• Graded • The Hustler

[Noth]

Ymiden 1, 717
A Tavern Just Outside of Etzos

Everyone had enemies.

It was the inevitable nature of free will that there would be those who were diametrically opposed to one’s own views on life. Law constantly fought against crime, and justice against injustice. Honorable people fought against the dishonorable, and order constantly found itself beset on all sides by the gnawing tendrils of chaos. The core beliefs of a person were always at war with their opposites, though that combat took many forms; verbal, mental, physical, and violent.

Everyone had enemies, and in the low-lit tavern, the enemy of everyone was a man named Lewis Parren. It was clear just from hearing his name that his parents had been almost fanatical followers of the Pahrn family, and had at some point determined to change their name to better suit their beliefs. . Either that, or maybe he was some distant off-shoot of the primary family. Whether he was a relative or not, he certainly dressed like one, with silky robes hanging off of his body, and a set of golden rings caressing his fingers. If he wasn’t so confident in himself, he probably would have been mugged on his way to the tavern, but criminals had a sense for self-assurance that kept them from preying on those they perceived to be strong. Either way, the fellow had a penchant for stating his name out loud, as if though he were some sort of big deal. No one in a bar liked someone who talked a big game, which meant that many of them had challenged him to assorted pub games.

The twilight hybrid had been nursing a drink for a couple of breaks now, and had observed the highly methodical nature of Parren. He would flaunt around his ability, sitting back and chugging what appeared to be a heavily intoxicating drink, but what was in reality little more than basic juice, and then inevitably be challenged by a ne’er-do-well tired of his bragging. What would follow would be a smack-down on the part of the challenger, who would almost always laugh in the man’s face. Parren would fake some tears of anger; an achievement accomplished apparently by slamming his leather slippers into a nearby table, and hastily throw out something akin to ten gold nels onto the table, challenging the man to match the bet, and often challenging his courage at the same time.

Of course, the challenged person would feel obligated to accept the challenge in order to defend their pride, and would often match the gold nels on the table as best they could. It seemed to make no difference to Parren whether or not he was playing for ten nels or a single one, so long as he had the opportunity to profit. His favored game seemed to be one wherein a ball was bounced over a net, and needed to strike other balls on that side of the board into a hole. If the striker; as the ball being bounced was called, went directly into the hole, then the player lost a point. If other balls were knocked into the hole, they gained a point. Play continued until there were no balls left on the table.

Parren was terribly good at the game, much to the chagrin of the other patrons. Noth was fairly confident that if he challenged him, he would lose just like the others. Thankfully for him, he hadn’t the coinage to meet the bet in the first place, and thus any challenge directed at him would be pointless.

Still, this was the first time in Noth’s memory that tavern goers hated someone else more than they instinctively despised him over his race. In fact, one of the other patrons stepped over to him, taking a seat at his side and rapping upon the bar with upsetting amounts of force. The bartender; a replacement for a familiar face who was out of town for a couple trials, poured him something smelling of cheap brandy. The fellow patron gulped it down within two trills, and promptly started whispering a tirade about Parren. After he had stood and departed from the bar, Noth had become so terribly acquainted with the supposed heritage of the hustler, that he felt as though he had sat through an entire presentation on his bloodline.

With a smug grin, Parren proudly announced another victory over a red-faced and clearly frustrated man. The crowd about the tavern groaned, and returned to their drinks, though Noth could clearly see several sets of eyes observing the arrogant and cocky fellow, awaiting his comeuppance.

Noth recognized an opportunity immediately.

[Noth]

Before anyone could become allies, they needed to bond. Typically, that bonding was relatively mundane; a trip to a local play, a walk through a park, an activity shared. It was well known, however, that some of the strongest bonds were formed of the harshest emotions, of fear, of pain, of anger. Soldiers typically subscribed to an intense loyalty between their battle brothers, because they had faced adversity together and survived against insurmountable odds and threats to their lives.

