Because every good adventure should start in a tavern – although this is currently more fantasy/medieval than it is steampunk or apoc.
The dice rattled across the table and landed in a spray: 6, 8, 5, 3, 10, 3.
Anjzeny pushed the threes around with a desultory finger. The dice weren’t being kind tonight – perhaps it was all for the better that there was no-one here to throw against.
“If your dice mislike you, perhaps you should consider cards… if you are in the mood to gamble.”
He could pretend not to hear the voice, a melodic alto with a strange twist to the consonants. He could pretend to be drunk, or engrossed in his drink.
Anjzeny looked up, instead. “I am, in a general sense, in a mood to gamble.”
In a pub such as the Laughing Bull, it was more likely to see a stranger than a common face; this stranger’s face was both more strange and more welcome than most.
Blue eyes pinned Anjezeny to his chair; a blue scarf wrapped around the stranger’s head and face, covering everything except those eyes. Blue robes concealed everything else.
Anjezeny found himself swallowing. He recovered with a lazy smile. “I am almost always in a mood to gamble.”
The stranger fell gracefully into a seat. “This is what I have heard of you, yes. And so I ask you, Anjzeny Clever-Fingers: how much are you willing to bet?”
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