Part One:

 Game

Dark storm clouds hover heavily above a collection of dilapidated buildings; at least that is what they once were. These ruins were once mystic structures of white marble. Evidence of a great civilization that passed into forgotten memory. Columns that once held these buildings in stoic grandeur now stand cracked and crumbling. Stains of age and reclaiming nature are all that remain within the once glorious place.

            A flash of orange light erupts from within the ruins without notice or fanfare. A brief distance away a flash of green light emits for just a moment, but with the same lack of warning. The once silent ruin now has two intruders. One is a large serpentine creature. Its body is thick as the nearby pillars and its true length is difficult to determine as it winds through several buildings. The large serpent has black scales with orange accented the ends of each. A flick of its forked tongue tastes the air. As the serpent catches the scent of something else, it twists its body to gaze at its quarry.

            The serpent scented a being that was casually floating above the ruins surrounding the pair. The floating entity was vaguely humanoid. All the right parts in the right places, that sort of thing, but there was an addition: a pair of lustrous white feather wings adorned the creature’s back. Long green hair fell across the back and framed its face. The wings made no effort to keep the creature aloft. It was as if they were for the aesthetic rather than the function.

            Serpent and seraph stared at each other within the forgotten ruins. The only sound came from the gentle scrape of scale against stone as the serpent coiled its length beneath itself. The eyes of the two never left the other. The serpent’s body continued coiling as the tension grew. There was a flash of green lightning from the clouds above and a spear made of that very lightning appeared in the seraph’s hand. The serpent lunged a moment after with a swiftness unlikely of a creature that size. With that, the fight began.

            “An elemental armament!” cried an onlooker staring at the tabletop screen, “those were only released last week. How did you find one so quickly?” The question was directed towards one of the two occupants of the game table. The woman whom the query was directed at watched the screen with interest as her seraph used the lightning spear to score a nasty gash along the body of the serpent. Scales were ripped asunder with blood and sinew as the strike fell.

            “Got lucky mostly,” she replied without looking up, “bought three packs of the Therin’Duel’s Quest series when it was released and finally snagged a worthwhile armament for my Lesser Seraphim.” The small crowd nodded empathically to the statement and the good fortune of the player. She looked away from the screen and at her opponent before saying, “Well Terry, give up? You know the meta favors a humanoid/armament deck. A monster deck just isn’t what it used to be.” A playful smile crossed her lips as she observed her competitor look up from his cards.

            Terry ran a hand through his short black hair and gave a sigh. “Priss, you know those be fightin’ words, ya?”he asked with a poorly feigned Irish accent, a smile of his own mirroring Priss’. “My Naga can at least tear the wings off your seraphim before kicking it.” With that statement Terry laid a card on the table for his turn. Priss and the onlookers leaned over to see the counter used.

Mutation: Camouflage

Rarity: Common (Enchantment)

An alteration to the constitution of beast or monster familiars that allows for an increase in inconspicuous action.

            “What’s that common card going to do?” asked one of the spectators.

            “It’s clever is what that is,” said another.

            “How so?”

            Priss answered the question as her gaze returned to the screen, “it’s clever because ‘Mutation: Camouflage’ increases a monster’s natural stealth and Nagas are ambush predators by design,” As Priss said this the Naga flashed a dull orange and disappeared within the ruins. No trace of the large serpent to be found. “And my Lesser Seraphim cannot hit what it cannot find.”

            Terry looked up from the screen and said, “it is a stall tactic, nothing more. My Naga is outclassed by a rare class familiar.”

            “Then why did you play an outdated and out-classed deck against a meta one?” asked an onlooker.

            “Because,” Terry replied as he watched the game screen, “I wanted to show you all that even though the humanoid/armament deck is powerful, it is not untouchable.” As Terry said this the Naga erupted from the ruins behind the seraphim with its maw open. The winged creature began to spin in hope of blocking the impeding serpent’s strike. It was too slow to stop the attack, but swift enough to save its life. The Naga bite engulfed one of its wings and tore it off with terrible force. The seraphim’s spear plunged into the skull of the Naga, its lightning charring scale and flesh.

            Both creatures fell into the ruins below. Loud cracks cried from the stone as the ancient structures were destroyed further. Once the dust settled the seraphim stood unsteadily on its feet. The lightning spear fizzled out from existence and the victor looked at its fallen foe. A charred hole was in the Naga’s skull from where the spear struck. Nasty slashes were evident across its body as well. The Seraphim stood with blood pouring down its right side, below where a wing used to be. If the Naga had been a little faster, this powerful entity would have been felled by a monster of lesser class.

