A Game of Farkle

Somewhere near the Avarican town of Quilaeum lies the small unimpressive village of Ollium, an otherwise uninspiring and drab collection of buildings barely deserving of being called a civilized Avarican settlement, despite its shortcomings it does however, possess the only tavern for miles and attracts many a patron from the surrounding villages. This tavern is exactly what you would expect, basic but full to the brim with good ale and cheap food. Its design is simple, not that its patrons care, simple wooden table and chairs, scuffed and worn from years of heavy tankards and restless elbows. Its once pristine whitewashed brick walls now soiled from years of candle soot and spilled drink from forgotten quarrels and its grand hearth providing warmth and light. The wooden flooring barely able to hold the wet mud from seeping through between its boards, not that it seems to bother the patrons, a good jug of ale, a plump wench and they forget all their troubles.

The day wanes and darkness begins to reign as the tavern fills with the tired villagers after a day of hard toil. The tavern wenches attend to their needs, pouring drink, serving food and handing out firm slaps to those who would push their luck. The air grows thick, warm and full of boisterous noise, the stench of ale and peasant fills the room. The sound of dice can be heard in the corner as they gamble away their meagre fortunes. 

As the peasants drink and gamble away their evening some begin to hear a faint noise from outside, which slowly gets louder and louder as it gets closer, those that can hear it stop and focus on the door, listening with intent. The sound slowly becomes clearer, singing? Whatever it was, it was off key, raucous and shameless. As the sound gets closer, more patrons take notice, the sound splits into two distinct voices, voices that have seen the bottom of more than one tankard so far this evening. As the voices get ever closer it attracts the attention of all the patrons, as they stop and look towards the door, the wenches and tavern keeper stood still, jugs and plates of food in their hands as they look in bewilderment at the tavern door. The singing becomes clearer despite it being punctuated by garbled laughter, something about a heroic knight and a girl from a mill? As the song reaches its triumphant end, the doors to the tavern are burst open, slamming against the walls as two figures stagger through, exposed from the darkness of night by the candlelight from within the tavern.

At the front of the two men stands a tall figure, broad shouldered and dressed in a fine purple doublet that has seen a few careless spills, with long golden locks, flushed cheeks and a grin wide enough to fill the room. This is without a doubt the young Noble Vatticus, his reputation precedes him, a man who shirks his duty as much as he drinks. Behind him staggers a hulking brute of a man, half armoured and just as drunk, evidently his bodyguard, still humming the last verse of their song.

Vatticus staggers forward, blinking blearily at the sea of eyes staring back at him, the whole tavern, frozen. A brief pause persists before Vatticus grins wider, throwing his arms out, he tilts his head back and bellows at the top of his lungs.

"PEASANTS!!!" 

Immediately shattering the silence, some patrons raise their tankards to Vatticus and cheer, others simply groan, regardless the boisterous noise and life returns to the tavern. Some watch Vatticus as he stumbles over to the bar with his companion close behind.

"BARMAN! Your most expensive ale for myself and my steadfast companion! I seek to further the night with drink and merriment!" 

The Barman looks at Vatticus seemingly already fed up with him but obliges his request. He carelessly dumps two poorly poured tankards of cheap ale atop the bar before placing his hands on the bar, leaning on it slightly.

"That'll be two gold pieces my lord" he says begrudgingly, his eyes revealing a deep disdain for Vatticus, as if the last 10 seconds he'd spent dealing with him was enough to make him reconsider life.

"Oh pfff" Vatticus scoffs as he wafts his hand towards the barman. "Dear man, my Father owns this tavern, place the burden on his tab" Vatticus has already begun walking away from the bar, tankards in hand, before he even finishes his sentence, leaving the barman stunned.

"Colossal tosser, your Father owns nothing this far from Town, absolute bimbling fool" The barman mumbles under his breath as he looks to see Vatticus' well trained lapdog staring straight at him. Fearing he heard him and with a wide eyed look about him, the Barman meekly retreats further into the tavern, away from the eyesight of Vatticus' lumbering pet and a potential beating.

Vatticus beckons his henchman over like one would demand a pet dog come to heel. "Mellius, come! I would see what treats this hovel has to offer" he looks about, eyeing up the tavern wenches with desire and scowling at the more uncouth peasants, before his eyes set upon a table nestled away in a corner. At the table is sat two men, one dressed in a long cloak, the hood of which obscuring all elements of the gentleman's facade and the cloak itself draped loosely yet covering his entire body from head to toe. Sat on the other side of the table is one of the villagers. Both men are deep into a game of farkle, the villager seems to be gambling his remaining coins in the vain hope of winning big. With interest, Vatticus stumbles over to the table barely able to keep his cheap ale within the tankard as it sloshes about threatening to spill, adding to the decorative spills that have soiled his clothing over the course of the evening. 

"Oh ho! Mellius! finally a game for men! You there!" Vatticus points at the peasant authoritatively before wafting at him. "Be off with you, I seek to part coin from purse and hasten the delivery of my fortune" Vatticus continues wafting at the peasant more aggressively until he gets the hint and leaves the table, disgruntled. Vatticus carelessly flings a small purse of coin at the peasant for his troubles. The peasant, while grabbing at the coinpurse eagerly, seems annoyed at Vatticus' display of arrogance and as he scurries off Vatticus takes his seat at the table.

