Snippet #2384961

The satyr grinned and nodded. "You're on, Talren." Jon replied, snatching up his dice and shaking them up in his hand and hoped to Lady Luck and her pantheon of equally lesser important deities of chance that they would not curse him for hating his general sense of luckiness.

It was like a slow motion catastrophe. The first die landed on a one, the second landed on a one and the third landed on a five. The satyr stared at the dice, then at his elf companion, then at the dice again. "Best out of three?" The satyr offered, his mouth split in an awkward grin.

Jon certainly did not have the money to spend on another bottle, and he wouldn't want to be in debt with an ELF. Especially one that had been a thief, who probably still was. The satyr was going to have a bad headache tomorrow, and not from the alcohol.