The Legendary Fool

[Congratulations, you have received Common Ranked Card: Blade Manifestation and a Common Ranked Deck Holder]

Tom blinked in surprise as he felt a gentle weight press down against his palm, instinctively finding himself wrapping his left hand around the rectangular object. Surreptitiously gazing at his surroundings, he noticed a throng of unfamiliar faces dressed in colourful outfits, the men sporting liveries in well over a dozen different hues with family crests boldly emblazoned on coat pockets and shirts, symbolic cufflinks and the occasional distinctive epaulette further driving home the message. The women fashioned a more reductive version of the same livery, limiting themselves to an embroidered tunic and leggings ensemble, with an occasional light sweater shielding the chest.

In the Academic City, Renovia, most, if not all, seemed to have their allegiances pledged— it was an observation that Tom didn’t have much of an opportunity to mull over in Zenakris’ memories, mostly because Zenakris’ thoughts didn’t dwell upon the matter— for him it was only natural. Tom noticed the salutes the civilians in navy blue livery offered him before they continued on their way, while the others limited themselves to respectful glances— it seemed that the Nobles were respected but not revered, their privacy respected.

Tom supposed that if an Academic City had to be somewhat progressive after all, considering, for a mediaeval society archetype, none of the civilians seemed to particularly fear him whilst he was in Zenakris’ guise.

Picking a direction at random, Tom began to walk, going along with the general flow of the crowd whilst he felt the surface of the Deck Holder’s engraved surface, able to sense the card lying dormant within.

The other citizens of Renovia seemed to want to keep their distance— it seemed that with his academy uniform and card gauntlet, Zenakris’ appearance was too easily recognizable for him to have any hope of blending in.

He kept his ears open, hoping to overhear as many conversations as he could, now that he had the ability to understand the local language. The citizens around him kept chatter down to hushed whispers, but with his improvement to the physical stat came a welcome improvement in hearing.

He was surprised at how mundane it all was.

A young boy pestered his mother for a training sword, his implored pleas met with a pointed ignorance. Two men seemingly in their early to mid twenties animatedly debated the correct way of brewing a Lesser Cure potion, seemingly unconcerned about passers-by overhearing them. A husband and a wife gossiped about a noble called Nylev Jaxenor, who had recently proven himself by conquering the most difficult sector of the Zelez Dungeon upon his lonesome, receiving an immensely valuable Rare card for his efforts. It was both a pity and a boon for the Jaxenor Family, for few with such fortune would choose to stay behind upon the surface world instead of ascending to the Aerianiculumn.

The way they phrased it implied that Nylev didn’t have access to a Rare card before, which only served to confuse Tom more— how could he bind a Rare card if the Soul Card was weaker…. unless the Rare card was sacrificed for its soul experience? It would be an exceptional waste… yet, if it was the only way to ascend the rank of one’s birth Soul Card… Tom shuddered to imagine what they would do to him if they realised he was freely roaming around with an Ephemeral ranked card.

The snippets of fragmented knowledge upon fragmented knowledge that he was bombarded with left him a little overwhelmed, as he realised the true breadth of the world he had stumbled upon. Entire industries, entire cultures and entire vocations that were completely foreign to him, a knowledge pool so vast that ten lifetimes wouldn’t suffice to learn every aspect, let alone master it.

Though he supposed that Earth was much the same, albeit with a decidedly different, less magical flavour.

He blinked away the errant thoughts as the street he was on spilled out onto a wide, bustling plaza. Neat stone tiles paved the ground, giving the space a refined appearance. A large installation dominated the centre, depicting a seven foot tall robed statue with blurred facial features raising a solitary, gilded card towards the skies, a mighty greatsword that could easily bisect the genus of wide trees he’d encountered back in the forest held casually to its side.

It was hard not to take in the majestic sight, inevitably drawing Tom’s thoughts to the statue’s origins. With cards being as inextricably linked as they were to Artezian society, he found it unlikely that the depiction carried no symbolism. It was quite possible that it was a depiction of one of the [Ancestors] Zenakris revered– beings who had left the surface world behind and accomplished great feats in the Aerianiculumn.

Forcing himself to tear away his gaze, Tom turned his attention to the colourful array storefronts that boxed in the plaza, each one beckoning his patronage with magically imbued signboards; some matter of glittering dust glued onto the board’s surface in the outline of individual letters, resulting in rather mesmerising displays.

“Cygnar’s Herblore Emporium,” he muttered under his breath, sight locked onto a particular signboard that was painted over in a vivid, pulsating green. The storefront itself was a sprawling two storey construction, easily the second largest building in the entire plaza when judged by width. Tom keenly noticed the generally youthful, yet reasonably well armoured citizens… or perhaps, dungeon explorers, streamed in and out of the shop’s entrance, pocketing crystalline vials and distributing it to their comrades while making small talk.

Interesting.

Tom knew that he didn’t have long before he had to abandon this disguise, but there was still time to do something well, foolish— risky enough that there was a definite chance of things going off course, yet risking an even greater reward.

Adjusting his gait, he began to walk towards the emporium.

Gaze stern. Gait confident, yet not arrogant. Card Gauntlet lowered. Expression….

Tom struggled to fight off the smile from making its way to his visage.