Furious Scribe
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19. Basil - Defensive Positions
🕑 Added 2023-12-12 20:03:36 +0000 UTC
Chapter 19
Defensive Positions
When I reached Esmi and Warrick, I gave my fiancee a nod of greeting, a full inch deeper than was necessary between us. “It is surely through the kindness of Fortune that I’m blessed to see you again so soon, Esmi. How did you fare in your recent match?” I didn’t know what I had done wrong, but I hoped the extra genuflection and pleasant greeting would soften her disposition toward me.
She neither returned my welcome nor answered my question. “Come with me,” she said, pivoting on her heel and setting off in the direction opposite from where my match had occurred.
I turned to Warrick, hopeful to gain some insight regarding my fiancee’s queer mood, but he gave me a helpless shrug in return.
“Joined me maybe halfway through,” he whispered. “All smiles until she wasn’t, and I didn’t have the courage to ask why.”
Having no time left to dawdle, I started after Esmi, and to my surprise, Warrick matched my steps. When I gave him an inquisitive look, he smiled back, “Not even Fate could make me miss seeing this.”
The three of us, Esmi in the lead, walked out of the center of the Coliseum and up wide spiral stairs that took us to the second floor. This area was tucked under the tiered seats of the massive structure, and in the first chamber off of the stairs there were a number of eateries lining both walls. These were much more established restaurants than the various temporary food stalls and carts than were available below. Esmi veered toward the nicest of those present, each of its round tables surrounded by a peaked tent made of varying pastel colors.
Were we meeting her parents? Mine? I rubbed my hands together, discovering that there was sweat on them. I didn’t think I was entirely ready for either of those possibilities. I hadn’t noticed it when competing – my blood racing during both matches – but my lack of sleep was starting to catch up to me. I felt like a limp handkerchief that had all the energy twisted out of it.
We walked under a free standing archway with a sign that proclaimed the establishment The Souls’ Haven in beautifully inked letters. I had never been to it before, but the smell of braised meat and charred vegetables was a delight to my nose and stomach, even if my mind was still caught up in its worries. Esmi spoke briefly with a man wearing a collared shirt and neatly pressed pants, who led us to a pink tent near the back. Strangely, Esmi gestured for us to enter first, so I did. It was a touch awkward to duck within the linen enclosure and get my knees under the circular table, but I managed it, shifting around until I reached the back. Once there, I lowered myself to the curved bench that acted as seating for all occupants. Warrick joined me shortly after, sitting to my left, while Esmi fussed with the tent opening, pulling at one side.
I couldn’t tell what she was trying to accomplish, but I heard her say, “It will just have to do.” With that, she entered the tent and sat to my right.
It was a cozy space, with room for only one or two more diners, and in another time I would have enjoyed being this close to Esmi even more than the smells of well cooked food. As it was though, the silence between us felt fraught with whatever it was Esmi wished to say... and Warrick's cheerful intrusion... and my growing anxiety over how this was all going to turn out.
Esmi waited silently for our waiter to come, a young girl with short hair. Yet again my fiancee took charge, ordering a bottle of red wine with a charcuterie board. The waiter whisked away, leaving another uncomfortable lull, which Esmi spent looking out the tent flap at passersby.
I considered trying to break the ice again – on the walk I had wracked my brain for a few conversational gambits that might serve – but I wasn’t confident of success. After all, I didn’t want to stumble onto a topic that would upset her further or discuss something meaningful when she wasn’t in the right mindset to hear it. So, stomach clenching, I continued to wait. Nothing that had been ordered needed to be cooked, and perhaps once we had been served, Esmi would tell us what this was all about.
As I had guessed, the waitress returned quickly with the items Esmi had requested: three glasses; a large, dusky bottle to stop the light from ruining the wine within; and a slab of white marble with a mixture of cheeses, dried meats, pickles, olives, and some nuts. Esmi told the waitress that we were to be left alone until we requested otherwise, and Warrick busied himself with uncorking the wine using a spiral bottle opener that had also been provided.
The young girl with the bob cut assured us that we would not be bothered and then whisked off, at which point Esmi turned to face me, leaning in even.
“What in the Twins are you doing with that deck?” she whispered fiercely.
Warrick froze in the act of giving her a glass full of plum colored wine, and I, shamefully, was at a loss for how to proceed.
“Could you be more specific?”
She liberated the glass from Warrick and took a rather long sip. “What is it meant to be? Aggro, control, midrange, combo?”
I wasn’t fond of her phrasing. ‘Meant’ indicated that she didn’t think it was succeeding in whatever it was I wished from it. “It’s my own concoction. I wouldn’t go so far as to give it a label, but it works,” I assured her. “As you witnessed yourself, I believe.”
