Part Three

Preparing the Deck

If dreams were omens or portents of the future, or of desires, then Terry would make for a poor Oracle. Or at least a rather cryptic one. When Terry dreamed, it was usually of the dark place. The place that he sometimes went to in his waking hours that Priss knew and worried about. He didn’t tell her how often he visited it in his dreams. There was no need to worry Priss further about something so harmless. Well, that is what Terry kept telling himself.

In the dark place Terry couldn’t see anything, couldn’t hear anything, could taste anything, and couldn’t smell anything. At least at first. Those came later. What Terry sensed first was by touch: it was always cold. A chill would creep under his skin starting at his fingertips and toes. Gradually it climbed to his hands and feet, then up his arms and legs. It was at this time another sense would pick up something. Usually it was his hearing; though sometimes a smell would intrude first. He would begin to hear a crunching sound. Like the sound of stepping through snow that had a thin layer of ice overtop of it. The sound would start at what could only be guessed at as a vast distance.

The only way Terry could hear it was because it was the only sound. In the absence of everything, anything is deafening. As the crunching grew closer, it would begin to change. The crunching became heavier. Like the broken material became something else, something stronger. The louder cracks sent shivers down Terry’s spine every time. His bones quivered in terror, like it was them that was being sundered under the approaching force.

Smell and taste came next. Always together. This was the most varied influx of sensations. The common was copper. Copper would seep through his nose, lay heavy on his tongue, and claw its way down his throat. Terry wasn’t a fool, he had bit his lip and tongue enough times to know what he could smell and taste. It was blood; thick, warm, and heavy blood. More than he had ever been around in his waking hours. Thinking of it as blood made the entire experience worse. So Terry opted to keep thinking of it as copper; to maintain his mind and stomach through the experience.

Copper grew heavier on his senses as the heavy, crunching footsteps drew closer. His ears would begin to pick up a new sound around this time. Deep breaths could been heard in tandem with the crunching. It was not the labored breathing of one in exercise, but the cavernous, paced breathing of a large being simply moving forward. Tension would grow in Terry from anticipation. His very soul knew that something was approaching him, and he was unable to do anything about it. No escape could be chased. No sanctuary could be sought. No resistance could be rallied. All Terry could do was wait, wait in terror.

By this point, in the standard dream-visit to the dark place the crunching would stop. The chill that gradually crept through Terry’s body had covered his entire being and began to take away the feeling that marked its progress with numbness. The deep breaths would sound directly before Terry. The source being only steps away from him. It was in this moment that Terry’s final sense received stimulus: sight. What Terry would see wasn’t much, but it sent fear to his mind and a spark of… well Terry didn’t know how to identify it actually… a spark of something to his soul. A pair of grey eyes would stare back at him. They were enormous in comparison to his own. Dinner plates might be a fair parallel for size, but then again those eyes were all Terry could see in the abyss so perhaps the comparison didn’t matter. Dinner plates came in too many sizes anyways.

The grey eyes didn’t contain malice in them. Malice required disdain and hatred towards what was being viewed. Terry didn’t think that the eyes’ bearer had those particular emotions toward him. There was no support for this idea, but it was his only thought on the matter. That didn’t mean there weren’t other emotions swimming through those grey eyes. If Terry had to put what he thought he saw into words it would be, ‘the look of a predator.’ He felt like prey under the gaze of a great predator when looking into those eyes. The eyes never attacked though, never hunted him. They just did what eyes do, and watch. It was extremely nerve-wracking because Terry always felt an immense pressure coming from the entity. He had come to the conclusion that the eyes were waiting for something. In no dream did he figure out what the eyes sought after. They only observed patiently.

Tonight’s dream followed the usual pattern. Darkness. Cold. Crunching. Copper. More crunching. Breathes. Eyes. This was just another visit to the dark place. An abyss that had eyes watching Terry. However, this dream became different after an eternity’s long staring contest: the eyes shift their gaze to something beyond Terry. Terry chanced a glance behind him to see what distracted the eyes and gave a shriek of horror. Not in terror for himself, but for Priss. He saw Priss through what could only be described as a giant portal. It was ovular in shape, the edges colored orange with crackling and fraying energy. Priss did not seem to notice the tear in reality because she was focused on something to the side of the portal’s frame. Whatever she had her attention on it truly alarmed and frightened her. Terry saw Priss’ eyes wide with fear and her arm outstretched, as if trying to reach for something. Terry took a step towards Priss. He had to help her. Had to hold her. Had to tell her. Had to step forward.

