Open Party at the Slag Heap! [You]

[Gad]

20th of Spring, 17th Bell The Slag Heap Fire Gad snorted. He took in the acrid smell of burning refuse, the camphor of an inextinguishable flame. It was the breath of this city. And it stank. You could say what you wanted about the city's park, or it's castle, or even it's people. Most didn't care. But you didn't talk shyke about the Slag Heap. Why? Because everybody loved the Slag Heap. It was that simple. The snow had mostly melted, but the air was still cool and so there were a few chilly, muddy puddles around the place, except nearest the fire, which was dry and warm. Of course, there were couples around here necking it up in the light of the burning garbage pile, and people getting shyke-faced drunk, and some people shooting dice (Gad was in the latter category) but there was more of each group than usual, with more pouring in. Gad didn't know what it was that made today so special, but he could see the place getting more crowded by the chime. It was all kinds showing up too; sailors, carvers, miners, butchers, bakers and candlestick makers. Gad didn't even know Sunberth had such a candlestick industry going on but- there they were. As soon as they could get off work, they were turning up. And the kind of insulated paranoia an outsider might expect from the city was nowhere to be spotted, at least not to Gad's eyes. No, it was the other face of the city. There was an unbridled rambunctiousness and free-ness of spirit, a generally positive attitude, and a lack of affect and pomp. It was just people having a good time, and it looked like it was going to get better. Syna, in the indigo sky, was working her way to the horizon line, and Leth was already hanging out there, visible with only a sliver of his face hidden, the rest pale and showing. There were kids near the fire tossing in things and watching them burn, and bums pissing in it. A group of men set up a pig over a spit, and used the Slap Heap to light their fire and start cooking. There was even a vendor coming around with a cart, packed with ice from the winter and kegs of beer. Of course, he wasn't giving them away cheap, but people looked more than willing to pay whatever he was charging, judging by the line Gad could see already forming. The sound of a bard tuning his lute somewhere in the background twanged over the dull roar of the gathering crowd. The congregation had come to worship their local deity, the small sun that had burned all through that bleak, bleak winter. Gad's attention was called back to the craps game he was participating in. "Hey. Heeey! What was his name? Gad. Gad! You in, or out?" Gad turned his head from over his shoulder and looked ahead at the man he was crouching across from. There were four others hanging out, two on either side of Gad. "Hmm, oh, yeah, uh- heheh, what were those rules again?" There were groans all around, and the swarthy, bushy bearded, balding miner's was the loudest. "Ugh, petchs' sake, listen lad. Rules of the game is very simple, alright? You-" he pointed at Gad aggressively. "Shoot the dice. Savvy? Okay, first role each round is the come-out. Now, the come out can have two" He held up fingers like Gad was slow "count 'em, two, different out comes (don't get out comes and the come-out confused now, boy.) Either you're a natural, or you crap out. If the role's a crap shoot- and that'd be snake eyes, a t'ree, or two sixes- everyone who was betting Right, they loose. Mkay, now, you get yourself a natural- that'd be a seven or eleven mate- anyone betting 'Right' wins. Okay? So, what about all the other numbers? Well, you get one of them, that's where the second half of the round comes in. It's called the point. Now the point is whatever number you rolled on that first round, barring it be a natural or if you crap out, and now you gotta hit that number 'fore you roll a seven. If you can manage that, everyone betting Right wins, and you get to roll again next round. If you that don't happen, then you 'seven-up' and pass those dice to your left there, and Right bets loose. Remember, the Wrong bets win whenever the Right bets loose, and the other way round too. Cept when you get a twelve. Then Right bets loose, and Wrong bets stay in the pot as Wrong bets for the next round. Oh, and one more thing; Right bets can be raised after the point, and Wrong bets can be lowered, and you can do this before each role after the point. But no matter which you have or which you do, no take backs. Got it?" Gad blinked. "...Yes?" "O'course there's more rules here and there, but you'll pick it up as ya go. Now, come on, what's yer bet?" "Uh...uh. Hm. Lessee now... I'm gonna go with... Right?" "Okay, and?" "Make it, uuuhhhh, two silver?" "Ooooh! Uh-oh boys, watch out- we got ourselves a big spenda over here! Alright then throw the coin down now boy." The man sniped. The rest of the men put in bets around the same size, give or take a three or four coppers. The man to the right of Gad gave him a set of five dice to choose from, and Gad selected two. The man put his dice set down where everyone could see them, but off to the side of the flat, packed ground they'd be rolling on. Gad tumbled the dice on the ground in a few test rolls to show that they weren't loaded and that he didn't have anything up his sleeve. Then, he took them up in his left hand, jangled them around a bit, and rolled. He clinched up as they hit the ground turning end over end. The tumbled to a stop. Two fives. A point. Which meant Gad would be rolling again, until he hit a seven, and lost, or hit a ten, and won. "Boy, I knew it was good idea to let you play. Things're already getting interesting." That didn't just apply to the little dice game Gad and these miners had going on. There was a decently large swath of people turning out, and things were getting more festive by the moment. That lutist had tuned up his instrument- kind of- and was strumming away at chords now. The roasted pig's scent was wafting through the air, making more than a few mouths water, and the working stiffs were downing their cold brews and laughing about their day-to-day. It was actually pretty nice. Gad got handed the dice, and started tumbling them end over end in his hand as he prepared to role.

