In the dimly lit, incense-choked confines of his shack within the labyrinthine alleys of Bulsi-Jan, Kohran the Grim sat like a dark spider at the centre of his web. His robes were a patchwork of faded fabrics and intricate embroidery, heavy with charms and talismans that jingled softly whenever he shifted. His gray beard was thick, tangled, and fell across a face marked by dark patterns drawn in ink, enhancing the sharp intensity of his cold, calculating eyes. Rings and trinkets adorned his fingers, glinting faintly in the candlelight as he leaned forward, his gaze fixed on the desperate young woman who sat trembling before him.
The woman clutched her hands together, her face pale as she awaited the sorcerer’s verdict. Kohran’s eyes flickered with interest as he studied the tendrils of smoke curling from a brass bowl filled with smoldering herbs and dried bones. His voice, rough and low, reverberated through the silence, laced with a cruel undertone.
“Your future…” he began slowly, savouring the look of dread in her eyes, “…is bleak, child. I see a life filled with toil, loss, and betrayal. Those you trust will abandon you. No family. No love. Only loneliness, stretching out to the end.” He let the words sink in, watching as her eyes brimmed with tears.
The woman’s lip trembled, her spirit seeming to crumble under the weight of his words. “Please… is there any way to change it?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Kohran leaned back, stroking his beard with a smirk. “Perhaps. But altering the threads of fate is no small task,” he replied with feigned reluctance. “It will cost you… everything you have.” He eyed her with barely concealed contempt. “Not that it’s much. And, to be honest, you’re not particularly… inspiring. Hardly the sort of person worth such a grand effort.” His lips curled into a sneer. “But for the right price, I might be willing to do it.”
The young woman’s shoulders slumped in resignation. She reached into her satchel, pulling out a small, worn pouch filled with coins—her entire life’s savings. With trembling hands, she held it out to him. Kohran snatched it up, his fingers eagerly weighing the gold, the jingle of coins bringing a flicker of satisfaction to his eyes.
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“Very well,” he said smoothly, pocketing the money. “Your path will change. I have intervened with the forces that shape your destiny. Now… go. Live your new life.”
The woman nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks, though a faint glimmer of hope had returned to her eyes. She offered him a small, grateful bow and hurried out, her footsteps fading into the night.
Once she was gone, Kohran chuckled to himself, his face twisted in a smug grin. “Fool,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “Not worth a single copper, let alone her life’s savings. And with a face like that? No wonder fate was so unkind.”
Leaning back, he indulged in a moment of satisfaction, pleased at the ease with which he’d fleeced her. Just then, a dark shadow passed across his window, and he heard the unsettling sound of claws scratching against wood. He glanced up as a crow, its beak twisted and mangled, fluttered onto his windowsill. The bird’s feathers were ragged, and it regarded him with one beady, gleaming eye as it extended its leg, revealing a rolled piece of parchment tied with coarse twine.
Kohran reached over and untied the note, unrolling it with idle curiosity. The message was from Bazzle, and it bore an unusual request—assistance at the palace in dealing with what seemed to be a supernatural intruder, an “angel” that had cursed one of the advisors, transforming his skin into olive oil.
Kohran snorted in amusement, rolling his eyes. “An angel?” he scoffed, glancing at the crow. “More likely a medium-level spirit. If it couldn’t even maintain a simple transformation permanently, it’s hardly worth my concern.” He shrugged, dismissing the idea of an angel as mere superstition. “Likely just a lowly spirit making deals with that young fool.”
Still, the job promised a handsome reward, and the prospect of payment for what he assumed would be an easy task piqued his interest. He gathered his charms and relics, stuffing a few vials of enchanted powders into his belt, muttering to himself as he prepared. “An easy day’s work, and a palace’s coffers to raid. Hardly a challenge, but why turn down a good fortune?”
With a final glance around his cluttered abode, Kohran straightened, tightened his grip on his gnarled staff, and cast a look of disdain at the crow, as though silently telling it to fly off. Prepared to meet the so-called “angel” with all the scorn and skepticism he held for such legends, Kohran the Grim set off into the night, eager to claim his next prize.