Howl leaned back casually in his chair and surveyed the four masked individuals seated at the large, round table with him, each studying their cards with a casual indifference that belied their concentration. Even for exalted luminaries such as these - and masks or not, he knew each of them was wealthy beyond anything he could ever hope to attain - whole fortunes exchanged hands at the gambling tables of the Gilded Knuckle, the elite invitation-only private sports parlor deep within the heart of Ul'dah, location known only to a few. Fortunes exchanged hands, and occasionally honor. And lives.
The engraved invitation had been resting in Howl's mailbox when he'd risen that morning, not entirely unexpectedly, and he had cleaned up and arrived by noontime. He knew from past experience that, if he ignored the invitation, another like it would arrive tomorrow, and the next day, until he responded to the summons. It simply said the honor of his presence was requested at the Gilded Knuckle by an anonymous host; only sponsors could invite outsiders to the Knuckle, and only the very wealthiest could be sponsors. Since most chose to come masked to this place - whether to preserve anonymity or as a statement - he had no way of knowing who chose to invite him, or why, or even if it was one of the four at this table, though it likely was. And he had several guesses as to why. None involved the pleasure of his company, of course.
He'd played before with three of the four. Bandit, as the domino-masked tan-skinned Lalafell to the far left was named in Howl's brain, favored a large Lominsan-style tricorne hat and spoke with an affected brogue that was so clearly out of place with his gleaming Dunesfolk eyes that it shouted the lie far stronger than anything else. Howl supposed Bandit got something out of the deception, though he doubted even a child would think Bandit was actually Lominsan. Or perhaps he was, and he used people's preconceived notions and stereotypes to bolster his cover. One never knew in this place.
Cashmere was an old Lalafell with long white hair and drooping mustaches. He wore a half-head covering of his namesake's material over his head and face, only the mustaches poking out underneath, and from his sighs and head-shakes, his hands were always the worst. But the pile of coin in front of him was also the largest of anyone at the table (save Howl himself), and he was as free with his bets as he was with discreet fondling for the serving girls.
Howl had only played with Antlion, a dark-skinned Elezen with a soft velvet mask and a permanent sneer on his face, once. Howl had assigned him the name for his vicious playstyle and condescending attitude, as quick to pass judgment or call a bluff as an antlion's jaws were to snap on prey. He seemed wealthy enough - perhaps he was an Ishgardian lord or something - but he was all too aware that he was an outsider here, and therefore treated much like Howl was himself - as a commoner. A wealthy commoner, or in Howl's case an amusing and privileged commoner, but just a commoner. That made him silently bristle behind that predatory smile.
The fourth was a Lalafell, but Howl could only guess as to gender or age. They were swathed entirely in a strange kind of dark leather armor that enclosed their head completely as well. He had no idea how they could see. A diamond pattern was painted onto the face, so he dubbed the individual Diamond in his head. They seemed to play quite conservatively, and had spoken very little.
Two bells had passed since the game had begun, and Howl had nothing to keep his throat wet but wine. Ale was a commoner's drink, and not served at the Gilded Knuckle. So far, his tablemates had stuck to betting and light conversation; he highly doubted the reason for his invitation had been brought up yet, though he'd remained on his guard the entire time, behind a mask of hedonistic enjoyment. He let his eyes linger on the serving girls, chosen for their beauty and grace - many connected to the great families here in Ul'dah, it was said, either as servants or allegedly slaves - and he drank cup after cup of wine. The gaming tables were spaced far enough apart that they had relative privacy, but the walls of the Knuckle were lined with thickset Roegadyn and Highlander bodyguards, each armed to the teeth and fingering their weapons, glowering around the room for any threat to their moneyed masters. The lamps were turned low, the light soft and shining on the golden surfaces of the rich wooden chairs and tables, all polished to a gleam, and the air was perfumed with incense. After a few bells of wine, that smell, the moneyed surroundings, and having to watch his tongue, Howl's head felt a bit stupefied.
They were playing a card game popular in the Empire, though the players would've denied knowing that if asked. Howl's usual luck with gambling did extend to a game like this, though the custom here was to use only one deck per table, which seemed to throttle it back a little. Cards were custom-painted for this game, ranging in value from 1-10 with a Primus (or leader) card, in four suits of ascending value; players were dealt a hand of three, then two more rounds of betting each accompanied by one more card. Antlion scowled at his initial hand as if they were responsible for his empty wine cup, which was being discreetly whisked away from his elbow, but he tossed in a few high-denomination coins nonetheless.
