Card of Fate

First Draft. Currently being written and added on to...

Chapter 01

Dreams

         The wind whistled and howled as it whipped across the stone path to the lake. A slender figure shrouded in white made its way down the path, bare feet barely lifting as they brushed against the gravel and stone.
         Back up the path stood a large wooden house, white lace curtains drawn back from the windows. Fire licked at the window of one room, flickering outside the open frame as a gust of chilled wind hit at its outreaching hand. The fire crackled and became more urgent as the wind swirled around the room.
         A small cry lifted out the window. Grunting and cooing followed as the small baby shifted in its wicker made cradle. Clothe of white wrapped gently and carefully around it. Small fists clutched at the air as it rustled by. A shaky cry escaped it's tiny throat as a sliver of flame snaked around the end of its cradle before retreating back downwards.
         A sound similar to that of the babys' called out, thought it was a bit deeper in sound.
         The whispy orb of light slid a tendril out from beneath the darkness of the closet, attempting to find some way out. Upwards it floated, pausing at the brass polished knob. A tendril lightly passed over it, causing with just a little shove for the door to move open. It was soon stopped by something in its way.
         Slowly, it peaked out of the open closet at the fire illuminated room. Peering around the door, it floated downward until it was eye level with glassy eyes that saw nothing. A sliver of blood seeped out of a gaping mouth, receding hair half singed by the licking flames as it began to take hold of the unmoving form. Seeing no spark in the object, it moved back towards the bed with wooden bars, gently moving upwards as a shaky cry and a coo lifted out.
         It cooed it's own dark and eerie sound as it floated carefuly above the reaching fists of the small babe. The baby cooed in reply, kicking it's legs out as it stared up with topaz colored eyes.
         The cold wind shot through the open window, catching the whispy orbs attention. It glided over to the window, unafraid as the flames licked at it, trying to catch hold. Outside it watched as the figure in white slowly made their way into the chilled lake, unflinching as it moved farther and farther out. The orb called out to the robed figure. But soon it was gone from site as it disappeared beneath the water.
         Cooing and humming, the whispy orb glided back to the baby, hovering just above its reaching fingers as tendrils of light gently wrapped around it. It covered the baby with it's tendril's of light, cooing as it began to cry from the heat of the fire.
         Gently and slowly, the whispy orb made it's way back to the open closet. The door shutting quietly behind them as they disappeared.
         Clover sighed and opened her Topaz colored eyes, peering out at the dark room that was illuminted only by the Silver Moon and the stars outside her open window. With a small hand, she wiped the sweat off her face, rolling over onto her back. She kicked off her blanket, not caring as it slid down onto the wooden floor.
         Her thin sleeping tunic of cotton stuck to her small frame. Sitting up, she cast an ungrateful glance at her dark reflection in her full-length silver mirror. She was a gangly thing. With arms and legs to long and thin. Her long raven hair never wished to stay tamed, poking out in every direction after she had slept. Groggy and tired, she pulled her knees up to her chest, rubbing quickly at her eyes.
         The dream had come again. She knew she wouldn't be able to sleep for the rest of the night. She knew she couldn't tell her parents either. For her first revelation of the tale, they had seemed disturbed, casting fear laiden looks and whispering quickly and heatedly between the two. Their actions had disturbed her more than the dream. And she didn't wish to have them act that way again.
         Quietly she pushed herself off of the bed, her feet landing with a soft slap against the wooden floor. She lifted her arms high above her head, stretching out her sore muscles. They had tightened during the night. She hated it when they did that.
         With a grumble she padded over and shut her window, locking it shut and untying the curtains.
         She dipped her hands into the basin of water and splashed it on her face, stripped her gown off and tossed it to the floor next to her blanket. Opening the chest on which the basin sat, she pulled out another simple white cotton tunic and slipped it on, and over that put a simple pink over-dress embroidered with faded gold leaves along the edges.
         Stopping to pose and twirl in front of her mirror, she giggled and stepped lightly to her bedroom door.
