Open Chronicles Play the Hand of Fate

[Mirielle Merlon]

In the foothills of the Seret rests the prosperous city of Lazular. In the shadow of the Amir's palace rests the house of the merchant Muktar.

In that beautiful house, the game of cards never ends. Pakur, it is called, an ancient diversion.

The buy-in is a month of a working man's wages. Fortunes of renown owe their birth and death to Muktar's pakur game.

Tonight the guests - and the things they wager - are unusually diverse. Spells, souls, blades, promises, slaves, treasures, maps, artifacts, curiosities beyond compare have already gone back and forth over the course of several games.

New guests are arriving. A new game is starting. A dryad standing in a golden basin, her feet in the water, deals out new hands of ornate cards.

###​

Mirielle glanced at her hand, kept uncertainty and irritation from her face, and pushed a scroll of silverslip into the middle of the table.

"That scroll promises a week of my undivided service."

She had a modest reputation here: the Amir's widowed sister-in-law, a secretive mage of an unknown sort. Someone who always knew whom to ask about what. The wager had some value.

 

[Maecey]

Mirielle Merlon

Maecey had never really cared for possessions.

Most Halflings didn't in fact. The world was about more than what you owned. It was about what you had...spiritually...maybe. She had never quite been clear about what brought fulfillment for her Kin, but for Maecey herself it had always been two things;

Getting the job done, and having a good time doing it.

Her face beamed brightly as the mage tossed her scroll onto the table. Magic was useful in her line of work, hell, the augments were the only reason she could do her job in the first place. "I've always wanted a mage!"

The Halfling declared as she reached into a small satchel on her belt and tossed an amulet onto the center of the table. It had once belonged to a Sorcerer of the court of Emir Hussal, supposedly it could summon a fire elemental once...with the rub being that you had to control the Elemental itself.

Something most folk couldn't do it.

Unlike Mirielle, Maecey had absolutely no reputation here...or anywhere. What she did have though was a collection of things that she'd managed to...find over the years.

She'd found those things in the rooms of people she'd been sent to assassinate, but that was neither here nor there.

A finger ran slowly over the top of her cards.

"We're gonna have some fun." She told the mage with a bounce of her eyebrows.

 

[Mirielle Merlon]

"Oh we certainly are," said Mirielle. "And I've always wanted a doll."

The halfling girl unnerved her, though she couldn't say why. That amulet had a nice ruby on its face and a blackened patina in its crevices. It smelled like magic; what it could do was anyone's guess. A decent wager, maybe a match for what Mirielle had put on the table.

The dealer handed out a round of cards to Mirielle, the halfling, and the others around the table. A stick-thin vampire with excellent hair put in the deed to a small, dubious estate in Cortos. Mirielle's new Diamond of Stars gave her most of a good hand called the Hangman's Hook. Nothing incredible, but worth staying in.

An innocuous servant came by to fill goblets with wine. Mirielle put her cards face down and fished a crystal bottle out of her pocket. "Secruyu lizard venom stabilized in aqua vitae. Paralytic."

She rolled the tiny bottle into the middle of the table. Secruyu venom was useful stuff when one was in the human sacrifice business, but she had plenty cached away.

Maecey

 

[Kristopher Mortas]

The Vampire looked upwards, at the other Vampire sat at the table. Truthfully, he wasn't sure what the other Vampire was, or what affliction he suffered. But there was little denying that he himself was a Vampire. Blade on his back, and sheathed on his arm- he was hardly the good looking, puckish rogue that many Vampire were. Sure enough, he was handsome- but a large scar from where someone dragged their claws across his face deterred the 'handsome Vampire' trope.

The Buy-in for the game wasn't the usual wager, of course- but the thief at the table had valuables that weren't his to wager. Not that he particularly cared, he'd probably outlive everyone at the table. So, he reached into his pocket, and produced a key and a receipt for a vault in Vel Anir, with the traditional Elven seal at the bottom. Magically protected, as far as he knew, or was told at least. The Elven Vault was notorious for it's protection and trustworthiness, and was joked to hold the sun in safety at night.

Which may have been true, to a degree.