The twilight hybrid had no intention of forming a mundane bond with the denizens of the tavern, but rather was far more interested in the prospect of turning them against a common foe. Once that common ground had been established, it would be far easier for him to convince them to align themselves with him. Lewis Parren in his fancy dress and his arrogant words had managed to turn a fair portion of the tavern against him, but none of them had made any moves beyond challenging him to the occasional game, or else accepting his own challenges. It seemed as though the band of denizens had forgotten the proper way of dealing with hustlers.

The slick snake saw the glint in his eyes, and a finger was projected from his hand towards the Avriel, his mouth curling into a half-grin that only brought out the confidence in his poise and form.

“Want to try your hand?” It was an invitation, but it was also a challenge, and the immediate pressure of a dozen eyes settling upon his visage caused his feathers to ruffle unconsciously. He steeled himself, his plan having been fully designed by the time he forced himself to stand, shaking his legs slightly to remove any sleepiness that had settled there. He hadn’t stood for nearly the entire time he had watched, and he found that it took a slight toll as he painfully stretched his limbs, and began to stalk over to the table.

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to take your money.” He spoke, matching the confidence of the hustler with his own, albeit his voice was filled with far less sportsmanship and far more venom.

There was a gentle chuckle that forced itself from behind the gritted teeth of Parren as he setup the table, placing each ball in its appropriate place, and ensuring that the board was clear of any potential obstacles. Finally; with a glance around the room to make certain that all eyes were on him, he placed his normal bet of ten golden nels upon the table. Though the hybrid technically possessed enough nels to match him, he had left a majority of his coinage at home where it was safe, and had instead ventured forth with only a few nels to his name. One had been spent already in ensuring that he was given a cheap drink and a small loaf of bread, but the remaining six were not placed with exceptional vigor upon the table.

A low harrumph escaped Parren’s lips as he observed the slightly lower bet, and Noth could imagine his eyes rolling dramatically as though he were frustrated at having to play with such poor and unworthy peasants. Were it not for the feathers that coated his body, the twilight hybrid felt certain that the scowl crossing his face would have made Lewis rethink his actions.

“Please, take the first move, I insist.” The cockiness flowed off of him in waves as he casually walked over to the bar, apparently unworried about the prospects that his opponent might actually score well, and he began ordering a refill of his lightly alcoholic juice. Whilst he leaned against the bar, Noth observed that he began to casually flirt with a nearby girl, who responded in kind by slapping him across the face and storming off to her table of companions who had all erupted into a ruckus of laughter and jeers.

Parren shook his head, rubbing his cheek with a snort, and lifted his nose upwards towards the table, apparently deigning that they did not exist.

Meanwhile, the hybrid looked towards the board, taking hold of the lightly colored ball which acted as his projectile. He was a fairly talented archer, and so the idea of ranged activity seemed fruitful to him. All of those around him at the bar had likely possessed little activity involving such tools, and were unaccustomed to the geometric mindset required to successfully pitch the ball. His mind worked through the solutions, determining that the best place for his first strike would be to simply strike the rack of balls directly in the center and scatter them across the remainder of the table.

He took a breath, and bounced the ball upon his side of the table. It flicked through the air with surprising momentum, far more than he had accounted for with his throw, and soared directly over the net dividing the two sides of the game table. It proceeded to dive directly into the scoring pit, not even scraping the sides of the thing as it sank into it.

Were it the goal of the game to get the ball into the hole, he might have smiled, but instead, he frowned. How had he failed? He had calculated the exact angle he needed to strike, and yet, somehow he had managed to miss it completely. It was an awful case of the mind knowing exactly what needed to be done, and the body failing to perform up to par.

There was a low whistle from behind him as Parren finished taking a draft of his favored drink, a slight whiff of it identifying it as something peachy.

“Here friend, let me show you how it’s done.”

