Cards Reshuffled

Much valuable information may be gleaned from the Chaltar Cards, if you know how to read them properly. But be wary, for each card has several possible meanings, and only context will tell you which is the true one. One such card is Death, which may be a premonition of just that, or of something as banal as a new and more fulfilling job. Of course, a new job may also lead to Death, thus nearly fulfilling the Reading twice.

Excerpt from ‘The Chaltar Deck Of Cards – An Introduction’

“So,” Zaerini said. “This is what we know. Ployer is hiding somewhere in the eastern parts of the slums, and if we can only find him we’ll have a very good chance to take him out and to break the curse on Jaheira. The trouble will be finding. I thought about trying to track him back from the spot where Belgrade’s body was found, but of course we have no way of knowing if Belgrade died anywhere near Ployer.”

“It is still better than searching randomly though,” Jaheira said. The druid was sitting at a table in one of the rooms the party had rented at the Copper Coronet, listening intently to the new information. Zaerini gave her friend a worried glance. Jaheria’s eyes seemed larger than normal, and had a feverish shine to them. And her skin wasn’t its normal healthy color; there was a very disturbing gray undertone to it. Jaheira levelly met her eyes, as if daring her to make a comment.

“Right,” Rini said after a moment. “But I thought I could try something else as well. If I do a new Reading I may be able to pick something up. No guarantees of course, but if it doesn’t work it won’t waste much time at least.” She cleared her throat nervously. “But before that, there’s something else that needs doing, now that we have a little privacy. There’s something you all need to know. Well, Edwin, Jaheira and Minsc know already. But if the rest of you intend to be full members of our group, you need to know as well.”

“My lady,” Anomen earnestly said, “you know I eagerly desire to keep on fighting by your side against all evil that may stand against you.”

“Ha!” Edwin said, scoffing at the cleric. “You couldn’t outfight a mouse if it wasn’t for your god constantly coddling you, wiping your nose and spoon-feeding you powers. (He probably wears diapers beneath that stinking armor. And I know exactly what he ‘desires’.”

“Silence, cur! If you dare blaspheme against Helm again I shall turn you upside-down in order to investigate if you wear female underwear beneath that dress of yours.”

“Can you two please give up this fascination with each others’ underwear?” Zaerini sweetly asked, noting with some satisfaction that both men were blushing. “You’re starting to make me think you’re sweet on each other. Anything else? No? Good.” She gathered herself. “Anomen, Jan, what I’m about to tell you may sound outlandish, but I swear it’s all true. Please hear me out and don’t interrupt until I’m done, and then you may ask as many questions as you like, all right?”

Anomen nodded silently, looking a little worried.

“Whatever you say, your worship!” Jan said. The gnome had put his feet up on the table and was blowing enormous soap bubbles that floated around the room, glittering in all the colors of the rainbow.

“Right. I’ll summarize since we don’t have much time, but I’ll tell you everything I think you need to know. It all started one day when Gorion, my foster father, told me that we were about to go on a journey the very same evening…”

Once the bard finished her tale, she remained still for a moment, watching her companions anxiously. Jan was tapping his fingers thoughtfully against his bottle of soapy water, while Anomen watched her, his eyes very wide and his mouth hanging slightly open, as if he were a child listening to a dark fable. “And that is it,” she said. “I killed Sarevok in self defense, and I am of the same blood that he was, one of the children of Bhaal. Not of my choosing, but there you have it. I have already told you about Irenicus capturing me not long afterwards.”

“A Child of Bhaal, eh?” Jan said, and blew a large bubble that took on the shape of nasty grinning gargoyle face. It floated up towards the ceiling, leering down at the people below. Then the gnome suddenly grinned and a bolt from his crossbow popped the demonic face and stuck in the roof. “You know, it reminds me of something.” His voice sounded unusually serious. “I know this girl, this sweet little girl, whose father is the nastiest, most turnip-hating scum you can think of. And I’d give anybody who tried to blame her for that a wedgie to reach their chin.”

“Aye!” Anomen said, and his voice was strong with conviction. “My lady, I cannot deny that what yours is a dark and terrible tale, but I believe I know you well enough to say that you are a good woman, and worthy of respect. The gnome is right. We do not choose our fathers.” A shadow passed across his face, and his next words were almost inaudible. “Regrettably so.”

