Marin's Fortune

by **Anselm** on May 12th, 2012, 11:30 pm

Marin's Fortune
The afternoon of the 90th of Spring 512
Marketplace in Zeltiva

OOC :

“Hello, good sir! I would like to hear my fortune, if you would be so kind.”

Anselm's cold, gray eyes peered at the young man. Had the boy been able to see the old Nuit's face clearly, he would have been appalled by the dark purple circles around the eyes, giving the appearance of serious bruising. He would also have been struck by the unblinking empty stare that seemed to look right through him. And had he noticed the dripping puss-filled sore located on the old man's left cheek, he might have chosen to abandon the fortune teller's tent entirely. But he saw none of this because Anselm's face was mostly hidden in the shadow of the hood of the black cloak he always wore. This, along with the lack of lighting inside his tent, made his facial features vague at best.

Anselm sized up his visitor. Fairly tall and thin. Dark brown hair a little on the shaggy side. Dressed mostly in black, like Anselm, except that his attire was clearly that of an outdoorsman. Anselm had not seen him in the marketplace before but that did not mean anything because it was after all a big city. He also noticed that the boy had placed the requisite silver mizas on the table in front of him. Always a good sign for one whose living depends on such things. He waved his hand in the air as if to dismiss the young man, the first movement he had made since the man had entered his place of business.

“Of course you would like to hear your fortune,” the old man said slowly in a deep raspy voice that sounded like he might be gargling gravel. “Otherwise you would not have entered my tent. But perhaps you have a particular question you would like to ask. It is not strictly required, but can sometimes be helpful. After all, an answer without a question can be an odd beast.”

He folded his hands together on the table in front of himself and waited.

by **Marin** on May 13th, 2012, 5:07 am

“I have had a nagging question since my father's disappearance. My father left me a longbow, you see. This longbow was his, it was very plain except for one thing. The middle area of the bow had three markings on it, and I don't know what to make of them.”
Marin showed the man the bow, pointing out the strange carved features. His hand ran familiarly over the old wood. The carvings were all connected and woven together by a thorny vine, and the separate carvings each looked kind of like a strange letter from a long lost language.

Ł

The middle figure looked sort of like an L but had a marking in the middle. The other two edge figures were more strange to Marin.
“The carving looks to be the same age as the bow, and to my knowledge my father made the bow. I had never been told by him, or found any clues about their origin. I have always questioned what these meant to him, or what they could mean to him now--” Marin stumbled over the word, seeming to forget about his father's disappearance. “I mean then...” Marin finished, his face now turned to the floor. A single tear dropped to the dirty ground.

by **Anselm** on May 13th, 2012, 10:02 pm

If he starts bawling, thought Anselm. I'm going to reach across the table and slap him up the side of the head. Fortunately the boy managed to limit the display of emotion to a tear or two, thus removing the temptation to resort to violence. Not that Anselm would really have hit him. He was pretty much committed to non-violence. Not as a philosophical or moral matter, but as a practical manner. In most cases, the phrase “I'm gonna rip your arm off and beat you to death with it” is simply a colorful figure of speech. But in a Nuit's case it could easily turn out to be quite literal. Anselm preferred to avoid the literal version whenever possible.

The second problem was that Anselm could not find an actual question in the boy's story. He probably meant to ask, “What do these markings mean?” but he had not in fact asked that question. Or any question. This was unfortunate because Anselm depended on questions to inform his fortune telling. People nearly always came to him with a question. But they often didn't know exactly what their question was. So they would ask the question they thought they wanted answered. Anselm's job was to listen carefully and read between the lines to determine what they were actually asking. Merely helping someone identify the real question was often enough to produce an epiphany for them, for which Anselm would then get credit as an amazing teller of fortunes. The young man sitting before Anselm this morning had failed to provide any question at all.

