Enter the Witch's Hut if you Dare!
For the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to have your future--yes, YOUR future--read!
Want to know if Jessica likes you back? Curious about how many kids you'll have? Wondering when you'll finally get to see your enemies driven before you and hear the lamentations of their women? Well wonder no more, for I, the mighty and marvellous Jadugar, have graciously decided to grace you all with my occult knowledge. Armed with everything from Tarot to geomancy, bibliomancy, and more, I am definitely able to 100% give you an answer to your question. Simply ask your query and quiver before my might as I pluck the answer directly from the Heavens--and, of course, do mention what you're planning to offer me in exchange for such mighty knowledge. Magic's not free, after all.
The Services
An answer, plain and true, to any question you put forward. Any. Of course, his services as a charm-seller are also available. Whether you want to know if that person likes you back or if you want to make sure they do, the Fortune Teller can be of aid.
The Setting
The entrance--any entrance, usually the door to a small and rickety hut, but just as likely a dark alleyway, a nondescript door set into a wall, and once even a person's own bathroom door--lead you to the stuff of fairy tales: a cramped little room stinking of incense covering up the more unpleasant smells made by unpleasant deeds, cramped further by shelves of curios, stacked books on the chalk-dusted floor, and pots of herbs hanging from the ceiling, the only clear space being a thin little path through the clutter that led to a chair before an ancient table that was just as packed as the rest of the room; and behind it on a chair of his own was a robed and cowled figure, his inexplicably rich fabrics occulting all except for a pair of inhuman eyes. "Welcome."
The Stipend
What use is money to a Witch that could conjure for themselves anything he desired? Besides, Jadugar's travels take him far, and metal discs that lose all their value once he crossed an imaginary line would just be dead weight to him. Of better use to him are curios and mystical reagents, or items of great emotional value to the querent, or even just something to whet his curiosity. Be creative.
The drifter didn't usually go in for this type of thing, thinking it nothing more than a way of bamboozling decent, hard-working folks out of their money. But he also had a few extra dollars burning a hole in his pocket, a couple shots of whiskey burning a hole in his good sense, and a lot of years of failure burning a hole in his heart. So he entered the hut.
He sat down and took off his hat, running a hand through his slightly greasy and thinning blonde hair. "uh... howdy..." he started uncertainly. "Don't rightly know where ta start. I been driftin' for awhile now - ever since I lost my Caroline back in '58 - lookin' for the man that killed her. Been from Mississippi ta Texas twice and up ta Wyomin' and now down ta Kansas and I ain't ever found nuthin' but rumors and dead ends. Sometimes it feels like I been chasin' a ghost."
He paused and rubbed at his mustache, something he did when he felt uneasy. "Some buddies a mine keep tellin' me ta stop lookin'. Ta let it go. And, lemme tell you, some days I sure am tempted. But then I think a Caroline... takin' her last breaths and I just..."
He paused. He wasn't even sure what exactly his question should be. He fiddled with the edge of his hat... on the verge of asking for something akin to permission to stop this fruitless search. But even now, over a decade later, the promise he'd made to his late wife stopped him. He'd promised her justice. Quitting was not an option he'd allow himself.
"How do I find the mudsill?"
He didn't have a lot to offer and hesitated before laying down a full day's wage of 2 dollars plus a worn metal badge engraved with the letters G.C.E. If he believed in magic - and he wasn't sure he did - that badge was the closest thing he owned to it.
He sat down and took off his hat, running a hand through his slightly greasy and thinning blonde hair. "uh... howdy..." he started uncertainly. "Don't rightly know where ta start. I been driftin' for awhile now - ever since I lost my Caroline back in '58 - lookin' for the man that killed her. Been from Mississippi ta Texas twice and up ta Wyomin' and now down ta Kansas and I ain't ever found nuthin' but rumors and dead ends. Sometimes it feels like I been chasin' a ghost."
He paused and rubbed at his mustache, something he did when he felt uneasy. "Some buddies a mine keep tellin' me ta stop lookin'. Ta let it go. And, lemme tell you, some days I sure am tempted. But then I think a Caroline... takin' her last breaths and I just..."
He paused. He wasn't even sure what exactly his question should be. He fiddled with the edge of his hat... on the verge of asking for something akin to permission to stop this fruitless search. But even now, over a decade later, the promise he'd made to his late wife stopped him. He'd promised her justice. Quitting was not an option he'd allow himself.
"How do I find the mudsill?"
He didn't have a lot to offer and hesitated before laying down a full day's wage of 2 dollars plus a worn metal badge engraved with the letters G.C.E. If he believed in magic - and he wasn't sure he did - that badge was the closest thing he owned to it.
Frank Efferson wrote:
"How do I find the mudsill?"
The hut was the stuff of fairy-tales: a cramped little room stinking of incense covering up the more unpleasant smells made by unpleasant deeds, cramped further by shelves of curios, stacked books on the chalk-dusted floor, and pots of herbs hanging from the ceiling, the only clear space being a thin little path through the clutter that led to a chair before an ancient table that was strangely clear of everything but a thin layer of sand in the centre; and behind it on a stool of his own was a robed and cowled figure, his inexplicably rich fabrics occulting all except for a pair of inhuman eyes.
"Welcome," he said--voice as warm yet hushed as the shifting desert sands--and then nothing else as the cowboy went on. Though his silence was finally broken by a short exhalation that might've been a laugh when Frank offered his payment. "Please, what can currency buy that I could not conjure?" He reached for the badge, though, careful to never let his hand slip into view from his sleeves, and pocketed it before he reached out again and his voluminous sleeves obscured the sand pile in the middle, and the unmistakable sound of claw scratching against wood began.
"Striving after your desire, stopping for neither time's march or man's doubt--I respect that. I see a bit of myself in you," he said by way of idle chat as the tapping and scratching under his sleeves continued. Finally, with a great flourish of his robes, he retrieved his arm and there, drawn against the sand, was a table.
"Puella in the Seventh House, House of enemies," the Witch announced, his eyes flicking towards the dot-dash-dot-dot patterned sign in the right-most triangle, "signifying many things. An upstairs room, perhaps in a workshop or factory floor, or the side of a hill. Look now how the same sign appears again in the Twelfth House"--now his eyes flicked to the top-left side of the chart--"meaning it lies in the East of South-East from where we are now." There was a moment of silence as the Witch's eyes jumped across the chart, widening in silent understanding. What was that flashing in his eyes? Dread? Excitement? Quick as a viper and just as unexpected, Jadugar's arm whipped across the table, scattering the sands before he settled back into his seat. "But... but that's all you have paid for," he said in a tone that brokered no argument. The sound of too-sharp nails rasping against a badge sounded from under the table. "I wish you luck on your journey, goodbye." Except that wasn't all there was. Despite his silence, the air felt crowded with his thoughts, his occult knowing pressing against his teeth until:
"Puella signifies a female companion, and it was in the Twelfth House which governs cloven animals--a woman here is watching your progress with your horse; I think it pleases her. The Eighth House, home of spirits, was filled by Populus, meaning there is a passive gathering by you. Its placement next to the house of this 'mudsill' implied a connection betwixt the two. Fortuna Minor, minor fortune, is in your Eleventh House, house of wishes, meaning your desire shall be granted by outside forces. The same sign appears in your Tenth House, the area of your reputation and placement in society--someone is helping you along your path from the background." He plucked one of the dollars off the table.
"Mrs. Caroline Efferson says hello."
Wyrd Sister's threads are now bound by the forecast; come now, what's the next question to be asked?
Frank listened attentively, looking at the strange symbols in the sand, trying to make heads or tails of it. South and southeast - that at least gave him a direction. Maybe he even needed to go east of the Mississippi River.
He was pondering over the bit about 'outside forces' - it was less than satisfying to think that the man would be brought to justice by someone other than himself, but if the end result was the same, he could content himself - when the witch gave the supposed message from Caroline. The drifter's eyes shot up to meet Jadugar's gaze, searching for any hint that it was just part of a charade. He desperately wanted to believe Caroline was there is some way.
