AZAG (LORDS OF MARS) GAME

Noxmorte sits at the silk-covered dice table, waiting for Osslame to make his roll. The old menacer frowns at the dice in his hand, tosses them into the air, catches them on his knuckles. Across the table, Scabbers chuckles ominously. "The game's not knucklebones, old fella," he says with a keen edge to his voice.

"I'll wager the tithe on the next spice camel from the Beryl Scale," says Osslame solemnly. "What will each of you match?"

Noxmorte's in Byzaron. He's at the table in a high stakes game of Left-Right-Center. Onlookers crowd the walls of the small room. What does he wager? It doesn't have to be something he has now … just something he might escape with his life.

Already in the Center are scrawled slips:
• Scabbers: a night with the mistress of parakeets
• Noxmorte: (................................)
• Osslame: your enemy's left nut; a fine Larfarian blade

You've each won a bit, too.
• Scabbers: an old crown (from Noxmorte, where do you know to get one?); a virgin's teeth (from Osslame)
• Osslame: your enemy's right nut (from Scabbers); ...................... (from Noxmorte)
• Noxmorte: ............................... (from Scabbers)

The trick is to collect your winnings. Some of these bets pay slow. And it's all based on the honor of thieves. Who might kill to clear a debt.

Is Noxmorte to the left or right from Osslame?

"A spider favor," Scabbers says glumly as he hands his chit to Osslame.

"Closed bids," Osslame says, smiling, before he tosses the dice to Noxmorte. "Your roll."

Meanwhile, the onlookers are making side bets in coinage. Such by custom is beneath the table players.

"Busy … busy hands," says Scabbers as he accepts the dice. "Shall I roll as boldly? No." He casts only a single of the three dice.

The virgin's teeth go into the center pile. The dice go to Osslame, who casts two.

"God, and wine," Osslame says cheerily. He takes Noxmorte's two slips, and hands the dice.

An obvious miscreant approaches the table and bows to speak in Osslame's ear. The old man looks across the table at Scabbers. "Business calls," he says. "Shall we end here?"

"Of course, old pal," Scabbers replies.

Freed of the table, where does Noxmorte go in Spider City?

It's mid-afternoon outside the candle-lit gloom of the gaming room. The cobbles of the streets are hot and bright beneath the cloudless sky. The dome-roofed buildings of white and grey stone, low and broad, are set apart enough that little shade is offered to the passerby. Numerous people walk around and past Noxmorte as he moves toward the nearest wind tower, an out-of-place cylinder of grey metal that juts far up into the blue. Its shadow stretches long across the rooftops of the buildings to Noxmorte's right, visible on the near sides of the domes.

A barrier surrounds the courtyard that surrounds the base of the wind tower. Two guards stand at the closed gate. As Noxmorte approaches, the shorter guard frowns at him. "What business?" that man demands.

The guards glance at each other. Then the short one bows to Noxmorte. "Enter, lord," he says with a tone of respect. The taller one presses the buttons that open the gate, which retracts into the wall with a low humming noise.

Noxmorte enters the tiled courtyard surrounding the wind tower. There is no trace of life in the courtyard. Not a tree or weed or rat to be seen. The Lords of Byzaron like their living spaces sterile.

There is a faintly discolored path across the pale grey tiles to the opening at the base of the tower where Noxmorte can enter. He follows the scuffmarks of previous footsteps, and enters the dark arched opening. As he steps into the tower, a pale white light blinks on to show him the staircase that spirals up the inside of the tower wall. The tower is about thirty feet across. Looking upward into the darkness, Noxmorte fancies he can see the Spider Lord hanging from its webbing, high up in the slow, steady breeze that flows in where he entered and rises around him, ruffling his hair.

Welcome Noxmorte is the voice of the Spider in his head. Unfurl the documents and peruse them. I will use your eyes.

Momentarily, Noxmorte feels a spider crawling in his brain. There is a peculiar itch around the backs of his eyes, as if the spider is stroking or suckling on those nerves that conduct vision to the deeper brain. The crawling sensation continues. It tickles. His eyes twitch and jitter across the scroll, perusing its strange encoded symbols.

He is not sure how long the spider possesses his eyes, but eventually the tickling sensation ends. He feels exhausted.

Thank you. You may go. Payment will arrive at your lodging in due time. Perhaps it will await you.

There are several cafes along the streets toward Noxmorte's lodging.

What does he look for in a cafe?

There's a place called Morda's that is well-known for its bittersweet cocktail of sparkling mineral water and white wine. Morda is the name of the elderly grey and white bearded lizard that lounges about the outside tables. It looks calmly at Noxmorte as he sits down and gestures to Lombo, the owner. A cocktail is soon forthcoming.

Passersby pass by, the afternoon sun glides down toward the rooftops. The hottest part of the day is past.

A young woman diverts from her path to pause at the table next to Noxmorte, her slender fingers tickling the crest on Morda's head. "Niiice lizard," she says. Flirtily, to Noxmorte: "Is it yours?"

Morda licks the young woman's hand as she pulls out the other metal chair, its round feet scraping on the dirt. She sits a little abruptly and laughs. "I'm Yirin," she says. "I imagine you have a wonderful name." She tilts her head to the right and her loose dark hair swings around her shoulder. She fiddles with it as if she's about to start braiding it.

"Oh, I'm just on my way to work," the woman answers with playful voice. "And where are you headed, sir?"

"Well if you have no destination …" she ducks her head and smiles with a wink. "… you could rest with me." She giggles deliberately.

"In a manner, yes," Yirin answers forthrightly. "What do you think?"

Nobody appears to be paying any attention to Noxmorte or his companion. The city of intrigue is a busy place and people are often wrapped in their own affairs, oblivious to others' goings-on.

"Let's continue our talk in your rooms," Yirin suggests. She gestures daintily toward the street: "With you."

Please describe the route to Noxmorte's room, and the outer approach to the room.

There's a small boy sitting on the floor in front of Noxmorte's door. He appears to be asleep. In his cross-legged lap there is a small leather bag. You could guess it holds coins.

The kid blinks sleepily at Noxmorte, then scrambles out of the way. The leather bag thumps and jingles when it falls from his lap. The young boy stands aside waiting to be dismissed and looking with big eyes at Noxmorte and Yirin.

Noxmorte has a bag of coins and a lingering sense of satisfaction. Assuming he sleeps, what does he do when he wakes?

There are several places to find honest work in Byzaron, and an equal number of places to find … interesting work.

Presuming Noxmorte prefers to be intrigued by his tasks, we'll resort to the tavern called Blast Radius. There's a sign over the door that shows a Star Kings explosive device exploding, and inside the lighting is dim green fluorescent,

Walking in from the later morning sunshine it takes Noxmorte a moment to adjust his eyes. Then he sees there are only a few people in here at this time of day. None of them look at him. Visible curiosity is not an accepted trait in these kind of places.

Who is most interesting to him?

"Normal," answers Tombo. He looks calmly at Noxmorte. "You?"