The strings of fate tug at the souls of many, the damned, and the fallen. These strings drag some gently into a small success while others get tangled into a destructive web of cause and effect. Fate jests the many fools who demand from it good fortune while lending a hand to those with the wit to fool it. A poorly understood truth but no less powerful than the truth of time, space, or even the soul. Those who learn to comprehend it find that such understanding was inevitable for them the moment it is achieved. Prophecy, divination is a practice of following these “strings'' seeing past the knots they make, to the people and places they lead and feeling the “story' ' that is likely to come. In the deepest parts astral, the many paths of fate can become illuminated, and lead skilled casters to the forks in particular fates. Of these paths there are those well traveled and those grander than others. In the web of road, paths, trails of the many fates, there is one that despite the dissolution of known physics is a tight rope of fate that morphs the smallest ledge of the tallest mountain into a subterranean sea tunnel. Few have seen this path, fewer still returned from seeking to know this fate, this prophecy. The fate read as the prophecy of the ill-omen, its past just as long as its future. It is a prophecy of not just one family or civilization, but a treacherous fate of many; a web of fates spun into a single string. However as the moons align in the sky one of many of the fates entwined in the prophecy of ill-omen, comes one of the many whose story is foretold upon that path. This story begins in a middle realm, one of many, a small part of the web of realms that make up the middle realms as well as form the bridges to the lower, and higher realms. There in the Realm of Xorria, the Awakened Realm, on the planet Sitaf this tale has reached its commencement.
----------------------------------------
On the continent of Kertioak, in the bustling town of Sutiretni at the southern edge of the Muitapz wood, the sun sets and the moons rise. Under the moonlight of the midnight sky, a storm of navy cut by the depth of the whispering woods, illuminated by the fires of the Sutiretni guard and the warm glow of the local taverns. Outside the Impaled Lupine, a well worn wooden structure, some parts in dire need of repair others only there since dusk.
A converted cottage slowly absorbed by the town modified to fit in, not unlike an estranged noble attempting to follow the trends of the high courts of the empire. Its’ entrance ,bold, despite the obvious age,faces the worn dirt roads of town, and above its threshold, under the lip of the roof, hangs the swinging sign board. The tavern inside is not fanciful in its decor, simple wood furnishings take up the empty space between the newly constructed stage and the bar to the far left corner from the entrance way. Gorv Retnuph,an older but tall, sturdy, dwarven man, dressed in simple linens under a fashionable vest, tends to the bar, its patrons and the staff. Behind the bar Gorv pours several tankards of ale for Aelift,the young gnome barmaid who takes them in one hand in the other a platter of hot meals, she travels deftly past the occupied tables before serving a small group of off duty guards and attending to a new group of patrons. The other service staff work similarly, gracing the other patrons while a bard strums a melody as she sings a tale of the fool and the witch. The warm glow of candles illuminates the faces of strangers, and friends as they enjoy the company. A young half elf gathers the used tankards and old bowls into a basket before taking it to behind the bar into the kitchen to a large bucket filled with all sorts of dirtied utensils and dishes. Gingerly emptying their basket into the bucket before leaving to refill it, she passes the orc and half orc cooks. The older orc tends to two fires below two separate cauldrons both a sort of stew occasionally stirring, tasting and seasoning each. The younger cook busies themselves with a variety of prepwork from pickling vegetables and making breads in between casual if sometimes snippy conversation with the older cook. As the half elf exits the kitchen she is quickly stopped by Gorv.
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
“Lasutro, I have a job for you,but do put on something warmer, it is chilly tonight.”
Placing his one hand on Lasutro’s shoulder while using his other to return a simple but aging pocket watch to the front pocket of his vest. Turning to face Gorv, Lasutro responded after setting down the basket.
“Yes, Mr. Retnuph? what is it you need and how quickly must it be done?”
Lasutro replied gently brushing off Gorv’s hand from their shoulder.As she did previously focused expression morphed to reveal a more honest but tired expression.
“As direct as always Lasutro! Please let us discuss the details
in the kitchen first, after you.”
Gorv gestured towards the door and followed after Lasutro. Once inside, stepping out of view of the doorway towards a storage area of sorts, leading them out of earshot of any eavesdropping customers. Relaxing his posture and adding some weight to his tone he addressed Lasutro once more.
“The task is simple enough,I have several letters that I need to be delivered to very specific people post haste.”
“Two Questions: anonymous, direct or indirect?
How much of my debt will this job pay off?”
Lasutro asked procedurally, as Gorv reached inside his vest revealing three small wax sealed envelopes. Before handing it over Lasutro he turns around and rummages through a small box removing a dark cloak. As he handed over the envelopes and the cloak he replied.
“Well, I need these to be delivered directly, so do make sure that they are in the proper hands. Additionally, do try to keep the letter's arrival quiet, and as for your debt, consider it 30 gold pieces for now. If things turn out the way I hope it will, you may be out of debt by the winter solstice.”
After a brief pause as if Lasutro was contemplating exactly what Gorv’s words meant before taking cloak and glancing carefully at the writing on the envelopes and perusing their memories for any notion of who they are addressed to and where to find them. Soon after realizing why the addressees were unknown to them or known through the hushed whispers of late night patrons. Donning the cloak and placing the envelopes into a small pocket in the cloak lining, Lasutro asked Gorv
“Where do I find them or do I have to find them?”
As if expecting the question, Gorv pulled a small piece of folded paper from another pocket in his vest and placed it into one of Lasutro’s free hands. Holding the paper there for a moment Gorv stared into Lasutro’s eyes and spoke clearly, dropping his typical jovial tone gripping their hand tightly.
“Be careful Lasutro…”
Gorv paused, the rest of the truth he sought to tell hidden from his throat and with it the courage to speak them. Releasing his hand from Lasutro, Gorv took a breath, regaining his composure and returned to the bar his usual self.
Left to themselves, Lasutro stood still processing his honeyed speech turned genuine, a tone she had heard maybe 3 times in the past ten years in his care, shaking themselves from the musing she moved through the kitchen once more moving past the washing bucket, into a small storage room. Among almost intentionally unorganized boxes and furniture Lasutro kneeled next to a small stool set just to the side of the room's door. Moving it over allows them room to jostle and remove one of the wooden planks, setting it next to the stool before reaching inside and grabbing a simple leather pouch. Returning the room to its original state, Lasutro made their way to a back door entering the cramped alley. Taking in the cool night air, the light chatter of the Lupine echoing the streets, Lasutro pulled the small folded note using the little moonlight to read the short descriptions of the individuals addressed and their locations. The task’s course clear, she set off to the first location on the northside of town, Faded Ochre Tomes.