Four rickety chairs surrounded the table up front, and they were already filled with gamblers. Piled up on the table before each were stacks of coins—mostly bronze—and the men nervously guarded their hoard, as if worried they were moments away from getting robbed.
As they should, given the look of the sleazy man with slick black hair that was the orchestrator of the game. He smiled too much, and his honeyed voice rattled off relentlessly, urging the gamblers to try harder and reminding them of the pot size for the round. Ren knew his type. Left alone, they weren’t much different from the other dregs of low-life found around every corner. But put them in front of even the least inebriated audience, and they could convince anyone to sell their souls for the low-low price of a glass of air.
“Oho, Tommen don’t be shy now,” said the dealer, expertly tossing and catching the cup holding the dice. “You already lost half of your coins last round. The only way to make it back is to continue playing!”
“Shut up, Ulfrid!” Tommen took a big gulp from his ale-filled mug. “Let me think.”
“Look where that gat ya.” Another seated gambler snorted. “Just hand over ya coins an’ save me the trouble of giving a cut to Ulfrid over there.”
Without missing a beat, the dealer reached over and snatched a bronze coin from the second speaker's pile. “You know the rules, Vaghn,” he said as he pocketed the coin. “No bad-mouthing the house or dealer. Penalty of 1 bronze.”
“Bah!” Vaghn glared at Tommen. “Ya just cost me a bronze. How ya gonna pay me back?”
Tommen looked around theatrically, his jowls shaking with the effort. “I look like one of your lasses, Vaghn?” he sneered. “Go fuck yourself!”
The other two gamblers chuckled with the watching crowd, but it was obvious they were just as eager for the game to begin. The crowd was getting antsy too, and Ulfrid, being the sharp dealer he was, went ahead and started the round. He emptied his cup of the multicolored cubic die he had been playing with, showing the empty cup all around.
A big bowl containing numerous dice was passed around to all four players, and each picked up three at random. Ren noticed that each die was twelve-sided, with numbers ranging from 1 to 12. The only cubic die was the one Ulfrid had been toying with earlier and its sides were colored red, blue, green, yellow, black and white. Each player examined the multicolored die before placing it back in the bowl and passing it to the next player.
Some fiddled with the multicolored die between grimy fingers, rolled it on the table or tossed it into the air. Tommen took it a step further and bit into it, immediately getting penalized for trying to damage property. When the bowls completed its rounds, and made it back to the dealer, only 4 dice were left in the bowl, which Ulfrid quickly collected.
“Alright, you sexy bastards!” Ulfrid yelled, to roaring applause. “You know the rules and you’ve all seen, and tasted —” he winked at Tommen to the amusement of many, “—that I dinna pull the dice out my ass. Now let’s roll!”
As the men chuckled, Ulfrid gestured and they all pushed a small pile of coins, each totalling 50 bronze, making the pot for the round a tidy 200 or 2 silver. Ren watched with rapt attention, trying to get a feel for the game and its rules.
The rules of Chromatic Chance—as Ren had overheard it called—were as intricate as they were treacherous. The aim was deceptively simple: roll the dice and match up numbers and colors. The dealer—Ulfrid in this case—would begin each round by rolling a set of three 12-sided dice, setting a 'target pattern' that all players had to strive to match. Next he placed the cubic multicolored die into the cup and slammed the overturned cup on the table, without revealing the result. Each player after rolling their set of three 12-sided dice was then required to call out a color.
After all parties had rolled and called out their guess of the color under the cup, Ulfrid would then reveal the result. The undisputed winner of the game would be the player that rolled the exact match as the dealer, as well as called out the right color. That player would be receiving 100% of the pot. In the case that the player got the numbers right but missed the color, they would be receiving 95% of the pot, with the other 5% being kept by Ulfrid and the gambling house.
Past this, the winner would be the player that rolled the closest combination of numbers and color, and they would receive 85% of the pot, with the house withholding 15%. It was beautiful in its deviousness.
“Kringle’s balls, Omar!” Tommen spat in irritation. “You’re cheating. That’s your third win!”
“Watch ya tone, maggot,” the plain looking man replied through gritted teeth. “I’ve gutted men for less.”
