#gambling den

[paperwick]

This didn't make it into the show, but I designed a backroom gambling den for the party montage in the first episode.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

“BANK TELLER ADMITS EMBEZZLING $8,200,” Montreal Star. February 19, 1931. Page 3. --- Michel Cambraggio Will Be Deported After Sentence ----- Frankly admitting that during the past seven or eight months he embezzled $8,200 of the bank's money and lost it in a St. Denis street gaming house playing "barbotte," Michel Cambraggio, dapper young Italian teller of the Royal Bank of Canada branch at St. Denis and Belanger streets, was sentenced to two years less one day in jail by Judge Marin this morning. At the end of his sentence he will be deported to Italy.

Cambraggio, who is said to be the scion of a prominent Italian family, was one of the employes in the bank when it was recently held up by five men, who escaped with $6,000.

A few days after the holdup. Cambraggio was arrested on charges of stealing $1,000, but no mention was made of the $8.200 he admitted having taken this morning.

[salamanderpie]

Yeehawgust: Sierra Madre + Gambling Den

[thatoneshadyshop]

21st of Midyear, 2E 582

One has never before seen its like. One can find no mention of anything like it in any of the tomes one has scoured these past hours, and not for want of recalling has one failed to think of hearing of any single such case. Not even among the Sapirachs would such a thing be thought possible. Among the Psijjics, perhaps, yet they keep their own counsel and scarce care to share their knowledge, even with their own kin. 

Suspicious as one was, one would never have expected this! One supposes it makes a certain amount of sense in hindsight - the soul gems sent from the Mages Guild, the questions that Tel had about one’s magical abilities, about the Deadra, about mysticism - yet it is so implausible, so improbable, that even now, one cannot quite convince oneself tis true.

Souls can be trapped, of course, taken at the moment of death, stored and used. Yet to take a soul from a still living body? To pull the very essence of the self from one, and then still leave the person behind, alive, aware, sentient? Even accounting for the tether twixt the soul and its mortal host, that link alone could not hope to sustain a person for long; it should not be possible, by all laws of magic that one knows of, for one to be made soulless and yet still live and breathe and be. In one of the Deadric realms, perhaps, there where what passes as a rule is but the whim of one of the Princes or Masters; not here, in the mortal realm.

Perhaps that is the crux of it. The barrier between Realms is weaker than ever, thanks to the events at the Imperial City and the appearance of the Dark Anchors... Perhaps tis the weakness of the barriers which allows that tether to sustain them, feeding them Daedric energies and sustaining their mortal forms...

Pah! One is getting ahead of oneself. It matters not how they are sustained without their souls, only that they are. Loathsome as their entire race is, gifted in lies and deceits and nothing else, neither Tel nor Fayrl can hide their affliction from the eyes of a mystic such a oneself. One would never have looked ordinarily, but with the questions that Tel asked one, probing as to whether one could see souls, and as to whether one was familiar with the Deadra, one’s curiosity was piqued. A good thing too, else one may never have known the danger lurking under one’s roof. That same tether which still connects their husks of bodies to their souls is a tie that can be used from either hand; whichever Daedric realm their souls are held in, the powers that rule there could well follow that line linking soul and husk; one shudders to think of what even a minor Daedra could do with ownership of their souls.

Pah! This is what one gets for getting involved with Daedric worshipping murdering hacks of bards! Fayrl may be convinced that he is a true devotee of Mephala, that he knows Her graces, yet one should never trust one of the Princes, not even for a moment! One swears, if he sold his soul to his god for the sake of some measure of power of simple feel of belonging....

Damn the Dunmer to the ninth circle of Oblivion! One had intended to spend time with the children, to take them to the court of the Camoran kings to attend court, to continue their lessons, to play at cards with Gwemba. Ysona has apparently been teaching the girl how best to cheat at the games and ensure a victory. Yet one now finds oneself entirely distracted by this latest mess the Dunmer has brought to one’s door, chained to the tomes one has to hand, hunkered away wracking one’s brains for any half recalled fact that might shed light on this situation, or how to combat it.

A reverse soul trap, perhaps? If such a thing is possible.... One supposes, if one thinks about it as a kind of enchantment, perhaps, and applies the same logic... Combined with the principles of conjuration, and a sufficiently powerful source...

