Baethen had drawn his Hand, been dealt his cards and not discarded the fruit of the poison tree; and so he toiled in the round afore him and his breached the Evergaol to pillage it of everything it was worth. Afore they did battle with Nine-Alunariat’s angels of darkness and the god-blooded gargantuan spawn of Twenty-One-Eot and other holy horrors beyond human imagination.
It was a dire thing to keep himself from venturing forth alone, a leash around the throat of his reckless spirit, to beat iron into steel when gold and blackest alabaster lay but a span before him within reach.
Dull, repetitive, meditative work consumed him, hearkening back to a time in which Reordran’s walls imprisoned Baethen within the dreary drudgery of a boring life.
His hammer struck the anvil in the staccato rhythm famous to every smithy; the momentum conserved and brought forth to the next. A cycle, on and on, the body in motion and toil but the mind still. He played the cards from his two discrete sets interchangeably and simultaneously.
He didn’t think, didn’t contemplate; tired and numb, fire in his veins and smoke in the bellows of his lungs, dumb and young, sweat on his brow stinging his eyes blind. There was nothing special in that moment other than its utter simplicity. A lifetime later, Baethen would understand that was why it happened—that in trying too hard at something sometimes undermines your very chance at getting it in the first place. Overcomplication and navel-gazing deluded the mind into thinking that every answer begets complexity and reason.
Sometimes, the world just is and you needn’t trip over yourself to get a chance to see it. The hammer came down and the world disappeared.
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Hearken, the [Dealer-of-Fate] stirs awake! As {Eldest}, [Fata-Morgana] takes {Rearhand} as {Dealer}.
Scouring [Akashic-Archive] for compatible {Arcanum-Deck} […]
Compatible {Arcanum-Deck} found; shuffling probabilities set to base one over mean […]
Shuffle complete, [Three-of-a-Kind] {Sets} {Drawn}; please select {Three} {Cards} to form a {Set}.
*Selections are final; results are blind; only {One} {Card} of each {Set} may be selected. Should a {Set} not be formed in the {Allotted-Time} of {Ten-Licks}, a {Set} will be selected at random.
➤ Set I: [Stay-the-Course], [Covet-the-Red-Dragon], [Renounce-the-Devil]
➤ Set II: [The-Crucible], [Justice], [Strength]
➤ Set III: [Death], [The-Charlatan], [The-Dog-Star]
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Starting from the bottom and going up, Baethen first picked [Death]; Nagalfaram, Boatswain-of-the-Gods whose boat Maraflagan was wrought of the toenails of the dead. Crows deposited souls of the departed upon the shores of the ether so that they may be ferried by the Nameless Merchant-of-Death to their next life. Though it might seem that Nagalfaram had a name—namely, Nagalfaram—this was merely an anagram of the Boat-of-the-Damned to make it easier for mortals to speak of That-Which-Has-No-Name, the Thirteenth-God.
Technically, Nagalfaram was two entities; the Boat proper fell under the Unnamed Thirteenth while the Boatswain took after the Twentieth-Major-Arcana-of-Judgement—the Inquisition’s patron-deity, the object of worship for every black justiciar or witch-hunter; the anathema of every worm-tongued warlock, that which even worshippers of fear, in turn, feared.
Cosmogeny and metaphysics was never one of Baethen’s strong suits so he simply ignored the theological connotations of the God-Split-in-Two and focused on the more worldly consequences.
The arcana of the Nameless-God was not forbidden. So long as the card didn’t trespass upon Taboo, Thievery, Murder, or Pox, accepting the arcana of death into your soul was no sin. All mortals were destined to die and this was holy for the cycle of souls was conceived of by the Twenty-One Themselves.
Next, owing to what he happened to be doing at the time, Baethen chose [The-Crucible]; this third-order arcana—wrought of fire, air, earth and mercury—was of the lineage of the Tower but under the investiture of the Magus. To say the least of it, the relationship of the various arcana was revoltingly complex and granular; less a divine tapestry of so many threads and more a gigantic mess of tangles of Creation’s many parents.
Last and finally, came the first set; it was always bound to be the broad strokes. If Baethen were stupid, he’d pick [Covet-the-Red-Dragon] for a faster taste at real power—it was a close one, too. If he was smart, he’d pick [Renounce-the-Devil] to ward off Scaduphomet’s arcana and most permutations of the Chariot from encroaching on the deck—too sensible for a fool.
He wasn’t stupid and he wasn’t smart. Fool that he was, Baethen just couldn’t rightly choose between the two. He did not plan on selling his soul but neither did he want to bend over backwards before the Twenty-One Churches. It wasn’t just defiance or the buckling of authority; it was the discomfort borne of not having choice.
Another leash on the throat of his reckless spirit, choking the life of him from the inside-out; another of a long line of perceived slights that the world had wrought upon him, shackled on the yoke of his fate as ordained by Fata-Morgana the Wheel E’er-Turning.
