A male and female halfling walk up to the front of the Gold Goblin, arm in arm, taking in the sight of the establishment.
Jametor makes his way downstairs to find that the decorating has been largely finished and the waitresses are now dressed in costume, with red horns and fabric tails trailing behind them. One of them walks over to the elf, swaying slightly, and smiles that strange smile at him. "Well, now... you must be the one Dorothy was tellin' us about. You are mighty fine-lookin. Y'hungry?"
***
Another horned waitress opens the door for the pair of halflings, only raising her eyebrow as if to say two of you in one place? Inconceivable!
As they enter, a third waitress smiles at them and hands them each a piece of paper and writing implement, and holds out a bowl for their entry fees. "Jus' sign the paper, an' one gold from each of ya if ya please. If ya can't write, jus' make yer mark."
I, ______________, do hereby sacrifice my immortal soul and the worldly sum of 10 pieces of silver to the Devil to hold in escrow against his own stake of 10,000 silver coins in the gambling tournament being held at the Gold Goblin Gambling Hall of Riddleport on this Oathday, 14th day of Arodus, 4708 AR.
I understand that my soul will be placed on deposit in the Hells’ deepest pit of Nessus. Furthermore, I understand that all winnings shall be catalogued in concordance of souls, to be represented by teeth, eyes, and hearts of the damned. By participating in the gambling tournament and beginning in the first pit of Avernus, my winnings shall earn my way deeper through the Hells on the following schedule:
Dis—1 gold eye
Erebus—3 gold eyes and a Badge of Dis
Phlegethon—5 gold eyes and a Badge of Erebus
Stygia—10 gold eyes and a Badge of Phlegethon
Malebolge—25 gold eyes and a Badge of Stygia
Cocytus—50 gold eyes and a Badge of Malbolge
Caina—75 gold eyes and a Badge of Cocytus
Nessus—100 gold eyes and a Badge of Caina
I understand that if I should lose my stake in the tournament I shall receive the Devil’s Mark and my soul shall be cast upon the rocks on the shore of the River Styx.
I understand that if I elect to cash in my winnings before reaching the pit of Nessus I shall forfeit my soul and 50% of the cash value of my winnings for said early departure.
If I am the first player to reach Nessus, then I am granted the redemption of my soul and the right to Cheat the Devil and Take his Gold in addition to collecting my winnings. In such a circumstance, all other players shall receive the Devil’s Mark and forfeit their souls.
This is I do swear.
Witnessed by: __Old Scratch
Antal grimaces as he makes his way off the ship, both from the pain that courses through his rapidly aging body and the realization that he was not going to find this a city safe from being accosted by those looking to make a coin or two.
Hearing the horrible mention of sickness from the half-orc child, he raises an eyebrow. Why couldn't this have been just a quick off the ship and to the casino to get that job established.
Fíriel giggles softly and nudges Randall with a meaningful look at her paper, where she's written "Samantha Arodensson" in a clear flowing script. Sobering quickly, she fishes a gold piece out of her clothes and hands it to the woman with her paper.
Antal smirks and shakes his head, leaning down towards the child on the ground, his hand briefly glowing, as he intones a few strange words, whispering as he stands back up,
"Child, you know and I know that he's really not sick. So, it would really do you good to just tell me the truth of why you want the money and what your friend there is."
With a small smile of his own, Randall nods. "You have beautiful penmanship, Samantha." Writing his name carefully, like a child still unsure of his technique, he enters Samnell Longhorn Clement on his paper and retrieves his gold piece from his shoe. Somewhat apologetically, he drops it into the bowl.
Jametor smiles at the waitress, "Yes, I believe that I am the one spoken of and yes I am hungry, as is my raven."
As the halflings enter, Swiftwing taps Jametor on his shoulder with her beak, getting his attention. Jametor turns and looks at the halflings before returning to the waitress. "I suppose we are off to the kitchen or.."
