Fennick Copperfingers Drail
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Fennick Drail was born the son of a dockside cooper, making barrels for grain and ale. As a boy he was far more interested in guessing which ship would unload first, or whether a rainstorm would break before supper. His knack for odds turned into a trade when he started keeping chalk-scores on tavern walls, paying out pennies to sailors who guessed right. By twenty, he was known as "Copperfingers" for the way coins always seemed to flow back into his hands. When the Watch began to sniff around, he cleaned up his business, bought a modest office near Cornmarket, and reinvented himself as a "licensed bookmaker."
"Odds, my friend, are just another way of spelling fate. The trick is knowing when to stake your coin - and when to stake someone else’s."
-- Fennick Copperfingers Drail
Fennick is wiry, with slicked black hair, an ink-stained waistcoat, and a smile like a fox at a henhouse door. He always smells faintly of ink and cinnamon (the latter from the sweets he chews constantly to "keep his tongue nimble"). His tongue is as swift as his fingers, sharp with charm and quicker still with excuses. He can coax a bet out of a priest, soothe an angry sailor with flattery, and talk a watchman into overlooking a ledger full of cooked numbers. When his words falter, his hands pick up the trick - shuffling coins, tallying odds, or quietly palming a slip of paper into his sleeve.
-- Fennick Copperfingers Drail
Official Business
Officially, Fennick runs a legitimate bookmaker’s office near the Cornmarket. He posts odds for horse races outside Honeywell, pugilist bouts in Pigtown, or street festivals like the Soap Box Derby. His shopfront is neat, with chalkboards listing wagers and clerks to take bets, all stamped with a wax seal claiming "authorisation" from the city. The Council of Ten quietly tolerates him, since his taxes flow in on time and his odds keep the restless classes entertained. GM info / spoilers / plot hooks. Mouse-over to read,This is GM information
Bets on Offer
Every week Fennick’s chalkboards change, but regulars know to expect both the predictable and the bizarre.
Standard fare:
- Horse races and carriage derbies.
- Boxing matches in Pigtown.
- Soap Box Derby winners.
- Elections for minor guild offices.
- Weather on festival days.
- How many ducks will cross Cornmarket in a single day.
- Whether the Council of Ten’s meeting will end in shouting, silence, or a walk-out.
- If a sermon at the Grand Cathedral will run over or under an hour.
- Whether a specific broadsheet will print a scandalous rumour before week’s end.
- Odds on whether a notorious tavern will burn down this season or the next.
- Whether the mayor’s cat will leap onto the council table during session.
- "Doom bets": predictions of disasters (floods, plagues, riots), with payouts only if the event actually happens within the year.
- "Reverse bets": paying for the non-occurrence of an event, e.g. "The river will not flood this winter."
Quirks
- Obsessed with small mechanical counters and abacuses; fiddles with them compulsively.
- Keeps his accounts in three ledgers: one for clients, one for himself, and one entirely in code no one else can decipher.
- Cannot resist making wagers in conversation - whether it’s rain before nightfall or whether your hat will blow off in the next gust.



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Amazing as usual. I love him very much and I love even more your Cypher System rules!
Thanks. :)