God-debt cards erred towards the arcana of panacea and reversal, exchanging something valuable to absolve a person of infirmity.
The [Scarwright] meld had a strict bring-into-play clause—it could only reverse a {Scar} and it required that which inflicted it in the first place to boot. Most importantly, what even was a scar? It wasn’t an open wound, that was for certain, but what about burn marks? Would it only work when they were well and truly scarred-over? How did the card link [Lesser-Wormscale-Hide] fit into that play?
Once more turned into a spawn of the Devil, the [Red-Dragon], charred flesh was covered by scale and then reversed into naked, unmarred, human skin. The meld counted as scar-tissue so long as Baethen interpreted the card as a disease, a blight upon himself.
A scar.
Wind howled into being around him, a roiling gale like that of the Storm-God Himself come to devour him in His great all-consuming eye. At the centre of the Dreadsea lay the Maelstrøm, the one in which all others were named, having been gouged out of Stribog in Games past and left there to fester.
That was much how Baethen felt as his mind, body, and spirit fought each other like a snake, a cock, and a fox sealed inside a barrel thrown down a particularly-steep hill.
Spine stiff as his body convulsed and then relaxed, Baethen let himself be stolen away into Babylon the Land-of-Dreams.
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Somewhere inside the Tower-of-Babel that dwelt within the soul of every ensouled thing, an ancient thing slumbered.
He saw its shape under the waters of the mirror, a leviathan beneath the waves whose shape he could not wrap his head around for mortal sensibilities paled before the transcendent. It was like an ant attempting to interpret a foot as anything other than a wall of utter death—impossible.
How could a god fit inside the spirit of a mortal without ripping it apart?
‘The same manner in which the ants might bring down a giant: one bite at a time.’ One reflection told the other, both somehow on the other side of the sleeping god and therein simultaneously—two mirrors brought together so closely that the reflection and the object are no longer separate but rather one.
The reflections gazed at each other, the golden-gilded masks on their faces hiding what was beneath. One half pyrite and the other true, purest aurum.
His name, what was his name?
Was it Astaroth the Sleeper-That-Must-Not-Be-Woken which the dead Byzantines feared; or was it Bazazath the Thousand-Eyed, Twelve-Winged, Four-Horned Jackal that brought night-terrors to every child of the Apep; or was it Gohgiel-Assiah the Moonless which the Mascaracsam called All-Father; or Loken the Faceless Fool for which the Woedenites had no number; or Lapopeth the Mad-Reveler which Nezarrem saw as a benevolent trickster; or Bezan the One which the Gesserites mum prayers of cipher to; or, or, or a thousand other forgotten names in dead tongues which not even Balphas the Firstborn-In-Creation, the All-Wise, the All-Knowing remembers or even ever knew to begin with.
There, in that morass of divinity where the one became many and the many, one, a man attempted to find his name, to separate himself from a god, to lift the mask from his face and see.
[MHO ∀ᴚƎ ⅄O∩¿//?∩O⅄ Ǝᴚ∀ OHM]
[WHAT WAƧ HIƧ ИAMƎ⸮//⸮ƎMAИ ƧIH ƧAW TAHW]
[MH∀⊥ IS W⅄ N∀WƎ?//¿ƎW∀N ᴚ∩O⅄ SI ⊥∀HM]
[WHAT IƧ MY ИAMƎ?//⸮ƎMAИ YM ƧI TAHW]
[MH∀⊥ IS W⅄ N∀WƎ¿//?ƎW∀N ⅄W SI ⊥∀HM]
[WHAT IƧ YOUЯ ИAMƎ⸮//?ƎMAИ ЯUOY ƧI TAHW]
[MH∀⊥ M∀S HIS N∀WƎ¿//¿ƎW∀N SIH S∀M ⊥∀HM]
[WHO AЯƎ YOU⸮//⸮UOY ƎЯA OHW]
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“Baethen.”
A gentle slap on his cheek awoke him. And then, in that moment where the veil between dream and reality are thin, he was surrounded by a group of people that didn’t know whether to hug him and pat his back or slit his throat while he was still weak enough not to offer resistance.