            The game’s screen image froze on the half beaten seraphim standing over the Naga’s corpse and cut to the game’s outro sequence. It was a constant at the end of every match. It showed the name and mantra of the game. Long time players found it annoying, but Terry watched it every time regardless:

Fate’s Hand

We are all but cards in the games of Fate

            “What exactly did that accomplish?” asked one of the spectators. It was a fair question that the majority of the small crowd could agree with. The entire match was one-sided. An uncommon class familiar with a common class mutation versus a rare class familiar with a rare class armament. The quality of each side was disproportionate. A Lesser Seraphim is one of the strongest and rarest familiars, the creatures used by players of Fate’s Hand, in the current state of the game, or meta. While a Naga is an uncommon class familiar, or just under average in availability and slightly above average in strength.

            “Don’t you know the strength of a monster deck?” Priss asked the inquirer as she collected her cards from the table.

            “Of course I do,” the increasingly annoying onlooker replied, “monster decks allow the player multiple, lower class fa…” his statement dying on his tongue as dots began to connect. Looking at Terry now, who just finished collecting his cards into his deck box that went into his jacket pocket, the spectator asked, “why didn’t you use more familiars? Horde rushing is what made monster decks so powerful for two years.”

            “Because I agreed to only use one familiar against Priss,” Terry answered with nonchalance, “it was a bet of ours. One monster versus one seraphim.”

            “And you played me!” chided Priss as she walked around the table and lightly punched Terry’s arm. Even a light punch by Priss hurt quite a bit, she was a physically fit and powerful person after all, “you didn’t even use a rare class monster. Nagas are uncommon at best, even if yours is a variant.” Terry smiled genuinely at Priss and he returned a light tap to her arm.

            “Call me overconfident, I thought my Naga would be all I’d need to prove my point.” Priss narrowed her eyes with a look that crossed between indignation and pouting. It was a cute look on her, and she knew Terry would get a rise out of her just to see it from time to time. Before she could say anything the bell at the front of the building rang; announcing someone entering the premise. “Gotta go take care of that!” Terry said with mock enthusiasm. “If any of you are interested in developing your monster decks there are some great cards at the desk. Packs for the new series are in the usual place!” With that farewell and shameless upsell Terry jogged through an open doorway to the front of the building.

            The room Terry entered was one he had great familiarity with. It was a showroom floor for a game shop. Creaky wooden floorboards were covered with display-place islands showing new and popular tabletop games, from old school to new era. Old dice towers sat next to vid-tables, boxed board games shared space with immersion programs, and aging cardboard cut-outs of fantastical heroes remained still as neighboring projections shuffled about and waved in a friendly manner occasionally.

            Terry surveyed the showroom as he searched for the newcomer. She wasn’t hard to find. A middle-aged woman with red hair spilling out from under a winter cap stood in front of the door to the shop with wide eyes of surprise. Walking up to her Terry put on a professional smile and said, “Good afternoon ma’am, welcome to Cardstock, is there anything I can help you find today?” Quiet snickering could be heard behind Terry, but he ignored it, mostly, and focused on helping the potential customer.

            After another look around the showroom she brought her gaze to Tery and asked, “this isn’t a craft supply store, is it?” Terry sighed internally and swore he heard the inaudible laughter that Priss must be having at his expense. The question had an obvious answer, but it was asked more often that it should; as if magic was real and what was before you was illusionary.

            “You are correct ma’am,” Terry answered without his annoyance showing through, well, maybe a little, “Cardstock is a tabletop game store that supplies old and new game needs.” That was standard nonsense that Dave, the store owner, wanted said during interactions with new customers. Suspicion remained in the woman’s eyes as she surveyed the showroom once more.

            “There’s nothin’…” she paused, as if deciding if her question was safe to speak aloud, “nothin’ satanic goin’ on here, ya?” the last part at nearly a whisper, so quiet Terry had to strain his ear to catch it all. He almost sighed in exasperation after understanding what this woman was asking. That was a question was tied to the satanic panic connected with tabletop games nearly a hundred years ago. He thought those fears died out almost as long ago. Apparently, Terry was wrong. A cough that sounded dangerously close to a laugh sounded behind him. A quick glance revealed Priss covering her mouth as if she were coughing, walking behind the register counter to his seat. Terry knew a big, shit-eating grin was hidden behind her hand. He found it astounding that she could have heard the woman’s whisper. Then again, Priss seemed to be more than human at times. So par for the course regarding her.

