April 5, 2020
When you live on the street you learn to be quick. If your hands are quick, then your legs don't need to be. It's not like the merchants who gathered in the square ever missed anything Milo had stolen. That makes it fine, right? Thanks to his lifetime of unhappy practise, Milo was very quick.
He stole what he had to in order to survive. Sometimes, on the cold winter days, a little bit more. But not much more. He was not a perfect thief; he'd been yelled at, chased, but never caught.
On one particularly cold winter day, the marketplace was very quiet. Milo had been waiting for the perfect window for many hours now, but no such opportunity had appeared. His hunger drove him to be hasty, and pick out a victim that just a few hours ago he wouldn't have dared. A fat old merchant, sitting how merchants do, half asleep in the comfort of his sheltered stall. This merchant was wealthy enough to hire himself an armed guard, so perhaps that meant the gold jewellery he was selling was real. Usually, Milo would've stayed far away from an armoured sellsword with a crossbow, but as the merchant napped beside him, the guard seemed rather lax in his duty.
As the guard flirted with a passing lady, Milo slinked around the edge of the stand and sprung into action. His nimble fingers found something, and so he clutched it in a fist and withdrew.
He was so close. The loud sound of clanging gates drew the guard's attention away from his new lady friend for just a fraction of a second, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw the little bandit boy.
"THIEF!" the guard yelled. In a much louder, much bolder tone than Milo would've expected. Despite his prior unprofessionalism, the guard was quick to cock his crossbow and leap over the table. Milo ran. He tried to stay calm but this was very bad. There was no crowd today to disappear into. His only chance was to escape through the narrow alleyway on the other side of the market.
Spectators watched as the burly sellsword chased the small, desperate child. Milo was rapidly discovering that, while daunting, the sellsword's armour was ill-suited to chasing children down icy streets. Milo slipped his way around a corner, knowing that he was almost home free. Then he saw the narrow alleyway— completely blocked off by a mound of snow. He damned himself for not checking earlier, just in case a situation like this arose. With the street dead-ending, and the guard quickly closing the gap, Milo had nowhere to go. He gulped, and strode into a nearby tent as though he was meant to be there.
The second the tent-flap closed it was like he was in a different world. The thick fabric blocked out the sound of the market. Dozens of candles resulted in the circular room drifting awash in brilliant light but littered with harsh, clashing shadows. A burning pot of some foreign incense twanged the air with a strange and unfamiliar smell.
A nobbly old woman sat at a nobbly old table in the centre of the room. She wore a hooded black coat despite the almost overwhelming warmth of her place of business. She nodded at Milo as though she'd been expecting him and gestured towards the chair across from her. Milo sat, anxiously.
"You want to have your future foretold, hmm?" she said.
It's the last thing Milo needed right now but all he could do is stall for time. He nodded. She held out an open hand, and it took Milo a moment to realize that she wanted payment. He dropped the shiny golden ring into her palm, dying a little on the inside and praying that it didn't show on his face. The old woman inspected it for a moment, nodded, and then carefully placed it into a jewellery box amongst the clutter on her desk. Suddenly, in her hand was a box of cards, which she flicked open with deft skill. She splayed them out, backs facing up, along the desk in front of her.
"Pick three," she instructed.
Milo tapped a card at random with his fingertip and the old lady slid it across the table towards him. After repeating twice more, he had his three chosen cards neatly lined up. The old lady flicked over the card furthest to his left.
Milo was greeted by a horrifying skeletal figure, riding across wasted lands on a white stallion.
"XIII. Death," the medium said. She saw the boy's eyes widen with fear and felt the need to clarify. "The Great Forces are not so straightforward, boy. This doesn't necessarily foretell your death. It could mean any number of different things. A metaphorical death, perhaps."
To take his mind off of it, she moved her hand to the next card and flipped it over.
The table shook as the boy's legs buckled underneath. Never before had Madam Rosa read fear so plainly on another human's face.
"XIII. Death," she stated, quite unnecessarily. "Twice in a row is unusual, and whilst the field is rapidly narrowing, I assure you there are still a number of things the forces could be foretelling." Madam Rosa didn't let herself linger on how unpleasant each one of those possible interpretations was. She quickly flipped the final tarot card over.
Suddenly, she swatted all three cards off the table, but not before the boy saw the third identical card that she had just revealed. He looked ill. Madam Rosa purred in confused frustration.
Milo watched the panic on her face, and that certainly didn't make him feel any better about this turn of events. She grabbed a large, round object and dragged it into the centre of the table.
"The tarot cards can be quite obtuse," she laughed, quite unconvincingly, "my crystal ball gives much more clear readings. Please place both your hands upon it."
