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| [P] Weight in the Hand; Private | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Sat Mar 18, 2017 5:16 am (178 Views) | |
| Fade | Sat Mar 18, 2017 5:16 am Post #1 |
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"Full house." The hooded man said, tilting the wooden cup away from the handful of dice inside. There were five in total sitting there, every face of the dice marked with a different rune. Three of one rune and two of another were face-up. There was loud cursing and slamming of cups aroundthe table as their hands were revealed. Only a couple of the four had anything more than a pair of matching dice and none could beat his. Relaxing some, Fade reached in and scooped his hand around the small pile of coppers, replenishing his rapidly shrinking purse for the night. One of the bigger men next to him snarled, reaching out and grabbing his wrist. "Hold on." His hand was much bigger than Fade's, slabs of muscle that told of long hours chopping wood and hauling lumber. Reaching out with his free hand, the man scooped up his dice. Fade tried twisting free, but the man squeezed tighter. Shaking the dice, he threw them and they scattered along the tabletop, two of the dice coming up the same they had been in the three of a kind. Scooping those two up again, he tossed them again. One landed awkwardly, but the other landed on the same symbol. Tilting one of the edge so that it could only land on another symbol, it overcame the odds and landed instead on the same symbol for the sixth time that night. Fade was beginning to sweat here as four sets of eyes fell on him, trapped as he was by the lumberjack's hold. Another stood up and bent over him, hands rifling into Fade's pockets. Finding nothing, he rolled back his sleeves. On the underside of his left sleeve was a hidden pocket cinched closed with a bit of string. Popping the string open, two dice fell free. The lumberjack took up his cup and brought it down hard on the two dice. The adhesive holding them together gave, showing the small leaden lumps sealed inside. "Weighted." The lumberjack snarled, shoving against Faedric's chest with his free hand. He fell backward over his chair, refusing to cry out in shock. the two men still seated rose as well, rounding the table toward him. Fade rolled to his feet, coming up in a low crouch. Choosing his target, the man who had revealed his hidden pocket, he lashed out with a single punch. It connected with the man's jaw, too quick for him to bruh off, and he won a stagger before the other three grabbed hold of him, dragging him back toward the door. There were cheers as they went, man behind the bar pointedly not seeing them leaving with him. He was thrown out into the street, slipping on the mud from the earlier rain and going down hard. Two of the men stepped in, kneeling on an arm each to keep him in place as their big friend advanced, rolling his sleeves back. "Don't like cheating strangers in this town. Leaves a bad taste in my mouth." He began to move in with a wicked smile. Fade found himself considering the options. It wouldn't be the first beating he'd received since leaving home. He'd taken punches from the best of them, Tarasian dock hands, Deboni herd minders, and Cascadian thugs alike. Some backwards woodland bumpkin wasn't going to scare him. Upper body pinned by the man's two friends, he could find no room to maneuver his arms. "Need your friends to hold down your women, too?" He grunted. One of the men laughed at that as Fade left his legs motionless, visibly trying to free his arms. He looked desparate and out of breath. The lumberjack gave a malicious little smile, rubbing at scarred knuckles as he advanced. He got too close. Fade lifted his lower body, one leg pushing under him. His arms twisted in the mud, the men's knees falling away. His other leg swung upward, catching the big man right on the chin. Two pairs of hands gripped the back of his shawl, but to no avail. He slid out of the garment and turned to catch a fist in the gut. Winded, he threw a weakened punch, but there were just too many of them. the fourth member of his new group of friends caught his wrist and they took turns giving him body blows, one striking him across the cheek. Dazed, he didn't have time to get his breath back. The big man rose from the mud and shook off the haze Fade's kick had put on him. He spat blood and staggered forward behind the gambler. Resting one hand on Fade's shoulder, partly to secure him and partly for balance, he gave a single punch to his kidney. Fade grimaced, knees going weak and he slumped forward. They let him fall. "Go inshide" The big man slurred through bloody lips, spitting again. The three seemed hesitant to leave the two of them, but a furious look sent them back to the tavern, brushing the mud off their knees and boots before heading back inside. The big man spat a third time. Fade saw the gob of dark red and pink spittle land beside his face, spattering the back of his neck with bloody saliva. With a grunt, the big man wound up and kicked him in the ribs. Fade coughed and writhed, refusing to cry out as he twisted in the mud. A big, muddy boot planted between his shoulderblades, forcing him flat. Breathing heavily, the lumberjack reached back, pulling a hunting knife from the leather sheath at his belt. "Broke my goddamned tooth." The man spat through a bite-swollen tongue as he leaned into the foot. Fade tried to get his hands and knees under him, but the weight of the man was too much. "Show you how we handle cheats." A knee replaced the boot and a large hand wrapped around his right wrist, pulling it out flat. |
