Something strange is in the air today; Bex sniffs a little, instinctively, as he heads through town. It could be whatever he was slipped last night, or it could just be in the wind, but a strange smell definitely hangs around the entire Rotgut district. Looking around, the fast movement of the clouds can be seen. Dark and ominous, storm clouds begin their march over the town. Darker still, the Blot remains unmoved and unaffected by the wind.
Weirder still, Bexilarius seems to have a follower. Despite the solid kick, the grubby halfling can still be seen following at a safe distance behind. He pretends to not be following him, but is far too obvious; any time Bexilarius turns around the halfling feigns interest in a nearby shop window, or bit of refuse on the ground. The reason he would be so enamoured with Bex is not readily apparent, but he continues to follow him all the way to the Publican.
Even for midday the Publican is a rowdy place. There are few seats available, and the patrons seem to be in a competition over who can yell the loudest.
One particular gentlemen occupies the entire front table to himself. By standing on it. Swinging his large club around his head, he seems to be engaged in re-enacting some glorious fight. Jumping and lunging on the table, he ends up knocking most of the mugs over in the process.
Arnando Rolf stands behind the bar, hands on his hips, shaking his head at the man. Though the tale is being told for the room at large, Rolf's patience means that he's the only one still listening.
A young half-elf woman sits at the bar, barely paying attention to the story. Her long wavy red hair threatens to fall into her mug every time she turns her head.
Bexilarius notices the halfling following him, and his annoyance grows the farther he gets from Rotgut. He's just about to turn and teach the filthy little slip a lesson, when he notices a pair of gendarmes lounging nearby. Best not to get into trouble today. He'll get what's coming to him soon enough. Instead, Bexilarius tries to lose him in the crowds on the way to the Publican.
Stealth (1d20+10=23)
At the Publican House, Bexilarius lets the noise wash over him. It's not the most genteel place, but it does have its moments. Picking his way through the crowd, he makes his way to the bar, taking a seat next to the half-elf. He catches Rolf's eye.
"A glass of your finest ice wine, sirrah," Bexilarius says. "Or should I make that two?" he asks the woman next to him with a roguish grin.
No indulgences today, the voice in his head warns. Bex pointedly ignores it. Well, maybe just one little indulgence, he thinks.
The woman coughs a little when Bex orders such an expensive wine, and full-on spits out her own drink when he suggests that she join him.
Wiping her face, she turns to Bexilarius; "What, just like that? Is that really all you think it takes to court me? What kind of call girl do you think I am?"
She rolls her eyes; "Don't you know? The real way into a girl's heart is by being an obnoxious blowhard, and yelling and stomping on top of a table. Obviously."
She giggles and looks at Bex, checking him up and down, before extending her hand to him. Smiling she adds; "I'm Sam, by the way."
"My dear, I would never order ice wine for a call girl. She would have no idea what to do with it. No, I saw a woman of obvious refinement and taste, and thought perhaps to while away an afternoon in pleasant conversation. Plus, I have a thing for redheads. Let's leave the call girls for the obnoxious blowhards."
Bexilarius takes her hand. "A pleasure, Sam. I'm Bexilarius."
Taking his glass, Bex raises it and clinks it against hers. "To chance encounters and good fortune." He tips back his glass, letting the cold wine trickle down his throat. He sets the glass down and smiles back a her.
"So tell me, Sam, what brings you to such a rowdy den of scoundrels and louts? Other than the company of course," he adds with a wink.
"Well met, Bexilarius." Sam leans in close to whisper: "In truth, I'm a Cyphermage. I saw the sign on the way in; I know I'm not supposed to be in here, but I can't help going where I'm told not to. That's the whole thing with being a Cyphermage, right? Uncovering and using secret knowledge, no? Either way, I'm not a fully fledged member yet."
The proximity of her lips to Bexilarius' ear causes little vibrations to tickle it, while she speaks; her perfume wafts over him. Sitting upright and normally in her chair, she takes another drink.
"I came here a few weeks ago when I first heard about the Cypergate. I thought it was interesting enough, but now that I get here, everyone is so distracted by this Blot thing, they don't have time for an apprenticeship. But now I'm running out of money. I saved up a fair bit of coin in order to afford travelling here, but it's running out. I may just have to return to Magnimar, and write it all off to experience. I need money, but in this town, a girl like me would have to throw any morality I had out the window in order to get some decent pay."
