So yeah, the whiskey wasn’t real, but I was still damn thirsty. I had just cut myself to pieces and nearly bled out on some nowhere beach...
Actually, I was probably still bleeding out. That's not good. Either way, a sip of whiskey was just the balm for me.
"Who are you?" I asked as my hand drew closer and closer to its goal. Still miles away, but time made distance small, and the drink grew near.
"I'm a lot of things, kid," the old man said, "I'm the soul of a Kraken, crammed into a mish-mash of your memories and my own. I'm what happens when a farm boy plays at the Paths of legends and killers. I am your Guide, your Patron. And you can call me either, or just, the Bastard."
He grinned again. That smile, it was all teeth, rotten black and tarnished gold. The whiskers on his face, salt and black sand, seemed to dance and twist on their own. They pulsed with blue-green mana, and his eyes flashed like stormy seas.
"Okay," I swallowed a thick lump in my parched throat. What the hell else was I gonna say to that?
The Bastard laughed, it was a dry sound. He was mocking me. Fine. Let him.
"Crazy kid, cut yourself from eyes to cock and balls and you don't scream, you don't cry, don't even wince," he laughed, "But you get nervous talkin’ to me. You know, I'll admit I got sick watching that, if you believe it. Not much can turn my stomach, but I can't stand eye stuff," he drew in a breath and exhaled the stink and rot of the sea, "you got guts kid, I'll give you that. But now we gotta figure out what that really means. Why? What did you pay so much for? What future do the cards hold for you?"
I looked at him for a long moment, thinking on that question. What did I really want? Growth without end, a horizon to catch. That what I’d though, but, well what the fuck would that really even mean?
A Path like that, if you followed it, would take you to the mountain top for sure. To that place where Saints are made, where humanity falls away, shed for the power of Gods or else.
Did I even want that?
It was hard to say, far too distant on that lonely horizon to know.
When I looked back to him, the old Bastard was cutting a yellowed, worn deck of cards. On the back of each was a parchment pale woman with her pierced titties right on out. Her hair was eels and her eyes black as coal. Seemed a bit... Irreverent for the occasion, but what did I know.
"Since you are a lucky little shit, I think a draw from the deck will help clarify things, for the both of us." the Kraken said, "here are the cards. There are fours suits and then the Lords. First," he offered me the deck after a thorough cut and shuffle.
I gave a long look and then slowly plucked one free.
"Ah, of course. The Fool."
I looked down at my own face smiling toward the sun, dressed like a goddamned daisy as I moseyed through a field of rage and ruin. On my shoulder sat my gun, that scattershot I used to kill a man only hours ago.
Yeah, that looked about right.
"Got nothin' up here," my Patron flicked my forehead, "nothin' in here," he flicked my chest just over my heart, "and everywhere to go. Infinite potential, power earned only through sacrifice and blood, through stupid and lucky. Yet, no focus, no goal. That's your Foundation. You will grow from pain and hard won experience only. No passive cultivation or careful study will advance your gifts, son. You gotta sin, you gotta hurt. That’s a Path I can respect."
Well, sure. What else would it be? Nothing in life was free, never had been for me.
I blinked and suddenly the card was gone, just vanished in the logic of a Dream. Instead the Rune Book now sat between us.
On the page my blood was still wet, still fresh. The ink shifted and swirled as it had before.
Name: Lorcan Roche
Path: Desperado
Patron: Kraken
Foundation:
The Fool - Acts of risk, violence, and self destruction will increase the strength and scope of your Path. You are far from that distant horizon.
"Next, that arrow you carved from gills to groin," he slapped another card down, this time a great tower wracked by a dark storm, its top exploding in a shower of fire and ash. Little me's falling to a grisly death on the rubble and rocks...
Well up I guess.
Damn thing was upside down.
"The Tower, inverted. Creation from your destruction. That's going to be an ugly one, son. You'll have a lot of tools to break the world around you, but every one is coming out of that purty hide, from those pearly bones, from that rich and vibrant soul. But you will be strong. Your power will be terrible and raw. And with every Step, you tread farther and farther from the path of man."
Structure:
The Tower (Inverted) - Every step along your will bring great power, but all that you were before must first be brought low. You are Blessed with mutation and transformation.
