Pathfinder – Shadow in the Sky: the Harrowed

Ambrus · 29th June 2009, 06:02 AM

Second Darkness:
Shadow in the Sky
- The Harrowed -

Of late, an ominous shadow has loomed over the City of Cyphers. While scholars theorize and theologians pray for divine guidance, would be prognosticators continue to spout ill omens of doom. But what might be the truth of the matter, and do any of the scoundrels of Riddleport even care? Perhaps not, as the talk of the town is the infernally themed gambling tournament about to take place at the recently refurbished Gold Goblin gambling hall. There seems to be no lack of treasure seekers willing to wager their souls for a chance to "Cheat the Devil and Take his Gold". Will you be amongst them?

Welcome to Riddleport, City of Cyphers

The third largest city in all Varisia, Riddleport is also the most notorious. Once a secret pirate haven, Riddleport has grown over the last three centuries into a port city in its own right. At first it served as a den of piracy, but over time the city has expanded into a true settlement, the frontier’s frontier, the Northernmost outpost on the lonely strip known as the Lost Coast. Yet while Riddleport has grown into a proper city, it remains true to its roots—you can get rich quick in Riddleport if you’ve got skill and a bit of luck. Yet, for every Riddleport success story, there are a dozen nameless bodies buried in potters’ fields or tossed to the hungry denizens of the sea.

Population : 13,300 (77% human, 7% dwarf, 5% half-elf, 4% half-orc, 3% tiefling, 2% halfling, 1% gnome, 1% other)

The Cyphergate

The enigmatic Cyphergate looms large over Riddleport's harbor, a constant reminder of the transience of life and even civilization, since few can even imagine what society might have raised this architectural wonder. The arch rises 350 feet above the water below, rising from the rocky crags on either side of the harbor mouth; a distance of nearly 700 feet. Its nigh indestructible surface bears massive runes and glyphs, which have thwarted the best attempts to decipher their meaning for centuries. Mages and scholars belonging to the vaunted Order of Cyphers have nevertheless dedicated themselves to unraveling the massive gate's eldritch purpose.

Riddleport Map

Riddleport Slang

[/quote]

CanadienneBacon · 30th June 2009, 08:17 PM

Girri
Female Human (varisian) Cleric 4 (Pharasma)
N Medium humanoid (human)
Init +8; Senses Perception +2
Languages Common, Varisian, Thassilonian
–––––––––––––––––––––––––
AC 15, touch 12, flat-footed 13
hp 24 (4d8 HD)
Fort +4, Ref +4, Will +6
–––––––––––––––––––––––––
Spd 30 ft.
Melee bladed scarf +4 (1d6+1/19-20/10-ft. reach)
or dagger +4 (1d4+1/19-20)
Ranged dagger +5 (1d4+1/19-20)
Base Atk +3; Combat Maneuver Bonus +4
Spells-Like Abilities (CL 4th):
At will–detect magic, detect magic, guidance, light
2/day–comprehend languages, cure light wounds
1/day–detect thoughts, lesser restoration
Spells Prepared (CL 4th): 4/4/3
2nd–enthrall, make whole, silence
1st–doom, magic stone, obscuring mist, sanctuary
–––––––––––––––––––––––––
Abilities Str 12, Dex 14, Con 10, Int 14, Wis 15, Chr 14
SQ channel energy, rebuke death, lore keeper, spontaneous casting
Feats Martial Weapon Proficiency (scimitar), Harrowed, Improved Initiative, Exotic Weapon Proficiency (bladed scarf)
Traits Into Enemy Territory, Reactionary
Skills Diplomacy +6, Knowledge (arcana) +6, Knowledge (history) +6,
Knowledge (local) +7, Knowledge (planes) +6, Knowledge (religion) +9,
Perception +2, Sense Motive +7, Sleight of Hand +3, Spellcraft +9, Stealth +3, Profession (fortune teller) +7
Possessions studded leather armor, bladed scarf, daggers x2, entertainer's
outfit, backpack, pocketed scarf, harpy musk, wooden holy symbol of Pharasma,
waterskin
–––––––––––––––––––––––––
Treasure 0 platinum crowns, 25 gold sails, 0 silver shields
Experience 6,000
–––––––––––––––––––––––––
Channel Energy (Su) Girri may unleash a wave of positive energy
in a 30-ft burst. All undead in this radius take 1d6 points of positive
energy damage plus 1d6 points of positive energy damage for every
two cleric levels she has attained beyond 1st (1d6 at 1st level, 2d6
at 3rd, 3d6 at 5th, and so on) and must flee from her (as if frightened)
for 1d4 rounds + her Charisma modifier. Undead in this radius are
allowed a Will save that negates the frightened condition and results
in half damage. The DC of this save is equal to 10 + 1/2 her cleric
level + her Charisma modifier. Undead who take damage greater than
their hit points crumble to dust and are destroyed by the power of
Pharasma. If a fleeing undead is subject to channeled negative energy,
it is not controlled, but does receive a new saving throw to dispel the
flee effect. Living creatures within the area are healed a like amount
by this wave of positive energy. Girri can choose whether or not to
include herself in this effect. Hit points gained above a living creature's
total are lost.

