It was freezing, enough so that most men would rather face the maw of a lion than brave the icy winds. The mere reveal of tender flesh would be consumed within moments of interacting with the bitter storm. Those who did walk the slush-covered roads did so covered head to toe in thick furs and heavy cloth. Most, however, were huddled inside, cozying up to their fires and hoping that the brunt of the storm would quickly pass.
But it never did.
Despite the storm, a small rickety shack seemed open for business. With each ram of the wind the whole structure seemed to sway, and it was dangerously apparent that the storm need only be a bit stronger to collapse the whole place. Given this, most would think it absurd that someone actually worked there, much less lived there as well. It wasn’t as though the resident had any choice in the matter, if it were up to him he’d leave in an instant. The unfortunate truth was that without this shack, his only other option would be to live on the streets, with nothing but his leathers to protect him. In weather like this he’d likely only last a half hour at best before being a victim to mother nature. At least this way he had a chance at survival, and even if he didn’t, he supposed that being crushed by rubble would be a better alternative to freezing to death.
This resident, a man by the name of Gael, sat on a cushion on the dank floor of the shack, quickly skimming through the pages of a book he’d purchased. Well, purchased was perhaps not the right term, he’d ‘loaned’ it from a vendor at the marketplace. He did have intentions to return it, eventually, but for now it was the only company he had to wither out this storm.
“Bullshit,” he mumbled to himself as he scanned a page before turning to the other. “Even worse.” Flipping the pages his eyes seemed to roll into the back of his head. “People believe this garbage? Truly?” The book that he’d nicked had been about the use of prophetic magic, and how anyone, yes anyone, could determine their own future. According to this book it was as easy as looking towards the stars and reading them, the reader only need an open mind to learn all that would befall them.
Nonsense, really.
Real soothsaying was not that easy, and it was certainly not something that everyone could do. One needed to have an inborn affinity for it, and even then it wasn’t as simple as some would make it out to be. You needed complete and utter silence, and you needed to, well, it was difficult to put in words, but reach was perhaps the best way to put it. You needed to reach out your mind to the other person, and you needed to understand them. You needed to feel how they saw the world, how they understood their surroundings, and then and only then, could you look past it and see what would become of them. You had to channel all your energy and focus — yes, focus was key — and brave through the fog of uncertainty, a fog that many fledgling oracles could find themselves lost in. Gael disliked the feeling that this fog gave him, it was not dissimilar to the feeling of the winter, cold and unnerving, a sea of unknown. One had to study, had to practice, before they could begin to see shapes in the fog— shapes of what was to be.
It was a draining process, and not one that Gael particularly enjoyed. Still, he’d learned to deal with the sinking feeling that came with his ability, it was after all the only thing that was keeping him alive.
Letting out a light huff he shut the book and tossed it aside. He was unlikely to get any customers today, the weather being as it was. That was mildly disappointing, as he was starting to run out of coin from his last reading. He’d be lucky if he could buy a small loaf of bread with what remained. Standing up, he gave his back a light stretch and yawned. What time was it? It seemed to always be dark, and it was beginning to fool with his sleeping schedule. Not that he managed to get much sleep anyways, with only a thin cot and worn blanket to keep him comfortable.
It really was a miserable set-up he had here. The cot, a couple of cushions for himself and a customer, and a small stack of books, most ‘loans’ that he had long since forgotten to return. Other than that he had nothing in the way of entertainment or comfort, and that was, slowly but steadily, starting to eat away at him. He wished nothing more than to have somewhere comfortable to live, and all the books he could ever desire to read. But, no, that was something so far out of reach that even dreaming of it was taboo for him. He couldn’t focus on what ifs, but instead remain in the present.
And the present happened to be a rotten shack in the middle of a goddamn blizzard.
But it never did.
Despite the storm, a small rickety shack seemed open for business. With each ram of the wind the whole structure seemed to sway, and it was dangerously apparent that the storm need only be a bit stronger to collapse the whole place. Given this, most would think it absurd that someone actually worked there, much less lived there as well. It wasn’t as though the resident had any choice in the matter, if it were up to him he’d leave in an instant. The unfortunate truth was that without this shack, his only other option would be to live on the streets, with nothing but his leathers to protect him. In weather like this he’d likely only last a half hour at best before being a victim to mother nature. At least this way he had a chance at survival, and even if he didn’t, he supposed that being crushed by rubble would be a better alternative to freezing to death.
This resident, a man by the name of Gael, sat on a cushion on the dank floor of the shack, quickly skimming through the pages of a book he’d purchased. Well, purchased was perhaps not the right term, he’d ‘loaned’ it from a vendor at the marketplace. He did have intentions to return it, eventually, but for now it was the only company he had to wither out this storm.
“Bullshit,” he mumbled to himself as he scanned a page before turning to the other. “Even worse.” Flipping the pages his eyes seemed to roll into the back of his head. “People believe this garbage? Truly?” The book that he’d nicked had been about the use of prophetic magic, and how anyone, yes anyone, could determine their own future. According to this book it was as easy as looking towards the stars and reading them, the reader only need an open mind to learn all that would befall them.
Nonsense, really.
Real soothsaying was not that easy, and it was certainly not something that everyone could do. One needed to have an inborn affinity for it, and even then it wasn’t as simple as some would make it out to be. You needed complete and utter silence, and you needed to, well, it was difficult to put in words, but reach was perhaps the best way to put it. You needed to reach out your mind to the other person, and you needed to understand them. You needed to feel how they saw the world, how they understood their surroundings, and then and only then, could you look past it and see what would become of them. You had to channel all your energy and focus — yes, focus was key — and brave through the fog of uncertainty, a fog that many fledgling oracles could find themselves lost in. Gael disliked the feeling that this fog gave him, it was not dissimilar to the feeling of the winter, cold and unnerving, a sea of unknown. One had to study, had to practice, before they could begin to see shapes in the fog— shapes of what was to be.
It was a draining process, and not one that Gael particularly enjoyed. Still, he’d learned to deal with the sinking feeling that came with his ability, it was after all the only thing that was keeping him alive.
Letting out a light huff he shut the book and tossed it aside. He was unlikely to get any customers today, the weather being as it was. That was mildly disappointing, as he was starting to run out of coin from his last reading. He’d be lucky if he could buy a small loaf of bread with what remained. Standing up, he gave his back a light stretch and yawned. What time was it? It seemed to always be dark, and it was beginning to fool with his sleeping schedule. Not that he managed to get much sleep anyways, with only a thin cot and worn blanket to keep him comfortable.
It really was a miserable set-up he had here. The cot, a couple of cushions for himself and a customer, and a small stack of books, most ‘loans’ that he had long since forgotten to return. Other than that he had nothing in the way of entertainment or comfort, and that was, slowly but steadily, starting to eat away at him. He wished nothing more than to have somewhere comfortable to live, and all the books he could ever desire to read. But, no, that was something so far out of reach that even dreaming of it was taboo for him. He couldn’t focus on what ifs, but instead remain in the present.
And the present happened to be a rotten shack in the middle of a goddamn blizzard.