Monty's Fortune

by **Anselm** on May 5th, 2012, 12:07 am

Monty's Fortune
82 Spring
Marketplace in Zeltiva

OOC :

Anselm had observed the glassworker observing him for sometime now. Evidently the young man's curiosity had finally gotten the better of him. With a determined step he had made his way across the ground separating their two establishments, walked into Anselm's tent and sat himself down opposite the old Nuit. Anselm looked at him with gray, lifeless eyes. Not that the man could really see his eyes because of the deep hood that kept most of his face in shadow. About the right height and weight, thought Anselm. Looks a bit frail, but almost anything would be better than this poor old corpse. I could probably stay in Zeltiva without anyone even realizing I had switched bodies.

Anselm had been thinking about this for some time now. He would soon need to move into a new body. His current body had been worn out when he got it, and had not faired well since then. But switching bodies is a tricky business. A Nuit can't just pop out of one body and into another without people noticing that he's not the same person anymore. As a result, Anselm usually had to move to another town when he acquired a new body. He had figured this out on his second body jump. Two days after taking possession of a fine, healthy corpse, he had an uncomfortable encounter with the deceased man's wife. It had been a dicey thing and he had barely escaped town with his life. So to speak. The problem was that Anselm liked Zeltiva. He did not want to leave. I shall have to keep an eye on this one, he thought. Perhaps l'll get lucky and he'll have a heart attack or an unfortunate accident.

“Yes,” said Anselm in a slow, raspy voice. “Most people who walk into my tent have a question. Otherwise they wouldn't be here.”

by **Montaine** on May 5th, 2012, 4:51 pm

A hint of smile tugged at the corner of the glassworker’s lips. He didn’t know what he had been expecting – wild showmanship, perhaps, smoke and mirrors and the whole mysterious magical air. This was just a man, in a tent, in the marketplace. Yet Monty didn’t feel disappointed. If anything he felt pleasantly surprised. There was an understated subtlety to the mystique the old fortune teller created by simply being so…unmystical. It was curious. He was fairly sure that true foresight didn’t exist, not in a peddler of parlour tricks in amongst the ornament stalls and fish sellers of Zeltiva at least. Yet this strange old man clearly found enough business to sustain himself.

Although, what sustenance did he need, if he truly neither ate nor drank? And if that was indeed true, what manner of creature was he? It wasn’t altogether unusual to meet one of the other sentient species, certainly not in a harbour city where most of the income, and incidentally the food, came from trade overseas. Even his friends, the fair doctor was a Konti from distant shores and the sailor had lived longer than five times the span of Monty’s entire life, and died once already. Monty peered at the cloaked man, struggling to see the face for the shadows. It was certainly plausible.

‘I want-’ Monty began, but stopped himself before the question escaped his lips. The information this creature could impart might very well be of the greatest utility, but the glassworker found it difficult to resist the temptation of the seer’s promise. Fortune telling, it seemed daft, but it was only five mizas and should it happen to be a waste of time there would be little harm done.

Be careful what you ask for.

‘I want to hear my fortune first, I’m sure I can stretch to ten silver coins, should the strain of answering two questions require it. So tell me, Seer, what lies ahead for me? For all of us in Zeltiva?’ Monty quickly placed a hand over his payment, ‘And that’s just one question mind,’

by **Anselm** on May 5th, 2012, 6:44 pm

“Ah,” said Anselm in a croaking voice that sounded like he was gargling water while attempting to talk. “A skeptic. And one who wishes to cheat a poor old man out of his meager income.” He waved his hand as if to dismiss the man and then brought a small cloth bag out from under his cloak and placed it on the table in front of himself. It was drab gray and looked well worn. A leather cord held it closed.

“I can tell neither your future nor the city's future,” he said matter-of-factly. “If you wish to know the future you would be better advised to consult the gods. Not that it would likely do you any good.” He carefully untied the bag as he spoke. “Being a seer has nothing to do with seeing into the future. It has to do with seeing into people and their circumstances here and now. It is surprising how hard it is for most people to 'see' anything as it really is, especially themselves.”