Lore Keeper (Su) Girri can touch a creature to learn about its abilities
and weaknesses as a melee touch attack. If successful, she gains
information as if she had made the appropriate Knowledge skill check
with a result equal to 10 + her caster level + her Intelligence modifier.

Rebuke Death (Su) Girri can touch a creature as a standard action,
healing it of 1d4 points of damage plus 1 for every two caster levels
she possesses. She can only use this ability on a creature that is below
0 hit points. If she touches an undead creature with this effect, it is
shaken for a number of rounds equal to her caster level.

Harrowed

Appearance

Personality

Background

Born of a Varisian mother in the haberdashery district of Riddleport, Girri learned the ways of the hard streets at an early age; the best pick-pocketing is done as a pretty girl in the temple district on worship-day morning, warm bread for one's belly is more quickly obtained by stealing it than by kneading it oneself, men are fools for women, and trouble comes to those overly finicky about their next bed and meal. For folk who delight in ill-gotten gain, the chancery of life, and the occasional dabble in the occult, Riddleport is a lay-about's paradise. Some 20 years ago--by the best estimate of Mother Crone of Bent Trace Futurities--Girri was given over to the Futurities shop by one [INSERT EVIL VILLIAN], who himself had stolen Girri from her indigent mother. Likely [INSERT EVIL VILLIAN] found Girri unsuitable for work as one of his street kids and sought to profit from her in whatever way he could. Since being sold into slavery to the stoop-backed Mother Crone, Girri has served as shop dandy. Sweeping the floor, preparing the old Crone's gruel, polishing the seer's "reliquary" on display in the reading room, hawking for customers--such was Girri's life until last autumn. By saving the occasional tip dropped by a customer (gone unnoticed by the old lady) and honest street thieving, Girri bough her freedom from Mother Crone and, leaving the Futurities shop on Bent Trace, set off for the Riddleport docks in the middle district hoping to ply the tidbits of fate-telling she'd gleaned over the years.  Without a roof over her head, the winter got the better of Girri. When the half-orc Jasker Gant found her one night in a dank hole-in-the-wall taproom, Girri has already fallen to Consumption. Jasker’s promise that a little Shiver would warm her sounded good to Girri, so she paid with what little coin she had. True to his word, the Shiver made Girri feel warmer. The hard truth, however, was that the drug gave the girl a false sense of well-being. Cold, on the streets in the dead of winter, and down to her last coins, Girri took to overnighting in taverns near the docks. She struggled through the cold by garbing herself in flimsy silk scarves normally reserved for picking pockets and selling herself to dockworkers, sailors, porters, and taproom clientele for enough coin to buy either a warm bed or another bit of Shiver. When Jasker raised the price of dose, Girri found herself without means to maintain her addiction and so was forcibly retired from use. Weakened by sickness and haggard to the bone by the price of her "freedom," Girri has a bone to pick with the half-orc that may result in the villain's head in a sewer.