Hey!Man, I really hope I set the scene! For any of you who said tl;dr, the gist is that it's just around sundown and things are kicking off. There's cold beer, fire roasted pork, a lutist (luter?)- a dude with a lute is what I'm saying, and a craps game going on that was central to this post, which I tried to explain the rules of if you're interested (thanks, wikipedia).

Of course, don't feel obligated to jump into that dice game, or even interact with any of that junk. Throw whatever you want in there, however you want, ignore Gad completely if that's how you feel! It's a party, go nuts, have fun, kill a dude! No, no. Don't do that, that would make things really awkward for everyone.

[James Bishop]

Bishop sat on a rock, casually observing a trio of men mercilessly kick and punch a guy who was lying on the ground. At first it had been sort of amusing to watch the men vent their aggressions on the man. How he feebly had tried to defend himself at first. Those arms no longer moved, the legs lay flat against the ground. Only the occasional powerful kick made the man move. The entertainment value had dropped significantly when he had lost his consciousness. Now he might as well be watching them kick a dead pig around. Something more important came to his attention.

Ale.

As he turned the mug upside down and with a faltering heart saw the precious golden drops fall to the ground, he realized: He needed to find more ale! With a clear goal in mind, the ale-hunter set out. Boldly stumbling through several camps. Looking for the kind stranger who had turned his back to his supply of ale. The first camp several of the people had brandished steel when seeing the stranger stumble into their camp. Quickly he had stumbled out of it again as the mean men behind him shouted words reminiscent of Bishop's days as a sailor.

The fifth or sixth camp he stumbled into had a barrel full of nice cool ale! The big burly man next to it had his back turned. Seizing the opportunity, he knelt by the barrel, opened the tab and poured himself a nice cold one. His pearly whites came forth as he greedily looked at the mug of ale in his hand. Sweet liberty! To his lips it was brought and that was when he was sucker punched in the middle of his face. The precious ale flew from his grip.

'You stealin' from us boy?'

"petch... That hurt. I didn't steal! I paid the coin, look on the barrel you oaf!" He feigned anger as he shouted back - surprisingly, after being slugged in the face anger was not a hard emotion to fake, so the ale-hunter turned ale-thief sounded rather convincing.

A brief moment the burly man's eyes shifted to the barrel. Seeking the coins Bishop had not left there. Bishop had found the mug again, it was flung at the man and the ale-thief was quick to get on his feet and flee. Luckily there were enough parties and enough crowds for him to vanish into. Running and stumbling by several groups of people he finally found one large enough and diverse enough - more importantly, friendly/drunk enough for him to join. Some sort of game of dice, there were a tall oaf next to him. Playing the game currently.

"Five copper that... this southern looking fellow makes the throw." - The ale-thief wasn't even sure he had five copper pieces on him. Well, that just made it all a bit more exciting. "And where does one get some ale around here?" The ale-thief, turned into ale-beggar, asked the people gathered. Seeking the empathic kindness of these dear friends he had known for the past five seconds.

[Ley]

This was Ley's first time at the Slag Heap fire. It was crowded to the point that it's hard to breathe. The fire was burning brightly with people's camps surrounding it, all the sounds buzzing and rolling in his ears. Its heat nagged at his skin a bit when he got close to the pile. Ley looked around a bit and chose a rock to sit down. The fire smelled like wet dog, garlic and the tobacco that Royce usually smoked. It felt awful going through his nose. Resting both of his wrists on his knee, Ley snorted and tried to look for the pure air which was almost impossible to find when he was so near the heap. The Symenestra set down his backpack and began to fumble through his things to find the beautiful flute he always used. While stretching his muscle, Ley looked around the place and began his performance. With his eyes closed, he put his slender fingers on the holes of the flute and gracefully moved them. The air flowed through the holes, then turned into a slow melodious tune. It was just as soft and warm as the fire, burning as though there would be no winter. Sometimes there was an error somewhere but he ignored them. As he sat there for a while, some people tossed him some coins and cheered on loudly. They must be drunk. Ley continued to play his flute, his eyes beamed brightly as a thank you. A young woman made her way through the crowd and sat next to him. "Nice performance, little one." She winked at him "I haven't seen you around. Your first time here I suppose?" "Thank you. And yes, this is my first time here"He grinned coyly, eyes looking at the ground. "Aw, aren't you such an adorable little one?" The woman turned around and huggeg him tightly while pressing her cheek against his, rubbing as though he's her cat. "Ah...Cannot breathe...Sister..." He gasped for air, flailing left to right and wiggle his best to escape the stranger's grasp. His fragile bones was being crushed under pressure and he was trying to prized her fingers around his torso. "Oops, sorry. But you're just so cute I couldn't hold back..." The woman stuck her tongue out, hands waving as if she was apologizing. Ley gave a small nod and left out a big sigh."No, It's okay." He said. Reaching down his hand to the backpack, Ley took out a bottle of wine and after opening it, began to turn the bottle upside down with swift moment of the wrist. The woman quickly noticed and abruptly caught his wrist with great force and angryly exclaimed:"Hey, a kid so young like you shouldn't drink this stuff."By then, she looked down at his finger and saw his shiny black claws. "Ah..." the woman's face tuned pale. Ley bowed his head low, smiling sadly. He pulled his wrist out of the woman's hand and continued to drink. The wine was bitter to his tongue, burning his throat like what the light of the heap fire was doing to his eyes. He didn't dare to look at the woman any more.

