Beyond Chaos – A DiceRPG

“It is okay, my boy,” the older Jarot said as he cleaned his greatson’s bottom, changing the boy out of his clothy into another.

Though they had enjoyed their bath together, his greatson found it difficult to sense when he needed to use the bathroom, the old man staring at the long scar. Even now, his heart trembled, but he killed the sensation once more, and as little Jirot, with a scar against her stomach, slipped on her tunic to hide it from her greatfather, the old man let out another sigh.

Little Jarot continued to pout, still ashamed he wasn’t able to control it any longer, though as the old man ruffled his hair, the boy’s lips twitched into a smile, for how could they not?

As the old man brought the twins to breakfast, he found his greatchildren waiting for him, the triplets greeting them, but the squealing girl rushed towards her elder sister and brother, grabbing them both into a tight hug, until she called for her greatfather too, causing the old man to hoist her up.

Konarot checked the cups, and seeing as her greatfather’s and her younger siblings’ cups were empty, she lifted the jug of warm milk, flattening her tail under her to brace herself as she slowly poured the milk into each.

As the old Jarot brought the cup to his lips, the scent of the milk filled his nostrils, and he closed his eyes, recalling the vicious little girl, whose silver eyes threatened him when she was not even a year old, and had even bitten him. As he opened his eyes, he saw the girl wipe little Virot’s face, the youngest sister closing her eyes as the eldest sister wiped her face.

“Jurot,” the old Jarot called. “Inform them I will be receiving guests within the centre at noon.”

“Okay,” Jurot replied simply, getting up from his half eaten breakfast, and as he made to step away, he paused. He turned, looking at his son, catching his eye instantly. “I will entrust my breakfast to you.”

The boy blinked but nodded with a grave seriousness, the boy then reaching out to grab his father’s torn bread, not noticing the adults around eyeing up his father as he walked off with red ears.

‘How terrifying,’ Jurot thought, for the intense embarrassment ran through his body, and yet his brother was able to defeat it so swiftly?

Once they finished their breakfasts, the old man took the children to a nearby park, not just his greatchildren, but all the youngest of the various families, from the chonky Kavgak to the chonky Murot.

“Papa,” the chonky girl called, reaching up to grab her brother’s face.

“Amalbaby,” Adam called, leaning down to kiss her forehead, causing the girl to squeal and withdraw into his chest. As she peeked up, she squealed again, hiding her face, and after three more times of this little play, the pair nuzzles between one another. “Do you want to come along with us?”

“Eh!”

“Of course I’ll take you! We can explore Aswadasad properly together, and you can eat all the peppers you want, but you have to promise me one thing.”

“Eh?”

“That you let me spoil you!”

The girl cackled quietly, and the two hugged tight, the half elf feeling her solid heaviness, for though she wasn’t even two years old, she was even larger than his Jirot, who would turn six.

“Brother, do you think, if you, and if I, and if, um, if you go and fight a dragon, you can become a dragon?”

“There are certain spells which allow you to do so,” Jurot replied, unsure of what his sister was asking.

“Oh. If I am a dragon, can I ride Sun?”

“No.”

“Why not?” Lanarot asked, tilting her head.

“You will be too small.”

“There are big people and small people, so surely there are small dragons!”

“That is true, but you would be able to fly.”

“Flying sounds so tiresome.”

“It may be.”

Lanarot spluttered out her sigh, the girl crossing her arms as she looked out to her smaller cousins and nieces and nephews all playing around within the park, along with the other older Iyrmen, some even her brother’s age, and some much older, like her mother, and some even as old as her grandfather.

“There is a saying within the dragon’s tongue that only dragons can ride the sun,” Jurot mused.

“That makes no sense because I am an Iyrman and I ride Sun,” Lanarot replied, reaching up to hold her head in deep thought. “Brother, you are right. Thinking is too difficult.”

“Sometimes there is need to think, most times there are not,” Jurot replied simply, reaching into his inner pocket, and drawing out a small stick of yellow, offering it to his sister, only to notice a gaze upon him, and the hawkish eyes of his youngest sister suddenly upon his hand. The Iyrman’s lips twitched slightly.

