Beyond Chaos – A DiceRPG

“Jirot, Jarot, who is your favourite baba?” Jogak asked, the trio of Iyrmen surrounding the twins. Each sat down in front of the twins, making sure not to pressure them, though their eyes remained pleading. 

‘What are those fools doing?’ Gorot thought, keeping an eye on the three, just in case they were up to no good, which they were most certainly up to during breakfast. 

“Favourite baba?” Jirot asked, glancing between the three faces. She furrowed her brows, her eyes going from Jogak to Shikan to Tijin. Jirot closed her eyes, falling deep into thought, for deep within her heart she under, this was a golden opportunity. 

Little Jarot pouted, the nerves filling his heart. The boy’s eyes darted between them all before he leaned towards his sister, who wrapped an arm around him and pulled him closer. 

The girl opened her eyes, surprising the three men, who waited patiently as the little green skinned girl smirked. “My favourite baba is…” 

The trio watched as the girl glanced between them all again. She hopped onto her feet, helping her brother up, holding his hand as she led little Jarot around. She walked to each of her babas, each of the men peeking down at the pair curiously. 

“Baba, I love you,” Jirot would say to each of them, hugging each one, suddenly making them think about trying to aim for the strength of a Grandmaster. One by one, the twins hugged their babas, until there were finally only the three left. 

“Hmm,” Jirot hummed to herself. She held out her hands, offering each of them to hug her, and they each hugged the girl, who said she loved them.

“You love us all, but who is your favourite?” Jogak asked, brushing the girl’s hair gently. 

“It is obvious!” Jirot declared, her eyes beaming proudly.

“Who is it?”

“Is it all of them?” Adam asked, waiting to see what his daughter would answer. 

“No, daddy! You know who it is! My favourite baba!”

“Hmm…” Adam rubbed his chin. “Your favourite babo is babo, so your favourite baba is… it must be… is it nana’s husband, baba Gorot?”

“Nooo!”

“Then if it’s not baba Gorot, is it nana Mirot?”

“No!” Jirot cackled loudly towards her father. “It is nana Sonarot!”

“How can she be your favourite if she is your nana?” Jogak asked, raising his brows at little Jarot, trying to get the boy to pick him.

“I love nana so much she is my nana and she is my baba!” Jirot and Jarot charged towards their grandmother, who lifted them up and kissed their cheeks tenderly. 

Lanarot let out a snort, reaching up to her forehead. ‘What am I to do with you?’

Meanwhile their father’s laughter bounced off the walls, the half elf tearing up, tears streaming down his face. Adam stole his children from their grandmother, unable to contain himself as he kissed and blew raspberries against his children’s faces. 

“Nana…” Konarot looked up towards her grandmother expectantly. 

“Kona?”

“You are my nana.”

“I am.”

“Always?”

“Always.”

Konarot hugged the woman’s leg, which led to the younger triplets to do the same. Sonarot’s smile widened, and she pulled the trio in closer. Her heart swelled at the warmth of the children, who were most certainly the most affectionate of all the children in the Iyr. 

“They are growing up so fast,” Lanarot whispered to herself, the girl’s arms tied behind her back. 

Lucy smiled, meeting Dunes’ eyes, who shrugged his shoulders in response. The Priest glanced aside towards Ranya, who stared down at her porridge questioningly, scooping up the porridge with the slightest dribble of honey, and sucked it down. Her face sparked to life, her lips forming a tiny circle of shock, and she shovelled more porridge into her gullet.

As the porridge slipped down onto her shirt, the girl not noticing, Dunes understood. In every way, Adam thought his children were the best. The over the top, loud, love he had for his children, not even the tiniest amount of it was exaggerated. For as Ranya complained to her mother, holding up her spoon, unable to find more honey, Dunes understood.

“Ranya,” Dunes called out, in a tone the girl had never heard before. 

Ranya shot a look to the side, her eyes meeting her father’s gaze, the girl confused at first, but she quickly smiled her bright white smile, a smile which reached all the way to her eyes, and radiated across her face. Her father was smiling at her so she smiled at him. 

It was that simple. 

Dunes reached over to wipe the girl’s face. “Did you like the porridge.”

“Like!” Ranya confirmed, showing off her spoon to her father. 