[thatoneshadyshop]

30th of Midyear, 2E 582

The chances are remote at best - near impossible, in truth. Of all the places, of all the cities, of all the Bosmer, of all the Dunmer. It is beyond the most remote logical possibility; it could drive one to superstition and belief in fate or other such nonsense, if one did not believe the Divines to be above such cruelty. And yet it is so, if one is to believe the word of one’s flame haired sack of spite - and more importantly, that of the Mother Matron.

To think. The lengths would go to in order to gladly be rid of Fayrl, and all the time, his very flesh and blood resided under one’s roof.

Tis almost a cosmic joke. That the Bosmer who Fayrl considers his greatest lost love should have found her way here, a worker among the Matron’s girls. A greater joke by far that she brings with her a child - a Bosmer girl with suspicious red eyes. It hardly takes a genius to see the truth when it is laid before one - even Fayrl is capable of following such a path. One supposes it should not be a true surprise that this Nabine found her way to Valenwood; nor for that matter to Elden Root, the greatest of the Bosmeri cities, seat of Dominion power. Yet there remains an irony, a certain delicious agony to be enjoyed from the perspective of an observer.

Not that one has had much cause to enjoy it. Fayrl seems almost to be actively avoiding one, spending time instead with Qau-Dar and Tel. No matter. One is not particularly convinced one could quite bring oneself to revel too much in his misery, in any event. He already knew he had missed out on the childhood of his son, now he must face his absence in his daughter’s life as well. One has no desire to add to that burden; should it be that he asks one what one knew, one intends to tell honestly that one did no know until the Mother Matron and one’s whimsical Daedroth incarnate told, not long before the child had been introduced to him.

Tis less a matter of easing his burdens, of course. One thinks mostly of the child, and of what may be running through her mind, should she know the truth. The staff tell one that she is a withdrawn child already, one who does not make friends easily. Ysona did go out of her way to mention that of all the children in the Den, tis only Birk who seems able to coax a smile from the girl. Tis good he is learning how to apply his Gifts for comfort. Hm. One supposes that is a conversation that should be had with him, now one ponders it. He has a good heart, and one doubts he would use his Gift maliciously, but it would be better to forewarn him against such a thing. Especially given the presence of one’s vainglorious Serpent.

Hm. Yes. One shall have to discuss it with him. And now on thinks of it, it would do no harm to ask Qau-Dar to be there as well. The children respect him, and he has a way with words which may help. Yes. One must ask him to be part of that conversation.

Regardless. There is little one can do, or wishes to do, in regards Fayrl and Nabine. Tis better they are allowed to discuss matters themselves - under the watchful eye of Magula, of course. As well as being the Mother Matron, she is well used to dealing with the intricacies of families and the issues they bring - even excepting her own large brood, one can scarce recall the time she has had to step in to calm a parent hysterical over the prospect of a darling child working here in this place of vice.

Hm. That reminds one. We are well past due one of the annual raids that the priests incite the guards into. Perhaps they seek to take us by surprise? Or else the business of the Dominion has distracted them... Regardless. Tis better that it takes place on our terms; one shall have to have somebody get in touch with our favourite and most amenable priest. Spinner Maglir has proven most willing to look the other way previously, and with good reason. It would hardly go a righteous Mer of the Song to be seen cavorting with sinner and heretics; looking the other way works in both directions. That he is some relation to our bar manager, Tanis, is but an additional bonus.

Yes, definitely better that a raid comes on our terms, ordered and overseen by a priest none too interested in looking deeply. Who knows - a priest being seen in the vicinity may even help with the fools that Basil has reported. Quite why some idiot followers of some Prophet or other would take an interest in the Den is beyond one, but tis only by the presence of Basil’s guards that they are kept at bay! One caught enough of that chattering about soulless people and remnants and other such nonsense to know they are but the latest deluded fools to mistake a blind old man for a messiah; no doubt they have been driven half mad with fear of the Dark Anchors and such. As if the capital of the Aldmeri Dominion is not the safest place in all of Tamriel.

[thatoneshadyshop]

7th of Sun’s Heaight, 2E 582

All in all, one would call the act involving the mammoth troupe to be quite the success.

Oh, to be sure, Sinder is displeased, complaining as he is about his servers having to watch out for dirty beasts underfoot, fussing about hair in the food. As if he himself is not a Khajiit, even with his heritage. One swears, that man could find something to complain about whilst being indulged in his every whim at the very heart of the White Gold Tower. One is well used to hearing his voice crying out in complaint; tis more unusual that Tanis joins him. At least one can understand why he would be complaining; the bar is that much closer to the stage, and the unusual spectacle upon the stage rather detracts from the tricks and turns that the bar staff themselves perform on a nightly basis.

