Bad Dice
The gamblers sat round the ale stained table. The dice were being thrown in a corral made of ten ale mugs. The clanking and the cursing was loud and the atmosphere was intense.
A pair of eyes at the large table was pretending to watch the game but were far more interested in the small hands going into pouches and satchels. Brendill Bendtoe was diligent. The halflings low vantage point allowed his eyes and nose to clear the table while keeping just low enough to see everything below. Brendill's job was making sure no one was the wiser. If a hand made a sloppy exit and a tug was felt then Brendill made a quick well timed distraction. Punching a shoulder and pointing at a bad roll or passing a flask of the hard stuff. Anything to keep curious eyes away from the scullery boys and servants that found different ways to acquire their wage if the coin was light. skimming just enough to not draw real suspicion. It could always be put down to having a bit to much ale at the dice table.
Brendill was one of two bouncers at the Bullywog's Brother in Waterdeep. This was just one of his many tasks. The pay was low but a cut of the 'extras' helped. If only Brendill didn't have a gambling problem of his own.
When the last patrons were passed out or thrown out the 'real' fun would begin. Brendill's bouncing buddy and he would run an after hours dice game at the back table.
His partner was Braack. The half orcs moniker was not some orcish name. It was gifted to him due to his penchant for belching. Braack was actually a full orc and a big one at that. Since full blooded orcs were frowned upon by the city he became a half orc by default.
The Bullywog's Brother was a tavern of ill repute. More often than not 'Myrkul's Faithful' were called to cart away the recently deceased. Coins changed hands and no questions were asked. Braack and Brendill were traveling companions for several seasons now. They met on a stretch of road where they were both strong arming travelers for coin. Braack was using a club and Brendill a crossbow. When they realized they were running the same strip they decided killing each other would not benefit anyone and instead ran the road together. This was all going well until they robbed the wrong riders. The Captain of the guard had two messengers waylaid by the duo and decided a 'purge' of such banditry was in order. Brendill got word of the cleansing and managed to squeak into town with his large companion disguised as an ilmater priest who took on the beatings of others for his penance.
One night in their cups at the Bullywog's they saw one of the two bouncers get gutted by a drunk priest of Cyric. They bought several sympathy drinks for the second bouncer before taking him out back and dispatching him. The next day they presented themselves to the proprietor seeking work. Hearing about his troubles they offered their services as capable warriors. The rotund, heavily drunk, human agreed offering his own terms. The two accepted realizing it was better than nothing and set up several bits of side action to make some extra coin.
Now the two were once again at it with a fine array of after hours patrons with coin to burn. Tonight they had one, burly, strong arm thief with a decent nights haul and well into his cups. A Wormluck, a follower of Beshaba, the Goddess of misfortune, with a red robe and an ill fitting white wig made to resemble their goddess. Finally, they had present, the owner of the underground fence shop. A pudgy, short man with a black half cap and soiled leather armor. Brendill was dicing with this lot and Braack was watching over the game to keep things in order. These were all dangerous men at the table and many things could go awry.
Several hours in the fence had left a few coins richer and the remaining were in a frenzied state of rolling and drinking. Brendill was furious with his luck. His calls to Tymora went unanswered and he continued to lose coin. The white haired Wormluck was well ahead of the others and the large, strong armed human was getting increasingly frustrated with his performance.
Brendill and the strong arm went all in as both had nothing left to lose. The Wormluck called his throw and it came up as shouted. Brendill cursed his luck but the strong arm pulled a large, serrated, dagger from his belt and pushed the table over.
"y'eve far te much luck fer'a priest of misfortune!" He growled the dagger held inches from the Wormluck's neck.
"Luck has nothing to do with it beast! Worship of Beshaba only prevents bad luck. Will you give praise to the Mistress of Misfortune or will you die this day?" The question was asked with the half lidded confidence of the heavily intoxicated. The Wormluck had a crude, black, morning star looped through his belt but made no move for it. Simply grinning drunkenly at his assailant and leaning into the weapon before him.
Brendill sighed. Braack was fast asleep and this simply would not do. As the strong arm pulled back his dagger for the fatal plunge he grabbed the white hair of the Wormluck. The long locks came off in his hand as the wig was pulled free and a balding halo of hair was revealed. This moment of shock for the thug gave Brendill his opportunity. He pulled his long dagger and rolled toward the legs of the brute slicing the leg tendon as he moved past. The mugger shouted in pain and surprise as he looked down toward his assailant. Brendill's short sword was already in his main hand and he shoved it into the guts of the large human and pulled up fiercely jumping back as a spray of blood shot out just missing the clumsy downward swing of the assailant. The momentum of this attack caused the shocked human to fall flat on his face in a pile of his own guts and blood.
"Now! What a lovely night!" The Wormluck exclaimed while picking his wig up out of a spreading pool of blood. He gave it two good shakes before placing the wig back on top of his head. Beads of blood still clung to the white locks.
"Well, my fancy priest...I am not so sure how this night will end well fer ye." Brendill said casually while he wiped his blades on the back of the thief. "Y'eve seen what fell upon the poor lad...Now the question is...Have ye seen what befell the poor lad?"
The dark priest eyed the halfling for a moment, swaying back and forth before speaking. "What I've seen is not important half man...It is what my Lady of Misfortune has seen this dark night! You have saved one of her faithful! You have also, I believe, cursed the lady Tymora, more than once this eve. We have much to celebrate!"
Brendill eyed the priest warily as he sheathed his dagger and short sword. "Have we now? I've lost most of me coin and killed a human in me place where I make the coin. Tell me what e've gained from it?"
The Wormluck stood dumbfounded for a moment and his eyes were away. He suddenly pulled a boot dagger and cut the middle finger off the dead thief. As it dripped blood he held it toward the halfling before speaking. "My Mistress says your luck may change. Take this finger and put it under your resting place this eve. In the morning if it is black obsidian, than you belong to her. If it is still a rotting finger than you are cursed to keep your luck with the bitch. Put your thoughts well towards this as your rest and you may be blessed. Becoming a 'Black Finger' for my mistress is an honor beyond belief."
Without a further word the Wormluck walked out of the tavern.