Forums » Forum Games » The Crystal Ball

"Let it not be said that I put stock in thrown bones and cast die, but a bit of foresight tends to go a long way." Rosaline started off, a soft smile lifting the corners of her face. She heard herself speak, the hypocrisy in her words. Like the crow sitting still on her shoulder, neither breaking stillness nor sound, there was a silent resolution that led her to believe that the witch held some answers to burning, pertinent questions of the future, always undefined and in flux.

We whom gods and men have forsaken shall be the instruments of our own deliverance.

She needn't tell him the whole story. No, if he were truly a seer of the future, then neither the past nor present should be clouded to him. In fact, from what she'd heard from other such practitioners, they quite preferred to be asked simple questions.

Eyes never shut.

"Will this all be for naught? Will life, in its cruel and merciless grip, render everything I've built for sake of survival useless? Truly that which lives is destined to die, but will everything I toiled so hard for be wrought by some twist of fate, or will we weather the storm and I'll have a successor to pass my legacy onto, and see my colleagues thrive as my time reaches an end?"

The spymistress then reached into her satchel, pulling out a long crow's feather from it. On its spine is etched in a script native to the witch's tongue, 'they are deaf, dumb and blind, and they will not return to the right path'.

"It's clean, don't worry about it." She said, holding it out in exchange. "When the world, as is its wont, turns its head on you and catches you in a corner, this will provide you a means of escape. Simply hold it out and pour in your energy, and run wheresoever you choose. No one will be able to follow."

Jadugar twirled the feather in his fingers, running a thumb along the etched words. "Fine craftsmanship," he murmured, eyes flicking up to hers--no, above her head. Sensing magic never was as simple as just visual manifestation. Instead, he felt a downward pressure, gentle but inexorable, and he half-expected the crown of her head to dimple from the force. From somewhere within the tight shadows between the items cluttered on his shelves, curious things peeked, shuddered, and left.

"So you are. . ." He rolled "warlock" around in his mind, tasting it, hating it. Witch? Occultist? Cursed? "Similiar," he finished, "and no wonder, for who else would attempt to purchase three answers with a single feather?" The corner of his lips quirked up in what could've been a smile or a sneer, his tone too hushed and musical to tell much, and he turned to the table, its surface clean save for a fine layer of finer sand.

"The first question you answered yourself: what lives is destined to die. Every lineage you build will end, every tower you raise turned to dust, not destroyed but changed yet surely forgotten. Though I sense your ambition to overcome it, and that's what makes you like I, but take care lest you fly too close to the sun, Ozymandias." The quirked lip quirked higher into a teasing smile. "But that is no occult truth and so shall be given away to you for free. Indeed, I've even heard the rabble speak of such nihilism; and once one's drunk with it for the first time, it's marvellous how easily their secrets come undone as they wonder why they should bother to hide it in the first place, wouldn't you agree?" He held the feather like a pen, scribbling patterns into the sand. A few scratches later, the chart was done:

"Carcer, the sign of imprisonment and binding, rests in your Sixth House, domain of employees and successors"--he pointed to the dot-dash-dash-dot pattern in the right side of the square with the nib of the feather--"a firm no, but ah, look here: Puer appears next to both the First and Sixth house, portending your desire shall be carried out and helped forward by another person, a man in this case. And look here, both the figures in your First and Sixth chart pass next to each other elsewhere in the chart, meaning your successor shall be gained through unexpected means. I am forced to conclude you shall achieve your successor, but Carcer suggests you shall be more bound to your charge rather than willingly leading them. Look here, the passing of both signs into the Third and Fourth house warn that your brother--do you have a brother? Don't bother answering, I know--will play a factor in this, and your. . . father."

He exhaled with widened eyes, stumbling over the shock of his own interpretation as he leaned back into the chair. "And in it, of course, I see also whether or not you shall survive to see those you helped thrive"--he swept his sleeve across the sand and scattered the signs--"but one token earns you one reading. Good luck on your travels; I would say I pray that a bitter end won't be the reward of all your efforts, but ah, I'm shrewd enough to not try to alter someone else's fate when the course is set."

Also, mini-celebration time! We have officially hit two pages! Thank you to everyone who so kindly posted, wouldn't be here without you guys!

Don't be afraid to double-dip for a divination, I love repeat customers!

