Hashkar 130, day 187, 9 AP (Open)

[Stix]

"That's the important question. I'm on an empty purse," says the tiefling, motioning to the lack of pouch on his well-worn belt.

[john]

"We play for jink. What else is there to a body in this day and age?" Smiles back, his slightly yellowed teeth giving a predator's grin as he begins to hold forth on the method of play.

"The way things play out is like this: There are 4 methods of scoring, and they rank like this, The big win is to roll a Black Abishai 6, a 4, a 3, and a 1. If you can't roll that, roll a Blue, which means you roll a 6 and four other numbers. After that, you can roll 4 6s, which is a Green abishai, and 4 4s, which is a red Abishai. 3 3s is a white Abishai, and Rolling all ones means you rolled a Lemure. Roll anything else and you've got no score at all. We can play a couple of rounds if you like, depending on how many people join in. Remember, Red wins, followed by Blue, then Green, Then Red, then White, then finally the Lemure. If nobody rolls anything good, the pot grows bigger."

John grunts. That was a lot of talking out of the taciturn warrior, and then he finishes with a question, "So, who's in?"

[angwenriada]

The man puts his hands on his belt, perhaps for comfort, and perhaps because the Tiefling's who had a moment before paid a silver for a copper's worth of ale mentioning his poverty seemed out of place. "I'll play a few rounds, see if I understand. Besides, it's a good night for gambling" He says.

He motions John back to the table where he has left his supplies stacked neatly by the wall. "No sense in standing." He begins to settle into his chair with his back against the wall, but pauses halfway as though he's just thought of something and is no longer sure he'll sit.

"I say, friend Athar, was it still raining when you came in? I hear there are dark skies ahead."

[john]

For reference, is already sitting, watching vatndir. He never stood up, he's just been talking from his seat. That being said, he isn't seated with his back to the wall, but rather, his back to the door. Either an act of trust or a conscious gamble.

[john]

comments, to the tiefling, "If you're low on cash, betting information is fine too, as long as you've got some of use. Just be aware of the stakes. And barring cash, service. But tell me what you do and I'll give you a fair rate if you end up my servant for a week."

John grins. There are so many ways to gain value from this possible exchange, he's virtually weighing each of the men in front of him as though he's got a merchant's scale.

[edisoncarter]

Nilou smiles a wicked little smile. "Betting information? How interesting of you to say that. You can't vet the worth of the facts until you've heard them, and once you've heard them, they're of no value. You're playing for air. Good sir, I'd say you should make it all or nothing, with this one," Nilou says to the Athar.

A moment later, she glances over at Wraith, gives a nod deep enough to carry significance, the kind of nod one performer gives another. "You should give voice more often," she winks.

"Oh, John, before you ask--I'm not in. I gamble for far different stakes in far different situations these days."

[john]

"That's a shame. I'd consider just letting me know what a phalange is a worthy bet in this case."
He frowns at Nilou, "Different facts are of different worth to different people. And everyone knows -something-. It's a question of perspective. Talking to a poor sod begging on the street can be as useful as talking to the most educated man in Sigil, depending on what he's seen that day."

[edisoncarter]

The grin remains, and her eyes narrow just slightly.

"Clearly, you've missed my point. I never said information was valueless. Ever. See the Sensate symbol? It'd be tantamount to sin to dismiss information that way. --Anyway. Money has value always. Information is more nebulous, more tenuous. More...relative. And the only way to know if information is valuable to you is to know the information. Which renders it valueless, both in a positive and negative way.

"Oh, and phalanges are the bones in your fingers and toes. That's a freebie, because it drives you nuts."

[feq]

[ooc sorry work kept me busy, so i'm behind in the response]

First to Wraith:
Vatndir turns to Wraith with an uncharacteristic seriousness. "The multiverse does work that way, it just doesn't work quickly. I'd imagine I thought of this place so you could meet and talk with those who will help you get him back. My mind never works idly." He releases the ale to her, gald that she chose to partake of the comapny, and the gift.

To John:
"I'm in. I imagine I'll come out on top one way or the other from this game." He turned and smirked, digging for his deepest levels of diplomacy, "Used in this context, the term means something like a front line fighter."

