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O’ Death,
Won’t you spare me over another year?
Well what is this, that I can’t see?
With icy hands, getting hold of me?
Well I am Death, none can excel,
I open the door to Heaven or Hell.
Time was difficult to parse in the Mist, but when its darkened edges started ebbing and flowing beyond the isles’ shores, he knew it was that time of the year, when the sun’s eclipse was starting, and the Mist’s power became more powerful with the waning daylight. There was nothing else to do but follow it across the seas.
As it crept over the dark waves, he can feel himself gathering, solidifying, taking form of his favoured gambler’s coat and adorned hat. His deck of cards manifested in his hand as well, the wails and screams singing sweetly between his fingertips as he twirled a card. When he finally manifested, he glanced down and saw a rowboat, missing its oars. In it was a man lying on his back with his arms slack at his sides, as if he was in a coffin, but blood bloomed on his shirt instead of flowers. The spectre only gave him a once-over – no use if the man was already gone – but before he moved on, he saw the chest rise and fine, however minutely.
Ah, so this one’s a fighter. This would make an excellent addition to his collection.
He let himself descend onto the lip of the boat and perched gracefully, not even causing the smallest of rocking. The man must’ve sensed the cold of the spirit, because he cracked open an eye to peer at the ghost. “If you’re here to take me back to jail,” He rasped. “Then you’ll have to take me back in a casket.”
Twisted Fate allowed a chuckle. "No mortal, but a worse fate befalls you, for you are in the Black Mists of Shadow Isles."
"Reckoned normal fog doesn't look this dark and menacing." He drawled back.
"Still so full of spark. You're taking this dying thing very well."
A grimaced shrug. "My life can't get any weirder than talking to a ghost right now."
Oh, he liked this one. Most mortals would've started cowering in terror by now, or begging for their lives. This man, however, had grumbled and glared out at him, as if Twisted Fate had simply disturbed his drink at the bar instead of coming to claim his soul. The spectre said, "I like you mortal. What's your name?"
The man narrowed his eyes, but answered regardless, "Graves. Malcolm Graves."
"A fitting name, Malcolm Graves. Would you like to make a wager?"
Graves' brow furrowed, but his beady eyes glittered. "...what kind?"
"A game of aces. You win, you get a life of riches beyond your imagination. I win, I get to keep your soul for eternity." He extended a hand. "We got a deal?"
Graves eyed the hand, then T.F's face, before cautiously shaking it. "On one condition: you tell me your name."
Fair enough. "I am Twisted Fate now." He pulled back, helping Graves to sit up. Wisps of glowing light left their palms, the residue vitality fading into the night like fireflies. It wasn't enough to save him, no, just enough that he could breathe and play without doubling over in pain. It showed on Graves' face when he sat upright proper with only minimal wincing. Twisted Fate sat down on the opposite bench and set out his cards between them, souls crying out ever so sweetly. A taste of Graves' doom.
"So," Twisted Fate started. "Feelin' lucky?"
"Feeling lucky?"
Tobias Foxtrot shivered - he was only allowed a small raft and the clothes on his back when he was exiled, which was no match for the autumn sea's turbulent winds. Gooseflesh rippled along his skin, but at least, trying to comfort himself, it was from the cold night, and not from the apparition in front of him, holding out a pack of cards. Tobias took them with forced languidness. "I've got shuffling rights, I presume?"
The spectre nodded. Tobias' nimble fingers made quick work of the deck before he dealt them out, grinning with bravado he didn't feel.
"You do this for every man you run into?" Graves muttered, breaking the silence.
It had been an interesting few minutes since the cards had been dealt and they looked at their respective hands. A few quiet minutes too, only with minimal grunting or hums from either of them. Plenty of staring though, as Fate eyed over the man currently frowning at the set of cards. He was rough, beard and moustache grown uncontempt, but Fate assumed it had once been groomed into something magnificent, once upon a time. His clothes were in disarray as well, bloodstains aside. Simple and grey. Prison-clothes.
Anyways, he should be saying yes, when there's a soul to add to his growing collection. "Only for the handsome ones." Was what he said instead.
Graves glared from behind his fan of cards. "Did any of them win?"
"Now where would be the fun in telling you that?"
Graves drew a card and laid it down. "That only tells me that no-one did."
T.F hummed thoughtfully and decided to indulge. "No, there have been people. Rare occurrences, but occurrences nonetheless."
Graves frowned at that, his jaw grinding as if chewing an invisible cigar. Thinking tic or frustration tic? Fate leaned on his open palm, smirking when he saw Graves' eyes follow the movement. "How do you like your odds?"
"Now," Graves started, one side of his impressive moustache twitching up. "Where would be the fun in telling you that?"
This was still winneable, Tobias thought to himself. Not desperately, of course, lest it show on his face.
The first card was a like start of a bad omen, or the first card in a terrible tarot spread. None of his cards, hidden or otherwise, would win him this round. With a sigh, he spread out his cards.
"Your hand's not looking good so far, Riverchild?" His opponent said.
Tobias scowled at both the offending cards and at the spectre. He hadn't been welcomed back to the river in years. "I don't take kindly to that title. I'm not one, not anymore."
"There's a story behind that I'd imagine."