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| Hart | Sun Mar 19, 2017 9:35 am Post #2 |
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The events at Cascadia had been surprisingly testing and trying for how quickly they occurred. The cleanup afterwards was no simple matter, either. New guards had to be carefully chosen and trained, the system by which the prison worked had to be revisited and in some cases overhauled, and distinct lines had to be drawn that simply could not be crossed, even for the sake of the people they were trying to protect. Hart wondered if that would be the worst of his journey, or merely a preview into his future within Imythess. His swordsmanship had not faltered over the years, of that he was proud and found distinct comfort in, but in other aspects of his training he found himself faltering. Still, he could not stay stagnant and he could not interfere further with the political workings of Cascadia, lest he find himself trapped incidentally in the pursuit of helping others. He had to have faith that they could operate everything fine without him present. Next was the place called Norwood, and the Kingdom which ruled over it. It was mostly trees, a beautiful sight with local wildlife. It proved to be a peaceful journey, allowing for some solitary nights of camping alongside the road that Hart traveled. The sky was barely visible throughout the canopy, worse yet with the heavy clouds that rolled in to bring refreshing rain. Fortunately the lion with his white coat of fur had been wise enough to bring along a cloak to keep him mostly dry, but his uncovered feet found themselves quickly muddied and their color tainted by the wettened earth. A minor inconvenience coupled with the occasional slip and step into mud so thick that it actually took a hint of effort to free himself from its grasp. Eventually he came to a village. A simple one based in logging, probably closer to the edge of Norwood than he realized, either that or working alongside druidic magic users to regrow whatever was chopped down without causing too much harm to the environment. He could not tell, but perhaps he could find somebody and ask. Where best to ask questions about the local infrastructure than at a tavern? Fortunately the tavern was easy enough to find, marked as it was by a group of people involved in a scuffle outside. It seemed to be several against one, not a true fight but rather punishment to the one being held down. Combatant by nature, Hart found himself stopping before entering the tavern so that he could watch the proceedings. Despite being outnumbered, the one that the odds were clearly stacked against seemed to be particularly scrappy, employing some clever moves to free himself though only temporary. A solid blow to the face of his enemy, but the fight was essentially lost after that. Things turned critical very quickly. A cheater, with positively barbaric punishment incoming. Hart moved quickly to intervene before it could get to the point of the knife meeting flesh, grabbing the large man by the wrist with a single hand, pulling him off of the cheater and to his feet. For as large as that man may have been, Hart was larger, stronger, and more dangerous overall. He would not deny justice, he would not judge punishment, but he would not allow unnecessary and rage-fueled cruelty. "That's enough." Hart's voiced growled through the slight exertion but was still smooth, a baritone shaking rumbling through his lion-like muzzle, confident, level and powerful. He looked down upon the man with the hunting knife through rose-colored eyes, a stern gaze soft enough only to communicate that the lion-like individual wanted to cause him no harm but would in a heartbeat if he tried anything brash, "You've made your point, now go inside and have some drinks with your friends. You can spread word and describe this cheat; it'll do more good than cutting off his hand and it'll keep your day from worsening." After delivering that message and making sure it was received, Hart released the man's wrist so that he could sheathe his blade and go back inside. Perhaps there would be no quick quelling of that anger, but self-preservation could usually prove a far more powerful force than rage, and few beings wanted to stand toe-to-toe with a bipedal great cat. Intimidation was simple, but effective, a quick tool best used to ward things off before they began, and an effective weapon when facing an enemy in battle, though that came through different means. With that avoided, at least for now, Hart could turn his attention to the man in the mud. Perhaps that large fellow may return with refueled vigor and anger bolstered by a fearlessness through alcohol and fueled by the pain of his tooth being broken, but that was a problem that could be handled in the future. The present was a more interesting place, and for as much as Hart Naemen may have been fine to simply continue on, leaving a man who had just earned himself such a savage beating should at least be checked on. Checking on the man was little more than turning around to look down on him. Hart took a deep breath. It did not look like the man was going to die, which was good for him. Honestly, what little medical knowledge Hart had picked up over the years had wasted away due to general disinterest, but he could at least tell a bad beating when he saw one. Hart offered his arm to help the stranger to his feet while offering his opinion on the situation, "I take it you're not a very good cheater?" |