Zaerini slowly exhaled. She hadn’t even realized that she’d been holding her breath, and only now did she notice how nervous she’d been about her two new friends’ reactions. It wouldn’t have been the first time that people recoiled from her in disgust upon learning the truth.

But the ones who did that weren’t worth the bother, kitten, Softpaws said, carefully licking her paw. You should not care about them. Only the worthwhile ones matter.

I know. Really, I do. But rejection still hurts.

“I’m very happy to hear this,” she said, smiling warmly. “More than you could possibly know. And now that that’s settled, let’s move on. I’ll do the Reading first and see if I can come up with anything, and then we’ll see if it gives us any new leads.”

Silence settled in the room as the half-elf took out her deck of cards, slowly shuffling it. She paused for a moment, her fingers rubbing lightly against the backs of the cards. “Ployer,” she murmured, visualizing the ex-slaver. “I wish to find the former Baron Ployer. Anything you can tell me to help me do that will be helpful. Apart from that, anything that it might be useful for me to know.” Closing her eyes, she pulled a few cards out of the deck, then spread them out on the table as they happened to fall. The Four of Coins lay first, a hunched and greedy-looking old man sitting on a throne. His arms were clutching golden coins, and others lay beneath his feet. Next to it lay the Ace of Cups, a beautiful golden cup from which a torrent of liquid flowed.

Then came Rage, a warrior in armor red as blood, snarling a challenge at the viewer.

Next the Harp, crossed by Justice Inverted.

After that the Archmage, and Death, followed by the Page of Cups, and another Death.

The Knight of Swords, and the sight of the armored figure sent delicate little shivers down her back. And finally, the Void, and her stomach tightened into an uneasy knot as she stared into the empty blackness of the card. It seemed to stare back at her, growing larger and darker until it filled her entire field of vision. Clenching her jaw, she allowed herself to fall into it.

This time Rini found herself standing in a dark city street, not unlike an Athkatlan one. Tall buildings reared up on either side of her, all their windows shuttered so that only tiny pinpricks of lights emerged. The houses were leaning outwards a little, towards the street, giving her the uneasy feeling that they might land on top of her head at any moment. The street itself was lighted by street lamps, but they were far and few between, and between them all was pitch black, except for the confusing reflections of the flickering light on the wet cobble stones. It was a dead end street, and she was standing with her back to the wall, having only one direction in which she could walk.

Nothing for it, she thought. There’s only one thing to do. She could see something a little ahead, a dark silhouette against the nearest street light, and she started towards it, trying not to step in any of the puddles of rainwater that were everywhere. As she came closer, she noticed that it was the old miser from the Four of Coins, watching her sourly. He was wearing the clothes of a wealthy Amnian merchant, his face was pinched and hostile and he was holding a pair of purses tightly clutched in his arms. Does he symbolize Ployer himself, I wonder? Maybe…but it could be something else as well. “Are you the one I seek?” the half-elf asked. “Are you Ployer?”

“I am not,” the old man sneered. “Yet he owes his existence to me, and he sleeps against my bosom every night.”

Eeeewwww! I don’t really like to think about that.

Something of her emotions must have shown on her face, for the miser shook his head. “Not like that, fool girl. I came to Ployer from Ployer, and he kept me when he lost all else. If you seek me out, you will find him.” He raised a golden cup, the Ace of Cups that shone like a candle in the night and sipped from it. “This was once a good year,” he said. “Many came to drink from it. But now it has gone sour, just like him, and the cup has been mostly emptied. Yet it is still there. Find it, and you will find Ployer. If that is really what you want.”

“You speak in riddles,” Zaerini told him impatiently. “Can you tell me nothing else? Or simply mark Ployer’s house on the map or something?”

The man snorted. “No. That is not how it works. If you want something, you have to earn it. Now be off with you.” He melted away into a wisp of smoke that drifted off into the darkness, chuckling dryly to himself.

Well, that didn’t really make me any wiser, Rini thought. I’ll have to think about it later. It’s obviously a puzzle of some sort. Now let’s see what lies ahead.

