Soul Card

Chapter Three

Olin and Charles had received word the moment they'd set foot on the Great Sansaneer Voyager — dont be fooled by its name, the inside is a run-down piece of shit. But, it wasn't known for its decor charms or hospitable environment, it was known for its speed and reliablility, all thanks to the constant rotation of their water and wind Soul Card wielders.

There was talk of excitement from nearly everyone — which for Olin, simply equated to incessant chatter. It seemed as though word had only now just reached these parts of the countryside. Apparently — at least according to these backwater buffoons, whose word can barely be trusted — the registry of Soul Cards was receiving an influx of record numbers, which meant only one thing… it was happening.

The Port of Hanwig would no doubt be full of arrivals; those either coming into the city to declare themselves new Soul Card wielders, or those flooding in to enjoy the festivities that came along with this momentous occasion. The downside meant that shopkeepers would be setting the cost of their wares at much higher prices, and the Inns would most likely be at full-capacity. The upside, however, meant that Olin had a much greater chance at obtaining Charles a useful Soul Card from some down-on-their-luck family.

Few could agree as to where Soul Cards actually came from. A priest, for example, would no doubt regurgitate some scripture about the gods gifting Soul Cards to the righteous and hard-working. A quack would be selling an expensive tincture that would most assuredly prepare one's mind and body for the arrival of a Soul Card. A grandmother would be having her grandchildren partake in a ridiculous superstition like placing the tooth of a local beast in their left sock because someone somewhere had a neighbour who knew of someone that once spoke to someone else that did that exact thing and they are now a Soul Card wielder. For Olin, it didn't much matter. Because for Olin, there would always be some poor shmuck who would willingly part with a Soul Card in order to feed their family — It was simply a matter of finding them.

Despite the journey along the Sansaneer River often being touted as a vast and scenic river of beauty, the landscape inevitably became a bore. So-much-so that Charles had eventually decided to migrate himself to the nearest bar for the remainder of the journey. Meanwhile, Olin had found himself spending the remaining days in the hull of the ship, winning himself a poor man's fortune from two other men of questionable morale.

'You aint no fuck'n adventurer, boy,' said the curly-headed man who was growing frustrated at having lost the last three hands in a row. 'I've seen many adventurers, and you aint one of 'em. I can see it.'

Olin glanced at the cards on the table once more, doing his best to focus his thoughts on the potential River card. He couldn't help but grin. 'Oh? Ammuse me.'

'I can fuck'n see it in the way you sit, boy; the way you're tucked neatly under this 'ere table. An adventurer would never sit like that.' The curly-headed man with the gravelly voice, Greg his name was, glanced at the pair of aces in his hand, before he brough his attention back to Olin. 'They'd be seated half way out of that chair, ready to move on anyone and anything at a moments notice. Secondly, I can see it on your hands, boy. An adventurer’s hands would be scarred and full of callouses. And lastly, I can see it in your eyes.'

'My … eyes? You're telling me that you can somehow see that I'm not an adventurer just by looking at my eyes, yet neither of you seem to be any good at a game of Cards?'

'You fucking piss-ant,' yelled the other, bald-headed, man as he practically squashed the pair of sevens in his hand while he slammed the River down on the table.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Over the past few days, Olin had somehow stumbled upon a rather useful trick. He'd found that if he concentrated long enough on a particular item or person, his Soul Card’s narrative function was somehow capable of increasing his perview, revealing to him tid-bits of information that he'd otherwise have never known. Information he found to be quite useful — especially during a game of All Or Nothing Cards.

Greg smiled breifly before leaning forward and saying, 'It's because of your eyes, boy. They're still full of hope.' Greg placed his two aces face-up on the table and leaned back — his smile turning into a satisfied grin.

'Funny you say that,' said Olin. 'I swear that I could say the same about yours.' Olin revealed his hand by placing his cards ever-so-slowly down on the table, taking the opportunity to watch their expressions turn once they both came to the realisation. That was, after all, the best part about winning.

The table, which had been sturdy enough so far to withstand the gentle swaying of the ship, had been flipped over almost instantly, as the two men stood to their feet in a rage.

'You cheat'n fuck'n bastard,' yelled Greg, who seemed rather displeased at having lost the last vestiges of what was probably his monthly salary.

'There ain't no fucking way you've won every round,' said the bald-headed loser whose name Olin had long since forgotten. In fact, he's not sure if he'd bothered to remember it in the first place. 'You're giving us our money back or—'

The door swung open, and all three swiftly turned their heads to find a man in a worn-out Voyager uniform wearing a frown on his face. The man leaned halfway through the doorframe and seemed to be in a rush. 'You two, get your asses up to the bow, now.'

'Can't you see we're in the middle of something,' said Greg.

'Captain's orders! She's coming to port.'

'Fuck! Listen 'ere, boy, this aint the last time, you 'ear. If I see you on this 'ere ship again. Mark—my—fuck'n—words! I'll have you strung naked to the front of the bow.'

The truth was that even before Olin stumbled upon this ability that allowed him to gleam these extra tid-bits of information, he had always been adept at card games. It was, after all, a common pastime shared among his fellow nobles.

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Two years had past since Olin last visited Hanwig city, and very little looked to have changed since. Progress had finally been made to extend the number of berths available in the port, which meant that the Great Sansaneer Voyager didn't have to wait very long before eventually being assigned and brought to berth. But there was still an annoyingly long wait before officials finally came to approve everyone for disembarkment.

'How did it go, my lord? Win anything interesting?'

'Nothing of great value, I'm afraid. But I did manage to stumble upon an interesting new Soul Card ability. Well, it's not an official ability, more… an exploit, perhaps? But i'm still figuring it out. How about you? Learn anything of value among those drunkards?'

'Yes, actually. I couldn't help but overhear a very interesting conversation being had between a group of four people. They were talking about the Exclusion Zone. You know, what remains of Bordellen city.'

'What of it?'

'There seems to be a lot of movement among the guilds. From what I was able to overhear, it seems as though the guilds are all focusing their attention on Bordellen.'

'So? They've always had encampments there. They've been trying to break through into Bordellen city for over a decade. I doubt much has changed now.'

'Well… there's a rumour, my lord.'

Olin sighed. 'Oh, you and your rumours, Charles. Go on then, what is it?'

Bordellen City, officially referred to as the Exclusion Zone, was first established in the depths of the Carrisian mountains over two hundred years ago by the former King Marcelius Bordellen. The city was known for its rich mineral deposits, vast logging trade, and long linegage of accomplished Wind Wielders. It's now known among most as Calamatus City — at least to those who still dare speak of the atrocity. Upon hearing of the cities demise just fourteen years ago, most in the surrounding cities, Hanwig included, had expected a mass influx of refugees; none had come. Bordellen City and its people were gone. Lost to the fury of the great and infamous Calamity Dragon.

'Rumour has it, my lord, the hibernation period is nearing its end. The Calamity Dragon, my lord. It's … it's waking up.'

'You know, Charles. I often observed those birds outside my library window. You know, the yellow ones?'

'My lord, did you not hear me—'

'I watched them throughout the winter, during summer, through autumn, and then spring. You know what I found out, Charles? I found out that they like building their nests during spring. I watched them forage around the garden beds for fallen leaves and broken twigs. It made me realise something just now; The Calamity Dragon doesn't forage in order to build its nest, Charles. Instead, it simply burns a city and all it's people, before nestling among the ruins, laying its eggs atop their corpses, and falling slowly into a deep slumber.'