Beyond Chaos – A DiceRPG
[1248] – Y06.148 – Bullying I

“How are you feeling?” Jurot asked, though certainly Jirot and Jaygak would be proud at how he was so obviously bullying his brother, who lay upon the soft chair, his armour splayed out to one side, hidden from the rest of the inn by the crowd of Iyrmen all eating and drinking their fill after such a great fight.

“Kizwolima, Kizwolima, you must protect me since my brother is bullying me!” Adam said, causing the girl to glance up towards Jurot, though she shyly hid beside Jash.

“Adam, even if I bully you, you should not turn Kizwolima against me,” Jurot said, tensing up slightly, and looking away, as though wounded by the betrayal.

“Yeah, my bad, I forgot you can’t speak Elementi,” the half elf replied, smirking at his brother.

‘He may not be as difficult as Jaygak, but he is still so good,’ Jurot thought, letting out a small sigh.

Kitool remained to one side, picking at her desserts, the woman thinking of the spear Adam would receive. ‘Nona’s Tear.’

Faool was pretty sure Kitool was thinking of the spear, but his eyes then darted to Laygak, who poured his sister more and more alcohol. Taygak’s smile radiated outwards, causing the Iyrmen to spoil her, the young woman accepting more and more drinks, until she was finally half asleep, and Nirot, Naqokan and Bael took her to bed, to allow the woman to sleep off the alcohol. Bael stepped out of the inn, keeping his senses alert for any threats.

Laygak’s thoughts drifted to the past, back to when he was a child, to a time he had almost forgotten.

The wind within the air was warm then, the noonval sun beating down upon their red skin.

“You do not have to worry, Taygak!” Laygak declared, holding onto the crying girl’s shoulders, who had heard the tale of her grandfather’s passing. “I will become the strongest!”

Taygak hugged her brother, sucking her thumb, her tears still pouring down her face. Laygak held her close to his chest, finding it difficult to see his younger sister crying, and perhaps it was then he had felt it for the first time, the Iyrheart which threatened to consume him.

Faool watched, frowning slightly. ‘I want a little sister too…’

Gangak sighed, reaching up to her forehead, rubbing it gently. Taygak had cried and cried until her brother managed to soothe her with a hug, the young man promising to grow stronger, no, the strongest. Laygak, who, of all his generation, held the least talent, even less than Jaygak, who had been sick for so long.

“It is all my fault,” Gangak grumbled, wiping her face in shame. “If I was not so weak, Jaygak and Laygak would not have to worry.”

“How is it your fault?” Jarot growled at her. “Are you so weak?”

“Am I not?” Gangak replied, daring to shoot back a glare towards the one armed Iyrman, who tensed up slightly, but stopped upon the sleeping toddler against his chest, the old man relaxing instantly for his grandson. The old woman thought of her grandniece and grandnephew, each still brimming with the confidence of Iyrmen, though they held such little talent. Perhaps Taygak would hold such great talent, for she was firm, but it was too young to truly see how great her ability was. Her mother, Kaygak, still held such talent, though she wished to wait until Laygak was already out before reaching for the height of a Master, and if she wanted to, Grandmaster.

“I should have gone to Aswadasad,” Jarot grumbled quietly.

“With Marmak?”

“I could have killed him!” Jarot’s elbow pulsed, the old man quickly pulling back once more as the toddler’s breath hitched, and he stirred, but the boy returned back to slumber with ease.

Flame Brand wondered the heights she could have reached if Jarot had travelled with her, perhaps she would not have been forced away, and the Gak family would have managed to continue their trajectory. Unfortunately, she had succumbed to the curse, and so far, the next two generations seemed cursed to mediocrity, though Jaygak seemed so eager to go out and make at least a small name for herself. If she could reach just Master, that would be enough to pave the way forward. ‘Tangak, if you were here, you would know what to do.’

“You are thinking too much,” Jarot said, his voice heavy with guilt, for he understood just who she was thinking of, the old man’s arm throbbing harshly.

“I am too weak, even now.”

“The Flame Brand I know was so weak all along?”

Gangak smiled, and though she was certainly much weaker than the Mad Dog, that did not mean she was weak, for the Mad Dog, in his time, had certainly been among the ten greatest across the land, and she was not so far away from such a claim herself.

