Alastor turned slowly, the simple pack of cards sat there on the floor, innocent looking. He picked them up and closed his eyes, inhaling their scent. Old, musky smoke flooded his memory.
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Master Sheyna sat imperiously on his cushion, his pipe producing copies amounts of intoxicating yet beautiful smoke rings, and looked down his nose at young Alastor, swallowing back the small amount of vomit in his mouth at the sight of the lad's face, which he was desperately trying to hide surruptitiously. The room they sat in was exquisitely, if a little unceremoniously decorated with paraphernalia from all sorts of places. A desert knife from here, a hunting horn from there, snuff boxes, skins, antlers, teeth, little bottles with insects, worms and worse in them. The place was like a cultural bomb with bright multicoloured cushions everywhere.
Master Sheyna's face twitched a little, prompting young Alastor to pipe up. He spoke shyly and stared at the ground, fearing eye contact.
"Please, mister, I heard you, er told of the future."
Alastor was dressed scruffily with a sad little mop of hair that covered over his eyes. Lines of stress were already beginning to show on his forehead, and dirty tear streaks seemed to permanently mark his smooth, pale cheeks.
There was a brief pause as Master Sheyna inhaled deeply into his pipe, and breathed out a slow, majestic smoke ring, causing Alastor to cough violently, his meek, sorrowful voice echoing softly. Master Sheyna sighed, almost godlike, with infinite slowness.
"Very well then, child." He raised himself awkwardly and shuffled to a cabinet on the wall, with around 12 packs of fortune reading cards in neat stacks inside it. After a cursory glance over Alastor's slumped, little form, he grunted and unlocked the cupboard, choosing a dusty black and purple set, right at the back. He returned to his seat.
"There's a lot of conflict in you, child. A lot of darkness too. This set of cards will probably be the only set that accurately represent the true depths of despair you'll probably go to, what with a face like that."
Alastor choked back a sob. Ignoring him, Master Sheyna continued.
"The creator of these was so horrified with his creation he killed his children and then himself with them, he made them razor sharp as a vain form of self defence, he was a very paranoid man to say the least. He killed them all, and arranged them around the table, pretended to play bridge with them, and then slit his throat when he lost a round. His wife killed herself when she returned home.." his voice trailed off. He shook his head sadly and returned to the present.
His hands blurred as the shuffled with expert speed, the air hummed as the razor sharp edges cut the air, somehow the Master didn't cut himself though. With a snap the cards were suddenly fanned in front of Alastor, who jumped a little, his fringe bobbing. Alastor closed his eyes, as customary, whispered a prayer to his deceased mother, and picked a card. He opened his eyes and turned over the card. A grim reaper stared at him in the eyes, stale blood covered this card. The card makers! Alastor yelped and jumped back, dropping the card.
Master Sheyna's eyes turned sad, infinitely sad, if it weren't for the apparent disgust towards that face..
"I'm so, so sorry my child. But.." he tried to sound like he cared when he sighed, it didn't work, "You'll be dead in the next ten years."
Not for the first time this day, little Alastor's eyes brimmed with tears, and he ran out of Master Sheyna's tent, desperately trying to hold the sorrow inside.
Later that night Alastor stole the cards. He looked down at the bloodstained back of what must be the death card, although he could not bear to turn it over. He close his eyes and, with a trembling hand raised his wrist. After a wet slicking sound he sobbed in happiness. This hurt made the voices go away and allll the other pain. The pool of blood spread on the floor steadily as tiny Alastor fainted. The cards seemed to gently pulse a deep purple as Alastor lay on the ground, breathing softly.
Little did Alastor realise what death actually meant...
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Alastor blinked, and cleared his head. Ah, good times, he smiled to himself, if only the pain was so easy to get rid of now, now that it was all in his head. He smiled wistfully, thumbing his now favourite card, the grim reaper. After studying a little with Nehklior after his vampirification, Alastor had discovered that the cards worked with a simple bound levitation spell. The idea was just so simple and effective. Who would think that cards would be lethal, yet they're sharper than many blades, they were edged in Damascus steel, of all materials!
Alastor set the cards down in front of him, in standard order. And closed his eyes. The cards' bound spell had become very powerful after all the blood that they had fed on from Alastor's youth, they were raring to taste more.
Alastor's eyes snapped open, the cards shuffled a little, then slowly lifted into the air, splitting into different paths, and started orbiting him, weaving in between his fingers and his limbs and fingers like a couple of hypnotic snakes. Alastor held up his hand, and in an instant, the cards flew in a flurry into a pack again.
Alastor smiled a very, very sinister smile.