She brushes some of her large red-hair away, revealing an intricate and beautiful tattoo on part of her face and neck. The tattoo is a combination of ink and scarring; it spirals and dances across her face, and seems to draw Bex's gaze into it.
"What about you? What's your story? How can you afford such expensive drink?"
"A cyphermage? Old Rolf would have a fit if he knew. Don't worry, your secret's safe with me. But it's gonna cost you. Let's see, what would make it worth my while to keep a secret like that?" Bexilarius snaps his fingers. "I know. You can give me some of that 'secret knowledge' of yours. Like whether you have any more of those tattoos..." Bex smiles and raises his eyebrow suggestively.
He listens to Sam tell her story, feigning interest. Little girl in the big city, eh? Maybe she needs a noble guardian to protect her from the dark city streets. Although if she's a wizard, she doesn't need my protection. But she did say she was looking for an apprenticeship. So maybe not a wizard yet, or just a scholar. Looking for an experience. I can give her that. I wonder how good she is flat on her back with her skirts rucked up? Easy, Bex old boy. One step at a time.
Bexilarius takes another sip of his wine before answering Sam's question. "My story? Not much to say. I'm from down south originally, but I've been here long enough to learn the ropes. Mainly, I do odd jobs here and there for some people. You'd be surprised at how scary some people find two little horns and a big scar." Bex laughs.
"But my fortunes are about to change. There's a big gambling tournament starting tonight at a place called the Gold Goblin. 'Cheat the Devil and Take His Gold,' it's called. How appropriate is that? And if worse comes to worse and I don't win big, I figure I might be able to get a regular-paying job there. I certainly know my around the tables well enough."
"Who knows? They may have something for you there too. You'd make a good-looking server, and could probably make some nice tips. Better that than a quickwife at a flop-and-tumble house. What do you say, Sam? Want to be my good luck charm at the tables tonight? If we win big, it's ice wine and caviar, and the city is ours for the taking!" (And maybe you're mine for the taking too.) "And if not, we go legit and become working stiffs. Pretty good odds either way, if you ask me."
Bexilarius enjoys watching Sam's face change rapidly between expressions. She's following onto his every word, and he's leading her around in circles.
He can notice her skin start to blush a little, and she begins to smile more and more.
"Horns? Are you kidding me? Look at my ears!", she draws attention to her half-elven heritage, pulling her hair away for Bexilarius to see, and perhaps enticing him a little with her soft neck, "Do you have any idea what kids'll do to someone like me? Well of course you do. But we both know the outcome of something like that. You grow a little stronger. And hey, scars are great. They mean you've experienced something. You've done something. You know?"
She reaches for Bexilarius' hand, and brings it to her face. "Sometimes there's power in a scar." She has him trace his finger along the scar/tattoo along her face, his rough fingertip following every curve and twist in the design. Bexilarius can feel a little tingle flow through him as he completes the circuit.
She lets go of his hand. "Now, you should feel a little tingle in your finger. Concentrate on that, don't let it go. Okay? Now, try using your finger to float something. Here, this." She tosses a copper piece onto the bar. "I know it sounds silly, but try to make that tingle extend into the coin, and float it. You can do it."
Well this is new... Bexilarius thinks. He concentrates on lifting the copper off the table, up and down, and then slowly, wobbly, from side to side. He keeps this up, fascinated and completely focused, until a passing patron bumps into him, breaking his concentration. The copper falls to the bar with a clatter.
"That...was...brilliant!" Bexilarius enthuses, and there isn't a hint of cynicism in his wide smile, just pure, almost childish joy. "Lady, you are coming with me tonight. With talents like that, you have to be a good luck charm! If I may have the pleasure of your company, that is."
Gradually, Bex's excitement fades, and the little light in his eyes darkens again. Bewitching little minx, he thinks when he feels normal again. "And now I'm even more curious about the rest of your tattoos..."
"Of course I'm going to the Gold Goblin tonight. Watch this."
Sam begins to pout, and look disaffected. Lazily, she rests her face on her hand.