The boy did as instructed, and at once the Great Forces Beyond began stirring the mana within. He saw nothing, but the attuned medium saw a song of thoughts flashing across the surface of the sphere.
"I... I see your past. You have committed many crimes, haven't you?"
Milo nodded grimly.
"Fear not, boy. It's not of interest to me. We shall linger on the past no longer."
The visions that sizzled along the inside of the crystalline surface suddenly shifted violently.
"I... I see your future. You— you will be captured— and sentenced to death."
Once more, Milo nodded, rescinded to his fate. She saw his pupils shift to look at the jewellery box where she had placed the ring.
"But..." the old woman's brow furrowed as she dug deeper into the vision before her, "you are innocent of the crime you're convicted of."
Milo looked confused now. His eyes shifted again and met hers.
The crystal ball shook once more, the contents suddenly changing to one very clear picture.
Madam Rosa stared down at the vision that the mana had formed between his palms. "I... I see your present," she stated, in bland disbelief. It showed a skeleton dressed in black, riding across a wasteland on a white stallion. XIII. Death.
She didn't hear the tent flap, but little Milo did. It took less than a second for the guard to aim and fire.
But Milo was quick. In no time at all, he had ducked in his chair and slid himself forward, under the medium's table.
The crossbow bolt smashed its way through the crystal ball, sending a shower of thousands of tiny shards in every direction. The guard heard the tiny projectiles twang harmlessly off of his armour. It sounded almost musical.
Madam Rosa looked down at her hands to find them covered with blood, much like her face and torso. She slumped forward, her bloodied face coming to rest on what remained of her beloved crystal ball.
When you live on the street you learn to be quick. If your hands are quick, then your legs don't need to be. It's not like the merchants who gathered in the square ever missed anything Milo had stolen. That makes it fine, right? Thanks to his lifetime of unhappy practise, Milo was very quick.
He stole what he had to in order to survive. Sometimes, on the cold winter days, a little bit more. But not much more. He was not a perfect thief; he'd been yelled at, chased, but never caught.
On one particularly cold winter day, the marketplace was very quiet. Milo had been waiting for the perfect window for many hours now, but no such opportunity had appeared. His hunger drove him to be hasty, and pick out a victim that just a few hours ago he wouldn't have dared. A fat old merchant, sitting how merchants do, half asleep in the comfort of his sheltered stall. This merchant was wealthy enough to hire himself an armed guard, so perhaps that meant the gold jewellery he was selling was real. Usually, Milo would've stayed far away from an armoured sellsword with a crossbow, but as the merchant napped beside him, the guard seemed rather lax in his duty.
As the guard flirted with a passing lady, Milo slinked around the edge of the stand and sprung into action. His nimble fingers found something, and so he clutched it in a fist and withdrew.
He was so close. The loud sound of clanging gates drew the guard's attention away from his new lady friend for just a fraction of a second, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw the little bandit boy.
"THIEF!" the guard yelled. In a much louder, much bolder tone than Milo would've expected. Despite his prior unprofessionalism, the guard was quick to cock his crossbow and leap over the table. Milo ran. He tried to stay calm but this was very bad. There was no crowd today to disappear into. His only chance was to escape through the narrow alleyway on the other side of the market.
Spectators watched as the burly sellsword chased the small, desperate child. Milo was rapidly discovering that, while daunting, the sellsword's armour was ill-suited to chasing children down icy streets. Milo slipped his way around a corner, knowing that he was almost home free. Then he saw the narrow alleyway— completely blocked off by a mound of snow. He damned himself for not checking earlier, just in case a situation like this arose. With the street dead-ending, and the guard quickly closing the gap, Milo had nowhere to go. He gulped, and strode into a nearby tent as though he was meant to be there.
The second the tent-flap closed it was like he was in a different world. The thick fabric blocked out the sound of the market. Dozens of candles resulted in the circular room drifting awash in brilliant light but littered with harsh, clashing shadows. A burning pot of some foreign incense twanged the air with a strange and unfamiliar smell.
A nobbly old woman sat at a nobbly old table in the centre of the room. She wore a hooded black coat despite the almost overwhelming warmth of her place of business. She nodded at Milo as though she'd been expecting him and gestured towards the chair across from her. Milo sat, anxiously.
"You want to have your future foretold, hmm?" she said.
It's the last thing Milo needed right now but all he could do is stall for time. He nodded. She held out an open hand, and it took Milo a moment to realize that she wanted payment. He dropped the shiny golden ring into her palm, dying a little on the inside and praying that it didn't show on his face. The old woman inspected it for a moment, nodded, and then carefully placed it into a jewellery box amongst the clutter on her desk. Suddenly, in her hand was a box of cards, which she flicked open with deft skill. She splayed them out, backs facing up, along the desk in front of her.