And when neither choice was right, Baethen picked neither.
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{Hand} chosen as follows:
➤ [Stay-the-Course]
➤ [The-Crucible]
➤ [Death]
Fusing {Arcanum} into {Set}; please wait [...]
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Deck Formed: [Cycle-of-the-Crucible] ★★
Draw: [Of-a-Kind]
Drawback: [Red-Hot-Iron]
Arcana: [The-Wheel], [The-Crucible], [Death]
Number: [XIII//XVI]
Suit: [Sleight-of-Hand]
Portfolio Φ: [‘The black seed planted within the red earth shall bloom into a flower of resplendent gold’. This {Deck} grants the {Player} {Major-Dominion} over the {Arcana-of-the-Crucible}, allowing them to {Condense}, {Melt}, {Harden}, or {Soften} a {Font-of-Mercury} through {Act-of-Body} via a {Strike} so long as it is {Red-Hot} and in {Touch} with a {Sceptre} held in {Thrall-of-Arm}; as a contra, {Player} may {Convert} {Fonts-of-Mercury} into {Lead-Tokens} or {Vice-Versa} through the aforementioned {Strike}. Once this {Card} is {Brought-Into-Play}, {Fonts-of-Mercury} in {Touch} with the {Player} through a {Medium} thereof held in {Thrall-of-Arm}, will begin to rapidly cool through {Dissolution}.]
Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
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[Imp-of-Serpents] ★★ ({Four-Card-Set - {Linked} [Cycle-of-the-Crucible] ★★)
[Lesser-Juggler-of-Fire] ★ ({Single-Card} - {Linked} [Parlour-Tricks] ★)
[Lesser-Narguile-of-Night] ★({Single-Card} - {Linked} [Parlour-Tricks]★)
[Cinderspark-Spit] ★ ({Single-Card} - {Linked} [Forge-Maw]★★)
[Kindlers-Breath] ★★ ({Single-Card} - {Linked} [Forge-Maw]★★)
[Strike-While-the-Iron-is-Hot] ★★ ({Four-Card-Set} - {Linked} [Cycle-of-the-Crucible] ★★)
[Slag-and-Scale] ★★ ({Single-Card} - {Linked} [Lesser-Wormhide] ★★)
[Flawed-Steelheart] ★ ({Single-Card} - {Linked} [Lesser-Wormhide] ★★)
[Run-Like-the-Wind] ★ ({Single-Card} - {Linked} [Scarwright] ★★)
[Mercurial-Inksmith] ★★★ ({Single-Card} - {Linked} [Scarwright] ★★)
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Meld Linked: [Scarwright] ★★
Draw: [Three-of-a-Kind]
Drawback: [Stigmata-Mundi]
Arcana: [The-Hanged-Man], [The-Dog-Star], [The-Reverse-Pillar]
Number: [XIII//XXI]
Suit: [Back-Pocket]
Portfolio Φ: [‘Yurnmagog, World-Shadow, bears the weight of Eot the World through Irmin-Sûl the thousand-thousand-thousand-notched World-PIllar’. This {Meld} grants the {Player} {Minor-Dominion} over the {Arcana-of-Scars}, allowing them to {Reverse} their {Scars} into {Fonts-of-Howling-Wind} so long as they are {Struck} upon said {Scars} by that which {Incurred} them in the first place. After this {Meld} is {Brought-Into-Play}, the {Player}’s {Cast-Shadows} {Incur} a {Brand-of-Sloth} which will {Enburden} them for every {Scar} {Reversed} through this {Meld}.]
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[Scarwright] was similar to [Flawed-Steelheart], both being considered deadcards due to their strick and downright difficult playability; where they differed was that the newest meld was, specifically, a god-debt or burden card. These could be ameliorated by the clergy, the holy cartomancers of Hsarash the Fourteenth-Major-Arcana-of-Equanimity able to rebalance the scales that such a card weighed upon. A few silver tokens tithed on a
The [Scarwright] meld wasn’t near pernicious enough to be considered a cursed card and Baethen was rather satisfied with the draw. He’d only manifested it through a particular confluence of events—his living by the burnt skin of his teeth, his mentoring by another player with the arcana of scars, and blind luck courtesy of Fata-Morgana Herself. Fate had seen to deal him this Hand and he was not disappointed.
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({Archetype}: [Prime]) Selected; {Player}’s ({Hand}: [3//3]) {Drawn} as follows:
[Imp-of-Serpents] ★★ ({Four-Card-Set} - {Linked} [Cycle-of-the-Crucible] ★★)
Strike-While-the-Iron-is-Hot] ★★ ({Four-Card-Set} - {Linked} [Cycle-of-the-Crucible] ★★)
[Gullet-of-the-Sky-Gorger] ★★★ ({Single-Card} - {Unlinked})
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The deck was a bastard one, taking up two slots within the hand for its lack of a third set. Still, the deck link alone had been worth it as it would allow Baethen to stockpile fonts of mercury within his soul—his Tabula, specifically—in the form of leaden tokens.
