Roaring Dice

Roaring Dice

Gaius Zanneth was handed to a monk on a stormy Monday. His mother was young, and did not say much. Thunder is the first sound he remembers. Lightning the first sight. Zortgelia says a lightning strike is like a roll of the die, it has to land somewhere.
Zortegelia is a god of Luck, first and foremost. The island was lucky to get the Decanter of Endless Water. Zanneth was lucky to be left here, and the island was luky he was too.
Orphanages can be tough, even when run by monks. Zanneth grows with friends, with brothers and sisters and fellow followers. He learns what it means to serve. Even as a child he helps the island prosper. He picks up litter, he sorts the recycling. He collects shells for the artisans and helps harvest when the season comes. He trains with the guard in the winter, when the work is light. At night, he dreams of clouds, of colorful lightning and loud thunder.
It took a lot of work, but Zanneth was knighted, and he vowed to protect the island, and the decanter. He listens to the sound of it gushing, and it reminds him of the sound of sleeping. The stormy season is one of peace, when the bandits and the pirates don't come. Zanneth takes the time to learn his god, and grow his piety.
Zanneth worked his way up the knights of Zortgelia, fighting triton bandits, and ships of raiding pirates. Zanneth became known for his daring style, and unorthodox methods. Those who fought beside him knew he would pray to himself most of the battle, finding the best paying risk and asking Zortgelia for favor. Zanneth was dedicated to his island, to it's decanter, and to the people of his home. He is their hero. Between adventures he would still volunteer to guard the decanter, or patrol the beaches, to bodyguard clerics, or train the paladins of tomorrow.
“A Zort themed casino would make all of us a lot of money, let's not shy away from it.” A young female Herengon makes her pitch to the High Cleric, Zanneth is just his guard for the day. “The storm is coming, and the question is if you want to be in the path?” Rezel kicks back and puts her feet on the cleric's desk. “This is a walk away now or take it and tell em, Rezel was here.”
The cleric looks to Zanneth, and Zanneth says a prayer under his breath. “Do it.” Zortgelia responds.
Zanneth repeats. He understands his god, Zortgelia is a god of luck, but he is also a god of risk. Every risk is a prayer, not every risk turns out.
The Casino was built in under a year, and Rezel took management personally. Zanneth was asked to protect it, but on the off hours, he would patron it. The rolling of dice, like the rolling of thunder. Their landing like that of lightning. A big win, or a big loss. It's all just luck. Even the storms.
There are few feelings that surpass a big win. A win at a tourney, a win in battle, a win in a debate, or a win at the table. Cards, dice, slots, the risk is its own reward, but that fact that it comes too with the favor of a god adds so much more. He is praying with every roll. Craps becomes his game of choice. Rolling dice in his hand as thunder rolled through the sky above.
The thing about luck, like the power of any storm, even when favored by a god, is that eventually it runs out.
“I'll take your guard, no worries, I could use the silver.” Zanneth assures his friend Carlos “You go have fun.” The island has struggled with crime since the casino opened, many struggled with debt, with bad luck, with the loss of favor.
“I can't extend more credit.” Rezel doesn't sound sorry, but Zanneth thinks that maybe she is. “I'm not sure you are a win from getting out of this.” Zanneth shakes his head, “No, I am, all I need is one good run, a good roll, one big win, and I have Zort on my side.”
The shop keep inspected the amulet, “It's very fine emerald. How much are you looking to get?” Zanneth is tired, his eyes dark, his face exhausted. “Whatever I can.” The shopkeep nods and lowers his magnifying monocle. Zanneth knew that look. Before Oberts opened the shop, Oberts was a Knight, and was one of the Paladins who trained Zanneth. Oberts was about to impart concern. “Gaius, can I be honest?” Zanneth nods, “You gotta stay outta that casino, Ill give you what you need for this thing, but I don't want to see you back here, pay off those debts, get right, this whole island is going the wrong way, I can't see you doing the same.” Zanneth swallows hard, “Of course, I just need to get even.” He still believes it's worth the risk. The shopkeep nods and shakes his head, before producing a bag of gold. “Take care of yourself.”
Zanneth breaths on the die, he says a prayer to Zortgelia, but they do not roll the way he wants.
Down by the docks he trades his plate armor for some chain and some gold, and then he trys his luck again.
Hungry, weak, and frustrated he sits on the hill, and watches a storm roll in, he asks his god why he has been forsaken. For a moment he thinks the lightning is green, he wants it to be a sign, but for what? Whats left? What more could he sell, and how much more could he still lose?
The storm comes to the island, but Zanneth does not flee for shelter, he embraces it. Perhaps a storm is what he needs.
A flash of light.
He closes his eyes.
He feels the burn.
Sometimes when he dreams he sees a woman, she is beautiful. A ranger with long hair and a powerful bow. She is sweet, and kind, and even in his dreams she seems to look at him as if to say she was there. With him, always. Sometimes she is alone. Sometimes she is with a Goliath, sometimes with a woodelf. She is sometimes in a desert, fighting for every drop of water, and he wants to give her the decanter. Sometimes she is drowning, a sea of storms swirling around her. Sometimes she is sleeping, peacefully, sometimes she is throwing fits. Sometimes she sits in the rain, waiting for the storm to pass.
Electricity flows through his body, and he sees his life flash before him. His youth studying, and picking shells off the beach. His adolescence training, his adult life protecting. He sees the dice cross the table. He hears the roar of thunder.
He sees an island in a storm, a temple in the forest. A cleric with her family. Generations. An old human female, a middle aged teifling, and her teifling boy. A Herengon and a Water Genasi and their blended child. A family half built and half found. The old woman is sick, her eyes glow purple.
A young man appears before him, he is wearing a simple, but smart outfit. He appears to be a half elf, he wears glasses and has dark hair. A four leafed shamrock is embroidered on his chest pocket. “A risk needs to be worth it for it to be glorious.” He sits in the grass on the hill. “I'd be lieing to you if I told you this was the first time I saved you.” Zanneth did not know what he was saying, but he figured out who he was. “This whole situation, it's something we wanted to avoid. I suppose we are too nice sometimes.” Zanneth looks to his body, and he sees he is not hurt, but he realizes the storm is over, and the sky is green. “Mimi died last night. You need to go to the funeral on Karagidia.” Zortgelia commanded. “Things will start to make sense soon. Ill talk to Rezel, I never did sign off on the likeness rights.” He smiles with his joke that he finds funnier than Zanneth does. He throws Zanneth a coin purse. “And go buy your armor back, you're going to need it.”