She leaned back, placing her glass on the table, and crossing her arms. “You can’t seriously be comparing yourself to the duelist you just faced.”
Now it was my turn to accept the wine glass offered by Warrick and take a quick drink before responding. The smell of currant and a bit of chocolate as I brought the glass to my face was soothing, and the taste of it was equally pleasant: round and fruity, with a slight tartness that made me immediately want to take another sip.
“Why wouldn’t I?” I asked, resisting the urge.
“He was using a bara deck,” Esmi said, frowning at me, “that’s why.”
“A what?” Warrick asked, for which I was grateful. I wasn’t at all familiar with that particular term.
Esmi fluttered one of her hands. “It’s what they call a joke deck in Charbond.”
I nearly choked on my second swallow of wine. “A joke? Did you not see that Epic Colossal??”
“What I saw was a duelist who couldn’t block a single attack with his hand. There's a reason people don’t use Sourceless decks. They leave you defenseless. I’d wager he did more damage to himself with his various draw effects than you did to him.”
I felt my cheeks heat at that assessment, but couldn’t think of a proper retort back. He had drawn a lot of cards there at the end.
“Fate take me,” Esmi said, popping an almond into her mouth, “I can’t think of a reason why he would have used such a collection in a tournament as important as this.”
“He was calling for a Ninth House,” Warrick supplied. He swirled the wine in his own glass, taking a long sniff from it, and sighing contentedly.
“And…?” Esmi asked. She wasn’t acting nearly as deferential with Warrick as she had been with my brothers, but the way my friend hunched as if ashamed of his height and his less-than-serious manner usually led people to treat him this way. Also, his bronze flecked eyes weren’t helping him any.
“One for artisans,” I supplied, and as much as it irked me I added. “He told me that he wanted the crowds to see what they could make.”
Warrick tipped his glass in my direction, as if to indicate that I had landed on precisely where he had been headed.
“Well,” Esmi said, tone clipped. “That’s that then.”
With those words, Warrick seemed to realize where exactly he had led the conversation, and he started talking in a rush.
“Surely that wasn’t all you two discussed, was it, Basil? Long as you talked, there must be a story there. Might as well share it while we’re all here. The tents are a cute touch, but without a bard or poem reader, this restaurant is too quiet for me, too much time to think. What about a cake? We can eat it when we’re not talking.”
“We did chat about something else,” I said, mostly to get Warrick to stop his nervous rambling. “He wants a trade for the ante I won, and I’m feeling rather good about my prospects, in fact.”
“Of course you are,” Warrick declared, too loudly for my tastes. It was clear to me what he was hoping to accomplish, and I could only pray to the Twins that his false cheer wasn’t as apparent to Esmi. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you make him sweat more during your dealings than he did when dueling you.”
“You’re good at this then?” Esmi asked me. “Card bartering?”
“Didn’t you know?” Warrick answered in my stead. “He traded for…what was it, Basil? A third of your deck? He couldn’t have beaten a beggar with the scraps his brothers left for him.”
“Half,” I corrected, warming to this part of the conversation despite my initial misgivings. Dueling skills aside, Warrick knew exactly how much of my deck I had traded for. Judging from the thoughtful way Esmi was now considering me, my friend’s impromptu plan to cast me in a favorable light actually seemed to be working.
“So many?” she said, and the flaw in our present course revealed itself to me, write large in her now concerned expression. Singing my praises at the expense of my family was far from a worthwhile exchange, not if Esmi came away from our discussion thinking my House too poor to provide for me and thus not a good match for her.
“My brothers did take quite a few good cards,” I conceded, “but that wasn’t the only reason I worked so hard to curate a deck of my own choosing. I wanted to challenge myself, to push my soul to grow.”
Warrick looked at me sideways but didn’t disagree. Instead, he swallowed his glass of wine in a single gulp and quickly scooted toward the tent's exit.
“Well, I think that’s been enough of this for one day. Esmi, glad you didn’t fall into Charbond’s volcano while you were away. Share some of that new fire you have with Basil, would you? Basil, I’ll pop by your room here tonight before the Spring Soiree. If you have it, could I borrow that sage vest again? I almost didn’t hate myself in it.” He smiled like a man headed to the gallows. “I’m off to see my parents about their scholarship entrant, so be a friend, you two, and pray that she's already lost twice. The Twins never listen to me anymore.”
We agreed to help and waved our goodbyes. I was sure Esmi would comment on any one of the many problematic things that Warrick had just spouted, but the first thing she said when he was gone was, “I want to see your whole deck.”
