Conversation · Novelty Dicemaker

"Oh, it's you again. Are you looking for a die?"

"What do you know about the man who was lynched behind the Whirling-in-Rags?"

"Nothing, really. I didn't know him."

Who cares about the dead body? Ask her about the curse already!

The lieutenant looks at his notebook, then the woman under the large window...

"Your window looks directly onto the courtyard. You're saying you didn't see or hear anything unusual last Sunday evening?"

"I'm sorry, detective, but -- as you know -- I usually have my headphones on when I'm working. It shuts out most of the daily ruckus behind my window."

"What do you mean by the 'daily ruckus'?"

"Well, there's always something going on in the Whirling's backyard..." She stops to try and come up with an example.

"During daytime there are usually those kids... And lately I've been seeing a lot of drunk workers hanging about. Must be because of the strike."

She's heard of the murder, but did not see it, sire.

She's not sorry to disappoint you. Informing on someone in a murder investigation would intrude upon her focused existence.

She looks up at the window... Pale light comes in. "But I never saw anyone during that fateful Sunday night, I'm afraid."

"Do you often work Sunday nights?"

"It's an odd profession -- making dice for people -- but I like it. And I prefer doing this to sitting at home."

"I see. Thank you for your answers." (Conclude.)

She nods.

"Anything else, officer?"

"And you never took your eyes off the work to look out of the window?"

"I might have," she admits, "but in this case all I would have seen is my own reflection staring back from the darkness."

It's light here -- but dark in the yard at night.

"It's really hard to make anything out in the yard when it's dark outside. Besides... I rarely get up to look out the window when I'm in the zone."

This person values focus above all -- she keeps her sharp sight on the instruments before her.

"Well, that settles that, then."

"Seriously? You've got a great view of the courtyard and you didn't see or hear anything Sunday night?"

Who cares about the dead body? We might be dealing with a malignant entity here!

"I came back to pick up my die."

"Excellent. That will be 10 reál for one set of magnetic dice."

(Give her the money.) "Here you go."

"This was an especially fun set to make," she says as she opens her drawer and hands you a sparkling pair of dice.

Look at them.

Dazzling! It's like you have a pair of tiny disco balls in your hand.

"Actually, I don't have the money on me right now."

"I don't do orders on credit. Come back when you have the full amount."

"Very good. That will be seven reál for one custom die."

(Give her the money.) "Here you go."

"One universal die for Wirrâl Untethered," the dicemaker opens her desk drawer and hands you a die.

Look at it.

It feels icy. Just holding this die in your hand sends a jolt of cold down your spine. Through the dark resin, you can make out a nugget of bone hewn from an alligator's jaw.

"One standard Wirrâl role-playing die," the dicemaker opens her desk drawer and hands you a die.

Look at it.

It's a handsome red die with a mix of plant symbols diligently engraved on its faces.

"Here's the cursed die you ordered," the dicemaker opens her desk drawer and hands you a tiny black sphere with six phrases written on it.

Read the phrases.

The phrases read: 'God is indifferent', 'Take all', 'Lose all', '50/50', 'Nothing happens', and 'pale'.

"What is this?"

"It's a die," confirms the dicemaker with a subtle smile on her face. "Try rolling it."

"No, I'm not deranged. I don't want to roll a cursed die."

"Wait, you're not scared, are you?" The dicemaker starts laughing. "Officer, you don't actually think I put a spell on it, do you?"

"I'm not a witch, you know. We live in a rational world. There is no black magic."

"Better safe than sorry."

"Right. But it isn't cursed, honestly. I'll tell you what it does."

"It's a sphere pretending to be a six-sided die -- each roll will end with one of the phrases facing up. The die originates in Iilmaraa, where it was used for cleromancy..."

"Except I've weighted the die. When you try rolling it, you realize that each time it gets you exactly the same result -- God is indifferent. This is our curse."

It's even worse than she says. God is dead -- We live in a forsaken age.

"You're saying that the end result doesn't matter."

"In the face of death -- no, not really."

"I don't agree with you."

"You don't?" she raises her brows.

"Doesn't really fly with my vibe, too morbid."