“Amal, what do we say to papa Jurot?” Adam asked as the girl ate the cheese from her brother’s fingers.

The girl looked to Jurot for a moment, then pat her chin, and she withdrew quickly within Adam’s chest, chewing the cheese slowly.

“She must be our sister since she eats bread and cheese so well,” Adam joked.

“She may be Nirot's sister too,” Jurot returned.

The pair looked to Murot and Gurot, who were playing with their sister, who would soon leave for her afternoon duties. The two boys, who easily matched the energy of a particular troublesome pair, were still well built.

“How dare she try and steal my sister,” Adam grumbled quietly, even if he did think that the girl would equally be Nirot’s sister. “I suppose she could be… no, you are too sweet to be Jaygak’s sister, and if you were Taygak’s sister, I’d be too scared of you.”

Amalrot didn’t understand the jokes, but she held onto his collar and happily chewed away on the cheese, drooling all over his shirt.

“Mumma…” Xarot called, staring up towards the woman’s face, noting the lightened skin of the burn marks which covered the bottom of his mother’s face and lips.

“Xarot.”

“Ababababoo?”

“I see.”

The boy smiled a satisfied smile, and with his daily philosophising complete, the boy returned to his mother’s bosom to slumber. Yes, for thinking so deeply was truly tiring work.

Faool, in the midst of playing with his sisters, side eyed the Mad Dog. The others had noticed it too, but there was a darkness which emanated from the old man, a darkness they had expected, but one that seemed to only shimmer upon the surface.

The old Iyrman held the twins, in the sense they held onto his biceps as he walked through the fields, and once he started to sprint, through, he brought the wings known as his arms, and flew through the fields, causing the twins to squeal with delight, even little Jarot, who did not like to fly.

“Bwahahaha!” the old man laughed, spinning around with such ease, causing the twins to hold him tighter as they screamed and squealed, and as he placed them down, the children stumbled around, still laughing and squealing.

“Babo!” Virot called, raising her arms towards the old man once more, and Damrot blinked, with the understanding he would also suffer.

“Babo, I want to fly too,” Konarot said, blinking up expectantly.

“I will fly with you all!” their greatfather assured, for though they would often fly within their other babo’s arms, that flying was far more graceful and tender, but this flying was like a vortex, the wind whipping away at their skin, their breath hard to come, their hearts pounding with such excitement.

Even now, the old man killed it, enjoying the time he spent with the children, walking with them through the fields, with the cool wind kissing his skin. This was how it was for him too, when he was a boy, his own mother and father, his own grandmothers and grandfathers, carrying him through the fields, playing catch with him.

Did they think, when he stepped out, he would forget?

A tug at his trousers caused the old man to return to the living, as little Monarot pouted, glaring up at the old man.

“It seems my greatdaughter’s are all so vicious,” the old man said, lifting the girl up.

“Carry her gently, for she is too young,” Sonarot said, her eyes firmly upon the old man and her young granddaughter.

“She is a Rot!” The old man growled back towards the woman.

“…”

“…” The old man’s eyes turned to the side, noting the way his grandsons were looking at him, and they too, he thought, were vicious. He lifted up Monarot high to the sky, the chubby girl suddenly smiling so shyly, clapping her hands together with delight. The old man killed it within his heart once more, holding the girl tenderly against his chest.

Then, finally, as the sun threatened to reach its zenith, the old man brought the children back.

“The children should remain within the estate as I speak with those who will come today,” Jarot said. “Those, who have come without shame, they have no right to see the delights that are my grandchildren and greatchildren!”

“Babo, you are going?” Jirot gasped.

“I will spend the day away to meet with others.”

“But! Babo! I have to spoil you!” the girl exclaimed, as though it were a law he was not allowed to break.

“You may spoil me next week,” Jarot said, ruffling the girl’s hair.

“You promise I can do it?”

“I promise.”

“I forgive you babo,” the girl said. “Just this once.”

The old man smiled, the kind of smile that said he was off to go spill blood.

Adam thought to ask his grandfather if he was alright, but seeing as the old man needed to deal with something, he decided to let his grandfather go. If he needed to beat someone up, Adam would offer himself up, but only after the rest of the Iyrmen had their turn, since his grandfather was so scary.