Beyond Chaos – A DiceRPG

“Granduncle,” Adam called, holding out the magical gourd to the grey skinned Rajin. “I’ll entrust it to you while we’re out.”

“Okay,” the Iyrman replied simply, his voice soft and gentle, so unlike the blade upon his back. How many gourds had he held within his hand? How many which were magical? Yet were any quite as heavy?

Adam’s nerves lit alight once more, the half elf tensing as the children settled themselves among their elders, each of whom distracted them from the knowledge they were within the fortress, and so close to where it had all happened. The half elf’s heart throbbed, but he stepped away, towards the walls, overlooking the village off to the east. It was that village, which had changed so much, many of the buildings similar, though the layout had changed. He hadn’t entirely realised why the Iyr had gone so far as to shift the layout of the nearby fortress and village, but as he thought about how the children weren’t as nervous as he expected, he understood.

‘The Iyr is fucking crazy.’

The half elf remained on the wall for a long while, basking in the starlight, consumed by his thoughts, until he finally tempered them, silencing his mind, and forced the emotions to swirl towards his heart, forming a blanket of relief. He had already committed himself to the Iyr, regardless of whether they knew it, or whether they would appreciate it, though after how they had assisted his family after a mistake he had made, he would not regret his choice.

Yes.

It was this Iyr he would die for.

It was at that time when they came out to greet those who were soon to leave.

“Kako!” Jirot exclaimed.

“Jirot,” Jaygak called, for though it was not right for the girl to call her kako now, due to the fragility of their hearts, she would tolerate it until they would return. Jaygak lifted the girl up high, but then the pair hugged tightly, the young woman also lifting up little Jarot, nuzzling into his ear, causing the boy to squirm shyly.

However, it was not Jaygak who had arrived, for the Chief of the Iyr had also come to visit them, the older Iyrman eyeing the entire group, all the while the Mad Dog ignored him, for a young Iyrman had accompanied him.

“Churot!” the Mad Dog almost roared, grabbing his grandson, almost crushing the boy within his powerful arms.

“Grandfather,” Churot replied, feeling the strong arm of his grandfather. He had never seen his grandfather with both arms, for he had lost it upon the journey to slay Forgryn, or rather, he had lost it after for the sake of his lost brothers.

“Are they working you too hard? Tell this grandfather of yours, and I will snap a neck or two, and we shall see how hard they work you.”

“I am working well,” Churot replied, having been taught how to respond to the old man, otherwise he really would have caused great trouble for the Iyrmen. “Are you well, grandfather?”

“I am well, I am well,” the old man said, patting his grandson’s shoulders lightly, for though he was almost a man, wasn’t he still his darling Churot? “You must visit more often, your nieces and nephews may forget your face!”

“It is difficult, for Jirot is so intelligent,” Churot replied simply, looking towards the children who had gathered around Jaygak.

“Of all my grandchildren, it is you who worries me the least,” Jarot said, squeezing his grandson’s shoulders lightly, this grandson of his who would refuse to leave his arm. However, seeing as the old woman was glaring at him so viciously, the old man surrendered Churot to Mulrot.

“You have grown so tall,” Mulrot said, now needing to tip toe to kiss her grandson’s forehead, even as he leaned down, and she brushed his hair and cheek tenderly.

“Yes,” Churot replied simply, though he continued to hold onto his grandmother’s elbows for a short while, until finally withdrawing, going to greet the children.

“Papo! Are they working you too hard? I will tell babo and he will sort them out!” Jirot said, hugging her papo, who accepted her affection.

“I am working well,” Churot replied. It was Churot, perhaps, who was one of the few Iyrmen who understood on a fundamental level that this child was his grandfather’s greatdaughter, for he did not see her green skin, her amber eyes, but the mischief within her eyes, the trouble within her voice, and the sweet affection within her heart. Churot then looked to little Jarot, who was named after his grandfather, and reached down to brush his hair gently. “You are leaving?”

Jirot’s smile was slapped away by his words, and the girl bowed her head lightly, her lips forming a tiny frown. “Yes, papo. You are coming too?”