Ambrus · 7th July 2009, 06:26 AM

Late afternoon, 14th day of Arodus, AR 4708

The shadows within the City of Cyphers grow ominously long as the sun dips towards the Calphiak mountains to the west of Riddleport. Pausing to look up, the dark haired Varisian woman studies the shadow in the sky as she has countless times over the past few weeks. It is currently floating above the harbour to the south. Girri draws her scarf more tightly around her shoulders to ward off the late Arodus chill as she turns away. Moving quickly along the bustling streets, she follows the setting sun westward as she passes the countless cheap grog halls and warehouses of the Wharf District. The last few days have been rainy; transforming most of the city streets into a muddy quagmire. Sailors in port for the night and dwarves off shift from the gas forges whistle catcalls and call out crude propositions to the woman as she passes by. Colorfully painted quickwives warn Girri away from their corners and their marks with glares and crude profanity. No matter. Girri has a destination and intends to reach it before full dusk; it's dangerous for a lone woman to be out in Riddleport after dark. Drawing closer, she falls into step with others who are clearly heading the same way as she.

Rounding a corner the Varisian woman and her companions catch sight of their destination: the Gold Goblin gambling hall. Although it is at the heart of the much neglected Wharf District and the building itself has long stood dormant and empty, it seems somehow rejuvenated now that the day of the big gambling tournament has arrived. Its formerly tarnished brass dome has been recently polished. Crowds of gamblers 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.

OOC: How does Girri approach the situation?

CanadienneBacon · 14th July 2009, 02:42 PM

Girri frowns and averts her eyes from the lewd catcalls of the portbound sailors. A passing thought of her former life astride bug-ridden straw bolsters under the greedy eyes of foreign men sends an involuntary chill through Girri, causing her to draw her shawl tighter about her shoulders and quicken her step.

The leering goblin statue plated in cheap gold draw Girri's ire with her own misfortunes, so the lass glares at the overwrought grin plastered upon the golden beast. "Think yer funny, do ye? We'll be seeing how the winter weathers yer gilt patoose this season. Bit of rain, a seagull or two to shait upon yer head, then we'll see who's pretty." Girri spares a glance up at the recently polished dome of the Golden Goblin gambling hall. "Or that bit of glamered nonsense, for that matter."

Taking a quick moment to see that the precious coins on her person are securely out of the reach of curious fingers, Girri pauses to also transform her bearing and face from misery to beauty. Shoulders up and squared, a lift in her step to accentuate the length and grace of her limbs, and a bit of long dark brown hair allowed to escape the bondage of her head scarf in a beguiling manner, Girri fixes a smile upon her lips and enters the Goblin, intent on scouting the premises and its occupants.

Spoiler:

Ambrus · 15th July 2009, 06:45 PM

Girri stands blinking amidst the press of bodies in the doorway as her eyes adjust to the comparatively dim lighting inside the Gold Goblin. "Looking ta take on tha Devil honey?" The speaker is the nearest of a pair of sultry beauties standing just inside the double doors. Both are dressed in form fitting red leather bustiers, diaphanous white skirts and faux bat wings, devil horns and pointed tails; their eyelashes are coal-blackened and their lips painted ruby red. Playing the part of alluring succubi, the woman who spoke offers Girri a perfunctory smile while her counterpart flirts playfully with the group of men ahead of her. "It'll cost ya ten sails upfront, yer immortal soul and yer mark on this here contract." The scantily clad woman hands Girri a slip of parchment from a stack and motions to a red dyed quill resting next to an inkwell on the table behind her. She waits a few moments for Girri to look over the parchment while glimpsing covertly at the Varisian woman's outfit. "Ya can just mark an X if ya can't write yer name."

CanadienneBacon · 2nd August 2009, 03:36 PM

Alarmed for a moment and suddenly paranoid, Girri stops in her tracks to examine first the girl at the door then the parchment. Knowledge (planes) +6, Knowledge (religion) +9. Nine Gods, is this real?! Surely she's just a trumped up girl of the night, tarted up. Girri quirks an eyebrow at the contract but keeps her thoughts to herself for half a moment.

After examining the parchment, Girri folds it and keeps in hand. Affecting her most dripping saccharine voice to reply to the harlot at the door, Girri shrugs her shoulders and slips the parchment unsigned into the underside of a scarf at her breast. "I'll think about it, love. First things first, though. Where's the bar?" Flourishing the silk scarves at her hip for the benefit of the prying eyes of the strumpet, Girri casts a look about the room as if seeking out the drink station.