"Pick three," she instructed.
Milo tapped a card at random with his fingertip and the old lady slid it across the table towards him. After repeating twice more, he had his three chosen cards neatly lined up. The old lady flicked over the card furthest to his left.
Milo was greeted by a horrifying skeletal figure, riding across wasted lands on a white stallion.
"XIII. Death," the medium said. She saw the boy's eyes widen with fear and felt the need to clarify. "The Great Forces are not so straightforward, boy. This doesn't necessarily foretell your death. It could mean any number of different things. A metaphorical death, perhaps."
To take his mind off of it, she moved her hand to the next card and flipped it over.
The table shook as the boy's legs buckled underneath. Never before had Madam Rosa read fear so plainly on another human's face.
"XIII. Death," she stated, quite unnecessarily. "Twice in a row is unusual, and whilst the field is rapidly narrowing, I assure you there are still a number of things the forces could be foretelling." Madam Rosa didn't let herself linger on how unpleasant each one of those possible interpretations was. She quickly flipped the final tarot card over.
Suddenly, she swatted all three cards off the table, but not before the boy saw the third identical card that she had just revealed. He looked ill. Madam Rosa purred in confused frustration.
Milo watched the panic on her face, and that certainly didn't make him feel any better about this turn of events. She grabbed a large, round object and dragged it into the centre of the table.
"The tarot cards can be quite obtuse," she laughed, quite unconvincingly, "my crystal ball gives much more clear readings. Please place both your hands upon it."
The boy did as instructed, and at once the Great Forces Beyond began stirring the mana within. He saw nothing, but the attuned medium saw a song of thoughts flashing across the surface of the sphere.
"I... I see your past. You have committed many crimes, haven't you?"
Milo nodded grimly.
"Fear not, boy. It's not of interest to me. We shall linger on the past no longer."
The visions that sizzled along the inside of the crystalline surface suddenly shifted violently.
"I... I see your future. You— you will be captured— and sentenced to death."
Once more, Milo nodded, rescinded to his fate. She saw his pupils shift to look at the jewellery box where she had placed the ring.
"But..." the old woman's brow furrowed as she dug deeper into the vision before her, "you are innocent of the crime you're convicted of."
Milo looked confused now. His eyes shifted again and met hers.
The crystal ball shook once more, the contents suddenly changing to one very clear picture.
Madam Rosa stared down at the vision that the mana had formed between his palms. "I... I see your present," she stated, in bland disbelief. It showed a skeleton dressed in black, riding across a wasteland on a white stallion. XIII. Death.
She didn't hear the tent flap, but little Milo did. It took less than a second for the guard to aim and fire.
But Milo was quick. In no time at all, he had ducked in his chair and slid himself forward, under the medium's table.
The crossbow bolt smashed its way through the crystal ball, sending a shower of thousands of tiny shards in every direction. The guard heard the tiny projectiles twang harmlessly off of his armour. It sounded almost musical.
Madam Rosa looked down at her hands to find them covered with blood, much like her face and torso. She slumped forward, her bloodied face coming to rest on what remained of her beloved crystal ball.
When you live on the street you learn to be quick. If your hands are quick, then your legs don't need to be. It's not like the merchants who gathered in the square ever missed anything Milo had stolen. That makes it fine, right? Thanks to his lifetime of unhappy practise, Milo was very quick.
He stole what he had to in order to survive. Sometimes, on the cold winter days, a little bit more. But not much more. He was not a perfect thief; he'd been yelled at, chased, but never caught.
On one particularly cold winter day, the marketplace was very quiet. Milo had been waiting for the perfect window for many hours now, but no such opportunity had appeared. His hunger drove him to be hasty, and pick out a victim that just a few hours ago he wouldn't have dared. A fat old merchant, sitting how merchants do, half asleep in the comfort of his sheltered stall. This merchant was wealthy enough to hire himself an armed guard, so perhaps that meant the gold jewellery he was selling was real. Usually, Milo would've stayed far away from an armoured sellsword with a crossbow, but as the merchant napped beside him, the guard seemed rather lax in his duty.
As the guard flirted with a passing lady, Milo slinked around the edge of the stand and sprung into action. His nimble fingers found something, and so he clutched it in a fist and withdrew.
He was so close. The loud sound of clanging gates drew the guard's attention away from his new lady friend for just a fraction of a second, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw the little bandit boy.