He nodded, doing a poor job of keeping a fresh sense of determination from being painted all over his face. There was little doubt he'd be riding southeast first thing in the morning. " 'ppreciate the direction," he said as he got up, reaffixed his hat on his head, and headed back out.
(This was very cool! Thank you!!
)
He was pondering over the bit about 'outside forces' - it was less than satisfying to think that the man would be brought to justice by someone other than himself, but if the end result was the same, he could content himself - when the witch gave the supposed message from Caroline. The drifter's eyes shot up to meet Jadugar's gaze, searching for any hint that it was just part of a charade. He desperately wanted to believe Caroline was there is some way.
He nodded, doing a poor job of keeping a fresh sense of determination from being painted all over his face. There was little doubt he'd be riding southeast first thing in the morning. " 'ppreciate the direction," he said as he got up, reaffixed his hat on his head, and headed back out.
(This was very cool! Thank you!!
)
A tall, lean fox-like creature of snowy-white fur enters the hut, numerous fluffy tails twitching behind her. Her gaze darts around the room for a few moments, details of her eyes becoming indistinct blurs, before she seems satisfied and sits down in front of him. Any magical senses Jadugar has can readily sense a miasma of clean yet complex spellforms wrapped around his visitor. A very thorough array of defenses and detections.
She places a wooden case she had been carrying onto her lap and opens it, the lid lifting toward her to present the contents to the place's feline proprietor. There's a case of large test-tubes, each with a small bundle of fresh herbs and a neatly hand-written label, a sparkling red-orange rod that shimmers with incredibly minute and exact carvings, and a small bundle of what looks to be the client's own fur, held together by a string from which hangs a paper tag with a simple set of runes inked onto it.
"I'll start with what I'm offering, because we may as well get that out of the way," she says, tone business-like and straightforward, but in that way that suggests that it's to hide how she's feeling, "Preferably one of these three, though it can be more if it turns out my question is more complex than I thought. These herbs are from the Great Wood of my home world. Richly magical, exotic, and including a bit of documentation on their typical uses in Nine Paths, UMT, and traditions in the area. This rod is natural sunstone, nanite-carved into a thaumic amplification resonator, made to let a continually channeled spell build on itself more and more quickly until release or dismissal. Lastly, the fur-bundle represents an exchange of services. You make use of your expertise here and now for me, I provide an equivalent service in my own field of expertise for you later. They're there for you to think about while I ask what I came to ask."
She takes a breath, sighs, takes a moment to compose herself, and then locks her gaze with the other practitioner. "I've always been the kind of person to go with the flow of things. I outsmart it, play with it, whatever, but I've mostly wound up letting whatever's happening right now guide me, yunno? Shockingly, I've managed to get away with that long enough that I can make my own choices now, but most people I know want me to do what makes me happy or drives me toward my goals," she explains, seeming thoroughly exasperated as she flops back slightly against the chair, "Don't get me wrong, I appreciate it, but unfortunately for them and probably also me, I don't actually know what I want in the broader sense... though I think I have some ideas. So, question is, in terms of predictions, fatelines, probabilities, and the like: Should I pursue power, thrills and moments, stability, secrets, or something else? And in case you were going to say it, I already know this is the wrong question. Either way, it's the one I want answered."
She places a wooden case she had been carrying onto her lap and opens it, the lid lifting toward her to present the contents to the place's feline proprietor. There's a case of large test-tubes, each with a small bundle of fresh herbs and a neatly hand-written label, a sparkling red-orange rod that shimmers with incredibly minute and exact carvings, and a small bundle of what looks to be the client's own fur, held together by a string from which hangs a paper tag with a simple set of runes inked onto it.
"I'll start with what I'm offering, because we may as well get that out of the way," she says, tone business-like and straightforward, but in that way that suggests that it's to hide how she's feeling, "Preferably one of these three, though it can be more if it turns out my question is more complex than I thought. These herbs are from the Great Wood of my home world. Richly magical, exotic, and including a bit of documentation on their typical uses in Nine Paths, UMT, and traditions in the area. This rod is natural sunstone, nanite-carved into a thaumic amplification resonator, made to let a continually channeled spell build on itself more and more quickly until release or dismissal. Lastly, the fur-bundle represents an exchange of services. You make use of your expertise here and now for me, I provide an equivalent service in my own field of expertise for you later. They're there for you to think about while I ask what I came to ask."
She takes a breath, sighs, takes a moment to compose herself, and then locks her gaze with the other practitioner. "I've always been the kind of person to go with the flow of things. I outsmart it, play with it, whatever, but I've mostly wound up letting whatever's happening right now guide me, yunno? Shockingly, I've managed to get away with that long enough that I can make my own choices now, but most people I know want me to do what makes me happy or drives me toward my goals," she explains, seeming thoroughly exasperated as she flops back slightly against the chair, "Don't get me wrong, I appreciate it, but unfortunately for them and probably also me, I don't actually know what I want in the broader sense... though I think I have some ideas. So, question is, in terms of predictions, fatelines, probabilities, and the like: Should I pursue power, thrills and moments, stability, secrets, or something else? And in case you were going to say it, I already know this is the wrong question. Either way, it's the one I want answered."
" Okay kitty cat I usually don't trust this kind of junk, but I am willing to right now. " Amber said as she enters the hut wearing her normal outfit with a Ghostbusters hoodie tied around her waist with a serious look on her face. She walks up to the table and looks at the robed figure himself " Listen pal I work with the government and with my job we have to deal space and stuff like that. I am also known as the queen of pranks too. I was wondering if I am going to be able pull any big pranks due to my job. " Amber said thinking how she can pay the person when she gets a idea " An in return I can tell you a fun fact "
Victi Aurora Silverfur wrote:
Should I pursue power, thrills and moments, stability, secrets, or something else?
The hut was in much the same state of disarray that inexplicably looked perfectly composed, Jadugar just as expertly posed with his hood on and eyes narrowed in beckoning intrigue. But at the first sight of Victi's fur, relaxation seemed to loosen Jadugar's joints as he pulled off his veil with a sigh of relief. "Ah, someone like I," he said, smiling that fanged smile, then, at the first whiff of the wards, it only seemed to grow more pointed, "in more ways than one."
He gestured for her to sit, feigning playful disinterest as she opened the case and explained herself, Jadugar trying his best to not let the hunger in his eyes show too much. What miracles he could work with even one of those! But the prospect of all three? He bit back the desire to thieve them all as he conjured--perhaps literally--a deck of cards from his sleeve. "The fur, the rod, and the herbs, in that order," he said as casually as he could while shuffling, "though the answer seems perfectly plain to me. Why even be a magician if one isn't spurred forward by a ceaseless thirst for knowledge and power? But that's just what I think, and the cards?"
Onto the desk still gritty with the sand from his last divination, Jadugar set down a card.
"Another approaches. As for you: perhaps it's time you take up your sword again and--how do they say it?--fly free, hm?"
Quote:
[. . .] I was wondering if I am going to be able pull any big pranks due to my job."
The Witch was distractedly twirling a bundle of fur in his claws when Amber approached, the theatrics seemingly done for tonight, a certain magic missing from the scene, chased away by the abruptness of Amber's entrance. The hut was no longer a mysterious, mythical room piled high with secrets and occult workings, it was just the cluttered little shack of a hoarder.
He hardly moved when Amber made her demands, choosing to merely slide his piercing gaze over her. "The government, eh? Which sort? The ones who'd burn me, entrap me for experiments, or just undo everything I try to work? Takes a lot of gall to come to me with that as your first impression." Though a smile spread on his face despite his biting words as he set the fur aside and sat straight-backed again, drawing forth a thick book from somewhere under the table. "But, what better way to curry your favour by doing you this good deed, yes?" Placing it on its spine and holding it upwards and closed, Jadugar began, "Divan-e Hafez, perhaps the finest collection of mystical poetry to grace the tongues of man. This is less a book and more a portal to the Cosmic Harmony itself. Revel in its wisdom." With that, he let the book fall open to read:
ناصح به طعن گفت که رو ترک عشق کن
محـتاج جنـگ نیست برادر نمیکنم
محـتاج جنـگ نیست برادر نمیکنم
" 'The worldly wise advised me to leave love behind; I need not fight myself, why make my soul misaligned?' " Jadugar translated in reverent tones. "Seems clear to me, no? Leave your love behind. An opportunity to prank shall come, but you would be wise to ignore it lest you harm yourself or others, 'misaligning' that soul of yours." He leaned forward and rested his chin on inter-woven fingers. "Now, my fun fact? Better be a real fun one, you wouldn't like to know what happens when a Witch goes improperly compensated."