" The government who needs to get their act together that's what kind. An thanks Disney Mission Space down in EPCOT is the only attachment with a maince team. A lot of people loses their lunches on the dang ride. I saw it first-hand many times. '' Amber explained as she lefts the hut " Thanks again kitty cat! "

A wolf pup enters the hut with a small cute smile on her face with Hulk theme collar on with a black leash " Excues me sir? I was wondering if you could tell me if I will be able to Eternals one day. I have met most the Avengers due to my dad being one and really want to meet the Eternals one day. " Rose said waging her tail softly looking up at the person behind the table

It was something of an oddity, seeing someone so certain enter a stranger's tent for answers. Odder still considering he was married to a seer, though a fortune-seeker's services were sought in her place, for he was unwilling to watch his wife pay the price for a brief glimpse into the future. Be it in want of amusement, or an indifference towards possible disappointment, Dralt showed no signs of doubt as he drew up a chair. He considered the charm seller with an air of confidence that this would not be a waste of time nor payment. Fate, fortune, whatever one places stock in, he had a good feeling about this one. "I have always navigated the ocean of life as it saw fit to pitch its waves, meeting developments as they arrive. Yet with all of the uncertainty I have faced, I must say, there is surely some value in having a hint at what the future has in store. What do your tools of foresight see waiting for me in the coming year?" He placed payment on the table, something of worth: a scrap of sentimentality, to be sure, but more so the shine of rarity and allure of arcane significance. It was weighty, oval-shaped, pale and gleaming with an opalescent sheen. The captain explained in brief, "The scale of a leviathan, slain at sea."

Jadugar gazed over the lip of his desk with a quirked eyebrow. Witches and heroes always proved a disastrous mix, let alone witches and children, but a surprise must be met the same way in turn. A curious child warranted a good witch, and so Jadugar smiled a smile free of malice, producing from his sleeve a wrapped sweet to drop into her palm--besides, the Avengers have done and have little for Jadugar to covet or worry over, no sense in turning this one into a future asset, too. "You are wet clay yet to be fired by the ovens," he explained with a ruffle of her hair, "you can yet be shaped into anything you wish. I would not steal that freedom from you by proclaiming what shall be. Be an Eternal, be an Avenger, be beyond them, be whatever you wish: all paths lay equally open to you."

He sighed an easy sigh and saw her off with a gesture of blessing. There, a child's sunny presence to ward off the miasma of ill-fortunes that have plagued the shop air.

"You certainly are a man with a theme," he said with a mirthful curl of his lip as he brought a hand below his table, "even came in smelling like fish. The Sea been kind to you, I hope? I have heard terrible storms forecasted to brew"--his sly eyes narrowed at a lead tablet that hung near them from the rafters, crusted with barnacles; if his eyes were sharp and his Hindi polished, perhaps Dralt could make out the incantation that invited Indra to make war with Varuna--"all travelling talismans go on sale soon, Captain. But ah, that's business for later."

Jadugar sloshed a wooden bowl of clear water onto the table and pinched his fingers in the air above it. A drop of ink pearled from the tip of his claws and dripped into the centre of the bowl, spidering out in a growing web of black. Each thin finger of ink perhaps another influence working its ill or good, each swell or flow another period of growing and wasting. Jadugar watched the drop of ink spread, eyebrows furrowed--in concentration? Worry? He returned his gaze to Dralt and smoothed his expression into a business-like blankness

"The circle represents the year, divided equally into twelve sections to represent the twelve areas of one's life. A strong, clear circle is the best fate we can hope for." And Dralt's seemed more like a fractured web.

The Witch pointed to patterns in the ink that seemed like swords and purses and areas where they repeated, to open roads and prisons and faces laughing and fuming.

"I see adventure, daring and hot-blooded escapades where bravery is the key to survival. Beware of sorcerers on such ventures--other sorcerers--and beware of your friends, for not all of them will treat you as such in the coming year. There will be little festivities, and the ocean shall keep you in Her cold embrace for long whiles in this year, for I foresee a death that will spur you on a long journey."

He looked up again from the bowl, studying Dralt's face with the same scrutiny he offered the bowl. Was he savouring?

"But all shall be safe and happy in home, family, and marriage, and all your voyages will be blessed. What seeds you sow this year will bloom into the highest of joys in the next, and all shall ultimately be well. Verily, you are a fortunate man: Not many men have such brutal fates writ in the blood of anyone but themselves, let alone have it end so joyfully."

