The Orlesian occupation of Ferelden lasted almost a century, marking a dark period in Thedas.
Vigil's Keep was the first fortress to fall. Twenty years after the invasion began there, Orlais finally sacked the city of Denerim, claiming victory and drove the king into hiding. Though routed, the king now known as "Brandel the Defeated" continued to rebel against the Orlesians... but his efforts have proven inefficient, as most nobles believe that Ferelden is truly lost.
August has just ended and the cold and rain are starting to show, on-and-off, in the southern parts of the continent. The northern half is experiencing only minor changes.
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NOV. 24th Happy belated first month anniversary to us! A few things to be noted. We are currently taking nominations for our first ever site spotlights. The nomination period will be over by the 30th, so feel free to take your time as new members and threads roll in. Just don't forget about them. Secondly, the advertising contest is still going strong, but it slated to wrap up at the end of the month. If you want to earn some extra gold and help promote the site, best to get on that now, while the rewards are higher than usual. Thirdly, the site lottery is still going, and the drawing period will be over Friday. Lastly, we should be getting that multiplayer thread soon. Sorry it's been delayed so long--as you can imagine, I've been busy with single player for Inquisition. Once I'm done, I'll put up the threads and we can hopefully get some games going.
OCT. 19th We're kicking off the site's grand opening with quite a few things to do (besides apply and join, of course ;D). We have an advertising contest going on right now, which will earn new members a ton of gold. You even get ten gold just for advertising for us once. Aside from that, our first ever site lottery is underway, with double the traditional jackpot payout. There might even be a few other things that we've forgotten to mention, but we're sure you can figure those out on your own. ;D As a final note, with DAI's release date being less than a month out (in North America), we're strongly considering organizing multiplayer across the various platforms so IWV members can play together. If that sounds like something that might interest you, keep your eyes peeled for the next little while.
"C'mon boys, Nutmeg's feelin' lucky." Sly tossed in some coins and rose the bet. Only another player remained.
And boy, was Nutmeg right. Sly was sitting pretty on fifty sovereigns--a small fortune for most men, let alone an elf. But this was about right for the firedancer, who was used to slipping in and robbing everyone blind. Legally, of course. As a foreigner, and a petite elf, most people didn't think much of him. So it was only natural to humor the poor man and let him in on a few games. But then he came in like a dark horse in the running and won again and again. And when he didn't win, he folded, always at the right time.
Normally he knew when to stop. He was playing Wicked Grace fairer and squarer then some--it was just his brain that was doing all the hard work. But even fair, people got offended when you won game after game after game. Tonight, though, he'd had a few too many drinks, and there were big spenders and high rollers at the gambling pavilion. This proved a winning combination where his inhibition was concerned.
"Three Knaves." Sly fanned his hand out. That was when his luck stopped.
"Horse shit!" The burly human slammed his fist on the table, sending coins and cards onto the floor, and spilling drinks in the process. "Ain't no one got that kinda luck!"
Reeling back from the table, Sly kept his hands up and offered a roguish, if nervous smile. "Does it make any difference that it isn't luck? I can do this thing in my hea--"
"You're going t'give me all of i'. We're all gettin' our winnin's back." The burly man with the broken tooth looked to the rest of the table for support. A few moments ago they all seemed thoroughly irritable and scorned, like a wet kitten. It came as no surprise when they murmured or nodded in the positive.
"Now that's hardly fair. But since I won so much, I'd be willing to give each of you a tip?"
A ceramic jug came his way, which he only narrowly managed to dodge. Right. So much for the tip!
Post by Quinn Vilaro on Nov 28, 2014 21:23:15 GMT -5
Quinn didn’t like losing either, but that hardly warranted throwing tantrums and cups all over the place.
After taking care of some business tracking Templar movements near Kinloch Hold, the information broker had decided to unwind a bit at the gambling pavilion. This, of course, was not without its merits. She personally never cared much for the gambling itself, but Wicked Grace was an invigorating game with the right people, and Quinn considered herself a very good player, if she could say so herself. But most of all, the pavilion was a rich hunting ground for recruits. She spied the craftier ones, the few who can game the system and do it well. Those were useful.