A rather large though not problematically so sized head pocked into the tent, with a single clawed foot a flower in a pot was placed onto the table a very strange one. "I h-h-heard you could peer into the future. W-w-will this flower do?" he had a stutter, rather nervous for a dragon too. "I-it took me a while to grow it. lots of love in care. the petals c-c-can heal terrible wounds. i'd like to know if I'll ever get over my fear of groups of people."
She wasn't sure why her steps had directed her toward the Witch's hut of all places. She wouldn't hide behind her overtly excited children's enthusiasm, because little Chiara and Reyn - she an antropomorphic arctic vixen, her brother a toddling silver fox kit with splotches of white on his muzzle and tufts of dark blue hair - were happily dragging their mother now this, now that way, as the fancy caught them - and little infant Rosalba, asleep in her mother's arms, wasn't even aware of her surroundings. But even though the children were eyeing the hut curiously, their little snoots sniffing the air to get a clearer idea of what this place was... it hadn't been because of them alone that she headed toward the entrance. She couldn't have sworn in full honesty that she hadn't seen the hut first - with her children only followed her lead.
Why? What is it that you seek? She wasn't even sure whether she believed in magic, or arcane powers, or anything beyond the visible, tangible world, where an enemy could be slain with a blade or a rifle blast, where friendships could be built and bridges could be burned with the same ease, and where a former, lost little pirate girl was still trying to find her way in a world where the fox would not come with the winter.
Was she really hoping to find.... what? Answers? Guidance? A direction? A hope, or the umpteenth stab in the heart to which she wouldn't, she couldn't surrender, no matter how many times her heart was left open and bleeding in the process? Foolish girl, willing to find some comfort from your agony even in a feeble shape seen through smoke that might look like... that might resemble... him. She bit her lower lip, and had to blink off tears remembering something she had once told the father of her creatures: "In a hour, or a night, or tomorrow you'll be gone, and all I'll be left with will be the memories of these instants, so forgive me if I can't stop looking at you, breathing every word that you say, living every of our minutes together like it's the last.... when you'll be gone, I won't have anything else but these memories to support me when I-I..." and then her voice had broken and she had stared at him with tear-filled eyes and-
Stop it. She had to steady herself on the hut's entrance for a moment, as the rush of memories, regrets, the heartache and the worries threatened to overwhelm her. For a long time now she had learned that there was no way she could "cope" with all she carried in her head and heart, excet by shutting both, temporarily, to every painful memory that washed upon her like a tsunami wave. Breathe in, breathe out, wait until the tide has turned. The storm within lasted for perhaps two heartbeats; then she walked in the dark interior of the hut, squinting her eyes behind the fox-like mask to see better in the dark.
"Don't touch anything", she gently whispered to her kids, already seeing their youthful curiosity was drawn to this new, strange place. "Remember, these things aren't ours." Making sure neither of the oldest left her side, and with her tiny newborn in her arms, she sat before the hooded Witch. But her eyes were not looking at Jadugar; rather, she seemed to contemplate the table without really seeing it. And at length, without looking up, she spoke.
"The material things I could trade are not really 'mine' in a... significant way. I could offer you riches, antiques, trinkets, all of which mean nothing at all to me. It's not something I've ever wanted for myself, either. It just.... came with the bundle, of my heritage when I was born, and of safety when I decided to return to that world.... to protect my family. And what's the point of trading something that has no worth even in the trader's eyes, anyway?" After a moment, she drew a single, yellow rose from her kimono; she had bought it just a little before from a street vendor, as an impulse buy, wondering why, wondering why yellow - but now everything seemed to fall into place as she looked up to meet Jadugar's eyes. "What I offer", she said quietly, her expression impassive, "is a promise. Of loyalty, of an armed hand if it should be needed, of secrecy should you ever depend on it, of protection or revenge or scavenge, or pretty much any service an ex-space pirate, ex-kunoichi, ex-wild card can offer. In other words... a debt of gratitude, if you will have it. When I will see a yellow rose like this on my path, I will know I'm being called to my oath, and that you are the one calling."
Now came the difficult part; voicing out the questions she wasn't even sure she herself understood. "What I want to know is...." too many words fastened upon her, too many scenarios. Focus. "... I don't know where I am going", she said at length. "If I'm doing the right things. Well... I guess that's the concern of about every parent out there. But..." hesitating, she struggled a little with words, slipping now and then in a Japanese or Italian term, quickly correcting herself the next moment. "There are things that I can't bear to think of, never in la mia vita - in my life... and some that I can't even bear to think about. Because... because kage no nai hikari... t-there's no light without shadow, no shadow without light... and for this I can't, I won't stop searching... but sometimes I wonder if I'm not a deluded fool for still hoping-" She caught herself, blew a deep breath through clenched teeth, and started again. "No, it makes no sense like this. What I want to know is.... if all that I had to guide my compass in the starlight night was a single word, would that word be..." she breathed it with almost painful intensity, as if drawing it directly from her heart, "...hope?"
Why? What is it that you seek? She wasn't even sure whether she believed in magic, or arcane powers, or anything beyond the visible, tangible world, where an enemy could be slain with a blade or a rifle blast, where friendships could be built and bridges could be burned with the same ease, and where a former, lost little pirate girl was still trying to find her way in a world where the fox would not come with the winter.
Was she really hoping to find.... what? Answers? Guidance? A direction? A hope, or the umpteenth stab in the heart to which she wouldn't, she couldn't surrender, no matter how many times her heart was left open and bleeding in the process? Foolish girl, willing to find some comfort from your agony even in a feeble shape seen through smoke that might look like... that might resemble... him. She bit her lower lip, and had to blink off tears remembering something she had once told the father of her creatures: "In a hour, or a night, or tomorrow you'll be gone, and all I'll be left with will be the memories of these instants, so forgive me if I can't stop looking at you, breathing every word that you say, living every of our minutes together like it's the last.... when you'll be gone, I won't have anything else but these memories to support me when I-I..." and then her voice had broken and she had stared at him with tear-filled eyes and-
Stop it. She had to steady herself on the hut's entrance for a moment, as the rush of memories, regrets, the heartache and the worries threatened to overwhelm her. For a long time now she had learned that there was no way she could "cope" with all she carried in her head and heart, excet by shutting both, temporarily, to every painful memory that washed upon her like a tsunami wave. Breathe in, breathe out, wait until the tide has turned. The storm within lasted for perhaps two heartbeats; then she walked in the dark interior of the hut, squinting her eyes behind the fox-like mask to see better in the dark.
"Don't touch anything", she gently whispered to her kids, already seeing their youthful curiosity was drawn to this new, strange place. "Remember, these things aren't ours." Making sure neither of the oldest left her side, and with her tiny newborn in her arms, she sat before the hooded Witch. But her eyes were not looking at Jadugar; rather, she seemed to contemplate the table without really seeing it. And at length, without looking up, she spoke.
"The material things I could trade are not really 'mine' in a... significant way. I could offer you riches, antiques, trinkets, all of which mean nothing at all to me. It's not something I've ever wanted for myself, either. It just.... came with the bundle, of my heritage when I was born, and of safety when I decided to return to that world.... to protect my family. And what's the point of trading something that has no worth even in the trader's eyes, anyway?" After a moment, she drew a single, yellow rose from her kimono; she had bought it just a little before from a street vendor, as an impulse buy, wondering why, wondering why yellow - but now everything seemed to fall into place as she looked up to meet Jadugar's eyes. "What I offer", she said quietly, her expression impassive, "is a promise. Of loyalty, of an armed hand if it should be needed, of secrecy should you ever depend on it, of protection or revenge or scavenge, or pretty much any service an ex-space pirate, ex-kunoichi, ex-wild card can offer. In other words... a debt of gratitude, if you will have it. When I will see a yellow rose like this on my path, I will know I'm being called to my oath, and that you are the one calling."