Howl checked his hand and, with the discipline of extensive schooling, kept his face still. He already had two Primii in his hand - the Primus of Wands, painted to resemble Kan-E-Senna of Gridania, and the Primus of Coins, usually painted after one of the Syndicate. This one sort of looked like Lord Lolorito, though the resemblance was vague enough that it likely appeased any number of wealthy Lalafell Ul'dahn elite that might want to be the Primus of Coins. He also had a Two of Swords, but that didn't interest him much at the moment. Even with just these two, he had a strong hand, even if Wands was the weakest suit. He matched Antlion's bet without a word.
Bandit leaned back in his chair, accepting a wine cup from a tray proferred to him by a serving girl with a contented sigh, like a man pushing back from a rich meal. "So, Howl, you never used ta' wear jewelry before." He nodded at Howl idly, one arm stretched behind his back. "Gettin' soft on us, are ya there?"
Howl realized he had been fingering the choker at his throat and hastily dropped his hand, then cursed himself mentally for not being more casual. He fought to keep a blush from rising to his cheeks, more at embarrassment over his lack of self-control than anything else. A mistake here could be costly, in more than just gil. He summoned up a light, casual smile. "Oh, well, I've done well for myself lately."
"He's become someone's pretty, no doubt," Cashmere laughed, sipping his wine. "Taken a lover."
"Probably some Lord," Antlion commented with a frigid smile; Howl had thought the man had some personal grudge against him for a time, but Antlion seemed to hate everyone. "I could see Howl as a kept man, couldn't you?"
Bandit laughed boisterously. "Yar, an' sweepin' and keepin' house like a servant, no less!"
Howl was spared blushes by the serving girl kneeling by his chair. He moved to take a fresh cup and hastily had to avert his eyes; the meekly kneeling Miqo'te girl was wearing a sheer silken robe, skintight along her lush figure, that showed every contour and roundness of her body. He could practically count the freckles on her skin. Bandit, still chortling, tossed his coins in for the bet, and after a long moment of weighing consideration, so did Diamond. Cashmere sighed long and theatrically, twisting his mouth this way and that so that his mustaches trembled. "If only my luck with the cards were as good as yours, Howl," he mourned, finally stacking his cards neatly face-down in front of him to signal a fold. "Or with the girls."
"My luck with cards is far better than with girls," Howl acknowledged dryly as a dealer passed out one more card to Bandit, Antlion, Diamond, and himself in turn. "And neither seem to serve me when I come here. Ain't been lucky on either front in moons."
That drew a few appreciative chuckles from around the table. Howl picked up his card, sliding it expertly to his hand in a way so that even the serving girl couldn't see - one could never be too careful at the Knuckle - and tongued the back of his teeth silently. The Primus of Swords, the likeness of Admiral Merlwyb, stared up at him, a cutlass in one hand and a gun held across her chest in the other. His hand had increased to one few could beat. With only one deck in play, only one more Primus was out there, and only a series with five ascending cards in one of the stronger suits could beat a hand with three Primii. He'd heard that in the Empire, the cards were painted to be military figures, with the Emperor's current favorite as the top suit. He lowered his hand.
Diamond turned their heavily-masked head toward him, their voice low and husky. "So, I heard you took part in Lord Vann's little... entertainment the other day."
Well, that was one of the topics he expected he was invited here for, and not a moment too soon. He sipped his wine, leaning back casually in his chair again, flicking his tail as if it didn't concern him much. "Yes, I don't pretend to be cultured I admit, so I kinda like a good dust-up from time to time." He deliberately kept his verbiage informal, common. "Guess Vann does too. He was sponsoring a fighting tournament for fistfights only."
Cashmere giggled faintly into his cup. "Likely just to look at the half-naked bodies. He does have his tastes."
Antlion's mouth twisted in disgust, though his eyes were still on his cards. "No proper regard for station, that one. He'll lay with adventurer trash or refugee scum as soon as any woman of rank or merit."
"Though I hears he's raised standards a bit of late, aye," Bandit said slyly, grinning over at Cashmere and Antlion conspiratorially. Antlion exchanged a warning look with him, but he simply cackled and dropped his gaze back to his cards. "I bet Ser Castille would be interested in that, wouldn't he, eh Howl?"
Howl kept his face smooth with a concerted effort, his thoughts a jumble in his head. They crowded one another out, and he forgot himself enough to start to reach for his choker again, but he diverted his hand to scratch his ear, faking suppressing a yawn.
Calm down. They're as like trying to rile you into making a mistake as anything else. Everyone's seen Lady Crofte hanging off of Otto's arm of late - they're probably just trying to figure that one out. Or could be something else entirely.
