Beyond Chaos – A DiceRPG
440. Duskval Festival I

440. Duskval Festival I

Omen: 7, 15

“Who is this handsome young man?” Adam asked, noting the young boy who had been returned to the shared family estate in the morning. 

Asoyah looked to Sonarot, thinking about how to respond, before he gave Adam a suspicious look. “I am Asoyah.”

“I heard you went out to go do stuff. Did you have fun?”

“Yes,” the boy replied, snorting with satisfaction. He understood he wasn’t allowed to tell Adam, but he smiled thinking about the fun he had. 

They were all adorned in the attire of the Iyr, with the Rot family wearing identical outfits, grey with the Rot family symbol embroidered along the shoulders where the outer shirt cut off, and a deep blue sash around their waists. Asoyah also wore their outfit, and his shirt, like the other childrens’ shirts, were not cut off at the shoulders, but rather towards their forearm. 

Adam stared down at his triplets, who were wearing clothes which were too big for them. “Jurot.”

“Yes, they are,” Jurot replied, also staring down at the triplets, who were shyly standing behind Adam.

Adam threw Jurot a look, before smiling. “Yeah.” 

“Who is this cute little girl?” Jarot asked, hoisting Lanarot up with one arm, before showering her with affection. Lanarot replied with a smiled, and pointed up at her baba, poking his cheek, before twitching with laughter. 

Mirot glanced between her father and Nephew, wondering if they were related by blood. 

“Will you watch my fight?” Nirot asked, looking to her older cousins. 

“Of course,” Adam replied, with Jurot nodding his head. “We’ll make our way there around noon.”

“I will definitely win.”

“I hope so, otherwise I’ll be losing a gold coin,” Adam said. 

The other teens were also preparing themselves to fight in the afternoon, with Tizgak carrying his son’s chain mail so he could be fresh for the fight. 

“Good luck to you all, but no pressure. However, if you lose in front of my children, they won’t be able to trust you to protect them and then what am I going to do?” Adam asked. 

“You can already protect them well,” Naqokan replied.

“I would feel reassured if you all could protect them too.”

“If there is someone who can…” Laygak began, before realising what he was saying. “We will do our best.”

“Alright.” Adam nodded towards the teen, noting the awkwardness on his face. 

“Good morning,” Strom said, approaching from the archway. He carried a pack over his shoulder, and a bottle in one hand. He was still so thin, though his face did not lose any of the warmth it held. 

“Strom,” Adam greeted, nodding his head. 

“I have brought some drinks,” the old man said, placing down down the sack, which was full of small casks of ale. His eyes then fell to the three Half Dragons, who cowered away behind their father. “I see you’re all well.”

Adam hoisted the three up into his arms, with Konarot wrapped around his shoulders, hiding her face against his chest. “What did you do to my children to make them so afraid?”

“I helped them take hybrid form, though I suppose it must have been quite scary for the little ones,” Strom said, before he lifted Lanarot up. The girl squealed and reached up to his face, grabbing at it. 

“Have you come to cause trouble?” Adam asked.

“I merely wished to spend some time with this cute little girl, and to check up on the three to see how they were faring,” Strom admitted.

“There are other cute children too,” Adam said. “Look. This big one is Gurot, an absolute unit. Then we have the six little Princesses, Inakan and Minakan, Kitool and Maool, and Kavgak and Tavgak. You can’t forget little Jirot and Jarot, either. They might be small, but that only adds to their cuteness.”

Strom stared down at all the children. If he recalled correctly, they should have been born recently, but hadn’t they been born too early? “The Iyr enjoys playing with dangerous magic.”

The adult Iyrmen wondered what they should do, considering Strom had been given almost free reign throughout the Iyr. 

“Right? How can they be so cute?” Adam rested his cheek against Konarot’s head. 

“Your sister is already going to become so powerful, will you also help these little ones too?” Strom asked.

Adam could feel the many gazes of the Iyrmen against him. He had been thinking about it nightly, and wondered if Strom had the ability to read minds. “They will grow strong without my help.”

“Yes, but with your abilities, couldn’t you usher in a golden age for the Iyr?” Strom looked at the triplets, each of whom were Half Dragons, and yet had come to the Iyr in Dragon form. Though they had lost their Dragon form, they could eventually learn how to slip between the forms, and with Adam’s assistance, they would be able to do so much to change the landscape of Aldland, geographically and politically. 

‘Even she would have trouble against them.’ Strom wondered if he should go to the capital city, but decided against it. 

Adam could feel the piercing gazes of two small Iyrmen in particular. “If they want my help, they will have it. If the Iyr wants my help with anything, I won’t be hard to contact.”

