Beyond Chaos – A DiceRPG

Adam made sure to train lightly with his children every morning, tenderly embracing them and showering them with affection. After their morning baths, the half elf dressed them, pressed their collars, brushed their hair, follow the rhythm of his heart. The tiny twins wished for short hair like their papo, so their grandmother cut their hair short for them. 

Adam made sure they greeted the youngest children before they left, the half elf and his wife walking them to their schooling. Virot would complain, though was quickly distracted by her grandmother, who quietened the girl down, annoying her senselessly, for the girl could not defeat her, but the pair embraced sweetly, for Sonarot made sure to spoil the girl. 

Kitool awaited for the afternoon before taking her siblings and cousins to a nearby park to train them, Katool keeping an eye on the girls, though the four followed the instructing of the two older Ools to heart. The youngest children, still rather young, trained much lighter than their slightly older siblings. 

Kitool thought back to another time, one of her first memories, when her grandfather would hold her within his chest, and would run across the river. If he had survived, he would have taught her the way of their family, she was certain of it. That old man, who smelled so much of sweat and earth, a smell that was his own, burying itself within her heart as her grandfather, would he have accepted the fact she had gone on to learn a different path, that not of the Ool family, but that of the Iyr.

That old man, who smiled so brightly, even the last time she saw him?

Katool panted lightly, for training was difficult, but keeping up with Minool was twice as difficult. Thankfully, little Jazool was so much sweeter, the girl always listening intently. Jitool and Maool were also well behaved, which allowed Minool to inherit all the trouble they should have caused. However, what could she do, when her youngest sister was so adorable?

‘Cousin Adam, this is so difficult…’ Katool thought, not yet appreciating his genius. 

Tanagek had also stepped out to train the various young Geks, from his own younger brothers, to his nephews, to his younger cousins, for he was Tanagek, son of Tonagek, who, before his injury, had intended to replace Duteos Dogek, as one of the Ten Paragons, and no doubt would have done so. The bright eyed Geks stared up at him, having heard his many stories, though the stories of that year were not quite so impressive, save for meeting a great many fine warriors of Aswadasad. 

However, the young Tanagek did not complain. He did not complain that he, who was intending to reach the heights of a Paragon, needed to spend his time teaching the children, for what greater honour was there? It was he, Tanagek, son of Tonagek, son of Shogek, who was not well known at all, who understood this burden. 

‘Do you understand?’ Tonagek had asked a young Tana, who was yet to step out of the Iyr. 

‘I understand!’ Tanagek had replied, for though he had been a young teen, hearing his father’s words, which, in any other land, would have been considered treason, in this land, of blood and steel, the words were a promise inherited by all Iyrmen. 

It was certainly not because Tonagek enjoyed beating his son with his sheathed blade. 

Taygak, too, inherited the will to train the young Gaks. They were so strong, stable, each so sturdy. Taygak noticed how much stamina little Kavgak, Tavgak, Maygak, and even little Faygak, each possessed. The children were taking to her training far greater than she expected. She noted the handwriting of Gaks long dead, she wondered if they were perhaps taking it easy on the Gaks due to how they had not yet allowed a child to reach a great height. There was the awful handwriting of an old man she did not remember, an old man by the name of Tangak. 

‘Grandfather?’ Jaygak had replied, considering a young Taygak’s words. ‘He was warm.’

‘I am warm too,’ Taygak had replied.

‘Yes, you are warm, but his warmth was different, for grandfather, he was not talented, even less talented than I, unlike grandaunt, but…’ 

Taygak had seen the expression on Jaygak’s face, for she remembered her grandfather, unlike Laygak, who had been too young and she spoke the various tales, not just those outside the Iyr, but those in which Jaygak admitted her fault. 

‘Perhaps, one day, you’ll understand what kind of warmth he spread,’ Jaygak had said. ‘Shall I tell aunt to gift you another brother or sister?’

‘I would like a sister,’ Taygak admitted.

‘Why not a brother?’

‘’I have Saygak, but if he was like Raygak…’ 

Jaygak pinched Taygak’s nose, about to tell her off, but she smirked, winking at her younger cousin. For Taygak, though she was so young, was quite the cheeky little one. However, little Saygak, who had only just begun his physical education, was indeed so sweet. 