“May I?” he asked as he reached out and took the bow out of the young man's hands. Anselm examined the carvings from various angles but could make nothing of them. He let his gloved hand slide along the length of the finely crafted weapon as his mind reached out to touch the bow's aura. At first it revealed nothing, which struck him as odd. Pretty much everything had an aura, so he should have sensed something. He concentrated on the feel of the wood, allowing his mind to become part of it. It seemed to shimmer in his hands for a moment and then he became aware of a dank, musty odor. He recognized this as his Auristics' way of sensing age. The odor gradually became stronger and more complex. The bow had a long, rich history. He could feel it calling him, summoning him, drawing him into its story. With an almost physical effort, he broke his concentration and handed the bow back to the young man.

He ran through in his mind what he now knew about his visitor. Clearly he had lost his father. Fairly recently, Anselm guessed. Equally clearly he had had a great deal of affection and respect for his father. He was in possession of a very old longbow which he mistakenly thought had been made by his father. It had designs of unknown origin and meaning carved into it. Finally, the boy seemed to be lost. In the sense that he was trying to find himself and his place in the world.

Anselm reached under the black cloak that covered him from head to foot, and brought forth a small cloth bag tied at the top with a leather cord. “I think it unlikely that I can help you with the bow,” He said. “But let us see what we shall see, shall we?” He smiled inwardly at his little word play as he carefully untied the bag and poured the contents into his right hand, which he held out so that the young man could see what he had. What he had was a set of eighteen tiny bones with intricate designs carved into them.

“If I may ...” He reached out with his gloved left hand and placed two fingers gently on the back of the boy's hand and allowed them to merge slightly with his aura. Then he turned his right hand over and let the bones tumble on to the table with a clatter. To a casual observer it would appear as though he had simply dumped the bones out of his hand resulting in a random arrangement. But in fact he had done something more complicated. He had given his hand a slight twist as the bones left his hand, which caused them to fall in an approximate pattern of six rows of three each. This, in turn, enabled him to match the throw with one of the sixty-four words of wisdom he had been taught by his master. He now solemnly intoned those words, which solemn intonation was for purely dramatic effect.

Mountain above, still. Thunder below, active.
Action does not depart from stillness, stillness nurtures action;
Action is not random, stillness is not vain.
Action and stillness unified: This is called thunder beneath the mountain.

Anselm paused. He had detected a slight disturbance in the boy's aura as he spoke one of the phrases. He used this to guide his selection of one of several brief teachings associated with this particular oracle. “The mountain is a place of stillness, a place of rest, a place of solidity. It is everything the thunder is not. You must dwell in the mountain to control the thunder. Fail to do this, and the thunder will destroy you.”

OOC :

by **Marin** on May 14th, 2012, 10:39 pm

“The mountains! No wonder why I came here!” Marin ended up saying this out loud, almost subconsciously as he slowly made sense of what the old man said. Marin could tell he knew, and that he probably knew even more than he thought. This man was a fortune teller after all!
“This entire city is surrounded by mountains!” Marin said, once again speaking his thoughts. “It must be a good sign, for I have chosen the right city to start my new life.”
A new life! How wonderful! It seems that my father has been watching for the entire time!
Marin thought of all of the other things he could have been asking the fortune teller, but the slowly fading light stopped him. The tent became a gloomy hole as the sun sank, and the day soon became night.
“Is there anything else you can tell me before I must leave?” Marin asked the man.

by **Anselm** on May 15th, 2012, 2:54 am

Excellent! Anselm thought to himself. Another satisfied customer. The irony did not escape him. The boy had seen in the oracle exactly what he wanted to see, so of course he was delighted. As always, the ancient words functioned like a mirror in which the seeker saw his own heart with perhaps more clarity than he otherwise might. As a bonus, at least for Anselm, the young man now thought of him as a great and wise fortune teller. Anselm saw no reason to disabuse him of this notion. After all, word-of-mouth was the best form of advertising.

“I'm happy for you,” he said somewhat more dryly than he intended. The young man presented a mildly interesting puzzle, as did everyone in Anselm's view. But it was the longbow that had Anselm's attention. “May I see the bow again?” He asked. Again he ran his hand along the fine wood and across the carved figures. Again the bow seemed to pull him into itself. I must have this bow, he thought. But how to get it? He didn't have a plan yet, but he could perhaps make some use of the fact that the boy was now in awe of him.