"THIEF!" the guard yelled. In a much louder, much bolder tone than Milo would've expected. Despite his prior unprofessionalism, the guard was quick to cock his crossbow and leap over the table. Milo ran. He tried to stay calm but this was very bad. There was no crowd today to disappear into. His only chance was to escape through the narrow alleyway on the other side of the market.
Spectators watched as the burly sellsword chased the small, desperate child. Milo was rapidly discovering that, while daunting, the sellsword's armour was ill-suited to chasing children down icy streets. Milo slipped his way around a corner, knowing that he was almost home free. Then he saw the narrow alleyway— completely blocked off by a mound of snow. He damned himself for not checking earlier, just in case a situation like this arose. With the street dead-ending, and the guard quickly closing the gap, Milo had nowhere to go. He gulped, and strode into a nearby tent as though he was meant to be there.
The second the tent-flap closed it was like he was in a different world. The thick fabric blocked out the sound of the market. Dozens of candles resulted in the circular room drifting awash in brilliant light but littered with harsh, clashing shadows. A burning pot of some foreign incense twanged the air with a strange and unfamiliar smell.
A nobbly old woman sat at a nobbly old table in the centre of the room. She wore a hooded black coat despite the almost overwhelming warmth of her place of business. She nodded at Milo as though she'd been expecting him and gestured towards the chair across from her. Milo sat, anxiously.
"You want to have your future foretold, hmm?" she said.
It's the last thing Milo needed right now but all he could do is stall for time. He nodded. She held out an open hand, and it took Milo a moment to realize that she wanted payment. He dropped the shiny golden ring into her palm, dying a little on the inside and praying that it didn't show on his face. The old woman inspected it for a moment, nodded, and then carefully placed it into a jewellery box amongst the clutter on her desk. Suddenly, in her hand was a box of cards, which she flicked open with deft skill. She splayed them out, backs facing up, along the desk in front of her.
"Pick three," she instructed.
Milo tapped a card at random with his fingertip and the old lady slid it across the table towards him. After repeating twice more, he had his three chosen cards neatly lined up. The old lady flicked over the card furthest to his left.
Milo was greeted by a horrifying skeletal figure, riding across wasted lands on a white stallion.
"XIII. Death," the medium said. She saw the boy's eyes widen with fear and felt the need to clarify. "The Great Forces are not so straightforward, boy. This doesn't necessarily foretell your death. It could mean any number of different things. A metaphorical death, perhaps."
To take his mind off of it, she moved her hand to the next card and flipped it over.
The table shook as the boy's legs buckled underneath. Never before had Madam Rosa read fear so plainly on another human's face.
"XIII. Death," she stated, quite unnecessarily. "Twice in a row is unusual, and whilst the field is rapidly narrowing, I assure you there are still a number of things the forces could be foretelling." Madam Rosa didn't let herself linger on how unpleasant each one of those possible interpretations was. She quickly flipped the final tarot card over.
Suddenly, she swatted all three cards off the table, but not before the boy saw the third identical card that she had just revealed. He looked ill. Madam Rosa purred in confused frustration.
Milo watched the panic on her face, and that certainly didn't make him feel any better about this turn of events. She grabbed a large, round object and dragged it into the centre of the table.
"The tarot cards can be quite obtuse," she laughed, quite unconvincingly, "my crystal ball gives much more clear readings. Please place both your hands upon it."
The boy did as instructed, and at once the Great Forces Beyond began stirring the mana within. He saw nothing, but the attuned medium saw a song of thoughts flashing across the surface of the sphere.
"I... I see your past. You have committed many crimes, haven't you?"
Milo nodded grimly.
"Fear not, boy. It's not of interest to me. We shall linger on the past no longer."
The visions that sizzled along the inside of the crystalline surface suddenly shifted violently.
"I... I see your future. You— you will be captured— and sentenced to death."
Once more, Milo nodded, rescinded to his fate. She saw his pupils shift to look at the jewellery box where she had placed the ring.
"But..." the old woman's brow furrowed as she dug deeper into the vision before her, "you are innocent of the crime you're convicted of."
Milo looked confused now. His eyes shifted again and met hers.
The crystal ball shook once more, the contents suddenly changing to one very clear picture.
Madam Rosa stared down at the vision that the mana had formed between his palms. "I... I see your present," she stated, in bland disbelief. It showed a skeleton dressed in black, riding across a wasteland on a white stallion. XIII. Death.
She didn't hear the tent flap, but little Milo did. It took less than a second for the guard to aim and fire.
But Milo was quick. In no time at all, he had ducked in his chair and slid himself forward, under the medium's table.