"Are you all betting or not?" Antlion demanded, his own final bet stacked in front of him - enough to force a fairly serious wager on the last card. Howl slowly moved to match it, acting casual, but Cashmere's eyebrows raised. For a commoner - or even a Monetarist - there was a jaw-droppingly large pot, and Antlion was pushing the stakes ever higher. Howl had to distract them, and hopefully lure the others in, as well.
He leaned back, draping an arm over the back of the chair, and forced a light laugh. "That tourney of Otto's though - it makes others look like a joke. I found myself at the end facing a Hellsguard three times my size, and I ain't prepared for that even on a good day. He's some sort of personal bodyguard for a lady of repute, and I found myself wishing she was there cheering him on by the end so's as I could see something prettier than my blood all over the floor. Broke my sternum clean in half with a single blow. Otto's money smoothed over the pain of course, but I imagine once you all are done taking that from me I'll just be left with a sore chest in the end."
Bandit barked a laugh, pushing his gil into the center, and after a long moment Diamond joined him. Four more cards made their way to each of the players still in it, and Howl suddenly knew as he reached for it what his would be. The Primus of Shields, Raubahn's familiar stern visage staring up at him over a round gladiator-style spiked shield on his arm.
"So, Howl," Diamond said unexpectedly, as they stared at Raubahn's face, "I heard an Elezen Sultansworn was found beaten and stripped naked in an alleyway the other day. I don't suppose you know anything about that?"
He nearly dropped the Primus, his head jerking up. He found himself grinning uneasily. "Who knows what sultansworn are up to? Probably went into the wrong part of town."
"That Vann," grumbled Antlion, frowning at his hand, "slinging money around to peasants and thieves."
"Less for him in the end," Cashmere remarked cryptically. "His focus on his toys and amusements will be his undoing. Even the pretty ones have eyes, after all." He chuckled. "And you'd be well served to steer clear, Howl."
Diamond abruptly rose, setting aside their cards face-down. "That'll be enough for me today." They turned and left, several of the waiting guards falling in behind them, and one by one the others made their excuses and left as well, leaving only the pile of money behind and Howl's four-of-a-kind hand of Primii. He stared at the four Primus cards thoughtfully, packing his winnings into a sack, declining the Knuckle staff's helpful offer to ship it securely to his home.
Whatever they were after, they got it. Peace! What did I say? Can't be about Ser Longneck or the money... can it? Or are they just after Vann?
No matter how his luck tended to run at the Gilded Knuckle, Howl was well aware that he always came home feeling as if he'd lost in the end, which was one reason he always dreaded seeing those engraved invitations appear in his mailbox.
The engraved invitation had been resting in Howl's mailbox when he'd risen that morning, not entirely unexpectedly, and he had cleaned up and arrived by noontime. He knew from past experience that, if he ignored the invitation, another like it would arrive tomorrow, and the next day, until he responded to the summons. It simply said the honor of his presence was requested at the Gilded Knuckle by an anonymous host; only sponsors could invite outsiders to the Knuckle, and only the very wealthiest could be sponsors. Since most chose to come masked to this place - whether to preserve anonymity or as a statement - he had no way of knowing who chose to invite him, or why, or even if it was one of the four at this table, though it likely was. And he had several guesses as to why. None involved the pleasure of his company, of course.
He'd played before with three of the four. Bandit, as the domino-masked tan-skinned Lalafell to the far left was named in Howl's brain, favored a large Lominsan-style tricorne hat and spoke with an affected brogue that was so clearly out of place with his gleaming Dunesfolk eyes that it shouted the lie far stronger than anything else. Howl supposed Bandit got something out of the deception, though he doubted even a child would think Bandit was actually Lominsan. Or perhaps he was, and he used people's preconceived notions and stereotypes to bolster his cover. One never knew in this place.
Cashmere was an old Lalafell with long white hair and drooping mustaches. He wore a half-head covering of his namesake's material over his head and face, only the mustaches poking out underneath, and from his sighs and head-shakes, his hands were always the worst. But the pile of coin in front of him was also the largest of anyone at the table (save Howl himself), and he was as free with his bets as he was with discreet fondling for the serving girls.
Howl had only played with Antlion, a dark-skinned Elezen with a soft velvet mask and a permanent sneer on his face, once. Howl had assigned him the name for his vicious playstyle and condescending attitude, as quick to pass judgment or call a bluff as an antlion's jaws were to snap on prey. He seemed wealthy enough - perhaps he was an Ishgardian lord or something - but he was all too aware that he was an outsider here, and therefore treated much like Howl was himself - as a commoner. A wealthy commoner, or in Howl's case an amusing and privileged commoner, but just a commoner. That made him silently bristle behind that predatory smile.