Dunes regretted that he did not braid her hair that morning, too busy praying early before the rays of dawn, then going on to assist with some light preparations for the festival. At the very least, he could change her into her festival attire, and if he was lucky, she may have even left a gift in her clothy.

‘Ah.’ Seeing the coy smile on her face meant he was quite lucky that morning.

The festival continued, filling the Iyr with its joy. Kitool escorted her sisters through the Iyr, until Katool finally pointed towards one of the many stages, playing one of the many stories of the Iyr.

“This is the best part! Watch carefully!” Katool stated, holding both Jirot and Jarot upon her lap.

The twins gasped as the flames filled the air, the large group of red skinned Iyrmen shooting out flames from their fingertips, revealing themselves to be at least Experts. 

“Amazing!” Jirot called out.

“Wow!” Little Jarot blinked. 

Jitool dropped her snack from watching the flames, though Kitool’s hand blurred, bringing the fried piece of dough to the girl’s lips, allowing the girl to eat from her fingers. 

“Kako?” Little Jarot whispered, the boy’s ears drooping.

“Yes?”

“Where is kako Jaygak?” The boy blinked up at the young woman expectantly, as though she held all the answers in the world. 

“She is… working hard.”

“Working hard?” Jarot frowned. “It is good…”

“She is working hard for the Iyr.”

“Daddy is working hard for the Iyr too.”

“Yes…” Kitool watched as Jarot withdrew like a turtle. “It is because they work hard we can enjoy ourselves.”

“I am going to work hard so daddy can enjoy himself,” little Jarot whispered, soon trapped within his sister’s arms and chest, the girl smothering him in affection.

“How can you be so cute?” Jirot asked, the girl rubbing her cheek against his. 

“Jirot…” Jarot hugged her back. 

‘Adam and Jaygak are working hard…’ Kitool thought, frowning slightly, though her frown was so tiny, only an Iyrman could perceive such.

Little Larot stared out ahead at the play, ignoring the moment beside him. He opened his mouth as Jazool fed him some of her own dried bread. He stared at the play, of a story from centuries ago, of a time forgotten to most.

‘Your accuracy is impressive,’ Larot thought, deciding against acknowledging how scary it was that the Iyr even managed to know the gist of the conversations between all the great figures during the Demonic Devastation.

As evening approached, Adam returned to spoil the children. Once he was done spoiling his children, and flirting with his wife constantly, he finally pulled the children away to sleep. Jirot and Jarot slept with the older Iyrmen, as they always did, while Virot and Xarot were taken away by the teen Iyrmen. 

Kitool remained outside, feeling the cool air against her skin. She spun her staff in front of her, beginning her warm up and her stretched. It was after completing a full set of her routine that Jurot stepped out into the courtyard.

“You cannot sleep?” Jurot asked.

“No. You cannot?”

Jurot inhaled the crisp air, waking his body up. He could still feel the ghost of his son’s head against his shoulder, the drool, and even the gentle breaths. “We will leave soon. My body cannot wait.”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“What worries you?” Jurot asked, noting how the young woman stared at the tip of her staff, forming her thoughts. 

“The expectations weigh upon my shoulders.”

“Are you so worried?”

“I fear I will crumble upon them,” Kitool admitted, closing her eyes, feeling the ache against her shoulders and neck. 

“You will not,” Jurot stated firmly.

“I will not?”

“You cannot.”

“I cannot?”

“You cannot,” Jurot confirmed.

Kitool remained silent for a long moment. Within Jurot’s voice, she could hear it. Confidence. It was that kind of confidence, the kind that came from having a grandfather with the title of Mad Dog. Kitool closed her eyes, thinking of her own grandfather. Just like Jurot, her first memory was of her grandfather. 

Whereas Mad Dog’s grin was wild, untamed, and ready for slaughter, her grandfather’s smile was warm, playful, and always made her smile as a girl. That old man who had not hesitated in the slightest to go against the likes of the Mad Dog, even though Mad Dog could bury him with half a thought. He was, in a way, more Iyrmanly than even the likes of Duteous Dogek, for Dogek had only ever known duty with his great strength.

Except, what was she?

“Why?” Kitool finally dared to ask.

“Adam is not the only one afraid of you.”

“…”

“…”

The pair trained silently under the stars.

Jirot is right, of course. So is her uncle.