Card Creation Part 1

Lucian moved through the market with cautious steps, his senses tuned to the subtle shifts in the air. This part of Rismond felt different from the bustling center he had passed through when he first entered the gates. The market here was a shadow of that place, like a faded reflection losing its color and shape. Stalls lean precariously against one another, their displays uneven and cluttered with goods of questionable origin. Merchants sat slouched behind their wares, their eyes sharp despite their tired postures. As Lucian passed, he couldn't help but compare the disarray here to the lively, orderly chaos of the central market. A few merchants glanced his way, their expressions guarded and unreadable.

He had expected more secrecy. This didn't look like the heart of the shady dealings Chance had hinted at. Maybe this was just a front. The real business was likely hidden away, tucked behind locked doors or whispered among those who knew the right questions to ask.

As he walked, a faint metallic glint caught his eye. A stall laden with jars and vials lined its crooked shelves, the faint shimmer of powdered minerals and crushed herbs drawing him closer. The merchant, a wiry man with a thick scar running down his cheek, gave Lucian a cursory glance but said nothing. Lucian didn't stop, though the ingredients for card making tugged at his memory.

Further along, Lucian spotted a weathered building nestled between two leaning structures. Its condition was poor, with sagging wooden beams and windows streaked with grime. A faded sign hung above the door, creaking faintly in the breeze. The peeling paint revealed the carved image of a hand holding a spread of cards, and beneath it, the name Stacked Hands was scrawled in flaking gold letters. This was the shop Chance had mentioned. Without hesitation, Lucian stepped forward and pushed open the door.

Inside, the air was thick with dust and the smell of old wood. The dim light filtering through the grimy windows illuminated rows of shelves crowded with cards. At the counter, an old man slouched in a chair, his head tilted back and his mouth slightly open as he snored softly. Lucian hesitated, unsure if he should wake him, before his curiosity got the better of him.

He wandered the shop, letting his fingers trail across the shelves. Cards of every suit were displayed, each one marked with its rank and description. Hearts, Spades, Diamonds, and Clubs were all low tier, their designs basic and uninspired. These were not the powerful cards that could shift the tide of a battle or change a life. These were for beginners, barely more than curiosities.

Lucian returned to the counter and cleared his throat. The old man didn't stir. He tried again, louder this time, tapping the wooden surface. Still nothing. Irritation prickled at the back of his neck. He leaned forward and gave the counter a sharp rap with his knuckles.

The man jerked awake with a snort, his bloodshot eyes glaring at Lucian. "What do you want?" he grumbled, his voice raspy and thick with sleep. His expression shifted to one of disdain as he looked Lucian up and down. "Don't waste my time if you can't afford anything."

Lucian kept his tone calm. "Chance referred me."

The old man froze, his eyes narrowing. "Chance?" His voice softened, the sharp edge replaced with a note of curiosity. "Haven't heard that name in a while." He studied Lucian more closely now, his suspicion still evident.

Lucian noted the reaction away, his mind turning over the implications. Chance's connections clearly ran deeper than he'd let on. "I'm looking for work," he said. "Card crafting."

The old man leaned back, crossing his arms. "You're still wet behind the ears," he said bluntly, his gaze sweeping over Lucian's youthful face. "I can tell just by looking at you."

"I can do it," Lucian said firmly. "I'll cover the cost of the ingredients myself. No loss to you."

The old man's scowl softened into a smirk. "Confident, aren't you? Fine. Call me Old Snake. But I'm not handing you a job until I see what you can do." He jabbed a finger toward Lucian. "Make me an offensive card. Low tier. If it's good, we'll talk."

Lucian nodded. "Deal."

Back on the street, Lucian let the task settle in his mind. He'd need to buy the ingredients first. His father's lessons resurfaced, the knowledge worn but intact.

The base is the foundation of the card. Without it, nothing else matters.

He thought through the specifics as his father's teachings surfaced, clear and methodical in his mind. For Spades, the base had to be carved from enchanted wood, its fibers imbued with latent magic to channel energy. For Diamonds, energy-tempered steel was essential, thin yet resilient, capable of withstanding the strain of the card's power. The ink, the binding agent that fused the card's properties together, had to be crafted from the blood of a magical beast. Each suit had its foundations, its rituals, and its secrets. Lucian understood the basics well enough to work with the base, but his knowledge faltered when it came to the second step. The energy pathways, the delicate veins that directed the card's flow, were intricate and required precision. The trigger was an even greater mystery, the hidden mechanism that brought the card's abilities to life. The ritual that sealed it all together was beyond him entirely.