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| Fade | Tue Mar 21, 2017 4:14 am Post #3 |
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The knife was nearing Fade's hand as he struggled, pulling the man's burly arm ever so slowly back toward himself. He didn't notice the approach of another, but the voice certainly made itself known. Out of the corner of his eyes he could make out the massive form holding the wrist of the man's knife hand. The drunk spat at the man, but knew better even in his current state than to try to fight something so far out of his weight class. He spat another bloody gobbet at Fade, this time hitting him in the back. He turned away and stormed back inside without another word, shoving his knife back in its leather holster and slamming the door behind him. Fade rose to elbows and knees and stayed there for a beat, catching his breath. Everything ached, from bruises to an almost certainly cracked rib. gingerly touching his side, he winced. Coming up to his knees, he tried to wipe away some of the filth. Luckily the muck was only recent and not totally fresh, coming away in clumps to leave him more dirtied and wet than anything. He noted the great hand offering aid, but he waved it off, pushing himself to his feet with a grunt. He held his cracked rib tenderly wth his opposite left hand. "Appreciate it." He caught his breath slowly, inhaling through his nose shallowly and exhaling through his mouth. Short, controlled breaths. "Not in the least, actually. You'd think after playing for a couple years in a few different cities you'd learn a thing or two, but I'm as useless at it as I ever was." He staggered over to a water barrel and splashed his face and cleaned off some of the dirt. Drinking small amounts from his cupped hand, he regarded the lion-man. He'd seen a couple like him back in the Debon Plains now and then, but never quite so close. "Big bastard, aren't you?" He smiled, taking another sip. "Thank you, really. Don't think I've been in quite a scrap like that out of these. Usually they just take back their winnings and kick me out if they catch me. I'm not completely awful in a fight most times." |
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| Hart | Wed Mar 22, 2017 10:44 am Post #4 |
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Feisty, angry, not a pleasant drunk, especially not after being cheated. Really, Hart could not blame him given the circumstances, but cutting off somebody's hand still seemed a bit too far for his liking. At least conflict was successfully avoided. Hart liked to avoid causing people unnecessary harm if he could manage it, most people just being too frail and unskilled to actually put up a fight, and drunkards in most cases just seemed to be sloppier versions of their normal selves. "I get that a lot." Hart replied to the comment on his size, a slight chuckle rumbling through his voice as he looked down upon the injured man. It seemed to be a comment that many strong-willed types seemed to comment on, sizing him up in one regards or another. The man who had been receiving the rather nasty beating seemed to be as fine as he could be given the circumstances, though he did not accept the hand offered to help him off the ground. Appreciative, but holding some shred of pride in himself, no matter how small it might be. He seemed strong, tough enough to take that beating, more suited to physical labor than to trying to cheat at cards. By all means he seemed more like the type that should have been giving a cheat a beating rather than being the cheat beaten. "Have you considered you're not cut out for cheating, then? It takes patience, refinement, and dedication, a will to learn and invent, and knowing when to give up and cut your losses. Avoiding pain instead of inviting it." Hart inquired and explained, having been unfortunate to find himself on the receiving end of a few ill-aligned gamblers in his past. Crafty bastards, quick with their words and quicker to surrender when they found themselves caught at the ire of such a mighty warrior, but good for learning how to spot such things. Surprisingly transferable skills to a battlefield. Hart could not shake a bit of that scouting ability he had honed over the years. Being able to see a person's strengths and weaknesses could put them on the path that would hone their abilities, and way too often he found souls that were adept at getting into trouble all because they were lost on the wrong trail of their life. Though, Hart suspected that there was more to it than just that. Truth was, he had been watching for a fight, not just some sadistic interest in corporal punishment, "Unless you're just looking for an excuse to get beaten like a training dummy? I won't say you didn't deserve that beating, but what was that flailing you were doing? There's not being awful in a fight, then there's just putting one up." |