The spectators of their match filed into the showroom after Priss. The red-headed woman let out a small gasp, as if the crowd confirmed her fears of insidious rituals being performed here. Terry raised his hands in a placating gesture hoping to do so with the woman. “No ma’am, nothing of the sort here at Cardstock. All we provide is access to entertainment through realms of the imaginary.” Terry put extra emphasis on ‘imaginary’ in hope of reassuring the woman.

            “Alright,” the woman replied while expanding the word to cover more time to think, “you wouldn’t happen to know where a craft store is nearby, would ya?” She inched towards the door ever so slightly as she asked.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

            “yeah,” Terry said with a sigh, “go left for two blocks and you’ll see Matt’s Crafts.” He didn’t go to the store, but the misunderstanding of Cardstock’s name happened often enough He figured out the answer. A quick thanks and a swift exit saw the woman out of the store. Terry turned and saw everyone from the other room milling about, looking at various items for sale, or just gossiping. This was usual for a Friday night. Everyone was waiting for the annual Friday night tournament of Fate’s Hand. With the opportunity to win a free pack of the new series, Therin’Duel’s Quest, more people were here than usual.

            Terry walked up to the register counter, crossed his arms and interrogated the intruder of his throne, “and what gives you the right to be behind the counter, in my seat no less, Priscilla Daniels?” Priss had begun undoing the braid of her long brunette hair during his conversation with the older lady and was trying to undo knots with her fingers.

            With a smirk at Terry Priss replied, “my braid was coming loose, so I wanted to redo it before tonight begins.” Terry narrowed his eyes at her, showing he knew a non-sequitur when he heard one and his question was not answered. She smiled wider and said, “plus, my face is prettier than yours. More people will walk in if they see me rather than you with those scraggly whiskers you call a beard.”

            “Hey!” Terry yelped defensively as a hand unconsciously ran across the thin veneer of facial hair coating his cheeks and around his mouth, “it just grows slowly. Give it time to mature into a proper beard, worthy of praise.” He puffed up his chest in a show masculine bravado, but the excuse sounded weak, and they both knew it. He just had to defend his failing beard and pride somehow.

            “Ya, ya,” Priss chanted in a noncommittal reply as she stuck out her hand, “give it to me. I won so its mine until you win.” Terry glanced at the expecting hand and begun to unfastening an orange and green ribbon from his wrist. The two colors moved back and forth across the length and blended together at their point of contact like a sea-scape horizon at dawn. Terry handed the unbound ribbon to Priss. She smiled joyfully and said, “You are going to wait a while before getting this trinket back.”

            “Oh yeah?” Terry challenged with an equally playful tone, “what makes you think that you’ll win without the handicap you had today?”

            “Feeling lucky about what I’ll win in tonight’s tournament for starters. Other than that, I’m just a better player than you,” she jabbed with feigned mockery curving her lips.

            “Awful confident, overconfident I should say, in yourself to think you have already won tonight’s games.”

            “Since employees can’t participate my chances of winning are more of a certainty,” Priss said with genuine confidence, “pretty sure that’s why Dave hired you in the first place. Cheaper to pay you a wage that to keep awarding you rare packs of Fate’s Hand.”

            Terry huffed as he leaned against the wall behind the register counter, “probably true. You know he is going to make you the same offer, right?” he asked while looking at the woman beside him, “you’re here as often as I am and know just as much.”

            “Yeah, I know,” Priss answered distractedly as she began twirling her hair into a fresh braid, “but I don’t really need the money and tournaments are easy packs.” Terry opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by the more inquisitive of their former spectators from the game prior.

            “Hey, Terry, I was wondering if you had any recommendations for primary familiars in a monster deck,” inquired the guy. He quickly added, “preferably rare class or above,” to his question. That was quite a tall order. Rare class card were available in the store, but they were rare for a reason. There weren’t many available and they were much stronger than their common and uncommon counterparts. The difference in strength made a known rare familiar expensive; well, expensive in the realm of trading cards.

            Terry, however, nodded and gestured to the glass counter containing a slowly rotating showcase of single playing cards. “Yeah, we do have a few of what you are looking for. People have been selling their monster familiars since armaments have gained popularity and only humanoid familiars can wield those.” As he said this he retrieved a single Fate’s Hand card and placed it on top of the glass counter. The card had a gold border indicating a rare class Fate’s Hand card.