“I will not,” Churot replied, seeing the children hide their faces against his legs. “Are you afraid?”

“No…”

“Good. You are safe, for many Iyrmen are accompanying you, and your father, he is strong too.”

“Daddy is just a little bit strong,” Jirot grumbled quietly, still holding her uncle’s leg.

“He is very strong.”

Jirot side eyed her uncle, but forgave him within her heart, for he was so handsome, this uncle of hers. Even if he was smart, he was not wise, at least in this regard.

Churot also greeted the other children, including his cousins, lifting Lanarot up to hug her tight, and then Amal, who he had only met once or twice previously. As he lifted her up, he turned his gaze towards the half elf, who was waiting his turn to be greeted. “We are certain she is not Kavgak’s sister?”

Adam coughed, smiling wide, having not realised his cousin had learnt to joke so well, and as the pair hugged, he pat Churot’s back. “I am certain, though….”

Jurot pat Churot’s shoulder lightly, hugging him gently, allowing Churot to step away after an instant. “You have grown so tall.”

“Yes,” Churot replied.

“You bring such great pride to our family,” Jurot said, holding up a fist, Churot doing the same, a gentle flush on his cheeks.

“I will try.”

“You cannot do so my way, I cannot do so your way,” Jurot stated, bowing his head towards his cousin, who bowed his head in return and then returned to his grandmother and grandfather. Jurot hadn’t realised it, for Churot had been so close to the two, and yet now he had spent so long away from them. His eyes fell to Jirot and Jarot, and then to Virot, who would certainly miss her elder siblings. Thankfully, there were still those within the Iyr who could deal with her.

Vonda kept a close eye upon her children, as well as her husband, who drank tea near his children, all the while Jaygak distracted her niece and nephew.

“Mummy,” Karot called, the boy pouring his mother some warm milk, roughly half way. “More?”

“No, this is enough, thank you.”

Karot smiled, then went around pouring more warm milk for the rest of the elderly Iyrmen, his sisters also assisting them, following swiftly after their younger brother.

The old Jarot remained stunned for a moment, though as his greatson poured in the warm milk, he brushed the boy’s hair tenderly. “My greatson is too sweet!”

“To think someone as sweet as Karot is your greatson,” Malfev joked, noting the old man’s glare, though he reached down to tickle the boy’s ear, causing the boy to smile, and his tail to sway. Once the boy poured in milk for the other elders, along with his sisters, they all returned back to their parents.

However, Jarot considered the Chief’s words. “At this time?”

“At this time,” the Chief replied.

“Why?”

“He said he was too old.”

‘To think we have lost the likes of Killer Star…’ The old Jarot inhaled sharply, crossing his arms, falling deep in thought. To think that Ashrat had sacrificed himself to allow his daughter, at a time when the Reavers were ravaging the land, it must have meant that he had a feeling that something else lay beyond the Reavers. “He died well.”

The Chief bowed his head, the elderly Iyrmen raising their cups in memory of the old Ashrat. Ashrat, Baztam, Iromin, all whom had been raised alongside one another, and had made such a great name during their time, and yet one of the three had passed seemingly out of the blue.

Baztam eventually stood, though as Iromin stood to speak, the Black Shark continued to storm off, suddenly annoyed by the memory of Ashrat from decades past.

“I hope you all understand the gravity of your duty,” Iromin began, though Baztam would not hear his words, he already knew of them.

The Iyrmen glared at the Chief, who dared to speak to them as though they were not Iyrmen, born and bred of blood and steel.

“The Great Elders have only one command for you,” the Chief said, and before they could complain, he held out a plaque, that forged of obsidian, and his words were no longer just those of the Great Elders, but of Elder Story. “You have our permission to die, but you do not have our permission to fail.”

Jarot remained silent, for if the Great Elders were going so far as to give them permission to do as they pleased, he could not complain.

He also could not speak up against the presence of Elder Story’s plaque, for Elder Story was Elder Story.