Fate sat alone in the Siren's Call Tavern in the Village of Paws. The wind outside was cold, but thankfully dry. A storm had lashed the spirit wood for days with howling winds, driven rains, and lightning that seemed as if it were trying to stab straight through to the very heart of the land. But now it was merely cold, dry, and empty in the streets of Paws. To see the village like this saddened Fate. She had always been a gypsy at heart, and she'd found a rare sense of belonging and kinship with the happy villagers. And now, as times grew grim, she missed their laughter and their music. As she looked around at the tapestries on the walls and other trinkets, Fate picked up a leather dice cup, rattled the dice around, and tossed them on the table. The small bone cubes landed with a 1 and a 6 showing... a roll of 7. She hadn't consciously manipulated the dice, but for some reason the roll sent shivers up her back. Frowning, Fate scooped the two dice back into the cup and rolled again. The dice spun and bounced on the table top longer than they probably should have, and when they finally came to rest on a 5 and a 2...another roll of 7. As she stared at the pips on the dice, Fate felt the small hairs on the back of her neck begin to rise. She could feel the pattern twisting around her now, responding to a hand on the weave that was not her own. It was a strange touch, one that she felt she should recognize, yet one she recoiled from in deep revulsion, disgust, and a terror so strong it rolled over her in waves. It had been eons since Fate had felt the cold touch of fear. She scooped the dice again, rattled them in the cup, and tossed them on the table. This time, the two dice spun on their corners, refusing to stop. Fate felt her bones go ice cold as she stared at the dice. There were only two forces she knew of that could suspend chance and hold the pattern at bay. She was one....the other.... Fate slapped the table, hard, and the dice fell showing one pip apiece. She stared at the tiny black dots for a long moment. Just like a roll of Sevens, depending on the game, a roll of The Eyes could be either a winning roll or a losing one. But, unlike Sevens, The Eyes lost far more games than they won. Fate didn't like this. She had felt for some time that there was trouble coming, like a storm just beyond the horizon. Her hands were not the ones that set the pattern, but it was her task to keep the skein untangled and to keep the weave from tearing itself apart. Now, though, it was as if a deep and dark shadow had fallen across whole sections of the pattern itself. Not only could she not see those dark, hidden sections, she couldn't see past them either. And that frightened her more than anything had in a very long time. As Fate pondered the problem, one name floated up from the deep, dark recesses of her past, a name that sent icy cold fingers of dread deep into hear heart and soul, a name she had not dared even think about in Ages.... Mordecai.... Fate shuddered. She had learned long ago never to ignore these kinds of feelings. With her post came certain responsibilities and obligations...burdens of the office, her former self had called them. And this was one of them. When a threat presented itself, it was her job to confront it and to defeat it. The very fact that she was here, now, meant that she had done so before. But past success was no guarantee against future failures. Fate decided she had work to be about, and she pulled the fabric of the pattern aside, and stepped out of the realm of the living into her own world between worlds. As she faded, though, she grabbed up the dice and gave them one more toss, trusting to hope and faith that she would not end on a losing roll. The dice rolled and bounced across the table, but by the time they came to rest, she was gone...
~ Dark Storm Rising ~ Pieces in motion Catalin took the stairs leading up to the tower in twos, not out of haste, but out of a seemingly innate pattern woven into his character. The world simply did not move fast enough to suit him, so he always managed to find ways, if seemingly minuscule to hasten the tempo. Jupiter followed and by some curious manner managed to close pace, but without the exertion of skipping steps. He knew where Catalin was headed, and there was no need to rush or head him there. Ascending the steps and turning the corner, Jupiter stood a moment to gaze upon the man at the patrol desk. Catalin was a man out of his time, always quick to charge into battle wherever freedom was challenged. Yet, of late, Jupiter had notice he seemed uncannily driven as if in search of something. “Catalin,” Jupiter’s words caught him as he was dropping the quill into the ink jar, “I’ve noticed you’re patrols into the dungeons have increased of late. Your visits are not only more frequent but deeper and longer as well. I wonder my friend, what are you looking for?” Catalin drew the quill out again to begin writing his report and spoke over his shoulder, “I admit I feel driven to find something, but I know not what. I just feel that I’ll be certain when I do see it. Perhaps I am aligned with Fate to end some foe.” “Might I remind you not to so easily forget your commitment to live your life free of the compulsion of any force, be it of man, demon, or deity? You so swore an oath to yourself before the virtues to defy such powers. I should be amiss not to remind you of such a promise.” Catalin set the quill down and rubbed at his brow with the lower knuckle of this thumb. A gesture that was all too familiar from his friend, which suggested he was honestly and earnestly reconciling his thoughts with the words that would follow. “You are too right good wizard, but on this point, I do not feel that I am compelled by any means other than my own will. I just somehow feel that Fate and I are aligned at this time. Perhaps her designs and my desires are common. Besides, though I might feign to defy gravity if I could, I find it better to operate within the confines of such forces so long as they are imposed equally upon both me and my foes. So too, I find it better to operate within Fate’s pattern, for she is such a force and until now I have not known her to be inequitably applied to good or evil.” “What, wait, say that again,” Jupiter both requested and demanded as though stumbling within his mind, “what did you mean by that.” “Well what I mean is that forces as great as gravity should be,” Catalin couldn’t finish restating his thought before he was interrupted again. “No, no, no, no, no,” Jupiter carried on as if he hadn’t finished, “Not that bit. The bit about “SHE” why did you refer to Fate in the feminine context?” “Oh that,” Catalin tried to keep his face stoic, but he rarely if ever could tell what new epiphany had collided within the wizard’s mind, “It is a custom I must have carried from my native tongue. Despite my fluent studies of the common tongue, some things still carry over.” Jupiter shook his head as if in disbelief and spoke only one word as if it was an answer, “Sors.” He paused and then continued, “By all my studies of your native tongue, this is assigned to the masculine. So how is it you carried over this speech pattern, when it is not by any means common?” “I guess the only rational conclusion is that I picked it up from my mother and father, I suppose?” Catalin offered further, “I mean we kept mostly to ourselves in those days. So it would make sense any nuances I have would be from them alone.” Jupiter studied the ground as if it would release some revelation for a long moment, then he looked up at Catalin, “There is now a new matter I must study at the Lyceum. If you insist upon your relentless forays into the dungeons on Fate’s errand, mind you watch your front, and your back at all times. And should you happen to find this common enemy of both man and Fate, pray that you ride upon the waves of her force and that you are not found beneath her nor between she and her target. Fate, unlike gravity, will not so much as merely press you down as unmake you.” And at that he spoke Kal Ort Port, and with a pop of wind, he was gone and dust settled where the wizard once stood. Catalin looked longingly to the beds in the barracks that had been repurposed into a homeless shelter. He let out a heavy sigh then hefted his spear and set his helmet under his arm and turned towards the stairs. One dungeon down. Many more to go.
You know, I read a bunch of your back-and-forth stories that are waaaaaay further in on this sub-forum. I am so glad to see them starting to re-appear now after so long