Jadugar took up the bowl again and tipped it into the pot that bloomed some green shoot, but at the first touch of that stained water, it withered into a brown crisp, and now something of an understanding smile crept back into his face. "But, ah, I see someone like you has cheated death often. Do not worry, your scale covers the cost of getting me a new garlic plant."

A night of drinking was only best served by questionable actions of asking local witches for future readings. At least, that is what Zavik had going through his disoriented mind as he blundered nearly headfirst into the hut. Eyes barely rose as vision blurred sharply on the figure that awaited, solely to be distracted by the various objects that layed strewn around the dwelling. Zavik took a few moments to steady himself, feet planted firmly on the ground as he breathed in and out slowly to avoid hurling up the tasty festives of tonight. "Ok, Zavik is goin' to be fine. Just have to ask a quest...questi..on." The words slurred ever so slightly as he finally looked back up with no better-focused eyes than before.

"O..ok...paym'nt right. Or a question?" Eyes furrowed in the hope that the answer came, only to figure it out himself seconds later with a proclamation. "Right! I must kno...wil' I ever win the game the godz... have placed forward for me? Or was it always cheated from the start?" Body swayed lightly before the staggered voice continued, "jus.. so that you know no matter the answer. We do..wait..no. We don't fold at this table!" Astonished by his capability to get the inquiry out, the gambler stared straight into the witch's eyes in challenging nature. Never breaking eye contact, Zavik reached clumsily into his pocket with the question out there and flung the dice haphazardly as payment. The blackened obsidian rocked objects rolled loudly as they clattered a few times before halting right in front of the witch by some miracle. They were shining just under the lantern light sufficient to show carved snake eyes peering upward; An omen strong and faithful of the gambler's misfortune.

(Sean)

In his pristine work clothes, fair hair pulled back and impeccable, Sean could have passed for just any other valet out to do his Lord or Lady's bidding. He had long learned that an unsassuming appearance, a pleasing smile and dutiful, efficent work could reach farther than money or rank. Not even for a day he had believed in fate; he was the master of his own future, and he would take back what rightfully belonged to him. In due time.

But as his eyes fell on the Witch's hut, a sly smile curved his lips upwards. 'Well... why not get some amusement?' He did not believe in fortune telling, but he decided to indulge the whim of fancy that had taken him. At most? He would get a good laugh out of it. Outside the door, he rummaged in his pockets, wondering what could be considered valuable "payment" for such unusual services. Surely fortune tellers were as much after money as anyone else, but a direct charity, he had long learned, tended to be spurned by those of the lowest rank. No, better go for something that could be worth to resell - perhaps to a collector, or even a simple bidder.

Hi fingers searched in the pocket and finally closed around - ah, perfect. He grinned, drawing out a golden medallion plated with gemstones. A gift he had been left when his last Lady - an ancient woman, so frail that it had taken but a cold to claim her too-long life - had left the mortal world. He remembered she said something about it having belonged to an ancestor of her who dabbed into alchemy - and so the runes on the gold seemed to indicate. He had kept it around, waiting for the occasion to peddle it off to a good offer; this would just do as well.

He walked in the hut, his stride purposeful, the expression in his eyes - the blue eyes of the late Elisabeth Delavey - one of polite courtesy. But there was something else in those eyes; a cunning, amused, secret smile that made him appear somewhat feline too - as much as a human man could, at least.

"May the evening find you well", he said as he took his sat before the cloaked Witch. "I come to offer a memento, an old heirloom that was passed on to me. It was said to belong to someone who - certainly much like yourself - liked to investigate the arcane arts. I confide that you will make good use of it... sir." He showed Jadugar the medallion, making sure that the gold gleamed under the light. But he kept the cord wrapped around his fingers... at least until the "fortune telling" was over.

"Now, about my question. I have faced a great many... difficulties in my life, from the time I was still a newborn in my mother's arms." His lips curved upwards in a smile, but this time all the warmth had evaporated from those blue eyes. "A man wanted me dead, when I was simply too young to even understand what life - or death - were. For what reasons, I can only hazard." Not that it mattered too much. What's done is done. "That man and I happen to share the same blood. Not that he knows I've survived my plight. Nowadays, he's trying to redeem his sins, but there are stains that will keep resurfacing no matter how often the cloth is cleansed, and the stain of blood calling from the grave is among these."

