Beyond Chaos – A DiceRPG

“Mummy! Mummy!” Kirot shouted, carrying Blues within her hands, holding it up to her mother, the girl’s tears streaming down her face. “Boos is hurt.”

“How did Blues get hurt?” Vonda asked, calling out a prayer, the warmth of holy magics running through the bird.

“I did not!”

“I know. How did Blues get hurt?”

“Wall.”

“He flew into the wall?”

“Yes.”

“Oh dear.” Vonda brushed a finger along the bird’s back, feather light. “It’s okay now, Blues.”

“Teet!” Blues replied, dropping down, hopping about before glancing up towards the master’s master. “Teet!”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Mummy speaking to Blues?” Kirot asked, no longer crying, while her mother cleaned up her face.

“Perhaps I can?”

Kirot blinked. “Good job, mummy.”

“Thank you, my dear.” Vonda brushed along the girl’s cheek tenderly. “Are you having fun?”

“Mummy!”

“Yes?”

“Jirot is gone.”

“Gone?”

“Gone.”

“Where has she gone?” Vonda asked, feeling a rising sense of dread, though she remained smiling politely.

“Baba house.”

“Oh,” Vonda replied, calming her heart. “Do you wish to go too?”

Kirot smiled shyly. “Mmm…”

“Okay.” Vonda glanced to Karot and Konarot, who rushed over, having made sure explain to all the Iyrmen why Kirot had to run with the bird.

While Kirot, caused a rising panic within her mother, Adam caused a rising panic within his brother. Truly, she was her father’s daughter.

‘You should not use it,’ Jurot had said over breakfast.

‘I know, but, you know, just in case,’ Adam replied, pouting sheepishly. ‘I’ll only use it in an emergency.’

‘It is fine, since Aunt Mirot still has both eyes,’ Jurot joked, which had caused Adam’s eyes to widen, the half elf shutting up, withdrawing into himself. Jurot understood now why Jaygak and Jirot bullied others so much. ‘Sometimes, it is fun.’

Even from the audience, Jurot sensed it. Whatever modicum of hope the young half elf had held, had quickly dissipated into the air, like steam turning to frost in the nightval air. A bead of sweat ran down the side of Jurot’s cheek, because he knew that Adam, with Wraith and his holy smites, could surpass even Phantom’s great ability.

‘Sorry?’ Grace thought, holding her blade ahead of her.

Mana: 23 -> 20

Spell: Searing Smite

Attack - Wraith

D20 + 10 = 22 (12)

Omen: 13, 20 -> 13

20 + 10 = 30 (20)

Critical hit!

Wraith: 3 -> 0

Mana: 20 -> 17

4D6 + 12D6 + 8D6 + 6D6 + 9 = 104 (11)(33)(34)(17)

104 damage!

Onward Soar: 1 -> 0

Tough Spirit: 1 -> 0

2D6 + 8 = 19 (11)

Health: 1 -> 20

Lay on Hands: 40 -> 1

Health: 20 -> 59

Adam plucked a Thread of Fate.

“Fine,” the young hero said. “It’s not like I have anything better to do. I’ll go find this friend of yours, but if he ends up being weak, I’ll have to kill him.”

The toddler stared at the young hero, with his pale skin, his blue scales, and his large horns, and the crackle of lightning and mischief. ‘It should be fine? He must be strong by now?’ The baby sensed it upon the air in that moment, though he was uncertain if Adam had shifted Fate, to work it better, or worse, for him.

Thus Fate was forever changed.

“Baktu, please,” Adam chanted, as Wraith sparked, wreathed in flames. The young half elf marched forward, holding his axe above his head, before swinging it down without a care in the world. Grace held her sword in front of her, but she understood the trajectory was going to miss her, and barely scrape against her armour, so she willed her weapon forward.

Her muscles pulled taut, shaking violently as she tried to attack.

The flames exploded over the woman’s body, and though she managed to flex her muscles, forcing away the flames, the flash of cold, the flash of holy heat, rocked through her body.

Adam flexed his muscles, inhaling deeply, before feeling the vigour return, while the body fell in front of him, and onto him. He placed his hands against his chest, feeling the warmth run through his body.

The crowd fell silent, unsure of what had happened, for one moment, the Nightval Blade stood tall and proud, like the Dragon’s Tail, the mountain range of the North, and the next moment, she had fallen into the purple man’s arms, now still.

Victory!