I blinked. My heart beat slow and heavy in my hollow chest.
Uh oh.
I knew that was a risk using a monster gem. I'd been pretty ready to go on and take it anyhow, but now that it was coming...
I was scared. I wasn't too proud to admit it. That was all real vague, but I had a good imagination, and with the Kraken as my Patron, well once could figure.
Almost made me wish I was inclined to the sort of way most folks chose. Those who made deals with the Divines, the gods of the Empire, of preservation, and safety and order. They paid a lot less up front. No mutation, no risk needed, just good prayer and acts that suited their gilded masters.
‘Course, the bill did come for ‘em, eventually. Making a deal with the Divines was to accept their definition of mortality. To accept a limit upon your life, no matter how far you climbed. It was a hundred years for a human, a hundred years until cancer set in, until your mind started to go. That way they could be sure a return upon their investment.
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
Heaven was a stew pot, and mankind their taters and little tomatoes.
Just then I wondered if that might be worse. Or if I was just tradin’ one rot for another. Was a life like I knew, like I chose to lead, really better than quiet service in heaven?
Well, I guessed I’d found out.
"Don't worry. I'll make sure whatever comes of this is functional. Fun, for me and you," he smiled, tar and gold, then laughed just like gulls on the beach and the soft lap of ocean waves, "you'll get used to it. That's one thing I love about humans, ya'll can used to anything at all."
Made mistakes. I can admit that now. Definitely swapped bad for worse.
"Third, that swordsman's slash, we can both probably guess at this one, huh?" he laughed and slapped down my next card for me.
Then frowned.
On the face of it was not some knight pierced by his own blades, nor a field of war and death. Instead it was me again, this time in regal dress, a polished breastplate, a heavy crown, scale in hand, pistol in the other.
"Well fuck. That's no fun. Your Crown. Justice, a very strange draw for killer and a thief," he spat the words like bile, "balance. You have to keep it all equal or else. The good and bad of this world, of yourself, else the Crown will tip and you will fall."
Crown:
Justice - You are bound by a code. If you ever should violate your own sense of justice, your Path will end. Do good, do ill, but.
Do. Not. Falter.
One more card fell before I had even finished reading my own book. Dropped from the deck, a slip on the Bastard’s part.
We both looked at it, and this time we both were surprised.
"The Watcher. I take it back, you are an unfortunate son-of-a-bitch..."
Star:
The Watcher - Your Path is guided by the Eye of the Gods, the will of the Pantheons, and the desires of the Dark. You will see beyond, and you will hear the requests of those above. Absolution, Corruption, you are Herald to both and more.
"I'm just going to do you a favor and clarify this one, son," the Bastard snorted and spat, bile and phlegm that sizzed on dirty wooden floor, "that card makes you the Gods' bitch. You are going to see things you don't want to. You will hear whispers in the dark. They will ask favors, offer Boons. It's a short road to madness, frankly. And power, of course," he swept his hand over it all and the book once again dominated the bar, "oh, and don't have any kids."
"Why not? And, why even mention that?"
Too many ominous warnings all at once. Made my head hurt. Why was the cost of power so damn wyrd?
"Because they're coming out real, real wrong. Feathers, and eyes, lots of eyes. I seen it before, and I assure you, I do not want to see it again. I was a young man once too, and I know exactly what three years in prison make you hungry for," he oozed with a slick grin.
With that the Rune Book fluttered open as a gust of warm wind ran through the old bar, whistlin’ through the boards as it did looked down and read. Read the first page of the story of my life. Or horrific death. Or, well, might be a lot of things before the end.
Name: Lorcan Roche
Path: Desperado
Patron: Kraken, Bound
Foundation:
The Fool - Acts of risk, violence, and self destruction will increase the strength and scope of your Path. You are far from that distant horizon.
Structure:
The Tower (Inverted) - Every step along your will bring great power, but all that you were before must first be brought low. You are Blessed with mutation and transformation.
Crown:
Justice - You are bound by a code. If you ever should violate your own sense of justice, your Path will end. Do good, do ill, but. Do. Not. Falter.