This one, however was…different. He didn’t cheat. Who didn’t cheat in a game of Wicked Grace? Quinn certainly did, but even then she found herself losing to the elf…woman? Man? Somewhere in between? Quinn decided to assume the elf was a woman, for now. Anyway, point was that she had lost an admirable amount of coin to the elf woman earlier, and that had caught her interest. The elf was really good at either Wicked Grace or cheating. The two usually came hand in hand, to be honest. He was an Antivan, too, as far away from home as Quinn was; it comforted Quinn to know that her country was continuing to produce such fine specimens of intelligence.
She hanged around, arms crossed as she watched the elf beat opponent after opponent in an impossible chain of victories, until one overgrown man finally threw up his hands and slammed them back down into the table. “Horse shit! Ain't no one got that kinda luck!" He screamed, veins popping out and looking like they were trying to run away from his forehead.
"Does it make any difference that it isn't luck? I can do this thing in my hea--"
The elf didn’t get the chance to reveal his secret. "You're going t'give me all of i'. We're all gettin' our winnin's back." Looks like the crowd was starting to get rowdy. Quinn raised an eyebrow and decided it was time to slip away as the elf tried to calm down his audience. Wait, was that an angrily clasped jug in the man’s hand? Quinn supposed she should do the Antivan elf the favor, at least, of warning him about the pending onslaught of ceramic wares.
“Duck, lass.” Quinn shouted at the elf in rapid Antivan. Whether she(?) heard Quinn or not, the elf dodged out of the way just in time.
“’Ey, t’elf’s got a helper.” The man with bad teeth growled, turning his attention to the short assassin. “’Nother Antivan bastard tellin’ the cards for’im, knew he was cheatin’!”
The corner of Quinn's lips twitched in annoyance, realizing that her plan to aid the elf has just backfired horribly (A lot of her plans have been backfiring horribly, as of late). She had forgotten the idiotic sense of nationalism which Fereldans held, and their stupid suspicion of anyone who did not originate from their shit-scented country.
“Me? I just lost two sovereigns to that kid.” The crowd, sadly, did not seem very convinced. So Quinn upped the ante. “What, you want proof?” Quinn snapped her fingers at the elf. “Hey, cariño, play this sorry son of a bitch again and show him your pretty little elven mind tricks.” She situated herself directly behind the elf’s chair, a wicked grin splayed across her face. Now things were gettingfun. “I can’t see the opponent’s hand, can I? So if this kid wins again, it proves he won fair and square, and I didn’t do jack shit.”
She growled at the elf under her breath, so that their restless audience couldn’t hear her. “You better win this round, kid. Things aren’t going to end well for either of us otherwise.”
Last Edit: Nov 28, 2014 21:28:28 GMT -5 by Quinn Vilaro
Post by Maike Kaufer on Nov 30, 2014 20:58:27 GMT -5
Maike’s second trip into Redcliffe was uneventful. The last time had bandits and a quite interesting individual; she had only gone this time in hopes that another exciting event would happen. It didn’t, and they had already gotten all the supplies they needed for Kinloch hold from the town. How terribly boring; this was not at all like the adventure stories she regularly read. Adventure always seemed to be right around every corner with those. Real life, not so much.
Maike had even gotten several more books, not that it was unusual for her. Almost every trip out from the tower ended in Maike taking notes on something or getting a book that the library didn’t have. She was adding to its collection quite nicely.
Ser Arren had taken her into a gambling pavilion this fine evening, swearing that they were only going to be there for a bit. Half and hour later, Maike assumed that a bit meant almost the entire night. She hoped he wouldn’t gamble away all their money; they’d need some for an inn. Or perhaps they could at least sleep in the stables. That would be a new experience for her indeed!
Maike spent her time observing the games, considering she didn’t know any of the rules really. It was when she spied an elf and Vilaro that she came over to the Wicked Grace game. Cheating? Cheated by an elf? Oh how interesting, especially since it appeared that he wasn’t.
