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 neatly 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 him. 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 nappies 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 other's 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 streetlamps, 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 streetlight, 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 streetlight. 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 lamp 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.
Zaerini trudged on along the dark street that constituted the path of her Reading, her heart heavy with worry. Edwin…please don't go and do something stupid that will get you killed. The vision of the wizard coupled with Death refused to leave her, and despite telling herself over and over again that it didn't have to mean literal death the fear still wouldn't let go.
And now she was approaching another streetlamp, this one dimmer than the ones before. Two figures stood beneath it. The first was a young man wearing the rich and colorful clothes that suggested an Amnian noble. There was a blue doublet decorated with embroidered pink roses, blue silken hose, and on his head, he wore a wide-brimmed hat with a long pink plume that bobbed whenever he moved. From beneath it, reddish-golden curls fell almost all the way to his shoulders. He had an innocent and almost femininely pretty face, but there was a clear trace of arrogance in the way he carried himself. In his hand he carried a golden cup, lazily swirling it around. The page of Cups. I have no idea who or what that's supposed to be.
Next to the youth stood Death, once again represented by a tall skeleton in a midnight-black robe. The creature was silently watching the Page, who seemed unaware of his presence.
"There you are!" the Page of Cups said in a peevish voice as he noticed the approaching bard. "Whatever took you so long? I have been waiting for ages, and there are many more important things that I could be out doing."
"Who are you?" Zaerini asked. "Have I met you?"
The youth shook his head. "No. But we soon will. You really should hurry though, I have already been waiting far longer than I should, and I don't know how much longer I have. It's so unfair, after all I've…"
"Hold on a moment," Rini said, raking her fingers through her hair. "Will you be a friend or not? And where will I meet you? And why is it so important?"
"I…suppose I will be a friend. Eventually." The Page giggled. "You won't like me much at first, actually. But it's very important that we learn to get along, for both of us. Eventually, that will help us both get that which we desire most in the world. And you won't have any problem finding me. It'll be avoiding me that'll be the problem…" Turning away, the Page suddenly spotted the silent figure of Death. As he did, his face lit up in a happy smile, very surprising upon seeing such a grim vision. Death said nothing, but silently spread out his arms, and the Page stepped into them, still smiling, embracing the skeletal figure warmly. As he did, Death's back was towards Zaerini, and she noticed something odd. It was as if the skeleton was gaining in size, filling out, so that there was now a living, breathing creature beneath the black robe, an actual person. She couldn't see the face, but there was something about the posture, something that seemed oddly…familiar. It was immensely annoying that she couldn't put her finger on it, she felt that she should somehow know who it was. She could almost feel the memory trying to scratch and claw its way to the surface of her thoughts, but then the Page and Death disappeared into the shadows, and the knowledge left her once again.
Sighing, Rini started out towards the next light. There weren't that many Cards left now, but she knew that the remaining ones weren't likely to be pleasant, far from it in fact. But there was nothing to be done about it. She knew from previous experience that she had to go all the way through the Reading, no matter how unpleasant it might be, and that was what she intended to do.
And the water on the street was rising, something that was starting to worry her. As she walked between the rows of towering dark houses, she could feel it sloshing around her ankles. At least it wasn't as cold as it had been before, it was lukewarm by now. But I still don't like it. No, I don't like it at all.
At the next streetlamp, somebody was standing, watching. Waiting patiently for her. She knew exactly who it was, and though she feared to draw nearer, she felt compelled to do so just the same. The Knight of Swords. Sarevok. Her brother was as she remembered him, and much as she had seen him in that dream she'd had about Imoen. But there he had been a cold statue, made of stone, and here he looked very much alive. How can this be? How can he show up in the Reading when I know he is dead? The large man was still wearing his hideous spiked armor, and he was standing with his legs a little apart, arms the size of small tree trunks crossed over his massive chest. His sword was sheathed though, which was a little surprising. Beneath the horned helmet, Rini could just make out her brother's face. Regular features, strong and imposing. Tan skin, a firm mouth curled in just the tiniest hint of a smile. And the eyes, the blazing golden eyes. Very much like her own, but fiercer.
"Little sister," Sarevok said in that deep voice that she remembered so well, and that seemed to resonate in her very bones. "We meet again."
"Big brother," the half-elf said. "It is…good to see you." She realized with some surprise that she really meant that. Yes, he had tried to kill her, and he had killed Gorion, and yes, she had killed him. But the hate she had felt had cooled before he died, as she had learned more of him and of what bound them together. At the end, he had died, not because she willed it, but because the voice of their common sire had driven him to it. And there had always been that certain connection between them, something that she couldn't quite define, but that she knew was there, as certainly as she knew the beat of her own heart. "Why are you here?" she asked. "You are dead."
Annoyance flickered through the fiery eyes. "I know that," Sarevok said. "It's not the sort of thing you forget easily. But you are ignorant if you think that death means the end of everything. I am dead, but I still exist – elsewhere."
"All right. But even if you do, you are no longer in this world. How is it that the Reading seems to imply that you are part of my future? I don't see how that could be." A nasty thought struck her. "Are you here to kill me? Is that what this is all about? Because if it is, I really don't think it'll work since I'm not really here. Well, I'm here, but I'm not 'here' here."
"Sister…" Sarevok growled. "Stop chattering. I may be dead, but that does not mean I wish to waste an eternity until you have to finally draw breath."