He leaned forward, his skin pale under the light, lending him an almost ghostly appearance. "I want him to pay for what he's done. And I want him to die, just as he would have wanted me to die when I was just an infant. But before then, he'll have a lot to account for, and a lot of answers to give. I've been biding my time, studying my moves, planning, preparing. He is a brute who thinks only through weapons and force of hand, but my force is in here." He tapped a spidery finger against his own forehead. "And I can wait as long as it takes to make his downfall all the more degrading as possible."

"But..." An eyebrow arched. "These are times of peril we live in, and with the many bridges that rascal's burned around himself, I'm certainly far from the only one who wants him dead. So what I'm asking you is..." His eyes lit up, all malevolence and burning hatred. "... will my hand be the one that triumphs in the end, robbing him of his life, and taking back what's been robbed from me?"

Missed me?
Jadugar sat at his desk, Tarot deck in hand and incessantly shuffling. Even he didn't know how long he had been sitting there, waiting, shuffling, randomly flipping over a card now and then and drawing The Wheel of Fortune every time; for such was the nature of the hut, so suffused with sorcery as it was, that even time flexed and flowed strangely. In the span of a single shuffle, a good four months could've passed out there while he sat waiting within. But at last his Wheel of Fortune came, drunk and ready. The inebriated and insane were always favoured folk in Jadugar's shop, their liberated minds sensitive enough to truly feel the magic about the place. Their wallets being easier to pry was also a benefit he didn't pretend not to enjoy. And so it was with a smile that Jadugar greeted Zavik as he kept up his shuffling, saying, "I've never met a god that's played fair, but we shall see if yours have shown enough restraint."

He set the deck down and accepted the dice, taking special note of the result before he vanished it up his sleeve and dealt out three cards facedown from the deck. For Jadugar knew better than to believe in coincidences, especially in his shop where the sensitive connections between all things in the grand celestial harmony of the universe were particularly heightened. In this magical space, even a focused thought could be enough to shake something off a shelf. Or, as it were, the influence of a gambler's blessing-curse to shift the probability of Jadugar's drawing from the Tarot deck to cause to reveal:

Jadugar paused, uncharacteristically silent as his hand hovered over the revealed cards. He quickly flipped over the deck and thumbed through a few: all non-repeating, all Tarot. With an incredulous huff, Jadugar leaned back into his seat, looking up at Zavik with wide, disbelieving eyes and the kind of grin only brought about by a situation so disarming that the only thing one could do was laugh. Silence followed, stretching on to the point of being unbearable before Jadugar broke it with a "Well!"

Another beat of silence, another sigh, Jadugar dropping his gaze to the cards once more. Finally: "I do not know if, for your uncanny aura, I should congratulate you, incapacitate you, study you, or pledge myself to you. The cards themselves seem equally bewildered. The 7 of Hearts corresponds to the 7 of Cups, a figure of illusory, fleeting, but limitless potentiality. A living dream. All paths, all potentials, lay open to you but remain constantly shifting. Every step forward is equally likely to take you backwards or even sideways, every correct answer capable of suddenly becoming fatally wrong in the next breath. You ask if your Gods have left you a fighting chance or doomed you from the start, and I wager even your God doesn't know the answer to that. But make no mistake: the twisting paths ahead of you are fraught with danger. Be ever vigilant and cunning."

Jadugar gathered up the cards and set them back unto the deck, flipping the whole deck on a whim and being barely able to repress a chuckle to find the 7 of Cups waiting on top.

"Go with my blessings and enjoy the rest of your night. I hope the chaos about you lets you live long enough for you to find your way back into my shop again one day."

Unease gripped Jadugar the moment the man entered. Not out of fear or distaste for the man himself, but only because he caught the distinct impression that Sean thought himself above Jadugar, and the Witch's pride prickled at the thought of it. But good business sense held his tongue as he bid the man welcome, but with not so tight a hold as to prevent Jadugar from having a little bit of fun. "Quite trusting to reveal so much to me so quickly, or do you just suppose that I would've seen all that reflected in my charts anyway? But you seem one to prefer dangerous games, a quality I must commend. A moment while I draw up your fortune."

A quick dive into his sleeves pulled out a sheet of parchment, a pen, and Zavik's dice. He rolled with one hand and noted down the results in an arcane script with the other, speaking as he compiled the chart: "May I never be so vulgar as to blatantly advertise, but death is half the trade of a Witch. An ally awaits if you need it. But let's see what the Fates say."