To the observant, the male halfling has the attitude of one who would be comfortable anywhere, making small talk to the tiny woman at his side and chatting up a waitress, but his clothes mark him as someone not often found in an establishment like this - or one who does not win here often. His clothes are a bit out of style and show some wear, but they are clean and well-mended (if they have been patched, it's hard to be sure).
He seems to be taking pains to be a gentleman to the lady at his side - not overly familiar with her, offering an arm rather than touching her, but they seem to be enjoying a private joke.
The other boy stands up, and it becomes evident that he's a tiefling. Though he lacks horns, the tail makes it rather clear. The half-orc frowns. "Mister, where you trying to go? For a copper we'll lead you there and make sure you get there okay. You don't exactly fit in here, y'know..."
The woman smiles. "We've got every drink y'could possibly want... an' yer bird, too... does it drink? Just take yerself a seat right over here and we'll get you situated. Fer yer supper we've got fresh-baked rye an' reefclaw stew fer a silver, or a haunch of young beef instead'll cost ya only two an' a half. Best prices in town."
The woman takes Randall's paper and glances at it, then up at Randall with a bit of a smirk. After a moment she winks slyly at Randall and puts his paper atop the others. "Enjoy the tournament!"
Beyond the registration table is the hall’s game floor. Dozens of gamblers, waitresses dressed as succubi, and bouncers mill about the room, wandering amid tables offering various games while dealers shuffle cards, roll dice, and spin wheels. Moving through this throng are a dozen more of the barely clad, batwinged vixens serving drinks and batting coal-black eyelashes flirtatiously for tips. In the center of the chamber is a short podium atop which sits a massive gold chest affixed to the floor by similarly gaudy chains. On either side of it stands a bare-chested bouncer in the exotic garb of some foreign sultan’s court. Each stands with muscled arms crossed over his chest and with a naked scimitar of prodigious size tucked through his waistband. High above them, from the hall’s cloth-draped ceiling, hangs a brass birdcage within which crouches a small, bat-winged, pointy-tailed devilish creature that sulks as it gazes over the room and occasionally rattles the bars threateningly.
"I don't think any of us three really fit in well. Two copper, just to be on the safe side then. I'm looking for the Goblin, I think it's called. Figured they could use another spotter or two."
He nods and smiles, motioning them to lead ahead.
He pauses and scratches his chin a bit. "Oh sher, the Gold Goblin. Say, you gonna be in the tournament tonight?"
The boy continues to chat as he and 'Jake' lead the way from the harbor to the Gold Goblin. A woman dressed in horns and a tail opens the door with a shooing motion at the two boys and a smile for Antal. The half-orc ignores the woman and holds out his hand to Antal. "Will ya be needin' anything else, Mister? Jake an' I can find pretty much anything, fer the right price."
Njord shakes his head and looks toward the boy he'd been originally talking to.
"Come out boy. They can't hurt you now. What's this all about?"
He pulls that copper piece out again along with another.
"Maybe a decent place to stay, but first I have to find a way to afford the place. Hadn't considered being in the tournament, cause as you said, I don't exactly blend in well." The halfling nods to the woman in horns and a tail but continues talking to the kids.
"Any good suggestions?"
The boy ventures out from behind the cart where he'd been watching the scene. "Why... why'd you stop 'em?" he asks, his eyes still a bit wide from watching the big man's fist at work.
"Because boys beaten' each other with sticks isn't very sportin'" Njord explains. "And there was only two of them to the one of you. Har!"
Jametor replies to the woman, "Bring us the stew and bread and some coffee, if you have it. Oh and some water and an extra bowl. Thank you." As the woman turns to go, Jametor says, "Where might I sit to eat?"
"I appreciate that. Definitely looking forward to it." Antal says, then looks at the woman.
"Honestly, I was looking more at working here as a spotter, if you're in need of some more eyes."
The boy studies Njord for a moment, nods, and sticks out his hand. "Thanks. The name's Ez. I umm... I used to live at St. Caspieran's, but yesterday I decided to strike out on my own... don't like the way they run things there. But I used to bring in a good amount for 'em, and so they came after me."
