With a wry grin and a nod to all players, Jack shuffles the cards. His snowy wings flutter in delight, casting tiny, iridescent snowflakes that shimmer in the candlelight and disappear before touching the table.
"Ah, cousins Ottar and Osvic, tell me, do you share a similar fortune as well as blood? We'll see if your tattoos do bring luck after all." As he deals the cards with an effortless flick of the wrist, each card spinning in the air before landing perfectly in front of its intended recipient, Jack leans back in his chair with a satisfied grin, folding his hands behind his head. "Alright, gentlemen, may the luck of the dragons be with you. Remember, it's not the size of the dragon in the fight, but the size of the fight in the dragon. Don't you think, Steingrimsson?"
Jack peeks at his own card and flips it over with a grimace, revealing a gleaming Brass dragon with an all-too-humble strength of 1. "Ah, it seems I've drawn a meekling. Just a meager strength of one. Barely enough to melt an icicle, let alone scorch a town. Still, it has its..." he gestures pendulously with both hands, "charms." He takes a swigs from his brass flask with a knowing wink.
With a grin, he reaches for his hoard and lifts up a single, shining silver piece. He holds it up for the others to see, before tossing it lightly into the pot with a clink. "Just a lonely silver, that's all this little one asks of me. No grand pile of wealth demanded. Just a humble, solitary silver." He chuckels, looking around at the others with twinkling eyes.
With a theatrical sigh and a dramatic hand to his forehead, Jack exclaims, "Oh, woe is me, Jack Everfrost, beloved of fey and friend of giants, dealt such a paltry card! Is this to be my fate? To freeze in the shadow of the mighty dragons that adorn these cards?" He eyes Thidrik and his card, as he interjects some banter, "Why Thidrik, with the frosty gleam in your eyes, I'd almost believe you were a white dragon yourself!"