Jadugar blew out an incredulous breath as he looked up at Sean, mouth drawn into a tight, sympathetic line. "Laetita--meaning joy--rests in the Eighth House, the domain of death. He shall die happy and healthy. My condolences. Look here, Peur--the dot-dot-dash-dot pattern you see--rests in the First House which tells us he is vigilant and on guard, thwarting any plans being formed against him. It passes also into the Fifth House, suggesting children as being a point of suspicion for him.."

And so the Fate was writ, delivered in flat and morose tones. But here Jadugar's voice gained an excited edge as it dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, the Witch leaning over to point to the dot-dash-dash-dash figure in the middle triangle along the top of the square.

"But the universe is never so fatalistic. These are more akin to weather reports, predictions based on current trends. Change your strategy and you stand to change destiny. Look here, Laetita passes to the Tenth House whose domain is medical treatment, positions of authority, and-or the querent's mother. These are the factors which lead to his happy eventual end. Target these and you might yet humiliate him. This advice I give free of charge, so use it well. I am rarely so generous, but ambition recognises ambition, and I must respect it. Go now, and be cunning, and perhaps we shall toast together over his obituary another day."

The aircraft carrier, a renowned hero, would enter into this torture teller’s place, in hope to find an answer for a long-standing question she had. “I want to know…This war my country’s been fighting…is it going to take my sisters away?”

((This look really fun! ))

Nina was exhausted and really needed to get some sleep. It was 2 AM and she made her way to the bathroom and hoped she would be able to fall asleep once she got back to bed. Things were on track until she opened the bathroom door and stepped back out into the hall...

"Welcome." a voice said as Nina paused with her hand on the back of the chair. She was going to ask where she was and how to get back, but the surreal feeling she got seemed to have her thinking of other things. She was even doubting whether she was really awake and hadn't just fallen asleep and launched herself into a dream. The sound of his welcome seemed to enchant her, and she took another deep breath of the smoky air before she stepped around and sat down in the chair.

"Hello..." Nina said roughly, wishing she had a cigarette to smoke to calm her nerves.

"I kind of unexpectedly arrived here... not sure where I am... but..." Nina's stomach growled and it seemed to be rather loud. She set a hand on her stomach and blushed a little as her loose unkempt blonde locks fell forward as she glanced down.

She looked back up to the mysterious eyes that peered at her from across the old table and she spoke slowly... "I feel that you know things... many things... Can you tell me sir... will... will I ever have another baby? I'm forty years old and I feel my time passing...."

Nina paused and brought a hand up to brush her hair away from her cheek, and the bracelet she wore glinted in the light for a split second drawing her eyes to it. Her hand paused as she pondered it... something she wore all the time that it had become second-nature and felt as much a part of her as her hand. one of the silver teardrops dangling from it had inscribed in very small cursive, 'Sara' and another one had inscribed in it 'LeAnn'. Nina's eyes started to wet as she watched them moving slightly....

The AI melody stepped into the tent with a tilt of her head. Then presented a painting. Lovingly crafted it was a depiction of a nebula far in the reaches of space. "Will I ever know if I have a soul." She inquired in her sweet voice, full of curiosity and child like wonder

A wall of spices and herbs upon the table stood between Jadugar and Enterprise, a defensive barricade of sachets and bottles against the strange aura of the new comer; though it only seemed as if he were preparing spice blends as he poured a dram of this into that or rolled peppercorns between claws, sniffing it deeply. Not to check for freshness, but to clear his nose of the gun-metal smell of war that clung to the customer with the sharp, clean perfume of the peppercorn; peppercorn, whose other name is black gold, spice of rebirth and burial, of setting to sleep that which should be still--like metal. Automaton, then? But the flesh is too pliant to be like any clockwork doll the witch was familiar with.

Uneasy but helplessly curious, he nevertheless carried on casually his business of blending his bounty of coloured powders and leaves. But a greater play was unfolding on the table than just preparatory mixes. Here, red chilli, spice of Mars and war, spilt in a circle around a tied bundle of ribwort, herb sacred to warriors with board leaves like shields. And here and there, small piles of this or that, players in the war represented by standing shakers or slivers of roots. A perfect microcosm, the competing scents in the scene rising to create a sharp, acrid cloud like the bitter stench of war. And there, a few dried apple slices, fruit of Venus and flower of sisterhood: Enterprise's sisters. Jadugar reached over them and the flap of his sleeve knocked over a shaker, spilling forth silk-fine powder over them. Smashed walnuts, nut of hearty resolve yet bitter to the tongue. Rejuvenating, but at what cost?

