the Short Odds (RONIN)

[ConcordantNexus]

In the metropolis of Imhabia, just off of the Grand Boulevard (a major North-South throughfare, wide enough for 5 wagons) in the entertainment district there is large well lit tavern called the Short Odds. Was a time, some years ago that with every war the RONIN took part in, the bookies at the Short Odds would run a `dead pool` wherein anyone with the shillings and marks to spare could make a wager as to which enemy would feel the bite of RONIN steel or magick next...

At one point, the proprietors had to pay the Archbishop of Imhabia to excorcise the ghost of a vulgar Dawggie by the name of Alexandrite. That haunting has since earned a place in Imhabian folklore, with many a theory as to what prompted the haunting in the first place and whether or no the excorcism was successful.

Time flows on indifferently, much like the mighty river Constantine that flows down from the Talingol heartland, past the abandoned city of Talingol (now a warren for bandits and fell beings), past Lord Norgarth's steading of Crossing (a lonely but prosperous outpost guarding the northern marches of RONIN territory), parallel to the Lost Emperor's Highway (currently suffering from a certain amount of neglect), down into the RONIN heartlands and thence into the sea at Imhabia...

Thus time hath witnessed a decrease in RONIN fortunes and correspondingly those of the Short Odds. For the longest time it ceased to be politic (or safe) to run the dead pool. The undisclosed owner(s) of the place cut back on maintenance and staff. People still had coin to gamble with but nowhere near as much as in days gone by...

[ConcordantNexus]

Trina was from the Tarneesi clan, a wealthy Imhabian merchant guild. The proud if highly successfully Tarneesi were headed by Alessandro Tarneesi, who just happened to be her least favourite uncle. Unfortunately, with the downturn in business at the Short Odds, the owners let the part time staff go. At the time it hadn't bothered Trina, mostly because she was a student at the University of Imhabia and exams were upon her. She was... had been... studying to be a diplomat in the RONIN diplomatic core.

She'd done well, but good marks in school are not gold Imhabian marks that put food on the table once one's reserves run out.

It galled her to have to petition her portly uncle Alessandro for work (under no circumstances could she bear to ask for anymore handouts from the family).

Alessandro loomed in Trina's mind like monster wearing a jovial trickster's smile. Permanently etched in her mind was the way that this man had repeatedly humiliated her father, especially the night of his untimely death. Alessandro was papa's eldest brother... She'd been young when papa passed through the veil so unexpectedly. She'd always blamed herself for not having protected papa from Alessandro's taunting barbs, for not having deflected the situation and embarrassment that drove her papa from the clan feast that night and into the dangerous streets of Imhabia.

So she purposefully followed father's steps to the scholarly world of the University of Imhabia, but she'd merged this fiercely personal quest to make up for her innocent shortcomings that night with the temperance of language and diplomacy and negociation...

The shame of having had to petition the man that she still blamed for her father's death still stung her bitterly, for all that she'd once freely taken a sizeable bursary from Grandmama Tarneesi which had allowed her to taste freedom. Freedom to get a small attic apartment in one of the student Dormitories that siddle around the University. Freedom to enroll in the courses she chose. Freedom to get up on her feet and find a small circle of friends. Freedom to be away from a clan of arrogant male relatives that saw her as a bargaining chip with which to seal alliances with other guilds.

Alessandro's first son, had been married to Vladimir Ionescu's daughter two weeks after Winter Solstice. It had been an extravagantly grand affair of a wedding, held in the Cathedral of Isonia Triumphant, possibly THE premiere temple to the Goddess in this part of the world. Usually, only the nobility and senior RONIN had the honour and privilege of using the Cathedral. That's how rich the Tarneesis had become: enough so that they could bump shoulders with the elite. Trina had flatly turned down the first invitation, sending the pageboy home without so much as a halfpenny, partly because she was almost destitute herself, partly because she'd vengefully `shot` the messenger. Trina had wanted to avoid the ceremony and soirees and parties that came with it. Resolute even though by this time her larder was growing bare, her purse empty, her hopes thin but pride unwavering. Then Grandmama Tarneesi had sent an invitation in her own handwriting and personal chop. Not even Alessandro himself could say "no" to Grandmama Tarneesi. Alessandro might be the Patriarch of Tarneesi, but Grandmama Tarneesi had years to go before she would even think of releasing her grip on the title of Matriarch of Tarneesi. Thus the invitation had all the force and power of a missive signed and ordered by Lord Watanabe...

