Ireth
Myth Weaver
Long story short, several minor characters of my vampire novel are going to play a drinking game which the protagonist is unfamiliar with. How should I go about getting across the setup and rules? Something like this?
...or this?
Etc., etc.
tl;dr version: Basically, should I have someone lay out the rules of the game before they play, or have Ólan watch and learn about them as he goes along?
"Ever played Corpse before, Ólan?" Malsnacht asked him as they settled down at the table with the other six blood-drinkers.
"No," Ólan answered, sitting down at Malsnacht's right and eying the dark stains all across the grey stone table. He knew exactly what they were, and it was equally obvious what the heavy bronze chains were for.
"Then it's time you learned." Malsnacht flashed his fangs in a grin and took the deck of cards a brown-haired man handed him. He chose a few from the top of the deck and turned them face-up so Ólan could see.
Ólan kept his face blank, though within him fascination wrestled with horror. Three of the cards showed drawings of various parts of a man's naked body: the chest torn open, the forearm severed below the elbow, and the thigh cut off below the knee. All three had the symbol of small drops of crimson blood in the upper right corner, in varying amounts. The fourth card showed only a drawing of a bloody sword.
"These three cards and the others like them are the main ones," Malsnacht explained. "They're how we know where to bite our victim and how long to drink -- one mouthful for every drop of blood you see here in the corner. The body is divided into ten sections; for every section there are four cards, one for each length of time. One, two, three or four mouthfuls. Each part of the body is worth a certain amount of points: the torso and groin are worth fifteen, the arms are ten, and the legs are five. Do you follow?"
Ólan nodded. "Aye. What does the sword mean?"
"That means you lose your turn to drink, and earn no points," said Malsnacht. "As if you were hunting a man who drove you off with a sword and got away. There are two other special cards to know about as well. The Beast and the Corpse." He thumbed through the remaining cards, sliding two of them out and showing Ólan. One showed the silhouette of a wolf against a waning crescent moon, and the other showed a man's corpse in full view.
"The Corpse is the most coveted card," Malsnacht went on. "When you play it, you have free reign to drink as much blood from the victim as you can stand in one sitting -- it's worth twenty-five points. Playing the Beast means that you drink from an animal instead, and earn no points. Speaking of that..." He raised his voice and spoke to the others. "What's our animal tonight?"
"Aillig promised us a calf," a thin blonde woman replied, digging her elbow into the ribs of the heavyset dark-haired man beside her.
Aillig nodded and got to his feet, taking a step back from the table. "I'll be back with it in two beats."
Malsnacht nodded his approval, then turned back to Ólan. "Each player is dealt one card at a time; the one to the left of the victim's head is the first to play, and we go widdershins around the table. When everyone's played their cards, we deal new ones. The game ends when one person gets to fifty points or above, and that person wins.
"I think that's all you need to know," he concluded, gathering all the cards and starting to shuffle them. "It's easy to watch and learn. We'll begin as soon as they bring the drinks out."
Ólan nodded, staying silent and listening to the others' conversation to pass the time.
"I wager you'll win again, Aillig," a thin blond woman across the table told the heavyset, dark-haired man beside her. "This'll make it thrice in a row."
Aillig laughed. "I don't know about that. Something tells me old Mal won't let me lengthen my winning streak even by one." He caught Malsnacht's eye and grinned.
Malsnacht smiled back. "If blood were beer, I'd drink you under the table."
Ólan turned toward the gradual swell of sound coming from the furthest corner of the room, and watched as a long procession of figures passed through an open door. Two blood-drinkers walked on either side of each gagged and blindfolded human captive; some of the captives bucked and struggled, snarling muffled curses, while others sobbed and tried to plead, and still more were passive and silent as lambs. Were they simply too scared to react, Ólan wondered, or resigned to their fates?
One of the fighting captives, a woman with dark blond hair, was dragged toward their table. Malsnacht stopped shuffling the cards and helped the others hold her down, chaining her spread-eagle to the tabletop. Ólan sighed silently in relief: he was on the right of the woman's head, so at least he was spared the dubious honor of having to drink first.
