steel.

Iromin stared at his clenched fist, the callouses within his hands, the countless wyverns he had cut down flashing through his mind, and then…

He winced.

He thought of a particular Mad Dog, whose fangs had long dulled, and though they had regained some sharpness, it was a small mercy he was still half crippled, even if his words were as wild as ever.

‘I should assign a Death Squad…’