He scuffs one bare foot sheepishly on the ground. "Thanks again. And umm... they don't actually play Dragon's Eye at the tournament."
"We'll, do any of the games look familiar to you? It might not do to have to ask how to play..."
"Coffee's a copper, an' you can sit anywhere ya like, hun." She gestures over toward some chairs up next to a bar, and nods toward the game room as well, where tables and chairs are being set up for the tournament.
Jametor heads over to the bar and sits down and begins studying the creature in the cage. As he sits he whispers to Swiftwing, "Keep an eye out."
Swiftwing bobs her head and hops over to another chair and sits on the back.
The woman looks at the new halfling for a few seconds as the boys caper off . How many of them are there in this town? Or maybe they just all like gambling... "Oh. Well, yer not gonna be able to talk to the floor manager until tomorrow at the earliest, so ya might as well stay the night, and while yer here ya might as well play in the tourney. Who knows, ya might win big and not need a job!"
Fíriel looks around, watching the various tables intently, then shakes her head. "None of these're like the ones I've played before. You?"
Bjorn lowers the two coppers into the boy's palm.
"Good to meet you Ez. The name's Njord. Stay outta trouble, okay?"
Jametor is certain that the caged creature is an imp.
Ez nods his head fiercely up and down as he pockets the coppers. "Thanks, Mister. I will, I promise!"
Figuring he's already spent too much time looking into it to turn back now, Njord heads back toward the Goblin.
"No. Let's watch one for a bit. That table seems excited."
He heads to a Bounder table to see how the other gamblers play the game.
Antal shrugs. "Well, might as well. What's the price for a bit of food and the entrance fee? More than a gold, I'm sure."
He quickly signs and then hands over a single gold, while waiting for the answer on food.
The huge smirking goblin statue outside lets you know that you've arrived at the Gold Goblin. People are elbowing their way to the door, while waitresses dressed as succubi take entry fees and agreements. The entry fee is one gold.
The game is fairly simple, the odds seem pretty good. The players are enjoying themselves and ordering drinks as they wait for the tournament to start, chatting about the games and the strange Blot in the sky. Another halfling enters through the front door just as Randall and Fíriel arrive at the Bounder table.
The woman nods and takes the halfling's coin and paper. "A gold t'enter, and a silver for stew with bread. Drinks're more."
Njorn tosses one of the provocatively dressed waitresses a gold piece.
One of the waitresses comes out a few minutes later with a big wooden bowl of reefclaw stew, a large hunk of warm rye bread, and a mug of coffee.
The woman catches the gold with a swish of her (fake?) tail and a little wink. After he signs and returns the agreement, she gives a little wave and motions toward the door.
Sixty or so people are already inside, with more arriving every moment, including three halflings; a lot to see in one place! It looks like the tournament will begin very soon.
Njorn answers the woman's wink with a smirk and then sucks in a breath at the grandiose event. This certainly was a big deal. It seems the people of Riddleport take ten-thousand silver pieces seriously.
Realizing he doesn't have a lot of time, Njord hurriedly tries to find out where one goes to sign up for the competition.
To Firiel: "Interesting. Another one of us just walked in. Don't think I know him, though."
Randall looks around before too many more people come in - looking for guards and such, but also for potential marks - just out of habit.
Antal hands her two silver, as well as the gold. "Best to be safe, better than sorry, ey?"
He seems to attempt to be friendly, genuinely so and attempting to make friends.
Jametor pays the waitress and gives her a silver for a tip. He takes some of the stew out of the bowl and puts it in the second bowl and breaks off some bread into smaller parts, setting the bowl in front of the chair Switftwing is on. As he and Swiftwing eat, he watches the crowd.
The waitress smiles and wiggles her eyebrows at the halfling. "Thanks, hun. You tip pretty big for such a little guy." With a wink, she saunters away.
