That It Is Possible To Foresee The Future Is Disproved By This Fact, That Those Who Claim The Capability Are Not Wealthy
Popcorn was his assignment and the newest addition to the offerings of Stadeskosken, a firm engaged in such an array of profitable activities as sometimes obscured its initial and central purpose of providing rapid, secure, and discreet transportation of goods. The office in Isarpezoltk had renovated its lobby to make space for a counter and, out of sight, a stove. Over that stove and throughout the interior of a box designed to cover it ran lines of ritualistic import, the components of a recently invented Popcorn Regularization Ritual which altered the percentages of kernels popped and burned in opposite directions, both favorable.
The difficulty of getting the most out of that curious corn variety had previously relegated it to a novelty intended for festivals, but this new process altered the calculation. Stadeskosken's founder, Haderslant Rikelta, not only hoped to improve customer engagement and satisfaction by including popcorn in every public-facing office, but even to profit off sales of popcorn directly within no more than ten years.
For that reason, Dirant Rikelta had been dispatched to Isarpezoltk to oversee the erection of a popcorn stand and to train the single Ritualist posted there. Normally an instructional scroll sufficed to teach any number of properly educated Ritualists a single ritual, but a desire to keep the process secret led Stadeskosken to rely on two of its employees, Donnlink Espahalpt and Dirant Rikelta, to teach the others face to face. Aside from the loss of a competitive advantage should some competitor learn the secret, loose security might violate the licensing agreement by which the company was allowed to use the invention and thereby incur a fine to be paid to the ritual's creators, Donnlink Espahalpt and Dirant Rikelta.
That was the latest adornment to Dirant's golden portfolio, though as the assistant he earned little out of the licensing fees compared to Mr. Donnlink, the actual developer, who had come to devote most of his leisure time between his daily duties as a Ritualist supervisor for Stadeskosken to the study of popcorn after heartbreak made other pastimes unbearable. Eventually he set himself to furthering the knowledge of society the way Ritualists kept telling everyone they always did with the help of a subordinate who had as much free time during the winter if far less romantic disappointment.
The results were the new ritual, a promotion for Donnlink to the novel position of Ritual Research Manager, and an order from Haderslant to find out if there was some way to own everything his employees made outside work hours in order that those licensing fees would be the last he had to pay. All that explained why Dirant was looking over the inside of a box for errors with the design drawn therein (of course the outside which depicted an otter holding a single popped corn was flawless in conception and technique) when a gentleman walked in.
Stadeskosken's prosperity had not fallen far enough for that to cause any uproar. At first Dirant paid no attention whatsoever. Neither did the customer's appearance demand any particular reaction, given that he was an Adaban of average height, above average in most countries, who had slicked back what was left of his gray hair in the Yean Defiafi style and lost nothing of the attractive pleasantness of his features for it.
The oddity about the visit derived from the revelation that he was not a customer. The man seemed embarrassed to trouble anyone, even a receptionist whose job it was to be troubled, but might he have permission simply to observe for a time? It was only that recently two of his children had entered the employ of this firm of which he had never heard. While he, Delaosant Paspaklest, was sure Stadeskosken was a reputable business because, as they would not mind hearing, he had made inquiries to that effect and received assurances from people who ought to know, a father had his worries. He would like, if it could be arranged without ill consequence, to speak with someone able to instruct him in the nature and organization of the company.
The morning traffic that day passed the office with but a few detours into it, and therefore nobody minded if an unobtrusive bystander took up a small amount of space on that day unlikely to include a visit from a main office higher-up wondering if efficiency was being kept to Fennizen standards. Which of course it was not, but what could be expected of Isarpezoltk's residents? It was a lucky escape if they did not decide to carve a marble replica of the gentleman to make a local mascot of him and give up transportation entirely in favor of forming a theatrical company.
Ritualist discipline, which ought to have been a class ability but was not, allowed Dirant to amuse himself with thoughts along that line without impairing his inspection of the box's internal design. While he did so, a manager came to oblige the gentleman, who after introducing himself as Delaosant Paspaklest was escorted to an upstairs office. With one eye on that and the other on his work, a sensation far beyond the routine afflicted the Ritualist. A test faced by an insufficiently prepared student, a ship's crew falling silent, a sighting of giants or adakigens near the family farm; that sort of feeling of doom as if the blood drained from his body for a moment before the vital liquid returned in a rush he could hear, and as it poured itself through his body it formed these words: A terrible fate threatens that man.