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| Fade | Mon Mar 27, 2017 5:02 am Post #5 |
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Fade looked away from the man to hide a minor flush, looking down into the water at his face as it stilled enough to form a decent mirror. He had a good cut across one cheekbone, the tissue around it swelling some. He winced when touching it. Likely another scar to add to his collection, though most were unseen. "Trying to avoid pain doesn't mean it doesn't come knocking at your door. Learning to deal with it is a part of life." He slapped the surface of the water, turning to face the much larger man with a spark of anger in his eye. "If you spend your whole life hiding from a beating you'll never learn to stand your ground. Learn to take what's coming to you and eventually you start throwing your own punches." Crossing his arms, he tried to suppress the wince as his hand pressed into a cracked rib. "I understand how to fight well enough. There's just a rather big difference between a sack of straw and an angry drunk with a knife. If I could afford enough to find a sparring partner I would. In a second. Thing is, gold is hard to come by. There are the pits, but anywhere that would take someone like me, without a master or so much as a caravan guard tour to my name, is like as not to be the sort of place you don't want to be seen going." He rubbed his face. ignoring the flare of pain in his cheek. "Gambling is the easiest way to get the coin I need." He began to look less furious and a little more sheepish. Truth be told he'd held the coin he needed on several occasions gambling regularly, but he'd gotten sucked in. He barely made enough to keep himself fed in the cities. He'd walked away with a small sum only a couple of weeks ago and had invested them in hidden pockets sewn into his clothes and those cheap weighted dice. "Thank you for the help. I do appreciate it. My name is Feadric." He extended a dirty, rough hand to shake. |
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| Hart | Mon Mar 27, 2017 9:40 am Post #6 |
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He could see it, right there in the man's eye. It was suppressed, still there, but all it was was a spark. For all that talk it should have been the flame of a warrior that burned in those green eyes, but it was little more than a pitiful novice that stood before the master of combat. Or at least once upon a time Hart had been a Master, and of many things, prepared for the fight and all that would threaten him and his, but Cascadia had proven that life in charge had made him soft in all but blade. "Hart." The lion-like man said, introducing himself as he shook Faedric's hand without hesitation to his otherwise nearly pristine white fur. So much was on the tip of his tongue, things to say, points to argue, and things he suspected were lies to call out. This was a lost soul before him, repeating the same steps again and again, but the world kept moving on and growing tired of his games. He stared at Faedric for a long moment, sizing him up and eyeing injuries that made him nostalgic for the days of his youth when he trained relentlessly. Whatever there was to say, none of it would do good now. It had rained earlier, and it was just going to rain again before long, and confronting him about his life choices would serve nothing, especially if they got drenched right outside of a nice, comfortable tavern complete with alcohol. "Come on, let's get something properly numbing. I'll treat." Hart said, slapping Faedric on the shoulder with a mighty hand as he moved towards the door. Some wine, ale, grog, or whatever they had would help him think, and would probably help Faedric as well. The mighty lion held no concerns of the drunkards who had been pitifully cheated, and wanted to ease the young man's tensions as much as he could. Cascadia and its events had left Hart with what could probably be considered a rather healthy traveling sum. Or to put far simpler: He could easily afford whatever it was that Faedric wanted to waste the money on. Practically it might not last long considering supplies, boarding, and any other expenses that he might find on his travels, but Hart cared little for money so much as at least wanting to help however he could. Strange, considering he had come to Chaon looking for fights, but Faedric would not provide a good spar even healthy. Hart chose a table removed from the group around the man with a chipped tooth, but paid them no direct mind or attention. "So, Faedric. I don't know what these 'pits' are, but I'm guessing you wouldn't do well in them." Hart continued after just mimicking Faedric's order, still lacking the local knowledge of what drinks might be commonplace, "But why delude yourself into thinking cheating's your answer when it hasn't gotten you anywhere in life except face-down in the mud?" ooc |
