Dice Master

by Iron McGalley

Rating: teen
Tags: Slice of Life, Human, Dark, Alternate Universe, Tragedy
Length: 3297

A young filly's life is destroyed. Her home turned to ash by raiders. Death would have claimed her, but luck smiled on her. A creature saves her and takes her as his ward, seeking to give her a life of joy before he obeys his final orders.

A young filly is orphaned and left to die in the unforgiving sun of the Sandlands after a band of brutal minotaur raiders destroy her home and murder her family. The sun is merciless, and she is weak. In less than a day she is ready to perish under the scalding sun of the desert…

…but the dice are with her.

A strange creature of ancient legend arises in her hour of need. He draws knife and magic to her aid at the behest of ten small dice in a pouch he holds by his heart.

He will save her. He will care for her, and see to her every need, until he has to obey his final commands…

This is their story, of a young filly forced to be a mare, and of an old monster rallied and marched across the world, forced to be a father. The Dice Master, his legend and legacy, his rise and fall.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2013-12-19 19:30:02 UTC

Introduction: The Dice are with You

"A life ruled by numbers carved in blocks is a life of danger, adventure... a life led by magic."

The sun burned. It was the only thought in the filly's young, tortured mind. The sun burned without mercy, without thought. It hurt, she repeated to herself in complete pain, it was scalding, boiling, burning, peeling away the skin and will to live with every passing second.

She could not say it. She did not know how to put it into words. She only knew it hurt. It harmed, destroyed. Like her home, like her family and friends. Colts and fillies, mares and stallions young and old, all dead, all rotting under fiery heat. Scorched buildings standing alone in great silence, abandoned and engulfed in flames long ago, days ago, eras for all it mattered.

The young filly whimpered where she lay, covered in dust, crying without shedding any tears. No water. Nothing left to cry with. Only dry squeals of pain from her soul leaving through her parched throat and swimming into a world that did not care for her or her trouble, her plight, her ultimate end.

It was Tartarus, she reflected, like the stories her mother told. Her mother, that lovable mare who wore her mane in a bun, always met strangers with a smile, and never let her enter the house with muddy hooves. That putrid carcass full of maggots, rotting away under the scalding sun in front of her ruined home.

Her father, brother... Everyone and anyone who had once been alive in her life. Dead and gone. Failed to help her, won't wake up.

The filly looked up at the sky, a deep blue with no clouds to offer any shelter. She caught a glimpse of the sun, a burning pyre millions of miles away...

"Princess... Help me, please! Mommy won't wake up, daddy is missing... Help me! Please! Put the sun down, it hurts! My eyes hurt so much... Please, pretty princess... Please..."

Her mouth contorted into a tortured grimace filled with pain. Her eyes clenched close, head shaking from side to side. Her mane a disheveled mess.

"No... Please, princess, help me... Don't be mean to me! I never did anything to you! Please!" Her pleas turned to screams. Her little body, frail and young, green as a sprout of summer grass, it was cracking under the pressure. Slowly, torturously, she realized.

"She doesn't care... the princess... she... doesn't care..."

Her gaze fell down to the sand, so hot it was, so painful. Still, everything brought her pain. The stench of corpses going to rot all around her, the once loving sun that united all ponies in harmony, even the faces of those she loved. Cold and devoid of life, lying in the dirt, where scorpions and maggots tore off their flesh and bathed in their blood.

Her leg hurt as well. A horrible throb pulsating from the shattered bone and crawling up the punctured flesh and leg. Blood loss had set the numbness in. For that she was grateful, but scared. A large pool of blood had formed around her, and she could no longer stay awake. She drifted. Dreams became her world. Black dreams where no sun, no faces, nothing could be seen or felt. Good dreams. Peaceful ones. Nothing good was there to be seen or felt, so why see or feel? It was better in the darkness, she knew. Nothing was better than pain.

Her squeals burst again. Beasts had set in, flies and mice, scorpions and maggots. They did not wait for the child to die. She wept and whimpered softly when awake, those fleeting moments when the only things in her world were pain. She dreamt of nothing, and waited to die.

Days could have passed, but it was merely an hour.