He would need help, and that thought brought a knot of unease to his chest.

"Triboulet," Lucian muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible as he walked through the market. "I need your help."

The voice slithered into his mind like a shadow with teeth, curling around his thoughts. It dripped with glee and malice. "Ah, the prodigal son crawls back. How delightful. What is it you require this time, my dear wildcard?"

Lucian's teeth clenched at the mocking tone, but he pushed the irritation down. "You know what I need. I cannot complete the pathways or create the trigger on my own. And the ritual... I need guidance for all of it."

Triboulet's laughter exploded in his mind, wild and jagged, like broken glass grinding together. It stretched on far too long, echoing through Lucian's thoughts until he felt his patience fraying. "You always need something, don't you?" Triboulet said, his voice laced with cruel amusement. "You are so predictable. But nothing comes free, Lucian. What will you give me in return?"

Lucian stopped in the middle of the street, his fists tightening. "What do you want?" he asked, his tone firm but wary. The deal, whatever it was, would likely come with a cost he could not yet see.

"It is simple," Triboulet purred, his voice low and syrupy, curling through Lucian's thoughts like smoke from a dying fire. "I will help you, Lucian. But all I require is your obedience in this process. I will not ask you to kill, so there will be no blood on your hands. Does that satisfy your fragile little conscience?"

Lucian's stomach twisted as he processed the words. The phrasing was deliberate, every syllable sharpened to pierce his defenses. Triboulet had not said what he fully wanted, but the insinuation was enough to send a chill down Lucian's spine. He did not trust him, not even a little, but he had no choice. Triboulet's methods were unorthodox, but they worked.

"Fine," Lucian said, his voice low and tense. His unease coiled tightly in his chest, but he forced it down. "No killing."

The silence that followed stretched thin, heavy with an unseen weight. Then, without warning, Triboulet erupted into laughter, manic and jagged. It rang in Lucian's mind, loud and disjointed, scraping against his thoughts like shards of broken glass.

"Oh, my dear wildcard," Triboulet rasped between fits of unhinged glee. "You are far too trusting for someone so desperate. No killing, you say? Very well. I promise, no one will die because of me, and no one will die by your hand." His tone shifted, becoming soft and conspiratorial. "But do not ask questions about the price. Ignorance suits you better, I think."

Lucian clenched his fists, unease clawing at his resolve. He knew Triboulet too well to take the words at face value. There was something sinister lurking beneath the promise, something unsaid that threatened to undo him. And yet, he was willing to take the risk. He needed to learn, and Triboulet was the only one who could teach him.

"What do I need?" Lucian asked, his voice steady despite the storm building within him.

"Ah, that is the spirit," Triboulet hissed, the words dripping with satisfaction.

Triboulet's tone shifted, becoming cold and sharp, a razor's edge hidden in silk. "You will need energy-tempered steel. One hundred grams, shaped into cards. And you will need three Windstalkers. They will provide everything else."

Lucian frowned, confusion flickering across his face. "That is all? No enchanted wood? No specialized tools?"

Triboulet's voice was heavy with mockery, his amusement bubbling just beneath the surface. "Do you doubt me, Lucian? Do you think me incapable of crafting a masterpiece with such simple things? Trust me, my dear wildcard. These are all the tools you require. The rest is my domain."

Lucian's unease remained, but he nodded to himself, resigned. "I will get the materials."

Triboulet's laughter lingered as Lucian moved through the market, leaving him with a sense of being watched, not just by the entity in his mind, but by the world around him. The deal felt heavy, an unseen weight pressing down on his shoulders. He could not shake the feeling that the true cost was yet to reveal itself.

The energy-tempered steel card was the easy part. A gruff merchant near the edge of the market sold small squares of it in neatly tied bundles. Lucian paid two silvers for a hundred grams which is about five pieces, feeling the weight of the smooth metal in his hands. It was cool to the touch, its surface glinting faintly under the fading sunlight. As he stored it in a storage card, his mind turned to the next, far more expensive item.

