Beyond Chaos – A DiceRPG

“No…” Jirot whispered in response, her voice the meekest it had ever been, shaking her head. “No! No, daddy, what are you saying? I stay here, daddy! I stay home!”

“We’re going to be travelling all across Aswadasad, ahm Dunes’ homeland, and we’re going to go meet the Amira.”

“No!” Jirot replied back, not quite angrily, but her words carried a great weight. “You must call her here, daddy! You must!”

“Dear, we…” The half elf paused, noting the look of sheer shock upon his son’s eyes from the corner of his eyes, and he fought against the darkness which crept on his face. “We have to go, my dear.”

Jirot gasped one more, her breath caught within her chest, and her head snapped, instantly finding her mother. “Mummy!”

Vonda inhaled sharply, holding out her arms, allowing the twins to flee from their father, towards her arms. She hugged them both, lifting them up to kiss their cheeks, but was ready to put them down because…

“We have to go, my dears,” the woman said, assaulting their hearts from this side too.

“No!” Jirot half exclaimed, gasping once more, this time the word far more desperate, as the girl shook her head, and upon seeing her mother’s eyes, the girl’s face contorted slightly, her eyes wet, and she squirmed out of her mother’s arms, grabbing Jarot’s hand, and retreating to their grandmother. “Nana! You must tell mummy! You must tell daddy!”

“Jirot...” Sonarot replied, with an equally heavy heart.

“I stay with you, nana! I stay with you!” The girl declared half angrily, but only to mask the pain within her heart, her eyes so full of tears, as their grandmother held the pair within her bosom. What a terrible day it was, for her granddaughter and grandson to cry, not just because of their father, but their mother too, and, soon, their grandmother.

“Bad boy!” Virot called, tears within her eyes, holding up a fist towards her father, threatening to punch him. She threw a fist into the air, then rushed to her siblings, the girl beginning to cry far more deeply than even her elder siblings.

Damrot, too, cried.

‘You don’t have to worry at all,’ the half elf thought, though he knew if he spoke, he would break down. ‘This father of yours, as stupid as he is, will definitely protect you.’

Thankfully, Konarot, Kirot, and Karot each settled beside their younger siblings, assisting their grandmother in dealing with their hearts. Konarot held Jirot upon her lap, patting her back gently, Kirot holding Jarot, while Karot kept an eye upon Virot and Damrot, who sucked their thumbs.

“Even if it hurts, they have to leave,” Adam whispered, wiping the wetness from his own eyes, while his brother’s shadow shielded him from the light.

Jurot clenched his fists so tight, his knuckles cracked, but swiftly relaxed upon feeling the gazes fall upon him. “It will be difficult to convince them.”

“They’ll accept,” Adam said, with far more confidence. He wouldn’t have spoken to them at this time if he hadn’t been confident. The half elf swallowed, about to take a step forward, but his legs refused to move. If he stepped closer, wouldn’t they cry once more, because of this weak, foolish, pathetic father of theirs?

“Who is it that has wounded the heart of my great daughter so?” a familiar voice called, stepping into the estate. He was tall, his skin tanned by time, dark tendrils falling over his shoulders, and upon his lips was the wild grin that once was a mere ghost of a memory, but today, the memory returned clearly. Upon his back he wore a shield, new, full of magical might, and at his side, an axe that was near identical to one designed the previous year, and which would soon hang upon his grandsons’ sides.

It was not the smile.

It was not the shield.

It was not even the axe which caused a pause to run through the estate.

“My great children, tell me, who made you cry?” the old Iyrman called, his forehead kissed by blue, a circle flanked by three diamonds on either side, that of the Rot family, for he was of such a family, though he was almost unrecognisable now.

‘Oh,’ Vonda thought, suddenly realising what her husband had meant. In this moment, he couldn’t help but think that the half elf was certainly his daughter’s father.

“Babo…” the children called, blinking towards the old man.

The old man approached them, reaching out his hands. The children eyed up his hand, a green pair the pair reaching out to it, feeling the soft wood, and as they each clasped it, he lifted them up with ease, the old man roaring with laughter.

Virot eyed up the old man’s arms, then his legs, and she turned her head towards her mother with confusion, for when did she have two babos that looked the same like this? She had papas and kakas that looked the same, but not two babos.

“You must eat more, for you are too thin,” the old Iyrman joked, even though his words were heavier upon looking at the boy named after himself.

“Babo, your arm…” Jirot called quietly, while little Jarot looked down towards the old man’s leg, which was formed of wood.

“This arm? This leg? I wonder who it was that gifted me such a fine arm and leg.”

Jirot looked towards her father, who smiled awkwardly towards her with that strained smile, and then she turned her attention back to her greatfather, furrowing her brows.

“Your father, he is so kind to me, yes?”

Jirot flushed lightly, leaning in to her greatfather’s ear, holding onto his neck. “Yes, daddy is so kind.”

The old man laughed, for though it would have healed his grandson’s heart, this time it was his greatdaughter whose heart remained the most wounded. If they hadn’t been within his arms, he certainly would have fallen into a rage, but he held his greatchildren within his arms, feeling his greatson’s clothing brushing softly through his left hand.

“My Jirot! My Jarot!” The old man began, half shouting, while the rest of his greatchildren, even his young grandchildren, gathered around him. His neck strained, however, but he forced such a feeling away. “You are within my arms now! There is no need to be afraid!”

Sonarot held the old man within her gaze, for how long had it been since she had seen him like this? The old Mad Dog, who had been defanged so many years ago, when even Jurot was but a boy, before even her niece’s first memories. Then, it was only in the past few years, when he lost his leg during the civil war, and it was then, she thought, he had died. The Mad Dog had returned, when he came to blows with a great many figures a year and a half ago, but that Mad Dog had burned brightly only for a moment, and disappeared as quickly as he had returned.

“I will carry you when we leave!” the old man declared, as though trying to convince himself. “I will hold you against my chest, for no one will be able to hurt you within my arms!”

Jirot and Jarot held his collar, the pair hiding their faces against his neck.

“Do you understand?” the old Jarot asked.

Jirot and Jarot sniffled against his neck.

The old Jarot, with his two arms, his two legs, returning to the world, as though someone had blown upon a dusty painting once, smiled. The smile was that kind of smile, to stop himself from revealing his pain. “I will show you why they call me Mad Dog!”

Jurot’s eyes remained firmly fixated upon the old man.

It was raining that day.

He recalled the silhouette of the figure.

He was so big.

He was so red.

He was so strong.

It was as a boy he had known the word strong from his grandfather, rather than the meaning of the word itself.

For a moment, Jurot could see it.

The return of that old man, so full of fury, so full of rage, the kind of old man who could dare to step out to slaughter the likes of Forgryn the Azure Terror.

Jurot wasn’t certain if the old man was back yet, but seeing how he had trained for the last few years to keep the name of the Mad Dog, to see him step out as he had for the sake of his greatchildren, and now, with his declaration, at the very least, the Mad Dog would not remain without his fangs for long.

Adam inhaled deeply, with the understanding he needed to leave his grandfather and his children be, and that, since he was so weak, he would be unable to calm their hearts. However, within the warmth of their grandfather’s arms, so strong they were, he could need to hope that was enough to ease their hearts.

“You have worked hard,” Vonda whispered, reaching down to intertwine their fingers together.

The half elf could not even find the solace within her words, for, perhaps, he hadn’t worked hard enough?

Quest Complete!