<em>Mirramar</em><br/><br/>"That's another eight! Hagan, I believe that's three drinks you owe me! I hate to have a debt, so let's say that one goes to Japheth, and I'll claim one of the remaining two now. Another hand?"<br/><br/>The voice, preceded by a single frustrated slap of Hagan's meaty hand on the table, belonged to a smiling, bearded man wearing a pale blue headscarf. Mirramar already had one empty mug before him, previously filled with ale, and had half a place of bread and cheese yet to eat - won from a previous game. It was their own fault really. He had warned them that this game was his favorite, but they'd insisted on playing nonetheless. Or rather, a cocky young local man named Matthias had insisted on playing, and everyone had gone along with him. Mirramar was not far and away the best player here, but he was shrewd in the way he played.<br/><br/>Not a single one of them had enough coin to gamble, not in earnest, anyway. So instead they bartered. Mirramar had lost a handful of tiny spiral shells to Matthias, but in the end the young man had repaid him with a meal and three drinks so far. The ale was a bit watery, but then, Mirramar could seldom afford a drink at an inn that didn't water down their ale. Anyway he preferred places like this. He wasn't apt to get stares for trying to start up a game of cards like this - and he certainly wouldn't have been able to win over a group by parting them with their pocket change. Working men were much less apt to get angry over losing what little they had than were the richer folk. It was paradoxical, but there it was. Now though, it was time to see if he could earn a bed for the night.<br/><br/>"Now, which of you is wily enough to make a bet with me?" He asked, looking among the three other men currently seated at the table. Others were watching, but these men had been in the game the longest. "Caleb, surely you will." The young man, no older than fifteen and red about the face with ale he had not yet developed a tolerance for, smiled. "What d'you bet, Mir?" he asked, leaning forward onto the table. Mirramar slid his mug of ale to the center of the table, waiting until Hagan had grudgingly called for it to be refilled. Then he reached up, untying the scarf wrapped about his head, and laid it over top of the now-full glass. "I wager the price of a night's stay here. Not a room; just a spot by the hearth." It was cheap accommodations, and Caleb nodded slowly. Mir had chosen well; Caleb lived on a farm nearly a mile outside the town, and a spot by the hearth would be welcome rather than having to walk home in the dark. "This is my wager. I'll bet you that I can drain this mug of ale without ever touching the scarf - and furthermore I'll bet you can't." Caleb snorted. "Of course I can't. Y'can't get to it if it's under the scarf!" Mir shrugged, but said nothing. Caleb stared at him, and Mir could see the curiosity in his eyes. "A'right. This I got to see. Do it." Mir smiled. "Do you want to try?" Caleb shook his head. "S'not possible."<br/><br/>Mir grinned, raised both hands slightly, and slid under the table. Scrabbling noises echoed from underneath, followed by quiet slurping sounds, and after a few seconds he reemerged wiping his lips on a sleeve. "Well, pick it up!" he called, gesturing toward the scarf. Looking confused, Caleb picked up the scarf, revealing the still-full mug of ale - which Mirramar promptly picked up and began to drink, draining the mug in a matter of seconds. When he slammed it down on the table again, it was with a triumphant expression. "I never touched the scarf!" he called out. Caleb just stared at the mug, seeming momentarily dumbfounded, then burst out laughing along with all the others. Mir laughed as well, slapping him good-naturedly on the back. "Hagan, give Caleb my remaining drink. It's the least I can do, as this young lad has just given me a warm place to sleep for the night."<br/><br/>With that won, he begged out of the game for the time being. He gave his spot to another, moving to sit backward on a different chair, plate of bread and cheese in one hand and his scarf once again tied about his head. He liked this town, really. There were good people here, though it had thus far been hard for him to get much work. He chewed a piece of the only-slightly-stale bread, glancing briefly toward the door as it opened, admitting a young man in armor. He wasn't the only one watching; most people in the inn were locals at present; tradesmen who felt no need to go about with weapons. But Mir wasn't looking at that. He had his eyes on the lad's face - though he looked away after a brief moment. He knew the boy, though he'd all but forgotten the dream until just now. He was too far away to hear any conversation the boy might be having, but it wasn't too important.<br/><br/>Not long after him, another man came in, this one turning to slink along the wall in a decidedly questionable fashion. Mir watched him for a moment, expression curious, but then looked away, his attention drawn back to the game at hand once again.