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Essence 6
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16. In Which Prophecies Are Laid

13 Apr 2007, 15:07

The tarot in this particular story comes from MelWong's interesting deck over at the Exalted Wiki.


Sesus Oramakos strolled down the streets of Greyfalls, feeling a pleasant sense of mild drunkenness and glad to be out in the fresh air. This late at night, the streets were all but deserted, giving him the sensation of being alone in the world.

It wasn’t a sensation that he minded, especially in the warm summer air. Just for a moment, to be free of the many burdensome responsibilities of his position was a blessing from the Dragons. He knew that he was more than capable of handling all the details required to match his dream of taking control of House Sesus (though not for many years yet – he was ambitious, but not foolish enough to challenge the elders of the House), but sometimes he wondered if he might have been happier as an outcaste, riding freely across Creation’s borders.

On the other hand, he reflected, fingering the fine silk shirt that he wore, there were advantages to the Dynastic position as well. He had no serious desire to trade his life of luxury and power for one of privation and uncertainty. It was merely a case of the life that one did lead seeming more romantic than the life that one did…

“Tell your fortune, milord?”

Jolted out of his thoughts, Oramakos glanced over. Sitting under the cover of an awning, a young, raven-haired woman sat cross-legged on the ground, her blue robes spread out around her. A small table sat before her, with an set of cards lying on it. Oramakos raised an eyebrow, approaching her. “Rather late for fortune-telling, is it not?”

“Not at all, milord.” The woman inclined her head. “This is a very safe neighborhood, and many are those leaving the bars with a bit of coin they’ve won and an inclination to believe in a kind destiny.” She smiled faintly. “Though I do not think you fall into such a group.”

“I do not.” Oramakos considered the woman for a moment, and then searched his pockets for a sufficiently small jade coin, dropping it on the table. “Very well, then. Tell me my fortune.”

The woman nodded, holding out the deck. “Shuffle it and return it, if you please.”

Shrugging, Oramakos did as she asked, handing the deck back to her. Quickly giving it a second shuffle, she dealt out the first three cards. “The Nine of Fire, reversed. The Seven of Water, also reversed. And… Malfeas. Also reversed.” She looked upwards. Great changes lie in wake, of your own making. Over the next week, you will take action to destroy all that you hold dear.”

Oramakos blinked. “You’re new to this, aren’t you?”

“How so?” The woman carefully laid out three more cards, looking a bit concerned about turning them over.

“Traditionally, one promises good fortune to the client.”

“That would be a lie.” The woman’s voice was expressionless as she turned over the next three cards. “The Yozi. The Deathlord. The Wyld, reversed. A very powerful and clear combination. You will die tonight.”

“I will die… tonight.” Oramakos raised an eyebrow.

“That is correct.”

“And then I’m going to take action to destroy things I love.”

“Also correct.”

“Right.” Oramakos shook his head. “I think you need a new deck of c—” His words cut out. To a casual observer, if there had been one on the deserted street, his sudden sway could be taken as the result of one too many of the local brews. Certainly, only those closest to him might have noticed the razor-sharp strands of hair that had scythed outwards from the fortune-teller’s head, slicing cleanly and instantly underneath his eyes and into his brain. Bleeding tears, he fell forwards, and she reached up to stop him inches from the table.

“Now, you shouldn’t blame the teller for the fortune.” Glancing about, the fortune-teller stood, easily hefting the Dynast as she did so, and pulled him back into the shadows. Reaching downwards, her fingers became claws, and strange, greenish-silver tattoos bled out through her pores, chasing each other across her skin as she prepared to feed.

Moments later, Sesus Oramakos stepped out from the shadows, the last of his tattoos slipping back underneath his new skin. Pausing by the fortune-teller’s table, he glanced over the spread and shook his head. Leaning down, he quickly gathered the cards, sliding them into a fold in his armor and surreptitiously checking his lips for traces of blood. Quietly, he chuckled.

“Foolish boy. One should always listen to prophecy.”
"Some people walk in the rain. Others merely get wet."

Patchwork Champions - You say "to-ma-toe", I say "world-ravaging-laser-beam".
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Essence 10
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13 Apr 2007, 16:57

Ah, trickstering. <^_^>
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Essence 8
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13 Apr 2007, 19:28

AHHHH! Demon Lunar! Demon Lunar!
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