Getting out of bed before noon today seemed a lot more like wishful thinking than a remote possibility, on account of Dirty's throbbing headache. It was hard enough to remember what he drank last night, let alone where he was.
And then it all started coming back. His room and it's familiar shapes began to swirl back into focus. And swirl they did. Nausea envelops him.
When he finally makes it to the outside world, it's almost too much for him. Perhaps it was the sensitivity from the hangover, but a stench seemed to hang in the town. Heavy, and sickly-sweet. It was almost enough to make his stomach completely abandon him.
Thankfully the sun was obscured; dark rain clouds raced by, briefly mingling with the blot, and exaggerating it's size. Ominously, the clouds gave a vision of what the town would look like it the blot covered the entire sky; a gray, sick town, with far too many shadows and hiding places. A good town for someone like Dirty.
The soft padding of feet behind him alerts him to a presence; spinning around, he spies an attractive woman approaching him, her curly black hair spilling around her shoulders, wearing a delicate purple that garment hugs her curves.
"Cloud-gazing are we? You're not one of those fancyboys are ya? More interested in staring at the sky, than what's right in front of you?"
She circles slowly around Dirty, enticing him, but never giving up eye-contact.
Despite his head still feeling as if someone had pulled out all the soft parts and replaced them with rough wool, and a stomach that would put the word "rebelling" to shame, Dirty could not help but follow her every motion. Damn, if that wasn't the finest piece of... BODY. Really, no matter where he looked, she had it.
He didn't feel particularly guilty for lusting after her pretty much instantly. She wouldn't have put on that outfit if that wasn't at least accepted. And besides... he had no future, so planning for a future with anyone was just conning that person.
"Lady, you just cured me of that for a month at least." He mumbled, half aloud. Despite his young age, he had been "around town" a few times, but never had he expected a gorgeous lady like this on his doorstep. "I'm Dergo, and consider myself a lucky fellow right about now."
"Well, Dergo. I'm Salla, and that's all you need to know." She walks up behind him, and gently blows on his neck and ear. He feels a strange sensation run up and down his ear; as if it was being licked by two tongues. Spinning him around, she defiantly flicks her forked tongue at him.
"Do you want to see what else is split? Just how lucky were you thinking of getting, Mr. Dergo?"
Dergo felt as if he was about to explode. His hangover was still very present on his mind, but damn if the woman didn't make a compelling case for him not caring too much about it.
A tiefling. Likely one of Callistria's priesthood? She sure had the "Lust" part down. "I am feeling.. very lucky right now, and if you intend to stay around, that's only going to get better." He really should know better, but like so often, he thought with a different head before the one on his shoulders. He leaned over, and whispered "And i'll gladly see to any split you'd like me to take a look at."
Some part of him knew that gift horses which came in such a seductive wrapping were a damned good way to get into trouble - but who really cared?
Salla wrapped her arms around Dergo's head and shoved her tongue in his mouth, forcefully. Before he can react, she's pulling him along by his belt to a nearby alley.
She appears to undress him with her eyes, while slowly loosening the shoulder straps of her outfit.
"Be a gentleman, just for a moment I assure you, and turn around. A lady's gotta prepare, you know."
Dergo was not the sharpest tool in the drawer. Also, he was quite... lustful. He wasn't a complete fool, however. And so he did turn around, as Della had requested - but took care to also take a step away from her, out of an easy knockout range - and hoped she wouldn't throw a knife at him. He wasn't even thinking much on how this looked - just acted.
"So, what did i do to be so lucky?"
"I really should be the one asking that question, Pigeon. I never get so lucky."
Dergo hears a faint clicking sound behind him.
"Don't turn around. Don't bother. Just empty your pockets and toss it behind you, and you can be on your way."
"Lady, you're a loaded weapon alright - but I've paid worse with some quickwives." Dergo chuckled, as he dropped the small pouch on his belt. You win some, you lose some. Fortunately, it wasn't much - he'd have to count, but he learned that carrying around all the money you had on your belt was a good way to get rid of it soon. As was carrying it around at all, but maybe the woman wasn't sharp enough to go for the neck pouch.
He made a good show at leaving behind the rest of his pocket content. A bit of marijuana, tied in a tidy packet. Some coppers of change. A small bronze figure of a butterfly - nothing he could not do without. "Just so you know... It was worth it." he added, seeming intent on now walking away, calm as day.
Of course, he wasn't that sure. Not with someone threatening him with a weapon. But showing you're afraid is usually the worst thing to do in any situation where another has you under control.
Much to his relief, Dergo doesn't get shot in the back. Salla is apparently willing to let him walk away with his life.
Slightly poorer from the affair, but with the taste of her tongue still in his mouth, he walks through town.
Two things are heard, loud and clear;
The first is the non-stop chatter about the gambling tournament taking place at the Gold Goblin tonight. To 'Cheat the Devil and Take his Gold', is all anyone seems intent on doing tonight.
The second is a loud thunderclap overhead. The dark storm clouds that have been building all morning now threaten to culminate in a downpour.
His head still filled with the strange mixture of horny and hangover, Dergo indulged in some private fantasies... that girl had it all. She was bad, she was full of herself, and he wanted her. He probably wouldn't ever get her, no matter much had would wish otherwise. Not that that ever stopped him from trying.
After looking at a few opportunities to make up the losses of the morning (and then some) with a bit of nimble fingerwork, he noticed the weather. A good chance to change venues a bit... some tavern where he could indulge his favorite hangover cure.