Each step towards the portal dropped a great weight onto Terry. His footfalls grew heavier and crunching could be heard beneath his own feet this time. He stumbled once the weight became too great and bit his lip. Blood ran heavy and hot down his chin and in his mouth. Terry kept struggling forward towards the portal, towards Priss. Soon his labored breaths filled his ears as his lungs demanded air to push onward. Closer to the portal Terry got, the more weight Terry had to bear. He was crawling after a moment, a minute, a year. The time Terry struggled in this abyss was not the same as the time Priss went through it seemed. She moved slowly, too slowly for it to be an act. More akin to a slideshow. But those extended moments allowed Terry to observe every line of fear on her face. To see the helplessness in her eyes. She wasn’t hurt physically, but she was hurting. Something horrible was happening to her and Terry did not know what. He had to get to her though. Through the portal; one crawling step at a time.

His fingers could almost touch the portal. They were a mere hair’s breadth away. The weight bearing down on Terry was too much though. He felt that his being was getting crushed. His essence and soul flattened and made part of the nothing around him. That didn’t matter though. She did, and he could reach her. To a side Terry heard the crunching that signified movement in the dark place. Glancing away from Priss for the first time he saw the grey eyes looking back at him. Terry saw something other than a predator’s glare in them. He witnessed what he thought was confusion? No, concern. The eyes were concerned. Why would the eyes be concerned? About what? The eyes look through the portal and Terry followed the gaze. Priss was still in the frame of the portal and had moved a bit more towards whatever she was running for. Despair still painted her features. It broke Terry’s heart. He couldn’t move though. The dark place trapped him at the cusp of being there with her. Terry glanced back at the grey eyes, surprised to see the concern still in them. In desperation, Terry gazed into those grey eyes and begged, “please, I’ve never asked for anything. Not for these dreams to stop, not for you to stop looking at me like food. I only beg this: help me, please. Just this one time is enough. I can’t do this alone, I’m weak and I need strength to be there with her. Please, help me be strong enough for just that.”

The grey eyes gazed into his, weighing what Terry asked of them, unreadable in this moment of forever. Then they blinked. For the first time Terry could recall, the grey eyes blinked at him. A voice, a rich baritone, “I find your character and virtues to be of righteous origin. Your search for power is beyond yourself, but not for yourself. I accept you as my soul-bond. I will be your guardian and companion. I am the symbol and manifestation of your kindness, your love, your determination, and your loyalty. I am Winter, call upon me when the time comes and I will be there, for that time and forever after.” With that the grey eyes had a white mass surround them. It formed into a bestial shape with four legs. It nudged Terry with its, probably, nose and then padded towards the portal. Once it was there it jumped through and Terry woke up.

Terry rose out of bed with a start. Wide-eyed he look around hastily and then calmed as he realized he was in Priss’ room. He had stayed the night in her apartment. Where was she? Looking around the room with intent this time, Terry saw Priss’ slate project ’06:15’ above its screen. The newer models of slate could project their information above the glass that attached at the forearm. Terry wasn’t sure how it all worked, but it was a lot like the holograms from old sci-fi movies. Priss was certainly not in the room. Not terribly surprising. At this hour she would consider herself sleeping in.

The vestiges of sleep long forgotten in the near immediate wake up after one of his dark place dreams, Terry rose from the bed and headed towards the living room. He felt weird. The dream was different than usual, very different. He couldn’t place what exactly it was either. Like most dreams the details faded. Once in view of the living room, attempts to recall were forgotten. Priss was set up on an exercise mat doing one-handed pushups. Each rep was followed by a swift rotation of hands. The speed of each rep put most fitness minded folks to shame if they had been using both hands.

It was a damn impressive display of physical prowess. Terry quietly watched as he leaned on the doorframe. Since he met Priss, and got to know her, he saw things that he would have pegged as impossible if he hadn’t seen it in person. This being almost one of them. No matter the wonder of what Priss was accomplishing on that exercise mat, aside from distracting Terry, this was one of her more “tame” workouts. A “warm-up” as she called it; didn’t want to do anything too strenuous before work.