The puddles of water were getting more numerous as she walked along the street, and more difficult to avoid, though her boots were still dry by the time she reached the second street light. A short figure stood in the center of the circle of light, leaning on an enormous axe almost as tall as himself. The blood red armor totally obscured his face, but from his body configuration there could be no doubt that he was a dwarf. “Getting’ a mite late, aren’t ye, lassie?” the dwarf asked in a gruff voice. “Stopped to slaughter a few dragons on the way, maybe? Ye should ‘ave let me join in, me axe is itchin’ for some blood. Har!”

“You would be ‘Mr Rage’ I presume?”

“That I be lass, that I be. And ye’ll nay find a better rager in all of dwarfdom, ye mark my words.”

“So…are you here to fight me or something?”

“I should hope not! I be here to offer ye a job, if ye must know.” The dwarf shook his head. “Or a ‘quest’ to put it in lingo yon sissy preacher would like. And it be an important one, a very important one.”

“Is that so?” Rini asked, narrowing her eyes. “To me or to you?”

“To both o’ us. To me, it be worth gold. But to ye, it be worth everythin’. As the dwarf started fading slowly away, his voice lingered behind. “Ye must go where I lead ye, or all yer hopes and dreams will come to naught at the end o’ the tale. Ye must find what I tell ye to, but ye must also find somethin’ else, and ye must cling to it through pain and death, though ye may sometimes wish for nothin’ more than to be rid of it. Remember this, for I won’t be sayin’ it twice.”

Find something. Of course. Something immensely important. Naturally. And of course he won’t tell me if it’s a recipe for dwarf bread, a flying horse, a magic ring or whatever. That would be way too simple.

At the next time she spotted a silent figure. Justice, a tall shape in a white robe, but the back was turned, and there was a broken set of scales on the ground, cluttered together with a harp that was cracked in two. A harp…something to do with Jaheira? Or Belgrade? Or something else? “What does this mean?” she asked. “What do you have to tell me?”

“Justice twisted and corrupted,” Justice said in a hollow voice. “The harp is unstrung and broken, and whether it will be mended remains to be seen.”

“The harp…who or what is the harp? Where will I find it?”

“The harp is not to be found. It will find you, and there will be choices to be made. Take care that you choose properly, for if you fail you will never find your friend. The Harp lies in darkness, and darkness is seeking it, but not all darkness need be feared. The Harp must be bent to your will, and not allowed to force you to dance to its own tune, as any good bard will know.” The figure started slowly fading away.

“Wait!” Rini said, raising her hand. “What tune? What do you mean?”

Justice paused for a moment. “Friend or foe…those positions may change at times. Take care that you remember it. When the harp starts playing, that is when you must learn to dance with the dead – and with those who trade in it.”

Again the walk towards the next street lamp, with cold water sloshing about her feet this time, making her shiver as it seeped into her boots. And there…the Archmage. Edwin! Though she did not speak out loud, the cry rang through her heart. Yes, it was a representation of the wizard she knew, not himself, but he was there all the same, and she smiled as she met his eyes. “I guess you grew in power, huh?” she asked. “You used to be ‘Wizard of Coin’.”

“Of course,” the wizard said. “And power of even higher magnitude will soon be mine, you will see.”

Then the bard spotted the other shape, the one that was standing right next to her friend. Death, a tall skeleton dressed in a cloak of pure darkness, wielding a scythe. It wasn’t Bhaal this time, she knew that instinctively, but she still felt an icy stab of fear as the skeleton watched Edwin curiously, whetting his scythe. “You will not have him,” she told Death, her voice hard with determination. “Never. I won’t let him die, do you hear me? I WON’T!” Her voice rose to a scream on the final words, but she didn’t care.

Death didn’t answer, but the empty eye sockets settled on her, evaluating her. He will be mine. The voice was simply there inside her head, dreadfully final.

“Growth,” the Archmage who was Edwin mused, seemingly unaware of the spectre beside him. “I will rival the gods themselves, you will see. Soon, I will be transformed, enhanced. You will hardly be able to recognize me.”

“But I want to be able to recognize you! Are you even listening to me?”

It certainly didn’t seem like it. The vision of the wizard faded away, still with a dreamy smile on his face. It…it doesn’t have to mean ‘death’. The card can mean other things, growth, transformation, developing new powers. It could be something wonderful.

But as Death became one with the shadows that had swallowed Edwin, Zaerini’s heart was filled with the cold and terrible certainty that it would not be.