            Fate’s Hand trading cards had a rarity system that has its roots in dungeon-crawling games of the early 21st Century. Five categories separated classes of cards and a color corresponded with each color: common class cards are indicated with a bronze border, uncommon class cards have a silver border, rare class cards are outlined with a gold border, ancient class cards have orange as their color, and mythic class cards are said to have blue or green as their color. No one Terry knew is certain on that, even Dave, the owner of Cardstock doesn’t know for a fact. Mythic cards are said to have only a single copy and are released randomly during a series. Terry saw a couple of ancient cards during large scale competitions, but those are almost legends in the game’s circles as is.

            The rare class card that Terry was showing the inquisitive guy had an image of a large, four-legged creature on its face. It had the head and front half of a lion, the rear and legs of a goat, the tail of a snake, and the wings of a bat. Overall, it was a grotesque and terrifying amalgamation of creatures. “Oh wow!” the prospective buyer exclaimed, “a named monster card! Gerant the Chimera…” he mumbled as he further inspected the card. Terry decided to full in some gaps with a brief summary of the card.

            “Yep, Gerant is one of the four rare class named monsters. Most named monsters are ancient or, supposedly, mythic class. That mean Gerant here is stronger than most rare class monsters. He has tons of attack power and utility due to his hybridization without mutations, but lacks any real defensive traits in regards to his class.”

            “and it’s a foil too!” the more and more likely customer shouted as if not hearing a word Terry just spoke. Indeed, the card had the reflective, holographic qualities a unique card would have to give it a desirable appearance to collectors and players. It makes one wonder what the developers thought of its player base. Are we simply attracted to shiny things like fish? Well, that is the case with this guy it seems.

            “Yeah,” began Terry, “that does jack up the price a bit, but it is a strong card for a monster deck nonetheless.” Hopefully, that price wouldn’t impede the sale.

            “I want it!” the guy announced. Yep, definitely like a fish. “I’ll use it to win the tournament tonight,” he said with a smirk. A small yelp erupted from Priss as Terry kicked her foot for underneath the register counter. He knew she was about to say something and didn’t want her to get in the way here. She wasn’t a Cardstock employee anyways. Soon after Terry completed the sale, thanked the customer, and wished him luck in his future games. As this came to a close Priss spoke up.

            “Ok, first off, you’re an ass. I was just going to offer some friendly, competitive words to get him in the proper mindset for the tournament tonight,” she said this with a predatory grin. As joyful as that hunter’s look was on her, as she continued speaking her face turned serious, “You know, I’ve only seen three Gerants, total, since I started playing Fate’s Hand,” a cold, accusatory tone entering her voice, “and I’ve only seen one foil of it in two years. I was there when you opened that pack. Why didn’t you use your Gerant in our match I wonder?” With an angry grunt she tied off her new braid with the orange and green ribbon. Terry did not look at her or answer the question. Standing from her chair she stormed towards Terry in short, heavy steps. Once she was in front of him she spoke in an infuriated whisper, “why, pray tell, did you sell your rarest card?!”

            Terry look at Priss’ glare for a moment and then looked down in shame as he whispered, “Sean moved out last week, something about his boyfriend and an ultimatum of some kind, and rent went up. I can’t afford the late charges and Sean hadn’t paid this month before leaving.” He scratched his nose before continuing, “it’s just a trading card anyways Priss. It’s meant to change hands.” It was a confident, logical statement, but the weak voice giving lack any confidence. Priss’ gaze turned soft as she listened to Terry and finally understood his actions. She knew what Fate’s Hand meant to Terry. She knew firsthand what Gerant had meant to Terry. That card allowed him to become a well-known monster deck player in competitive Fate’s Hand circles. He basically pioneered the humanoid/armament deck playstyle of loading upgrades and add-ons onto a powerful familiar, but with monsters and mutations. He wasn’t the strongest or even nationally ranked, but he was good enough to make any fight a good one to watch.

            Priss looked around to see if anyone was looking their direction and saw one person browsing the board games in their general vicinity. Deciding that she didn’t care if people saw, Priss stepped forward and hugged Terry. He stiffened and drew in a breath to say something, but she squeezed tighter to stop nonsense from spilling out his lips. “Hush, Dave won’t fire you for this,” she gently chided, “I didn’t know about Sean, I’m sorry. A brother should have more decency that that. Why didn’t you tell me?”

