Bob Barton
Raleaph nodded. Bob’s story was vague, and he didn’t really pick up many details from it. This was fine with the shopkeeper, though. He made use of vague stories, filled them up with his own phrases, and reused them when he could.
“What do you want to hear, eh?” asked Raleaph, returning his question. Did Bob want to hear something special about the card deck? “If you must know, these cards have a life of their own… and the deck is incomplete. All the previous owners have taken a part of it. Its cards are useless when not alone, its previous owner even said it was cursed when held together. Death follows the deck holder, but those who hold only one card are rewarded.”
He had heard that some of its previous owners had died when they insisted on carrying the deck, and not just one card, around. That was the reason it was with Raleaph, because he was a person that couldn’t be touched by death, and it was safe in his shop. But Bob didn’t know this, and Raleaph didn’t care if the man would believe the curse of the cards. There was a twinkle in his eyes as he picked up one of the card. He showed Bob the face of the card. It was the Three of Wands.
“The Three of Wands. Personal fortitude and strength of character... it bears the solitude of leadership. Rumors are if I carry this by itself, it will guide me. And every time I pick cards from this deck, this is always the first one I get.”
He put the card back in the deck.
“It’s still ten golden mizas even if you take just one card.”