         With a quiet hand she gently turned the wooden knob, pulling the door inwards as silently as possible. She slipped out into the hallway and closed the door again. Good, she thought. No one-
         She paused, hearing a pair of voices coming from the entry room. One sounded like her fathers. Curiosity taking hold, she sneaked on tip-toe until shadows cast by candlelight began to draw strange shapes on the wall nearby. She crouched down just before the turn in the hallway, which led straight into the entry room.
         "How long has she been having these dreams?" a deep and throaty voice asked. She covered a giggle at the sound of it. It was one of the strangest voices she had ever heard.
         "Ever since she was able to talk."
         Her father was definitely in there. But what for?
         She dared being caught, peering around the turn, adjusting her eyes to the newfound light that filled the room. A rather tall and stately man sat with one ankle propped on the knee of the other, a long wooden pipe extended from an equally long beard of deep red. Streaks of yellow and white streaked both it and his hair, which seemed to find the back of his head more appealing than the top. A straight nose stood out from his still relatively young, yet old, face. Watery eyes of the clearest of blue she had ever seen examined her father carefully.
         "Mite I perchanse see the girl?"
         Her father shook his head as he held his chin with his well callused hands.
         "No. She still sleeps."
         A broad smile broke out across the strangers pale face. "Then why did I hear a smothered giggle just not long ago?"
         Rorik started, dropping his hand to his lap as he spotted Clover's topaz colored eyes peering out from around the turn. Smiling slightly, he rested both feet on the ground and beckoned her to come foreward.
         She did so as slowly as she could possibly do without seeming too rude. Running a self concious hand through her tangled and messy hair, she attempted to tame it if even for the least bit. Giving up and not wishing to have that particular battle in front of a stranger, she let her hand fall back down to her side.
         The stranger leaned foreward in the small chair her father had made, removing the pipe from his mouth, setting it aside as he did so. She examined his strange set of clothing as she let him examine her. She had never before seen such a rich shade of red, nor such a long tunic that opened up in the front. Embroidered gold leaves almost identical to her own lined the edges of his magnificent clothing.
         "A little messy, I must say."
         She stood as timid as a deer as he looked her over. If anything, she was ready to flee at any seconds notice.
         "But she looks like she'll turn into a fine woman. Very interesting eyes as well."
         He chuckled his deep toned laugh again, replacing the pipe back between his teeth out of an assumed habit. He leaned back and picked up a large pack that rested between the legs of the wooden chair. Letting it fall with a soft thud in front of him, he untied the top compartment, oblivious to the white ferrit as it squeeled in annoyed complaint and whipped itself out of one of the side pockets.
         Grumbling, the ferrit slid back under the chair, chattering as it stared out at Clover and Rorik. Sniffing, it stuck it's head back out to look up at the man whose bag she had just exitted. She chattered nonstop as he ignored her entirely, shifting through the contents of the main compartment.
         With a triumphant mutter, he pulled out a small rectangulare package wrapped in a finely made clothe and tied shut with pieces of straw.
         Clover's attention was severley divided. She didn't know which one to watch. The strange white ferrit who chattered nonstop and seemed unable to sit still; or the strange man with red hair who was unwrapping a strange parcel covered with the prettiest fabric she had ever seen.

~~~~~~

         Staring out with dark onyx eyes, the Seali watched as the horses tore down across his beachland home, sand flying through the air as they approached. Several others of his clan watched as well.
         "They approach with ill will."
         He turned to the voice of the lady who had born him, standing close beside him, though barely reaaching his shoulders. She seemed paler than usual once she had caught site of the dark riders. They were approaching fast as well.
         "Shall we retreat?"
         Silence answered his question as she turned with several of the elders and headed unseeingly into the shallow water along the beach. Quietly they slipped their skins around them, and were at once the seals they knew and loved. The rest of the clan followed suit, and soon, so did he.
         Gently he slid into the cool and refreshing waters, taking a deep breath as he dove into their depths, far from where the dark riders could reach him or harm his clan.