Still. A few complaints aside, one would call the show a success. Footfall has increased as word of the novelty was shared, and with increased interest, we have had cause to increase the cost of ticketed entry. Moreover, Ma;Riahni has near been besides herself with joy, taking any opportunity possible to take to the stage with the mammoths. The creature’s handlers have thankfully found her enthusiasm rather endearing, and have responded by indulging her, choosing her nightly to ride atop the beasts and to be part of their performances. That alone, to one at least, has made hiring them a success, even if Qau-Dar did have stern words for one when he found Ma’Riahni attempting to hide one of the miniature strains of the beasts under her bed.

Not that Qau-Dar has had overlong to dwell on his daughter. One has scarce known the Khajiit to take against another before - that one guard woman being an obvious exception - and yet to hear him complain of the Mer, one would say that Tel most definitely is not one of Qau-Dar’s favourite people. Not that one can blame him. The Dunmer is a lazy liability, one who refuses to partake of necessary work around the Den whilst still taking free room and board. It takes an amount of skill nearly beyond one not to laugh whenever he claims to be an Artist. One has seen children with more skill - Ma’Riahni truly is making impressive advances in her technique. What he calls art is nothing of the sort, and is scarce reason to feel entitled to avoid a reasonable share of work. One can well agree with the Mother Matron’s demand that he either make himself useful here, or else go somewhere else to doodle. 

He is an oddity, to be sure. He insists that he is not besotted with Fayrl, and then spends his time glued to Qau-Dar’s side, trying to win the Khajiit’s approval for his friendship with the so-called bard. As if such a thing is needed, or as if Qau-Dar would care to grant it. He has one’s sympathies, having to deal with such a useless sack of grey attaching itself to him as it has. To say naught of said sack’s naivety - a trait which is bad enough even not when combined with misplaced haughtiness seemingly bred into each and every Dunmer. Then there was the odd delivery from the local mages sent for him - what the fool requires a collection of charged soul gems for is beyond one. “To help with the problem you are having”, or so the note claimed. Problem? Ha. The Mer is being indulged, allowed his comfort at one’s expense, entertained purely because nobody knows what else to do with him. He has no problems, whatever Fayrl has given him aside, and one cannot see how soul gems would help with that.

Pah. One should not give him any thought. One’s time and energy is better spent on other things: One one’s Bosmer shaped atronach and his demands, on preventing him from slitting the throat of any customers, and on mollifying the hurt egos of those customers who had been led to believe he would service them personally. On one’s children, on their lessons, on showing them the city and the wodners it holds. They have not yet seen the Temple of Y’ffre, for instance, nor seen the sun set from the uppermost boughs. They have not been to see one of the centaur villages in the nearby Green, nor to the Court of the Camoran Kings. They have not seen the ancient ruins of the Orrey, nor heard the Spinners singing to the Graht-Oak at the height of the sun’s passing. 

One should rectify this. The Matron and Angan have between them a handle on matters here, even with preparing for the upcoming surprise raid we have arranged. One can spare a day or two to show one’s children the city. One’s cannibalistic scamp leaving may even be persuaded to join, should one flatter him enough. It would be no harm either to invite Qau-Dar; he has seen little enough of Elden Root while we have been here. 

So long as we stay away from that so-called circus tricking money from the idiot locals, it may even be pleasant. Circus. Pah. One has seen more genuine entertainment within one’s own naval. Charlatans and frauds, the whole pack of them.

[thatoneshadyshop]

16th of Midyear, 2E 582

One is not entirely sure which was more surprising: That Qau-Dar suddenly appeared climbing through the windows of one’s private apartment, or that Fayrl has returned quite so soon.

One supposes tis the former. One did not truly expect Fayrl to remain gone - that would have been foolish wishful thinking, and one is too learned to trust to hope. One can not even bring oneself to muster any sort of surprise that he has returned with yet another follower on, some other Dunmer whose name one cares not to recall. The newcomer was frankly of note only in that his appearance could well have driven paying customers away, twas so repugnant. The Matron obviously thought so as well, given the speed with which she had a room and hot bath prepared for them. Between her diligence and Qau-Dar’s mothering tendencies, one was thankfully spared having to give them any real regard.