Now came the difficult part; voicing out the questions she wasn't even sure she herself understood. "What I want to know is...." too many words fastened upon her, too many scenarios. Focus. "... I don't know where I am going", she said at length. "If I'm doing the right things. Well... I guess that's the concern of about every parent out there. But..." hesitating, she struggled a little with words, slipping now and then in a Japanese or Italian term, quickly correcting herself the next moment. "There are things that I can't bear to think of, never in la mia vita - in my life... and some that I can't even bear to think about. Because... because kage no nai hikari... t-there's no light without shadow, no shadow without light... and for this I can't, I won't stop searching... but sometimes I wonder if I'm not a deluded fool for still hoping-" She caught herself, blew a deep breath through clenched teeth, and started again. "No, it makes no sense like this. What I want to know is.... if all that I had to guide my compass in the starlight night was a single word, would that word be..." she breathed it with almost painful intensity, as if drawing it directly from her heart, "...hope?"
Andorthal wrote:
[. . .] i'd like to know if I'll ever get over my fear of groups of people."
Jadugar was certainly no stranger to the strange. He's had death-defying feats involving teatime with fairies and pleasant evenings sulking about graveyards with the undead, but still, having a dragon of all creatures barge into one's shop does set a person on edge. But Jadugar, ever flexible, calmed almost instantly, taking his hand off his dagger hilt and the snarl off his face while he smoothed down his bristled fur. "Straight to business, I see. Much unlike my usual customers, they seem to come in with an autobiography prepared." He attempted a casual laugh and peered down at the flower, gingerly prodding petal and stem with a, "Hmm, yes, this shall do nicely. Now, let's see, what fortune is in store for you?"
He turned to the open Divan-e Hafez from his previous divination and lifted the book again, letting it drop unceremoniously upon the table.
" 'My heart was a treasure chest of secrets, the hands of fate; Closed and locked and its key, to my Beloved bade,' " he translated gravely. He clucked his tongue in sympathy and shut the book. "Ah well! What fate deems to be left unchanged, magic can modify. For a price, of course. My cottage door is always open if you're interested in purchasing a few draughts of liquid luck--just make sure to give me warning beforehand so I can get the proper dosage for someone of your, er, size ready."
Quote:
"...hope?"
Jadugar took the yellow flower, twisting it in his fingers with an arched eyebrow. The table was much messier this time, crowded with tomes and parchment and oddly coloured vials; all manner of curios to attract the wandering eye of a child away from grimmer matters. "You're the second person to offer me a good deed in return for my services. But she was a fellow mage, I could trust her to know the gravitas of her own words. But you, you come to me in desperation," he said so softly, words only for Light's ears. A claw surreptitiously tapped at a hitherto unnoticed card amongst the clutter of the table.
"The hurlyburly's done, the battle lost and won. You're in a 'good' situation, but no hope is left for you now. There were... casualties, I'm assuming. How can I take the word of someone in this current state? I do not weep for you--I have witnessed, and caused, tragedies greater than this--but when your time of healing comes, and it shall, will you, when sober yet scarred but still standing, keep your freely given word?" You shall. The very weight of the thought made the house creaked just then, as if the walls began to loom inside from every side like co-conspirators.
He moved aside the V of Swords to reveal the deeper layer of the answer just a card under.
"You seek your North Star, but the night sky is abundant with flickering lights. Hope is lost now, you are drifting aimlessly at sea with a broken compass; a thousand and one paths unfurl before you, the question is which to take. Horrors await you at the end of some, joy in some others, but all the paths lead forward--there's no returning to what was."
He leaned back into his seat, turning away from Light to offer the young ones a gentle little smile as he set the yellow flower to join the dragon's in the pot on the table. A silence budded in the space between his words, so fragile as to make Jadugar's voice sound like the shout when he returned to a conversational tone. "But! Praise the Divine Source, you are healthy and with fit children growing like weeds; and ah, what's this?" He reached over behind the baby's ear and drew out a little golden coin embossed with the curious swirls of his home land's writing. "Ah! An omen of wealth! Your little ones shall be fruitful indeed. Please, as a token of my appreciation of your coming, keep the coin; perhaps it shall prove powerful as a talisman."
And such was the sweet tone he tempered the ruinous reading with. And, if curiosity ever enticed a closer look at the coin, perhaps one could make out a strange little eye engraved at the edge--or see it blink.
Opening a door did not take that much effort. Xihuitl needed only to wrap her feathery fingers around the handle and turn it. It would have been as easy as approaching a Star Gazer with a question, in the same sense. In her youth, she had practically leaned on the priests whenever she had any sort of woe that bore terrible weights in her heart. It gave her so much comfort that she often relied more on words of their god than the words of her own parents.
So why was it so dreadfully difficult now?
Yellow feathers raised and ruffled as Xihuitl shook her head. She used this opportunity to collect her courage. Her thoughts drifted as freely as the powder down puffs that fell from her body. An arm raised, clutching the thick leather-bound tome she carried to her flat chest.
And soon enough, the door had opened and she was inside. Dark eyes gleaned the shelves as she head for the table at which the mage resided. Her crest flattened as she straightened her back, tome still tightly embraced. Her throat clears.
"I am Xihuitl of the Axalocua," the psittacine maiden declared. She spoke regardless of if these names were meaningless to the witch or not. "I have come seeking your divination services. I had pondered. . . if they differed much from my own people's. With a question in mind, maybe. . . maybe I can find an answer to both these things."
The tome is set on the table as gently as she can feasibly manage. Despite the bindings of hide and the bookmarks of faded colors, the book itself seems in fairly good shape. Almost brand new.
"As payment for your services, I. . . I, uh."
Why now? Why did her heart pound so?
"I present to you one of my own works. A compilation of Avian botanical developments, translated into the common tongue. Many of these plants - or for some, their relatives - can be found on your planet. It features each plant's medical and ritual applications, so, um. I do hope you will find it of use."
A quick bow of her crested head followed.
"Uh, so, with pleasantries out of the way. . . I bear upon you my question. It is a little, um, vague, but. . ." A breath. "Will I be able to reconcile with an important elder in my life, at any point in time? I fear I have made him terribly cross. And then I left him. But when I am ready, I truly wish to make amends. . . oh, and-! Thank you for your time and wisdom!"
So why was it so dreadfully difficult now?
Yellow feathers raised and ruffled as Xihuitl shook her head. She used this opportunity to collect her courage. Her thoughts drifted as freely as the powder down puffs that fell from her body. An arm raised, clutching the thick leather-bound tome she carried to her flat chest.
And soon enough, the door had opened and she was inside. Dark eyes gleaned the shelves as she head for the table at which the mage resided. Her crest flattened as she straightened her back, tome still tightly embraced. Her throat clears.
"I am Xihuitl of the Axalocua," the psittacine maiden declared. She spoke regardless of if these names were meaningless to the witch or not. "I have come seeking your divination services. I had pondered. . . if they differed much from my own people's. With a question in mind, maybe. . . maybe I can find an answer to both these things."
The tome is set on the table as gently as she can feasibly manage. Despite the bindings of hide and the bookmarks of faded colors, the book itself seems in fairly good shape. Almost brand new.
"As payment for your services, I. . . I, uh."
Why now? Why did her heart pound so?
"I present to you one of my own works. A compilation of Avian botanical developments, translated into the common tongue. Many of these plants - or for some, their relatives - can be found on your planet. It features each plant's medical and ritual applications, so, um. I do hope you will find it of use."
A quick bow of her crested head followed.
"Uh, so, with pleasantries out of the way. . . I bear upon you my question. It is a little, um, vague, but. . ." A breath. "Will I be able to reconcile with an important elder in my life, at any point in time? I fear I have made him terribly cross. And then I left him. But when I am ready, I truly wish to make amends. . . oh, and-! Thank you for your time and wisdom!"
(That was absolutely cool!! 