As the windows begin darkening with twilight, several gamehall employees enter, carrying torches shaped like pitchforks skewering burning heads made of straw and cloth to light several large braziers, giving the hall a more infernal hue.
A hush falls over the gathered crowd as a short man climbs to the central podium, accompanied by two gorgeous “succubi,” and stands before the gold, chain-shrouded chest there with a demoness on either side. He wears a formal suit, and his thinning black hair is slicked back. His left arm ends in a stump just above the wrist, and affixed to it is a bronze cap from which protrudes an oddly shaped key. This is Saul Vancaskerkin, the owner of the Gold Goblin and host of the tournament. He bows before the crowd and clears his throat before speaking.
"Welcome, one and all, to the Gold Goblin Gambling Hall and your chance to cheat the Devil and win back not only your soul but all of his gold as well." He says this last as he pats the large chest before which he stands. "I hope you found your reception by the Devil's lovely temptresses suitably entertaining."
This is met by a general murmur of laughter and a few catcalls. Saul clears his throat and continues. "Let's take this moment to thank Old Scratch himself for attending this event. Not only did he loan us these lovely, dark angels, but he also emptied the deepest vaults of Hell itself to provide the gold for this tournament."
With this, Saul directs the crowd's attention up to the imp in the birdcage. At the sudden attention, 'Old Scratch' flies into a flurry of rage, banging the cage bars, spitting, howling, and screaming vile epithets in Infernal at all assembled. His theatrics are received with guffaws and even a smattering of applause. As the crowd dies down, Vancaskerkin continues.
"Of course, he plans on replacing what he loses in gold with the souls of those of you who don't win. The tournament rules are quite simple—as you play, you'll earn more chips. And with those chips, you'll be able to bribe your way out of the current Hell you're trapped in, working your way down deeper until you get to Old Scratch's treasury."
"The first player to win a game after reaching Nessus not only keeps his winnings for that game, but also earns back his soul and the ten thousand silver coins that the Devil put up for this tournament. You can, of course, decide to cash out your winnings at any time you want, but if you do, or if you run out of money entirely... well, that means Old Scratch gets you."
"Now, let's cheat the Devil and take his gold!" — which prompts one more rabid flurry from the imprisoned fiend above, and with that, the tournament begins.
1 sp bet to begin.
Not too familiar with the games, the halfling starts with what seems the simplest to him: Bounder.
To Firiel (and his neighbor at the table) "The talking head on the wheel is a bit disturbing. How do you think they did that?
He notes the table where the unknown halfling is seated for future reference.
After finishing his stew, Jametor wanders over to the Doubles table. He bets a silver piece and rolls his dice.
Not normally one to be sucked into gambling, Njord finds himself caught up in the excitement.
Grinning like a fool, the big ulfen squares off with the Doubles table, slams a gold coin on the table, and throws the dice!
The frowns and then bursts into laughter with the rest of the crowd.
Fíriel giggles. "Ooh, I'll play too. I don't know how they did that... it is rather eerie, isn't it?"
Seeing the other halfling also approach, she smiles at him. "Hi! My name's Fíriel; don't see many of our type around Riddleport, are you from here?"
She gets out a gold piece and plops it down on the table, then rolls her die.
The other players at the table, a jovial pirate-looking man and a young female woman, place their bets and roll their dice.
The dealer grins and rolls his dice...
The man frowns. "I'll stay."
The woman doubles her bet and rolls again.
And the young woman grins widely as she wins six silver, while the man glowers at her and leaves for another table.
***
"Hard luck, friends, hard luck!" says the croupier graciously, as he collects the lost bets. "Place your bets, place your bets now..."
Jametor places another silver piece and plays Doubles again.
Njord slams down two gold.
Double or nothing. That makes sense...
The big ulfen hoots and hollers as he wins!
The strange halfling doubles his bet, and then rolls again, hoping for the best.
It is at that moment that, yet again the halfling's luck (like most of his life) turns sour and he loses his 2 silver. He grumbles low, grimacing at the pain in his blood.