“I’ll put down thirty silvers, if that’s alright? That is how this game works, yes?” Maike said, having observed a few of them in play. “This is so exciting!” Maike said, apparently oblivious to the murderous vibe going on. She didn’t draw attention to Quinn at the moment, but she would have to speak to the rogue afterward. She’d never had a friend outside the circle before either. Well, if she could even consider Quinn her friend that is.
She thought so anyway.
Last Edit: Nov 30, 2014 20:58:55 GMT -5 by Maike Kaufer
Sly was surprised to hear Antivan in the pavilion. Well, surprised to hear it from any other than the performers. He had an accent, but it was slight, and somewhat difficult to place. Whoever warned him certainly had a good ear... and good eyes, given how quickly they too picked up on the ceramic jug being lobbed his way. Pity. That was one of the better sets the circus offered, and now it was short a pitcher.
"I can assure you that the fine..." Sly's sharp eyes swiveled over to the Antivan. It was the same Antivan he'd played earlier in the day, and won two sovereigns from. No small sum, especially for one so far away from home. "Young woman had no part to play." She chimed in next, and he nodded in affirmation. "Just so. And even if she had been assisting me, I'm sure you sharp gentleman would have caught wind of some hand gesture or motion by now, no?"
They didn't seem convinced in the slightest. Sigh. Normally appealing to one's vanity merited better results--no matter.
"Thank Andraste there's no pressure." He murmured as his fellow Antivan boasted that he could win again, with ease. Not losing, certainly. He'd know when to fold simply by looking at the cards and remembering what had already been discarded. Winning? That was another matter entirely.
"If lady luck falls short, follow me, my sweet. I'll see us to the swiftest exit." And one that put him promptly near Nutmeg.
He was surprised to find a slight, Rivaini-descended girl butt her way into the game. None of the other players seemed to take kindly to the newcomer. It seemed convenient for them, but they stayed their hand for the moment. Most of their ire was fixated on the pair of Antivans.
"I believe the Rivaini just put in our starting bid, gentleman." Reaching into his swollen-to-burst purse, Sly tossed in thirty silvers. "Deal me in."
His starting hand was hardly perfect. Knave high (the knaves always found favor with him), a pair of sixes, a three and a nine. Knaves were down for the count this game. Between the decks there was only two left in play, and given the size of the draw pile, the odds were not in his favor. Nor were they in his favor for the pair of sixes, not if he was playing to win. There were only three sixes left in the assortment. So those too were discarded, though it would certainly seem a bad move to the Antivan behind him. Odds were good that he'd see a nine--and lo and behold he managed to find one, along with a Queen, an ace and a two. Next draw would almost certainly see him another queen or a nine. More queens had been played than nines, but only by one, and the statistics behind finding another nine the very next draw after two in a row leveled the playing field. Both of those cards had a two to one chance.
((If there isn't enough to go off of, I can add more.))
Post by Quinn Vilaro on Dec 13, 2014 1:18:03 GMT -5
((Ahahaha I have absolutely no idea how to play card games, so this post might be a bit wrong about how Wicked Grace actually works and I apologize u_u))
Quinn had to resist the instinctual gagging that came with the elf calling her “my sweet”, of all things. No one has called her that in years, and the mouths which used to utter those words were not pleasant ones. She rolled her eyes and pushed the thoughts away, and snickered instead. “No worries, lass. I can break more than a few noses if our exit isn’t swift enough.”
The tense atmosphere was temporarily broken when a rather dissonantly cheery Maike broke into the crowd and offered the starting bet. Quinn raised a brow at the appearance of the young mage in such an establishment, but now wasn’t the time for questions. Where was the child’s wrangler? Quinn made a note to haul Maike’s ass out of here with her if things went south. A Templar neglecting his duties was no small matter, and having one in debt to her (with the threat of blackmail on the side, no less) would only yield advantages.
