Beyond Chaos – A DiceRPG

The garden’s air was clean and agreeable, compared to the air of the city, the smell gentle and sweet of serenity, rather than the harsh and sour of city business. Such a serenity would have eased their hearts, if not for the figure adorned in his breastplate upon his large, sturdy, almost throne of a chair, who, though holding a blank face of the older man, held an ominous pressure. He seemed to be only in his seventies, now looking more appropriately aged, the older man holding a handsomeness that might be portrayed to good Kings, shorter white hair, cut weekly, and a small beard, trimmed neatly at the same time. 

Adam recalled the first time he had met the rather playful Harold Merryweather, back when he had mostly retired to live out his days within a village near Ever Green. He had been an old man who was almost not of note, and he had spoken so casually to the man considered to be the greatest King’s Sword, due to the fact he hadn’t realised who the old man was. 

There were four guards, each Masters, two from Floria, two from the guards the Shen had lent to the King out of respect, but it was the man they were protecting, the man who sat upon the large chair, who exerted a pressure so heavy, even the trio of Iyrmen tensed up against it, who was the greatest threat. 

Adam had felt such a great pressure the previous year, but it was only confirmed, for truly, King Merryweather was the greatest King’s Sword to live.

The King allowed the four to take their seat opposite him, upon smaller chairs, though Jurot noted they were finely crafted, and upon the round marble table, sat trays of snacks, a well as a tea pot, which had been recently forged and gifted to the King from the Golden Dawn Temple of Her Great Craftsmanship, the very same place which had forged the fine dawngold blade. 

Recalling what Jurot had said, Adam remained silent, causing the guards to grow annoyed at them, for neither bowing, nor following the typical procedures, though the King picked up the pot to pour the tea. As Adam nibbled upon a biscuit, his brows raised, for it was similar to shortbread, with a gentle taste of fruit, though not something he could quite place. He smiled slightly to himself.

‘Yo! This tastes pretty-,’

“I did not expect to see you within Floria,” King Harold Merryweather said, his voice calm, collected, yet full of authority. 

“Oh?” Adam replied, his voice filled with too much playfulness for a half elf flirting so closely with one of the few people who could kill him with little consequence. “I didn’t realise we had some sort of issue, Your Grace?”

“It was my hope you would hide within the Iyr for a few years, and with the arrival of the Reavers, you would have been forgotten by the year’s end.”

“I appreciate your concern, but I thought you might want some support during this time, so I sent a message to your Lord Marshal, who did not seem to mind?” Adam couldn’t help himself, his voice so light and playful as he spoke to the King. It was the audacity afforded to him by those he held within his company.

King Merryweather inhaled deeply, not because Adam had a point, but because of course it was Lord Marshal Royce who would cause him such trouble. Somehow, even after sending him to the front lines, the fool was able to cause him this much trouble, which he should have expected, but how could it be that from hundreds of miles away, the old man could bring this great trouble to him?

“I came with a gift to show my sincerity,” the half elf said, while a guard brought the sheathed blade towards the King, kneeling as he offered it to the King. It was of the Iyr’s design, basic, functional, deadly, grey and silver, stamped with the skull of Baktu upon the bottom of the pommel.

“Though I normally would not build a bridge with someone who tried to deprive me of my justice, vengeance if it makes you feel better, I understand that, as part of being a member of a business, that I must compromise for the greater good, which in this case, is gold.”

The King reached down towards the blade, assuming it was magical, but he could feel a greater magic within it, noting it was more than likely a Greater blade. He unsheathed the blade slightly to note the steel, which was finely crafted, and noted the engraving up the blade. How many times had he clashed with a blade with this engraving?

“It is a fine blade,” the King complimented, and none could deny his genuineness.

“Thank you, my wi-,” Adam began, though he heard Jurot clear his throat, and the half elf raised his brow. “It’s not cringe for me to show off my wife.”

“Adam.”

“What? She picked it out and I want to show off!” Adam complained, though tempered is feigned annoyance, which stemmed for a real place, since it probably wasn’t a great idea to reveal Vonda was an enchanter. 

King Merryweather understood there was more to it, but he sheathed the blade, handing it back to his guard, who stepped to the side with it. Even if it was cursed, the King could have dealt swiftly with the guard, but he held no doubts of the blade, since Iyrmen were accompanying the fool of a half elf. 