The fourth was a Lalafell, but Howl could only guess as to gender or age. They were swathed entirely in a strange kind of dark leather armor that enclosed their head completely as well. He had no idea how they could see. A diamond pattern was painted onto the face, so he dubbed the individual Diamond in his head. They seemed to play quite conservatively, and had spoken very little.
Two bells had passed since the game had begun, and Howl had nothing to keep his throat wet but wine. Ale was a commoner's drink, and not served at the Gilded Knuckle. So far, his tablemates had stuck to betting and light conversation; he highly doubted the reason for his invitation had been brought up yet, though he'd remained on his guard the entire time, behind a mask of hedonistic enjoyment. He let his eyes linger on the serving girls, chosen for their beauty and grace - many connected to the great families here in Ul'dah, it was said, either as servants or allegedly slaves - and he drank cup after cup of wine. The gaming tables were spaced far enough apart that they had relative privacy, but the walls of the Knuckle were lined with thickset Roegadyn and Highlander bodyguards, each armed to the teeth and fingering their weapons, glowering around the room for any threat to their moneyed masters. The lamps were turned low, the light soft and shining on the golden surfaces of the rich wooden chairs and tables, all polished to a gleam, and the air was perfumed with incense. After a few bells of wine, that smell, the moneyed surroundings, and having to watch his tongue, Howl's head felt a bit stupefied.
They were playing a card game popular in the Empire, though the players would've denied knowing that if asked. Howl's usual luck with gambling did extend to a game like this, though the custom here was to use only one deck per table, which seemed to throttle it back a little. Cards were custom-painted for this game, ranging in value from 1-10 with a Primus (or leader) card, in four suits of ascending value; players were dealt a hand of three, then two more rounds of betting each accompanied by one more card. Antlion scowled at his initial hand as if they were responsible for his empty wine cup, which was being discreetly whisked away from his elbow, but he tossed in a few high-denomination coins nonetheless.
Howl checked his hand and, with the discipline of extensive schooling, kept his face still. He already had two Primii in his hand - the Primus of Wands, painted to resemble Kan-E-Senna of Gridania, and the Primus of Coins, usually painted after one of the Syndicate. This one sort of looked like Lord Lolorito, though the resemblance was vague enough that it likely appeased any number of wealthy Lalafell Ul'dahn elite that might want to be the Primus of Coins. He also had a Two of Swords, but that didn't interest him much at the moment. Even with just these two, he had a strong hand, even if Wands was the weakest suit. He matched Antlion's bet without a word.
Bandit leaned back in his chair, accepting a wine cup from a tray proferred to him by a serving girl with a contented sigh, like a man pushing back from a rich meal. "So, Howl, you never used ta' wear jewelry before." He nodded at Howl idly, one arm stretched behind his back. "Gettin' soft on us, are ya there?"
Howl realized he had been fingering the choker at his throat and hastily dropped his hand, then cursed himself mentally for not being more casual. He fought to keep a blush from rising to his cheeks, more at embarrassment over his lack of self-control than anything else. A mistake here could be costly, in more than just gil. He summoned up a light, casual smile. "Oh, well, I've done well for myself lately."
"He's become someone's pretty, no doubt," Cashmere laughed, sipping his wine. "Taken a lover."
"Probably some Lord," Antlion commented with a frigid smile; Howl had thought the man had some personal grudge against him for a time, but Antlion seemed to hate everyone. "I could see Howl as a kept man, couldn't you?"
Bandit laughed boisterously. "Yar, an' sweepin' and keepin' house like a servant, no less!"
Howl was spared blushes by the serving girl kneeling by his chair. He moved to take a fresh cup and hastily had to avert his eyes; the meekly kneeling Miqo'te girl was wearing a sheer silken robe, skintight along her lush figure, that showed every contour and roundness of her body. He could practically count the freckles on her skin. Bandit, still chortling, tossed his coins in for the bet, and after a long moment of weighing consideration, so did Diamond. Cashmere sighed long and theatrically, twisting his mouth this way and that so that his mustaches trembled. "If only my luck with the cards were as good as yours, Howl," he mourned, finally stacking his cards neatly face-down in front of him to signal a fold. "Or with the girls."
"My luck with cards is far better than with girls," Howl acknowledged dryly as a dealer passed out one more card to Bandit, Antlion, Diamond, and himself in turn. "And neither seem to serve me when I come here. Ain't been lucky on either front in moons."