“Good morning handsome,” Priss called out as she switched workouts to do some sort of upside down plank against the wall. “Care to join me?”

“No thanks,” Terry replied, “last time I took that suggestion I felt pain in muscles I didn’t know existed. Why don’t I make breakfast instead?” With that, began a hasty, and tactical, retreat to the kitchen.

“You have breakfast with Dave and Anne this morning, remember?” Priss said.

“Oh yeah, but you don’t, so breakfast for one it is. Want it light or heavy?”

“Aren’t you the most wonderful homebody,” Priss teased, “light breakfast please.”

“As the Prissess requests,” Terry replied with a mock courtier’s bow. Soon after he had two eggs on a skillet being cooked easy over. As the apartment filled with the aroma of eggs and coffee Priss stopped her warm-up routine and sat down next to the coffee table. Terry carried over a plate of eggs and a cup of orange juice for her and quickly returned with a mug of coffee for himself.

“Awake yet?” Priss asked around a mouthful of eggs.

“First off, that’s disgusting. Eat then speak,” Terry said. Priss shrugged, this was a ritual by habit and repetition. “Secondly, I just handled a hot stove to make you eggs. I should be awake by now.”

“Wow, someone is feisty this morning,” Priss said, thankfully after swallowing a mouthful of egg. “What’s wrong?” Terry didn’t know how to really answer that question. He felt weird after waking up from the dream. But what kind of answer was, “I had a bad dream” for a twenty year old?

“Nothing new,” he finally answered after taking a sip of coffee, “you know I get anxious before you go to work with your family.” Priss nodded sagely as she downed the rest of her orange juice. “I know you can take care of yourself, and I won’t do anything to stop you. But… but I just worry is all.” His answer had started as a deflection but turned out to be another aspect of the truth.

Priss reached out and put a hand on his, “I know you worry; and I make sure to be the smartest and safest on the team so you don’t have to be so worried. I told you last night that I’d share the mysteries on what I do today, and I will, tonight. That conversation is going to be too long for this morning. So please, be patient and trust that I am as safe as I can be out there.”

Terry nodded in ascent, “of course. I can do that for you.”

“Good,” Priss said as she snagged Terry’s coffee from him, “now we can move on to something we can handle this morning: the unveiling of these cards!” Terry glanced to the card pack that Priss had given him the night before. It still rested where it had been forgotten the night. Patiently awaited its own reveal.

“You sure…” he began to say, but Priss interjected.

“Yes! We did this last night. My mind hasn’t changed. Get over it, and open the damn cards already!”

Terry let out a breath then nodded, “Alright. As my Prissess demands.” That comment earned him a light jab on the shoulder and a soft chuckle. Both then looked at the card pack resting between them. The image of the out-stretched hand manipulating the magical aura looked to be shimmering. Not actually though. Must be an optical illusion built into the exterior of the card pack they didn’t pick up on last night. With a practiced hand Terry broke the sealed top of the card pack and removed its contents. Five Fate’s Hands cards lay on the coffee table, backside up, between Priss and Terry.

Stolen novel; please report.

“That’s interesting. Were the magic spirals orange and green in the original set?” Priss asked as she leaned closer to inspect the cards.

“No, always purple and blue well as I can remember,” Terry answered, “Probably just a faulty printing though. As long as the gaming table recognizes and registers them it doesn’t really matter.”

“True enough. Now let’s flip these babies over and see what you got!” Priss said excitedly. Terry nodded his head in agreement. There was always an air of excitement when revealing new cards. Never knew what treasures you would uncover.

Mutation: Alacrity

Class: Common (Enchantment)

A mutation for familiars that improves their overall speed and dexterity.

It was a card with a bronze border, a common. Almost every monster or beast deck for beginners had an alacrity mutation in them, several usually. It was easy to understand and useable by just about all familiars. That, however, make it nearly useless in high level play—it was far too weak to be impactful against more rare and specialized enchantments.

“Well,” Priss said, “can only go up from here.” She had been trying to console Terry about getting a beginner card in an original pack, but he just stared dumbly at the card. “What is it?” She finally asked after waiting for him to fill her in.