)
She listened with her head bent slightly foward, her gaze once more wandering in the mist of her own memories - or was it on the trail of the Witch's words? Only at the mention of the North Star there was an imperceptible tension in her shoulders, a moment that spoke of breath held back... in dread, or simply to suffocate a sob?
But then he spoke of her path leading foward... and while the great horrors option was the one she had been dreading, the joys one rekindled the flame that sometimes flickered more and more feebly. Not the hope I was praying for... but the one's that pushed me again and again to not give up. All is still within the realm of possibilities. And in that, she realize, laid exactly the one hope she was praying for. Not a yes.... but not even a set-in-stone, definite, unmistakeable 'no'. That's all I need to know.
She had been about to say something in thanks when the mage's attention was momentarily drawn to her children - and, to her instant relief, not with the irritation that some adults displayed. Reyn's eyes widened in surprise when Jadugar pulled a coin out from behind his black-tipped hair. "Mummy, look!" he exclaimed in awe. His mother ruffled his hair lovingly, took the coin in his stead simply to avoid that a little toddler fox kid, with the curiosity of both species in him, could try to eat it.
"I'll make it a necklace for my child to wear. You have my thanks", she said quietly, before turning to look Jadugar in the eyes. And this time there was a subtlest change behind the vixen mask; as though the lost mariner at sea was now confident of reaching the shore someday, as the storm began to weather. There was a new light in her eyes, something bolder that might, or might not, have been there many years before, and missing for... years, now. From the sleeve of her kimono she produced a laminated, intricately decorated personal card and placed it on the table.
"A flower's just a symbol, a token of a promise. This will work better. Get in touch, if you ever think I can in any small way be as helpful to you as you were to me today. No matter what befalls or to what horizon my compass leads me; I'll heed your call. On my oath", she promised, before turning back to her children. "Come, sweethearts... let's be on our way."
)She listened with her head bent slightly foward, her gaze once more wandering in the mist of her own memories - or was it on the trail of the Witch's words? Only at the mention of the North Star there was an imperceptible tension in her shoulders, a moment that spoke of breath held back... in dread, or simply to suffocate a sob?
But then he spoke of her path leading foward... and while the great horrors option was the one she had been dreading, the joys one rekindled the flame that sometimes flickered more and more feebly. Not the hope I was praying for... but the one's that pushed me again and again to not give up. All is still within the realm of possibilities. And in that, she realize, laid exactly the one hope she was praying for. Not a yes.... but not even a set-in-stone, definite, unmistakeable 'no'. That's all I need to know.
She had been about to say something in thanks when the mage's attention was momentarily drawn to her children - and, to her instant relief, not with the irritation that some adults displayed. Reyn's eyes widened in surprise when Jadugar pulled a coin out from behind his black-tipped hair. "Mummy, look!" he exclaimed in awe. His mother ruffled his hair lovingly, took the coin in his stead simply to avoid that a little toddler fox kid, with the curiosity of both species in him, could try to eat it.
"I'll make it a necklace for my child to wear. You have my thanks", she said quietly, before turning to look Jadugar in the eyes. And this time there was a subtlest change behind the vixen mask; as though the lost mariner at sea was now confident of reaching the shore someday, as the storm began to weather. There was a new light in her eyes, something bolder that might, or might not, have been there many years before, and missing for... years, now. From the sleeve of her kimono she produced a laminated, intricately decorated personal card and placed it on the table.
"A flower's just a symbol, a token of a promise. This will work better. Get in touch, if you ever think I can in any small way be as helpful to you as you were to me today. No matter what befalls or to what horizon my compass leads me; I'll heed your call. On my oath", she promised, before turning back to her children. "Come, sweethearts... let's be on our way."
Xihuitl of the Axalocua wrote:
"Will I be able to reconcile with an important elder in my life, at any point in time?"
Jadugar straightened a little bit at the first flash of the yellow feathers, smiling pleasantly and without teeth on instinct. Avian customers always set him on edge since he tended to set them on edge, and usually he'd welcome the quivering--intimidation is such a wonderful tool when attempting to wrest a few more coins from a customer--but, approximating the actual saying, little birdies are very apt at telling; and whoever coined "no such thing as bad publicity" had clearly never considered how easy it is to kick off a witch-hunt.
But something of the plastic salesman smile faded when Jadugar detected it, and his fangs showed in a hungry grin. It was like the scent-marked territory of dogs, utterly noxious and yet all the more alluring to cross for it. It was the favour of a god; and in the flavour of chicken.
"Hail Kluex," he said by way of greeting, accepting the book with a gracious nod. The knowledge within was utterly useless; Jadugar had memorised a thousand different ritual uses of plants and had dozens of ways to draw out the occult virtues of any new ones he came across, but the book held what any other encyclopedia couldn't: sentiment. He could almost feel the electric hum of the hours of devotion that was poured into collecting the work.
"Quite impressive," he purred as he flipped through it, "this shall be payment enough. As for the services rendered in return, well, I am privvy to many divinatory arts: geomancy, astrology, omen-reading, and more. But why not use something closer to you, hm?" He raised the book a few inches off the table, and with a mumbled incantation to Kluex (just loud enough for the avian to catch the name), he let the book drop (by which I mean I clicked random article on Wikipedia till I hit a plant). And with a thud that echoed through the hut despite the clutter, the book fell open to a picture of a shy little white flower peeking out of its own thin leaves.
"Eucrypta, meaning 'well-hidden,' " Jadugar read with a teasing smirk, "its rare nature that flowers only annually does not bode much hope for your case." He shut the book with a delibretly slow motion, eyes shut in solemn silence as if closing a coffin on the matter. Then: "But." And here he leaned in, voice dropped into a conspiratol whisper. "A little charm's all you'd need to change their attitude towards you; blessed by Kluex, of course. I wouldn't dream of giving sorcery to such as one of you," he added while already thinking up which black demons to conjure for this purpose. "Discounted, too, as thanks for the wonderful gift of your book. I shan't expect you to come to a decision now, but when you're ready to employ my more... direct services, I'll know."
And so another seed of sorcery was sown into the soul of another supplicator of the sacred, hardly the first, never the last.
The traditional greeting caught the Avian by surprise, of which she at least manage to veil behind pleasantly mild interest. She could experience both at the same time, couldn't she?
Then, what truly sucked her in, what made her gaze grow intense with mesmerization was the usage of the tome she created as a divination tool. Of course, she didn't expect the witch to use the same methods the Stargazers do; their ways of the divining feathers was a sacred art that can't be mimicked. It didn't stop there either, as they spend many years perfecting the craft of oneiromancy, especially to select an Ascendant.
Deep down, did she even trust their methods? Were they actually wrong in these sorts of things? Would the witch be wrong, too?
And thus, Xihuitl had her answer. The bold text of Eucrypta in her own handwriting hit oddly close to home. There existed an uncanny feeling that made her crest flatten and her neck feathers stand on end. Unfortunately, he's right. This didn't bode well at all. The truth being revealed was very likely. Under what circumstances could she ever return home in the first place? Under what circumstances would the elder leave?
Her lids lower slightly and her feathers flatten. She looked oddly small this. In the witch's eyes, possibly even more vulnerable.
"I-I see what you mean," she responded. Despite her expression, she didn't sound all that disappointed. As though she was expecting it. "I will keep your services in mind. I thank you. . . for your kind offering."
Blessings of Kluex from a non-Avian was like going to a non-Novakid for the gas-people's 'sunshine' beverage. Not only was it difficult to believe one could make it, but it would be difficult - even displeasing - for a native to consume it. Almost like a bootleg.
Determining that even mere thoughts of this was impolite, Xihuitl outwardly bowed her head.
"I appreciate your time. I have gained much enlightenment since I came here. . . until Kluex deems it fit that we cross paths again, I bid you His blessings and fare well."
A soft rustling of feathers preceded a fading of bright yellow back into the shadows. The image of a delicate white flower, drawn by her own hand, was burned into her mind.
Then, what truly sucked her in, what made her gaze grow intense with mesmerization was the usage of the tome she created as a divination tool. Of course, she didn't expect the witch to use the same methods the Stargazers do; their ways of the divining feathers was a sacred art that can't be mimicked. It didn't stop there either, as they spend many years perfecting the craft of oneiromancy, especially to select an Ascendant.