Of course he didn't acquire this by honest means-

He did steal it.

And it had no value to him, he could give a damn about alchemy and potions, dragonscales or whatever was contained in the vault. He only glanced at the receipt once and a while, never really caring to go over the nitty-gritty of it all.

The paralysis venom interested him, though.

Slip it in someone's drink, wait for them to keel over, rob them blind, sell, reap the benefits. That and selling the house in Cortos.

His hand was above average, but he assumed that everyone else had a better hand. Facial expressions were hard- especially when half of his face was carved up to begin with.

 

[Maecey]

Maecey grinned back at the woman across the table. "You're in luck."

The Halfling stretched, reaching out with one arm and then turning it back to flex her bicep. It was an amusing sight, though there were some odd looks as some around the table realized Maecey was far more muscular than one would expect.

Then again how much muscle did one expect from a Halfling.

"This one is extremely high quality." She laughed to herself, then dipped back into her satchel and fished around for a moment.

The paralytic would be helpful to her, and a Vault in Vel Anir was fun, but in truth Maecey wasn't really playing for the pot. She enjoyed the atmosphere of this. Gambling was fun, banter was fun, and most of all...drinking was fun. It helped that her target was lurking around here too, and she could justify all this by saying it was reconnaissance.

A coin made it's appearance in her hand, marked on one side with the facade of a dragon while the other held a depiction of a Naga with tendril like hair.

It was a Gorgon's coin. This one she actually knew of. It was enchanted with the power of a Gorgon, and if used in the right way could turn all those within a certain area to stone. As she tossed it into the pot one of the others at the table suddenly jerked upright, recoiling in fright as he recognized the item. "Relax!"

Maecey said with a wave.

"It's not activated." She said with a smirk at the others.

The man who had jumped scowled at her, clearly thinking she was playing with their lives.

Mirielle Merlon | Kristopher Mortas

 

[Mirielle Merlon]

A scarred-up man who might be a vampire tossed in a key and a piece of paper. Mirielle leaned forward and squinted. Receipt for a secure vault in Vel Anir - interesting, if one had the stones to visit Vel Anir.

Her breath caught as another wager came in: a gorgon's coin. Someone panicked, and she felt a spark of panic herself, but within a couple of rapid heartbeats she was laughing.

"Very nice, Doll. Very nice."

Another card: a Three of Jackdaws. That made her hand...poor. The unscarred vampire threw down his cards and stalked off for a drink.

"So," she said to the other one. "What's in the vault?"

Maecey Kristopher Mortas

 

[Maecey]

"If I had to guess." Maecey said as she took a swig of her ale. "It's probably a dead girl some noble needed to hide."

The Halfling let out a laugh, though she might have been the only one who enjoyed the joke.

Vel Anir was well known for it's political brutality and...eccentricities. Half of the Guilds business was done in and around that damned city.

 

[Quentin Scrive]

Quentin smirked at the Halflings words and pulled a coin from his belt and placed it in the pile. One side of it held the graven image of a Wyvern, and the other had a ring of draconic runes just inside the beveled edge, with a second ring set inside of that. The metal of the coin was black, shimmered metallicly, but if anyone touched it would feel like a dense stone.

"That coin, when activated, enhances the holder with flight and strength of a wyvern." He spoke with a soft voice that carried to everyone at the table. "Though word of warning, the coin also gives the instincts of a wyvern, and has caused issues before."

He neglected to say that it was just that issue that allowed him to wrest it from its previous owner. Nor did he mention that he had never used it himself.

Minor details.

He kept his cards close to his chest, having glanced at them and memorized them. He had a middling hand, and was hoping that the next round helped his hand out. Instead of watching his cards, his impassive face turned to each player in turn, watching them for tics or tells. He wasn't a master card player, but he was good at reading people. Win or lose, this was fun for him.

 

[Kristopher Mortas]

Hands wrapped around the cards, fingers tapping along the table.

The next round would decide if he folded, and lost a hefty steal- or got the upper hand. It was either-or at this point, but he couldn't let that show. Hard to, as well, what with half his face carved up. Emotion was hard enough when your lifespan was- well, he didn't really well know to be sure.