XP Gained: +200

XP: 3 500 -> 3 700

Adam, half embracing the woman, reached up, placing a finger on her cheek.

Lay on Hands: 1 -> 0

The woman’s body convulsed for a moment, sparking back to life, and her blade swung over the half elf, though had struck the air.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, it’s over,” Adam said. “It’s over, Grace.”

Grace pulled away from his arms, staring at him in confusion, trying to understand who he was. Then a flash of fear struck through her upon seeing the purple, and she gripped her blade, before the memories flooded into her mind, and she glanced around, noting the arena, the young man before her, the blade within her hand.

“I believe, that’s my win?” Adam said, unstrapping his shield.

‘What happened?’ Grace thought, feeling the ache within her body. She barely remembered the half elf before her, nor the situation. ‘We were fighting. I almost knocked him out. Then…’

Blackness.

The crowd grumbled, whispers and questions passing from lips to ears to lips.

“Victory! Victory to Executive Adam!” the announcer called, only causing more confusion, but thankfully, they were within the North. “Executive Adam’s axe struck so mightily with his great magic, and caused the Nightval Blade to fall, but he caught her, and spent his magic to allow her to stand!”

Upon the announcer’s explanation, the crowd cheered, still confused, but if the announcer said such, then it must be the case. After all, why would the announcer take the side of a Southerner in a bout unless they were sure?

“A great fight, thank you,” Adam said, bowing lightly towards the woman, feeling his body begin to heat up once more, before he forced the rising emotions down.

“You as well…” The Nightval Blade stared at Adam, who stepped away, heading out to the winner’s section. She quickly turned when she realised that the arena owner was probably getting annoyed she was wasting more of their time. ‘How did he beat me?’

Once the matter had been confirmed, Adam was allowed to head to his seat, but only once he had hidden away his armour and weapons, handed over to the arena.

“Did you bet for me?” Adam asked, dropping down beside his brother, ignoring the knowing looks from his companions.

“I did.”

“I bet the odds were good, since it was the Nightval Blade, eh?” Adam chuckled lightly, but quickly stopped, not only when the glares from his companions intensified, but also he could feel the sickness within him. ‘Damn it. Should I have used it? It’s not like one loss would have…’ Even knowing he could have lost once and made it through, he felt sick to his stomach at the thought of losing. ‘I’ve already lost enough.’

The fights continued, though as Adam watched, a servant approached. “Adam?”

“Yes?” Adam asked, before taking the slip from her hand, reading the paper. “Okay.”

It wasn’t long before the half elf was sitting before the Grand Duchess, sipping tea. He could feel the gaze of various others around them, from the Grand Commander of the Order of the Thousand Hunts, to various other nobles.

“Did you earn some decent coin?” Grand Duchess Aeda asked.

“I bet a lot of money,” the half elf replied, smirking slightly. The Nightval Blade against some random no name? Adam wouldn’t be surprised if the odds were close to three to one. “I hope you didn’t lose any money?”

“I did not,” the Duchess confirmed, and she understood exactly how much a lot of money was for Adam, though he had a lot of money tied up in the long bets. “I have invited you here to introduce you to many others who have taken interest in you.”

“Hello, everyone,” Adam said, bowing his head to each of them, causing some of them to laugh, as though watching a monkey dance. The half elf smiled slightly, and though he could feel his annoyance rise, he understood that once they would come to him for some magical weapons, he would claw at their wallets as greedily as Jirot clawed at trouble.

“Just how strong are you?” a fellow asked, who wore a long black cloak, whose face reminded Adam of a raven, and whose eyes reminded the half elf of a hungry tiger.

“I’ve only lost three times before. Once against my brother’s grandfather, the very same fellow who once used the shield I possess,” Adam said, smiling politely. “He was missing an arm, and he still beat me.”

“He was? Is he missing the arm no longer?” the noble joked, though he had yet to connect the dots of who the half elf was talking about until the next moment. His smile faltered slightly.

“No.” Adam glanced around. “While there were many hiding within their walls, so beautiful, so mighty as they were, my… brother’s grandfather, Jarot, the Mad Dog, as you might know him, he was out there, fighting. He fought Lord Asa, I believe they call him.” Adam paused, noting how everyone had suddenly tensed up upon the figure’s name. “He lost his leg during the war.”

“I’m sure he still fights well.”

