He was tall, handsome, so handsome one could almost refer to him as it. He wore white as armour, not white armour, but the colour itself, soaking in dawnval’s rays. His pupils were golden, spoked like stars, swimming in a sea of blue and purple, like the night sky. Those eyes were focused, resolute, upon a particular figure.
The Iyrman stepped forward. It was not Mad Dog, Flame Brand, not even Otkan, known as Silver Drake. It was a Priest of Wahtu, Lady Arya, who was heavily armoured in full plate, and carried a blade at her side. She did not wear her helmet, revealing her short hair, and the tattoos upon her forehead, that of the Tol family.
“We are honoured to meet you,” the Iyrman greeted, her voice clear as she stared at the being.
“I have come for you, cursed one,” he said, his voice equally as divine as it was sinister.
“I’m not cursed,” Adam replied, feeling the gazes which had fallen upon him.
Lucy’s eyes dared to look away from the being only for a moment, darting to Adam, before returning back to the divine being. Mara crossed her hands over her navel, standing taller and prouder. Jurot, too, stood a little taller.
“A rot upon this world, one I intend to deal with.”
Adam swallowed. He could feel it. His heart pounded like a beating drum. Sweat formed upon his brow, a cold sweat, while his bones grew chilly. The flashes of flames obscured his vision for a moment.
“Deal with… how?” the half elf asked, though he knew.
Everyone knew.
“Execution.”
“That’s very direct,” Adam replied, his throat dry. He felt the pressure build upon his shoulders, growing stronger with each passing moment. His mind was blank, not even cursing his misfortune.
“You have caused enough suffering.”
“What did I do?” Adam recalled the faces of his children in that moment, and the wish of his wife. He felt his throat constrict.
“Your meddling of Fate has caused two civil wars.”
Adam cleared his throat, lowering his head slightly. He closed his eyes. ‘Fuck.’
“It has also led to the death of…” The being paused, his eyes darkening as he took in only the half elf within his sight. A pressure fell upon the half elf, one that felt heavy, and burnt with righteous fury. “Prince Aksak.”
“What?” Adam gasped, blinking rapidly, his mind falling blank once more. The half elf could feel it, the heavy weight of being drowned within the void of shame and uncertainty.
How could it be?
‘Prince Aksak? He… died? Just like that? Because of me? I can’t believe... What, who-, no. No. If it-.‘ A hand grabbed the back of Adam’s head, his cold sweat sticking to it.
“What are you thinking of so deeply?” Jarot asked, bringing the half elf’s head to his chest. “What business do you have with my grandson?”
“Jarot,” the Priest called in the Iyr’s tongue.
“If you have business with my grandson, you may speak with I, Jarot.” Jarot’s lips formed a wild grin as he stared at the being, almost salivating at the mouth to fight.
“This does not concern you, Deathsinger.”
“Has he come for you?” Jarot asked, brushing the back of Adam’s head.
“Yeah?” Adam replied, confused.
“Do you wish to kill my grandson?”
“I wish for little, Deathsinger. I am an instrument of the Divine, and I have been tasked with its execution.”
“Who gave you the courage to kill a grandson of mine?” Jarot asked, his brow pulsing, his lips forming a wilder grin.
“Does the Iyr intend to interfere with my duties?” He asked, his eyes falling upon the Priest.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Lamtol remained silent for a long moment. She could feel the expectant gazes upon her, while the words of Elder Gold replayed within her mind. She also thought of the precarious situation the Iyr was in, one in which they couldn’t involve them within at this time. It was one thing to deal with the Reavers, but to also include their group, it was something she couldn’t risk. “We-,”
“Lamtol,” Gangak called, raising a gesture towards the woman, who replied with a gesture of her own. It was a gesture the other Iyrmen considered, while the being remained silent, wondering what the gesture meant.
We cannot.
Jurot saw the gesture, his mind racing. He had come for his brother, and right now, they weren’t equipped with dealing with the being. They could grievously wound it, if they all fought together, but there was almost no chance Adam could survive.
“Jarot,” Gangak said.
“Hmm,” Jarot replied.
Otkan’s ears twitched, considering the tone of his low groan. ‘What?’
“So you have come for my grandson?”
“I have come to execute the one known as Adam Fate.”
“You have come to execute our… Executive?” Jarot tilted his head.
The being’s eyes fell to the bloodthirsty Iyrman. “…”
“The Executive of our United Kindom?” Jarot asked, grinning wider. “What business do you have with our Executive Adam, High Alchemist of the United Kindom?”
