Beyond Chaos – A DiceRPG

“You do not have to be so jealous,” the old Jarot said, patting his grandsons on their shoulders. “It is not because your children and grandchildren are not talented, but that you were not talented enough to raise them right!”

Most of the older Iyrmen felt annoyed, though only a few of them were powerful enough to remain annoyed, all the while the old Mad Dog roared with laughter, but it was not the kind of laughter they knew, now a laughter tainted.

“My grandsons are both so talented, I am so fortunate!” Jarot exclaimed, lifting Jurot up as though he were a toddler, causing the half elf to smirk, but as he did, his grandfather lifted him up with ease as though he, as tall as he was, as muscular as he was, was also but a toddler.

‘Eh?’ Adam thought once the old man had set him down onto his feet, turning to look towards Jurot. ‘What the hell was that?’

As the hours passed by, the Mad Dog showed off his younger grandchildren and his greatchildren.

Lanarot flushed slightly from all the attention, though the girl sat tall after her grandfather told her to. “Umm… I am going to be the strongest.”

“That is right! My granddaughter should have such a dream!” the old geezer exclaimed, ruffling the girl’s hair, causing her to flush even more.

“Your youngest granddaughter is well built,” an older Iyrman said, causing little Amalrot to hide her face within her greatfather’s chest, seeing too many tattoos she was not familiar with.

“Do you dare to covet my granddaughter?” Jarot asked, his eyes suddenly sharp, narrowed, as though he was ready to reach for his axe.

“I have changed now,” the Iyrman replied. “I wish to live a long life.”

The old man also showed off little Gurot, Murot, who everyone also agreed were related to Amalrot, for they were equally as well built, and then he showed off his greatchildren, who brought snacks for the elderly Iyrmen, for they were such an affectionate lot, the children of such fools, and such fools they were, those he called his grandsons.

“Why are all the boys in your family so meek?” one Iyrman asked.

“It is because their fathers cause so much trouble so they cannot?” Jarot mused, though he had also been so worried. Except, what need of he to be so worried, when their sisters were so fiery, so wise, and so sweet?

Little Jarot blinked up towards his greatfather, then rested his head against the old man’s shoulder gently, meanwhile little Jirot sat beside him, musing to herself about how much trouble she should cause, but she was surrounded by many Iyrmen she wasn’t entirely familiar with. Even so, she could cause trouble, for this was the Iyr, and she was Ji of the Rot family.

It helped she sat upon her babo’s lap, the one once known as the Mad Dog.

As the hours passed, eventually the children all made their way to bed, with the twins glued to their babo, though that was because their greatfather now had two arms to keep them trapped instead of one. The pair cuddled up to his chest, and he felt their soft skin against his wooden limbs, though it was far softer than typical wood, though still as solid as wood rather than flesh. The pair giggled and squealed as he allowed them to play with his wooden arm and leg, though eventually he wrapped his arms around the pair of them, for if they riled themselves up, they would not sleep, and they needed no additional help to ruin their sleep.

“Babo…” little Jarot whispered, the boy clutching his greatfather’s collar.

“My Jarot,” the old man called.

“I am happy your arm and leg is back.”

“I am happy too.”

“Oh no!” Jirot gasped, reaching up to her head in distraught, the old man beneath her tensing up, ready to spill blood.

“What is wrong, my Jirot?”

“I have to forgive daddy!” the girl said with an unreasonable level of despair, but knowing her father, it was quite reasonable at all.

The old man inhaled sharply, and though he wished to make the joke, he smiled slightly, pulling the pair closer to his chest, holding little Jarot under his wooden arm. “Just this once?”

“Just this once,” the girl confirmed, sucking on her thumb as she cuddled up to the old man’s chest.