He knew that in 120 years, he only aged into his early 20s at best- and seemed to slow when he took a few drinks from someone's blood vessels. Humans, it seemed. Never had a halfling. He stopped, cocking his head at the table.

Would he have to drink twice the amount of blood from a halfling to get a regular fill, or perhaps it was thicker-

He looked at the halfling less in a 'take her to the bedroom' way, but more along the lines of 'what type of salt to cook her with' kind of way. He was asked about the vault, bringing his focus back to the person who asked it.

"It says enough alchemy supplies and materials to make just about any potion, poison, or what have you that you can think of. The Elf I got it from-" Pause for comedic effect- "Was quite keen on that he was not the first to own it. The Vault belongs to the owner of the key. Vel Anir's vaults are tightly controlled, to say the least, and the receipt mentions only half of what I suspect is in there."

He still remembered pulling arrows out of his ass after the attempted heist. Not exactly his idea of a good time.

 

[Mirielle Merlon]

Maecey got a laugh, Quentin Scrive's wager got a raised eyebrow of interest, and Kristopher Mortas' explanation got a laugh again. "I'm betting she's right," said Mirielle. "Dead girl behind the potion racks."

A server sidled up with more wine; Mirielle covered her goblet with a palm to reject the refill.

"I call the Headsman," said an emaciated Elven dandy, and put down a certain set of cards. Mirielle suppressed a groan and wasn't the only one. In this game, if someone played that rare and specific hand (not a winner, just a way to screw everyone else), it was time for everyone to play their cards - and time for someone to win the pile of interesting things in the middle.

At which point they'd start all over, plus and/or minus a few players. In the merchant's house, the game never really ended.

Harrier: d20 = (18) = 18

"Hangman's Hook with the Ace of Scorpions."

She'd wound up with a decent hand, even a good one...but good enough?

 

[Maecey]

Maecey's own hand was decent enough, but compared to others at the table not quite good enough.

She placed her cards down and shrugged. "Glad I didn't bet my services."

The young Halfling said with a hearty chuckle. Even counting this loss she hadn't made out too badly really. Her satchel was still about half full and she had a few more things to bet before she'd eventually flop drunkenly onto the floor.

That was why she was doing this after all; free drinks.

Her gaze flickered to the Vampire sitting at the table. She didn't quite like that kind of folk. They were hard to kill and obnoxiously arrogant. Most didn't know how to have a good time even if the opportunity was shoved down their throat. This one seemed to be sizing her up as though she were a chicken wing.

A frown touched her features, and then she glanced over at the Witch she'd already bantered with. "Got anything to make him less pale?"

She asked, gesturing to the Vampire.

 

[Quentin Scrive]

Had Quentin been doing his best to win, he may have been upset. Calling the Headsman foreshortened the playing, and often as not threw the game to whoever lady luck smiled on the fullest. He looked at his cards once more, and then the cards placed on the table thus far and he saw that he was not the winner.

Spoiler

He laid down his cards and smirked, and reached for his as of yet untouched drink and took a sip.

"Well, that's that." He nodded to the Elven Dandy. "Bold play there."

Then he sat back and watched his other companions of the table. He wasn't leaving just yet, he was too interested in what these people were going to ante up, and he was having far too much fun just yet.

 

[Mirielle Merlon]

Irritation bubbled in Mirielle as she pulled in her winnings. Early success at pakur was not a way to make friends. Admittedly, though, these trinkets were probably dangerous enough to be useful. And if anyone was getting negative attention, it'd be the skinny Elven dandy who'd played the Headsman.

A new dealer came in, a revealingly-clad Nagai of somehow ambiguous sex. The Nagai hissed in a professional way and dealt new cards to everyone. The skinny Elf cursed, threw down his cards, and stalked away to drown his sorrows.

Mirielle's hand looked halfway promising. She leaned forward and deposited a small, sealed bottle at the exact centre of the pakur table.

"Mage's blood."

She popped the seal. The vampire who'd just lost the Vel Anir vault took a sharp breath in more ways than one.