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{Player}’s {Tabula} {Read} as follows:
{60} ➤ [Lead-Tokens] ★ ({Portent}: [The-Black-Star])
{40} ➤ [Copper-Tokens] ★ ({Portent}: [The-Morning-Star])
{36} ➤ [Tin-Tokens] ★ ({Portent}: [The-Lode-Star])
{22} ➤ [Bronze-Tokens] ★ ({Portent}: [The-Burning-Star])
{13} ➤ [Iron-Tokens] ★ ({Portent}: [The-Cold-Star])
{23} ➤ [Damascene-Tokens] ★★ ({Portent}: [The-Water-Star])
{10} ➤ [Silver-Tokens] ★★ ({Portent}: [The-Weeping-Star])
{0} ➤ [Gold-Tokens] ★★ ({Portent}: [The-Drought-Star])
{0} ➤ [Electrum-Tokens] ★★★ ({Portent}: [The-Dog-Star])
{0} ➤ [Platinum-Tokens] ★★★ ({Portent}: [The-Virgin-Star])
{0} ➤ [Byzantium-Tokens] ★★★★ ({Portent}: [The-Evening-Star])
{0} ➤ [Black-Alabaster-Tokens] ★★★★★ ({Portent}: [The-Halcyon-Star])
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Each token had its own cast-metal and portentous star; the former denoted its rank upon the [Tabula] whilst the latter told tale of its birth. Each had an animal of omen and a patron deity; a sign of Earth rather than one of Heaven, a major arcana in the wake of its shadow.
Lead-tokens were found within the mouths of the dead or scattered without the war-barrows of battlefields where forgotten armies had shed blood and life, thus attracting the Nameless Death-God to roost thereupon or the ruins of bygone ages whence men once lived but no longer are.
Every ominous pass of the black-star Cepheus in the firmament of night was a sign that the God-of-Crows-and-Burials either would or already had flown by to repay the death-obols of those that had passed the threshold; just as Nagalfaram took tithes so that souls might remember their past incarnations, the Thirteenth-God gave back in worthless, heavy lead. These tokens were useful in but the construction of aqueducts or as weights for Hsarashian scales that could so weigh other chips of higher denomination. The only true demand for these tokens was for the making of chains and the like—not even the greediest of merchants accepted them for barter. Smiths might use some for their prentice’s practice.
Which, speak of the Devil and She shall appear, Baethen took a handful of leaden tokens from his empty pockets and laid them atop the anvil. Tokens occupied a strange metaphysical space reminiscent of one’s Hand but nowhere near as personal or even secure—Hangman cards could steal chips much easier than, say, cards themselves. To remove a chip from your own Tabula, you needed to use either sleight-of-hand or a coin-purse with which to trick the world so that it may believe in the lie and thus see it as truth. This aspect of the Game-of-the-Gods took after Balphas the Magus and Alunariat the Hermit for trickery applied to both charlatans and magicians.
First, Baethen heated up the pile of tokens with his cards until they glowed a lambent-red and then, with a quick strike of [Cycle-of-the-Crucible], he turned useless lead into a font of mercury. The resultant lump of amalgam was an ugly and wretched thing but it may as well have been a divine idol of beauty because Baethen felt like he could weep.
The conversion rate was twelve tokens for every fist-sized stone of metal. The font was impure, wrought mostly of lead which was actually good for what uses Baethen envisioned. Were the transmuted fonts pure without traces of iron, copper, tin and the like, the arcana of his cards would not have such a tight foothold or perhaps at all—pure, alchemical metal was hard to come by for reason of price as spell reagents did not come cheap.
From what Baethen had been taught, one’s arcana was the intermediary between one’s will and the world. Your soul was the weight put on one side of the lever, the world upon the opposing contra with the arcana as the lever itself. The fulcrum upon which the whole contraption balanced was one’s arcanum and cards, serving as a foundation, so to speak. Willpower could be leveraged to make one’s soul ‘weigh’ heavier temporarily and thus heighten a card’s effect upon the world while a weak arcana meant a tenuous lever which could not support as much metaphysical weight no matter how much spirit one exerted upon the contraption.
Overuse or straining of low-parity cards could, for example, incur rivening at worst or backlash at best. The last had happened to Baethen, burning his tongue down to its roots. Though cards could be tricked into performing outside of their clauses by reading in between the aforementioned lines, to do so was to tempt Fate, as it were.
The arcana of mercury, by its nature, was one of impurity and amalgamation. It could not interface as readily with metallic fonts of increasing purity when compared to, say, scrap metal. Besides, [Slag-and-Scale] as a card, was quite the spendthrift—its expenditure clause consumed fonts rather quick.
With all this in mind, Baethen returned to his duties at the forge, a legion of ideas, dangerous and bold, fomenting in the back of his skull.