[Noth]

Games were supposed to be fun. The entire premise of a game was that it was an enjoyable recreational activity through which someone could focus on something other than the dreadful circumstances surrounding their lives. Admittedly, some people had fewer struggles than others, but there was still an inherent escapism which acted as the motivation for games. Most games were fairly genteel and; whilst competitive, weren’t liable to affect anything much in the real world. Certain games had grown more popular than others, and occasionally that popularity took the focus off of recreational fun, and mutated once childish endeavors into far more serious affairs.

Noth was not entrapped in the simple playing of a children’s game, but was instead locked into a contest. Perhaps Lewis Parren still believed that this was a simple game, and that the money that he would net from his victory would be forth the struggle, but he did not know what had already been planned for him in the dark bird’s mind. No, Noth recognized instantaneously that he hadn’t the skill for playing the game that Parren did, but he also knew instinctively that he would win the overall struggle.

Nonetheless, he couldn’t rush things. He couldn’t assault the man immediately, couldn’t allow his plan to be known until after he had already lost, until the challenge had been failed. He played on, watching as Parren continued to best him round after round, his own shots going wide and missing the table, or striking a ball at an odd angle, or perhaps even landing directly into the scoring pit. Still, despite his ulterior motives, Noth learned much about the game as he waited for his opportunity to arise, and he found that his skills were gradually sharpening as he played.

Another ball was tossed upon the table, striking it at a nearly vertical angle. It bounced just barely over the net, subject to the laws of gravity, and crashed down onto one of the balls which Parren had setup to be knocked in on his next turn. The ball was propelled with surprising force into the scoring pit, and a pleased smile crossed his face.

“Finally got one in, eh?” Parren spoke, immediately ruining the moment by bringing some context into his victory. They had played five rounds now, and with only four balls remaining on the board, he had only just now managed to knock one into the pit. Parren had managed to sink the remaining eight, though he had suffered a single mishap wherein he had lost a point by sinking the striker. Noth, admittedly, hadn’t a clue what his score was, but he did know that he was somewhere in the negatives. It mildly frustrated him that he was losing the contest to Parren, but he satisfied the ravished Hawk by letting it focus upon the plan.

It was Parren’s turn, and he handily took hold of the striker, tossing it upwards into the air with the familiar grace of someone who spent nearly all of their time playing the game. Clearly, this was his primary source of income, and the twilight hybrid listened intently for the gentle jingle of coins at his side which was indicative of the amount he had managed to scam off of the other patrons of the bar. Whilst Lewis was busy with his turn, Noth stepped over to the bar on the pretense of refilling his drink, but when the substitute barman stepped forth, he leaned in, and motioned for the fellow to do the same.

“That hustler’s going to drive all your business.” He whispered in a conspiratorial tone, casting a haphazard glance at Parren as he began to toss the striker.

The barman simply sighed, nodding his head and nervously taking hold of his moustache as he accepted the reality of that statement. It was logical enough to assume that if someone was taking everyone’s money, that they would have less to buy drinks and food from the tavern, and thus it was detrimental to the barkeep to keep the hustler around, despite his frequent refills.

“I’ll take care of him for you, if you keep quiet.” He whispered, a thinly disguised grin crossing his lips as the plan was revealed to the man.

The barkeep seemed immediately opposed to the idea, and began to speak, but then shuddered his voice as he once more considered the implications of having a known hustler at his establishment. What would his boss think of the presence of the slick snake?

“Take care of ‘em then. No killin’ and no breakin’ stuff.” Those rules were fair enough, considered the twilight hybrid as he gleefully pushed himself off of the bar towards an arrogant Parren who had only just finished his turn.

[Noth]

The time was drawing near to put a close to the charade. The game needed only another round or two until it had been finished, and Parren’s cocky arrogance was once more on full parade. He teetered about the room, drinking from his juicy concoction with a wide grin on his face. It seemed that everywhere he looked, there were those who would snarl and look away, attempting to avoid him as best they could. Truly, he had managed to become so disliked throughout the entirety of the bar, that Noth genuinely wondered why no one had decided to do what he was going to do with him.

