The original name of Pier 13 is unknown, but it seemed to be a large riverside town. When the first settler came to the gutted locale, there was nothing left of the harbor except for a single dock jutting deeply into receded waters of the nameless river. It was numbered "13," and a subtle irony had not escaped the original founders. As unlucky as the number was, it was lucky enough for the few standing buildings and the single set of wooden planks extending partly into the remaining waters of the river.
As the buildings were repaired and others were built, the town leaders felt it appropriate to rename the town. The dock had grown in size as well, and the whole was renamed Pier 13. Yet, like the dock, the pier was singular. But the single pier was enough for the burgeoning population of lost sailors and lost souls who were drawn to it. A unique addition grew within its city limits. The Thirteenth Room. A joke in itself, a casino emblazoned with a lucky number, it still managed to draw crowds. Perhaps because of its penchant for supplying for the sins of any who might wander in through its doors. Perhaps because, no matter how badly one was doing, there was a fair chance for a comeback. Perhaps because the shadow it cast was much more frightening than the lights that burned constantly from within.
"Ante up. Ten to the fore an' seven runnin' and skippin'. Can I get any new bettors or are y'all just goin' to sit there all comfy like?"
The sounds of hard currency trading hands echoed off of the stone slab walls and the numerous calls in gambler jargon were occasionally answered with cheers or shouts of utter anguish. The losers were shaken off into the bar where they numbed themselves to the pain.
A scantily clad woman brushed up against Ed, offering a reluctant smile before gravitating towards a high roller. In response, the young man moved as far away from her as possible in the least noticeable way. She smelled of sweat and thick perfume, a combination he was completely knowledgeable of, though purposefully unfamiliar with. He preferred to avoid the vices of huumunnity in exchange for the peace of mind that solidarity provided.
"It is refreshing to see huumunns and syrynykks brought together under such amiable conditions," the fatespeaker muttered, offering a disturbing reptilian grin.
Ed glanced to his companion and frowned, shaking his head and burying his arms in his cloak. The thought of syrynykks lowering themselves to high-stakes gambling, drinking, and whoring had apparently gotten to him at this point.
A drunken syrynykk snarled, leaping through the air to pounce upon a huumunn with a handful of chip shards in his fingertips. The fight lasted a few moments, the pair trading brief blows, but even completely plastered, the syrynykk was more than a match for the huumunn in unarmed combat. The reptilian stormed off in a subdued rage after sending the huumunn flying through the air and into a roulette table.
Ed turned his attention away from the fight. As he looked back to the fatespeaker, he found the syrynykk gone.
"Of course."