Jadugar paused, picked one of the slices, and offered it to the strange woman who brought to his mind images of oceans and oil. "It will be hard, but in the end, they shall persevere: happy, healthy, and yours." And so the world revealed to him, and so he prophesized.

Uncanny realm of unreality that his hut was, Jadugar had long learned to accept such surprise visitors with peerless composure. Even though he felt the gulf of a thousand galaxies and lives separating them, he bridged it with an easy smile as he blew another plume of hazy smoke from the hookah pipe whose source bubbled somewhere under the table; warmly scented with the heat of desert spices and bluish in the low light of the hut, it suffused the store with a dream-like haze, for surely this had to be a dream, some narrative built by a restless mind out of a stray cat she might've seen once crossing by a smoke shop. Or at least Jadugar assumed she took this whole event as such; after all, she was keeping a greater control on her emotions than most who find themselves whisked here unwillingly by the whims of the store.

"A fine question," he said, voice low and trailing fingers of smoke into the air with every word, smoke enchanted by his witch's breath and evolving shapes into the air. They stitched together into an outline of a person gazing out to a boundless sea as they leaned upon a staff, the edge of the horizon broken by the bump of an island--their treasure. But how to reach it? "With effort," Jadugar finished, his slight breath breaking the illusion into wisps of scented smoke that curled their delicate fingers around Nina's features. "Effort enough to squeeze water from stone, to break the hard shell of the seed to find the mighty oak within. The path lies in front of you, you need only to cross it. So cross it."

As he spoke, the smoke deepened, obscured, swallowing the shop in a sea of bluish-grey until all that was left were the burning embers of the witch's eyes until that, too, was quenced. Then the vision lifted, the clouds parted, and so normalcy was seemed to have been restored: back home, a strange hallucination after all. Except, of course, for a single cigarette awaiting her on her dresser, smelling faintly of desert sun and apples, holy to Venus, Fruitful Mother. A gift, for luck.

Another one smelling of metal! But one with a gift which did wonders to blunt the ironic suspicion the Witch held for the sorcery of artificers and engineers. "A question for more a theologian than a Witch," Jadugar conceded as he took the painting, inspecting it closely and with a hint of reverence, or was that cunning in his eye, scheming at all the ritual uses of such a fine depiction of the potent night sky? In truth, it was stalling as he sought an answer that wasn't there. He thought to wryly suggest that maybe if they both search they can discover if truly anyone has a soul--for what is a soul? How to sense it?--but a mixture of pride and desire to keep the painting stayed his tongue. How then to answer the riddle?

He withdrew a pen from his sleeve, its tip already beading with ink. He raised it above the flat table and queried aloud to the universe, "Does she have a soul?" The black pearl of ink dripped, and then a thin stream trickled from the pen, splashing on the table and seeping into it a curious design.

True? False? A true matter of perspective.

The door creaked slightly, and a figure in long, flowing pale robes slid into the Witch's Hut. Once more, she wasn't alone; the two fox-like kids happily followed their mother, once more thrilled to look at all the unknown and eye-catching objects that littered the place. The infant baby in her arms was sound asleep, clutching to a lock of her hair. At first sight, it seemed as though a day hadn't passed since she last walked in the hut, seeking hope. Everything looked just the same.

And yet something about her had changed; that much would be obvious to Jadugar the moment she sat and looked at him from across the table. Her eyes, though still older than her age, had a different expression - a sheer boldness thart hadn't been there before, but somehow looked like it still belonged there for an even longer time. Oh, the scars were still there, sure enough - pain and regrets aplenty for a life or two - but she wasn't as weighted down by the suffering, as haunted by it, as she had looked on their very first meeting. Was it something about the way her back and shoulders were straighter? Was it the shadow of something that could be a smile? Was it confidence - or that very same hope she had asked him about, once?

"How are you, Silvertongue? It's been a long time." Even her voice was different. There was... something, not exactly a faint echo of a laugh, not exactly a smile - but something new was there alright. "I brought you a gift", she informed the Witch, as she passed the asleep baby from one arm to another. "Chiara, can you...?"

