Omen: 13, 20
‘What? Do you think I’d be tempted?’ Adam asked the world. ‘Just a little, but I’m not that stupid.’
The nobles gathered within the arena, a large circle, with eight large towers, connected by a ring of stone, each housing the various nobles. The nobles overlooked the commonfolk, who were assaulted by the snow and the brisk air.
“I see you have sponsored your eldest,” Baron Northriver said, pouring a drink for his companion.
“I see you have sponsored a mercenary,” Baroness Fifthpeak replied, sipping the wine that the Baron had poured her.
“My eldest, he’s too bored of these tournaments, so he says,” the Baron said, smirking playfully, the pair exchanging a knowing look.
“Sparring with women, is he?”
“I am certain of it.”
As the wine and cheese made its way about, the servants swiftly clearing their sections within the rings, there were many higher nobility who remained within their own sections, eating and drinking away, dealing with other matters than watching the fights. Indeed, for the higher nobles, the tournament was merely an excuse for business.
“Boy, come here,” Aeda Blacksnow, Grand Duchess of the North, dared to say to a figure, who perhaps should have commanded some respect.
The Grand Commander of the Order of the Thousand Hunts, Sir James Greatwood, stood, approaching the Grand Duchess. He sat opposite her, flanked by two knights, each Masters, and each nowhere near his own strength.
“Have you decided to settle within the North?” Aeda asked, cutting a piece of cheese, placing it upon a cracker with her knife, before drawing back, allowing the Grand Commander to take it from her.
“I-,”
“Eat first, boy! You can’t think right on an empty stomach.” The woman dared to interrupt one of the handful of Paragons across the entire land.
James bit into the cheese and cracker, glad the cracker soothed the flavours of the harsh cheese, which almost caused him to wince. He sipped down the wine, which was also strong in the north, like its people. If it was not the Grand Duchess, he perhaps would have asked why it was the South which had raised a Paragon, that being himself, and not one of the many Northern Orders. However, even if the Grand Commander could dare to suggest such to the King, he wasn’t stupid enough to suggest such a thing to the woman who had guaranteed the North’s comfortable position for four generations, and perhaps five.
“I intended to settle under the King’s guidance,” the Paragon finally stated, having finished an appropriate amount of cheese and wine for the Grand Duchess to feel like a decent host.
“In Central, then?”
“If His Majesty suggests.”
“Fine, then.” The Grand Duchess sipped away at her tea. ‘I should have expected as much from a Southerner.’
The crowd continued to cheer and shout as the fights continued, while Adam sat among a group of other fighters, each readying themselves for their bouts.
‘Man, it sure is lucky that Jaygak fights on the off days,’ Adam thought. ‘Looks like my luck is on the rise?’
“Adam Fate!” called a worker. “Come now!”
Adam donned his shield, feeling the magic within it, and he stepped forward, leaving through the giant double doors, which the workers opened to a set of groans from those who weren’t use to the cold, before he stepped out into the light, glancing all across the circular arena, smiling as he noted all the commonfolk near the bottom sections, who had paid quite the coin in order to sit for an hour, while the other, slightly richer commonfolk, sat further up, paying for sections of the day, one of the three four hour blocks.
“Coming from the South,” called the disembodied voice, which paused to allow the people to jeer at the half elf in puthral, who had waved his hand, but stopped upon the jeering.
“He placed third in the Noonval Tournament.” At the pause, the figures laughed.
“Third!”
“Not even first?”
“Hah! Sworddropper!”
“Axedropper!”
Adam frowned, glancing around. ‘Hey, you’re not my daughter, you can’t bully me.’
“Brother to an Iyrman!” the voice called out, pausing again.
The crowd remained silent for a moment. Another moment passed. The chill filled the half elf, greater than the chill of the nightval air.
“Oooooooh?” the crowd replied, unsure of how to take the information.
“A brother to an Iyrman?”
“Don’t that mean he’s an Iyrman too?”