“It’s different,” Terry answered, “the image is moving more than I remember it doing before. And the description is missing the specific increase to the speed attribute. There should be a number, like ‘+1.’”

Priss shrugged, “maybe that wasn’t needed in the first series of the game. The game tables would recognize the card and enable its effect on a familiar.”

“You’re probably right,” Terry agreed, “but I know a few players that wouldn’t play the card on principle due to the vague bonuses it provided.”

“Does that include you?” Priss inquired conspiratorially.

“Not really,” Terry replied, “play with a card long enough and you get a feel for how well it works. Besides if the artwork is any indication, this is a variant card. Might do more than we think.” Priss nodded in agreement, but before adding further to the conversation, Terry flipped the next card. Priss had the mug of coffee halfway to her lips, as if on pause. Terry’s hand had not moved a muscle. It hovered just to the side of the newly unveiled card.

“Is it real?” Priss quietly asked as the mug was placed on the coffee table, forgotten.

“If Alacrity is real, then logical would lead us to believe so,” Terry answered with trepidation. “I have no prior experience for comparison. The card between them sat placidly on the coffee table. A vague, bestial image created out of a white fog with piercing grey eyes commanded the artwork of a card with a blue border.

True Familiar

Class: Mythic (Summon)

Summons a permanent familiar that bonds to the soul of its mage. The true familiar shares power and grows in strength with its soul-bond. A True familiar’s form is a reflection of the character and virtues of the soul-bond.

Terry’s gaze went between the class of mythic, written plainly underneath the name of the card, and the grey eyes of the artwork. Those eyes were eerily similar the ones he saw in his dreams. They didn’t have the predatory glint to them though. They seemed to just be waiting. When Terry was about to look away and say something to Priss he stopped. The eyes blinked. Blinked at him. Terry felt an odd recognition at that, but couldn’t properly recall why. Priss interrupting his musings with her own.

“Is this how mythic cards work?” she asked, “you get a permanent familiar. How does it work? Do you have to draw the card and play it first? Do you start the game with it?”

As Priss took a breath to continue the rapid fire questions Terry spoke up, “I have no idea. There is no precedence or mechanic I know of for such a thing. I’m curious about this ‘soul-bond’ idea. Since such a thing doesn’t actually exist, how are the parameters defined?” Both Priss and Terry involuntarily twitched at that last statement. One for knowing that it was possible. One for not knowing, but feeling that it was real.

Priss reached for the mug of coffee and quickly filled the air by saying, “a problem to solve at the game table. Flip the next.” After speaking her piece, she hid behind the mug of coffee. Terry was starting to think he should have just made enough for two mugs at this point. Too late now though, so he acquiesced and flipped the third card.

Sanguine Bat

Class: Uncommon (Summon)

Conjures a cat-size bat imbued with the ability to transfer life energy from its bite victims to itself or its mage.

This was not an earth-shattering reveal like the ‘True Familiar’ card prior. Both Priss and Terry had heard of the ‘Sanguine Bat’ card before. Terry even ran a few in his own monster decks. It wasn’t an awe-inspiring, game-winning powerhouse of a familiar. The colloquially named “vamp bat” by the Fate’s Hand community was a self-healing, highly mobile, pain in the ass. It was a familiar that could be dealt with, but it took attention and resources away from the real threats a monster or beast deck could bring down to bear.

“A vamp bat isn’t a bad card to keep in your back pocket,” Priss said. She meant it too. Before getting her ‘Lesser Seraphim’ which could fly naturally, these flying pests would draw out matches long enough for her to lose more often than she did these days. So the ‘Sanguine Bat’ had a special place of respect and hate in her heart.

“Yeah,” Terry said distractedly as he stared intently at the card.

“What is it?” Priss asked looking more intently herself.

“I know the artwork on these cards is supposed to make them more realistic, it’s part of the reason I love just having Fate’s Hand cards, but I swear that the bat just looked at me, nodded, then looked away,” Terry explained finally looking up at Priss. She indeed saw the bat looking away from the perspective of the picture, but had failed to notice the rest of Terry’s moment with the card.