"Yes, momma!" the little arctic vixen nodded eagerly and handed her mother a cardboard box he had been carrying in her tiny arms, with an air of great importance. Cris placed it carefully on the table and pushed it a little toward Jadugar. Inside the box, the Witch would find what looked like an articulate holographic sculpture enriched by gems that were held in place by an ingenius system of strings and transparent plastic supports. The backdrop, in which the projector was encased, had been handpainted with a starscape motif - but far more work went into the sculpture itself which, doubtlessly, bore a striking resemblance to Jadugar himself; from the long cowl of the robe to the sharp pointed ears. Even the crystals had not, it seemed, been chosen randomly; two bright amethysts in place of the eyes, aventurine in place of the rings, a black tormaline giving sheen to the sculpted hair.

"I hope I got the meanings right for the crystals... looked them up in a book, but I don't really know how reliable that is", she explained sheepishly. "Feel free to throw it after me if I've totally misinterpreted the meanings and they say something stupid, though." Even that playful note in her voice was new. Or new-and-old - like something that she wasn't used to anymore. "And... maybe you can tell me something else I'd like to know? If it's not too much trouble?"

Shaking her head, she tried to think of how to word her question. It was as though too many different thoughts and concepts were crowding upon her, and she couldn't chose where to begin. "When we first met, you said I was looking for the North Star and that I had so many paths ahead of me, some better, some worse - so I just followed one, not knowing where it'd take me or how far, just... going with the tide and trying to keep my head above the water.. At first I thought... it's all there'd ever be to it, but then... over time, something changed, something... that I can't explain." She herself wasn't sure how to explain. "It was like... being swept this way and that by the fury of the storm, and then I'd realize that all the while a raft of fortune had kept me afloat, and looking up at the sky I'd notice that where I had thought to see only pitch black there were stars - and they formed a familiar pattern, familiar enough to give me an idea of where I was going? Oh, the storm was still there alright, but I didn't feel so - breathless, anymore, even as I faced it."

She looked up at Jadugar, and from across the table - from behind the mask - her eyes smiled. Something new, again. "Guess I just chose a lucky path, huh? And now it's like... clearer, in my, ah, head." A pause. Again she was looking for the right words. "Maybe I don't have hope... but I have certainties. Few, maybe frail like a prism, but they are my armor, my compass. Some things even about me I'll never know for sure... but others, I have no qualms about. And that gives me a sense of... I don't know. It's empowering, it's... reassuring, too, to some degree." So much rambling - and she still was no closer than before to know how to voice the question that burned in her heart.

"What I'm trying to say is that... I'm not afraid of - stars, how do I explain it? - things that terrified me before. And some things I still fear, but not in the same... blinding way. You know how deers will freeze if they see headlights? Well I don't feel like that anymore but - like I'm seeing the headlights and want to avert them." She shook her head. "Guess I'm even more of a mess than when we first talked, right? But I keep digressing - argh, I can't help it!" Again the smile, that something in her voice that spoke of a new confidence, of wounds healing and new challenges. This time there was a ring of laugh in her voice - but not derisive; cheerful, if anything. "What's in store for me, can you see it in your cards and books and stuff? I'm curious! If it's good things, great - if it's bad things, knowing in advance gives me advantage and I can try to turn them into good. Like - what's their name - wasn't it alchemists who turned iron in gold or something like that..."

"Yay!" Reyn exclaimed, clapping his hands. "You'll do magic, mum?" Turning things in gold seemed a pretty spectacular magic trick!

And this time, unarguably, it was a rarely heard, heartfelt laugh that their mother broke into. "What - me? No no no!" Still chuckling, she looked up at Jadugar. "Don't worry, I don't mean to steal your thunder, it was just a figure of speech! You know how they say... give me a place to stand and I will move the world? Now I have found that place, I'm just curious how much world-moving I should prepare for", she chuckled.

Healing could present itself in many ways. But there was no doubt she had come a long way from the haunted, world-weary wreck who first walked in the Witch's Hut all that time ago.

and a juicy big post to make up for my absence

Widened eyes broke the mask of cool superiority on the Witch's face. He had evidently not seen this in his many divinations. A dry swallow, a mumbled greeting, an uncertain look torn between shock and pleasure as if presented with a phantom or, indeed, an alien from the stars. Joy was always the rarest of the treasures his customers returned with. Unexpected grief for a granted wish they realized too late they didn't want, or silent brooding for a presaged destiny come true, but gratitude? And a gift?