He poured the contents of the bag into his right hand and held it out so that the man could see what he had. What he had was a set of eighteen tiny bones with intricate designs carved into them. While the young man peered at the bones, Anselm peered at the young man, weighing his tone and demeanor.

“I think perhaps you did not come here to have your fortune told. I think you came here for some other reason. Perhaps to satisfy your curiosity. Or to expose a fraud. Or simply to entertain yourself. Or so you tell yourself. But things are not always as they appear.” He quickly reached out with is left hand and placed two fingers on the back of the man's hand. Anselm always wore thin cloth gloves so as to spare his patrons the sometimes disconcerting touch of cold, dead flesh. “Let us find out, shall we?” He turned his right hand over and let the bones fall to the table with a clatter. He stared at them intently for a few seconds and then solemnly intoned:

Joy above. Joy below. Joyful within and without,
Reaching the outer from within, communicating with the inner from without.
Inside and outside are conjoined, without separation between them.
Therefore it is called joy.

Anselm had detected nothing through his auristics. He gazed out the tent entrance into the sky and recalled his master's teaching about this oracle: The joy of practicing one's art comes from within, where the inner essence of oneself is poured into the creation of one's art. The joy of practicing one's art comes from without, where the beauty of one's creation returns to one's inner essence, completing the circle of creativity. This brings great joy. His eyes returned to the young man sitting across from him and he asked the question that would bring either epiphany or confusion. He had no way of knowing which it would be.

“Do you like your job?”

OOC :

by **Montaine** on May 6th, 2012, 1:33 pm

Monty’s emerging smile dropped ever so slightly as the fortune was told, the question asked. It was interesting. The words seemed jumbled and confused, they seemed like the sort of hogwash one would expect from an illusionist and yet they also made a certain sort of sense. Though maybe that was part of the trick, let the customer work the meaning in to the words so they felt satisfied and fulfilled. But even then there was a beneficial function for the patron, even if it wasn’t the one they thought they were paying for. They might not be hearing their fortune, but instead the words of this wizened old seer would cause self reflection, introspection.

But the glassworker had done more than enough of that throughout his short life. He spent far too much time at a distance from other people. The old man had said that inside and outside are conjoined…therefore it is called joy. He was falling for it, he knew it but couldn’t help himself. The words suggested to him that if he were to reach out to the wider world, then he could find happiness. And it was his art that permitted him to do so.

‘I think I understand this game,’ Monty said, ‘Yes, my work is my life, it’s what drives me onwards and keeps me going,’ the glassworked leaned back in the chair, ‘Your words would speak to anyone and if they wanted to read something into them they would find a way. This game doesn’t seem so hard, mind if I try?’

Monty wiggled his fingers in mock mysticism. The man before him gave nothing away in his movements, or his shrouded face, but if he was as the glassworker suspected that in itself was a confession. Monty had spent his childhood watching people pass by his window, hearing snippets of conversation, glimpses of lives flowing through the city yet he had never witnessed a creature quite like this fortune teller. He didn’t have faith in Anselm’s powers, but he believed full well in the seer’s ability to read people.

The glassworker looked at the fortune teller and widened his eyes, ‘Shadow behind, shadow ahead, past to present to future. Always changing, always shifting, yet always staying the same. Change without change,’

Monty placed his palms on the table and watched the fortune teller closely. He had made up the words based around what he knew, or thought he knew, of the creature sat before him. Calbert had told him of these people once who were neither alive nor dead, who were always moving, and who worked the most amazing glass. The glassworker knew little more than what his boss had told him, but it was enough to invent some vaguely visionary augury.

Monty leaned in, ‘Tell me about your mother,’

by **Anselm** on May 6th, 2012, 3:45 pm

“Now you are being facetious,” Anselm said curtly. He took hold of his silver-handled cane, which was leaning against the table next to him, and began lightly tapping the ground beneath him. “And you err on several points. Three to be exact.”