“Probably nothing,” she said, “artwork is known to glitch on occasion and it wouldn’t be the first mannerism an artist coded into their work.”

Terry nodded in agreement, “Yeah, probably just that.” He didn’t sound too convinced, but didn’t press the issue further. Neither of them could verify a theory regarding this, so best to move on. To further that policy Terry flipped the next card and a bronze border greeted them.

Unsettling Fog

Class: Common (Field)

Creates a thing shroud of fog for a 50ft radius. Entities within the fog hear murmurs that reduce awareness and gradually foster hallucinations. A powerful, or willful, being maybe unaffected by these conditions.

“Don’t see field cards very often,” Terry commented.

“Yea, probably closer to uncommon in class by the standards of the meta right now,” Priss added. Field cards place an effect or condition over a wide area within the arena familiars fought in. Some were more benign, like a fog or light misting of rain, others were near catastrophic and would rend the earth or shatter the sky. Field cards had begun to lose their usage in common practice for Fate’s Hand though. New rules from the release of the third series placed field cards into the same category as enchantments for the purposes of how many cards of a specific type were allowed in the deck. Other enchantment cards, such as mutations and armaments, were just too useful in comparison for most players. The only real exception was if you had one of those catastrophe-level field cards or one that worked well with your primary familiar.

“Don’t mean to be harsh, but that card seems pretty useless. I don’t think any primary familiar is going to fall for that. And the phrasing makes it seem like your own familiars are just as susceptible to it,” Priss said as she finished of Terry’s coffee. Or her coffee, two-thirds possession being ownership or something like that.

“Have to test it out to be certain,” Terry answered, “I don’t have much experience with field cards. Didn’t know what they were when I started playing and then the rule change dropped and I didn’t invest the time to learning.” Without waiting to continue to conversation, Terry unveiled the final card. Both Priss and Terry stiffened involuntarily and then looked at each other. The artwork was similar to the art of the card pack itself in one way, but vastly different in another. There was the iconic spiral galaxy bundle of arcane energy. It actively swirled with orange and green magic in a clockwise motion. At the center of that orange-green spiral was a stylized eye. Like ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics style of artwork. The border of the card was the second blue border on the table.

Fate Sight

Class: Mythic (Magnum Opus)

Gain the ability to see the Fate auras of the beings which can be seen. When focused with enough power, the potentials of the future can be seen as well.

“So, is it a hand revealing card?” Terry asked, “because I’m having a hard time deciphering what this actually does on the game table. If it wasn’t so vague I would be more excited and less confused.” Priss didn’t acknowledge what Terry said; she kept staring at the card with a fierce intent and didn’t say a word. Terry took a breath to say something more, but a heavy knock on the apartment door made both of them jump.

“Priscilla,” a deep voice boomed from the hall, “open this door, immediately.” Priss was up and walking to the door before the voice was done speaking.

As she walked past Terry she whispered, “put those cards in your pocket and do not let him see them under any circumstances.” Though spoken softly, the tone demanded obedience without question. Terry complied with a nod and quickly gather the five cards and slide them into his pocket. As he did this, Priss opened the door to the hall and in stepped a man.

This man stood tall. Taller than most tall people by a full head. That height was accented by the bulging muscles that radiated strength and power beneath clothing that seemed to fit a bit too tightly. Even the dark winter jacket worn by him hardly muffled the imposing aura of the man. Sharp black eyes scanned the room, burrowed into Terry, then went to Priss.

“Report,” he ordered in that deep voice, “What was that?”

Priss, who already stood and walked with impeccable posture, straightened further and answered, “an accidental discharge of my equipment sir. I was distracted by Terry and my focus slipped. I will not do so again.” The man did not blink as Priss completely changed gears and became more soldier than woman. Terry was confused as to why Priss had covered up the existence of the Fate’s Hand cards with a lie, but then blushed at the implication of that falsehood. He quickly glanced at the man then down at the empty coffee mug in embarrassment and despair. Priss said that to her father after all.

“We will have a debrief regarding your distraction later,” Mr. Daniels said, “prepare yourself and gear to leave in fifteen, and, boy,” he continued, “you will leave.” Not a request. Another command. Like he was another soldier in his super-secret squad. Terry didn’t like the presumption or the command, but he was completely cowed by the man. There was no inclination, aside from the swiftly vanishing fantasy, of disobeying him. Disobedience had consequences. Plus, Terry respected Priss and didn’t want to cause issues between father and daughter. At least more issues than he was causing already.