"Oh, woe is me. I'm just a little girl. I don't know how to gamble like all the big men."
She leans on her tattoo, her whole hand covering it.
"I guess I'm just going to have to sit here, and be distracting."
She lifts her other hand, and pretends to be checking her nails, absently. In reality, she's floating all manner of objects over to her, somewhat discretely. Soon enough she has a little pile of mugs, bits of chalk, a couple coins, and some other clutter piled around her and Bexilarius.
"Now", she says, leaving character, "replace all this junk with gambling tokens, and we have a little strategy. Gambling is a combination of skill and luck, sure. But I think I'd rather rely on the skill, than the luck portion."
Sam looks him up and down. "I could teach you a few things, I'm sure. You handled that pretty well. Not all my secrets are hidden away in tattoos, Bex."
Bexilarius laughs at Sam's display. "Nice. I'm sure I don't need to tell you, but be careful. They're bound to be watching the tables like hawks, and you can't win anything if you're booted out onto the street. There's more than one kind of skill, you know. Still, we might be able to work something out."
"As for teaching, well...I've never been a good student. I get distracted far too easily." He flashes her a half-smile and takes another sip of his wine.
Sam likewise downs her wine and looks at him coyly, "Well mister! I can't be getting too drunk, or I won't be able to win a thing tonight. I think I should....I think...I should probably get going soon. Maybe freshen up. What do you think?"
She uses her eyes to indicate the door.
"Good idea. A little...relaxation would be good before our big night out."
Bexilarius drains the last of his wine, pausing a moment to savor the light buzzing in his head. he stands up with easy grace and offers Sam his arm, a paragon of gentlemanly conduct.
"Milady."
Sam leads Bexilarius down through the wharf district, and into a grimey little building. A fruit vendor operates out of the lower half of it, while a rickity staircase leads to a small room above it; this is what Sam calls home.
She cracks open the door, and motions for Bexilarius to follow her inside. The room is fairly dark; the one window into the place has long been covered in mud. An owl sits on a perch, eyes closed.
She moves over to beside her bed, and lights both candles, and incense. The light created by the flickering flames illuminates a large leather bound book that is lying on the bed. She moves it under a pillow, and pulls a large blanket over the whole thing.
Giggling, she flops on the bed.
"You're defintely going to need some freshening up when I'm done with you," Bexilarius tells her as he steps inside, shutting the door behind him. In the dim light, his eyes glow faintly crimson as he hungrily moves them over Sam's body.
"But you seem overdressed for the occasion," Bex says as he begins tugging at the ties and sashes that hold his clothing closed.
Sam mutters a couple words, and her hand begins to glow. She runs it's glowing tip all over his body, pausing at all the sensitive places.
She magically cools, and then warms the spot, in quick succession, sending waves of sensation through his scars and through his nipples; she tugs on his remaining clothing before sending her own to rest on a pile on the floor.
She pulls him onto her with no consideration for decency or decorum. She's no stranger to desire, and she's felt his eyes on her since he entered the Publican.
She wraps her arms around him as they roll; she delicately traces and fingers the scars and wounds on his back, and the horns on his head.
"We all have scars", she manages to say, through panting and moaning.
For a time, they are as one. She certainly has skill; it sets her apart from all the other cloistered mage types that this town is so full of. The girl's lived a little.
She rolls Bexilarius onto his back, pinning his arms against the bed. She's in control for the finish, as she furiously grinds against him. She doesn't let up when he begins to tremble, and lets out a scream when she comes that terrifies Mrs. Thatcher, the old flower lady, below.
Legs still wobbly, she goes over to a small box on her dresser and produces two rolled cigarettes of a sweet smelling substance. Tossing one to Bexilarius, she snaps her fingers and both are lit.
"We don't want to be late for the tournament, do we?"
Bexilarius takes a deep drag of the cigarette, holding the sweet smoke in his lungs before letting it trickle out between his lips.
"Lady, I'm willing to be late for anything after that." Bex continues enjoying his cigarette, eyes wandering over Sam's body in the dim shadows. Best to let her know where things stand. She's a good tumble, I'll give her that, but she's just a dance partner. I don't want - or need - a sidekick. I can pick up some good-looking arm candy anywhere. Not that I wouldn't dance with her again...