This time I did choke on the wine I was drinking, coughing long enough that when I finally managed to speak again my voice came out hoarse.
“Now? Here?”
Some cards flashed into her hand from her Mind Home, and she let one of them go, a small ball of fire drifting up over her head. “If anyone looks like the thieving type, I promise I’ll singe their hands and send them packing.”
She was looking straight at me – into me, it seemed – and I couldn’t help but stare back. Even in the shade of the tent, I could see the gold in her eyes, the flecks flashing, catching what light there was. She was so clearly better than me, and I found that gap between us intoxicating. No one else in my life challenged me, at least not in the way I wished. Not my parents, or brothers, and certainly not Warrick. But here Esmi was, not even my wife and already pushing me about my deck, wanting me to be the best duelist I could be. This is what we could do for each other, and why I would never willingly let some foreign suitor sweep her away.
And, if to keep her, I needed to lay my collection bare, well, then by the Twelve that’s exactly what I’d do. It took some time, but I pulled each of my Summon cards from behind my ear and placed them on the crushed red velvet tablecloth. I also called my source from my heart, and after a few minutes, I was holding all eight of them in my hand, which I showed her alongside the rest.
Empty as I was, my head and chest felt light, like I might float away. Ridiculously, I found myself glad that I was in such a small space so that I might stay safely anchored.
Esmi was too engrossed in the cards to notice my state. She scoured them for longer than I would have suspected, moving around the circular table, her ball of fire following after her, sometimes getting near the cloth walls and worrying me that it would catch them on fire.
“So, it’s a combo deck.” She made a face. “Sort of.”
“Combo into control, I suppose,” I said. “If we must classify it.”
“Control would have more defense with Guards and Shieldbearers, or life gain with Healing Spells, or more card draw and a full set of Protection, not to mention more board clears. You only have a single Equality.”
“It’s my own concoction,” I repeated mildly, “so it doesn’t fit neatly into one of the standard archetypes.”
This seemed to worry her. “And where's your win condition?”
“I have three of them,” I said, pointing to the Carrion Condors.
“Only in certain circumstances,” she replied, sounding highly unconvinced. “And if you wanted to play them that way, Carrion Condors are traditionally run with token decks, so they can become as large a threat as possible. You could use Order’s Barracks Relic for that, like my first opponent did.”
“I assume it didn’t work out well for them,” I said, a bit of defensiveness entering my voice despite my best efforts to hold it back. “You’re still on the winners side of the bracket, aren’t you?”
“It would have worked quite well, but they only had five source and ten summon cards. Their loss wasn’t about the type of deck they were running; it was the difference in our resources.”
“My first decks featured some smaller Souls,” I admitted. “Guards, Watchmen, and the like, but I found that managing that many Souls wasn’t my playstyle and delayed me in getting to the cards that really mattered. My current deck can also win the attrition war; big souls generally aren’t a threat to me.”
“With your Execution-Penitence-Headsman combo,” she actually agreed with a nod. “That’s a known package at least. But you’re missing one of the Headsman.”
“I haven’t managed to find one for a price I thought fair. Not to mention I don’t want the deck to lean too heavily in one area. I prefer to have access to more versatile plays.” I pressed some meat and cheese together and took a healthy bite from the pairing, hoping the food would weigh my stomach down to balance out how the rest of me was feeling.
“Is that why you have the one-offs of the Helm and Scalemail?
“That’s right.”
She picked up some food, too, nibbling around the pit of an olive. “Single copies are so risky, though.”
“The Scalemail was because of Lossum and his Archer deck. As for the risk, it’s no good to have an extra of either of those cards in hand, not when they can’t block, just like you said about Throice’s deck.”
She paused for a moment on the name but then seemed to remember it from the bracket. “True enough. If that was the only weakness of your deck, it might not be an issue, but it has other glaring issues.”
I tried not to bristle. Lightheaded or no, hearing her criticize the deck I had spent years refining – carefully choosing what to include versus not – was hard to swallow. Part of me wanted to excuse myself on the spot and go lay down. I was so tired I could have slept two full days if Fate let me.
However, if I hoped to equal my fiancee, I needed to be able to face such things, especially when they came from her. “What would you say are its weaknesses?”
She lifted three fingers and ticked the first off: “You're playing Air but only have a single card you can summon if you go first. What point is there in having that advantage if you can’t exploit it?”
“Opening with the Soulforged Helm can be a strong play,” I said. “It has saved me countless times, including my first match today.” And the second if I had remembered it. I didn’t bother to add that.
Esmi pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re not telling me you mulligan for that every time.”
“Match-up dependent, of course. I can assure you I know what I’m doing.”