Vaghn chuckled mirthlessly. “The Skirt’s lasses would thank ya for gutting this particular man.”
“Lightning strike both of you!” Tommen slammed his fists on the table, toppling the small coin pile next to him.
“The next round’s starting,” Ulfrid stated with that same charisma, completely unmoved by the tensions around the table. “Buy-in is 80 bronze.”
Ren observed it all. In this game, Ulfrid had a distinct position of power. From the rounds he had witnessed, no one had won with a clean flush. The closest was the last round where Omar had gotten all the numbers on the 12-sided dice, and called black as the color. From observing the rotations so far, and with the probability model Ren had built of the game, he had given the man a very high likelihood of being the undisputed winner.
Alas, when Ulfrid had unveiled the colored die, it had been red. Ren tilted his head in suspicion. At the last second, he noticed an almost imperceptible flicker of Ulfrid’s hand. He’d been in too many gambling houses to know that everything was always tilted in favor of the house, so it was gratifying to see how this establishment did its business.
“Interesting,” Ren murmured, watching as Ulfrid rolled the new round’s target pattern.
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As the dice rolled across the table, clattering and bouncing, Ulfrid's eyes darted between the faces of the players. Ren could tell the man had a keen sense for reading body language and detecting the gamblers' desperation or glee. His goal wasn't just to make money after all, it was to keep them playing, to maintain that fine balance between victory and defeat that kept them hooked.
Next, the players took turns rolling their own dice, the room quickly filling with the clatter of the dodecahedron shapes. Tension wove its way through the air as eyes flicked between the dealer's concealed hand and the dice scattered before them. Fervent mutterings and curses accompanied each roll, as the gamblers struggled to decipher their rotten luck and whether the person next to them was somehow cheating them out of their rightful wins
This round ended with Tommen winning by default, since no one got the exact match and his dice combination and color was the closest match. “Not so smug anymore are you, Vaghn,” he mocked. “What was it you said about taking my coins?”
“Ya better enjoy it cause it won’t last,” Vaghn grimaced, then sharply turned to the fourth gambler who stood up to leave. “Oy, where ya going?”
“I don av’ nothing left,” the man spat irritably. “One month rent, gone fa nothing!” He pushed his way out and away from the table, as if suddenly realizing what he’d done.
“Bleeding stones!” Vaghn cursed. “Who wants to join? We need one more!”
A burly man standing in front of Ren, took the opportunity to plop down into the vacant seat with relish.
“Welcome, to Ulfrid’s table,” the dealer said with a flourish. “Since you are new, you have to lock in with 200 bronze. Can’t have you leaving after one round, you see?”
“U-uh, don have that much. B-but, gots this ring,” he pulled out a copper ring from his pocket. “Twas ma da’s but he don nee–”
“For fuck’s sake!” Tommen glared at the newcomer, before pointing a meaty finger at him and turning to Ulfrid. “Get this bumpkin outta here. We need real men, not beggars.”
“I apologize,” Ulfrid shrugged his shoulders, palms out. “But the house does not take collateral at this time. If you don’t have the bronze, you can’t sit at the table.”
As he spoke, two enforcers made their way behind the man, batons at the ready. The newcomer glancing over his shoulder and seeing them, wisely got up and vacated the seat. Having seen enough, Ren stepped forward and sat down to join in the games.
All this while he had been observing the game with a keen eye, calculating each outcome and noting patterns that others might have overlooked. His mind had been a whir of calculations, probabilities, and strategies as he watched and studied the way the dice tumbled and the trajectories they took. It wasn't long before he discerned a hidden pattern, a subtle flaw in the craftsmanship of the loaded dice that helped him build the model he would shortly be relying on.
Reaching into his loot bag, Ren pulled out the coin pouch and retrieved 200 bronze coins. He noted the greedy looks of some of the patrons standing around, so he adjusted the hilts of his knife and daggers. That sent enough of a message to the opportunists that he would not be an easy pick.
“Here’s my lock in,” Ren smiled pleasantly at the grinning Ulfrid.
“Just so,” the man pulled the coins closer, checked that they were valid and pushed it back to Ren. “And what should we be calling you?”
“Ivar.” Ren supplied. No way was he using his real name here.