[Gad]

One die tumbled to a three, the other ended up a six. There were a few grumbles, a few hoots and hollers as they handed the dice back to Gad. He'd hardly noticed the mustached guy entering the game. Gad took the numbered blocks in his hand and rolled his eyes over the pips. So how's this go again? I need a ten right? He tossed them. three, then... three. Six. Close call. He took the random number generators in hand once again. Steady calm breath. Maybe, if I trust in the heart of the dice... He clenched them in his palm and closed his eyes. "What in Morwen's frosty butt are you doing?" Okaaay. Guess not. Lucky god- or gods, whatever. Come on, give me some of that good kind. He tossed them. Three, then four. "Yes!" A few groans were heard around the circle, and the guy who'd given him the tutorial shook his head and sent him a glare through steely eyes, just as the man to the left of Gad snatched the dice out of his hands. "Awhh... what?" "What are ye 'yessin' about ya dimwit, weren't ya paying attention!? You seven-up'd, meanin- ahem, ya lost. Fool." "Huh? Oh. Oh yeah, right." Gad cleared his throat. "So uh, what happens now?" "New roller, we bet again." "Oh, right." This time, Gad waited for the others to place their bets first, before he threw in his coin. He noticed that most of them, even the ones who's bets had won last round, put in less coin this turn. Gad tossed in a silver. He watched as the new roller selected his dice and started to make his rolls. It was only now that he registered the newcomer as having asked a question, and that no one else had answered it so far. "I heard a guy over there hawking the stuff. There," Gad pointed as he rolled he eyes over the scene "by where that little kid with the flute is-... getting drunk as a skunk..." The image just hit his eyes. Oh well,he wasn't the kids' dad. Probably would've been bumming a few swigs off the boy if he was anyway, so it wasn't like that'd be an improvement. Gad grinned. From the looks of things from where he was, it looked like the boy was felling up some groupie. Heh, good for him. The new player, the one with the mustache, didn't have time to seek out refreshment, though. "No! I'm not gonna 'just let it go', when you bring the ale, then you just let it go. I swear. That's what the petch is wrong with this city. It's overrun with rat,s and you're too squeamish to squash one when it runs underfoot!? Come on, I saw him over there." Unbeknownst to Gad, it was the man who'd Bishop stolen his ale from, and four of his friends, looking to either talk him down or back him up. Even over the various bards and buskers, revelers and drunkards, it was easy to hear the ale-stolen man's bellicose shouts. Gad turned his head, just in time to see man and his posse traipsing through the crap-shooter's game space and trodding over their bets. "You!" The man angrily pointed at Bishop, though Gad dumbly assumed it wsa himself and gestured to himself in amazement, searching his memory for how he'd wronged this man. Man, I need to stop petching people over like that. I don't even KNOW how I screwed with this guy. A moment's of recognition gave Gad the notion that it was actually the mustached man they were after. Though, they might have had a harder time than they thought. "Bloody shyke in my stool!" Shouted the man with the dice in his hand as he stood up to the coin-trouncing ale-monger. The dice-man's eyes went from the trounced on coin up to the eyes of the man chasing Bishop. "I think you better take a few steps back friend." "Oh yeah, or what?" "Or I'll push you back!" And the dice roller punctuated the sparklingly witty verbal spar by doing just so. Now the gamblers were up, on their feet, swinging wildly at the ale-man and his friends in what quickly devolved into a battle royal. Gad ducked his head down and tried to scramble clear of the brawl but someone's flying kick did manage to smack him in the cheek before he got out of there. The coin! He thought The coin! Petch chance, I gotta grab it while I can! Gad's eyes darted around the ground. Amidst the tumbling toes of the fighters and the small swirling cloud of dust kicked up by their fight he could see glimmering bits of copper and silver in a pile there, some of it being intermittently knocked about. There.