Ace of Cups
Its birth is a terrible thing; the want; the need. It blooms inside him like a rose of blood and circles him in black creeping thorns. When The King of Greed makes his call, there is no petty resistance. He’s still no more than a slave to his pitiless hunger.
Two of Cups
Never thought he’d find another; who the hell didn’t break with a Fade-Thing living under his skin? But they were opposite sides of the same coin; Anders’ master was Selflessness, while Evaris’ was Selfishness. Either way, the human and the elf constantly burned the midnight oil, driven into the dirt.
Three of Cups
The dark elf was beginning to tolerate drinks at The Hanged Man, little by little. The foul-smelling alcohol and poor dining options were far below his ruthlessly fine taste, and yet, Evaris found himself returning again, and again. There was nothing like celebratory drinks with friends after a mission well-done.
Four of Cups
The restlessness always returned, like a Maker-damned tide of blood. No matter how many sovereigns he gathered, no matter how much wine he consumed, and no matter how many women and men he dragged into his bed, it returned. It told him he no longer had enough. It demanded more.
Five of Cups
Evaris held onto him, like a fist wrapped up in biting barbed wire. He felt him like a wound constantly picked open. He would find his lover and demand explanation for his abandonment. He would tell Drydin the curse that he’d shared with him. He would make the bastard pay.
Six of Cups
He wanted to hate the things that made him nostalgic; who wants to remember life in a cage? Yet the scent of old books, the quiet conversational squeaking of mice, and the dancing notes of an expertly played lute were all things that made the Reaver’s edges feel comfortably soft.
Seven of Cups
At times the sudden demands of his demon held his senses hostage. Everything became an overwhelming mess; one starving greed grappling with another. How messy could it be if his endless need for blood invaded his bottomless hunger for flesh? How far would he go to sate a pitiless Greed?
Eight of Cups
When given a chance to abandon everything he’d ever known, the young elven slave took it within a single beat of his heart. Home had always meant a cage, a life as less than a person; as an object. When the Reaver triplets found him, they unlocked the cage. Gone.
Nine of Cups
Though he had never known one, Evaris dreamed now and then of a home. It didn’t feel like a product of fantasy; more akin to a memory faded from the waking mind. Mountains of sovereigns inside walls of dirt and rock, and treasures beyond compare filled his cavernous personal sanctuary.
Ten of Cups
Evaris always felt the fool when he remembered the far away time when he thought he had a family. A trio of brothers rescued him, took him in, and nursed him to proper health. Trained him with a sword. Loved him. Nothing but a pretty, petty illusion, Evaris bitterly believed.