He looks across the table at the cloaked individual and dumps two small coin purses on the table but before he can speak, a gruff voice beats him to it.

"So, you wish to play?" 

Vatticus sits there with his mouth open unable to answer a question he finds amusingly dim witted. "No no no, I found this particular seat most enthralling and simply had to seat arse upon it" he laughs heartily before continuing. "Now enough, I am not interested in conversation, I am here for coin!" Vatticus gathers the dice before the hooded gentleman again speaks.

"What are you willing to lose?" 

Vatticus sits back into his seat in frustration, flailing his arms about like a spoiled child. "For goodness sake man, enough with the interruptions! And if you think I will lose then you are grossly misreading the situation" Vatticus clicks his fingers at Mellius and points for him to stand directly behind the hooded man. Clearly indicating that should he lose, then Mellius is to "re-acquire" lost funds.

The cloaked man remains silent, instead he gently raises his right arm and his hand appears from beneath the cloak, his hand is bony and thin, his veins protruding from the skin, perhaps belonging to a man long in age. He grabs his dice and throws them onto the table as they finish clattering about and fall to silence as they reveal their numbers: 

1,3,3,5,6,6 - 150 points. A poor start.

The hand of the hooded gentleman retreats back as Vatticus gently cackles to himself. "Ah you know what?" he grabs the remaining purses of coin from his belt and dumps them on the table, gaining the attention of the tables around them. "This shouldn't be too much of a risk" he says as he grabs his dice and flings them onto the table:

2,2,2,2,2,2 - 3000 points. The best possible start.

Vatticus cheers along with Mellius and a few other patrons. "The luck of the Gods is with me tonight it seems! I do hope you have a few coins stashed away for I will be taking you for all you have!" Vattcius laughs heartily as the hooded figure remains ever silent as his creepy hand emerges from beneath the cloak and gently throws the dice once more:

3,3,3,5,5,6 - 350 points. Mediocre.

Vatticus continues sneering at the hooded mans meagre points tally. "Forget 10,000 points, you'll be lucky to reach half that!" he greedily grabs his dice and throws them:

3,3,3,3,3,3 - 3000 points. Unbelievable 

Vatticus shoots up in celebration as do many others in the tavern who cheer with him, a few tankards go flying across the room. His celebrations are abruptly interrupted as the hooded figure speaks.

"It seems you are of a fortunate nature, perhaps you should risk more, for you will surely win?" 

Vatticus chuckles at the challenge proposed to him.

"Oh go on then! I happen to have on me the deed to a new villa Father had built for me just outside Quilaeum, If you somehow manage to come back and win, it's yours" Vatticus can't help but grin widely, he absolutely believes he can't lose, carelessly slamming the deed onto the table, crumpling the roll of paper.

The Hooded man simply tuts "Now now Master Vatticus, one should place more care when in possession of such, valuable material, particularly if they are still in a position to lose" One can almost hear the smile as the mysterious man speaks. "You don't even know what you stand to gain from beating me, perhaps you will win nothing, perhaps you will win everything" The unmistakable sound of greed is clear as the man speaks, Vatticus' pulls a face of bafflement.

"Cease with the senseless riddles you senile old fool and play your turn, the sooner you play the sooner I can unburden you of coin" As Vatticus' finishes berating the man, the same old creepy hand emerges from beneath his encompassing cloak and delicately grabs the dice, this time however he does not immediately throw them, instead he brings them close to his hidden face and holds them there. A few seconds pass as Vatticus and Mellius both share a few bewildered looks before Mellius leans towards the man, he seems to be, talking to them? Mellius stands back up with a repulsed look on his face.

"Are you talking to the dice you odd muppet?" he looks back at Vatticus totally confused, almost amused "Perhaps he's praying to Pathaliah for good fortune" Both men laugh mockingly as the hooded man throws the dice with an unusual sense of determination.

1,3,3,3,4,4 - 400. Progress? he takes the fours and rolls the two dice.

5,5 - 100. A modicum of luck it seems, he rolls all the dice again.

2,2,2,2,4,5 - 1050. Gaining ground. The strange man retreats his hand back beneath his cloak, signalling the end of his turn.

Vatticus simply scoffs mockingly as he pretends to fearfully wave his hands "Oh noooooo, please strange old curmudgeon have mercy on me for I am blown away by your storming progress" Vatticus leans forward onto the table bellowing in laughter. He hurriedly snatches the dice and clutches them in his hand and as he does so, they seem to emit a flash of dim white light. As he goes to throw the dice he seems to hesitate, holding his arm still he seemingly ponders something for a moment before gently shaking his head and regaining his composure.

"Are you quite alright Master Vatticus" asks the mysterious figure. Vatticus chuckles nervously seemingly unnerved by his moment of hesitation.

"Never better" he replies with his usual sense of humour and a half smile as he goes to throw the dice, this time they seem to drop from his hand rather than him throwing them with his usual sense of arrogant purpose. Two of the dice roll off the side of the thick wooden table as the others reveal their numbers.

1,2,3,5, - 100. Perhaps his luck has run out? A look of shock and bewilderment strikes the face of Vatticus, such a sudden and violent change of luck is sure to rock even the sturdiest wills. He simply chuckles nervously as he attempts to regain his composure, looking over to Mellius he snaps his fingers and points down towards the dice that fell onto the floor, indicating for him to pick them up and he obliges without complaint like the good lapdog he is.