“First, I do not play games. I offer my customers the opportunity to see themselves and their circumstances in a new light. If they choose to avail themselves of this opportunity, it may be of some benefit to them. If they choose not to avail themselves of the opportunity, it will be of no benefit to them. You appear to fall into the latter category.”

“Second, I do not make up clever words as you have done. The oracle I offered you was crafted centuries ago, before the Valterrian. It contains more wisdom than you will ever know.”

“Third, my mother was Benshira. She died more than four hundred years ago. You insult her memory with your flippancy.”

Other than tapping the ground with his cane, Anselm had remained motionless throughout the little speech. Now he stood up with some effort, causing his chair to fall over backward with a clatter. “I believe our business is concluded. Leave the silver.”

OOC :

by **Montaine** on May 6th, 2012, 4:37 pm

Monty stood up with the fortune teller, wide eyes in real fear as the prospect of losing such an important source of information threatened to slip from his fingers. An opportunity such as this came along only once and if did indeed miss the chance to ask his question he would never forgive himself. It was plausible, perhaps probable that this old seer held the answers he required if ever his dream was to be realised in truth. In his panic a certain irony struck him that the fortune teller might well hold the key to his future after all.

‘Wait! Please! I need you!’ Monty grabbed his bag and thrust his arm in deep, rooting around for further payment. He began to remove his belongings haphazardly, dropping his waterskin on the chair, putting the tiny pouch that contained his prized glass horse on the table, and letting his lunch drop to the floor until finally he found the second little bag of coins. He opened it up and six gold mizas dropped to the table with a jingle.

Monty’s heart raced and his breath began to hitch and wheeze as he placed his hands on the table, ‘You asked me if I like my job,’ he managed to splutter, ‘It’s all I have in the world, ‘cept Da, the only thing that brings me joy, it’s my life, my love, my future and one day I need to master it, I need to know everything,’ his forehead was beginning to sweat and there was a pain in his chest, ‘I need to know about the Nuit, about Sahova! You’re the only one who can help, because you’re one of them aren’t you? You’re one of them and I need you!’

Monty saw stars.

He collapsed, unconscious to the floor.

OOC :

by **Anselm** on May 6th, 2012, 6:14 pm

Oh great, thought Anselm. Just what I need. An unconscious man on the floor of my tent. At least he stopped being hysterical. That was getting embarrassing.

He put his chair back in a upright position and pondered the situation. After a few moments, he limped out the door of his tent and across the way to the man's glassworks shop. There he found the man's assistant, who appeared to be somewhat intimidated by the old man.

“Young man,” said Anselm. “Your employer has passed out on the floor of my place of business. Please come and remove him at once.”

Anselm turned around and walked back to his tent. A short time later, the assistant appeared. He did not seem especially surprised to see his employer lying flat on his back on the floor. He gathered up the man's belongings, including the gold coins, hefted the man over his shoulder and departed without a word.

Anselm shouted after him, “Tell him to come back when he wants to have a serious conversation. And tell him to bring more silver.”

Anselm decided he did not like the man. This was unusual for Anselm. He generally chose to neither like nor dislike the people he met. They were just people. But in this case he would make an exception. He would dislike this man. On the other hand, the man seemed to think Anselm had something he needed and he appeared to have plenty of money to spend. Even a Nuit has to make a living.

He settled back into his chair and fished the glass figurine out of an inner pocket. He examined it carefully, turning it over in his hand to look at it from different angles. It struck him as a well crafted piece of work. This will be a nice addition to my collection, he thought. He put it back into his pocket, folded his hands together on the table, and waited for his next customer.

OOC :

by **Arcane** on May 10th, 2012, 6:09 am

Rewards and Treasure!

Anselm :

Montaine :

In Conclusion
Good job the two of you! Both of you get +2 Subterfuge for the general sneakiness of the conversation on top of the usual points. Antagonistic relations are always fun to read, so I look forward to the next terse meeting between the two of you. That said, let me know if I've graded anything wrongly, especially regarding the ledger. I saw that Monty's employee took his gold, so I assumed that the only exchange of belongings is the Glass Horse.