“Lad, by all the Gods and Numbers, what in the Twelve-wormin’-Pits of Gehenna was that?” Haviershan gestured about Baethen frantically and then at the still-smouldering corpse of the dæmon—it had turned to unliving stone like the statues carved into the pillars rather than sublimating like the harpy-angels of Yurnmagog. The smoke that wafted from the sphynx was that of rock sizzling under molten metal.
By the fact that it still let off fumes, Baethen hadn’t been in Babylon for too long although he felt as though they were already in the Fifth Game.
“First, could you lot give me something to hide my stones? It’s cold and a tad tiring to cup them in my hands like a beggar beggin’ for alms.”
“Stars above, Field-Sergeant, get this man a towel.”
Narancan removed a cloth from his pack by the floor and threw it at him, six paces far and not daring to touch him for fear of a wyrd-plague or somesuch.
Baethen sighed.
“Where to begin?”
He explained to them the meld, and even showed them his Hand by manifesting it on a black-slate. As to the divine intervention and possession that they’d witnessed but he only got flashes of? Well, he told them about his [Lynchpin] as well.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” The Captain whistled as he sat down next to Baethen on the bench; the latter was still naked and covered by a thin sheet but given all that happened, he couldn’t bring himself to care. “An actual, honest-to-Calanrial five-star Lynchpin. Never thought I’d live to see the day—that parity happens only to princes with parents whose decks are heavy with the arcana.”
“A useless card with only three worming words.” Baethen corrected him.
A silent moment later.
“Can you give me some spare clothes already?”
Baethen was so exhausted that he couldn’t even come up with a ribald to ease the tension that now undercut his interactions with the group—you couldn’t consign your soul to the arcana of Damnation without also cosigning yourself to ostracization.
“Oh, sorry lad, got caught up is all.”
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Now decent, Baethen approached the cubic stone at the centre of the ziggurat's inner chambers. It was just as big as the one outside Rimare-Tul and just as resplendent but his thoughts could not appreciate what was in front of him for he was occupied with what was behind.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
A {Brand-of-Sloth} had been burned onto the skin of his shadow, burdening his whole body with greater inertia but not weight. He moved slower but he was not weaker of arm, not truly, the world moving by him as if he were under water. It was a strange sort of curse, one that made him nauseous and fatigued.
[Mercurial-Inksmith], a parent card of the [Scarwright] meld also used the very same brand though it was beneficial towards the player rather than disrupting. Even beyond the added sluggishness, Baethen just couldn’t play the card [Lesser-Narguile-of-Night] consistently; his shadow and body moved at odds with each other and his soul just didn’t know how to translate that disconnect so as to bring the card into play.
Even his skin hadn’t entirely healed, feeling inordinately tight as if it just didn’t fit him right. Though, perhaps, that was a trick of the mind—[Lesser-Wormscale-Hide]’s portfolio mentioned a portent in its lore section that thoroughly fit the situation that Baethen now found himself in. That he was more comfortable with the hide of a beast than his own.
Still, not all hope was lost.
Baethen was alive. He’d been through worse before and clawed victory from some rather literal jaws of defeat; much like before, he was rewarded for superseding the trials and tribulations that the Evergaol’s Gate-Guardian put him through.
He’d done the dæmon, Ruination, the most damage, be it as the opening play that still couldn’t quite believe or even understand for that matter, or as the near finishing blow he’d struck upon the sphynx’s neck.
The wages for his survival lay arrayed before him in divine script, a gift from the heavens themselves.
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Hearken, the [Dealer-of-Fate] stirs awake at the {Player}’s {Victory} over an {Implacable-Foe}! As {Eldest}, [Fata-Morgana] takes {Rearhand} as {Dealer}.
Scouring [Akashic-Archive] for compatible {Cards} […]
Compatible {Cards} not found; shuffling probabilities set to {[Base]: [Two]} over {Mean} […]
Compatible {Cards} not found; {Stribog} takes {Rearhand} as {Dealer} instead.
Hearken, the [King-of-Wealth] stirs awake at the {Player}’s {Victory} over an {Implacable-Foe}!