Ambrus · 4th August 2009, 05:48 AM

Doing a double take, Girri pauses to size up the scantily clad Gold Goblin hostess. The Varisian woman knows that the notorious City of Cyphers has a significant number of residents with some amount of infernal ancestry. It isn't at all unusual to catch sight of a man with horn nubs or a woman with slitted eyes in a crowded tavern or bustling marketplace. Still, discreetly eying the voluptuous 'succubus' before her, Girri can quickly conclude that her appearance is merely a colorful affectation. The demoness' bat wings are simply trimmed leather sewn onto the back of her bustier while her horns are a part of her curved hair comb.

Coming to a sudden realization, the Varisian woman manages to suppress a giggle when she finally becomes aware of something that had been nagging at her about the pair of succubi at the door. Having learnt something of the infernal planes and their residents on the streets of Riddleport, Girri recognizes that the iconic infernal temptresses are in fact Abyssal in nature. Seeing as how demons are the mortal enemies of Hell's devils, it's particularly ironic that that they'd be the hostesses of a "Cheat the Devil" gambling tournament. Apparently whoever was in charge didn't know his demons from his devils.

Although she's never seen one before, Girri doesn't believe that the contract she's been handed is a real infernal soul-contract. At a guess, the Varisian woman imagines that such a document would have to include the signer's true name or some other equally irrefutable identification. Merely marking the parchment with an X or a false name would be sufficient to invalidate such a contract. True devils would never be so careless in drafting their legal documents.

Looking around for the bar, Girri glances around the large gambling hall. 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, bat-winged 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 a similar gaudy chain. 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 the waistband.

Girri has largely dismissed the tournament as mere theatrics when she catches sight of something genuinely devilish. High above the bouncers, hanging from the hall's cloth-draped ceiling is a large gilded birdcage within which crouches a small, bat-winged, pointy-tailed creature that sulks as it gazes over the room and occasionally rattles the bars threateningly. It appears to Girri to be a true devil, albeit from amongst Hell's lowliest ranks: an imp.

Adopting a snide tone, the succubi hostess draws Girri's attention away from the sullen imp and back to her. "First things first. Pay the cover and sign the damn thing or you'll be thinking about it outside hon. Either way you'd best unfurl it; you're holding up my line."

CanadienneBacon · 8th August 2009, 10:56 PM

Verging on slight irritation with the noise of the Goblin and the bustle of the event, Girri forces herself to re-focus and purrs a reply to the bat-winged mock succubus. "In such a hurry, are we, love? Careful...wouldn't want ter spoil yer rouge and wings with that famous tanari temper."

Wanting in the room and reasonably certain she's not signing away her soul, Girri takes a fresh parchment from the stack of papers and splashes a large red X as her signature. Handing the paper back to the mock succubus, Girri slings the girl a half-smile, plunks down the ten sails atop the contract, then moves to brush past the tourney-guarding duo.

OOC

Ambrus · 11th August 2009, 06:39 PM

Girri's dismissive attitude elicits a cold glare from the scantily clad hostess while her comment generates only confusion. "Tannery?..." As the Varisian woman is leaning over to mark the parchment and pay the admittance fee, she hears the pseudo-succubus behind her inquire to her fellow hostess: "What did she call me?" Certain she's been insulted, the hostess mutters "Same to you, ya cow" under her breath as Girri brushes past her.

The casino floor is a wide room carpeted in rich red that has been recently patched in many places. Spread throughout the chamber are a dozen tables where different games are to be run. Silken banners depicting grinning devils capering amidst liking flames hang from floor to ceiling along the walls, and wide vertical blinds are drawn over the windows. The chamber's ceiling is draped in layers of horizontally hung, gauzy beige curtains 20 feet above. Light is provided by numerous hanging chandeliers as well as several large copper braziers spaced around the room with live coals to give the chamber a more hellish light for the tournament. At the back of the chamber between the kitchen doors is a small dais bearing a bust of Desna, goddess of luck. Around the central dais, impaled upon upright pitchforks, are a quartet of 'heads' made of painted straw.

A small foyer to the left of the main hall provides access to the cashier's counter, which is secured by a row of vertical bars set firmly into the stone floor. A large archway to the right leads to a side room with a long bar of polished wood that extends along the back wall of the room and curves around at the end. Behind are mirrored shelves holding all manner of glassware as well as kegs of ale, beer, and mead and bottles of wine and liquor.