            Terry looked sideways at Priss. She was hugging him rather snuggly and rested her head on his shoulder while she faced his neck. Were both standing, Priss was a few inches taller than Terry. So Priss had to lean a bit to rest her head as she did, but she knew Terry could handle her weight. After studying her face for a moment Terry spoke, “I didn’t want you to worry Priss. Knowing you, you’d offer some money or to move in,” he hugged her back fiercely, then moved her back an arm’s length, but still held her. “Neither would work,” he continued, “I wouldn’t accept your money and you worked too hard to get into the Scholastic Dorm at school. My shitty apartment is not worth that act of kindness.”

            “If you stayed in school you’d be in the Scholastic Dorm too, you know?” Priss said as she gently removed Terry’s arms, “If you had applied for scholarships you would have gotten them.”

            “Not many full-ride scholarships for creative writing,” Terry dryly remarked.

            “That’s why you apply for dozens of smaller ones! They add up”

            “You’re right, as always, I know that, but that is a lot of work for something I am not certain I even want.”

Priss sighed as she spoke, “you’re not wrong either, but! You know I’m going to help you whether you like it or not.” Terry weakly smiled at Priss, a silent acknowledgement to her statement. To go against Priss in such matters was an inevitable failure. Terry learned that during the two years he had known her.

~

They met during their freshman orientation at Fallsbender University. There were stands throughout the halls and public squares of campus advertising clubs, greek life, and other interest groups. Terry had stood in front of the Trading Card Club at the time. It was a club of college students that gathered to play Fate’s Hand or older card games of the 20th and early 21st centuries. He was having an increasingly interesting discussion on the finer points between old school painted card artwork and the seeming alive images on modern cards when he was tapped on his shoulder.

Turning around Terry saw a girl standing behind him. She was a bit taller with long brunette hair done up in a braid that fell over her right shoulder; green eyes with specks of gold in the irises; and an athletic body hugged by a graphic t-shirt depicting a soldier with green, modular plated armor, holding an assault rifle straight ahead and capris. Stunned that someone as beautiful as this girl was even near him, let alone trying to get his attention, he just stood there mouth slightly, ok, probably widely, agape.

The girl tilted her head to the side quizzically and blinked before saying, “this is when you’d introduce yourself, I’d introduce myself, and I’d say ‘charmed I’m sure;’ but I’m pretty sure you just skipped straight to charmed.”

Terry blinked, sputtered a bit, coughed in attempt to hide his embarrassment, and then tried speaking, “uhh,” was all that came out of his mouth at first. Another cough to cover his increasing embarrassment and he tried his voice again, “uh, yeah, hi, I’m Terence, but only my mom calls me that when she’s angry, everyone calls me Terry. Nice to meet you Charming.” Terry almost died of embarrassment when he mentioned his mom and decided to go for broke with a terrible, and weak, joke.

Charming smiled back and said, “Hi Terry, my name is Priscilla, everyone calls me that except my friends, they call me Priss; that’s what you’ll call me because we are friends now.” Terry opened his mouth to say something, but Priscilla put a single finger between them and made a ‘shh’ sound. “Alright Terry,” she continued, “that lot over there,” she gestured towards a stand for a sorority, Terry wasn’t sure which, “are a bunch of witches and said I had to kiss a nerd to have a serious conversation with them. It is a boorish hazing tactic, but I do need to speak with them, so if I must endure, I am going to enjoy it at least.” And with that the cute girl kissed the befuddled and charmed Terry.

After a moment longer than expected of contact Priscilla stepped back with a grin. “And I was right, Thanks Terry! I’ll talk to you later,” she said as she waved and trotted back to the sorority stand. Terry stood there, watching her go, his mind a chaotic soup of joy and confusion. The only concrete thought in his mind being that Priss tasted like apples.

~

“Hello? Earth to Terry. Are you there?” Priss walked toward Terry and began waving her hand in front of his eyes. After a moment he finally responded with a jump due to a hand quickly darting hand being quite close to his face.

“Waa.. what are you doing Priss?” he asked after suddenly jumping back and nearly falling over the chair behind him.

“That should be my question to you,” Priss retorted, “we were talking about me helping you and you blanked on me. Where did you go?” The question did not have the same bite as the rest of her tirade had. Terry occasionally zoned out; happened since he was a child, and it sometimes took him to a dark place. He wasn’t sure where or what it could be, but he always felt frightened and alone.

“Not there this time, thankfully,” he responded, “I was in an orchard this time, and got to have the sweetest apple I’ve ever tasted.” Terry said this with a genuine, gentle smile and Priss returned it. She was about to say something when Terry put a finger between them and said, “tuh-tuh, you got a tournament to go fight.”

“And win,” Priss smiled back.

“And win,” Terry agreed.

Part One End.