Changing {Libraries} from [Akashic-Archive] to [Conquerors-Treasury]; scouring [Stribogs-Treasury] for compatible {Tokens} […]
Compatible {Tokens} found; shuffling probabilities reset to {[Base]: [One]} over {Mean} […]
Shuffle complete, {Token: [Tabula-Rasa] ★★★★} {Withdrawn} and {Dealt} to {Player}; {Token} put into {Player}’s {Tabula}.
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Tokens of tabula-rasa were not unheard of; you could buy one so long as you had a few byzantium-tokens to spare. Id est, a full turn’s worth of taxes from the capital city of Woeden, Reordranhall—multiple since a tabula-rasa could go for thereabouts ten or so of such tokens.
Known as deck-razers, table-flippers, or reshufflers, these tokens were earned only within Evergaols as rewards for outstanding feats of strength by Stribog God-of-Strength-and-Storms, known to many as the King-of-Wealth-and-Widows—the title was two-fold, telling a story of unmatched might in having slain armies and so left their spouses bereft and for being the patron of those He left destitute to begin with. The Church-of-Stribog was one that regularly collected alms to give to widowers and to supply soldiers on the war-front with better kit.
These ‘alms’ were wereguilds and war-bounty pillaged from cities fallen to the winner’s blade. Baethen likened Stribog to robber-baron, uncaring of right or wrong beyond the absolute of might-maketh-right.
One of the other aspects of Stribog, borne of a confluence of other gods also, was Dazhbog the silver-tongued God-of-Riches-and-Decadence. A meld of Eot the World, Fata-Morgana the Wheel-of-Fortune, and Nagalfaram the Merchant-of-Death, if Baethen wasn’t mistaken.
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Token Earned: [Tabula-Rasa] ★★★★
Withdraw: [Ten-of-a-Kind]
Pay-In: [Turn-Table]
Arcana: [The-Hand], [Fate], [Reversal]
Number: [X//0]
Portent: [The-Burning-Star]
Portfolio Φ: [‘Raze that which was and start anew’. This {Token} grants the {Player} with {Utter-Dominion} over the {Arcana-of-the-Hand}, allowing them to {Reshuffle} the {Cards} in their {Hand} and {Archive} through {Expenditure} of this {Token} through {Chipping-In}; {Sets}, {Decks}, and other {Card-Melds} may undergo {Reshuffling}. After this {Token} is {Chipped-In}, the {Player} cannot {Redraw} their {Hand} until a full {Turn-of-Eot} has passed; should the {Player} through {Exemption} {Redraw} their {Hand} before a full {Turn-of-Eot} has passed, their {Hand} is {Forfeit} and the {Cards} within, {Banished} to {Babylon}.]
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As far as why it was a token rather than card was to do with its {Chipping-In} clause among other particulars. Cards and tokens both could be counterfeit or otherwise copied wholesale and the manner in which to play them also differed. [Cycle-of-the-Crucible] didn’t have a chip clause of any sort whereas this token did.
All of these non-sequiturs and disconnected threads of thought lead to a pretty conundrum when you thought about it long and hard enough: tokens are meant to be counted, tallied, and most importantly, spent—they are not so tightly bound to the spirit.
Though [Celestial-Dew] functioned much like a pseudo-token, it differed in that it didn’t have a pay-in, a withdraw or a portent. Pay-ins were {Bring-into-Play} clauses that governed unique tokens. This one required Baethen to flip the table, as it were, with his very soul. He knew this through the intrinsic knowledge that simply having the token within his Tabula granted—you could not have something inside your soul and not know it.
Well, at least, you weren’t supposed to but then again
Just as all hope was not lost nor was the encroaching, bone-deep dread.
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Hearken, the {Player}’s {Arcanum} rouses with {Unbound-Arcana}.
Scouring [Akashic-Archive] for compatible {Dominion} […]
Compatible {Dominions} found; shuffling probabilities set to base one over mean […]
Shuffle complete, {[Minor-Dominion] over the [Arcana-of-Betrayal]}, {[Minor-Dominion] over the [Arcana-of-Worms]}, and {[Minor-Dominion] over the [Arcana-of-Death]} {Proscribed} upon {Player}’s {Arcanum}.