Had Dirant been working too hard? Considering how he had spent the previous evening, it seemed impossible. Even before that, instructing the local Ritualist had been as easy a task as ever any employee had been assigned. Did he, in his current good fortune, worry about the worst out of an understanding that not everywhere at once can the world support happiness? Before Dirant became anxious about developing a gloomy personality, he took the first step always suggested in the event of an undefinable sensation. He checked his status. Perhaps a new ability had shown up and he missed the message.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
> Ritualist
>
> Priest of Holzd
>
> LV 8 10/1000
>
>
>
> HP 268
>
> Muscle 35 (+1)
>
> Coordination 44 (+5)
>
> Verve 42 (+3)
>
> Sticktoitiveness 56 (+5)
>
> Discernment 69 (+5)
>
> Gumption 26 (+3)
>
> Tit-for-Tat 42 (+1)
>
> Receptivity 87 (+6)
>
> Panache 46 (+4)
>
>
>
> Class Abilities
>
> Ritual Judgment
>
> Ritual Completion
>
> Ritual Memory
>
> Ritual Delay
>
> Ritual Substitution
>
> Ritual Development
>
> Divine Guidance (Hunch)
>
> Ritual Humility
>
> Ritual Revelation
>
>
>
> General Abilities
>
> Adaban (Fluent)
>
> Heweks (Fluent)
>
> Yumin (Fluent)
>
> Tabidgeir (Intermediate)
>
> Dvanj (Intermediate)
>
> Desurvyai (Basic)
>
> Saueo (Basic)
>
> Usse (Basic)
>
> Mercantile Fundamentals
>
> Horse Riding (Intermediate)
>
> Class Perception (Divine)
His most recent optional acquisition, Ritual Development, said nothing in the description about prophecies of dread and horror. It did replace his Gumption with 0.4 times his Receptivity if higher in circumstances to which Receptivity might apply, a substitution which might cause impulsiveness capable of producing unfavorable results. For him. Probably not for Delaosant Paspaklest. Could Divine Guidance (Hunch) have done something? He had never used that ability (in accordance with a policy he still considered wise), and because of that very shunning, he did not understand its specifics.
The description stated it activated upon concentration. Thinking legalistically, appropriate since the god who bequeathed the ability was known as the guide to the laws, it did not specify the subject of concentration. He had been concentrating. No logician could do finer.
During that engrossing rumination, it went off again, perhaps. Dirant's head snapped up right on time to see a figure through the sheer mabonnpaper filling one of the building's window frames, and his gut warned him of something or other. Divine Guidance (Hunch) could never be accused of deception when it announced its limitation right there inside the parentheses, and yet he would have appreciated the ability more had it offered specifics or suggested methods to avoid unhappy doom. As it was, Dirant saw nothing he could do besides his job for all the disturbances his Divine Guidance inflicted on him.
That done, Dirant reported to the branch manager and subsequently began his trip back to Fennizen alongside Millim Takki Atsa, who had not yet exhausted her vacation period or interest in Kitslof as a microcosm of Greater Enloffenkir. The most desperate tourism committee could never have anything to say about that route and still less in the Twelfth, but Takki remained cheerful as she looked around. Dirant tried to match her in that, but his true mood was not so concealed as a professional actor might have managed.
“What kind of otter is sad about returning to its holt?” Takki's cheer grew continuously greater throughout the time it took to ask that single question.
“Ah, do I appear so glum as that? Honesty again interferes with pleasant conversation to impose upon a companion, and all I can say is that it is a small matter so long as I ignore all finer feeling. Here is a question. Suppose one suspects on the basis of an unreliable class ability that a person, not a friend or even an acquaintance, may meet with disaster. This is not an imagined scenario, and so?”
“And so nothing. Write poetry about the world's imperfections. That can't be all, Ressi.”
“I agree with you on both points. Here is a further consideration, and here I must ask that for this conversation it is presumed that gods exist and are capable of interfering, or intervening . . . no, interfering is the word.”
“Even if, well, never mind.” Takki began to prepare for an intellectual contest the moment gods were mentioned but backed down when she reassessed Dirant's serious mien. “Let's say I accept the condition.”
“Thank you.” Dirant took a few seconds to discard the argument he planned to make against potential objections that he might replace it with the main point. “Even if my condition is accepted, there is no assurance that humans have any influence on when and how the gods choose to meddle.” Takki refrained from pointing out that was almost exactly what she wanted to say. “In which case prayer is of no significance. If it is, however, possible to direct the attention of a pliable god to a matter such as the future of that stranger, is it proper to do so? Consider that the methods of the gods as reported by the pious, let alone skeptics and cynics, are often troublesome in themselves. Consider also that the stranger has not asked for assistance and might well resent it as an intrusion in his private affairs, and neither would he be wrong to say so.”
“Hm.” Takki set all her Discernment to the somewhat-rambly problem, and since she had 58 points of it, she soon had things to say. “For that last part, I'll just say 'Adabans' and leave it at that. You don't mind, do you? Now I'm going to tell you what you already know, which is that you report problems to the lieutenant-governor assigned to your district. How he got there and what he'll do with your report have nothing to do with you. Or do you know that? I don't entirely understand how Adabans view their governments. They set up so many of them, but as soon as they do, they speak dismissively about them as if there were no connection.”
“It's a question of things which must be accomplished. The proper place of the mayor is in front of a new building and nowhere else. Ah, and before political theory distracts me, I must acknowledge I am won over by your argument.”
Another fact which he chose not to mention was that not only did he believe the gods existed, he further had been informed that every single person except for the Zeroes who had not yet entered a class belonged to the priesthood of one or the other of the gods, who provided all those helpful abilities upon which society relied. During the few hours of the trip, he composed a prayer to his patron. “Oh, Holzd the Rearranger, if Divine Guidance (Hunch) which is a gift from you presages doom for Delaosant Paspaklest, I beg that you mitigate the harm or prevent it entirely, for it is to you that we entrust no simple thing but the most intricate matters only.” There. With his duty done so far as he understood it, Dirant permitted the moral burden to tumble from his back to the dusty ground. Of course beneath him at the moment was a wide, well-paved road, and beyond that more frost than dust covered the ground, but he left those details also to his god.