Jarot thought back to one of the last few conversations he had with Tangak before they went to slay Forgryn.

‘Jaygak is too wise to fall for that!’

‘Jaygak is Jaygak!’ Jarot exclaimed, ready to beat him senseless. ‘Even to her, you are the strongest!’

Tangak drew his blade and the pair clashed, and of course Jarot had beaten him senseless, for how could Tangak complain about being so weak when Jaygak was so eager to hear his tales and her eyes shone so brightly? Even though years had passed, and Jarot had regretted not beating him more senseless, he still remembered such a time so clearly, for he did not have the luxury of forgetting those memories.

“I should take Jurot away,” Gangak joked.

“Do you think you can steal my Jurot from me?” Jarot asked, grinning wildly.

Gangak thought about it, though it was not because of Jarot that he would be unable to steal him away, but because of that son of his. “If only he had horns.”

Jarot tensed up, raging in order to stop his laughter, to allow Churot to sleep peacefully against his chest.

It felt almost a lifetime ago, for some things had stayed the same, and some things had completely changed. Laygak had long accepted the fact he would not be able to do anything for Taygak, and even as he courted death earlier in the year, he was unable to engrave the heavy mourning within Taygak’s heart, who certainly would not have broken under such grief, since she was as tough as Jurot.

‘I won’t be able to do it,’ Laygak thought. Yet, his heart stirred, throbbing with yearning, and his eyes fell to the half elf, who continued to spoil Kizwolima, who seemed sick of the desserts, so just sipped away at the water, which had been chilled by magic. ‘I will be able to see it. During our lifetime, it will definitely happen!’

The most dangerous feeling of all invaded the young Iyrman’s heart, especially for a Gak.

‘Now that I can feel it, I must do what I can,’ Laygak thought, understanding it was too late for him, and now, it was too late for Taygak, who certainly had been filled with hope.

As the Iyrmen thought of such emotions, and the Iyrman allowed such an emotion to fill his heart, many hundreds of miles away, there were others who knew a ray of hope.

The red skinned boy’s arms remained crossed behind his back as he stared at the scene before him. His youngest brother held onto the table, standing on both feet, and he turned his head to look at the red skinned toddler. The little boy smiled, revealing a string of tiny pearls peeking through the red, recognising the red skin of the boy, his elder brother.

‘You cried so much for mother, and now you are smiling so brightly,’ Larot thought. His brother’s smile faded, the baby quickly frowning, but he stopped, and smiled, mirroring the smile upon Larot’s face. ‘How tiring.’

“Larot,” his elder brother called, the green skinned child reaching out his arms, hugging the red skinned toddler. “Are you okay?”

Larot nodded.

“You must use your words,” Jarot said, mimicking his elder sister, and after a moment, continued to mimic her. “You are too smart to fall for it. What am I to do?”

Larot watched as his elder brother then went to Xarot, holding his face for a moment, before planting a kiss on his forehead, and the young boy continued to mimic his sister, who had taught him a certain view of confidence, and now that she was indisposed, the boy stepped in to fill his sister’s shoes. Larot watched over the boy, who had died alongside him, and his heart stopped for a moment as the guilt filled him, and the little Iyrman boy stared down at his pale red palms.

‘I am still too small…’ He clenched his fists, annoyed that he was within such weak flesh, and though he was growing rather quickly, it was still too slow. He had barely been able to push his sister out of the way, and if he had been just a couple years older, he would have been able to save them both, and if he was a even a little older than that, perhaps himself too.

He felt it, the presence that would sometimes spy upon him, of that terrifying old woman who kept herself hidden away from the rest of the Iyr, watching it to see if it continued to move smoothly. Indeed, for how else could such a place last, if it was not for her?

Larot glanced aside, acknowledging her, but he sauntered off towards his youngest brother, placing a hand upon his head. ‘Do not worry. I will only need a century or two before I learn-,’

Larot paused, fairly certain that in a century or two, his younger brother would be a grown man, and an elder of all things, and plenty powerful to deal with matters, and if his abilities were even half as great as their father’s, he would have probably surpassed the height of his own power.

‘I will learn Ninth Gate spells before the century ends,’ Larot assured, though paused. ‘Half century?’

The young boy was still uncertain of what was quick and slow for this mortal body of his.

Just 10,000 more chapters to go before things pop off!