She felt life leaving her. She felt herself close to leaving the world. She would feel no more hurt, no more sadness... The black veils of the earth would give way to golden strands of a wondrous curtain guarding the path to marvelous places, where fillies played and not suffered, where moms were smiling and not screaming in silence, their faces frozen in a perpetual scowl of terror. It would be a place where hurt would be healed, and the protruding bone in her leg would be long past... Where knights and good princesses existed and helped small girls, where minotaur raiders and burning villages were just scary tales before campfire meals.

She closed her eyes just as the jackals approached. She felt cold despite the searing sun. She felt nothing but cold, sad, and scared. So very scared. So very alone. A weeping echo in the nothingness that was life, a faint ray of candlelight amid a sea of fire, strong winds pushing to extinguish her frail little glow.

She closed her little eyes. The world dissipating. She closed her little eyes. Existence fade to black. She shut herself off from pain as the beasts sniffed at her ruined leg, and everything was nice again, for the briefest of seconds, the sun was warm and not burning, the air was soft and not rasping... She did not hurt.

Then the fangs bit. Whatever strength was left in her was used to squeal, holler and howl in agony.

Vicious growls grew in strength around her... It was the end, long postponed.

And yet it was only the beginning.

A loud yelp erupted into the air, loud whimpering and crying from the jackal followed in a fluid stream of pain. The rest of the pack, six of them, all at once threw themselves against the new threat. A shadow threat.

The shadow, fast as could be, threw itself against them, flashing blade leaving its concealment from within its robes. Slashing and thrusting, tearing and cutting... Movements deft and certain cutting their way into the nearest beast.

The jackal under assault snapped its jaws shut around the blade, a glimmer of triumph overcoming the beast's features. Then it shrieked as the dagger was yanked back, the edges of the blade slashing the sides of the animal's mouth open. Blood flowed in torrents, half of the creature's tongue falling out of its mouth.

The jackal scampered away, out of its throat a gurgling noise bursting out, blood splattering wherever he turned. The jackal moved its head from side to side, pawed at the wounds on its face, and emitted such pitiful, agonized noises... The rest of his pack stood back. Their ears held low, their teeth bared. But they would not strike. They would not risk a battle they could not win easily.

The five remaining beasts scampered away from the filly, and tore into the carcasses around her, leaving their two fallen brethren to their demise. One of them, its neck slashed open, the other, its mouth ruined forever.

The shadow stood over the filly. Watching. Assessing.

From within its robes it produced a small pouch, its contents making small noise within it. The shadow opened the pouch and dumped its insides out onto the dirt, ten dice falling and rolling at gravity's mercy. They fell, rolled, and stopped. Kneeling, the shadow placed a hand on the filly, barely breathing as she was, blood flow lessening with every passing second.

"Red for luck..." It counted. Three red dice on the ground. "...four... nine... eleven..."

"Black for folly..." It's fingers a blur as they counted the numbers on the four black dice. "...six...ten...twelve..."

"White for destiny..." It stopped, eyeing the three white dice with thoughtful eyes. "...eight..."

"It would be bad luck for me to take you, little filly, and my destiny is not with you." He stood, eyeing the small pony with cold, hard eyes. "Eleven out of eighteen for luck, with twelve out of twenty-four for folly, and only eight out of eighteen in destiny. Not my path to be with you, and if I do otherwise it will bring me nothing good."

The shadow knelt down again and picked its dice, one by one letting them fall back into their pouch. It turned to face the filly one last time. She was barely breathing.

Without words, the shadow gently lifted her from the ground, her body lightweight, herself a plume. It slung her over its shoulder and began its long way home.

"Three dice for luck, four for folly, three for destiny... and six more dice we cannot see, but we can control. The three dice of wit, overcoming folly with luck and skill. Two dice of will, challenging destiny, forging our path... and one die of hope, for every last one, no matter how small, can change the course of the world."

Prologue: Getting Bread on the Table

Sunlight

The sun rose over the horizon, faint rays of light traveling comfortingly to spread the warmth of a newborn day. Birds sang from their branches on the trees that grew all around the land, fresh dew resting gently on green blades of grass. It was a new day, a beautiful day, a day worthy of Gods.