The dealer nodded. “Well met, Ivar. I’m Ulfrid, that over there is Tommen, Vaghn then Omar,” he gestured at each in turn. “You know the rules?”
Ren nodded and Ulfrid’s smile brightened. “Just so! Alright, this round’s buy-in is 90 bronze.” Everyone set aside the amount and pushed it towards Ulfrid.
The round began just like all the others Ren had witnessed. The ‘target pattern’ was 4, 7, 9. The color was still hidden, but Ren wasn’t bothered by it. Comparing the sounds that his acute hearing picked up with the model he had built in his mind, he was sure that the color was yellow. Now he just had to ensure he rolled the matching numbers.
Tommen rolled first, and his gamble was 2, 7, 12 and blue. Omar rolled 1, 5, 10 and guessed yellow. Vagh rolled 4, 9, 11 and guessed red. When it was his turn, Ren felt the die in his hands. The minute differences in each die made it difficult for most to notice that they were each loaded differently to force a constricted variance and prevent the numbers from matching up.
Using this to his advantage, Ren rolled. His results were subpar if he were to grade himself. His gamble was 3, 8, 10 and he guessed yellow. Ulfrid revealed the color to be yellow and Vaghn won the hand, taking 306 bronze coins.
The next round, the buy-in was 100 bronze and the ‘target pattern’ was 5, 11, 12 and blue. Ren rolled 4, 10, 12 and guessed blue. He saw the quick narrowing of Ulfrid’s eyes before he revealed that the colored die was actually black afterall. Vaghn won this hand once more to Tommen’s immense displeasure and he took it out on everyone.
“Are you only good at losing money?” the man asked Ren with a sneer. “How much do you have left, 10 bronze? Good. Maybe someone with actual skill will take your place.”
“Next buy-in is 110 bronze,” Ulfrid announced and raised a questioning brow at Ren.
Answering the unspoken challenge, Ren reached into his bag and retrieved 100 bronze coins. He pushed everything towards the pot and got condescending laughs from Tommen and a few onlookers in the crowd.
Instead, Ren smirked, to the man’s confusion. The last two throws had given him the final touches he needed to tweak his model. The exact twist of his wrists, and the spin needed to achieve whatever number he wanted on the 12-sided dice was memorized with a margin for error in the low decimals. As for the hidden die, Ren had regrettably decided he would never be able to guess that correctly, having witnessed Ulfrid’s ability to change the outcome whenever he chose to.
Tommen eyed him warily, and he wasn’t the only one. Ulfrid and Omar also seemed to notice the shift in his demeanor and they wondered where his new found confidence came from. Only Vaghn looked on undisturbed, uncaring about Ren’s newfound spunk. The man seemed to genuinely be in it for the sport and he drank mug after mug of ale without showing any signs of getting drunk.
“Rolling the target pattern,” Ulfrid announced and rolled 1, 6, 8. He then rolled the color die and Ren deduced it was showing the white square.
Tommen rolled next and he got 4, 7, 11 and red. Omar rolled 1, 4, 8 and green. Vagh rolled 1, 3, 12 and guessed black. This time when it was his turn, Ren turned to Tommen and winked at the man.
“Please wish me good luck.” Without waiting for a response, he rolled and matched the target pattern with a 1, 6, 8. A collective gasp rang all around the table as well as the onlookers. Ulfrid’s eyes shifted uncomfortably as Ren stared directly at him as he called out his guess.
“White.”
Swallowing a lump in his throat, Ulfrid revealed the color of the die to be black. The man looked nervous as Ren kept staring dead at him. The background noise in the gambling room simmered down and felt hushed. No one was sure what brought about the tension in the air, but they definitely felt it.
All of a sudden, the people closest to Ren re-evaluated the man. Why on Kringle’s mercy had they thought him a meek farmhand? Had his shoulders always been that broad? The oppressive air leaking out of Ren made a few shuffle back because it smelt just like it did right before lightning struck. Only a few seconds had passed and just as the tension was growing unbearable and the enforcers started making their way over, Ren smiled brightly.
“Damn!” he chuckled. “So close to perfect. Guess I’ll have to make do with 95%.” He sighed dramatically as he retrieved 418 bronze coins from the pot, pulling it over to his side whilst whistling a merry tune.”