Seeing as how she had no further choice, she showed up as directed for the wedding ceremony. She'd chosen to wear a cherry brown dress that went well with her black curls. To her surprise she found herself enjoying the soiree afterwards, getting plenty of time to use her diplomatic skills conversing with the who's who of Imhabian high society that had accepted invitations to the Tarneesi-Ionescu wedding. The food was impeccable and creative, the drink magnificent. She willed herself not to eat or imbibe too much, nor to think about the poor starving and freezing to death on the mean streets of the very same city. Instead, Trina had delighted in flirting with *gasp* several intelligent and attentive young men. She'd been well on the way to accepting a dinner invitation from one such potential suitor when Grandmama intercepted her. The silver haired matriarch hauled her off for a rather one-sided conversation that had little to do with socializing and much to do with letting pride get in the way of asking family for assistance.

Moments later she found herself being hauled by Grandmama's iron will into a corner of the wedding hall and prompted to ask Alessandro for help...

[ConcordantNexus]

Ironically enough, Trina found herself working the crowd at the Short Odds as opposed to working at the Short Odds. Up until recently, most of the gambling was related to small unaffiliated Ferrets and Ferrets posing as Dardenites. From the conversations that she'd overheard, RONIN had been forced to pay attention to one particularily haughty kingdom of ferrets and as a result the Ferret kills would mount steadily.

She hated to admit it but this was a cushy job; gathering and analyzing rumours for clan Tarneesi - easier work and much better pay. The privilege of being born well off. When she wasn't attending parties or pubs searching for rumours and trends, she was assisting various Tarneesi factotums and family members in negotiating deals and keeping inventory and generally learning the business of doing business on this large a scale...

[ConcordantNexus]

The Short Odds had a new gig going - a pool to bet when a mass exodus of people would depart from Imhabia for good. Trina had no idea why the rumour mill was chattering about that topic - the exodus, not specifically the exodus betting pool, but there it was. Either way her kin in the Tarneesi clan seemed to be behaving erratically, passing up lucrative long term contracts in favour of short term ones. They were also asking detailed questions about the rumours and moreover, had instructed Trina to be ready to move on a few days notice.

Strange times indeed...

[Lucien Starshadow]

Lucien was holed up at the Short Odds waiting for the storm pounding Imhabia to pass, or at least lighten up. The bar wasn't in as good of condition as it was in the past, but little in the city was. At least they still had top quality alcohol still.

Unfortunately the prices had risen considerably, or maybe it was just that he was paying with his own coins rather than money stol-, er, appropriated from ferret and dawgie treasuries.

Stromrider had unloaded him and his horse in a cove a few hours ride down the coast, and he'd entered the city as a common traveller. He wanted to find out what the Ronin would have to deal with/work with when they arrived.

He'd been poking about here and there about the city. He'd hoped to sleep at the Fiddler Crab but the Strom had hit and he was halfway across town from Kerrick's place, and so here he sat.

On the upside, The Guilded Peacock was up for sale and if he put in an offer before the Ronin's return became common knowledge, he could probably buy it cheap.

[The Dark Assassin]

Lucien's thoughts were disturbed somewhat by the unseemingly sight of a decapitated head bouncing down the steps that led from the entrance to the "Short Odds" and the betting room floor.

The initial, almost lonely looking, cranium was very quickly nudged aside by a small torrent heathen skulls.

It was time to get this show on the road ...

T'is bounty huntin' time !!!