That drew a few appreciative chuckles from around the table. Howl picked up his card, sliding it expertly to his hand in a way so that even the serving girl couldn't see - one could never be too careful at the Knuckle - and tongued the back of his teeth silently. The Primus of Swords, the likeness of Admiral Merlwyb, stared up at him, a cutlass in one hand and a gun held across her chest in the other. His hand had increased to one few could beat. With only one deck in play, only one more Primus was out there, and only a series with five ascending cards in one of the stronger suits could beat a hand with three Primii. He'd heard that in the Empire, the cards were painted to be military figures, with the Emperor's current favorite as the top suit. He lowered his hand.
Diamond turned their heavily-masked head toward him, their voice low and husky. "So, I heard you took part in Lord Vann's little... entertainment the other day."
Well, that was one of the topics he expected he was invited here for, and not a moment too soon. He sipped his wine, leaning back casually in his chair again, flicking his tail as if it didn't concern him much. "Yes, I don't pretend to be cultured I admit, so I kinda like a good dust-up from time to time." He deliberately kept his verbiage informal, common. "Guess Vann does too. He was sponsoring a fighting tournament for fistfights only."
Cashmere giggled faintly into his cup. "Likely just to look at the half-naked bodies. He does have his tastes."
Antlion's mouth twisted in disgust, though his eyes were still on his cards. "No proper regard for station, that one. He'll lay with adventurer trash or refugee scum as soon as any woman of rank or merit."
"Though I hears he's raised standards a bit of late, aye," Bandit said slyly, grinning over at Cashmere and Antlion conspiratorially. Antlion exchanged a warning look with him, but he simply cackled and dropped his gaze back to his cards. "I bet Ser Castille would be interested in that, wouldn't he, eh Howl?"
Howl kept his face smooth with a concerted effort, his thoughts a jumble in his head. They crowded one another out, and he forgot himself enough to start to reach for his choker again, but he diverted his hand to scratch his ear, faking suppressing a yawn.
Calm down. They're as like trying to rile you into making a mistake as anything else. Everyone's seen Lady Crofte hanging off of Otto's arm of late - they're probably just trying to figure that one out. Or could be something else entirely.
"Are you all betting or not?" Antlion demanded, his own final bet stacked in front of him - enough to force a fairly serious wager on the last card. Howl slowly moved to match it, acting casual, but Cashmere's eyebrows raised. For a commoner - or even a Monetarist - there was a jaw-droppingly large pot, and Antlion was pushing the stakes ever higher. Howl had to distract them, and hopefully lure the others in, as well.
He leaned back, draping an arm over the back of the chair, and forced a light laugh. "That tourney of Otto's though - it makes others look like a joke. I found myself at the end facing a Hellsguard three times my size, and I ain't prepared for that even on a good day. He's some sort of personal bodyguard for a lady of repute, and I found myself wishing she was there cheering him on by the end so's as I could see something prettier than my blood all over the floor. Broke my sternum clean in half with a single blow. Otto's money smoothed over the pain of course, but I imagine once you all are done taking that from me I'll just be left with a sore chest in the end."
Bandit barked a laugh, pushing his gil into the center, and after a long moment Diamond joined him. Four more cards made their way to each of the players still in it, and Howl suddenly knew as he reached for it what his would be. The Primus of Shields, Raubahn's familiar stern visage staring up at him over a round gladiator-style spiked shield on his arm.
"So, Howl," Diamond said unexpectedly, as they stared at Raubahn's face, "I heard an Elezen Sultansworn was found beaten and stripped naked in an alleyway the other day. I don't suppose you know anything about that?"
He nearly dropped the Primus, his head jerking up. He found himself grinning uneasily. "Who knows what sultansworn are up to? Probably went into the wrong part of town."
"That Vann," grumbled Antlion, frowning at his hand, "slinging money around to peasants and thieves."
"Less for him in the end," Cashmere remarked cryptically. "His focus on his toys and amusements will be his undoing. Even the pretty ones have eyes, after all." He chuckled. "And you'd be well served to steer clear, Howl."
Diamond abruptly rose, setting aside their cards face-down. "That'll be enough for me today." They turned and left, several of the waiting guards falling in behind them, and one by one the others made their excuses and left as well, leaving only the pile of money behind and Howl's four-of-a-kind hand of Primii. He stared at the four Primus cards thoughtfully, packing his winnings into a sack, declining the Knuckle staff's helpful offer to ship it securely to his home.
Whatever they were after, they got it. Peace! What did I say? Can't be about Ser Longneck or the money... can it? Or are they just after Vann?
No matter how his luck tended to run at the Gilded Knuckle, Howl was well aware that he always came home feeling as if he'd lost in the end, which was one reason he always dreaded seeing those engraved invitations appear in his mailbox.
People have forgotten this truth. But you mustn't forget it. You become responsible forever for what you have tamed.
Howl's Wiki
Howl's Wiki
