Beyond Chaos – A DiceRPG

565. Preliminaries VII

“Sponsored by Baron Barthold Eastlake, with his great blade in hand, William of the Thunder Riders!”

“Sponsored by Sir Landon Littlesea, the Iyrman with skin of steel, Chief Executive Officer Jurot!” 

William stepped forward into the arena. He wore full plate mail, and wore a half cape with the East Lake’s symbol printed against it. At his back was a greatsword of fine steel, well built, with no frills. However, from the red hilt, Jurot understood it was a blade from the turbulent time of the Demonic Devastation. The Fifty Red Swords, which eventually declined, and was the inspiration for the Three Hundred Blades some few hundred years later. 

Jurot stepped forward, adorned in the furs of travelling Iyrmen, very different to the uniforms they typically wore in the Iyr. Jurot was the typical appearance of what the Aldish thought the Iyrmen were. Tall, strong, dishevelled hair only combed by a swipe of the hand, adorned in heavy furs. 

As they circled around the arena, Jurot held up his axe and shield, feeling the gentle burn of his arms as he displayed his endurance, his muscles flexing and twitching for the crowd. 

“Sometimes I forget how handsome my brother is,” Adam said, nodding his head approvingly. The group had finished with their bets, with Adam betting twice as much as normal. He had to do that at least once since Jurot was his brother. 

“How strong is the guy?”

“He is strong,” Vonda said, doing her best to avoid looking at William, a young man three years her senior.

“Thunder Riders is such a cool name, don’t you think?” 

“It is.”

Once the pair met in the centre, William swiped his blade through the air, before holding it in front of him. “Are you ready for the hardest fight of your life, Iyrman?” The young man chuckled, his tone of voice light.

“I am ready,” Jurot said, holding his axe out towards his opponent, Phantom gleaming in the sun. 

Seeing that his opponent was so open, William dashed forward, swinging his blade wildly in an arc in front of him to strike Jurot. His blade held such force, it would have cut a normal man in half.

But Jurot was no man.

As the heavy swing threatened to bisect Jurot, he leapt up above the swinging blade, with such height it had taken even William by surprise, the crowd’s gasps echoing his feelings. The air under Jurot shuddered from the thunderous force of the blade’s magic. 

Jurot landed in a squat, but with the strength forged by the training of the Iyr, he forced his way up, his thighs burning. He used the moment to strike with Phantom, aiming for the young man’s helmet, his axe almost blurring in the air. The thunk was audible in the arena, even managing to reach the crowd, and Phantom flashed as Jurot spent all the charges.

A single blow and William fell to the side, dropping still.

Jurot exhaled, flexing his muscles for a moment, raising his axe high above him before he relaxed. The crowd’s noise drowned out the conversations on the first floor above them.

“Yeah!” Adam shouted. “Woo! Hahaha! That’s my brother!” Adam kept howling with laughter. “Just a hit! Only one!”

Nirot snorted quietly, crossing her arms as she did her best not to act out. She glanced towards the other Iyrmen, her lips twitching into a smile. 

“First place! Let’s go!” Adam continued to cackle and howl, already feeling the buzz of alcohol. 

Though there were those around him who wanted him to quieten down, they allowed him this moment. They weren’t going to act up, not when one of the Iyrmen nearby had the same tattoo as the young Iyrman who had dropped an Expert in a single blow. 

From the second floor above the crowd, Baron Barthold Eastlake stared at the fallen mercenary. He had managed to procure the young Expert for a sum of one hundred gold, and a hundred gold for each win, plus an additional five hundred gold if he placed, a fair sum of coin. 

William had once been a candidate to become one of the Three Hundred Blades, but Fate had taken him away on the path of adventuring. The Baron almost threatened to slam his cup of wine against the wall, but kept his cool in front of the other minor nobles and merchants. 

“It seems the Iyrman was more of a savage than you let on,” another lord said from nearby, a merchant pouring him some wine.

“Who knows what wicked magics the axe possesses,” Barthold replied, his brow pulsing with rage. His face turned red hot, but the lords and merchants made no comment on it, allowing the Baron to fume. 

The priests quickly approached William, who was deathly still. They quickly healed him, and found he was quite alive, though the blood trickling out of his nose and ears had implied otherwise. His mind was still recovering, as he stared around, unsure of where he was, who he was, or even what he was.

“Jurot,” Adam called as the Iyrman approached them.

“Adam.”

“Very cool.”

Jurot nodded.

Kitool’s fight was quite eventful, managing to battler her opponent with a flurry of strikes, before stunning them and repeating the process, managing to take them out.

Jaygak on the other hand, slugged it out with her opponent. Though they managed to strike each other with similar frequency, Jaygak’s blows held greater impact, and her opponent, a young warrior from the Order of Three Hundred Blades, fell to a knee.

Amokan’s wild swings brought much fanfare from the crows, as each blow threatened to kill his opponent, who surrendered after being struck against his side. Considering he was perhaps the greatest member of an order in this segment, his loss was utterly shocking, and rippled through the arena as the crowd cheered. The Drakken from the north, from the Order of the Snow Storm, was considered one of the top three to win their segment.

“It was my loss to come across you, son of Kan,” the Drakken said, shaking forearms with the Iyrman.