[Lucien Starshadow]

Lucien was surprised at the large number of skulls that suddenly tumbled into the main room of The Short Odds. On the other hand, he was not as disturbed as most of the staff and customers, having killed before.

"It was time to get this show on the road ... T'is bounty huntin' time !!!" he heard a voice say from outside as Lucien stood and strolled over to the door.

"While I have nothing against bounty hunting (as long as I'm not the target), I don't see why you are tossing them in here. This is a bar and betting parlour. If you intend to collect the prices on these heads, you should try the City Guard. Now be a good fellow and clean up your mess would you?"

With that Lucien walked back to his table and continued his meal as the manager began calling for someone to clean up the messes on the floor. Both that left by the heads, and those caused by customers with weak stomachs.

[The Dark Assassin]

Judging by the howls of protest from the book keeper, the creature of the shadows quickly realised that he had deposited his heavy load in the wrong establishment. Never one to linger where he was not wanted, the Dark Assassin set about re-gathering his bounty.

With the gory heads safely returned to a sack slung over his shoulder, he stepped back and surveyed the sign outside the inn.

How could I be so wrong ....

he muttered as he sauntered up the street in search of a sheriff who would trade coin for the heathen payload.

[John Doe]

[ooc: edited for consistency with the mandated edits to the following post]

John Doe hadn't been employed by the Short Odds in a while. He'd had to find numbers work elsewhere. And, business for the Short Odds had greatly declined, with their favourite betting pool not available. They'd tried a few things -- but nothing had caught on. But, just recently, with the reformation of the Ronin, people had started to trickle back in to the Short Odds, someone them for nostalgia, and some looking to make a bet. Then, with the attack by the Royal Knights, the questions started to get persistent, and people started making private bets on some of the fights. That was when John had been called back in.

John walked into the bar, as he'd done a number of times in the past. Not as many people recognised him as usual -- but the few who did started whispering to their companions or friends, with smiles on their face. He walked to the front of the tavern, and climbed on a bench, and coughed a couple times to get people's attention.

Excuse me everone, but I have an announcement to make.

He waited a couple minutes while people quieted down. Those who knew, or had been told, who he was quieting those around him.

I think you'll all be excited to know that the Short Odds has, once again, opened up their death pool.

Cheers broke out. He waited a couple minutes, then held up his hands for a bit of quiet. Things got a bit quieter, but there were too many excited people to truly get any quiet.

Betting will be opening in half an hour, which Royal Knight's realm do YOU think will be destroyed first?

John Doe stepped down off the bench, and walked out of the tavern. He was employed by the best, once again.

[John Doe]

Later that evening, John Doe returned to the Short Odds. He noticed that crowd had increased again -- not yet back up to its height of the heyday of the Ronin, but getting back there. The bartender looked happier than John had seem him in a while, and John knew the betting had been brisk. Again, not like it had been -- but for the first night, it had gone well. He walked to the front, and climbed onto his usual bench.

So, was anyone expecting a pay-off this soon? Well, I have not one, but two pay-offs to announce. The first realm destroyed, and the first we're paying off for, belonged to Ryo Hokusai Himura!

A lot of people cheered, some louder than the others -- those moved forward to collect their bets. One was heard to mutter to another, "them Ronin don't like anyone trying to sound like one of them, he shoulda know better with a name like that. That's why I picked him to die."

And the second Knight to lose a realm was... Sorentio. Collect your bets if you won, and best of luck on the next one, if you didn't. We're all hoping for a bunch more payoffs in the next while, aren't we?

With this, John Doe wandered over to the bar and grab a tankard of ale. He watched the crowd, with a small smile on his face. He'd missed this.