Wet is decently populated this afternoon. Though the hot topic today seems to be the festivities at the Gold Goblin, enough people have crowded in here to get drunk with 'reasonable' prices, first.
Apparently, the general consensus is that Saul's gonna jack the drink prices up, once he has a captive crowd. Pre-drinking abounds, and some customers have taken to drinking a little too much already.
Dergo had already half decided to order when a thought crossed his mind. If the others were drunk and he was one of the few sober gamblers around, then it would be much easier to get his luck going, especially in any game that didn't involve the house too heavily. So he went down from his favorite poison to a rather tame ale (and even that was probably watered down close to being unrecognizable). Never hurt to be prepared.
He kept eyes and ears open to see if any old friends showed up... or old enemies. He wasn't looking for trouble, but trouble sometimes failed to appreciate that fact.
Surprisingly, it wasn't a customer that Dergo recognize, but rather his server. Tamara, a girl around his same age, had been working on and off at different bars in town. Dergo didn't know she worked here until he saw her stride over to his table.
"Hey! How are you!," she pretended to lean in to collect his cup, but instead she whispered "I hear the Soakers are after ya. They don't know it's you. They don't know yer name or nothin', but the description they gave pegs you to anyone that knows ya. And that's a lot of people. You might want to switch some of this up." she says, waving her hand all around him, to indicate his appearance.
She scoots off to another table in response to the snapping fingers of a drunk sailor, but keeps making eye contact with him, in case he has anything to add.
Dirty gave her a thankful smile, and a nod. "Thanks, I'll keep my ears on the ground, and the head down. Oh, and Tam? You coming along tonight to the Gold Goblin? I could use a pretty girl to push my luck up a few notches." He wasn't all too sure about how to handle the problems with the soakers, but he'd figure something out. They wouldn't stay on him too long - he was small fry. But how to weather it out?
He couldn't very well shave his head and join some monastery, it wasn't possible. So he'd keep his head down, grow a beard, and try to not step on their toes any further for a while. He knew how to mess around with magic, but some of the face-changing salve would probably run higher than the money he got for the job. If it really was such a huge deal, the golden-capped scroll was probably being negotiated over right about now. If it really was so valuable, they'd get it back.
The gold he'd make tonight would go a long way to make things easier. Maybe he could buy them off, even. And in all honesty, if he lost, maybe Tamara would console him - he still was somewhat frisky. That tiefling... he'd have to get even with her.
When she gets a chance, Tamara scoots back over to Dergo's table.
"Yeah, I've course I'm coming. You think we're gonna have any customers tonight here? You're full of it, if ya do. And I'll not be pushing anything of yours for luck. I've got my own stakes to worry about. You think I wanna do this the rest of my life?" She looks down at Dergo, making eye contact intensely for just a moment. "Well you're full of it, if ya do."
Dergo laughed, and kept the gaze up. For just a moment, he held the eye contact, until a (none too unpleasant) shiver ran up his spine. "So do i. Can do this only for so long until everyone around is pissed off. Guess the better one wins, then. Too bad, I'd rather have you on my side. So i don't have to crush you on the way to the top." He gave her a grin and a thumbs up.
She'd be there, and that was worth a lot. Old friends were the only thing you could halfway count on in Riddleport. And truly, if she was the one making it big, well... there could be much worse people getting that money.
He took a first sip from his tankard, and gave her a smile.
Dergo watches Tamara tidy up some tables and serve more customers for a time. She eventually hangs up her apron, and moves back over to Dergo's table.
"Listen, I'm going to go home and change into something that doesn't reek of beer and sailors. I'll meet you soon enough."
She walks out of the bar, giving a nod to the new server that comes in to replace her.
Dergo nodded, and finished up his drink. "Should i walk you home? You know, I may not be the safest guy around right now, but i might be better than noone." Hells, if it was not for woman, his life would be a walk in the park. Fleece a fancyboy now and then, scam a chelish bastard with too much money and too little sense. Most of his troubles started and ended with thinking with the other head.
But had you really pressed the issue to the core, Dirty probably would have had to admit he liked it. Liked never knowing if he woke up in a gutter or a bed. Liked the risk, loved the thrill and exhilarated in occasionally being taken for a ride.
Tamara nods and the two travel a short while to her place. She shares a room with another serving girl, and the place is clean, though sparsely adorned.
She asks you to wait outside while she changes; she has little enough privacy as it is.
After a short wait, the girl that emerges is well worth the wait. A transformative effect has taken place; despite her youth, she looks mature, capable, and commanding in a simple red dress. Her hair up, she gives the illusion of height. She no longer reeks of ale, either.
Hooking her arm around Dergo's, she asks; "Shall we go?", and leads him off toward the Gold Goblin Gambling Hall.
The storm that has been forming overhead seems to be approaching a climax; the thought that the cloud must be following closely over his own head, briefly passes through his mind. Tamara's closeness was enough to dispel the thought, however.
Approaching the hall, a woman is heard, long before she is seen;
"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 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.
As Tamara and Dergo begin to queue up, the storm breaks, releasing a torrent of warm water over the crowd. This would normally be a welcome feeling, if it weren't for the exhaust and fumes generated by the Dwarven Gas Forges. Mixed with those pollutants, the rain stings and burns the eyes and any open cuts. Most people try to push inside, and the servers seem to accommodate the rush.
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.
Both Tamara and Dergo are passed a registration form with a quill of red ink as they pay their entrance fee.
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 that appears to be empty.