Today’s snippet, titled “Addicted”, is a piece I wrote about a character I am playing in Mark’s evil campaign…
      Be forewarned, there are mature themes and naughty language below.
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      From the very first moment their mysterious benefactor murmured the words – sixty-thousand gold pieces, unopened – Nyx had been intrigued. Nothing could have tempted her more; a mysterious item in a fantastically expensive box bearing the explicit warning not to open it. She wondered what could possibly be so valuable that he would pay them such an exorbitant amount to retrieve it. Yes, there was danger involved, but there was separate pay for the task of killing the Glaive Angel, so they would be well compensated for the trouble.
      Had the geas not forbidden it, she would have asked her brother what he thought; Dae’s big, creative brain surely would have had some idea. Alas, she was on her own, and though Nyx knew herself to be clever, she was not well-versed in lore and myth.
      The only way to know, was to get her delicate little hands upon it and crack that box open, dig out what was inside, and wave good-bye to that sixty-thousand gold piece prize. Despite her affection for coin, Nyx knew instinctively that whatever was in the box must he hers. Besides, fuck the rest of them, if they objected. Their insistence on raping those girls to death had cost her a bloody wish, and that powerful a spell could have been one hell of a goon to all of them.
      The party arranged, despite the usual bickering, an ambush for the quasi-mortal paladin. A surprisingly successful one at that, for both their enemy and that sick, corpse-fucking bastard, Archibald, fell.
      Somehow, in the confusion, Nyx found her delicate, pale little hands lifting that box from the Angel’s body. Taking it. Claiming its exquisite, expensive box and whatever unimaginable treasure lay within.
      Somehow, whatever power lurked inside the box knew that it belonged to her. Nyx had the strange surging sensation in her belly, the one that screamed DESTINY at the top of its imaginary lungs. This moment, she knew as she opened the box, this moment was pivotal. It would change her life.
      In her heart, she hoped for a link directly to her lover. A path to his side in the great cosmos beyond.
      Instead, when the arguing ceased and her instinctual need took over – she found a velvet bag laying atop a bed of the finest satin she had ever touched.
      “Dae would know,” she whispered. “Dae would know.”
      But Nikodemos was not here and Nyx could not stop herself, even had she wanted to.
      A perfectly formed stack of cards lay in her palm now. They were made of some material she could not identify; something rich and rare and costly. Flakes of ivory, perhaps, or marble enchanted to some papery-thin degree.
      “You know what that is?”
      “Holy Fuck!”
      “Don’t even touch it.”
      “Do it! Draw one!”
      Nyx chewed on her lower lip.
      Of their own volition, she drew three cards from the deck. Nyx could hardly recall what had happened to her comrades, so focused was she on the strange events of her own draws. First, her heart swung violently in her chest and she began to see the true, black, evil souls of her allies – and was repulsed by it so much that she wanted – wanted – to be different. To be better.
      To be… good.
      Then, she received a boon from the fates; someday, when she had a dilemma, she could just concentrate and know the answer that would resolve it for her. A useful, beneficial gift.
      Finally, a third card. Her heart swung back so hard that she was almost physically ill. Her natural inclinations returned and the sugary-sweet desire to be a benevolent force of love died a brutal death.
      Quick Bill was not quite as fortunate as she. Well, decidedly more so, and then decidedly…less so. He drew a card that granted him wealth beyond measure, lands and a castle… then he drew a card that stripped him of all his worldly goods. And then, one that cast his soul into some unknowable void, leaving his body a mindless wreck.
      Little Gershan was fortunate and each of her draws seemed better than the last.
      Hefe was sucked into the ground, and vanished, utterly.
      Nyx could recall little of the day, once the party collected what remained of their number (including Bill, who could really only be gently directed), met two new “friends” who had been sent by their nameless patron.
      The siren call of the deck would not leave her alone.
      Her fingers itched to draw more.
      More.
      She felt the way she imagined those pox-faced addicts on every city’s skid row must feel. The constant, nagging, niggling itch.
      Nyx knew she had to scratch it.
      She drew another card…

(To Be Continued…)

Note: Image is “Playing Cards” by (caltiva) from SXC.hu