((Thank you for contacting me. Hopefully any confusion or concerns were taken care of. If not please contact me again. -V. Jasmine))

[edited, hopefully the change to "destruction of realm" from death of character is acceptable -it is. thank you. V. Jasmine]

[John Doe]

John Doe did not like this. The punters at the Short Odds would not be happy. In fact, this was entirely unlike the Ronin, a guild known for delight in the absolute destruction of enemy realms, for glorying and celebrating the deaths involved. They'd been at war for days now, and still no destruction. Yes, there'd been a lot of mayhem, some glorious battles, but not a payoff yet at the Short Odds. And he had to tell them this.

John walked into the tavern and betting hall, hoping against hope that it wouldn't be crowded. No such luck. And as he walked in, several of the regulars noticed him..."Hey, John, who's dead this time?" He just shook his head and continued to the front, and climbed on his usual bench.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you all. The Ronin still haven't destroyed a realm. This is entirely unlike them -- perhaps the ferrets in the Regulators and the Forge are a bit more tenacious than usual... or perhaps they're just hiding in little burrows and are being tough to root out. But...just to give you something to think about, we've added a new pool to this war...the no-finalization, you'd be betting that before this war is concluded, the Ronin won't finalize the destruction of any enemy realm. Betting at the usual place."

He climbed down. Well, hopefully that would hold them, and maybe bring in some more bets. With no payoffs, the rate of new bets had really dropped off, that was good money going to waste.

[John Doe]

Well, the Ronin had finally come through. John approached the Short Odds with not one, but two pay-offs to announce. As he walked though the bar, a familiar face asked, "So, more bad news?" But, John just smiled. When he got to his usual spot, he climbed on the bench and just waited. Slowly the tavern quieted down.

Well, ladies and gents, it seems the Ronin are back on form. They got not one, but two realms this evening.

At this point he is interrupted by loud cheers, and shouts of "Go Ronin" and "kill the ferret bastards". After the crowd calms down a bit, he continues.

The first realm destroyed was a Regulator one, it belonged to the *cough* lady, Lare.

He's interrupted by more cheers, mingled with a number of mostly good-natured curses from the losers.

And the second one, from Forge this time, belonged to Sir Darius. You all know where to collect your winning by now, but if you don't, anything under a mark in winnings can be collected at the bar -- the big winners need to come over to the office accross the street.

With that he stepped down. It had been a good nights work, and he wandered over to the bar for an ale.

[Jevroth]

Jevroth grimaced in distaste. A pair of 3's were not what he wanted to see out of the cups tonight. He tossed another coin onto the growing pile, mostly his, and scooped the dice back into the cup.

Be careful, you don't want to waste all your pay on this game said Leto. Leto was sitting with his back against the wall, watching Jevroth gamble. The fighter had few weaknesses, but gambling just happened to be one, and it was no help that the Short Odds was so close to the quartermaster's here in Imhabia.

Don't bother me when I am tossing, you know that's bad luck Jevroth growled at Leto. There was no animosity in this argument because it happened every time Jevroth got paid, and sometimes, his gambling was a good way for them to mingle with the locals in other towns they visited.

[Leto-san]

Leto laughed quietly to himself and re-lit his pipe. Jevroth was always so serious about his gambling. I suppose I should be a little worried about it, but he never actually spends all his money on the tables.

While it was true that Jevroth could not keep a coin in his hand without wanting to bet with it, he could be counted on in a tight spot. His luck might be running cold tonight, but, you never know what will happen with the next toss of the dice.

A series of shouts of both joy and disappointment arose from the table, bring Leto back into the present. It appeared that Jevroth had broken his streak of poor tosses with the Ladies Choice, not the best toss in the game, but certainly better than most. Jevroth's confidant laugh as he passed the cup to the last man still in the game made Leto smile. If I put as much effort into learning the ancient histories as he did gambling, I would be the premier scholar in the whole of Imhabia

Leto watched the final toss of the game with some interest. If the man's toss could not beat Jevroth's Ladies Choice, a quite considerable pile of coins would go into Jevroth's purse. The man shook the cup three times, closed his eyes, and slammed in upside down on the table. Without realizing it, everyone around the table held their breath. The man slowly lifted up the cup, still not opening his eyes. When the other players saw the dice he had thrown, the erupted into a cheer. Jevroth pushed away from the table in disgust, his Ladies Choice had been beaten by the Full Cups, the best toss in the game.

