Fortuitous (closed)

[Kerrigan Muldoon]

Closed to Numbers.
“Your wife, dear sir,” Kerrigan said slowly, “is as faithful to you now as she has always been.”

It was, in fact, a completely valid statement. On other hand, the wife in question had never been faithful, so it was rather moot. Yet the fortune teller had no interest in the stating the truth or the useful. However she did have an interest in getting some coin from happy customers, especially considering unhappy customers tend to get rather aggressive. Usually, the trickster was not afraid to get into a fight and cut off her opponent's balls, but seeing as her current customer was an extremely large and drunk half-Orc, she would rather not risk getting her arms pulled off.

'He doesn't want to know the truth anyway, though he probably already does,' she pondered.

It had been quite some time since Kerrigan Muldoon had performed any card readings. However, a streak of unfortunate incidents and bad habits and quickly depleted her purse and had even left her with some debts to a local aristocrat who thought he was some kind of evil tough guy. Because she hadn't been in the mood to do street performances as an illusionist, Kerrigan had decided to use her magical tarot deck to do some card readings.
As usual, she had hired a corner in a local pub as she would automatically attract enough attention to regenerate a significant amount of cash. It was not the most proper establishment though; the place was filled with eccentric loners and brooding men in dark coats. It seemed safe to assume that at least half of the patrons were some kind of wretched mixed blood, related to most races but ultimately alien to all. Yet no matter how exotic their legacy, they were all condemned to the same wicked life.

Reading the past, present or future tends to be as boring as the person who you are reading it about, so it had been an incredible dull evening so far. Most of her customers had been drunk men, rambling on about the loves they had lost or dreams they had forfeit. The half-Orc in front of her, for example, had asked her whether or not his wife had betrayed him for another. Ironically, most clients who asked about infidelity were guilty of that very sin themselves, especially woman. This brute was no different, he has had plenty willing and unwilling woman; some of them had been so young you could barely call them a woman, some of them hadn't survived his tender love making. She knew, she had seen it. No matter how deep their secrets are buried, if a person willfully asks her perform a card reading she will know his deepest fear and most hidden sins.

Years ago she would have been shocked by the wickedness of even the most righteous looking character.

Years ago she would have pulled a knife and stabbed to death any man who had betrayed or raped a woman.

Years ago she would have given a shit.

But the years have passed and while plenty a rapist had been killed or castrated, the world has not become a better place. Shadows will remain dark, sickness will remain fatal, love will keep hurting and life will continue to end.
While cynicism was an attractive alternative, Kerrigan had discovered that the best way to deal with the impurities of the world and herself was simply to ignore them. She just lived her life as there was not much else to do. All she could do was try to fulfill her own desires, as well as the occasional moral action to quiet her conscious. Tonight, her desire was simple: get as much money in the shortest time frame as possible, while enjoying it. The last part proved to the most difficult, as up to know the card readings had been boring.

Apparently happy with her answer, the half-Orc had left her table to get even more drunk and try to convince any girl to sleep with him. Kerrigan lit another cigarette and signaled to a nearby servant that she wished a refill.

The setup for her little business was rather simple. She was located in the far corner of the establishment, away from the crowded center. It was barely illuminated by the moonlight shining through the little round window right behind her, but an abundance of candles fixed that problem. Kerrigan sat behind a small and dirty table, with two chairs on the opposite side. On the table were two small candles providing just enough light to read her tarot cards when she would spread them out. Hidden beneath a deep purple cloak and surrounded with numerous candles, the fortune teller hoped she had created an air or mystique.

Waiting for a new customer, she sighed and took a drag on her cigarette.

[Breaker]

In the pub's front western corner a brooding man in a dark coat pretended to sip his ale. He had purchased the beverage with copper from the trenchcoat's deep pockets and carried the dirty clay mug to the darkest, quietest table where he could put his back to the wall. Rubbing a hand through thick jaw-length brown hair, he disguised the action of dumping a small quantity of ale on the floor. It was already stained, and the servers had scattered enough sawdust to absorb more than a mug's worth in drunken spillage. The tall, broad shouldered man studied the rest of the room and scratched his beard - a little less than a month's growth, and it still itched - but it covered the notable Y shaped scar.

Joshua Cronen rolled his shoulders and gazed through the torch lit middle of tavern at the telepath pretending to read a man's fortune. She may not be pretending. Might even think the cards are necessary, he mused. He had spent three full weeks scouring Radasanth for Kiro Ryochi, and his search had finally devolved to striding the streets of the criminal district, looking for anyone who knew anything. A month prior Cronen had received an urgent message from one of the Citadel's courier pigeons. Delegating his duties as Sheriff of Underwood to various officers of the Watch, he had secured passage from a friendly teleporter that night. Scrawled on the tiny parchment had been a single line of the Akashiman's elegant writing.