“No, maybe he’s a Nephew?”
“Ah!”
“Oooh!” the crowed called out, a little more enthusiastically.
“Wielding his shield, Strong Shield, once used by the Mad Dog,” the announcer continued, allowing a moment for the thunderous shouts to fill the arena, some cheers, some jeers, but all excitement.
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As the arena threatened to shake, within the ring of stone, various nobles perked up upon the name. Indeed, for though many across Aldland may have heard of the Mad Dog, he was most active in the North, and so many of the Northern families each suddenly paid keen attention to the half elf in the Iyrman’s steel.
“Mad Dog?” one asked.
“The Kid?”
“Bloody Jarot?”
“The Undying?”
“The Rock?”
“The Rock?” a wealthy merchant asked the other.
“I was thinking of another Iyrman…”
Some of the nobles called for one of their servants to command them to find out more about the figure wielding the shield of such a prominent figure.
“Wielding his magical axe, Wraith, which had come to blows with royalty of distant lands!”
“Oooooh!” the crowd shouted, filling Adam with a deep excitement.
Adam circled the arena, raising his axe and shield, causing nearby commonfolk to shout towards him, sometimes with insults, sometimes with praise and excitement, speaking of their bets.
“Executive Adam!”
Adam held out his arms, feeling the thunder of the countless voices echo through the arena, basking in the glow. ‘Now that’s what I’m talking about!’
Everything fell silent.
Even the wind dared not to whisper.
The doors opened, only the quiet groan of Southerners leaking into the arena, distorting to a growl upon the wind, before finally the jangle of armour broke the silence.
Standing tall and strong.
“Born within the North!”
The crowd cheered.
She was adorned in full plate, made of simple steel, but engraved with all manner of symbols, heavy furs hiding much of her.
“Having slain more dragons than one can count upon the fingers of one hand!”
The crowd threatened to deafen the half elf, who bowed his head lightly, almost shirking under the noise.
At her side, the blade dangled lightly, a blade longer than most blades, and as she drew it, the patterns glowed faintly under the nightval sun.
“Wielding the Shining Drakeslayer!”
The crowd continued to cheer, the clapping also echoing through the arena, before the name carried through the shattering noise.
“Nightval Blade!”
“Nightval Blade!”
“Nightval Blade!”
Her dark cloak billowed over her shoulder, and she turned, grasping her blade with both hands, poised like a wyvern, ready to strike.
“The Nightval Blade!” the announcer finally shouted, though the magic made sure to dampen the noise so that it didn’t burst their ear drums, but the crowd’s volume increased so loudly, Adam half expected the Iyr to hear of it. The noise blasted Adam for a long while, before finally the shouting began to die down.
Thousands of eyes all turned to the pair, one holding her blade out before her, standing as the picture of a Northerner, tall and proud, while the other stood, almost meek and demure.
“Draw your shield and axe,” the voice called through the visor.
“Of course,” Adam said, donning his crimson shield, causing near silent gasps, before he grabbed his axe, swinging it lightly. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”
“I’m sure.”
“Have you heard of me?” Adam asked.
“No. Should I?”
“Do you know who this shield belongs to?”
“The Mad Dog.”
“Do you know how it came to my possession?”
“… Yes.”
“His grandson gave it to me,” Adam said, holding out the shield. “Would you like to hold it.”
“… Yes.” The woman slowly undid her stance, her blade pointing to the earth. With a confidence only befitting a Northerner, she walked up to him, and Adam spotted the amulet on her chest, that of a single blade pointed downward. As though she expected Adam not to attack, she held out her hand.
Adam unstrapped his shield and handed it to her, for a moment the pair frozen, before the woman took the shield, feeling the magic within it.
“I never heard the shield was magical.”
“It wasn’t.”
She slowly bowed her head, holding the shield for a short while, before returning it back. “My name is Sir Grace.”
“Adam Fate,” Adam replied, bowing his head, taking the shield.