Deep down, did she even trust their methods? Were they actually wrong in these sorts of things? Would the witch be wrong, too?
And thus, Xihuitl had her answer. The bold text of Eucrypta in her own handwriting hit oddly close to home. There existed an uncanny feeling that made her crest flatten and her neck feathers stand on end. Unfortunately, he's right. This didn't bode well at all. The truth being revealed was very likely. Under what circumstances could she ever return home in the first place? Under what circumstances would the elder leave?
Her lids lower slightly and her feathers flatten. She looked oddly small this. In the witch's eyes, possibly even more vulnerable.
"I-I see what you mean," she responded. Despite her expression, she didn't sound all that disappointed. As though she was expecting it. "I will keep your services in mind. I thank you. . . for your kind offering."
Blessings of Kluex from a non-Avian was like going to a non-Novakid for the gas-people's 'sunshine' beverage. Not only was it difficult to believe one could make it, but it would be difficult - even displeasing - for a native to consume it. Almost like a bootleg.
Determining that even mere thoughts of this was impolite, Xihuitl outwardly bowed her head.
"I appreciate your time. I have gained much enlightenment since I came here. . . until Kluex deems it fit that we cross paths again, I bid you His blessings and fare well."
A soft rustling of feathers preceded a fading of bright yellow back into the shadows. The image of a delicate white flower, drawn by her own hand, was burned into her mind.
Cornelius ducks under the doorway as he steps into the witch's hut. Brilliant green eyes, set behind wiry frames, study the room. He rolls his broad shoulders and shudders. Lifting a hand, the Librarian wipes a cold sweat from his brow and runs his fingers through his shocking white hair. Phantom weight, as he half-jokingly calls it, sits on his chest, crushing his lungs and squeezing his heart, instilling a writhing discomfort surrounding the small space he's packed himself into, both in terms of the modest hut and this human form.
He masks his nerves with an innocently crooked, pearly-white smile. In his other hand he clutches the first half of his payment: an iridescent blue scale. Cornelius runs his thumb over its surface, finding comfort in the little sparks of magic that greet his fingertips. A potent ingredient, indeed.
He takes a seat opposite his host and lays the scale on the table. Then he reaches inside his coat and adds a small bag to the offering. The metallic clink-click it makes suggests it contains a significantly more conventional form of payment.
"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance," he begins. "My time here will have to be kept short. I have another engagement tonight which I cannot afford to miss."
"Let me explain my payment here. Inside the bag is a rather regular form of compensation: coins. But this..." he makes a grand sweeping gesture over the scale. "...is a dragon's scale, and not just any dragon's scale, but one belonging to a descendent of an ancient lineage believed to have gone extinct centuries ago. Artifacts such as this make marvelously potent ingredients in a variety of brews and enchantments. Though perhaps you'll find it more valuable as a collectible, or a source of primal magic in a pinch. I don't mind parting with it in exchange for your services. Between you and me, I've quite a few scales to spare."
The quiet laughter that follows his last comment feels hollow. Slowly, he slumps forward, sinking to the witch's eye level. "Now, as to my reason for approaching you. I'm engaged to be married within the fortnight. I have precious little second thoughts or regrets. I love my fiancé. He's...he's a wonderful man. Compassionate, charming, brilliantly clever...-" a rosy hue blossoms across his pale cheeks, then he catches himself and politely clears his throat. "Excuse me, I need to get to the point."
"He is m-" Mortal, Cornelius almost says, but he stops himself. "-ill, terminally so, and I expect to be able to spend very little time with him before..." he trails off, leaving the implications to hang tense in the air like an executioner's blade moments before it swings.
"He and I will likely not be able to grow old together. My question for you is, will my brief time with him be worthwhile?"
He masks his nerves with an innocently crooked, pearly-white smile. In his other hand he clutches the first half of his payment: an iridescent blue scale. Cornelius runs his thumb over its surface, finding comfort in the little sparks of magic that greet his fingertips. A potent ingredient, indeed.
He takes a seat opposite his host and lays the scale on the table. Then he reaches inside his coat and adds a small bag to the offering. The metallic clink-click it makes suggests it contains a significantly more conventional form of payment.
"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance," he begins. "My time here will have to be kept short. I have another engagement tonight which I cannot afford to miss."
"Let me explain my payment here. Inside the bag is a rather regular form of compensation: coins. But this..." he makes a grand sweeping gesture over the scale. "...is a dragon's scale, and not just any dragon's scale, but one belonging to a descendent of an ancient lineage believed to have gone extinct centuries ago. Artifacts such as this make marvelously potent ingredients in a variety of brews and enchantments. Though perhaps you'll find it more valuable as a collectible, or a source of primal magic in a pinch. I don't mind parting with it in exchange for your services. Between you and me, I've quite a few scales to spare."
The quiet laughter that follows his last comment feels hollow. Slowly, he slumps forward, sinking to the witch's eye level. "Now, as to my reason for approaching you. I'm engaged to be married within the fortnight. I have precious little second thoughts or regrets. I love my fiancé. He's...he's a wonderful man. Compassionate, charming, brilliantly clever...-" a rosy hue blossoms across his pale cheeks, then he catches himself and politely clears his throat. "Excuse me, I need to get to the point."
"He is m-" Mortal, Cornelius almost says, but he stops himself. "-ill, terminally so, and I expect to be able to spend very little time with him before..." he trails off, leaving the implications to hang tense in the air like an executioner's blade moments before it swings.
"He and I will likely not be able to grow old together. My question for you is, will my brief time with him be worthwhile?"
Cornelius wrote:
My question for you is, will my brief time with him be worthwhile?"
An oft understated benefit to the craft is the unparalleled subtly and universality. Once a magician realizes the axiom of "magic resides in everything," they can move away from merely manipulating the world and begin conspiring with it. To that end, he had his hut.
Lurking beneath the seemingly mundanely cluttered room was a complicated and constant exchange between himself and the world. Damp floors heralded storms, milk souring warned of trouble--and having the whole hut creak as if settled upon by a heavy weight screamed to stay alert. And so off he went tidying the desk, scattering a fresh layer of sand on it for his ilm-al-rammal, sprinkling salt on the doorway, and shifting aside the loose floorboards to scratch sigils under them with his claw--symbols for calm and cursing alike, for Gods knew what was gathering beyond his door; but gleaning the specifics of the presence through the omens of his hut was like attempting to reflect the whole of the night sky into a mirror. But as he sat there behind his desk, posed to exude precisely the aura of a coy yet competent conjurer, seeing nothing but a wiry, white-haired man walk through his door didn't even make him shift his expression in surprise. It was a competent disguise, however, like the flame in a hooded lamp, he could still sense the heat; but with the power the amulet radiated, it felt more akin to trying to pick out the last of the night's stars from the glare of the morning sun. Something was there, he knew it even if he couldn't find it.
But ah, a man with such a treasure would surely sense such prying, and so he feigned ignorance and quit his investigation despite the churning desire in his gut to lunge forward and tear the amulet away. There'd be time for such things yet. For now, he nodded along pleasantly and faked impressed "ahh!"'s as Cornelius went on about the properties of the scale. Primal magic, what unrefined, superstitious craft, he thought as he drummed his clawed fingers on the sand. (Perhaps laughable coming from him, but the nature of the Witch was always to be the outsider in any group, no matter how welcoming.) He couldn't help but notice how the dash-dash-dash-dash pattern of Populus kept appearing in the gashes left by his claws; deceit was afoot.
"I am sorry to hear about your fiancé's condition, I pray for the rest of his days to be easy and joy-filled." Again, laughable for a Witch who's never uttered a god's name except in scorn, but he was being as perfectly honest as his client was. Jadugar was beginning to quite enjoy this game of half-truths. "And I understand the hesitation. I sense concern both for yourself and him, for who'd ever want to be cruel enough to subjugate a man to an unhappy marriage till the end of his days? Ah! Hush! I hear the churning of the Zodiac's wheel. Yes, yes." His eyes fluttered shut in concentration, lips forming in mute incantations as his hands flew about the sandy surface of his desk. In mere moments, the chart was formed.