"Now then," said Malsnacht, picking up the deck, "let's play."
...or this?
"Ever played Corpse before, Ólan?" Malsnacht asked him as they settled down at the table with the other six blood-drinkers.
"No," Ólan answered, sitting down at Malsnacht's right and eying the dark stains all across the grey stone table. He knew exactly what they were, and it was equally obvious what the heavy bronze chains were for.
"Then it's time you learned." Malsnacht flashed his fangs in a grin and took the deck of cards a brown-haired man handed him, starting to shuffle them. "You'll pick it up quickly as you watch. We'll begin as soon as they bring the drinks out."
Ólan nodded, staying silent and listening to the others' conversation to pass the time.
"I wager you'll win again, Aillig," a thin blond woman across the table told the heavyset, dark-haired man beside her. "This'll make it thrice in a row."
Aillig laughed. "I don't know about that. Something tells me old Mal won't let me lengthen my winning streak even by one." He caught Malsnacht's eye and grinned.
Malsnacht half-smiled back. "If blood were beer, I'd drink you under the table."
Ólan turned toward the gradual swell of sound coming from the furthest corner of the room, and watched as a long procession of figures passed through an open door. Two blood-drinkers walked on either side of each gagged and blindfolded human captive; some of the captives bucked and struggled, snarling muffled curses, while others sobbed and tried to plead, and still more were passive and silent as lambs. Were they simply too scared to react, Ólan wondered, or resigned to their fates?
One of the fighting captives, a woman with dark blond hair, was dragged toward their table. Malsnacht stopped shuffling the cards and helped the others hold her down, chaining her spread-eagle to the tabletop. Ólan sighed silently in relief: he was on the right of the woman's head, so at least he was spared the dubious honor of having to drink first.
"Now then," said Malsnacht, picking up the deck, "let's play."
He dealt one card face-down to himself and each of the others, then set the deck carefully away from the woman's still-flailing limbs. He glanced at his own card, scowled and set it down face-upward, rolling his eyes.
"Of course," he grumbled, then raised his voice. "Who's got the hen?"
The others at the table jeered at him, laughing and clucking mockingly. Aillig rose from the table and stepped away, becoming lost from sight between the tables.
Ólan slowly lifted the corner of his card, shielding it from the others' view with his free hand. It bore the image of a bloody sword. What did that mean? Was he supposed to kill the woman when his turn came? He leaned over to see the card Malsnacht was so disappointed about: it bore a drawing of a wolf silhouetted against a waning crescent moon. Looking up again, he watched with morbid interest as Aillig returned with a plump brown hen under one muscly arm. Aillig seemed not to notice the hen's frantic squawking, scratching and pecking.
Malsnacht drummed his fingers on the tabletop as Aillig brought the hen to him, then took it firmly in both hands and sank his fangs deep into its feathery neck. The others at the table roared in mirth and pounded the table as the hen went limp, and Malsnacht lifted his head again, spitting feathers.
Ólan did not join in their laughter, instead watching the woman. She was still fighting her bonds, not that it did her much good; the chains on all her limbs were taut. Ólan looked at the chain on her right arm, seeing that the other end was somewhere underneath the table; he guessed the other three were the same. Could he free her before she was slaughtered? Even if he somehow loosed her from the chains, it would be impossible to get her out of the room without being caught.
"My turn," said the brown-haired man on Malsnacht's left, slapping his card down triumphantly.
Dreading what would happen next, Ólan craned his neck to see the card, but the woman's head was in the way. He watched with a sinking feeling as the brown-haired man rose from his seat and circled the table, pausing by the woman's right leg. The brown-haired man pulled the woman's skirt up past her knee, eliciting a few lusty whistles from the other men, then gripped her leg tightly and bit down deep into her pale calf.
Etc., etc.
tl;dr version: Basically, should I have someone lay out the rules of the game before they play, or have Ólan watch and learn about them as he goes along?
Minstrel
I'll see how it goes when I reach the scene in the story. It doesn't come up for a while yet.
Maester
Acolyte
Auror