“Uhh,” Terry stammered, his voice betraying him, “Yes sir… will do. I mean, I’ll get out of the way so Priss can get to work.” Standing as he spoke, Terry moved to head for Priss’ room to gather his things. He stopped as he thought that Mr. Daniels might bodily harm him if he knew he had slept in the same room as his daughter. Terry liked being bodily whole.

“I’ll assist Terry and meet you in the vehicle,” Priss intoned while grabbing Terry’s arm and dragging him into the bedroom.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered after closing the door and wrapping her arms around Terry. “Dad wasn’t supposed to be here for another hour and I didn’t want you to see that.”

“What’s going on Priss? Why did you cover up the cards?” Terry asked, concern and confusion coloring his voice.

“More than I have time to explain right now. I promise that tonight we will talk about it all and I’ll answer your questions. Can you be patient with me, please?” She asked, her plea filling her eyes as she looked at Terry. He took a moment to look at the woman in his arms. She was stunningly beautiful to him, even in simple workout clothes; she was strong and powerful, the strength of her embrace proved that; and, most importantly, he knew by looking at her that she genuinely cared about him. Whatever she was hiding right now, whatever she couldn’t say, was protecting him somehow. From what he didn’t know, not yet.

“Of course I can,” Terry finally said. She squeezed him and murmured a quiet thank you. As he held her, Terry’s mind flashed an image of Priss in distress. Terror and pain painted across her features as she ran, arms outstretched, towards something he could not see. The image haunted him. He didn’t want it to be true. It wasn’t real. A fear playing across his mind is all. But the image did inspire Terry to say something more meaningful to Priss. Firming his resolve, Terry came to a decision and looked at Priss, “Be careful today, I… I couldn’…” he sighed and took a breath, “I love you Priss, I know you know, but we never said it aloud and I feel like I need to right now.”

Terry’s statement wasn’t completely honest. Not the loving Priss part, for him that is complete truth. It is the “we haven’t said it aloud before part” that isn’t completely honest. Priss had said it once after a night of bar-hopping around downtown Fallsbend about a year ago. Both were extremely drunk at the time and Priss was adamant the day after that she wouldn’t say something so important for the first time while completely smashed. Terry dropped the matter because he could have remembered wrong. He was completely smashed that night as well.

Priss stiffened for a moment, then melted into Terry. “You jerk,” she said with a quivering voice, “why did you have to say that now, of all times?” It was a rhetorical question, but Terry answered anyways.

“Felt like I had to. I had a dream last night that scared me pretty bad. You were there and something terrible was happening or happened, not really sure. I just remember you looking terrified. So I needed you to hear that so you knew I need you to come back safe for whatever it is you’re going to do,” Terry said as he placed a hand on top of Priss’ head while she leaned into him.

“You make me feel like such a girl at times like this,” Priss complained as she stepped back and wiped at a tear.

“If it makes you feel any better, you’re the muscle-bound, sexy ninja out of the two of us,” Terry said with a grin in attempt to lighten the atmosphere that settled around them.

“Damn right I am,” Priss agreed in attempt to also lighten the mood, “I will come back to you, safe. When I do, we will figure all this out. But for right now, I have to go. I really don’t want to, but it can’t be helped.

“I’ll call when I’m free from work and head straight for you. Hope breakfast with Dave and Anne is nice. Bound to be a better morning than mine,” Priss said as she began pulling out a few black duffle bags from her closest.

“Sounds good to me. Go do what it is you do. When we settle down for the evening, we can make tacos and talk,” Terry told her with a more genuine smile. Tacos were their mutual favorite food and was something neither took casually. It made at least part of the evening something to look forward to.

“mmm,” Priss purred in anticipation, “that sounds great. Now get out of here, I got to get dressed and you don’t get to see my ninja outfit.” An idiotic grin spread across Terry’s face as he heard that. He was pretty sure she wasn’t a ninja, but it was a fun joke nonetheless between them.

“Yes ma’am,” Terry mock saluted and then put his jacket on.