#lostandfoundfortune

“we can talk.” she leans a hip against the wall, showing no indication that she’s going to leave until he does so. a moment’s pause, and she holds out an arm. “come here.” she’s still hesitant to initiate physical contact with anyone who isn’t molly - but this is molly, and that’s a barrier that’s long since been gone. 

she’d ask what’s wrong, but there’s been a lot of wrong, recently. that happens when you get kidnapped, or when you almost die. 

The circus has come to Talonstadt. Late spring hangs in the air with its sweet smell of wildflowers and tickle of tall grass against naked ankles. Among the regular townsfolk of Talonstadt walks a beggar. His looks are nothing special; his dirty skin and brown clothes nearly cause him to blend into the gravel road. To anyone but the man himself, he looks like a believable part of the tableau. And, like all of the other folks, he has been drawn to the colorful tent and the performers, who drum up excitement for tonight’s show by showing tricks and playing games and selling sweets.

This beggar produces a silver for a candied apple, savoring the sweet as well as the sour and the crisp crunch with which he bites into it. He rarely indulges himself, but today reminds him of something. It smells like perfectly-aimed arrows and arm wrestle competitions. It tastes like a blue tiefling with a pink lollipop trailing her step.

It takes the beggar the better part of ten minutes to rid himself of the sugary mess afterwards. Treat consumed and sharp eyes ( and sharp mind ) having taken in the scenery around him, he knows where to look for his goal next. But he doesn’t even have to be a mastermind to find it; he can simply follow the delighted gasps of a little crowd of men, mostly women, and a few older children. Card-reading is not something little kids find interesting, but here and there one holds onto their mother’s skirts and look at the performer with large, round eyes.

Caleb follows the stares and finally sees the tiefling he has sought for weeks now. Mollymauk Tealeaf is reading a woman’s fortune, bejewelled hands gesturing to the cards in a way that makes it look as though he is absorbing magic and knowledge directly from them. His movements are enchanting, as is his confident voice as he tells the woman of her future, healthy grandchildren. And Caleb is reminded of something Mollymauk has not said yet: ‘ I left every town better than I found it. ‘ The woman sobs with joy and even leans across to take a hold of his hands for just a moment. Mollymauk will be right when he says those words.

They would come back for him, or try, if he didn’t make it clear this was his decision. They had watched Lucien nearly kill Beau, dispell his and Caduceus’ magic and leave them useless. They wouldn’t let him just stay. But the other wouldn’t be able to leave otherwise. They wouldn’t have enough time. The Tomb Takers would just continue to chase them. And they didn’t even need the stone.

But maybe they needed Caleb.

He didn’t have much time to explain it to the others, but they kept going, Caleb staying behind. 

“You don’t need them. You might need me...”

@lostandfoundfortune

  “I suppose that doesn’t stop a lot of people from trying though.” Lux chuckled, arms crossed as he leaned onto the table to get a better look at the other’s cards.

  There’s a flash of a toothy smile. “Well, you probably wouldn’t know it from the looks of me – and I appreciate the compliment, I do. Y’see, I am a member of a special group of misfits seeking fortune and the aid of those less fortunate. Adventurers, in fewer words. The Mighty Nein. Perhaps you’ve heard of us.”

  While Lux was of course aware that apperances could be deceiving, the tiefling was right to note that he did not look much like a professional adventurer. Charms like his would be better suited for a stage or a bustling festival, juggling balls or playing an instrument. But then again, nobody would guess from the looks of Lux that he had slain two Liches and an army of a thousand undead soldiers before either. Not that he would ever make it his primary occupation...

  “Honour whom honour is due”, he said, giving a little wink. “And actually, I might just have. Some of our guests a few towns ago were all up in some juicy gossip about a bunch of strange folks with a confusing name that did not actually match their numbers.” He chuckled.

Suggestive Sentence Starters

“I think you are drunk.” Caleb said with a bit of a slow start of his own. He hoped Molly was drunk. Because he was sure that he was as well. He wasn’t too fond of the idea of being the only drunk person in the room. Well, he wasn’t. Fjord was smashed, as Nott would say. But Fjord was snoring on the table. Yasha was off again. He imagined she could hold her on very well. Nott was rambling incoherently to Fjord and Jester was attempting to teach Beau to dance.

“I think you are drunk.” Caleb said again, wondering if Molly flirted with him on a regular basis just to fuck with him.

Send “nightmare” for my muse to wake up from a nightmare and go to your muse for comfort.

Caleb awoke with a short gasp. His mouth felt dry, his lips were dry. He felt horribly thirsty. Funny, somehow the opposite of Fjord’s nightmares. He hoped he hadn’t been talking in his sleep. He slowly moved out of bed, going to the small table and pouring himself a cup of water from the pitcher. He gulped it down quicker than he thought he could swallow.

A shiver racked through his body and he put the cup down, idly rubbing at his shirt sleeves, the bandages underneath hiding his own scars. It hurt to look at Molly sometimes. He cared not a wit to being naked, all the scars he had, the tattoos. They were things that made him who he was. Caleb couldn’t relate. He worried Molly might ask one day. Molly was curious like that.

A sigh left him, a hint of a groan at the end, miserable and tired. 

[  falling man starters  ]

@lostandfoundfortune

"Living in the present does not mean there is no regard for the future. What are you doing? There is always a next. A next town, a next day.”

Caleb felt surrounded by darkness. He was dreaming. He felt like he was dreaming. He was dreaming. He was speaking to Molly, who was dead, as if it were normal. Or maybe it was normal.

“I think you are drunk.”

Or Caleb was. Things were swimmy and hazy and he could feel his center being pulled. But where?

“Where is next?” 

Next meant forward. Next was always forward. But Caleb, the groups’ human compass, had no idea where north was, where next, forward, future were. 

He had done it. Finally. 

He did not expect to be this lost. He moved. Forward. But was unsure of what that meant anymore.