To Nilou:
"If you are out, I hope you'll play us a bit while we gamble."

[angwenriada]

The man at the table smiles. "Phalanges has another meaning as well. It's not just some graybeards' word for feetbones."

He leans back and gestures to the open seat across from him. "The first round I'll wager not just the other definition, but the story of how I crossed the Phalanges and managed not to be put in the dead book. I don't know if it's valuable information, but it could help you in the future, and it is just a practice round."

[john]

"I generally miss the point. It's why I carry some." John rumbles, and tries to ignore the little itch on the back of his neck that goes with the free bit of information.

He nods as Vatndir volunteers to play and says, "So, who's going to roll first, then? As for myself I'll just wager some coin. Nilou is the talespinner, and an excellent one at that." He sets down a silver piece, a not-insigificant starting ante for the game, and grins, amused already by the word Phalanges.

[TheGratefulNed]

The exterior door creaks slowly open, admitting another being from the oily precipitate that passes for rain in this City of Doors. An exceedingly tall, half-naked young elf walks through the doorway - three swords and a long bow stand out prominently against his sable skin. Both person and possessions are unadorned except for scars and tattoos covering nearly every inch of exposed flesh. Sludge-rain soaked white hair partly obscures his pale green eyes.

As his vision adjusts to the tavern's light, Nuuko's attention is caught almost immediately by the vibrantly adorned Signer. The gaze of recognition is brief as he quickly scans the rest of the room and makes his way to the bar. A voice, at once gravely and airy, asks in a lilting - yet oddly accented - common, "give me some water and what do you have in the way of wine?"

[feq]

"I'll wager, hmm.. How about three free translations? I'll give you the straight translation of any three Ysgardian words anyone uses. Particularly me. I'll even start with Sk. . . " Vatndir trails off as a familiar voice echos in the room. "I do believe I've thought Nuuko here. Quite interesting."

Turning his thoughts back to the game, Vatndir grabbed the dice.

[Ooc Should I use a dice roller, or should some skill roll/stat roll be applied? If the former, anyone know a good one?]

[Uathach Blackmantle]

Wraith finishes her ale in reflective silence, idly listening to the wigwag amongst friends passing back and forth over the table. She wipes her mouth on the back of her hand again, pushing the tankard aside to be collected by the nearest passing waiter, and fidgets with the ribbons adorning her robes.

She says nothing for a while, simply studies each of the friends' faces in turn, and noting that the meaning of "phalange" is lost to the Taker's ignorance, covers her soft chuckle with a discrete cough into her glove. Her face settles back into tired seriousness, and she purses her pale lips.

She opens her mouth to speak then, prepared to chide Vatndir's misguided viewpoint -- doubtless he'd long since made his mind up, and wouldn't hear her anyway -- when the door opens quite slowly. She stiffens reflexively in her chair, and throws a wary glance that way; she relaxes again, seeing the ebon-skinned elf step through from the mist and rain outside.

Hadn't she seen him somewhere before? She narrows her eyes into peery slits, then it hits her; the Open Shell, about a week ago, she'd seen the shirtless berk sitting alongside a rail thin, sour-faced Githyanki Sinker, not long before that fight with the Takers broke out...

Her dull purple eyes light up for a moment, sparkling with a fleeting amusement, and spots of color creep into her smooth, ashen cheeks. The memory of that eventful evening is a brief respite from the drugery of life that quickly followed; her smile dissolves into a frown again. The light in her eyes fades to nothingness, snuffed by the chilling, crushing realisation that all joy and hope dies in a life of sorrow, death, and pain.

The only true certainty of life is the certainty of death...

Wraith sighs miserably and drops her chin into her hands. The sooner she accepted this, instead of clinging blindly to the folly of scattered fond memories and lies, the sooner she'd find some measure of peace within. It wasn't easy though, letting go of the echo, the dream of a Life she never knew, but could only imagine existed on the other side...