Yes, now one considers it, twas much more of a surprise to have been sat in one’s private rooms, children and the Bosmer shaped spectre of lust idling in their own entertainments, and to suddenly hear an agitated purr from above. One is not surprised that the staff did not allow Qau-Dar to enter - the Den was shut, and they are far too used to people claiming to know one personally to try and gain entry without paying. One was not even surprised that Qau-Dar tried to climb to the upper levels - Khajiit are nothing if not resourceful. No, what was surprising was that he tried to enter through the narrow window, and ended up hanging rather pitifully from the vines where his tail had become entangled.

One’s slaughterfish spawned poison spitter thought he made a rather magnificent bust. One can see the aesthetic appeal. If said bust were to remain silent, which Qau-Dar was not about to do.

In any case. With Fayrl returned and Qau-Dar ceasing to worry about his whereabouts, one rather hopes that all will take opportunity to enjoy the amenities of the Den. Some enjoyment is well past due for our party, and there is the reputation of the establishment to consider. The Mother Matron tells one that the venue is near fully booked out, a fact that one assumes is due to rumours of the presence of one and one’s Bosmer shaped cockatrice. Certain rumours regarding our acquisition of the establishment, and other events since, have grown larger in each telling, and now there are those who come merely in the hope of witnessing but some of what they think they know. Not that one is against such rumours, of course, for this into one’s purse that they ultimately put coin.

One has already agreed to take on the role of compere, in any case, a role one has taken on enough times to be well experienced to both the patter and the need to place the overly bold back in their place. And tis hardly as if the flame haired Daedroth one is wed to will miss the chance to take to the stage; to say naught of the Mother Matron’s son and other entertainers. Or indeed, the other entertainments, from the gambling tables, the bar itself, the restaurant, the parlours where the Matron’s workers ply their trade ... Hm. One believes that somebody mentioned a troupe of acrobats and gymnasts that have been hired to perform in the rafters for some time, to fill the space above the stage and between the various floors with tricks and tumbles amidst coloured silks and whatnot. In any case. There should be plenty to entertain one’s companions, in spectacle if nothing else.

It has occurred to one that being here presents one with a true chance to repay a certain debt one owes. Being on the road has not given one much opportunity to unburden oneself of owing Fayrl for his assistance in the ... matter of the Telvanni. Now, back in a  seat of power, one has the chance to expunge oneself of that debt. The how is easy - Fayrl is a simple, physical creature, ruled by his wants. The Matron has already agreed to gather together some of her best, in all shapes and sizes. One does wonder quite what Fayrl will make of Maglan - one cannot imagine he has had chance to lay with a centaur before.

[thatoneshadyshop]

12th of Midyear, 2E 582

One can see the lights of the city glowing as the pre-dusk light begins to fall. Had the steady increase in the number of travellers on the roads not told one that we neared Elden Root already, this would have proved it.

Tis about time too. One’s companions have been frustratingly slow, seemingly oblivious to one’s sense of urgency. Yes, one trusts the Mother Matron, and yes, she has raided children before. Yet one still would not leave one’s children alone in a foreign and possibly hostile city! Quite why the others seem not to grasp that - one’s poisonous tree dwelling adder among them - one cannot comprehend.

That Fayrl has gone and taken himself off somewhere is only a boon. Let him slink away to whatever dark corner he has found to prostrate himself against, let him lure some poor fool with more money than sense into a dubious liaison. He knows we are bound for the city, he can find us when his filthy lusts are slated. One refuses to wait for him, not when one can almost see the roots which hide the Den within.

So close to the city, the roads are lined with glowing bulbs and captured fireflies to light the way even at night, and city guards are on patrol, keeping order. Let the others complain, should they wish, one will be damned if one spends any more time than is necessary reaching Elden Root; we will travel through the night if we can! Enough time has already been wasted on rising late and on a dawdling pace and on being stopped to account for the presence of Dunmer and Argonians so deep into the Green. Pah! Even Qau-Dar has earned a few suspicious glances, an ally of the Bosmer as he may be. 

Truthfully, such looks came more than the Imga, who one suspects would glower at any who are not Mer, and from those of one’s own kin that one has seen. As if it was not Her Most Beatific Majesty who had extended the hand of friendship to the Khajiit. Regardless. One will not be delayed any more than is needed, neither by friend nor suspicious onlooker, and with the smell of the City already on the air, one sees no reason to delay at all.

Besides. Once we reach the children and the Den, one’s flame haired Daedric dropping can sate his ego on the adoration of the patrons. He is much more agreeable when the peons are fawning over him.