The Windstalkers were harder to find. The beast section of the market was a chaotic sprawl of cages stacked haphazardly, their occupants squawking, growling, or hissing in discordant symphony. Merchants shouted over one another, each claiming to have the rarest or deadliest creatures for sale. After a bit of looking around Lucian spotted the Windstalkers. They were smaller than he had expected, their sleek, pigeon-sized bodies resting within an iron cage. Their beaks gleamed like polished steel, sharp and deadly. Their eyes glinted with intelligence, darting to and fro as they watched the passersby with predatory focus.

"How much for the Windstalkers?" Lucian asked, keeping his voice even as he approached the merchant.

The man, burly and scarred, looked Lucian over with a calculating expression. "Seventy-five copper each," he said, his tone brisk and unapologetic.

Lucian's stomach sank at the price. He frowned, keeping his tone steady. "Seventy-five? That's outrageous for something their size. They're barely bigger than pigeons. Sixty coppers each is a fair deal."

The merchant's lips curled into a smirk, his scarred face hardening. "Sixty coppers? You insult me. These aren't ordinary birds. Windstalkers are killers with steel beaks. Seventy coppers, and that's me being generous."

Lucian hesitated, the weight of his limited funds pressing on him. He forced himself to sound reluctant. "Sixty-five, and I'll take them now. You still walk away with plenty."

The merchant let out a gruff sigh, eyeing him with mock irritation before shoving the cage forward. "Sixty-five coppers each. You're lucky I'm feeling charitable."

Lucian handed over the coins, his jaw tightening as he felt his savings dwindle further. The cage was heavy in his hands, the birds inside restless, their sharp claws clinking against the iron bars. As he walked away, he muttered, "This better be worth it."

By the time he finished his purchases and began the walk back to The Blind Bet, the sky had deepened to a muted purple. The market was thinning out, with merchants packing their wares as the day slipped into evening. The air grew colder, carrying the faint smell of smoke and cooked meat from the nearby food stalls. Lucian's hand instinctively tightened around his storage card, the weight of his dwindling funds pressing heavily on his mind. The materials had cost him more than he anticipated, and the thought of how little remained left a sour taste in his mouth.

Lucian's thoughts turned inward, his pace slowing as doubt crept into his mind. Was this the right choice? Making a deal with Triboulet and he knew well enough that Jokers did nothing without extracting a cost. The voice in his head was an unnerving presence, a force that whispered and prodded, nudging him closer to something he could not yet define. He wanted to believe Triboulet's promise. No one would die. But the way Triboulet spoke, the way he twisted words and cloaked truths, made Lucian's gut churn with unease. He shook his head sharply, trying to push the doubt away.

"He said no one would die," Lucian muttered to himself, his voice barely audible over the rustle of the evening breeze. "As long as I do not have to kill anyone, it is worth it. Once I learn how to craft cards, I will not need him anymore."

When he arrived at the inn, the warm glow of lanterns spilled onto the street, illuminating the bustling interior. Chance and Miya were busy, their movements quick and efficient as they served patrons and cleared tables. Lucian slipped past unnoticed, the weight of the cage in his hands adding to his weariness.

In his room, Lucian locked the door behind him and set the cage and foil on the floor. He leaned against the door for a moment, letting out a slow breath. The room was quiet, the distant hum of the inn muffled by the thick wooden walls.

"Well, well," Triboulet's voice coiled through his thoughts, sharp and gleeful. "You followed through. I must say, I am impressed. Now, let us begin."

Lucian straightened, his muscles tensing as he waited for instructions.

"Place the energy-tempered steel cards on the floor," Triboulet said, his tone dripping with satisfaction. "Side by side, so they form a neat row. And the cage, put it just below them. Yes, right there."

Lucian did as he was told, arranging the five pieces of foil carefully on the wooden floor. He placed the cage beneath them, the Windstalkers shifting inside with faint clicks of their beaks. The setup looked simple, almost mundane, but Lucian's unease grew with each step.

Triboulet's voice darkened, a note of anticipation creeping into his tone. "Listen closely, Lucian. You must follow my instructions to the letter. No hesitation. No questions. Do you understand?"

Lucian swallowed hard, his throat dry. "I understand."

Triboulet's laughter erupted in his mind, wild and unhinged. "Good. Let us begin."