A young filly yawned. Her eyes still closed, her small mouth opening wide as a good night's sleep left her body. She smiled. The corners of her mouth lightly rising, curving like the hills that stood over the horizon. When her eyes opened, all they saw was beauty. The beauty of a new day, a day worth living.

She slowly got to her hooves. Her left fore-hoof planted firmly against the ground, while her right one found the floor. She slowly lifted herself up, and placed her right hind-hoof against the blanket beneath her.

She slowly lifted herself up, being careful to keep the stump where her left hind-leg should be well away from brushing the floor.

Carefully balancing her weight, the young filly limped out of the tent.

Sunshine filled her face, caressing her lovingly, like the mother she did not remember, like the love she had forgotten. Her coat and mane felt the tender brush of the wind, her lungs hungrily taking in the fresh, cold air of the mountains... but it was her eyes that truly feasted.

Her eyes, for they saw the conifers, tall as ten stallions standing on each other, the deep yellow horizon bathed in gold and honey. The mountain peaks to the east, west, and the grand valleys to the north and south.

But most of all, her eyes drank in the sight of him.

"Good morning, father!" She called out, her cheerful spirit leaping towards him, jumping high, running, embracing him... but her body limped. She limped awkwardly to him, like every morning, like every day. "Did you sleep well?"

Him, the shadow sat before a small circle of stones, a mild fire burning within. His left hand held a pan while the other held a pheasant's egg. His face, wrinkled and stern looking at the flames as they flickered, passive. A small beard covering his features from ear to ear.

"I did well enough, sweetheart. You?" His cracked lips spitting away dusty words with ancient sounds. His hand cracking the egg and spilling it's contents onto the pan. "Sleep well, I mean."

"Wonderfully! I...unf... dreamt, actually! Would you like to know what it was about?" She slowly reached the fire, smiling as she tossed her golden mane away from her eyes. "Oh, it was most splendid, you do not want to miss a piece of it, I can swear!" She sat down, the shadow lending her an arm for support.

"We have a long road to cover, sweetheart. A long tale, especially one so grand as yours, is better left to sweeten a sour path." He smiled, his mouth arching slightly for the briefest of moments. His hands moving the pan from the fire, and towards her. "Eat now. You need your strength."

"Won't we pray first?" Her eyebrow arched, and a laughing smile was exchanged for her usual one. He smiled as well, placing the pan on the floor before her, and a small fork on her hoof.

"Not here, dear. These are wild lands, and no God's intervention can be good in the wild. Best if we go unnoticed." He brushed a strand of hair from her face. "We can pray again when we reach the Longroad, but not before."

"Alright, father. Anything to keep a bear from chasing us." Her laughter flew with the air through the trees, their swaying back and forth with the wind joining her in a soft song of nature.

The man, the father turned his head back to the fire. Its flames burning with less intensity. He stared at it while she ate. The fire. Memories of a burning town. She had forgotten. The trauma, it had been too much. Her mind had reset, and she remembered only the life he had given her. A life of wandering.

It was later into the day by the time they left. He had lifted camp, eaten a loaf of bread, and styled his daughter's mane into a long braid. He slung a pack over his shoulder, and the rest he tossed inside a cart.

She was inside the cart as well, waiting for him to finish. Her bright green eyes shining with excitement. Her pale blue coat brushed and clean.

The man took a hold of the cart's handles, and began to pull. He pulled the cart down the hill they had slept on, and onto the dirt road they had followed for weeks. It was a slow going, but sweetened.

"...and you were there, father! In the dream, you see..."

She told him of her dreams, of green pastures, tall walls of pure marble, and towers high as mountain peaks. She spoke of knights and heroes from the books he gave her to read, of dragons and goblins. She spoke her heart out to him, and he listened, pulling the cart down the road all the while.

He pulled till his shoulders ached and she had run out of tales to tell, at a crossroad. Three paths lay before them, a worn down wooden sign marked with three names.

"Where to, father? Beakland sounds rather a strong place, while Talonsky sounds far more elegant... I am not sure about Feathers, however. Sounds quaint."

"Feathers, sweetheart, is a small villa." The man smiled. "Belongs to a good friend of mine, or to one of his sons. I can't recall."