Sha'keth in Radasanth. Will wait. Ryochi.

Ryochi had been a Corone Ranger for over ten years, and served against the Empire in the recent civil war. Unlike most of their brothers-at-arms, who had set about building new homes and lives in their blood-bought freedom, Ryochi had finally pursued his lifelong desire to study at the Citadel and become a monk of the Ai'Bron order. But when Joshua arrived at the great stone monastery, he found no trace of his former brother-at-arms. He'd questioned Ryochi's friends and instructors, even performed a grid search of the surrounding area, but discovered nothing. Ryochi was as deadly a fighter as Josh had ever trained with, but under the circumstances concern gnawed at his conscience. Sha'keth in Radasanth. Will wait. What if he didn't? What if the drow found him? No one an assassin like Kron Sha'keth considers a threat can be safe 'till that bastard is dead.

Cronen poured the last of his ale on the floor - no one was watching him anyway - and stood up, stumbling toward the bar. He had watched the tarot reader at work on the half-orc, felt the pulse of her connection to the Eternal Tap. Looked like her powers might actually be of assistance. Still, I need a drink before I ask a psychic for help. Leaning on the bar harder than necessary with a grin pasted across his face, Cronen reached beneath the long dark coat and produced a thick Coronian crown worth ten gold pieces. The coin was gold with a bronze etching of the Nomad, an ancient beast legend claimed had given birth to the natives of Corone. It made a significant thud when Cronen rapped it on the oaken counter.

"What'll it be my good man?" The oily-haired barkeep turned away from a sailor who was digging in a coinpurse for silver, eyeing the gold but not unaware of the customer's dishevelled appearance.

Josh glanced across the selection, scrunching his eyes as if it were a difficult question. "A glass of your best whisky," he said, slurring his words. "Oh, and a book of matches." The only unopened bottle he could see was a vintage Coronian rye, standing on the top shelf next to a set of overturned tumbler glasses. Accepting the half-full tumbler and the folded paper booklet, he left the coin on the counter and turned toward the telepath's corner. He staggered past a table of elves and goblins playing at dice and took a gulp of whisky, enjoying the burn. As he neared the table with the flickering candles he imagined all memory of his name, occupation, and Kron Sha'keth vanishing into a void. One by one he fed thoughts and memories into the endless emptiness. In their place he pictured himself an angry mercenary on a bender. He had spilled enough ale on the coat to smell drunk, but he made sure to spill a little whisky on it as he sat down across from the lanky green eyed woman.

The coat wasn't his, just as the copper that bought the ale hadn't been. He'd taken the garment as a costume piece off a rapist who'd tried to steal a free ride from one of the doxies who populated the district. Aside from a few coins, it carried only dirt and an unopened pack of cigarettes. All in all, he didn't expect the coat to last the night.

Reaching beneath the dark coat once more, he scooped the five gold crowns that remained in his pocket. He'd left most of his gold at the Citadel, where the monks had been generous enough to let him occupy Ryochi's rooms. Fifty should buy any information she discovers and more, he reasoned. Stacking four of the coins in front of himself on the table, Cronen placed the last one on the far side of the tarot cards, an advanced payment.

"I'm looking for my cousin, Kiro Ryochi," he slurred, and then added "he's Akashiman though," and chortled as if at some family joke. "Anyway," Josh continued in a serious tone, "the bastard owes me gold. A lot more'n this!" He gestured so emphatically he almost swept the stack of coins down the psion's blouse. "This is all yours if you can tell me where he is." Taking a savouring sip, he placed the tumbler on the table and pushed a mental image of Ryochi's face to the forefront of his mind. He added every detail down to the wide amber eyes and scarred,weather-beaten face, hoping she could give him something to pursue.

[Kerrigan Muldoon]

Forgot to mention: any and all bunnying approved.

Though she required a full card reading to truly get to get inside someone’s head, a short glance was enough to gain access to some basic memories like a name. More intensely reading a common person’s psyche was like navigating a complex multidimensional web of memories, perceptions and ideas. There was an abundance of free information and most strings where easy to maneuver on. Each string lead to countless others and it required careful plotting to procure anything meaningful. However, most sentient creatures – especially humans – were completely ignorant about a psychic’s ability to venture into even the most confined realms of their consciousness. Unaware targets could be read like open books, though the chaotic and superficial structure of their experiences could sometimes prove difficult to handle. Stronger minds tended to have a much more complex psyche, usually with a plethora of entangled layers, each more compressed and symbolic then the other. Only a few individuals had learned – instinctively or through magical means – to protect their conscious with defense mechanisms like encryption codes or vault like constructions.