He eyed the charts. Silence followed for a beat. Then another.
Finally:
"In ilm-al-rammal--what the mystics here call geomancy--to perfect a chart is to observe a pattern of repeated signs, and this signals great auspiciousness. The greatest of them all is when the figure representing the querent and the figure representing the questied are one of the same; the second best is when the figure of the questied is next to the figure of the querent; the third is the opposite of this. This chart contains all three. Your chart contains none of them. In your House of Marriage"--he pointed to the right chart and the dot-dash-dot-dot pattern on the rightmost triangle--"Puella resides. Alone."
He did not tell him how Tristita in the Left Witness--the dash-dash-dash-dot in the upper left of the square, a figure of depression in the future--heralded an unfortunate and depressing end to the marriage. He did not tell him how the overabundance of Populus and Carcer as the Judge--the dot-dash-dash-dot in the middle of the inner square, a figure of imprisonment in the present--doomed his fiancé to a passive life forever shackled to Cornelius. He did not tell him how Albus in the First and Eleventh House--the dash-dash-dot-dash patterns in the right square, a figure of old age and the occult in both Cornelius and his intentions--laid bare his true age and lies. He wished he could have kept quiet because he wanted to spare the man the pain--but business was business.
"He shall be the happiest man in the world," he pronounced as if proclaiming an epitaph, "but to you, it shall only be a brief joy."
~
He took the scales and the money with a business-like curtness, seeing him out with a blessing on both his and his fiancé's heads and an invitation to visit his store again. Once back to the private shadows of the hut, he slumped into the chair, allowed himself a cleansing breath, drew out a poppet from the shelf, and began sewing the dragon scale into it while sketching a crude likeness of Cornelius upon it, with a mouth full of lies and an amulet full of promise. For most of all, Jadugar did not warn him about the meaning of Aquisito in the Twelfth House:
A pursuer.
"I made an important choice in the past. I would like to think it was one that reflect my hopes and not my fears... But for all the things I had to sacrifice, say it as it is, was it the right one?
I humbly offer coin and gratitude in return for answers. We may discuss it if you like, though I doubt I hold anything else of interest to you in my possession."
((Pardon me for posting only dialogue, but I am on my phone at the time of typing this. I only write longer paragraphs at home.))
I humbly offer coin and gratitude in return for answers. We may discuss it if you like, though I doubt I hold anything else of interest to you in my possession."
((Pardon me for posting only dialogue, but I am on my phone at the time of typing this. I only write longer paragraphs at home.))
Quote:
"But for all the things I had to sacrifice, say it as it is, was it the right one?"
"An unusual question," Jadugar observed as he leaned back into his seat, eyeing Oliver with barely veiled curiosity. What was the choice, why should he fear to regret it, and most of all, what even is he? For there was a scent about him--more and more customers seemed to be walking in with these peculiar auras--and this one reminded him of a bottomless pit, something insatiable and dark. "It deserves an unusual response." He vanished under his desk and returned with, of all things, a Bible. He, to the disdain of every witch-hunter he'd come across, seemed to touch it without hesitation or disgust; to him, it was just another book, as equally suited to bibliomancy as a pamphlet--but he was still careful to keep it at a safe distance from any of his clients, just in case.
"There aren't many who call upon my powers of future-reading to divine the past. Indeed, I think many would ask why even bother. What's done is done, and besides, a thousand tragedies were launched by someone making the 'right' choice, so I don't see much comfort even in the idea of having gone down the correct path," he said, seemingly as idle conversation as he flipped through the Bible; but when has anything in the shop been as it seemed? His eyes flicked downwards with every ruffle of the passages, picking out a passage each time. Therefore I said to the sons of Israel, "You are not to eat the blood of any flesh, for the life of all flesh is its blood; whoever eats it shall be cut off," Leviticus 17:14. And Cain said unto the Lord, My punishment is greater than I can bear, Genesis 4:13. He let the book fall shut with concealed but growing intrigue, edging the little black book closer towards himself.
"Forgive me, I speak out of turn. I grant wishes, not counsel. Someone of your. . . status deserves higher respect," he said with his eyes seemingly focused on everything but Oliver's livery and riches. He set the spine of the book on the table again while holding it upright and shut, proclaimed, "Now, was your choice the right one?" and let it drop open.
" 'Then his mind changes, and he transgresses; He commits offence,' Habakkuk one-eleven." What simple yet potent readings it always seemed to give. "Seems like the Good Lord agrees. Attempting to question your mind about the decision, that is the true offence. You were right to do what you did. Now, as for payment.
"Money is quite useless to me. My travels take me many, many places, and what good to me is a disc of metal that loses all its value the moment I cross an imaginary line? Better are things of emotional worth, or practical use--or just objects of simple intrigue. Do not worry about delivery; leave it in a dark corner and my pets will take care of it. I expect a bottle of it as soon as possible." He flicked the pages again to a seemingly random passage, and something about Revelation 16:4 seemed particularly eye-catching.
Then the third angel poured out his bowl into the rivers and the springs of waters; and they became blood.
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Warm, shifting sands had brought her to this place, and deja vu was already creeping in. These gentle, golden hills, the searing sun that gnawed at the back of her neck.. it all felt familiar, hauntingly so. Every step she took, every stray rock she hobbled over, it reminded her of home. Konis, the Southern Badlands; the Skylax's turf. Real scrappin' ironic, given the reason she had embarked upon this journey. Her stomach tingled with doubt already.. but no matter. Rumor had it that this witch, this catman, had all the answers a soul could ever ask for. Even if the one to her question wasn't what she wanted to hear, it was worth the effort. There was no getting rid of the dreams and paranoia otherwise. She had to know.. It wasn't long before Sprite finally caught a glimpse of Jadugar's hut in the distance, sticking out like a sore but pretty thumb amidst the dunes of nothingness. As far as she could tell, the man himself had to be home: the sweet scent of burning sap and sandalwood lay thick on the breeze. A sigh escaped her. Well, here went nothing.. "Uhh.. eyy there-?" She poked her head through the entrance, comforted by the lack of hostile sunlight inside. "I.. uh.. heard from'a guy that y'.. y'a mage'o some sort, t'truthtellin' kind. So, was wonderin' if y'could help m'out wit' 'tis mystery tha's been hauntin' me, if it arn' too great'a problem." As Sprite's eyes slowly adjusted to the dusky lighting of the soothsayer's humble abode, she was immediately caught off-guard by the odds and ends lining the walls. For a space so, well, modest, it'd been put to real good use.. "Cool place, by 'em way." Always strange how quickly that cocky spunk of her evaporated when a grave matter came to mind. To her, it was scrappin' embarassing, though the old man seemed to appreciate the in-build business mode from time to time.. if it could even be called such. Unnaturally calm and collected, Sprite wandered down the slender path between the curious rubble and planted herself down on the seat opposite of Jadguar, looking up at him with tired eyes. Yeah, he was a catman alright, he could've passed for a Ferae hadn't it been for his friendly mob of hair and his controversial affinity for magick. But none of that was relevant; he looked smart, capable. That was all she needed. "So uhh, few years ago, I ran wit' 'em Skylax Legion, buncha rebels from Konis, on m'home planet'o Eyremos, doubt y'd know 'em. All things considered, I think shit went pretty prime f'me: I survived m'week in 'em trenches, got along wit' m'comrades, could handle m'gun decently. War'r not, life was scrappin' good f'me until the Siege on Southpoint rolled around, t'biggest offense'o t'decade, in their words." Her first few sentences had slid off her tongue with relative ease, basking in the comfort that came with reflecting on the less problematic times she'd spent with the Skylax. Training, patrol, guerilla missions, shenanigans at HQ; those were easier times, the ragtag youth she'd never been allowed to have back home. But the good times wasn't what she'd come here for.. "An'.. b'fore I go on, I- I dunno if y'got t'zappy wizard powers t'notice, but I arn' exactly as human as I look. M'Therion, a shapeshifter, I'm host t'some ancient war beast that can just wreak havoc an' slaughtered 'till it's slaughtered.." That was what the stories said, anyway. "During 'em battle, m'buddy, Z, he was shot in 'em chest, so I'm tried t'bring 'im t'a medic, somewhere safe, but his powers, y'know, t'magickal shit he did t'try an' keep m'beast in check, that jus' all fell off.. an'.. an'-" Her throat tightened, sweat forming pearls on her forehead. The echo of her heartbeat was throbbing in her head- crying in front of this stranger, it felt wrong, and fighting the tears seemed to ward off any of her brain's attempts to visualize her thoughts. "-..I lost control." Her silence was stifling. Swallowing was hard, and made worse every time she had to chew down into the insides of her cheek to distract herself from.. everything. Yet at the same time, she wasn't hearing crap, or seeing things. It was a feeling, just a feeling, a feeling so abstract yet so intimate and.. real. "Next thing I know, I wake up ass-naked inna cell, choked by 'em rusty chain. 