Taygak considered Jaygak’s words, for it was that word, warmth, which caused her to think. Was she, Taygak, warm? Her attention returned back to the writing, of a man who could write no longer.

‘It is not that the sword of the Gak family is weak, it is that the likes of I, Tangak, who is too weak to wield it. To my grandchildren, to my grandchildren’s grandchildren, know that you are not weak, it is that I, Tangak, betrayed you. My sister, Gangak, has lit the torch, she has cleared the path, but if it is not time, it is not time. Jaygak, if you are reading this, do not burden your heart, for the fault lies in this grandfather of yours, whose name shall fade to history, even within the books of the Iyr.’

There were more words, but they had been covered by the scribbles of another. 

‘Jaygak, do not listen to that fool of a grandfather of yours! Take your sword and plunge it into the world!! If you must, slaughter even the heavens!!!’

Taygak considered the words. 

The old Jarot sneezed, causing his greatchildren to rush towards him, even ignoring their papo, who was training them so dutifully.

“Babo! Are you sick? I told you, you must cover up in nightval!” Jirot dared to exclaimed, holding her finger up like a dagger. “Who do you think you are? Kaka Konarot? Kaka Kirot? Papa Karot?”

“I am Jarot, of the Rot family, and the cold will not-,” Jarot replied, though he felt the dagger like finger jab into the side of his neck, and though the ki slipped through his veins, he fought it off. 

“Do not teach them such things,” Mulrot warned, pulling her finger back, waiting a moment to see if she needed to jab him once more. 

“Nano, babo, stop flirting so audaciously in front of us,” Jirot said, covering her eyes, but peeking through the cracks of her fingers. 

“Jirot, you are reading too many books!” Jarot reached over to pinch the girl’s nose.

“How can you say that? Babo? How can you say that?” Jirot held onto the old man’s thick arm, grumbling quietly, but she smirked. 

“If your babo does not wish to hear your reading, you may read to me,” Mulrot said.

“Who said that?” Jarot growled, brushing his greatdaughter’s hair, then pinching the cheek’s of the other children.

“Babo, are you okay?” little Karot asked, holding onto his grandfather’s knee, clasping it with both hands. 

“I am fine, I am fine, I just sneezed once, and now you think this old man will… fall over?” Jarot was thankful his wife jabbed him once more. The old man poked his greatson’s nose, the boy who was so meek, but so adoring. 

While the old man was being bullied by his greatchildren’s affection, Chosen assisted the rest of the children in their training, while Malfev watched over them, since Jurot had taken the little ones from him, though at the very least gave up the other Rot children, so Malfev could tease the old Mad Dog. He glanced aside, towards Gorot, who had beaten up Haytam once more, only to find a familiar face approaching. 

“Elder,” Gorot called, following Elder Lykan away, the Front Iyr Elder having waited until Gorot had beaten his niece. 

“We have decided to send those who are Masters to assist with the outing,” Lykan explained. 

“Masters?” Gorot said, having heard rumours they were only going to send those who were Grandmasters or greater. 

“Masters,” Lykan confirmed. 

“I am too weak.”

“The children adore you, so you must go.”

Gorot was uncertain of how to take the news. Everyone knew he wasn’t quite as talented as many of his peers, for Tonagek’s natural talent surpassed his own by a great amount, but since the Front Iyr Elder had come to speak with him, what could he say? 

“I will obey.”

Elder Lykan bowed his head, easing his heart, as well as the heart of the Chief, who had taken charge of this matter. It was a controversial statement, for it was the Chief who wished for the success of this outing more than any of the Great Elders, but it was he who had requested the barrier to be reduced to Master. Lykan had thought they would send a handful of Paragons, along with a Grandmaster for each child, but thinking upon it, if the Reavers caught scent of the great warriors travelling together, it would have been awkward to have only a handful of Paragons. Plus, the Mad Dog had refused most of the Ten Paragons, and if they had pushed it through, a great slaughter would have befallen them, and though the Mad Dog would have lost, at this time they needed to consider the heart of the little ones. 

‘How difficult,’ Elder Lykan thought, yet he did not wish to lighten this burden, for it was this burden which gave birth to the Iyr. 

PATREON LINK

Sometimes I write a chapter and think, man, what a chill chapter, and then I remember all the promises of slaughter in it.