Star:
The Watcher - Your Path is guided by the Eye of the Gods, the will of the Pantheons, and the desires of the Dark. You will see beyond, and you will hear the requests of those above. Absolution, Corruption, you are Herald to both and more.
Abilities:
Skullduggery - You're great at getting into places you shouldn't, and taking things that don't belong to you.
All Seeing Eye - You peer beyond the Veil, seeing the flows of Divine, Entropic, and Wyld mana in the world around you. You're also a really good shot.
"My, what a draw. All Lords. Don't see that much," he sucked his rotted teeth and gave a fetid sigh, "So there it is, all you are, boy. Last thing to do is take your first chosen Ability from me, then wake up and learn to live with it all," the Kraken grinned and tapped the book, two more lines appeared below the rest.
Offered Abilities:
- Chthonic Dexterity - Greatly enhance your ability to grasp, manipulate, and coordinate. Be a better shot, a faster draw. And more.
- Kraken's Kiss - Spit acid. Yep, melts stone, steel, flesh. Just about everything.
"That it?"
"Yes sir."
"Fuck you."
For some reason, I felt like I just got scammed. The cards he pulled made a picture I didn't much like.
Maybe it was because both options were vague, and probably some shade of bad for me.
"It’s first cut you little shit. I can't toss out the good stuff yet. Damn kids, thinking they're owed it all for waking up..." he shook his head, the wriggling hairs of his dark beard danced in a sea of their own, “No matter what you pick it will grow. Might be unimpressive now, but given time, experience, hard work?” he shrugged, “I will never offer you anything less than excellent. There are no bad choices, only another branch on your endless Path.”
I chewed on that. Despite bein’ a strange, likely evil, definitely sinister manifestation of fundamental monstrosity, I knew I ought to trust him some. Patrons, be they monster or Divine, had a vested interest in empowerin’ their mortals. For the Divines the utility was obvious, havin’ a powerful mortal servant was a good thing. And for a monster?
Simple. The stronger I was, the more real he could remain. The Dream was more than a space to meet, it was his whole damn world, and the more mana and power that was exchanged, the more he got to enjoy it all.
"Fine. Chthonic Dexterity. Ain't no way I want acid spit, sounds like way to waste good drinks and drive off fine whores."
"Wise," he snarled.
And you know what?
I felt anything but.
"Drink," he said, finally sliding over that glass I had been reaching for. I had almost forgotten it in this mess of a mixed-up world.
I reached and missed and missed and missed.
Until finally, I was there.
A cool promise at my finger's tips. Something wet for my dry lips...
It took an eon to raise that cold glass of power, and another more to smell its burning promise.
The Dream held its breath
And I drank.
I drank pure fire and the truth of my chosen damnation.
It was the sweetest thing I ever did taste. Better than my first sip of whiskey. Better than bending Lucy Mae over a big bale of hay. Better than any memory of a mother's love or a father's pride.
It was power, it was fuckin' bliss. Then-
Black.
The whole world went black. And it all went sideways.
I woke, screaming in the night.
A horrible fever wracked my body and the cold was so bitter it was a wonder I hadn't froze solid.
My heart raced, my lungs burned. I was weak, bloodless and sick...
But I wasn't dead. No matter how much I wished in that moment, I just wasn't.
And then the real pain came.
First, the eye.
No, no, no…
Like molten lead poured into the open socket. Except it wasn't lead, it was mana. Power, unformed and raw. It flowed in and set roots through the bone, then ran down to start changing the rest of me.
Felt my skin begin to warp. My bones broke and snapped, and as I screamed, I realized my jaw was full of new, sharp teeth. My arms tore from their sockets and-
Dear gods, they began to split, unravel like so much frayed yarn. From one, two. Four. Eight. More.
Tendrils. Wet, bloody. Blind. Screaming.
And I joined them. I howled like I was swimmin’ in molten lead. Squealed like a pig what saw inside of the abattoir.
I puked clam and crab and nearly choked on the sick as the consequences of my deal continued to manifest. I didn't know how much time passed, only that it was a very long and terrible while, and that when it was done, I lay beneath the morning sun.
A mere man no more.
"Oh gods," I asked as I raised my strange new limbs to the light, "what the fuck have I done?"