Parren bounced the striker across the net one final time, knocking the final point into the pit and immediately squealing with delight, as if though he had won for the first time. Hastily, his hand scooped up the nels on his side of the table, grinning like an idiot as he returned the bet to his pocket.

“There there, it’s okay. Now you can be like everyone else!” He chuckled at his false sportsmanship, apparently finding it rather humorous that he had bested everyone in the tavern at Piol. He danced around the table, drawing the ire-filled eyes of the murderous Avriel. Finally, he reached the measly six golden nels that had been planted there by the bird, and gradually outstretched his hand to retrieve them. It must have taken him a full trill to realize that the hybrid had taken hold of his wrist, and was restricting him from gathering the coinage.

“I think we all know what you are, hustler.” He growled, nearly baring his teeth like a savage animal as he clamped down on the captured limb.

“That’s absurd! I played you fair and square! Give me my money!” He shrieked like a canary, attempting to take hold of one of the nels with his fingers despite the vice upon his wrist. His greed was showing through in the way he desperately attempted to fashion a grasp on the coin, only for the hybrid to roughly jerk him away from it.

“No. You came in here acting like a pompous noble, and then pretended you didn’t know how the game worked to lure them in, and then you made an absurd bet, and won, because you wanted coin. That's hustling.” He explained, his feathers beginning to bristle.

“I would ne-“

“Silence!” He exploded, his wing spreading outwards, and very nearly striking a nearby table before folding back in on itself. The display of primal anger was enough to send a shiver of fear, and a gulp through Parren, and he immediately began to retreat towards the door, only for an arm to come down on his shoulder.

“You don’t get to leave until you pay all of these people back their money.” He breathed into his ear, talons raking across the floor ever so gently as they prepared for any attempts at resistance. Despite their readiness, Noth knew that he would be unable to use the fierce weapons, because the bartender had refused him the ability to maim or murder in his establishment. In honesty, Noth knew that that was reasonable enough, after all, Parren was a hustler and a snake, but that didn’t mean he deserved to be seriously wounded for his activities.

An unwise notion crossed the hustler’s mind as he realized that the only thing stopping him from the doorway was a single Avriel. He flung around in an instant, aiming a punch at the hybrid, and striking him directly along the side of the head. Noth jerked sideways slightly, but the force of the blow was surprisingly weak for a full-grown man, and the hybrid quickly realized that Parren hadn’t a clue what he was doing, because an instant later he let out a grumble of pain from his knuckles.

The favor was returned with a solid blow to the solar plexus which left the hustler gasping on his knees for breath. Typically, a warrior might be able to shrug off the vicious blow in a few trills, but Parren simply wasn’t a fighter at all, and had always relied on his ability to run when the going got tough, or on the local law enforcement to keep him safe from violent crime.

Ideas of law enforcement flooded his mind as someone stood up from across the bar, and handily stepped over to the pair. He appeared to have come from the table where the girl from earlier had retreated, and four individuals seated their observed his actions. The man wasn’t very old, probably only about an Arc older than Noth, and he had a lopsided grin plastered onto his face. A couple of slight scars marred his otherwise fair features, one across his eyebrow and another across his cheek. The hybrid tensed, ready to fight through the enforcer should he strike, but the fellow simply nodded down towards the struggling Parren and calmly uttered,

“Need some help with that?”

The twilight hybrid chuckled under his breath, and took hold of Parren’s arms whilst the unnamed patron took hold of his legs. They walked him to the door, took the coin pouch off of his side, and threw him outside into the scorching heat of the evening sun.

With that accomplished, Noth called outwards to the entirety of the bar, whose eyes were already set upon him due to the fiasco,

“Anyone who lost money to him, come and retrieve it.”

Seats were emptied immediately, and the coins returned to their rightful owners. Having observed the hustler for nearly two breaks, Noth could easily identify and remember who had lost money, and how much had been lost to the sneaking snake. After his distribution had been finished, he simply pocketed what remained of the ill-gotten gains.