She shakes herself from her morbid reverie, realising that she's amidst more colourful company than the shambling deaders and Deadites of the Mortuary, and shoves the thoughts aside. She forces a wan smile, and mutters listlessly;

"I don't play dice; only Chess, Draughts and Backgammon, or any other game of strategy and skill... even then the stakes are hardly ever for jink; rather for the ironic enjoyment of another basher's company." Wraith trails a fingertip through a thin spillage of ale on the table, drawing what appears to be a figure-eight symbol knocked over onto its' side, over and over again, until she becomes bored with the restless activity. She sighs again, and glances back at the door, silently hoping that her friend and colleague, Morrison, might show up unnexpectedly, but that wasn't likely.

"I... I have an aria I've begun composing within the last few months, and a scattering of other compositions that aren't as morbid as the threnodies I typically perform..." Wraith mutters to Nilou, rising from her seat, and pushing her belongings under the table where hopefully, no one will see them. She walks back to the old harpsichord, and settles down on the padded bench.

If no one protests too heartily, she raises the lid, and begins to play a soft, slow melody, her alto voice lifting in a solemn Guardinal hymn. She starts off tentatively at first, gradually building up some measure of confidence as she tries to convince herself that she doesn't care what the audience might think of her, and her music. Yet for her stubborn persistence, she's self conscious and unsure of herself, and her ability; honed from years of practice, alone in the dark of night, when all she had for solace was her sweet, haunting voice, her bloodied chiv... and her treasured violin.

Tears spring to her eyes and roll down her cheeks unnoticed, as memories of Aerin creep into her unguarded thoughts...


[ooc: here's to hoping that Wraith doesn't have a blunder with her next perform checks. ]

(That was taking 10 on the check -- an average performance for her. If you want to roll something, use the dice button on the posting toolbar.)

[ooc: I also wanted to apologise for the length of this post; I've been busy and quite tired lately, so I haven't been in much of a mood to post. ]

Perform/Sing [dice=20] +4
Perform/Keyboard[dice=20] +2[rand=4288035409579130701664744025620823585091988820366753076501596255755]

[john]

waits for his turn, then rolls the dice, smiling all the while.
[dice=6]
[dice=6]
[dice=6]
[dice=6]
(This isn't gonna be a profession, since we're not using it long-term and it's a game entirely of [rand=5344368340269291636530039120406332047626724367755638113919564333]

[Stix]

The tiefling Defier smiles slightly as he watches the game unfold. "It's been raining all day, basher," he says aside to Angwen, "and no sign it'll quit tomorrow. It's always a dark sky on this side of the city."

Apparently preferring to stand, he leans over the dice, scratching his head idly. "Didn't quite catch the rules, but if we're only playing for chant, I don't see why not." Loading the dice into the cup and giving it a good swirl like a glass of brandy, he overturns it onto the table and looks at the results....

[dice=6][dice=6][dice=6][dice=6]

*****

The barman glares at Nuuko through a sour expression. "The rain gutter's outside, and it depends what you've got in the way of jink."

Snapping his attention to the Dustman's song, he sneers. "It's there fer playin', not fer killin'!"


OOC note: for those of you using Firefox, there should be a dice button on the lower toolbar when you enter a post (between the formatting bar and the smilies). If you don't see it, add "dice=x" to your post, in brackets (no quotes), where x is the number of sides on the die you want to roll.[rand=7652275054478205946915512022556542606216740978264299351511409238]

[feq]

This is just Vat's roll, to see if it works.

[dice=6][dice=6][dice=6][dice=6][rand=4149427500490846510290063764256507540323524999233831960662971463794]

[Stix]

"So, just so I'm savvy about all this," starts the tiefling, pointing to Vatndir's dice, "that's a scoring roll, right? A Green Abishai? Er, no... what color?"

OOC note: If the dice code doesn't appear to work, modify the post afterward (no changes are necessary). Once it's submitted the second time, it should work just fine. Not sure why, but the bug has been reported to the person who designed the code, so there might eventually be a fix for it. Until then, sorry for the inconvenience.

[john]

"A blue, actually, but yes, he just scored, and unless someone rolls a Black he's going to win this round and the pot."

[angwenriada]

Angwen eyes the Tiefling warily for a moment, and then smiles. He watches as the tiefling goes to inspect the luck at dicing, and looks like he is about to say something, but instead leans back and watches wraith's perfromance. His hand has begun twitching again on the wooden table as he sips the stout, and the peery look is back in his eyes. They roam around the tavern, watching the eyes and hands of as many people as they can at once.