"Sam," Bex says. "Don't cramp my style tonight. You got some nice tricks, but winning isn't everything. For me, the game is the game, you savvy? Winning is secondary." He crushes out his cigarette. "Do what you like, but don't get me tossed out, is all I'm saying."
"Now, I think we have a little time before the tournament starts. We can be fashionably late." Bex pulls her back down on top of himself.
"Do I look like some naive country girl searching for the man of my dreams to sweep me off my feet? You fit the tall, dark, and handsome bit, but do I look like I'm planning to settle down? I'm going places, and you're just along for the ride."
Sam pulls Bex into her again, and the two tumble for quite some time. Now that both of them put their true intentions out in the open, they are able to pursue each other with renewed vigour. Not held up by expectations or commitment, they give in to pure passions.
Mrs. Thatcher has given up any notion she had of focusing on her flowers this afternoon.
"We'll see who's riding who when all is said and done," Bex responds. He's a little too busy to talk after that.
Sam catches her breath after their last roll, and stumbles out of her bed. Clearly a little shaky in the knees, she goes over to a washbasin and cleans herself.
"Listen, I don't want to be late. I'm just going to put a little makeup on, some better jewels, something a little revealing, and then I'll be good to go."
She slips into a silken black dress; it's loosely fitted, and backless. A strong wind may dislodge it completely, but she wears it with confidence.
Attaching a couple pretty diamonds in her ears, and one in her nose, she's a single cantrip away from smelling like fresh roses.
Reaching over, she grabs Bexilarius' hand, and pulls him out the door.
They head to the Golden Goblin Gambling Hall to find a throng of people waiting to get in. There's a queue, and apparently all must sign a waiver to get inside.
"Just great. It's going to rain, I can tell. And we're going to get stuck here waiting for these brains to read the damn thing."
While they are waiting in line, they spot a woman calling out to all the stragglers who haven't already joined the line;
"Welcome to the Gold Goblin, handsome, the hot spot for turning fortunes and winning wagers beneath the arch. Looking for the squarest games, most honest dealers, and prettiest barmaids anywhere in the port? Well, you found ’em, sugar! Ready to be a rich man? Hope so, ’cause tonight’s your night. Belly up to a table and get to winnin’; we’ve got the gold to make your dreams glitter. Good drink, fine food, and warm company’s extra, but we’ve got all that too—at prices so cheap we might as well be giving it away. So find a spot, honey, order a pint, and leave it all to us, ’cause here, even a goblin could win his weight in gold!"
Crowds of participants and spectators begin to mill about on the street or file together through the main doors to sign up for the tournament. Overseeing this gathering is a larger-than-life-size statue of a goblin, apparently cast in glittering gold, that stands atop the entry stairs with a smirking expression of satisfaction on its face, as if personally enjoying the crowds that shuffle past it into the doorway beneath the gambling hall’s gilded dome.
You make some progress, and can see a little further into the hall. You're both handed a registration form, and a quill filled with red ink.
Just inside the main doors, two sultry beauties scantily clad and wearing faux bat wings, devil horns, and tails play the part of alluring succubi. Both are employees of the Gold Goblin, and they cheerfully register contestants for the tournament and process entry fees. Armed guards stand nearby to either side of an immense treasure chest into which each patron’s entry fee is added. The guards are on hand to not only protect the money, but to prevent any overzealous admirers from trying to dare the infamous touch of a succubus.
"They've certainly gone all-out for this little soiree," Bex says as he peruses the registration form."What do you think, Sam? Ready to sign your soul away to the Devil? Careful - that'll make it two devils who have a claim on you today."
Bex signs his form and hands it to one of the succubi. "I'm sure you hear this all the time, but any chance one of you comes along as a free gift for the winner?" He winks, and holding out his arm for Sam, heads inside.
"To the tables or the bar first?" Bex asks Sam.
"The bar, of course. Then to get some chips. I heard our first drink's free, so I'm making it a triple. I'm saving my money for gambling. You want one too?"
Sam strides off and brings back beverages pretty shortly after.
"Ah, I think it's starting.", she says, pointing to some men carrying large torches.
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