~~~~~~

         With a sigh and a smile, the aging Head Bajir placed a large stack of parchment into the tray of others which awaited to be sealed and sent off. Ink stained hands lifted up another pile from the mess that filled her desk, and quickly went to shuffling through them. Elegant handwriting littered the pages of the report. The many swirls and swishes told her a bit about the writer. It was a man. That she was sure of. Mainly because only men were aloud to become the recruitors of the Bajir. But it also told her that he was a little flamboyent and had a love of pretty things.
         Chuckling lightly to herself, Myrlinne lifted a goblet of Moonflower Wine to her pale and fading lips. She loved the taste as it swirled around her tongue, and seemingly sent a cool chill down her. It was a perfect drink for the hot and sticky day that lie before her.
         Shuffling and giggling echoed throughout the large office, soon followed by a crash from the unused marble fireplace at the opposite end of the room.
         "In the name of the Goddess, White Root!" her cry echoed louder than the young Faunus's laughter had earlier, causing him to leap from the mantle and cower in the nearby corner beneath one of the many low tables.
         Letting out a frustrated huff, Myrlinne dared to look at what had fallen, all the while hoping it was not what she had thought it had been. And there it was. Strewn about in shards and tiny pieces. The golden urn which held the Eye of Truth. An honored and prized gift from the Four Sisters.
         She leaned back in her chair, fingers wrapped around the end of the arms. She knew White Root hadn't meant any harm, but he knew so much better than to play on the mantle. Trying her best to pull back her anger, which took several deep breaths and prayers to her goddess, she stood straight. Shaky hands smoothing out the front of her robes.
         "Out." Clouded eyes pointed at White Root. "And send in a Green."
         Without any other gesture or word needed, the Faunus darted across the well made rugs, dodging a few highly over stuffed armchairs before shoving open the heavy oaken door and disappearing from sight.
         Pushing back her heavy chair, she moved out from behind her desk, slippered feat padding lightly across the woven myths of heroes before stopping just nigh of the mess.
         With gentle hands, she scooped the lovely blue stone within her dark hands, tracing the outline of the carved eye with her thumb. Reaching into her robes, she pulled out a simple hankerchief with a leafy embroidered edging. Gently she wrapped it within. Standing, she stepped around the sharp pieces and sat it back in its proper place
         "M'lady Myrlinne."
         A deep and throaty voice scratched at her ears, causing for her to rub them in irritation. She hated the sound. Composing herself with a neutral face in order to hide her dislike, she turned to greet Secondary Bajir Hockney. The head of the Recruiting office and Secondary to her own position as Head of the Spirit Bajir.
         "Secondary Hockney," she grimaced a smile. She wasn't ready to see the middle-aged man with already snow white hair. His hooked nose seeming to team with long white hairs always caught at her attention. And it wasn't what she wanted look at. "What, mite I ask, gives the pleasure of your visit."
         His chuckles sounded like the echoes in the deep toned bell that the Blacksmiths of the Bajir tended to hit on in order to sharpen tools or get them into the shape that they refused to form into. Smiling, he lifted a scroll from the sleeve of his grand made robes of deep blue.
         "I come bearing a present, of course."
         His grin reached from ear to ear at her irritation. He knew she didn't like his voice or appearance. And though this would insult many others, it was merely a source of great amusement to him. And he insisted on irritating her once a day, at the very least of course.
         "It's from my twin brother, Marksi. I think he's found something you'll like."
         With an indignant sigh, she lifted the scroll from his outstretched hand and pealed it open, trying as hard as possible not to tear the paper. Though this was almost entirely possible not to do, as Marksi had a habit of over sealing things. Rolling it open, she examined the scratched on writing. He was always in a rush, she noted. Never taking the time to make sure it was nice and neat, though it was always legible.
         Sighing, she scanned over the words, not even noticing as Hockney let out a startled yelp and scooted quickly over to the side as the Green she had sent for pushed by him and began to gently scooped up every piece of the urn with the greatest of care, as it was created by his own master. He would make sure to get every crumb of the mess as well.
         Silence filled the air between the two. The Green having left as quickly as possible. Hockney patiently locked his hands behind his back so he could twiddle his thumbs without a hard glare from her clouded eyes. He smiled quietly as he began to rock back and forth on his heels. His impatience he was so famous for was beginning to bubble up. Stuffing it back down he meandered over to one of the over stuffed chairs and sat down. Or rather sank into it. As there was no true way he knew of in order to "sit" in those chairs. For the occupant would always sink slowly from the site of their peers in them.
         Reaching for a pillow, he stuffed it beneath the seat of his robes in order to boost himself up enough to at least peer over the arm of the chair. He wasn't a short man. In fact, he was actually fairly tall for a human. Though it wouldn't seem so in those chairs. He wondered if they had been made for the large rear ends of the trolls before being bought by the decorator of the Bajir Home. Or perhaps they had been made for Giant children. He sank as deeply into thought as he had in the chair, not noticing as Myrlinne practically fell back into another across from him, eyes locked to the scroll.
         "Well, this is most definitely a gift," she purred, a catlike smile bearing across her face.

2

         The wind howled quietly against the outside of the house, tugging on the trees and bushes as it passed by. A few coughs and muttered swearing passed through the small group of guards. They were tired and worn out. For Marksi had made them ride full force the night before, only stopping once for a change of mounts. He was to acquire a new student, that much they knew. And their only knowledge as to why he was in such a hurry was to avoid the inland storms of the season that tore large trees from the ground and sent them spiralling a long ways from where they started out at.
         His horse shying sideways, the leader of the bunch slipped down from the saddle, stumbling to keep his balance as the wind caught his cloak and pulled him backwards. Swearing silently, he made his way up to the house that looked ready to fall over with a touch ofhis hand. With a sigh, he pounded on the door, waiting for it to fall in from the weight of his hand. To his relief, it stayed, but no one answered.
         Pounding harder, he yelled out for the recruiter to hurry up.
         After waiting a little longer, he wrenched the door open and stepped inside, nothing but an inky darkness greeting him.
"Master Marksi!" he called out as he reached into one of the pockets that lined the inside of his cloak, pulling out a small sphere of the most delicately blown glass. He shook it slightly and a small bright white light flickered into existance as he whispered Marksi's name into it. Cooing slightly, long and whispy tendrils reached out and began to swirl about it as it floated into the air and zipped around the room several times with several squeeks and protests as it slammed into a wall or two.
         Emodi rolled his eyes and swore slightly at the "Seeking Site" he had been issued as it fumbled around. Obviously still half a sleep. Well, that's what it got for sleeping a good week straight. he thought bitterly.
         Cooing and twirling itself in circles it openened one of the doors, the edges of its tendrils turning a pinkish red as it did so.
          Upon doing this, he unsheathed his blade and backed up to the front door, where he motioned for two of his fellow riders to dismount and follow.