While waiting for the next drunk to call upon her skills, Kerrigan had invented a little game to kill time. Looking around the tavern like browsing through a newspaper she searched for interesting minds to dive into. Every time she would focus on a person, short visions and whispered memories enlightened her, like if she suddenly remembered parts of her own life.

Eyes fixated on an Elf sitting be a small table in a corner, her consciousness filled with his experiences and she stumbled upon a vocal memory entangled with deep emotions.
’Seja Stargazer,’ he was recently called such by a local official, ’I am sorry to tell you that your family has not been heard off for several months… here or anywhere near Eluriand.’.
Apparently, Seja was a fugitive from Rairera, which had suffered greatly in the Corpse War. It was said that Xem’Zund had completely ravaged the city of Eluriand.

Kerrigan’s gaze continued, shortly stopping at a Goblin tinker nicknamed Rattletrap, an illiterate dwarf called Dumbrock and a sailor who went by the name of Tom and liked to dress up as a woman and pretend to be a princess.
Standing next to the closet queen was a broad shouldered man in a dirty, alcohol covered trenchcoat. Considering his clothing, his unshaven face and the fact that he seemed to be comfortable in a lousy establishment like this made Kerrigan conclude he was just like the rest of the patrons.

Somewhat to her surprise, the man seemed to be coming towards her, interested in her services. The trickster quickly took a last short pull from her cigarette before she made it magically vanish, only to have it reappear a moment later in a nearby puddle of beer and vomit. Slightly narrowing her eyes she focused on the approaching stranger, trying to deceiver mundane information like his name and occupation so she could surprise and impress him (and hopefully get more of his gold). Poking around in his consciousness vague images and distant sounds filled her own, until she relived several memories of him being called by his name.

’… Josh Cronen… Joshua…’

Feeling how more and more of his impressions and memories became accessible, she got excited about the adrenaline rush it gave her. It had been ages ago that a mind reading had felt so energetic… so intense. The amazing sensation gave her goose bumps and sparked a thirst for more, more of his psyche, more power.

As powerful as it started, as abruptly did it end. Suddenly she felt as if falling into a black hole, void of any sensation. No matter how hard she tried there was nothing she could do, nowhere to go; there was no horizon to venture to, no anchor point to rest on, no gravitational mass to pull her close. It lasted only a moment, but it was enough to instill her with a deep fear; never had she experienced this total abandonment, lacking any direction or purpose. Kerrigan was about to pull out, to escape the madness of the stranger’s mind, but just before she did she could clearly see something like a chalkboard appearing in the distant; on it words were being written, like if it was something Josh had just remembered.

’I am an angry mercenary on a bender… I am an angry mercenary on a bender… I am an angry mercenary on a bender… I am an angry mercenary on a bender… I am an angry mercenary on a bender… I am an angry mercenary on a bender... I am an angry mercenary on a bender...’

Needing a few moments to restore from the ominous experience Kerrigan hadn’t noticed that Josh was already sitting in front of him. Still a little shaken, she just blankly stared at the coins her newest client had placed on the table. Promising 50 gold pieces worth of crowns was more then enough to get the attention of the poor trickster and she quickly returned to her senses.

Silently shouting at herself to get her act together, she smiled as mysteriously as she could and looked him straight in the eyes, equally curious as frightened as to what they were hiding. With a smooth, graceful gesture she made the single golden coin hover in front of her and she shortly inspected the generous advance payment. As it seemed legit, the trickster used her telekinetic abilities to instantly move the crown into her purse, hidden deep under her heavy purple cloak.

She loved to impress her customers almost as much as messing around in their head. Power is addictive.

“Joshua… Joshua Cronen,” she said and – having no clue what else to say – continued, “an angry mercenary on a bender, are you not?”

Unaware of who she was dealing with and infinitely underestimating his power, Kerrigan thought of Joshua as just a weirdo with a bizarre mind, nothing more then an interesting case she was about to crack.

“Your cousin, you say. Hmm, interesting…”

To Kerrigan it still sounded incredible stupid, but for some reason most customers expected her to say ‘hmmm, interesting’ every once in a while. Happy customers were paying customers, so why wouldn’t see indulge them?

