Dice roll

Marth was drinking at the bar when he heard a commotion stirring behind him. He glanced back over his shoulder to see two larger men - both in weight and muscle - shouting at each other and standing from their table, raising fists and preparing to fight. He rolled his eyes to himself and turned back to his drink. Always fighting. Never able to just talk things out. How incredibly dull.

They must have seen his look, however, because before he could finish his next swig, there were hands on either side of him. He set the drink down and looked first over his left shoulder, seeing one man, and then over the right to see the other. He sighed and stood, turning to face the two. "May I help you, gentlemen?" he asked, sounding far more bored than frightened.

The one on the left threw a punch hard at Marth's stomach, but Marth was quick, and moved out of the way, making the fist slam into the other man's stomach instead. There was a loud growl of pain, but it only made the two angrier at him. One after the other they swung their fists, and each one he snaked his way around, causing the two to beat mercilessly upon one another instead of himself. With each swing they got more and more furious, singing more wildly, as Marth danced his way around the bar and their fists and the patrons stared in wonder at what was happening before their eyes.

When they made their way back to where Marth had been sitting, Marth directed one of their blows towards the table, rather than the other brawler. His fist smashed into the wood, just beside a twenty sided dice that had been resting next to Marth's drink, the number twenty facing up. The shock of the blow sent the dice through the air and bouncing along the ground, and the three followed it until it came to a stop.

Marth ducked under another blow and glanced at the die. "Oh, how unfortunate," he said clearly and loudly. "You know, chances are quite low to roll a 1 like that. I believe that's called a critical failure." A fist was coming down on him, coming from the man whom he had tricked into rolling the dice, but Marth was ready. His own arm shot upwards, slamming into the inside of the man's elbow, and the combined momentum of the blows sent a loud crack through the air. Marth's hand pulled straight back, ready to strike again, but his assailant's arm dropped dead, the elbow shattered, and the arm now useless.

Before he could even cry out in pain, Marth was swinging again, striking the man's throat. He gasped once for air, only managing half a gulp, and stumbled backwards, his one good hand reaching for his throat, uselessly trying to fix the now collapsed windpipe. The other man stood shocked, unbelieving of what he had just witnessed.

Marth turned to face him and bent down, scooping up the dice and offering it to him. "Would you like to test your odds?" he asked. "Surely you won't get a critical failure as well."

But the man turned on his heels instead and ran.