Out of Character:
"Sixteen thousand on the Sons of Shadow to win the tourny?" Said Phyr Sa'resh, raking in the hapless halfwit's coin, "aye sir, you're a brave one. Consider your wager placed." The one-armed dark elf deposited the coin carefully in the lockbox behind the high desk before filing the appropriate paperwork. The gambler nodded and toddled off to see what other distractions the convention could offer.
The Lornius Corporate Convention Centre buzzed with chatter. The queues outside the gambling desks were full, as were the plush seats surrounding the arcane viewing windows created by the monks of Ai'Brone. Folk of all races milled between the two main attractions at either side of the hall, detouring as needed to the refreshment stands and array of booths set up by participating business owners. For a building that was only open a few weeks out of the year, the convention centre nearly sparkled. Cleaning crews had been at the floors and walls, and only squinting past the chandeliers hanging from the vaulted ceiling could one make out traces of dirt up there. Although Lornius was not a wealthy island, it squeezed every drop of nectar from its annual busy season.
There were few enough opportunities for making coin in Corone, let alone Lornius, especially for a one armed drow. But Phyr had a head for numbers and a silver tongue when it counted, and he'd secured a position as a master of coin to oversee the tournament's gambling. Phyr sighed and rubbed his left temple as the next gambler in line - a dwarf with a thick brown beard - ambled up to the desk. Although the long, wide hall had no windows, Phyr knew that the sun outside had barely reached its zenith. More than half a day's work remained, and he had already had just about enough of watching fools throw their money away, even if he had found it entertaining at first.
Sa'resh signalled for a young female human to replace him and stood and limped out from behind the desk. His hip had grown stiff from sitting so long - it always did, ever since that horse tossed him back in Underwood. Exaggerating every other step to increase blood flow, Phyr headed for the food carts at the north end of the hall, figuring a fried pheasant wing might take his mind off the tedium.
Out of Character:
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