You’ve just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As you look around, your gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. You duck and step into a tattered tent, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the tent, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town? she begins, then pauses to study your face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a cushion, “Tell me your story.”
Behind the tattered tent a sickle moon smiles, peeking through the entrance of the tent, its patient glow waging a petty war against flickering candles and their trembling wicks. Mismatched amber and chartreuse unveil from beneath snow flecked lashes casting soft shadows as his gaze meets the old hag's. Illuminated by moonlight and candleflame, the half-elf's sculpted lips curl to a charming smile. The corners of his eyes crinkle.
"My story is a story of luck, of rebirth, of fortune. Life is an endless game of risk," A tinge of mischief rings in his rich baritone voice, words flowing almost as quiet as a whisper. "But everything comes with a price. Shall we gamble?"
The old hag hesitates with an apparent puzzled expression sprawled across her wrinkled, old face. "Gamble?"
"Yes, gamble," Lévinthal answers with a louder pitch, but he doesn't seem sure if that was sufficient enough. Had she heard any bit of what he said? "I can only share my story if you're victorious."
"I do not have time for such irrelevant matters!" The old hag roars, as if Xyrlynn were the one who had grown too old to hear her. On the contrary, his ears were quite sensitive.
It doesn't take much for one enchanting gentleman to convince the old hag to play his game, much like many others. He's lured countless souls into gambling with the convenient use of his strikingly pretty features and that gorgeous smile. In every risk-filled game, Lévinthal has almost always been triumphant—honing his skills at the card tables and dice games in dimly lit taverns and back alleys—but tonight is an exception. Tonight he purposefully loses his gamble against the old hag, which is why he settled for a bottle of wine as a prize. Because he wishes to tell his story, and because he already has two bottles with him anyway.
But the Adunian doesn't know whether he should regret his decision because of how poorly she played, or to be pleased with a daring challenge of how skillfully he needed to play his cards to lose.
Beneath his façade of gentility lurks a certain darkness, but the old hag is blinded by his winsome smile, as he considers gambling with the old hag a few more times only to lose at the cost of trivial prices. Once she was sure of her next triumph, he'd abuse her clueless and blind nature to win a great price, ending her with a final blow.
What a delightful idea!
His smile never falters as he shares his story. Lévinthal explains how his luxurious life had slipped away from his fingers from a lost gamble of another's, how his father was selfishly desperate to save his own skin and used him as collateral. How he was cast out into unforgiving streets, abandoned and alone. Left with no choice but to rely on his wits and charm. Lévinthal tells the old bag how he survived.
"Gambling saved my life."
"O-hohoho..hoo!..," Finding this humorous, the old hag beams with hoarse laughter, feeling the need to remind him of his loss as she revels in her victory. "But I won."
Positively glowing with her victory against the Aduanian who had climbed his way up from poverty with gambling. He joins her as they both laugh, seemingly not offended by her remark. "Ha-hahaha! Ironic, is it not?"
"Ohohohoho-ohoho! Eurhgh.. Oh! Hohohoohoho..."
After what feels like eternity for the gambler, rays of sunlight announce the arrival of daytime. He doubts the old hag who evidently seems to enjoy herself would agree, especially after all his praises he'd offered her in hopes to divert her attention away from the topic. Courteously, Xyrlynn excuses himself and thanks the old hag for her time as he rises from where he was seated. He takes a mental note as to never come here again, not to gamble, at least.
Only if he ever ran out of wine, which he figured was the best prize she could offer.
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