Most of the fifty-odd patrons are either at the cashier's counter exchanging their coins for gambling chips or milling about the bar area demanding drinks from the two barmen or flirting with the half dozen succubi serving wenches. This being the wharf district, most of them appear to be sailors, perhaps wanting a bit of fun while in port. Some of the more serious gamblers are milling about the main hall watching the croupiers and dealers as they set up their game tables in preparation for the tournament. Some inquire about the rules to the different games to be played while others seem to be sizing up their competition. An impatient few aren't waiting for the tournament and have begun their own impromptu card and dice games to pass the time. One group of sallow faced gas forge dwarves is playing a game of Towers with a crudely painted deck of Harrow cards; an activity normally considered abhorrent to Varisian harrowers. A trio of large, fair haired and boisterous Ulfen men are tossing bone dice while betting measures from their tankards of mead.

Girri wanders around the tables, uncertain of what to make of the Gold Goblin's gaudy and theatrical decor when she passes a young female croupier pulling an actual desiccated human head out of an old hat box. The girl plunks the mummified head down at the center of a horizontally mounted roulette wheel of sorts. Repulsed at the sight of the head's sunken features, the Varisian woman is startled when the head's eyes fly open and fix intently upon her. Its cracked lips split to reveal a long leathery tongue which waggles as the head croaks out a missive from beyond the grave. "This aint tha game fer ya missy; best mind yer cards instead." The croupier, although surprised by the head's outburst, doesn't appear horrified; only reproving. "Now, no lip from you Dungo! Not till the tourney at least..." Smiling at Girri, the dark haired young girl merely shrugs an apology. "Don't mind him. You're of course welcome to take a spin on the Ghoulette wheel once we start. I'm Lixy by the way. Welcome to the Gold Goblin." The croupier offers Girri her hand; the same hand that she'd just used to hold "Dungo".

CanadienneBacon · 11th August 2009, 09:56 PM

The creepiness of the joint begins to take its toll on Girri--the smoke from the coal braziers fills her nostrils with unpleasantness and the garrish lighting grates her nerves. Noting the forge dwarves' abuse of a Harrow deck, Girri frowns. Opening her mouth to object to the dwarves' roughneck abuse of the cards, Girri instead starts as the mummified head at the croupier's table addresses her. "Oi!" Smoothing her scarves, Girri also smooths the fright off her face and recovers enough to smile weakly at the croupier. "Lixy an' Dungo, is it?" Girri reflexively extends her hand to greet the croupier but flinches at the last moment when she realizes she's about to touch the same fingers that just touched the dessicated head. Embarrassed, Girri grits her teeth and shakes Lixy's hand anyway. "Sorry, the smoke's thick in here an' it's gettin' ter me head. Do I need tokens, or you take coins?"

Ambrus · 12th August 2009, 06:09 AM

Lixy smiles cordially as she launches into her croupier's spiel. "Devils don't care for mortal coins. You'll have to trade em in for the currency o' the realm; the pickings o' their victims." The young Varisian girl picks up a trio of wooden discs painted in colorful hues and holds them up for Girri to inspect. "Hearts for copper, teeth for silver and eyes for gold." The girl chuckles as she puts her tokens back into her cash box. "That's old Saul's tourney story anyways. You can trade up at the cash counter to the left."

Shaken and with her head spinning from the cloying smoke, Girri can't seem to help stealing glimpses of the dessicated head sitting atop the "Ghoulette" wheel as Lixy speaks. After having uttered its missive, Dungo's features have frozen in a mocking death rictus. The Varisian woman can't seem to shake a sense of deja vu as she furtively studies the dark leathery flesh of the severed head. But how can she possibly see something familiar in its mummified visage? Dungo certainly doesn't resemble anyone she's ever met before... Seeing her apparent fascination with her companion, Girri picks Dungo off the Ghoulette wheel and holds him up so as to give Girri a better look at her friend. With an impish wink at Girri, Lixy turns Dungo around and purses her lips at him playfully. "Whada ya say Dungi?" The head's features animate briefly to offer an answer: "Good thing I'm a deader; yer breath'd lay a cockatrice flat out." The croupier simply smiles as she places the head back unto the Ghoulette wheel.