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{Player}s ({Arcanum}: {Intrinsic}) {Read} as follows:
[Arcana-of-Blood] ★★ [Minor] II - {Resonant} II - {Dissonant} I
[Arcana-of-Death] ★★ [Minor] I - {Resonant} II - {Dissonant} II
[Arcana-of-Betrayal] ★ [Minor] I - {Resonant} II - {Dissonant} I
[Arcana-of-Worms] ★★★ [Minor] I - {Resonant} IV - {Dissonant} II
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[Arcana-of-Blood] ★★
➤[Minor] II - [Resonant] II - [Dissonant] I - [Intrinsic] (Allows {Player} to {Manifest} a {Font-of-Blood} in the {Form} of {Droplets} or {Globules} {Twice} per {Hand} so long as the {Player} has a {Bleeding-Wound} in {Touch} with a {Font-of-Air}; as the first contra, allows {Player} to {Imbue} {Metallic-Fonts} into {Corporeal-Fonts} so long as they are already {Imbued} with a {Metallic-Font}; as the second and final contra, allows {Player} to {Manifest} a {Font-of-Blood} so long as a {Locus} is {Saturated} with the {Arcana-of-Death}.)
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[Arcana-of-Death] ★★
➤[Minor] I - [Resonant] II - [Dissonant] II - [Intrinsic] (Allows {Player} to {Manifest} a {Font-of-Miasma} in the {Form} of {Curlicues} {Once} per {Hand} so long as the {Player} has {Reaped} a {Life} in the current {Hand}; as a contra, allows {Player} to {Manifest} a {Font-of-Miasma} in the {Form} of {Exhaled-Vapour} by {Expending} their {Breath-of-Lung} and {Blood-of-Vein} {Once} per {Hand}.)
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[Arcana-of-Betrayal] ★
➤[Minor] I - [Resonant] III - [Dissonant] I - [Intrinsic] (Allows {Player} to {Steal} a {Font} from under another {Player}’s {Dominion} and {Manifest} it under their own so long as the {Stolen-Font} is in {Touch} with the {Player} through either {Thrall-of-Arm} or in {Reach-of-Hand} {Once} per {Hand}; as the first contra, allows {Player} to {Expend} a {Stolen-Font} to {Empower} a {Card} {Once} per {Hand} so long as the {Stolen-Font} is in {Touch} with the {Player} through either {Thrall-of-Arm} or in {Reach-of-Hand}; as the third and final contra, allows {Player} to {Incur} a {Brand-of-Envy} upon another {Player} {Once} per {Hand} which {Seals} a {Known-Card} so long as the former is not held in {Thrall-of-Gaze} by the latter.)
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[Arcana-of-Worms] ★★★
➤[Minor] I - [Resonant] IV - [Dissonant] II (Allows {Player} to {Manifest} a {Font-of-Wormfire} in the {Form} of {Sputtering-Sparks} {Once} per {Hand} through {Breath-of-Lung}; as the first contra, allows {Player} to {Combust} the {Font-of-Water} within their {Phlegm} and {Imbue} it with a {Font-of-Wormfire} {Once} per {Hand}; as the second contra, allows {Player} to {Burn} their {Cast-Shadows} to {Magnify} {Fonts-of-Wormfire} under their {Dominion}; as the third contra, allows {Player} to {Transform} a {Font-of-Wormfire} into a {Cinderbolt} {Once} per {Hand}; as the fourth and final contra, allows {Player} to {Manifest} a {Font-of-Wormfire} through {Expenditure} of a {Font-of-Fiery-Arcana} {Once} per {Hand}.)
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Baethen had to find the secret elixir of immortality because once he died, he was—sure as the Stars Above—cosigned to one of the Twelve Hels of Gehenna. This wasn’t just a card granting him accursed arcana but rather having said arcana branded directly to his very soul.
Scars of the body might be mended by magic and scars of the mind might heal with time but scars upon the spirit? Those transcended even death with some wyrd-plagues able to gestate within bloodlines for turns upon turns of Eot before manifesting and culling a whole generation’s worth of lives in one fell swoop.
With nothing for it, Baethen stepped forward to receive his last and final gift.