Little Jarot also held onto his greatfather’s collar, the softness within his tiny green hand so different to the hardness around his back, that of his greatfather’s new arm. As his greatfather’s wooden thumb brushed his cheek, the boy pressed himself against the wooden arm, and rested his head against his greatfather’s bicep. The boy’s thoughts were empty, but the emotions within swirled, though he was too young to understand them properly, so the boy began to sniffle.

“Does it hurt?” Jarot asked his greatson, pulling his hand away.

“No…” The boy then buried his head against his greatfather’s neck, his greatfather holding him there, while little Jirot reached over to hold his hand.

‘Daddy! I cannot forgive you!’ the girl thought, peeking towards her father’s crying face. “Babo! I will become the greatest enchanter!”

“Of course,” the old man said.

“Of coas,” the girl agreed, holding her brother’s hand within her hand as she fell asleep.

Meanwhile, Dogek sat upon a rock, his eyes glued to the stars which kept him company. He was half in meditation, half in thought. The seconds turned to minutes. The minutes to hours. As midnight approached, he closed his eyes, standing, making his way back.

Within his heart, he mourned the Mad Dog he once knew. It was that Mad Dog he had spent decades catching up to, and it was only in the last generation he had managed to claim a greater strength, so strong he was, the last time they had fought a few years ago, after the old man had lost his leg, hadn’t they seen the great difference between them?

The Mad Dog was dead.

Even if he had seen a flash of the previous Mad Dog during the day, he had already felt the steel of the Mad Dog who had lost his bite, the Mad Dog he had beaten with such little effort.

Too little effort, he had thought.

It was a warning to him, that no matter how strong the Iyr could have been previously, it was up to them to continue that legacy, otherwise…

Dogek stood opposite the cabin, the wooden walls staring at him in the face, the same wall which kept the dead man separated from him, as well as two children who knew death, one more intimately than the other.

He recalled the children when they were so young, though held so few memories of them.

He recalled his nephew’s words.

‘They are your greatniece and greatnephew too,’ Tonagek had said.

He passed a particular cabin. He paused a moment, staring at the wall which kept the Mad Dog away from him, and the two who had yet to forgive him. No, hadn’t they already forgiven him, as their elder siblings had?

‘You should be careful with your words,’ Dogek had replied. ‘The Gek family must abide by its duty to the Iyr first.’

Dogek looked up to the sky once more, and within his heart, once more he buried the feeling, for there had to be Iyrmen like him, who followed the letter of the law, no matter how painful it would be, no matter how heavy the burden, for that was their duty, a duty he bore upon his shoulders, regardless of how much his nieces and nephews, perhaps his own children, would resent him for it.

Duteous Dogek stepped away, hoping one day his greatnieces and greatnephews would forgive him for it, though that was too shameless a request, and he was only shameless enough to beg for their understanding.

The next morning, the sun rays fell upon the Iyr, but it was not a typical morning. That day, a great many prepared their journey towards the Font Iyr.

The old man awoke, feeling his greatniece and greatnephew upon his chest, each also beginning to stir, for it that was time for them to awaken. As he held them within his arms, he inhaled deeply, and let out a soft sigh, killing the feeling within his heart for a moment.

“Guth muhning, bab boh,” Jirot mumbled quietly, rubbing her eye with the back of her fingers.

“Good morning,” the old man called, slowly sitting up, holding the children within his arms. He brushed their hair tenderly, staring down at their sleepy faces, no longer quite as chubby as they should have been.

He killed it within his heart once more.

The old man reached out for the metal leg, and as he prepared to strap it, he looks down at his wooden foot, stretching out his wooden toes for a moment.

“Babo, it is time for bathing,” Jirot said, holding onto the old man’s bicep as he held her, and then she looked to the side, to see her brother staring back at her, though no longer holding onto the old man’s arm, but the old man’s arm holding him. ‘Huh?’

“Shall we bathe together?” The old, two armed Jarot asked.

“Yes!” the pair replied, smiling brightly.

The old Jarot smiled.

However, he would need to apologise to the children, for today he would need to do it.