Suddenly, in an epiphany, recognition flashes across Girri's consciousness. A beautiful woman pursing her lips to a severed head held in an outstretched hand; in her other hand, a handful of... gambling chips? Lixy, with Dungo's aid, has inadvertently embodied the Betrayal; a Harrow card Girri knows all too well. This card had been appearing ever more frequently in her recent Harrowings...

Reeling from the dawning revelation, Girri turns away from the Ghoulette table to clear her head. Confronting her is the sight of the seated dwarves who've just completed a hand of their towers game. Three of the bearded men, sporting their elaborate gas forges breathing apparatuses around their necks are eagerly counting their winnings. A fourth removes his filthy leather apron to reveal a surprisingly white shirt before picking up the discarded Harrow cards to deftly reshuffle them into the deck. In short order Girri recognizes the trio of masked dwarves as the living incarnation of the Crows card. The shuffling dealer on the other hand embodies the spirit of the Cricket; the card which initially led her to seek out the tourney in the first place.

Quickly the Harrower turns in place as the symbolism of other cards leap out at her almost too quickly to be assimilated. The malicious imp sneering at her from within his cage is none other than the Fiend. The eye patch sporting barkeep pouring drinks in the taproom embodies the Publican.

Ever more quickly, other cards come forth as if clambering for Girri's attention. Altogether, the crowd of gamblers, croupiers, guards and wenches seem to dance before her eyes and so she comes to recognize the entire scene as a manifestation of the endless Carnival. It's as if the entire Harrow deck is manifesting itself all around her, the interplay of symbolism hinting to a great secret that is tantalizingly close yet just out of Girri's grasp.

And then, as suddenly as it has come, the harrowing moment of clarity passes. The Varisian diviner has only experienced a handful such moments during her life, yet none so overwhelming. Is it a rare glimpse of the intricate workings of fate granted by the grace of Pharasma or a manifestation of the power of the Harrow itself? Does it matter? That Girri is meant to be here is abundantly clear, but for what purpose? The befuddled Harrower is catching her breath and contemplating this mystery when she hears Lixy clearing her throat behind her. "Uhm... Are you alright... miss?..."

CanadienneBacon · 20th August 2009, 06:37 PM

Girri's head swims and her eyes water. Putting out a hand to steady herself, Girri leans on Lixy's table and waits for the visions to pass and for her lungs to once again breathe. Wiping sweat from her forehead with the palm of her hand, Girri steadies herself with focused thought. "The cricket? A journey?" Girri's eyes flash to the shuffling dealer then back down to her own feet. With a frown caressing her brow, Girri muses, "But were the card misaligned? Will the journey end badly?" Girri turns her head a quarter turn to eye the barkeep. "The publican? But, again, a true match or misaligned?" Sighing, Girri wipes the last of the sweat beading on her forehead. "Who to trust, who to trust?" The trio of dwarves gambling with a Deck again catch her attention. Remembering The Crow, Girri shakes her head no. "Not them, no love, not them at all. Bad sorts."

Sure that Lixy overhead at least some of her muttered thoughts, Girri flushes, and recovered now, pushes away from the gambling table with a feeble smile. "I'll just go and get me some chips then, thanks." Not waiting for Lixy's reply, Girri steps to the exhange booth and puts down a gold coin. "Can I get ten teeth fer this?"

Ambrus · 21st August 2009, 01:45 PM

Stepping into the small foyer, Girri walks up to the counter blocked by a row of sturdy floor-to-ceiling iron bars behind which two seated women are busily tallying coins and passing out chips. Just behind them stands a broad-shouldered Ulfen man with close cropped blond hair sporting chain armor; he watches the goings-on attentively. The left hand cashier is currently busy making change for another would-be gambler.

Having plunked down her gold sail on the counter the unoccupied cashier takes the coin, gives it a perfunctory bite, drops it into a slot on the counter and begins lining up silver painted chips in front of Girri. "1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 teeth." The harried cashier barely looks at Girri as the Varisian woman scoops up her gambling chips and walks away.

Stepping back into the main room, Girri sees that the succubi hostesses near the front are still hard at work since another twenty-odd gamblers have joined the crowd amidst the game tables; and more are still crowding the entrance. The Gold Goblin seems to have drawn a good number of gamblers away from the newer and grander gambling halls up in the Free Coin district with this tournament. It remains to be seen whether or not it'll mark the beginning of a new and profitable era for the venerable Goblin though.