“Your father did not make this bow,” he announced, handing the bow back to its current owner. “This bow is quite old. It has passed through many hands. It was once owned by a warrior.” As he spoke, he stared into the boy's eyes and placed in his mind the image of warriors and wars. “A very dynamic personality. He is no doubt long dead, but the bow remembers him. In his hands it was a bringer of death to many people.” He layered the images of war with images of men dying with arrows embedded in their chests. “More than that I cannot see. But it has many stories to tell and it would be fascinating to uncover some of them, would it not?”

He let the question hang in the air for a few moments. Then he said, as though it had just now occurred to him, “I have some small experience in historical research. If you someday wish to learn more about the bow's history, I would be happy to undertake such an investigation for you. For a small fee, of course.” He placed a gentle suggestion in the young man's mind: Do not let this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity pass you by. Then he waited to see what the young man would do.

OOC :

by **Marin** on May 15th, 2012, 3:20 am

"Interesting! I can almost see the ancient warrior now! His piercing arrows, his glorious armor..." Marin's speech trailed off to thought. Just the thought of owning a bow that a great warrior did! Where must my father have gotten it? Marin thought to himself. He must have known such a man... Maybe this is part of his disappearance...
Marin looked back at the man, wondering what he was thinking. He seemed very smart and well trained, like he had been working on this skill for most of his life. He never hesitated, and seemed very interested in his subjects. What could have left him like this? Marin thought.
This man must be living off such a small amount of money, and might not even have a place to live. What could a little money do to hurt him?
“So how would you go about researching such a bow? It seems like complicated work.” Marin said. “Where would you find information on something this old, or is it even so?”

by **Anselm** on May 16th, 2012, 3:49 am

“For an experienced investigator such as myself several approaches present themselves for immediate consideration.” said Anselm thoughtfully. “Three to be exact.”

“First, in the city in which your father lived there will be people who remember him. Some among them may remember when he came into possession of the bow, and some might even remember how he came by it.

“Second, the warrior who once wielded this bow must surely be mentioned in some of the many histories that have been written about Mizahar. If he were just a warrior, the task would be impossible. But this was a remarkable warrior. He would have stood out. He would have left a legacy. The bow may well figure in that legacy.

“Third, there is the bow itself, with its unusual inscription. It too has a history, and that history may well be recorded in books as well.”

He took hold of his cane, heaved himself to his feet and walked out of the tent and out of the young man's sight. A few moments later he returned and sat down again. “I have to get up and stretch every once in a while,” he explained. “These old bones aren't what they used to be.” He smiled inwardly at his little joke but saw no reason to share it with the boy.

“I propose to begin with the greatest library in all of Mizahar, which just happens to be right here in Zeltiva. Provide me with directions to your house. I will do some initial research and report the results to you in a few days. In the meantime, you should search your own memory for anything you can remember about the bow that might help us determine its origin or the identify of the warrior. If you think of something, seek me out here at my tent. Perhaps Ovek will smile on our efforts and we will learn something of value quickly. What say you, my fellow investigator?”

OOC :

Suggestion :

by **Marin** on May 16th, 2012, 4:12 am

“I would love to find out more, but I would never be willing to let such a valuable heirloom out of my grasp. It meant much to my father, and much for me now.”

Marin looked sternly at the man, trying to figure out his thoughts. The hidden face of such a man didn't give him any hints, though. “Is there any way to continue this investigation without the bow?”

Marin hoped he would say yes, for the history of this bow could add value, and character to the heirloom. It might give me a possible lead on my father's disappearance! Marin thought to himself. Maybe the strange characters are a map, or directions to somewhere. His train of thought continued. It might be worth it...

OOC :

by **Anselm** on May 17th, 2012, 8:14 pm

“My dear fellow,” the old man said. “I do not require your bow. I have committed to memory the things I need for my initial investigation.” Anselm had not yet formulated a plan for acquiring the bow. But he had accomplished something important. He had ensured that the bow would remain within his reach while he did formulate a plan. “Go home, now. Try to remember anything that might be helpful to us as we work to solve our little mystery together.”