“I will end this quickly, out of respect.”
Adam smiled. “Sir Grace?”
“Yes?”
“Turot. That’s the name of the boy who gave me this shield, and that’s the name I want you to remember when you wake up.”
“…”
Though such a confrontation seemed somewhat mundane to most, the fact that Adam had allowed the Nightval Blade to hold onto his shield before their confrontation, and neither took the chance to betray one another, filled the air with a rising excitement.
This was a bout between two true warriors, of blade, heart, and spirit.
The pair stood opposite one another once more, blade drawn, shield donned, and still. The cool wind passed between them, and for a moment, it seemed as though the world had stopped just to watch them fight.
A moment passed.
A second moment passed.
A third moment passed.
‘Ah,’ the pair thought. ‘Now.’
Battle Order
D20 + 1 = 4 (3)
Health: 112 -> 92
Fighting Spirit: 3 -> 2
Health: 92 -> 97
Attack - Wraith (Advantage)
D20 + 10 = 11 (1)
D20 + 10 = 24 (14)
Hit!
Mana: 25 -> 24
Ability: Divine Smite
2D6 + 2D6 + 9 = 26 (7)(10)
26 damage!
Attack - Wraith (Advantage)
D20 + 10 = 26 (16)
D20 + 10 = 27 (17)
Hit!
Mana: 24 -> 23
Ability: Divine Smite
2D6 + 2D6 + 9 = 16 (4)(3)
16 damage!
Adam tried to force his body forward, but it had been rare for him to fight in the cold, and so his muscles, still not warmed up, fought against him.
“The strength of my conviction bears down like a mountain,” the woman said, stepping forward, raising her sword. It glowed with magic, a light blue mixed with white, before swinging it down with such force, one might have thought she was cutting the world in half. Adam raised Strong Shield, but even as he did, he let out a grunt as the pain filled him. As the woman prepared for another swing, Adam inhaled deeply and focused.
Magical steel struck magical steel, ringing in the clear air, the crowd silent to hear such beautiful music.
Adam’s axe managed to strike against the young woman’s armour, flashing hot, but the pair continued to engage.
‘Ah!’ Grace thought, realising the heaviness of the axe which struck her. It was unlike most weapons he had fought against, the great strength of the axe even managing to wind her. ‘How terrifying.’
“How scary,” Adam said as the pair clashed.
‘What?’ Grace thought, hearing the tone of the half elf’s voice. ‘He isn’t taking me seriously?
Health: 97 -> 67
Strength Save
D20 + 8 = 11 (3)
“My fury is righteous!” the woman chanted, filling her blade with her magic, which glowed blue and white once more.
Adam raised his shield, but as he did, he felt the ripple of magic, and the thunderous explosion which flung him back five steps, the half elf grunting as he fell upon his back. “Ah!”
If she had chosen to do so, she could have struck Adam down at that moment, and have struck true with her blade, and yet…
Adam panted, looking up, noting the woman waited for him, and the half elf stood, nodding his head towards her, before the pair engaged once more.
Health: 67 -> 1
Adam inhaled deeply, but as the pair clashed again, and though Adam managed to raise his shield, the blade struck his shoulder with such force, he dropped down to a knee from the flash of holy fury which rocked this his entire body, causing the half elf to cough up. Alarm filled his body as he realised how close he was to dropping down.
She was certain of it. That blow was one of the mightiest blows she had ever sent through someone, and yet, somehow, the half elf was still standing, though his legs shook wildly as he barely stood.
‘You should not have underesti-,’ the thought disappeared into the void as the woman darted backwards, her blade in front of her once more. She hadn’t even realised her body had moved without her will, until she noted her blade in front of her, having taken the basic stance which had been beaten into her since she was young.
Emanating from the half elf, she could sense the desperation, the same desperation the dragons had felt under her blade. The half elf also exuded the same level of danger.
Omen: 13, 20
“I’m sorry,” Adam panted.