With her left hand she reached for his right. She did it cautiously, as some drunk tend to get aggressive around sudden movement. Placing her hand firmly on top of his she could feel how it rough and callused it was. The physical connection allowed her to more aggressively venture into her clients mind, though she slightly hesitated to do so.

Reaching into Josh’s brain the world turned black again, luckily without the feeling of an endless freefall. The floating chalkboard was still there. An invisible force was removing the chalk sentences after which something new was drawn on the board. Kerrigan assumed it was supposed to be someone’s face but it was horribly drawn. Suddenly the chalkboard disappeared and a lifelike image of a rather handsome men appeared, including a floating line of text beneath it, reading: ‘my cousin, Kiro Ryochi’.

The chalkboard, the subtitles and the lack of anything like a natural emotion or memory… even though Kerrigan was horribly misreading Joshua’s true nature she could not help but feel like she was being shepherded like a child led by his mother’s guiding hand. The trickster hated the idea of dangling on a string, subject to the whims of a masterful puppeteer. Annoyed by the sensation, Kerrigan tried to break through the image of Kiro and see what was behind the curtains of the puppet show. Yet no matter how hard she tried the Akashiman face remained the only sensation she could reach. However, for a barely noticeable moment the face changed slightly, a small line of blood shortly appeared across his neck, as if he had been assaulted with a garrote.

This all lasted only a mere moment in real life and after Kerrigan had discovered the small clue she slowly raised her left hand until it hovered above right hand of her client. Using her magical powers the trickster made one of her tarot cards appear on Joshua’s hand. A moment later another card appeared on top of it, and another one, and another one until all her cards were nicely stacked between the hands of Kerrigan of Joshua.

“You may shuffle the cards and pick one, Joshua Cronen. Perhaps that card will tell you why you are concerned about your cousin’s wellbeing.”

[Breaker]

Cronen snorted into his whisky. "Huh, psychic predicts I'm drunk. Not givin' me many goats for my gold, lassie!" A passing half-elven waitress with long, shockingly pink hair and torn denim clothing heard the remark and tittered. She made a show of wiping a spot on the wall that wouldn't have come out for one of Lillian Sesthals' scouring spells, and tipped him a wink. I'm enjoying this cover too much, he thought as he tucked a fistful of copper through one of the rips in her pants. But I can feel her in my mind. If I don't commit to the act she'll get more than my name. He pinched soft muscle and the serving girl giggled and scampered away with knee high boots jangling. Pretending to lose himself temporarily in his drink, he leaned back too far and nearly fell, stealing a glance at the rest of the pub in the spasm that righted his posture.

The dice game had switched from a simple two-dye toss to something that involved dozens of different shaped dice as well as parchment, quills, and shouted debate. A dwarf had joined the table, taking up the space of any two others with his broad shoulders and schooner-sized tankard of ale. Even the shadowy outer edges of the tavern had filled out, and the servers had to hop to appease the crowd. A comforting din of clamouring dishes and raised voices kept potential eavesdroppers at bay.

"Sure I can shuffle yer' cards for ya!" Cronen rumbled. He slammed his glass on the table and enveloped the deck with one massive hand. Fumbling as if with numb fingers, he cut the cards into two stacks and bent them inward with his knuckles, then sluiced the cards together in a sloppy waterfall. Everything in the bar, everything he said and did, took place outside an invisible barrier he held fast with his mind. Inside, as if protected by a two-way mirror, he hid his true thoughts. I slipped up enough letting her get my name. Shuffling the cards back into a single deck, he set them face down and twirled his hand in mock ceremony before turning over the one on top.

A glass shattered and a woman shrieked and Joshua spun around, one hand gripping the ladder-back of his chair, the other plunged inside his coat. The pink haired server shrieked with laughter again as a half orc smashed a second empty bottle over his forehead, grinning toothily.

Cronen slumped back into the chair, still slouching drunkenly but knowing his mental defences had slackened for an instant. How much did she read when I lost my focus? With no way of knowing, Josh stayed in character and forged ahead. He did his best to envision Kiro Ryochi in the habit of an Ai'Bron acolyte, standing on the vast stone steps of the Citadel. He must have passed that spot a hundred times, even if I never saw him there.

"Well, what's that rat's puke of a symbol supposed to mean?" He demanded, stabbing a callused finger at the overturned card. "That tellin' ya where I can find my cousin Kiro? Course I'm concerned about his well-being. Dead men don't pay debts!"