“I hope you will rescind your banishment, Your Highness,” Adam said, not allowing much annoyance from showing respect, though for someone like King Merryweather, it was quite deserved. “It’s not really in the spirit of our agreement, is it?”

“I pardoned you, but that does not mean you are granted to walk freely upon this land,” King Merryweather replied, certain the half elf understood why. 

“Are you sure? The Iyr said they took full responsibility, but you’re still going to banish me?” Adam asked, glaring at the King. “At a time like this, don’t you need magical weapons?”

“You would threaten me at a time like this?”

“If we are not welcome here, Your Grace, then we are not welcome here,” the half elf replied, holding up his hands innocently, shrugging his shoulders lightly, doing his best not to smile in the way that would end up with a typical noble wanting to cut his head clean off. 

“I did not expect this from you, Adam,” the King admitted.

“Yeah? Well, I didn’t expect for you to be like this either, King Merryweather.”

The King sipped his tea, tasting the almost ashy flavour upon his tongue, noting the rising anger within the half elf, giving the young man a moment to calm himself.

“We’re going to be heading to Aswadasad soon,” Adam began, sipping his tea lightly for a moment, barely tasting the ashy flavour, though it did cause him to pause for a moment, not expecting it. “We’re going to be paying a visit to the oldest temple to Lady Arya, to ask for her favour during the war with the Reavers. I also hope the Order of the Black Mountain would be open to doing business, since the threat this time seemed to be quite high.”

“Would you remain stubborn even during a crisis such as this?”

“Stubborn? I’m the one who wants to do business, Your Grace, but like I said, if we’re not welcome to do business here…” Adam shrugged his shoulders once more. “We weren’t welcome in Deadwood or Red Oak, so we’re not doing business their either, so don’t take it too personally.”

“You are willing to prolong the suffering just so you can step onto the soil of Floria?”

“Suffering?” Adam narrowed his eyes slightly, unsure of how hard he should hit the King. 

“How many will die because you are offended by a temporary banishment?”

“I haven’t heard Reavers killing any children yet,” the half elf replied. “Is that why you despise them so much?”

The guards tensed up, the Aswadian guards utterly baffled by the half elf’s audacity, while the Florian guards felt the heat of rage begin to grow within them. Jurot, Tanagek, and Chosen each began to tense up, the pair having accompanied them due to Jurot’s request, so that they could see Adam at such a time. 

Also to meet King Merryweather.

‘He speaks like an Iyrman, but we do not have such a treaty with Floria,’ Chosen thought, wondering if Adam thought he could kill the King and get away with it, like either of the trio, if this had been Aldland.

“Your words will lead you to an untimely demise,” King Merryweather warned.

“That bastard killed my children and now you’re talking to me about suffering?” Adam whispered harshly in return, his forehead pulsing and pounding.

“He was still a noble.”

“A noble?” Adam’s incredulity filled him so much, the half elf ready to burst, but the hand upon his chest stopped him. His heart beat wildly within his chest, and Jurot bowed his head lightly, not wanting Adam to get himself killed over a noble. 

“His name was Sir Kris Huntsmaster, a man of noble…ness.” The King saw the sheer rage within Adam’s eyes, as if the half elf was daring him to continue praising the deceased Vice Commander.

“He was…” Adam began with a wicked whisper, “a no good, child murdering, piece of shit who was kicked out of his country for betraying it when you raised your sword against your liege against his tyranny!”

The guards stepped forward, though paused, for Jurot, Tanagek, and Chosen remained sitting, Jurot held onto Adam’s chest, applying a gentle pressure, reminding him not to get himself killed, but he trusted his brother not to go too far.

“You were best of the them, King Merryweather,” Adam whispered, his voice wounded by betrayal. “The Sir Merry I met was the kind of man to think of the people before his own ambitions. I thought, since you had lost your own grandchild…”

King Merryweather narrowed his eyes. 

“I thought you of all people would understand,” Adam said, pulling away from the Iyrman. “Thank you for the tea, Your Grace. It was not what I expected, but I did not dislike it.”

King Merryweather bowed his head, dismissing the four, who stepped away. He had recognised their tattoos. Those of the Mad Dog, those of Duteous Dogek, and those of Bloodblade. However, he had heard the young woman had also come with the group, and he was disappointed he did not meet her. 

‘I could not ask about the Grand Commander.’ As the thought slipped into the King’s mind, another thought surfaced. ‘That tattoo…’ 

Being a King is hard enough without a fool of a father messing with you.