“What of the initial rounds?” she fired back, ticking off her next finger. “Your smallest Souls are all 3 cost. Face an aggro deck, or even midrange, and you’ll get overwhelmed. You should have kept some of those Guards.”
“The Scalemail and Carrion Condors are excellent at stopping Souls with low attack, or if I haven’t managed to get anything on the board, I can use Equality to reset. I’d rather my cards have utility both in the early and late game. Souls like Guards are too narrow for my tastes.”
She shook her head, but instead of arguing the point she ticked off her last finger. “Your Assassins. You say you don’t want to lean into your Headsman combo, but they exist for the same reason: to remove problem Souls. However, unlike the Headsman, that's their only use. With only 1 and 2 attack, they're no good for striking the enemy duelist.”
“That’s true,” I said, “but they pair so well with Air.”
“Because Air Source lets you Ready them after attacking, re-engaging their Stealth,” Esmi supplied, seeing the nuance of the combination immediately.
I was impressed but didn’t let that stop me from continuing to argue my case. “They are also better than a Guard when blocking from hand.”
“Sacrificing a Soul from hand doesn’t help your Condor win condition,” Esmi said, not nearly as amenable to that notion as she had been the last, “and with only six non-Condor Souls, you don’t have any to waste.”
“That is another reason why I run three Execution. The spell is incredibly good for blocking, yet I rarely see anyone use it that way.”
This time Esmi didn’t reply immediately. She placed the olive pit on the edge of the charcuterie board and took another sip of wine, looking down over my spread of cards.
“You’ve thought about them at least. I suppose that’s something.”
I dared to shift around the curved seat, edging closer to her. “You believed I hadn’t?”
She looked over at me, calmer than before but not what I would call happy. “As you said, your deck doesn’t fit a standard archetype. At a glance, it can seem…thrown together.” Her gaze dropped down to her lap. “Watching you use a deck like that while spurning the fabricator I had given you…” Esmi sighed and then met my eyes again. “I thought you didn’t care.”
The sadness in her was like a spike through the chest, and no part of me felt light anymore. “Nothing could be further from the truth,” I assured her. “I want to win, and have for years, even before I was lucky enough to be engaged to you.” She smiled just a touch at that, and it was like a pure beam of light broke through troubled clouds, emboldening me to continue. “You’re right to say what you have about my deck. I know it’s not perfect and that I’m still not using it as well as I could, but every day I get better. Every duel I improve. This tournament is my chrysalis to becoming the man I’m meant to be, and part of that will be defeating your Charbonder when I face him, along with every other opponent I can. I swear it.”
I wanted to take one of her hands in my own as I spoke these words from my heart, to show her the seriousness of my commitment... but I couldn't quite manage it, my fingers stalling out on the tablecloth a few inches from hers. I think she must have noticed the gesture, for she took pity on me, placing her own hand atop mine, her skin so wonderfully warm like before.
“It's nice to hear you say so.”
Close as we were, cuddled in the confines of the tent, with some wine smoothing the edges of worry, a question floated from my mind right out of my lips.
“Why do you want me to succeed?”
Esmi started, pulling her hand back, and the sudden coolness on my skin felt like a reprimand
“Why?” she said, eyes wide. Unlike with Warrick, I couldn’t tell if her change in mood was because I was asking a question to which the answer was absurdly obvious or because no satisfactory one existed, and my heart teetered between those two possibilities. “What sort of fiancee would I be if I didn’t support my betrothed?”
“Is that the only reason?” I said, the rest of me going cold. I wasn't sure what answer I wanted from her, but I had hoped for more than obligation.
“No,” Esmi said, and seeing my flagging state, she repeated firmly, “No, definitely not.” Her free hand – the one that had left me – twitched toward the cards she still held in her other hand. Did she plan to summon a Kobold to answer for her? Or perhaps blast me out of the tent with a Spell? She didn’t end up summoning a card; she took a deep breath, placed her hand back atop my own and looked me directly in the eyes like she had earlier. She even managed a bit of a smile again. “It’s because –”
She stopped, holding me in limbo. At first I thought her silence was because she didn’t know what to say next, but following her eyes I realized it was because someone was standing outside our tent. Not just someone, him, that damnable urchin who I had faced in my first match. He had a harried look about him, his breathing as heavy as a bear running through the woods.
“I…” he started and then made a face, looking no happier to be speaking than I was to see him. “I need your help.”
Comments
RainbowPhaze
wow Hull, what a time to arrive. I have a feeling you aren't getting that help. Also jeez, I don't even want to imagine the cataclysm if Esmi hears that Basil gave up an epic.
Jacob Scritchfield
Finally! They meet again.