“It was a good fight,” Amokan replied, shaking his forearm.

“This is why I didn’t want to come across you Deathsingers.”

Amokan grinned wide. “Let us drink together when the evening comes.”

The Drakken sighed, but smiled. “I will see you then.” 

Timojin’s wild swings brought so much fear to his opponent, they only managed to strike across him once, while spending the rest of bout trying to defend. She eventually surrendered, seconds away from passing out. 

‘This entire tournament is stacked for the Iyrmen,’ Adam thought. 

“The bets will no longer be so plentiful,” Jurot said, sipping the ale. “We have won too cleanly.”

“That’s why I said to hold back.”

Jurot continued to eat and drink, allowing Adam to stew on the coin he was going to miss out. However, his lips still formed a long smile, as he thought about how well they were all doing.

Jaygak glanced between the pair. ‘These brothers are crazy.’ She sighed, thinking about how difficult it was for her. 

When the next morning came, it was Adam’s turn to fight. 

‘Should I finish them off in one blow too?’ Adam thought as he stepped out to the arena, the noonval sun beating down on him in his plate mail. ‘It’s so damn hot!’

“The prodigy of a generation! With a blade made of sunsteel, forged by the Fire Giants in the distant volcanoes of Voodur! Sir Carter of the Three Hundred Blades!” 

“Sponsored by Sir Landon Littlesea! With gleaming armour of purple! Chief Executive Officer Adam!”

‘I wonder if Lord Morkarai made his sword,’ Adam thought, seeing the longsword which was almost golden in colour, and gleamed so brightly with the sun. ‘I bet a lot of money on this match, so I better not lose.’

“It is my honour to face you,” the young man in plate mail said as they met in the middle. He donned his shield, and held his blade out towards the space between them.

“The honour is mine,” Adam replied, raising his shield, readying himself for the fight. ‘Damn. He’s a nice guy.’

Battle Order
D20 + 1 = 4 (3)

Attack - Wraith
D20 + 10 = 15 (5)
Miss!

Attack - Wraith
D20 + 10 = 22 (12)
Hit!
2D6 + 9 = 15 (2, 4)
15 damage!

Adam managed to deflect a blow with his axe, and as he struck when he saw a chance, he was forced back by a harsh swing by the blade, which glowed gently, causing his puthral armour to sparkle. He stepped aside, barely striking the young man across his thigh. 

Carter leapt away from Adam, shocked by how much damage the Half Elf had managed with just his axe.  ‘He hits like a mountain tiger.’

The pair circled around one another, their blade and axe pointed towards each other. 

Health: 78 -> 52

Fighting Spirit: 3 -> 2
Health: 52 -> 57

Attack - Wraith
D20 + 10 = 15 (5)
D20 + 10 = 30 (20)
Critical hit!
Mana: 21 -> 20
Ability: Divine Smite
4D6 + 4D6 + 9 = 35 (2, 4, 4, 4)(1, 3, 3, 5)
35 damage!

Attack - Wraith
D20 + 10 = 24 (14)
D20 + 10 = 28 (18)
Hit!
2D6 + 9 = 16 (1, 6)
16 damage!

“I shall return your strike with greater fury,” the Guardian said, and his blade almost blurred in front of Adam, who managed to bend backwards. Adam raised his shield, but the blade struck down against his side, causing him to roll backwards, his side stinging from where the divine magic struck him. ‘Damn!’

Adam leapt up onto his feet, inhaling deeply, before he raised his axe towards the young man again, before they met in battle once more. This time, with Adam deeply focusing on his assault, the Half Elf managed to land a strike across the young man’s armour, which was seared from the divine smite, and he slipped under the shield, managing to force the young man back.

The crowd had long drowned out for them, as the pair focused only on each other. Sir Carter’s mind tingled, feeling as though Adam was still holding back against him. He raised his blade again towards Adam, but spent a moment catching the Half Elf’s eyes. He bowed his head. Adam returned a bow of his own head.

Health: 57 -> 20

Fighting Spirit: 2 -> 1
Health: 20 -> 25

Attack - Wraith
D20 + 10 = 20 (10)
D20 + 10 = 26 (16)
Hit!
Mana: 20 -> 19
Ability: Divine Smite
2D6 + 2D6 + 9 = 35 (1, 2)(3, 6)
35 damage!

 Carter charged forward, the pair bumping shields, before they swung together, dancing in the centre of the arena. As Adam focused himself, Carter managed two heavy blows against the puthral plate mail, marking it with his divine magic, while Adam swung wildly, striking the young Guardian harshly across his own armour.

Sir Carter dropped down to a knee, but Adam caught him, half embracing the Guardian. Carter tried to catch his breath, but was unable to gather more strength as his vision faded to black.

Mana: 19 -> 18
Spell: Healing Word
1D3 + 3 = 4 (1)

“It was an honour to face you, Sir Carter,” Adam said, his voice full of healing magic. 

Sir Carter felt the strength return to him as the Half Elf held him. He tensed slightly, but relaxed, before stepping away from the Half Elf. He bowed his head. “The honour is mine, Chief Executive Officer Adam.”

I keep forgetting to italicize the stuff my bad. 

Hardest fight of Jurot's life? LOL!