CanadienneBacon · 21st August 2009, 05:04 PM

Girri eyes the Ulfen man with appreciation for half a moment before shifting her attention to the woman cashier who took and bit her gold sail. Sweeping her ten "silver" teeth tokens into her palm, Girri tucks the tokens into the inside sewn pocket on a scarf that criss-crosses her chest then heads back to Lixy's table. "How much fer a turn, Lix?"

Unable to keep her eyes from Dungo, Girri shivers as the Harrowing images once again filter through her subconscious.

Ambrus · 21st August 2009, 06:12 PM

The Ghoulette croupier seems a little more unnerved to see the Harrowed woman returning to her table than she does about the presence of the dessicated head resting next to her. She smiles nervously as she motions to the wheel beneath Dungo. "Up to you. You place your bets on any number of the eleven slots: appearance, bloodline, demeanor, cleanliness, skill, clothes, body, race, courage, profession or brains. If after it's spun Dungo faces your slot he'll offer up an appropriate insult and you'll get your bet back in the next highest order of chips; teeth for hearts, eyes for teeth and ten eyes to every eye you put down. You can't put any bets down on the twelfth slot: Something Nice. If Dungo ends up facing that one then he clams up and everyone at the table gets their bet back in the next lowest order of chips rounded down: hearts for teeth, teeth for eyes and one heart to every ten you put down. We can't play until old Saul comes out and says his bit to start the tournament though. That should be soon now though." Lixy ends with an apologetic shrug.

CanadienneBacon · 25th August 2009, 05:12 AM

Girri follows what Lixy says with uncharacteristic attentiveness, nodding her head and absentmindly fingering a lone "tooth" at the same time. "Right." When Lixy finishes explaining the game, Girri ponders the wheel, deciding her selection. Suddenly impatient to start playing a game a few moments earlier she'd disdained, Girri begins to cast glances 'round the room--looking for Old Saul. "Old Saul...Old Saul? Old Saul. Old Soul. Why does that name ring me bell, love?" Girri purrs quietly to herself under her breath as she waits.

Ambrus · 25th August 2009, 11:05 PM

Mulling over the name Girri surmises that Lixi is referring to Saul Vancaskerkin. Rumor has it that he used to be a major player in the city's illicit power structure, but then tumbled down to the bottom somehow. Now seen as a small time operator, his recent acquisition and refurbishing of the Gold Goblin gambling hall is generally held to be a last-ditch bid to reclaim some measure of his former glory. OOC: Knowledge (local) 10

As the windows begin darkening with twilight, the last of the tournament's participants make their way through the hall's entryway, hand over the entry fee to the beautiful hostesses and sign the proffered soul contracts; bringing the total number of patrons in the hall to well over a hundred. The two succubi at the entryway pull the large wooden doors closed with a resounding boom that draws most everyone's attention. The rattling of the doors' locks can be heard throughout the hall as the crowd begins to quiet down. The demonesses then pick up the metal coffers into which they'd deposited the entry fees and, amidst whistles and catcalls from the crowd, sashay their way over to the raised dais. With a hand from the large shaven-headed guards stationed there, the succubi climb up and begin emptying the contents of their boxes into the overlarge chest. That done, the two guards slam the chest closed and begin securing it with a bevy of heavy gilded chains and padlocks. Throughout the hall all of the would-be winners' thoughts are firmly focused on the contents of that chest.

Then, on cue, more bare-chested male members of the staff emerge from the door to the kitchen carrying torches and walk in procession towards the dais. With all eyes now upon them, they set the various pitchfork-mounted straw 'heads' on fire. Some of the gathered crowd goes silent in expectation while others laugh, applaud or cheer the theatrics. A short man then climbs to the central podium and stands before the chain-shrouded chest with a demoness on each arm. 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. Girri, standing relatively close by at the Ghoulette table, is momentarily mesmerized by the the man's odd appendage. A hand that's a key; the female harrower is struck by Saul Vancaskerkin's uncanny similarity to the Locksmith. Might he hold the keys she needs to unlock her destiny as suggested by the Harrow? The man 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'm Saul Vancaskerkin proprietor of this fine establishment and your host for tonight. 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.