The elf’s starting hand was definitely not ideal, and as the game went on, his chances were average at best. Nevertheless, Quinn maintained an aura of nonchalance. She wasn’t exactly here for a fight though; that would be a terribly bothersome chore. So Quinn decided to do what she liked to call “tasteful maneuvering”. Spying a flagon which was lying a bit too close to the edge, Quinn jilted the table just the slightest bit with her foot, sending the mug tumbling down to the ground and splashing a nearby viewer with ale. With an action but no source to tie it to, the man could only curse into the air. Quinn quickly used the diverted attention to pass her hand fleeting over the elf’s arm, a more or less unassuming gesture which was noticed by few people. Now the elf had a nine tucked quietly away in his sleeve, but whether he wished to use it or not wasn’t up to Quinn.
Post by Maike Kaufer on Dec 17, 2014 22:39:49 GMT -5
Maike, being who she was, had been fairly oblivious to the social setting at first. However, after the first few cards, she began to note the tension in the room between all the players. She managed to catch from the whispered conversations near her that there was possibly some cheating going on. Well, that made this very interesting, though she wasn’t sure how one cheated at this game, yet. Dice was easier to figure out, considering how much Ser Arren had told her about how you could cheat at Dice and reports of the scenes he’d made at other gambling pavilions.
She made no move to leave the table, and indeed stayed in with the dealers. She figured by her hand that she’d end up losing; she had at least two aces and a couple of other cards, a couple of fours and a three. Not a good hand, she was sure. Plus, she hadn’t exactly asked people about the rules of this game. She knew that these men weren’t the people to ask about rules or anything like that. They were tight lipped people, and in Maike’s experience people, tight lipped people were not the ones to pester with questions. They tended to lash out, and she’d rather not have to use magic in such a public establishment.
Not that she wouldn’t do it, if she was pushed to protect herself. Ser Arren was not the most attentive templar, but that was why she wanted him to stay around. Well, at least her and the younger set of mages. He was a lot more lax and let the younger mages experience more of the world than the chantry might deem required. Plus, he could protect himself. That was, if he hadn’t gotten too drunk.
As the game went on, it appeared that what was going on was that the group of players were convinced something fishy was going on; she wasn’t sure if whatever Quinn and the elf girl were planning would go off without a hitch. The game was coming to a close, and Maike was definitely interested in the outcome.
"Excellent! I for one am terrible at fisticuffs and any real sort of violence."
Sly chortled in good humor at the "lass." It wasn't an uncommon thing, but being quite androgynous herself, he might have assumed that she had a sharper eye and a keener ear for the genders. "Do you think me comely?" The fire-haired elf asked as he bat his lashes overexaggeratedly. As long as she thought he was pretty, being mistaken for a woman was perfectly acceptable. "I ask for curiosity and ego. Nothing unsavory, I assure you. Though were I so inclined, I would not refuse. It's simply a question of locale." And timing. But he wasn't so inclined. Females were lovely, and though she was not a typical example of the fairer sex, her scars and weathering was quite striking. He just didn't much fancy anybody in that regard.
To his surprise, the other Antivan seemed keen on kicking up a fuss. It wasn't exactly his idea of wise. Things were already tense enough--increasing tensions didn't seem a great maneuver for either of them. Not when their lives were on the balance. It was only after when she gently stroked his arm and tucked a nine in his sleeve did he see the brilliance in it. Part of him was admittedly irritated. Did she not believe in his ability? The other part minded the nine.
He would play it honest for now. But he did rather like living. If after the next and final draw things did not go his way, he would slip the nine.
Asking for another two cards, Sly discarded the junk and held tight to his two nines and the queen. The queen did not show like he hoped (making it a eighty-five percent chance of being drawn the next hit), but the nine did come his way. The odds of anyone having a higher set of three were negligible. And with the cards that had been played, anyone having a straight in their hand went from five times as unlikely as his three of a kind to impossibility. The higher hands were more unlikely still.
With confidence, Sly placed his bets and stayed in the game. One of the players at the table folded before the big reveal.
((Feel free to have someone call BS on his hand. I figure it'll win. We could also potentially have the card in his sleeve fall out and thus no one thinks his hand is genuine.))
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