Maecey Quentin Scrive Kristopher Mortas

 

[Maecey]

Maecey clocked an eyebrow. "Uhh..."

She was all for the unique and strange things that one could win here, but there were certain times that she couldn't help but wonder what in the hell these things were even for. Her lips thinned, and a lovely waiter walked over to her and replaced the empty mug.

Perhaps intuing her expression.

"Gross." Maecey said with a wrinkled nose at the scent of the blood. The magics The Guild had sown to her flesh allowed her to catch the smell even with the rank odor. Of those around her.

She shook her head, then fished around her satchel until she pulled out a small orb. It was a dark crystalline thing, the inside of it obscured by a hazy mist.

It was a soul stone. The thing was said to contain part of the essence of one creature or another, though just what soul it containd Maecey had absolutely no idea, mostly because she didn't know it had a soul in it at all. She had taken it off a Sorcerer who'd overstepped his bounds with one of the Allirian Merchant Councilors wives.

When she placed it on the table there was a slight gasp much to her surprise. She looked around, head cocking. "What? It's just a pretty rock. "

In that moment it was clear Maecey had no idea what she'd just put on the table.

 

[Kristopher Mortas]

Mage's blood.

Contrary to popular belief, it was a common misconception that Vampires preferred certain types of blood over others. Virgins, blood of the firstborns, all that. In reality, he preferred someone who hadn't drank, bathed regularly (who liked dirty necks)- and was of a good diet. Otherwise, he could give a damn about what he ate.

More importantly, it was also factually incorrect that Vampires always went for the neck-

He would've smiled ear to ear if there wasn't significant facial damage preventing him from doing so.

Oh, he had to sell it.

He looked down at his hand.

Good hand.

Really good, this time.

But he still couldn't count- there were at least two, maybe three hands that could beat his. But if he acted like he was foolish enough to go for a pint of silly little mage blood- and get everything else, then pack up and get on to the real adventure he was out here for, well.

Someone would probably buy that soulstone.

 

[Quentin Scrive]

Quentin slid the cards across the table towards himself and tilted them up. He arranged them for a moment, then put the cards down. He spent a moment thinking, drumming his fingers on the table for a moment. He reached to the back of his belt, and slowly brought a sheathed dagger forward. It had a bone hilt and was in the style of the Nazrani. He put it on the table, though kept his hand on it while staring off into space for a moment.

"A ritual dagger of the Nazrani," he said, sliding it into the center of the table. "It is said to hold the soul of a prince of one of the tribes of the islands trapped within."

He eyed the current items in the pot, then scratched his eyebrow while he waited for the next round.

 

[Mirielle Merlon]

Maecey Quentin Scrive Kristopher Mortas

Now that soul stone...and that ritual dagger...were absolutely of interest. But as the skimpily-clad Nagai dealt the next round of cards, Mirielle came to the unpleasant realization that her hand couldn't win. Not unless she pushed a bluff hard enough to get everyone else around the table to drop out. She grimaced and folded, discarding her cards into the Nagai's deft hands.

"I'm out on this one," she said. "But whoever winds up with that dagger...let's talk."

Not for the soul, but for the weapon itself. In her covert line of work, such as it was, she could always use another good ritual dagger. She'd snapped more than one blade on a rapist's ribcage lately. Probably just anxiety.

 

[Maecey]

One of the people watching the game had explained to her just what she had put on the table. It had taken her a moment, but after another swig of her ale Maecey had righted herself and decided that it wasn't the worst thing she'd ever heard of.

"Right." The Halfling said as she glanced at her card, then pulled the last item she had out of her satchel.

It was a small ring in the shape of a dragon. The creatures outstretched wings folded high over the knuckle and came together, and it's eyes was a set of two emeralds.

"Raise." She said as she placed the ring on the table. "A Blood Drake Ring."

The item was rare, and extremely dangerous. The creation of them was banned in most cities, and supposedly required incredibly deadly magic. Once put on, the ring would enhance ones speed, strength, agility, and pretty much everything else.

The drawback? The ring took chunks of your soul. One big dragon gulp at a time until there was nothing left.

Maecey hated the thing.

It gave her the creeps.