Jurot blinked, and even Lucy’s eyes dared to glance towards the back of the crippled Iyrman for a moment.
“I am not bound by your mortal politics,” he said, narrowing his eyes slightly, understanding that the Deathsingers were figuring out a way to absolve themselves of responsibility. “I will execute all those who oppose my Divine Retribution.”
Lamtol stepped back, along with the Iyrmen near her, causing the villagers, who had come to see the commotion, to also take a step back from the gate.
“If you’re going to kill me, you should at least introduce yourself,” Adam said, trying to buy time.
Spells Prepared
Dimension Door
“…”
“He is one of the Thirteen Stars,” Jurot said. “A compatriot of-,”
“Oh dear,” a voice cut through the air and tension. The newcomer, who had seemingly appeared from nowhere in particular, was tall, pencil thin, adorned in long cloths. He held a cane in one hand, and carried a rapier at his side. The crow atop his hat leaned backwards, so it did not appear as though she were bowing, even as the fellow tipped his hat, the veil obscuring his face.
‘Crowseer?’ Adam thought, relief and terror filling through his body.
“My friend, what are you doing so far south?” Crowseer asked, his innocent smile beaming through the veil. “You should be keeping watch at the Northern-,”
“Why have you come?” Third Guardian Star asked.
Crowseer continued to smile, tipping his hat once more, Maurice pulling back to not appear as though she were bowing. He opened his lips to speak in a language long dead, and thankfully for him, no one here could understand.
“He is…” Crowseer tightened his grip upon his cane, placing a hand in front of his eyes, which peeked through the cracks in his fingers. “My prey.”
Suddenly the pressure lifted off the half elf, his lungs screaming as the breath rushed in so much easier, his heart thundering even up to his ears. ‘God damn!’
The figure remained silent for a long while. Crowseer, the weakest of all Thirteen Stars, was daring to fight against him, the third strongest? The flash of heat rushed through his body for only an instant, though the rage cooled away, disappearing from existence like those forgotten to time. “Very well.”
“I’m glad we could come to an agree-,” Crowseer began, only to be cut off as the figure pointed towards the sky.
Crowseer slammed his cane onto the ground as magic pulsed through the air, rippling out towards Adam and the others in the blink of an eye. Yet, even in the blink of an eye, light could travel around the world.
Dexterity Save
D20 + 1 = 10 (9)
Health: 112 -> 68
Tiny, almost needle thin, beams of light fell down from the heavens like the rain of retribution. They fell through the air, even slamming through Adam’s heavy armour with their sheer force. Though the pain filled through his shoulders, it was the sounds from behind which drew Adam’s attention.
Adam was nearly a Master. Jurot, Lucy, Mara, they too were nearly Masters. Mork and Tork were Experts at least, and so were the other Iyrmen, some reaching as high as Grandmaster. They were tough, extremely tough, and even if they weren’t able to defend themselves against the beams of light, they could take a blow, or two, perhaps even three.
A symphony of thuds echoed through the area. The Chief’s body fell onto the earth, joined by many other villagers, none of whom could have survived the rain of light. A silence fell upon the land. It was broken by villagers dropping to their knees, the retching, and then the screaming. The screams of the villagers who lost their families, of brothers who lost their sisters, of mothers who lost their children.
Health: 68 -> 67
Mana: 25 -> 22
Spell: Fireball
8D6 = 31 (31)
31 damage!
Onward Soar: 1 -> 0
Mana: 22 -> 19
Spell: Fireball
8D6 = 29 (29)
29 damage!
“You goddamn son of a bitch!” Adam shouted, feeling the burning within his eyes, the half elf clutching his die so hard, it cut into his hand. The heat flooded through his body as he pushed through more of his magic through his veins, summoning forth his greatest technique. “I’ll fucking kill you!”
A bead of red fell from the heavens, before exploding into fire, engulfing the Third Guardian Star, followed closely by another. Adam grit his teeth, his jaw cracking, barely able to see through the tears in his eyes as the shadow emerged through the flames, before the flames dissipated.
The last time Adam had come across a figure like this, his Fireballs had been worthless. So why was it that, even though Adam had dealt that much damage, enough damage to make him think twice, the figure stood tall and proud, still pure white, with not even a speck of black char?
Those eyes stared at him.
Eyes as expansive as the night sky, with the starry pupils.
Yet, all the half elf could see reflected within those eyes was disinterest.
Just like his.