"There is. Doesn't mean I'm mighty wanting to retell it."
A whisper of laughter, in the wind or from the ghost sitting opposite of him? "Then what would you like to be referred to as then?"
Tobias looked at him in the ghastly, sunken, eyes. "The man who outplayed death."
It was close now - Twisted Fate can feel the Black Mist starting its ebb back to the Isles' moors. That, and their scores were currently neck to neck, down to the last hand of the last round. Twisted Fate didn't have much time left before the Harrowing was over. Amazing, that hours seemed to have flown by like seconds, interspersed with quips and jabs, each one more lighter than the last. By the end, they have been grinning like old friends, or perhaps, partners in the cahoots, and an idea was forming in T.F's mind, as solid and sharp as the card hidden in his sleeve.
For now, he hid his smirk behind his fan of cards. "So it comes down to this then. Y'trust your hand?"
Graves' eyes met his own straight on. "As much as you trust your own."
The fog watches, a shapeless audience, humming with excitement. At the exact same time, they laid down their cards.
Twisted Fate's smirk fell off his face as he stared not one, but two aces, one on each side. He and Graves glanced at each other in righteous surprise.
"I'd say one of us is a right scoundrel." Twisted Fate said, but his voice held no accusation, only mirth.
Suddenly, Graves' arm shot forward, gripping T.F's arm. The ace slipped out of the card sharp's sleeve before he could catch himself.
"Ha!" Graves said with triumph. "You're a cheat!"
With deft fingers, Fate pulled into Graves' sleeve to pull out an offending card. "Takes one to know one then."
They stared at each other in a silent contest of wills, their faces close enough for their breaths to mingle in the cold air. The fog grew even thicker around them in anticipation, like the captive spectators leaning forwards in their seats to see who would throw the first punch. There was no sound except for the lapping of water against the boat.
Then T.F tossed his head back and laughed. He laughed and laughed and laughed.
When it finally died down, Graves was looking at him in curious suspicion.
"No-one's ever tried to out-trick the trickster." Twisted Fate wheezed out. He was still grinning. "So I suppose we both won. I get to keep your soul,"
"Now wait a minute-"
"And you get your wealth."
Graves' bushy eyebrows knitted together oh so lovely as he frowned. "I'm not getting it."
"Oh, you will eventually." Twisted Fate said. He pulled Graves closer again, slipping his ace from his sleeve.
Then with it, he neatly sliced Graves' throat.
He didn't even make it hurt like he normally would - he gently laid Graves down as the man gurgled out blood and indignation, cradling his head like a lover's. Graves managed to look angry even as the life bled of him, as if he was simply annoyed about the situation rather than fearful, and Fate simply smiled back at him. As the light faded from Graves' dark eyes, emerald-coloured wisp floated from his lips, curling around the bloodied card, glowing intently for a moment, before fading into a dull shine. Fate grinned down at it, then tucked it into his vest's breast pocket.
The night was almost over. He could feel it in the way the fog rolled back towards the the Black Isles, the inevitable pull on every particle like a thousand strings, the way the other beings of the Harrowing howled their way back home. Just like them, he twirled a different card now between his fingers, spinning it faster and faster, until the air threatened to snap underneath the pressure.
And then he was gone.
Tobias stared at the other ace, a perfect copy down to the wear and tear on the fraying edges. The waters were still now, as smooth as glass, and the fog was glancing off it like smoke. Tobias didn't even dare to breathe as he watched for the spectre's reaction.
He might be worse than dead.
The ghost continued staring at the twin Aces as Tobias continued holding his breath. Then, the spectre spoke,
"It seems that we have both won and lost."
Tobias gulped. The apparition ignored it. "I'm a man of my word," He continued. "You'll get your riches well enough."
Tobias frowned. "At the cost of my life? Doesn't sound worth it, if I'm not alive to enjoy them."
"There's a different type of riches than you know of, mortal." The phantom grinned and raised his scythe. "And you will have all of time to know them."
He was getting better at telling when it was the Harrowing time. He was faster at solidifying himself this time, managing to complete his form just as the moon peeked over the horizon on the seas. His pack of cards flicked themselves over his fingers, more reassuring than any rosary beads, as he watched, and waited.
Soon enough, another form materialised next to him. It may have been a year, but it would take much longer for him to forget that furry frown when the other spirit formed next to him.
"Damned cold here." Graves grumbled. He chose to wear a nice, thick serape, in a deep red. He fiddled with his cigar, lighting it, and it shone like a beacon in the dark. "Is it like this every year?"
"Stick around and find out." Twisted Fate answered back. Already, he could feel the edges of the mist creeping over the waves, further than last year's. T.F made to follow them, then turned around to face the other apparition. "You comin'?"
Graves shrugged. "Got nothin' better to do than scam a few mortals of their lives, do I?"
"It's always better with a partner in crime." Twisted Fate smirked, extending his hand. After a moment, Graves grinned at him and took it. And together they made their way to the unfortunates lost in the Black Mist.
Because after all, what was more valuable than a soul?
The old, the young, the rich or poor
All alike to me you know.
No wealth, no land, no silver no gold
Nothing satisfies me but your soul.
O, Death,
Won't you spare me over til another year?