'Em guys who used t'me m'brothers, m'comrades, drag m'before 'em council an' can only look funny when I get thrown 'nto t'wasteland, banished, accused'o murderin'.. well.. h-.. a lot. Friendly fire, civvies too. Moms an' their brood, from what I've been told. But it's just.. it's hard-" Her situation had gobbled her up in such a way that Sprite hadn't even thought of what Jadugar might be thinking of her. Even if his magickal aptitude put him outside the boring normal people's moral compass, it was hard to grasp what his thoughts might be on savage mass murder. "M'Therion's memories aren' always m'own, an' when I say I don' r'member shit, I mean it. But at 'em same time, there's.. flashes, not always visual. Can feel m'claws tearin' through 'em, t'hype of conquerin' 'em all, an' sometimes I believe I even woke up b'fore I was imprisoned, wit' bone shrapnel in m'teeth an' covered in blood from m'fingers to m'belly button. Get dreams too, jus'.. bad dreams." About being mauled. By herself, sometimes by Randle or Artie, but with her voice or face. It made her sick. She had to know.. "Have I committed t'crime I think I have? I can' trust m'memories, an' I won' be able t'go back home an' ask m'comrades 'bout it either. I gotta new life now, I wanna move on, but I needa know t'truth, even if it sucks ass." That was one way to put it. Hopefully Jadugar lived up to the tall tales.. "Oh, an' uh... f'payment, in return, I can offer y'tis. Symbolic shit f'me, y'know, but it works well. Most-wanted type an' brand'o assault rifle on my planet, it won't do y'dirty, trust me." About as awkward as was expected of a trade this unusual, Sprite took the KragmaCorp TIP-47 Assault Rifle off her back and pressed it down onto the table, draping her bandolier filled with ion-bullet cartridges across its metallic features. "I know y'magicky guys like t'stick to magick alone, but y'can take't from me that firin' one'o these puppies's mad fun, whether that's t'save y'guts or not. I'd know, heh." The bonus prize was a split-second display of her iconic hubris-loaded smirk, that waxed about as quickly as it appeared, rippling the scars on her jaw in the process. This trading, this capitalism thing.. she had to learn a bit about it still, but it felt good to put her trusty gun into the hands of someone whom she apparently entrusted its legacy to. She hoped that with Jadugar's answer, her war story would die and the TIP would find new glory in a trinket-collecting catman's possession. Besides, it was a rough world out there.. |
Careful to not let his underlying morbid curiosity show and drive away the new customer, nor allowing himself to be so needlessly dishonest as to feign heartbreak over the tragedy, Jadugar kept his face perfectly neutral, listening with open ears and a closed mouth. Though already he committed every word to memory; less out of respect and more out of a general desire to learn more of these strange lands and people. The story itself could've been more than adequate payment, providing endless mysteries for him to prod and investigate to his delight, but he was also shrewd enough to realise to never turn town an added offer, and guns were always a treat. True, it was not exactly a staple of his skill set, but many truly effective spells involved firearms beyond the literal interpretation of it pyromancers are wont to use.
He held up the gun with the same reverence one defers to relics, running his thumb along the barrel and feeling the heft, and utilising enough of his meagre gun knowledge to keep the barrel pointed away from both of them with his finger nowhere approaching the trigger of the gun with its safety always on. Truth be told, he was a little jealous of the more pistol-inclined witches--he knew of one who had even mastered the art of shooting with her feet, and who had also managed to form a pact with the vilest butterfly devil ever known--especially considering they only needed a twitch of a finger to cast a killing shot, and compare that to his sometimes hour-long rites.
A quite pleased smile, the only smile he had beamed since the stranger entered the hut, broadened on his face as he set the gun aside. "Payment accepted. Now, to your query."
He vanished under the table, cluttering about the clutter as he spoke. "A fairly straight-forward answer, a coin flip could even handle it," he mused loudly from below as a crash suggested a dropped set of metal divinatory tools, "but, for such a fine gift, a certain pageantry is more than earned. Now--aha! This should do nicely."
Jadugar returned to the table and placed upon it a circular disk of wood, carefully burnt to divide it into three sections with a word inscribed in each: Yes, No, Not Quite.
"Usually, it's meant to be used with a pendulum," he explained as he hefted the gun up again, barrel aimed to the heavens, "but--"
And a rocketing BANG! consumed the sound of his words and a large hole appeared in the roof above them, celebrating its appearance with a rain of dust and wood chips like confetti on both their heads--well, on Sprite's. For some reason or another, the debris shyed away from even dirtying the hem of Jadugar's robes. A beam of sunlight also streamed from the newly made hole and fell on the table, which caused the disk to glow with a perfectly natural light as would be expected from something that basked in the sun, and yet how strangely magical it felt in that moment.
There was a second's silence as the devilishly cool expression on Jadugar's face cracked into a impish grin; he could get used to using a gun. Then: Clink. The spent bullet dropped back down, hit the Yes third of the wheel, bounced and flashed as it caught the truth-revealing rays of the sun, and fell right into the "O" of the No section. Jadugar carefully picked up the bullet with his claws and offered it to Sprite.
"May it always serve as a memento of your innocence."
He held up the gun with the same reverence one defers to relics, running his thumb along the barrel and feeling the heft, and utilising enough of his meagre gun knowledge to keep the barrel pointed away from both of them with his finger nowhere approaching the trigger of the gun with its safety always on. Truth be told, he was a little jealous of the more pistol-inclined witches--he knew of one who had even mastered the art of shooting with her feet, and who had also managed to form a pact with the vilest butterfly devil ever known--especially considering they only needed a twitch of a finger to cast a killing shot, and compare that to his sometimes hour-long rites.
A quite pleased smile, the only smile he had beamed since the stranger entered the hut, broadened on his face as he set the gun aside. "Payment accepted. Now, to your query."
He vanished under the table, cluttering about the clutter as he spoke. "A fairly straight-forward answer, a coin flip could even handle it," he mused loudly from below as a crash suggested a dropped set of metal divinatory tools, "but, for such a fine gift, a certain pageantry is more than earned. Now--aha! This should do nicely."
Jadugar returned to the table and placed upon it a circular disk of wood, carefully burnt to divide it into three sections with a word inscribed in each: Yes, No, Not Quite.
"Usually, it's meant to be used with a pendulum," he explained as he hefted the gun up again, barrel aimed to the heavens, "but--"
And a rocketing BANG! consumed the sound of his words and a large hole appeared in the roof above them, celebrating its appearance with a rain of dust and wood chips like confetti on both their heads--well, on Sprite's. For some reason or another, the debris shyed away from even dirtying the hem of Jadugar's robes. A beam of sunlight also streamed from the newly made hole and fell on the table, which caused the disk to glow with a perfectly natural light as would be expected from something that basked in the sun, and yet how strangely magical it felt in that moment.
There was a second's silence as the devilishly cool expression on Jadugar's face cracked into a impish grin; he could get used to using a gun. Then: Clink. The spent bullet dropped back down, hit the Yes third of the wheel, bounced and flashed as it caught the truth-revealing rays of the sun, and fell right into the "O" of the No section. Jadugar carefully picked up the bullet with his claws and offered it to Sprite.
"May it always serve as a memento of your innocence."
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