A rousing "here here!" resonated from a nearby gaggle of pallid strangers with upturned collars and dark red beverages. Cronen kneaded his forehead and downed a mouthful of whisky, musing on the many reasons he habitually avoided such watering holes.

[Kerrigan Muldoon]

'Who is this guy?'

Kerrigan couldn't decide whether Joshua was just another drunk guy, or if he was an extraordinary powerful being. The experiences she had during the short time she had spend poking around in his mind had been rather unique, to say the least. She could only think of three plausible explanations. The first was that he was tripping on a strong psychedelic, a second option was that he had such a supreme willpower he was able to mislead and hinder her readings. The third option was Joshua was in the early phase of a condition called dementia praecox. It was a severe and progressive syndrome which started out with minor symptoms but quickly developed into madness and hysteria; it usually ended with death by suicide. Kerrigan had become quite an expert at the subject, primarily because her mother had recently been diagnosed with it.

Joshua did not appear to be under the influence of anything else then alcohol and Kerrigan was too arrogant and stubborn to consider the possibility that her client could be her superior. As such, the only plausible option was that he did indeed suffer from dementia praecox. While she didn't give a rat's ass about his well being, she was greatly intrigued by his slowly deteriorating psyche.

Seeing her client almost fall backwards Kerrigan stopped musing and remaindered herself she should be paying attention. No matter who you are dealing with, whether insane or powerful, everyone had their weak moments, and you needed to react quickly to exploit that specific moment in which the mind was least self-unaware and thus almost defenseless. However, Joshua hadn't fallen and was still sitting in front of her, shuffling the cards as she had requested.

As her client flipped over the top card, Kerrigan quickly recognized it as the Page of Swords. Usually that card signals messages relating to information and problems. It frequently appears when a client asked about the truth of a certain rumor, as the Page of Swords is often to be interpreted as a warning that words are being used to conceal the truth of a matter. However, the card was upside down, which greatly altered its possible meanings.

“Hmm, interesting.”

Kerrigan didn't even notice herself saying those words anymore, it had become nothing more then a routine. While a full card reading was required to more accurately determine the card's meaning, Kerrigan could already conclude several things from the unexpected appearance of the Page of Swords. She used her intuition to combine both the reading of her client's mind as well as the card Joshua had 'chosen' subconsciously.

“This is the reversed Page of Swords, a rather rare and ominous card, I am afraid. Does this nephew of yours have a sickness of the throat? Or has he even been threatened?”

Joshua's subconscious choice for this specific card and the prolonged interaction gave Kerrigan more and more hints of subtle clues which enhanced her ability to read her client's mind and eventually answer his question. The trickster closed her eyes and prepared herself for another attempt to burst through the outer layers of Joshua's mind and explore the depths of his supposedly degrading mind.

As she opened her eyes again she could clearly see the interior of the establishment, yet not from her own point of view. What she witnessed was a visual memory from Joshua. Apparently, she had again failed to plunge deeper into his psyche, though she could not figure out why. Trying to ignore any recent perceptions she tried to riff through his older memories, especially those connected to prominent emotions. Yet no matter what she tried she could not find any meaningful sensation from before Joshua had came to her. It was as if she continually bounced of a reflective wall whenever she tried to head to the core of his consciousness.

At the same moment she again tried to venture further into his psyche, Joshua was startled by the sound of shattering glass. For a short but valuable moment Kerrigan had almost complete access to his inner mind. What she saw could best be described as an endless crowd of people, like grains of sand in a massive desert. The trickster assumed it was a sign of a shattered psyche, a telling sign of dementia preacox. Without wasting any time she tried to find any perceptions related to Kiro Ryochi. The real trick was not to just find any memories of her client about his nephew, but to use their strong relation to shortly connect with Kiro himself. Focusing all her energies into a single point she managed to succeed, albeit for just a very short moment.

What she had seen made little sense to her, but it might help Joshua.

“I see a man... angry, proud. He is the one you are seeking, the one you have been seeking for a long time.”

For a moment she loosened her grip on his mind and focused on the real world. Anguish to explore her client's mind further she quickly grabbed all the tarot cards from Joshua's hand. Like a professional card dealer she almost instantly shuffled the entire deck. Skipping all the overly dramatic gestures and the endlessly recurring 'hmm, interesting', she quickly placed three cards on the table. Forming a triangle, the cards were supposed to accurately uncover a single, specific event.

“Remember the words I have just given you and look at these cards, then pick any of these three cards of which you feel is the card you should choose.”

In the mean while, the half orc had been closely observing Joshua. Or to be more precise, he had been looking at the golden crowns on the table.