Leto pushed off of the wall and clapped him on the shoulder. Come on, I will buy you a drink so you can forget about all that money you just lost because you couldn’t roll that last die. Jevroth just groaned.

[Varag and Velcrom]

Varag the Bogie and Velcrom the Leprechaun spent most of their time in Crossing. More accurately, they spent most of their time locked up in Crossing. Durring war time they would cause havok behind enemy lines with their pranks. The problem being that in peacetime, they would get bored and start pulling their tricks in Ronin territory. Usually after a war Norgarth would use his magics to find then and bring them back to Crossing.

Then had come the aborted war against the Reavers. Their keepers had let the troublesome twosome free in anticipation of Lord Norgarth's orders, but when the war was cancelled, the two fey promptly ran for it.

At that exact moment Norgarth was listening to the pair's keepers try to explain how they escaped and why the keepers had 'neglected' to inform him of that fact for the last week.

The two fey however, were in imhabia, watching the goings on at the Short Odds.

Heh, lookin' at bettin' board, it look like Ronin hit dawgies, not o'ter way round. chuckled Varag. Some optimistic soul, after hearing of the strength and effectiveness of Ronin's counterassault, had even bet that the war would end without the loss of a single Ronin realm.

Velcrom finished off the cask of rum he'd taken from the Short Odds' back room, belched, and looked at the board. Feh, if'in those reports are true, it'd be almost too easy playing our games on those doggies. Do you know if there's any good breweries in TEN lands?

The bogie just rolled his eyes at his friend's question.

[John Doe]

It had been a while since the Ronin had been to war. Well maybe not that long -- there'd been an abortive skirmish with Reavers and then they'd been attacked by Fury of the Ten, but he'd been on vacation for those wars. It had been a long time since he'd been doing the odds for a Ronin war would have been more accurate. And this pay-off was going to be a big one, for the few who had bet correctly -- not the realm anyone would have been likely to guess. Who could predict the first realm destroyed in the lastest war would be that of a Prince of the land? But truly that was what had happened. He walked into the Short Odds to be greeted by the usual friendly comments,

"Hey John, welcome back, got some good news for us?"

"Wait for it."

John walked to the front of the bar, and climbed up on his usual bench, and waited for the room to get a bit calmer, or at least, to get as calm as it was going to get. He cleared his throat.

"The first realm destroyed in the Ronin's assault on True Hearted, was that of a Prince of Maxim. So, for those few of you who bet the long-shot, this one pays off big-time, and better luck next time for everyone else. Oh, yes, the realm belonged to Lord Style.

As John walked to the door, he heard a lot of mutterings."Wow, a Prince of Maxim.", "Foret be damned, I shoulda bet on Style myself." And many more.

[Thargon]

Thargon was having a drink in the Short Odds bar and betting hall. The place was quite popular tonight. In fact it had beenfor the past few nights and looked to continue being so for a while longer. In the past this sort of activity would have indicated the Ronin were waging war, but not now.

The Ronin had mostly vanished or fallen to corruption, the few that still flew the Ronin banner watched over their lands but could not afford to eye other realms. However there was a rather large war going on. A group of Darden and Isonian guilds had decided to take down the Reavers, Maxim's most hated ferrets.

Thargon had placed a few bets himself. Mostly on Reaver kingdoms, but also a few on the realms of the Amatsu Mikaboshi. Thargon didn't really care who killed who, or how they suffered. He'd drink to the fall of a Darden realm, or one of the bloated Reavers, and especially (dispite the fact they were supposedly Isonians) to the destruction of one of the hated Spiders. Yup in his opinion, this war was a win-win for the Ronin. Reaver or Evenstar or dardenite, he'd drink to the fall of each of the Ronin's enemies.