...this table was different. Five men were sat around, one apart from the rest. They had some figurines and crude mats layed out to form, if considerable imagination were applied, the layout to a few streets with some house and shop interiors. The men were engaged in playing out a story, a murder mystery by the sounds of it. The clustered four playing the part of noted citezens, the fifth was presiding and spinning the tale, adding bit parts as required and detailing the consequence of proposed actions.

Occasionally one of the players would draw a playing card from a pile at the side. It took her a few instances for her to realise this was how they determined chance instances...either the colour or number indicating the heights and depths of their luck. Occasionally both the storyteller and a player would draw cards..usually for confrontations, or if the player wanted to do something radical. Highest card won...the players would show their cards fully, the storyteller just to the people around him. One player had already been left knocked unconcious after an unlucky outcome with the stoyteller as he had confronted the robed figure standing over the latest victim's body. He had grumbled under his breath as his little figurine hand spent its time lying sideways on the table, with him unable to compete until the storyteller righted it again. Once back in the game though, the player seemed just as eager to be confrontational with the supposed villain. The others rolled their eys and let their friend lead them to, as it turned out, a tavern. The storyteller spun a description similar to the tavern they were in now. A man in a similar robe as before was described, and the player reacted obviously, describing his character's screams and charge at his assailant. The storyteller smiled and went for a card. The player did the same with a hungry look in his eyes. He obviously felt he was close to solving the story...

Four of cups for the player. He looked at the back of the other's card warily. The other smiled and showed the card off to the few poeple behind him. [Woman] leant forward slightly to catch it...the king of swords. It looked as if that poor figurine would be spending another few minutes lying sideways.

"The robed figure is surprised and knocked down by your skillful blows," continued the storyteller, to the player's relief and to a few observers' amusement. He'd obviously ignored chance's indications for the sake of good storytelling. "The figure's hood is knocked back, revealing....the mayor's son!"

The player's mind was obviously knocked off balance, even as his charcater was apparently similarly afflicted, shoved and left holding only a torn part of robe. The other players had positioned their character figurines in the doorway to block an escape, not realising there was a back door. The player was still looking bemused.