Strom noted the looks of the other Iyrmen, and smiled towards them. “How fortunate you all are. If only I had met him earlier, I would have moved mountains of gold just to see what he could do. I’ll have to leave it to you.”

“Stop trying to stress them out. I knew you had come to cause trouble.”

“I am just an innocent old man, am I not, Lanarot?” 

Lanarot looked up at the old man. “Baba.” She pointed up to the sky. “Up.”

Strom floated upwards, taking the girl with her, twirling around with her, before he returned to the ground, placing her down onto her feet. Lanarot clutched at his leg, jerking wildly as she tried to gain her balance, before she cautiously stumbled around. She laughed up at him with her childish glee. 

“Are you going to follow us?” Adam asked.

“I may or I may not,” Strom replied. He glanced around to try and replace the Priest, but she didn’t seem to be around. “I suppose I might.”

Adam eyed the old man suspiciously, but he couldn’t refuse the request of a dying old man. He checked on Jirot and Jarot, tickling their cheeks, cooing at them before noting the smell, which caused the pair to cry. 

“Who is a smelly boy?” Adam asked, staring down at Jarot, who was twitching under him, smiling at his father while he changed the little one’s clothy. He returned with the boy, noting just how light he felt, being still half the size of someone like Gurot. ‘Yes, that’s right. Stay small forever.’

Once the boy was within his basket, beside his twin sister, Adam stared at the pair. “Shouldn’t I stay here?”

Jarot huffed quietly. “I will stay with my greatchildren today. You should take the little ones around the festival. Tomorrow I will be with them and you may remain.”

Adam smiled at the older Iyrman. “Alright,” he said, awkwardly. “Thank you.”

Jarot nodded his head in response, and said no more. He stared down at the two Goblins, who were hard to hold for him since he only had the use of one arm. He was glad that he had his legs, though, since he could carry them around with ease in a basket, and could trek for hours as he pleased. ‘They are too young for that.’

“We should head out then,” Adam said, reaching down to hold his children’s hands. Konarot allowed her siblings to walk either side of their father, while she followed from beside them. 

Jurot reached out his hand for her to hold. She stared at it, and then up at him, before she shuffled closer to her father. 

‘She does not like me?’ Jurot thought.

Jarot coughed, trying to stop his laugh, watching as the group left. He leaned back, looking at the cask of ale which Strom had left, but he left it be. They would look after the babies during the first day of the festival, before they would allow others to look after the little ones later. 

“You are already close with the Goblins?” Mirot asked.

“The Goblins?” Jarot raised a brow. “Do you mean my greatchildren?”

“Have you accepted them already.”

“Have you not?” Jarot’s voice became clearer. 

Mirot did not reply.

“My grandsons have named one after me, and another after my own grandmother, and you would expect me not to accept them?”

“Why have you not returned back to the main estate?”

Jarot sneered. “If it does not want Jarot, then Jarot will not return there.”

Mirot wondered if she could soothe her father’s anger, but when it came to something like this, she was certain she’d be unable to deal with him. “Did you accept them because you wanted to or because you had to?”

“Can it not be both?”

“How can it be both?”

“I accepted them because I am an Iyrman,” Jarot replied, simply.

“Mother is not?”

“Her actions decide whether she is or not an Iyrman.”

Mirot sighed, picking up her son, and gently rocked him. He stared up at her, his eyes blank. “Do not forget you have another grandchild.”

“A grandchild who has the support of the rest of the family,” Jarot replied. “I will not ignore him, but my attention will be for those children who have none.”

“Not even Adam gives them so much attention,” Mirot noted.

“Has he placed too much faith in you?” Jarot asked. Adam spent far more time with his Half Dragon children and his sister than he did the Goblins.

“Who do you think will feed them while my sister is gone?” Mirot’s words were firm, daring to reprimand her father. 

“It is these two who were first accepted by your nephews,” Jarot stated. “The Half Dragons were adopted after.”

“They were not adopted, they were his children,” Mirot stated.

“You are right,” Jarot said. “These five children were not adopted, they were his children.”

Mirot sighed, looking down at her son, brushing his head tenderly. Her father was too stubborn to deal with, even for someone like her. 

Jarot remained silent, looking down at the Goblins. He had already accepted them into his heart, but there was already a coldness inside his heart and mind, that of anxiety. These children would live a tough life. At least Half Dragons were treated as people, Goblins were nothing more than vermin in the eyes of many. 

‘I would like to see who dares to harm my greatchildren,’ Jarot thought.

The women noted the pulsing in his brow, and the tension in the Iyrman’s neck, who was riling himself up. 

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Jarot is truly the best greatfather.