"Oh. Sorry. What do you want then?"
Sarevok took a step closer, and she had to steel herself in order not to recoil. He's so big…he could probably break me in two using one hand.
"Freedom," Sarevok said without hesitation.
"Freedom? I don't understand."
Her brother didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached out an enormous mailed hand, carefully grasping her own. One finger traced a cold path along one scar that ran from her wrist down towards the elbow. She vaguely remembered the pain, the coldness of the blade slicing neatly through skin and muscle, blood vessels and tendons. "May I?" Sarevok asked.
For a moment, instinct told her to refuse. This was touch…a dangerous touch, one that brought back too many bad memories. But…I don't think he would hurt me. He might kill me, but not hurt me. Not like Irenicus. And…not like Reiltar. She nodded mutely, and her brother went on examining the scar, gently following it along the soft inner flesh of her arm.
"You were mistreated, little sister," Sarevok said, and now there was anger simmering beneath the surface of that dark voice. He was frowning, and the fires of his eyes had grown a little brighter yet. "Grievously mistreated. The Shattered One had no right to do so, and he will be made to pay for it. The Children of Bhaal will not be stopped, not those of us who were born to conquer, and we are not to be caged. It is an outrage, but it will eventually lead you to me, at least."
"Lead me to you? But you're dead!"
"I know I am dead! Stop interrupting me!" The words came out like the growl of a wild beast, and Rini tried to pull away, her heart in her mouth. But Sarevok was holding her arm tightly, and she couldn't get away, couldn't get free. As she struggled, helpless like a kitten beneath the paw of a large dog, she fought hard not to sob.
Then, something changed. The anger faded from Sarevok's face, and he looked confused instead, then troubled as he let go of her. "Sister…" he said. "There is much you don't understand, and much I don't understand as well. But I do know this." He put her hands on her shoulders, a steadying gesture. "The one you name Irenicus will send you to me, and we will be as we were meant to be. I will be awaiting you."
"Sarevok?" Rini asked, craning her head backwards so that she could look up into her brother's face. He was standing very close to her now, their bodies almost touching. "Are you saying that Irenicus will kill me?"
At first it seemed that Sarevok would not answer, but then he spoke again. "Your soul will descend into darkness, my sister, much as mine did. Your journey will not be the same as mine, but yes. If you would live, then you must first die."
"But…"
Her brother's fingers squeezed her shoulders even as he started fading away, the startlingly golden eyes the last part of him to disappear. "Remember…" the whisper of his voice spoke from the shadows. "I am waiting for you."
Zaerini stood still for a short while, listening to her own rapid breathing. Die. I'm going to die. Irenicus is going to kill me, isn't he? What else could it mean, if I'm going to wind up in the same place as Sarevok once again? And I saw his body…what happened to it. It just dissolved into dust. If I die, that will happen to me too, so how could I possibly live afterwards like he said? I just don't understand!But I know that I don't want to die. Gorion, I don't want to die. Then she thought of something else. But even if it does mean that I'm going to die, I can't leave Immy to rot. I have to go after her, no matter what. Even if it kills me. I have to. And speaking of that, right now I have to go on.
She willed her legs to move, forced herself to take a step forward along the dark street, and then another one. It was slow going. The water was still rising, and by now it was up to mid-thigh level, and had grown even warmer, almost body temperature. And worse than that, she knew which Card awaited her at the other end of the street. The Void. The street ended in empty blackness, and as she came closer, she could hear it whispering to her, whispering in a quiet, chill voice.
"So, it has come to this," Irenicus' voice spoke out of the darkness. The Void. He is one with it, as empty as it is. "You are resourceful, but you know the truth in your heart. At the end of the road, I will be awaiting you."
The terror was still strong, but now anger flared, heating her blood. "I will come anyway! I will have Imoen back, and then I will kill you!"
"Ignorant child. You cannot possibly kill me. What I was died a long time ago, what I am holds the power to destroy you, and what I will be, will be as far above you as you are above an ant."
The anger was burning even hotter now, a welcome shield against the cold of dread. "So you say. But ants sting." A ball of fire, as large as a horse, shot out from her outstretched palm, hitting the darkness in front of her with a hiss and a loud bang. There was a noise of annoyance, quickly checked.
"You are proceeding exactly as I have planned," that cold voice said again. "Grow stronger. Hone your powers to perfection. They will serve me all the better when the time comes."
"I will never serve you, or anybody else! Not you, not Bhaal, not the Queen of the Mad Bunnies. Nobody. Got it?"
"But you will. You cannot hope to do otherwise. Your very nature will be the downfall of you and all those that you care about. Observe." Light flared all around. It wasn't enough to penetrate the darkness in front of her, but it starkly illuminated the street where she was standing. And she saw, saw that what she had taken for rainwater was blood, dark and thick, hot as it lapped against her legs. "You are a Child of Murder," Irenicus spoke from the Void. "Some of your companions have already been affected by Murder, thanks to their association with you. In time, they all will be, as you draw it to you, you know this."
"No! I won't let you hurt them!"
"I do not have to do so, silly girl. It will happen anyway. Murder and murderers flock towards you, drawn like bees to honey. And anybody who comes within the circle of your divine power is possible prey to that power. You may as well accept it. And then, you will come to me, and I will grant you rest, as nobody else can. You will not have a care in the world…"
"NO!" But even as she protested, part of Zaerini's soul knew that her enemy had spoken the truth.