The road to Feathers went undisturbed, filled with the silence of the evening woods. Peaceful quiet, tranquil and calm. Tall fields of wheat standing in golden splendor to either side of the road, the trees giving way to fields for crops.

When the dirt path gave way to cobblestone, the man stopped.

"Father? Is something wrong?" The filly asked, her slender legs crossed over the edge of the cart, her eyes staring at the back of the man's head. "Why have we stopped?"

The man knelt down, lowering the cart's handles. His hand reached into his pocket, and his fingers fished out a small pouch. He opened it. He spilled its contents, and watched the dice roll.

"What do they say?" His daughter asked in a faint whisper from behind him. Her eyes large and filled with wonder.

"Bad luck. But destined." The shadow stood. "Stay here."

He collected the dice, and rushed into the wheat.

Shadow

He waded through a sea of golden blades, tall as he was, dense and strong. His arms swatted them aside, trying to make as little noise as he could. Praying that the enchantments on the cart would keep her, his daughter out of harms way.

"My daughter..." He leaped over a stone, keeping himself to the dirt and avoiding the dry wheat stalks that littered the floor. "Five years, and it still sounds foreign in my mouth."

The villa of Feathers stood before him, just outside the wheat fields. Several buildings of medium to small sizes surrounding a long and wide one story home with many hallways and rooms, wells and gardens. All private for the lord of Feathers.

"Five years carrying her, feeding her, and it still feels like the first day..." He rushed out of the cover of the wheat fields, darting into the moonlit sky above him. It had grown dark upon their arrival to the villa, but now it was the moon and torches illuminating, and nothing else.

His hands held the windowsill of the stone building closest to him. He peered over it, his eyes moving, scanning, searching the room inside. He dared not risk it, for his own life was not the only one he guarded. Not anymore. The passing thought gave a pounce in his chest, making his heart feel warmth. "Just another day, another job."

Instead of jumping into the darkness of the room, he moved on to the next building, keeping himself close to the shade. The villa was quiet, no movement except for his own.

He slid into a small storage room, illuminated by the moonlight, and empty in its totality. Once inside, he searched inside his robes, and pulled out a small cylinder made from metal. He wrapped his hand on one end, and twisted. The cylinder snapped in half, and a colorful swarm of creatures flew from it, bouncing with the wind. Their large, insectoid eyes hiding the destruction they could deploy.

"Go on now, eat some."

The swarm gurgled hungrily as a single entity, and disappeared into the depths of the villa, devouring all the food within it. It would be merely moments before they reached the granary, and then the wheat fields.

Standing up, the man grunted. He slid the cylinder back into his robes, and jumped out into the night.

"To Beakland now." He thought as his strides had him into the wheat field within seconds. "My girl has been on the road for too long... The king's coin will pay enough for me to settle down... enough for her to live a good life, a peaceful life..."

He grimaced. "...before the time comes..." His eyes fell to the floor, fighting back a lone tear. "...Gods know I *tried*..."

His steps led him away from the villa and back with his daughter, back on the road. He reached back into the wagon as they moved, his hands clasping a leather map and opening it. In it there was a large mark, encircling a small country with blue ink.

"Are we really going to Equestria, father?" She asked, her drowsy voice stifling a yawn. "Are we really going to the kingdom of harmony?"

He chewed the inside of his cheek. He looked at the sky, and felt the weight of his dice against his chest.

"Are we?" The man whispered. He stopped, pulled out the dice, and tossed them high to the sky. The moonlight shining off of them. Magical rays of light, encasing a power ancient and deep, power unlike the world had seen in many lifetimes.

The dice fell on cold, hard stone. The grey and cracked rock beneath them suddenly burst to light. Green moss grew from its sides, rising to the top of it and holding the dice in place.

"Ten for luck... Twelve for folly..." He sighed, his voice breaking. The omens were not good, not so far. His eyes fell on the final set of dice, the white ones. For destiny. "Thirteen out of eighteen..."

He held his breath, and let it out in a sigh.

"It is willed."

With a broad smile that hid tearful eyes, the Dice Master spoke.

"Yes, my daughter. We are going to Equestria..."

And the night was filled by her eager voice, dreaming up tales wondrous enough to make royalty marvel...