“Hey, Avriel. How about you catch a drink with us.” Invited the patron, nodding back towards his table of four, and motioning him over to meet them.

The plan had gone far more successfully than even he could have hoped. An attempt at garnering the good will of his fellow bar patrons had now become the potential opportunity to recruit fledgling soldiers for the Al’Angyryl. Still, before anything could be decided, he recognized that he needed to meet the band of miscreants.

[Noth]

Approving eyes beamed forth from the table, and the hybrid immediately determined that a drink with the group would be incredibly beneficial. One of the gang stood up, excusing himself from the table and nodding towards the approaching pair before stepping outside of the tavern altogether. He seemed rather hurried, as though he had spent too much time with them as it was, and whilst Noth would have enjoyed understanding more about them, he was also pragmatic enough to notice an empty seat.

He slid into it slowly, not wanting to spoil his invitation to the drinking table by being too brash. Arrogance had spelled downfall for Parren, and he refused to make the same mistake, instead waiting until his escort had sat and began to speak.

“Pretty good work there, Avriel. Got a name?” The black haired fellow questioned, reaching down to take a sip of his drink.

“Noth. You?” He kept the introductions short, because he had already come under the conclusion that he wasn’t dealing with the upper class, and thus his drawn out and monotonous speeches would be incredibly unwelcome among the group. Barring that, he was also rather tired given the recent activity, and anxiously cast a glance back towards the bar, awaiting the aforementioned promised drinks. A large and beardy fellow sitting across from him took heed of the gesture, and quickly raised his hand, snapping his titanic fingers and calling out in a booming voice,

“Ey, can we get some drinks ‘ere!”

The bartender spun around from where he was busy with another customer, apparently somewhat upset at the random yelling from across the bar, but nonetheless, he steadily approached the group and left a cup of ale sitting in front of the hybrid and his newly found companions.

A girlish giggle escaped the lips of the young woman sitting next to the giant as she finished whispering into his ear, and gradually his bearded lips curled into a grin themselves before he began to cackle like a madman.

“Right. Introductions.” The black-haired patron stated, casting a thumb towards himself. “I’m Thane.” He extended an index finger towards the giant and red-bearded fellow whose hair seemed to flow so steadily that it covered over a majority of his facial features when he wasn’t laughing as animatedly as he had been. “Oxy.” The giant nodded his head forward at his name, an acknowledgement that he had been spoken of by Thane. The finger shifted direction over towards the girl, who by now had managed to quell her laughter, and now only occasionally erupted into a slight giggle which wracked her entire body like a particularly nasty case of hiccups. “That’s my sister, Slip.” The hybrid couldn’t help but hear the guardedness in Thane’s voice when he spoke of his clearly younger sibling, and he made a mental note never to come between the pair lest he end up being severely beaten.

“And finally, that there is Ears.” He nodded his head towards the final occupant of the table, who; up until now, had been staring off into the distance. He jerked around to face Thane sporadically, nearly spilling his drink upon the floor as his eyes settled onto the group.

“I thought we weren’t going to call me that anymore!” He protested in a particularly whining fashion. His expression and the suddenness of the turn elicited another cackle from Oxy, which in turn caused Slip to re-ignite her giggling.

The twilight hybrid would have questioned why they called him Ears were it not completely obvious. A simple moment’s observation revealed that the fellow could twist those auditory appendages around as if though they were vestigial, and Noth realized immediately that he was listening to several different conversations throughout the room at once, and was simply honing in on the particularly juicy ones.

He opened his mouth to question how he was capable of doing such a thing, but Thane had already leaned over, and whispered into his ear,
“He drank the water or something like that.” That didn’t explain much, but he supposed it was a better explanation than nothing at all, and so he determined not to press the issue.

“What do you all do?” The hybrid questioned, beginning to make assumptions in his mind before seeing whether or not his hypothesis proved true.

