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Message: <blockquote data-quote="havenstone" data-source="post: 4421679" data-attributes="member: 61094">The Golden Knave and the Dastard’s DregsCARWYN AND KYLA run after the young noble who looked like a male version of Nina, but he gives them the slip, and they soon lose him completely in the masses of rowdy Lynarfolk. This turns out to be a blessing for Carwyn, as the two women give up the chase, pause for breath... and spot a signboard above a broad street across the way.  The sign shows a roguish-looking man with golden eyes, wearing a gold medallion and juggling five cards: a Blade, Star, Hawk, Flame, and Lion, the suits of the Caragond gambling deck. All the doors on the street bear smaller but similar signs representing “face” cards: the Scepter, two Cardinals, the Assassin, Fortune’s Scales. “What a satisfactory sensation to spy in a city of strangers a friend’s familiar face!” comes a merry voice from over their shoulders. When they turn, <a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4354425-post13.html" target="_blank">Nurak </a>looks straight through Kyla’s veil, winks, and whispers, “Salutations, my secretive savage sister!” “Nurak -- is that what I think it is?” Carwyn says reverently, pointing to the sign. “The most spendthrift of Senallines choose to gamble on the Street of the Golden Knave and its extraordinary environs,” Nurak confirms. As a barbarian, he receives a few black looks from passing Lynarfolk, but his long staff and daggers seem to give the bigots second thoughts. “It’s... it’s the size of Rim Square,” Carwyn says softly, glancing around the gambling quarter. In her head, she runs through all the games Porphyry taught her in front of the fire at the Hogshead: Round the Yard, Sarranese, Hawks Run, and the lords’ game, Imperium. Carwyn had a natural talent for them all, and her deft fingers had occasionally added a little extra advantage when her luck was down. “Carwyn -- we don’t have that much gold,” Kyla murmurs, suddenly wanting nothing more than to get back to the Palace. “Well, let’s fix that.” Carwyn heads into the Masked Queen and stakes herself at a table playing Sarranese. Kyla sits quietly to the side, extremely nervous lest someone recognize her in the rough tavern. Nurak joins the game and proceeds to lose with his usual chatter and good cheer. Carwyn cleans out her fellow players, but flirts with them enough that they hardly mind. SUDDENLY A YOUNG man comes over -- unshaven, with shaggy black hair and deceptively lazy-lidded brown eyes -- and lays down four cards in front of Carwyn like a gauntlet. “You’re playing too well for this table, gorgeous. Do you know Imperium? We need an eighth player in the corner.” Carywn looks up at him, notices the bruise around his right eye. They recognize each other at the same instant: he’s the rowdy young scruff that she punched out during the <a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4371169-post20.html" target="_blank">grand entrance</a> of the army of Wildengard into Lynar. As she scowls, he grins with a trace of embarrassment. “I’m just looking for an eighth player. You don’t need to worry.” “You might,” says Carwyn levelly, sweeping her winnings up in front of her. She hands them to Kyla, and stalks over to the corner table. “I’m Lune,” offers the young gambler as they sit down. “And you are...?” “Going to leave you with only a bruise to remember me by,” Carwyn retorts. Nurak gives an appreciative hoot of laughter, while Lune inclines his head with a languid smile. Kyla slowly loses her anxiety and watches with fascination through her veil as Carwyn and Lune begin winning from everyone else at the table. Carwyn’s initial disdain is eroded by the excitement of the game and her reluctant admission that Lune is by far the best player she’s ever faced. They fence with cards for hours, and both leave with five times the money they brought to the table. By the time Carwyn and Kyla leave for the Palace (under Nurak’s protection), Carwyn has to admit to a slight interest in gaming with Lune again. MEESHAK AND ASH have been unable to find Nina for more than a day, and have had poor luck in pursuing possible leads in the castle. They decide to recruit Darren and his newfound friends to help them look for clues to identify the man who hired Marcor’s assassin. Together, they go down to the salt-stained houses that cling to the shoreline, and send Darren and the dwarrow off to ask around the docks while they visit the <a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4363981-post19.html" target="_blank">Dastard’s Dregs</a>.  The Dregs is a decrepit tavern, with a pervasive stench of rot that goes beyond the fish littered around the outside. “A friend of mine was here a week or two ago,” Meeshak says to the barman, a scarred Megrimner. “He had a... business agreement with a man he met here. A man who hid his face, but couldn’t hide his stammer.” “A lot of people make business agreements in here,” growls the barkeeper. Meeshak scowls, but the Megrimner is uncharacteristically unimpressed by the gangly, gaunt young priest. Ash leans in and places five silvers on the bar. “We’re just looking to get back what he owes our friend. Wouldn’t it be worth your while to help us?” Ash isn’t particularly charismatic either, but the barman responds better to silver than intimidation. “The hooded man was tall. Broad shoulders. Stammered to me when he came in that he was looking for a man who knew what a knife was for.” The keeper of the Dregs shrugs. “Don’t waste more of your coin, I’ve got nothing else for you.” On the docks, meanwhile, Darren makes an unexpected discovery -- one which, years later, he would chronicle with warmth in his own memoirs.</blockquote>

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