“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. Currently, all of you are Old Scratch’s prisoners in the first of the Hells, Avernus. If you want to work your way down to the ninth circle, you need to win games and more chips. Golden eyes, silver teeth or copper hearts, these bits of flesh and bone are what the devils use in Hell for currency, and they’re what you’ll need to pay in order to bribe your way into the next layer of hell. 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.”

Vancaskerkin grins evilly and the caged imp cuts loose with another profane tirade. “And that earns you the Devil’s Mark and an escort out of the game hall until the tournament is over. What, you ask, exactly is this Devil’s Mark? Well, it’s something too utterly horrible to even contemplate. The forfeiture of your very soul, it is. But I suppose I can show you what it is—gods know I more than deserve the Devil’s Mark. In fact, better make it two. Ladies?...”

With that, the two succubi accompanying him lean over and each firmly plants a kiss on Saul’s cheek with her ruby-red lips. When they pull away, their lip rouge has left clearly visible prints in the same shocking red on his cheeks. Saul beams as he cries out, “The Devil’s Mark, everyone!” which is greeted with a flurry of shouts, catcalls, and hoots. “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.

Across the table from Girri, Lixi announces loudly to those clustered nearby: "Ladies, Gentlemen; please step up and place your bets for our first spin of the Ghoulette wheel!"

CanadienneBacon · 27th August 2009, 03:55 PM

Listening to Saul, Girri feels a growing nervousness threaten to overtake her. The sights and sounds of The Golden Goblin verge and blur about the thin line between reality and fantasy, and Girri--as a person naturally shrouded in the filmy veil between worlds--finds the symbolism of the night's event to be overwrought. Girri's eyes swim in the haze not only of the smoke-filled interior of The Goblin, but in the general milleu of the evening...so many images, all with double or triple meaning, and all overlaid.

With a hardened grunt of dissatisfaction, Girri turns to Lixy's wheel and lays down five teeth. "Five on bloodline, Lixy."

Ambrus · 27th August 2009, 04:55 PM

Only two other players opt to plunk some chips down for the wheel's inaugural spin; a lanky young man in a salt-stained piecemeal outfit and a ruddy cheeked older man with a receding hairline who sports a brocaded vest and pantaloons. The former puts only one tooth on 'profession' while the latter sidles up to Girri and likewise places his bet of an eye on 'bloodline' lightly brushing the back of her hand with his in doing so. "You seem to be a woman of fine breeding miss; I'll gladly bet my gold on it." He says with a wink and grin at Girri.

Lixy waits a few moments to see whether anyone else wishes to step up to the table before waving a delicate hand over the wheel. "Alright. No more bets. Best o' luck to you all..." With a fluid gesture the croupier sets the wheel to spinning. After a few moments of clicking the Ghoulette wheel comes to rest with Dungo facing 'clothes'. The desiccated head loudly draws breath, cracks its mouth open and begins to speak in a hollow mocking tone. "All them scarves make ya look like a festive wind mill. Mind that ya don't get carried aloft by a stiff breeze missy." As Dungo quiets down, Lixy pulls a small lever on the back of the table, causing the twelve wedges around the head's central pedestal to swing down; thereby depositing all of the lost chips into a strongbox beneath the table. The croupier then smiles broadly at the patrons clustered around the table as she once more launches into her spiel. "Come now. Only twelve spots on the wheel; one's a winner every round. Try yer luck, but watch out for the Ghoulette's sharp tongue. Step up. Step up now. Place yer bets ladies and gentlemen..." All around her Girri can hear similar invitations being barked out by the dealers at neighboring tables.

CanadienneBacon · 27th August 2009, 08:59 PM

Pegging the younger man dressed in piecemeal cloth as a dockworker or sailor, Girri then shifts her focus to the older male of the pair. When the elder man brushes the back of her hand with a pinky, Girri does two things. The first, which she does out of long force of habit when dealing with men, is to mentally lock down all emotion as an internal ward against harm. The second is to purr and smile at the man but smoothly retract her hand and remove herself from his vicinity. Hopefully having signaled that she is not for sale, Girri waits for the wheel to cease spinning before winking at the older man and winsomely adding, "Never trust a woman. We don't have yer best in'trest at heart."

Having done her best to put distance between herself and the pantalooned older man, Girri moves from Lixy's table and begins to scout for a second gaming table, trying to decide what looks most interesting.