“I work in t’e mines.” Oxy spoke in his usual rumbling voice. That seemed reasonable, he wore the traits of someone who spent long hours bashing in rocks and then shifting them about a site.

“Rest of us just kinda do whatever.” Spoke Slip, her voice surprisingly soft and pleasant to the ear, and very fitting to her outbursts of laughter.

“You’re wearing Etzori guard greaves, ain’tcha?” The question came from Ears, who leaned in across the table, and pointed generally in the direction of the hybrid’s legs.

“Yes.” There was no commencement of explanation or any attempt at covering up how he had acquired the items, because the tone taken had not been an accusatory one, and because he didn’t feel as though he had a comfortable explanation behind their acquirement. Technically, he had killed no one for them, but he had been guilty of scouring a battlefield of the dead and dying, and then stealing away the greaves from the field before reinforcements arrived.

“Oi, then ‘es like us!” Oxy grunted, a wide grin spreading across his face.

“Certainly looks that way. Tell me, Noth. What do you do?”

“A little of this, and a little of that.” He spoke, his voice hinting at something mildly nefarious, but his words giving nothing away as to his true work. “Let’s just say that it pays well, and that there’s always a need for fresh labor.”

Thane raised an eyebrow at that before snapping his fingers at Ears. They whispered between themselves for a brief instant before the scrawny fellow removed a piece of paper from his jacket, and slid over a charcoal colored stone.

Thane pressed the stone harshly against the paper, and began to write something; albeit with some difficulty, and moments later he presented what appeared to be a mailing address to the hybrid.

“Well, if you ever need some spare labor… I’m sure we’d be available.”

The hybrid nodded, accepting the letter and storing it away at his side. He took another sip of his drink, and continued for several breaks, discussing various topics with the group, and ascertaining their strengths and weaknesses.

Truly, the trial had been productive.

[Maltruism]

Come and get your Loot!

(There's plenty more where that came from)

NOTH:

Rewards:

• Story: +5
• Collaboration: +0 (solo)
• Structure: +5

These points can NOT be used for magic.

Knowledges:

• Deception: Faking Drunkenness to Lure in Patsies
• Deception: The Hustler's Pattern of Winning and Losing
• Ears: Must Have Been Mutated by "Padfoot's Freakshow"
• Intimidation: Exuding Confidence Can Give Muggers Pause
• Intimidation: Wearing 'Black Guard' Greaves Speaks Volumes
• Leadership: Angry Spectators Will Rally to a Doer's Actions
• Leadership: Taking Charge to Eject Common Antagonist
• Leadership: Make Your Play and Wait for Assets to Come to You
• Leadership: Pay Back the Hustled Money to Strangers
• Lewis Parren: Makes Enemies Easily
• Lewis Parren: Very Good at Piol
• NPCs: Al'Angyryl Prospects: Thane, Slip, Oxy and Ears
• NPC: Lewis Parren: Tavern Hustler
• Oxy: a Miner
• Persuasion: Insulting a Man's Pride to Oblige Them to Respond
• Persuasion: Playing on a New Bartender's Need to Remove a Hustler
• Piol: Ball Bouncing, Hitting and Sinking Tavern Game
• Piol: Not a Bad Game Really, With Practice
• Sociology: A New Common Enemy Can Outweigh Old Prejudice
• Sociology: Hard Times Form Stronger Bonds Than Good Ones
• Sociology: Not a Good Idea to Flaunt Your Winnings at the Losers
• Slip and Thane: Brother and Sister
• Unarmed Combat: An Inexperienced Fist Hurts Itself More

Loss, Injuries and Devotion:

Nothing to speak of

Loot:

You've already collected your NPCs
Coin uncollected by hustled patrons who did not hang around to catch the action.
Let's say 35gn

Fame: -5

Galvanizing an angry crowd into common cause.
Good rep, but scary-good rep.

Comments:

I love it. A nice, no-nonsense hard-knocks thread.
I wanted to give the guy a boot in the ribs myself.
PM me with any comments or concerns