“Well, considering he almost slaughtered Count Westmoon earlier this year, and he fought not just, what’s his name? Graceful Blade? Gentle Blade? Something like that. He fought a Master, and two Experts, and still almost killed the Count. If it wasn’t for another Iyrman, my granduncle, who was once considered as great as the Chief, Aldland would have lost another noble to the Mad Dog.”

The smile on Adam’s face caused a few of the Northern nobles to smile too, though some, who had felt the sting of the Mad Dog’s blade, frowned deeper towards the half elf.

“Mad Dog killed my brother,” another noble said, a woman in her fifties or so, who wore a long cloak too, except it was tied by a strap with a large medallion. “So wipe that smirk off your face.”

‘Count Westmoon tried to kill my children, so don’t tell me what to do,’ Adam thought, but he clenched his jaw. “I’m sure he didn’t have it coming.”

The woman narrowed her eyes. “Be wary of your words, for in the North, blades are eager to be drawn.”

“I’m careful with my words in the Iyr, because they’re strong enough that they can kill your brother and get away with it,” Adam replied. “I’m not so stupid I think I can do the same, regardless of whether I can beat the North’s greatest genius, who is years older than me.”

“If you do not wish to be put down, you should choose your next few words carefully,” the Grand Commander said, his eyes taking in the sight of the half elf, his eyes full of darkness, and curiosity.

Adam narrowed his eyes, feeling the great pressure from the figure. “Are you the Grand Commander of the Thousand Hunts?”

“I am.”

Adam snapped his finger, pointing towards the Grand Commander. “You’ve met my brother, haven’t you? Jurot, the Savage?”

“…”

“Is that why you’ve called me here, Grand Duchess?” Adam asked.

“I told you why I brought you here.”

“Just to talk?” Adam asked. “Just to introduce me, or, is the North like the South, and the Grand Commander, just like with my brother, he’s going to-,”

“Careful, boy/” The Grand Commander clenched his fists tight, focusing his entire gaze upon the half elf, the pressure intensifying.

Adam remained focused on the Grand Duchess. “I’m really curious. You told me that you’re the North. So very different to the South. I know what my brother said to the Grand Commander. I’m not stupid enough to speak up about it, but… I am sponsored by you, Grand Duchess.”

“You mentioned you have lost multiple times,” the Grand Duchess said, ignoring Adam’s words. “The first was to the Mad Dog.”

“The second was to Lord Asa’s son, Emperor Shama, who is commonly known as the Lord of Flames, who comes from a land which is so powerful, they can ignore even the Paragons across Aldland, and my third loss was to the combined forces of my brother, and two other Iyrmen, as well as a being that even Emperor Shama would not so easily draw his blade against,” Adam said, reaching down to sip his tea. “I’m really careful what I say in the Iyr, Grand Duchess, because my Aunt, Jurot’s mother, dared to put Emperor Shama in his place, while Lord Asa, a dying old man, can put the entirety of Aldland in its place.”

“What gives you so much courage?”

“Have you ever heard the tale of the Southlake family, Your Grace?”

The Grand Duchess remained focused on the half elf. “You are no Iyrman.”

“No,” Adam said, smiling slightly. “However, the question really isn’t whether I am an Iyrman or not. It’s whether you’re willing to bet.”

“What is the bet?”

“The Mad Dog calls me his grandson, and one of my children is named after him, my little Jarot. I know just how much he dotes on my children. So I’m willing to bet, if I did lose my life due to some Aldish shenanigans, that he would come by again to remind Aldland why he was called the Mad Dog,” Adam stated confidently, as though it were fact.

“Also, obviously, any orders the North has placed with our business would be refused, because an Executive of the United Kindom was killed, and your family would take most of the blame, since I am under your sponsorship, Grand Duchess. Most importantly, I’m willing to bet that the Blacksnow family is greater than a Southerner.” Adam let out a burst of laughter, glancing at the rest of the nobles, winking at them.

The Grand Duchess let out a soft sigh, glad the half elf had realised how to defuse the situation, even if he was still dancing on a knife’s edge. Except, she understood, that Adam, though laughing at the ridiculousness, spoke only the truth.

“Also, I really hope I don’t die, not until I convince my eldest daughter to become closer to my wife, Ray Vonda, of Life’s Rose.” Adam sighed, dropping the rank of his wife to save him.

The confusion within the room spread through like wildfire, the whiplash of Adam’s stupidity quickly disarming the tension.

I rolled to see if he’d die here too.