He collected Marin's name and directions to his house, and sent the young man on his way. Then he went home himself to think on the matter.

OOC :

by **Anselm** on May 17th, 2012, 8:14 pm

The evening of the 90th of Spring
Wright Memorial Library, Zeltiva

That evening Anselm found himself at the Wright Memorial Library. He had not yet come up with a plan to take possession of the bow. He could steal it. He didn't doubt his ability to pull that off, but Marin would immediately suspect him and might bring the local constabulary into the matter, something Anselm would rather avoid. He could hire someone to steal it for him, but the result would sooner or later be the same as if he had stolen it himself. He could offer to buy it from the young man, but we doubted Marin would part for it for any amount of money Anselm could afford. He considered simply killing the man and taking the bow. But murder is a tricky business. It draws a lot of attention from the local authorities. Unless you happen to be in Sunberth, of course, in which case it draws a lot of attention from whatever syndicate the victim happened to be associated with. In either case, the risk was too great. In Anselm's experience, if you're going to murder someone, it's best if you leave the city at once and put as much distance between yourself and the crime as you can. And don't come back for a hundred years or so. Anselm had no wish to leave Zeltiva just now. With no obvious plan in mind, he decided he might as well do some research to see if he could learn something about the bow's lineage. Thus the evening found him at the library.

He began in the military history section. It was not as extensive as he had expected. But that made sense when he thought about it for a bit. Nearly everything was destroyed in the Valterrian, including books. In the five hundred years since, the city states simply hadn't yet developed the ability to wage war on any significant scale. Nonetheless, they had managed to engage in a wide range of military ventures of varying levels of barbarity. He pulled the collection's first half dozen books off the a shelf, carried them to a nearby table, sat himself down and began paging through them. He did this rapidly. He wasn't trying to read them. He was scanning them for references to and drawings of bows. When he had finished with them, he put them back on the shelf and took the next half dozen books. He repeated the process until he had scanned through every book in the military history section. He had learned nothing about the old bow with the mysterious markings.

He sat at the table pondering what to do next when he became aware of someone standing directly behind him. He turned his head and found himself staring at someone's waist. He tilted his head upward and found himself looking into the brown eyes of a very tall man with six arms.

“Khawte!” Anselm exclaimed. “Must you sneak up on an old man like that? You might have given me a heart attack.”

The seven-foot tall Eypharian threw his head back and produced a deep, booming laugh. “Anselm ye old Nuit, ye don't even haf heart to attack.”

“True enough,” Anselm conceded. “A complete lack of functioning internal organs does have certain health benefits.”

“And deficits,” Khawte replied sagely. “I seem to haf found ye buried in dune of study. May-ee be of assistance?"

“Perhaps,” said Anselm thoughtfully. “Let me show you something.”

Anselm's feet and cane created echoes of an unsteady rhythm as they made their way to the Librarian's desk. Khawte's feet made no sound at all. Using the paper and pen at Khawte's desk, Anselm quickly sketched the bow, marking where the three mysterious figures were located. Then he carefully drew the figures.

“I am looking for information about a very old bow with these markings.”

Khawte studied the sketch for several moments before speaking. “I-ee do not recall seeing thing like this-ee. Ye have looked through military history books, have ye?”

“Yes. I did not find anything useful.”

“The library haf small collection of books-ee devoted to weaponry.”

“I would like to see that.”

The Eypharian shook his head sadly. “Ye have lost track-ee time, Anselm. It is late and I must lock-ee up library. But come back in morning. I will look at books and we see if I find thing of interest for ye.”

Anselm passed by some shops on his way home. They were closed. But as he passed by Treasures of the Sea he an idea. Rumor had it that the proprietor of this particular shop, one Raleaph, appeared not to age with the passage of time. Anselm didn't believe that, but rumor also had it that he was an expert in pre-Valterrian history. Anselm thought it unlikely that Marin's bow was that old. But Raleaph might also have knowledge of post-Valterrian history. It couldn't hurt to find out. He would visit this shop in the morning.

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