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| Fade | Fri Mar 31, 2017 8:22 pm Post #7 |
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Fade nodded to the man in thanks, following the leonine man back into the bar. His first look was back to the table in the corner, where his 'friends' sat. A couple of them visibly tensed upon seeing him, but forced themselves to return fully to their seats when they looked back to the large man beside him. He followed his new friend's lead to the table. With a look to the bartender and a nod, a server was sent to their table. "I'll have a Gressman White." The girl nodded and lifted a surprised eyebrow as Hart ordered the same. Smiling to himself, Fade nodded in response to the man's assumption. "The pits are nasty. It's where a brawler on their last leg goes to scrape a few extra silvers before it kills them. It's where those ugly on the inside go to find their sick delights." He took their drinks, a pair of short cups with a clear liquid inside. Hart, being a stranger to the tavern, would find a strong liquor inside. Fade lifted his own cup, wincing at the first taste, then throwing the cup back and giving a cough. It was a well-practiced act. Fade's cup held only water, masked by a touch of the liquor around the lip of the cup to fool those with better senses. It was something he had agreed on with the man behind the counter, something to give him an edge when playing cards or dice and he wanted his partners to think him drinking heavily. They liked to make bigger gambles as his apparent drunkenness make him seem reckless. "I visited the pits once, when I thought it might be somewhere to start. I was wrong. The loser died in the first fight I saw. He'd lost, been cut to ribbons by rusty daggers but still alive. The winner had been declared. and he cut his throat." Fade looked into his empty cup, rolling it on its edge. "I thought gambling might be a safer way. I won some, I lost it all right away. I have quick fingers. Found it easy to just hide a card up a sleeve when nobody was looking. Smaller places with simpler people, they don't expect it as much. Easier to get away with. Got some dice, which apparently I didn't invest enough in." He slid the cup to the edge of the table. The server swung by to pick it up. "I almost had enough to find a tutor. I figured I'd come back through once I had found someone to help me get back on my feet. Make reparations when I could afford it. I thought it would be easier than finding a loan from some back alley lender. |
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| Hart | Sat Apr 1, 2017 8:34 am Post #8 |
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Gressman White. Decent, Hart found. It definitely hit a harder in terms of taste than most Angelic Wines, but was still quite a ways off from even Ophanic Tea. Perhaps it was all relative, with Hart having been raised on Leonin Ouranopnevma, but with enough glasses it could still get the job done that he had originally been coming to this tavern for. He nodded at the taste and chased the gesture with a shrug, putting the container back on the table after having cleared about half of the contents. Faedric feigned a wince and a cough, but Hart found it may be better to not call him out on the charade. The old warrior listened carefully to Faedric's words, learning more about the world he had come to and the dark underbelly that it kept hidden away from the revealing light of day. Moreover he learned more about this plight of this terrible cheat before him. Truly given what skill he showed outside, any battle to the death would end in his loss, without any time to develop his abilities or discover his potential. It seemed like Hat might start developing a pattern of stumbling among things that even most local mortals might simply walk by without realizing it, even if only in passing. He would have to remember to get at least a bead on the Pits and their location. It might be a tad bit on the darker and more visceral side, but Hart's primary goal in Imythess was to face people who could get him a worthy challenge and reignite that warrior's flame within him, even if the stakes were high and the people were desperate. No, a place like that would attract the sadists as well, and them he would find no qualms with striking down. Hart breathed deep at the plans before finishing off the drink he had been provided. It appeared that Faedric was self-defeating in his goals, caught in a cycle of losing his winnings. He wanted to find a tutor, wanted somebody to teach him, but something seemed lost inside of him. Once the glass's bottom found its way back to the surface of the table, he spoke, "It must be difficult to get anywhere when you're in your own way. Money won't find you what you're looking for, only self-respect will, and I think your glass is nearing empty. So why don't you tell me what knocked you off your feet to begin with?" The words were decidedly harsh, but at the same time coddling this man would do him no favors. Maybe Hart was not set on paths to hidden secrets, but to people, and it was just carrying over to Chaon. It was a curious twist of fate to come across this man at such a time, but not worth questioning. |
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7:28 PM Jul 11