He toyed with the crystalline display, risking delicate touches as if it might shatter suddenly. Not a trade, but a present. The offal of slaughtered eldritch nightmares snatched from between impossible angles felt less alien. "No, it's wonderful. Thank you," he murmured, the fluid music of his voice belying the awe buried within. He favoured her and her children with thankful glances as she started with her tale.

Jadugar lent an attentive ear all the while his hut shifted about to comfort them, for they were now guests, not customers. Smaller chairs for the little ones evolved out of the mess of items that were pushed against his walls, and they slid by silently to appear unobtrusively for the little ones to sit on. A momentary glance away from the table and back would reveal suddenly a steaming cup of delicate herbal tea placed there for Cris in the instant between the glances. Bit by bit the air of dangerous curiosity bled away from the shop, replaced now by the warm sense of community offered by a social call deep in a sunny woods; was it just that, then, or did the hut seem to glow subtly brighter as Jadugar's lips fixed into an amused curve?

"And here I've been, sitting in my shop all this while!" His voice bright and humorous, but perhaps too loud. He had been here all this time. Frozen. Discovering nothing, doing nothing. An odd shame crawled in his belly, but he continued on smiling. "You have journeyed far, and I am glad to see your safe return," he said at the end of Cris' tale of discovery, "few can navigate the twisting fate of the 7 of Cups so skillfully. You are well-armed in many matters." He went quiet then. The compliment soured into an omen as the corner of a lip flickered down for an instant. Jadugar shifted away his eyes from Cris and to the table where now, in the centre, lay her fate. "Excitement still lives in your life. I see an adventure," he portended, though his tone was too flat for the word. The Page of Wands was adventure, readying his staff with the wide expanse of undiscovered land about him. This--furious man atop a steed hurrying so fast that it seemed to be flying, charging not East to new lands, but West back home, to an old enemy, with sword held aloft--was war. He returned that bright look back on Cris, though now it seemed plain to see the too-tight smile that didn't crinkle his eyes with genuine pleasure.

"Always such movement in your cards, and always you the active element. Leading the charge, facing directly. You must be a fire sign," he went on, hand flexing as he searched for delicate words to imply what he must. Unrest, unease, a situation in which she must attack with full force. "Not a bad fate," and that much was true. It was not a bad future--"Only without rest." He prayed--a moment of wonder broke his train of thought. A Witch was praying. Yes, he prayed that it was only the dramatics of Fate, that it would be nothing more than a child going through a painful growth spurt or a tantrum.

"Keep strong in the coming days, and always with your morals about you."

He bowed his head with a ceremonious air, returning to the automatic instincts of his trade as if to distance himself from the malaise he worried he spoke into her life. But then: "A gift for a gift, to replenish spent energy." He turned to the shelf by his side and searched through it till he found a good-sized paper bag. Opening it, the aroma of coffee washed the store instantly, chasing out the stale scent of old incense with smells redolent of nuts and a good harvest. He inhaled deeply of the beans and breathed over them a spell disguised as a sigh of contentment, a plea for life-giving, body-restoring coffee to see her and all her kin protected and ready for whatever turbulent waters cross their path next. He took, too, a tin of caramel lozenges, to remind them of sweetness and always the good to come at the end of every venture. He offered both--"Something for you, something for them."--with an open and thankful grin, sure that even coffee and sweets harvested by his own accomplished hand couldn't equal what they had brought to him this day--and couldn't begin to make up for the future he sent them out with.

"Please, return as soon as you may. I'm eager to hear of your next breakthrough."

Ciel approached, albeit with a handkerchief over his nose. His eyes were already watering and turning red, thanks to his damned allergies towards cats or cat-like beings. "My apologies that I couldn't arrive in a more, formal way." He said, his voice sounding a bit different due to his running nose. "I have allergies to cat fur." Ciel sniffled.

"Tell me, if you would, with what you use, what is in store for me and my fiancee, Elizabeth Midford?" He spoke, "And will I ever get revenge on those who wronged me in the past?" His voice lowered upon mentioning it.

In the distance, a tall butler stood watch over his master, ready to protect him at any cost in-case things went wrong. There was a feeling far from human that lingered from him, he almost seemed.. devilish. It also seemed that Ciel and this butler was connected somehow by something supernatural, or is it just one's imagination?

Either way, Ciel and his butler both radiate mystery and vagueness, to whoever meet them.