The crossbow bolt smashed its way through the crystal ball, sending a shower of thousands of tiny shards in every direction. The guard heard the tiny projectiles twang harmlessly off of his armour. It sounded almost musical.
Madam Rosa looked down at her hands to find them covered with blood, much like her face and torso. She slumped forward, her bloodied face coming to rest on what remained of her beloved crystal ball.
When you live on the street you learn to be quick. If your hands are quick, then your legs don't need to be. It's not like the merchants who gathered in the square ever missed anything Milo had stolen. That makes it fine, right? Thanks to his lifetime of unhappy practise, Milo was very quick.
He stole what he had to in order to survive. Sometimes, on the cold winter days, a little bit more. But not much more. He was not a perfect thief; he'd been yelled at, chased, but never caught.
On one particularly cold winter day, the marketplace was very quiet. Milo had been waiting for the perfect window for many hours now, but no such opportunity had appeared. His hunger drove him to be hasty, and pick out a victim that just a few hours ago he wouldn't have dared. A fat old merchant, sitting how merchants do, half asleep in the comfort of his sheltered stall. This merchant was wealthy enough to hire himself an armed guard, so perhaps that meant the gold jewellery he was selling was real. Usually, Milo would've stayed far away from an armoured sellsword with a crossbow, but as the merchant napped beside him, the guard seemed rather lax in his duty.
As the guard flirted with a passing lady, Milo slinked around the edge of the stand and sprung into action. His nimble fingers found something, and so he clutched it in a fist and withdrew.
He was so close. The loud sound of clanging gates drew the guard's attention away from his new lady friend for just a fraction of a second, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw the little bandit boy.
"THIEF!" the guard yelled. In a much louder, much bolder tone than Milo would've expected. Despite his prior unprofessionalism, the guard was quick to cock his crossbow and leap over the table. Milo ran. He tried to stay calm but this was very bad. There was no crowd today to disappear into. His only chance was to escape through the narrow alleyway on the other side of the market.
Spectators watched as the burly sellsword chased the small, desperate child. Milo was rapidly discovering that, while daunting, the sellsword's armour was ill-suited to chasing children down icy streets. Milo slipped his way around a corner, knowing that he was almost home free. Then he saw the narrow alleyway— completely blocked off by a mound of snow. He damned himself for not checking earlier, just in case a situation like this arose. With the street dead-ending, and the guard quickly closing the gap, Milo had nowhere to go. He gulped, and strode into a nearby tent as though he was meant to be there.
The second the tent-flap closed it was like he was in a different world. The thick fabric blocked out the sound of the market. Dozens of candles resulted in the circular room drifting awash in brilliant light but littered with harsh, clashing shadows. A burning pot of some foreign incense twanged the air with a strange and unfamiliar smell.
A nobbly old woman sat at a nobbly old table in the centre of the room. She wore a hooded black coat despite the almost overwhelming warmth of her place of business. She nodded at Milo as though she'd been expecting him and gestured towards the chair across from her. Milo sat, anxiously.
"You want to have your future foretold, hmm?" she said.
It's the last thing Milo needed right now but all he could do is stall for time. He nodded. She held out an open hand, and it took Milo a moment to realize that she wanted payment. He dropped the shiny golden ring into her palm, dying a little on the inside and praying that it didn't show on his face. The old woman inspected it for a moment, nodded, and then carefully placed it into a jewellery box amongst the clutter on her desk. Suddenly, in her hand was a box of cards, which she flicked open with deft skill. She splayed them out, backs facing up, along the desk in front of her.
"Pick three," she instructed.
Milo tapped a card at random with his fingertip and the old lady slid it across the table towards him. After repeating twice more, he had his three chosen cards neatly lined up. The old lady flicked over the card furthest to his left.
Milo was greeted by a horrifying skeletal figure, riding across wasted lands on a white stallion.
"XIII. Death," the medium said. She saw the boy's eyes widen with fear and felt the need to clarify. "The Great Forces are not so straightforward, boy. This doesn't necessarily foretell your death. It could mean any number of different things. A metaphorical death, perhaps."
To take his mind off of it, she moved her hand to the next card and flipped it over.
The table shook as the boy's legs buckled underneath. Never before had Madam Rosa read fear so plainly on another human's face.
"XIII. Death," she stated, quite unnecessarily. "Twice in a row is unusual, and whilst the field is rapidly narrowing, I assure you there are still a number of things the forces could be foretelling." Madam Rosa didn't let herself linger on how unpleasant each one of those possible interpretations was. She quickly flipped the final tarot card over.
Suddenly, she swatted all three cards off the table, but not before the boy saw the third identical card that she had just revealed. He looked ill. Madam Rosa purred in confused frustration.
Milo watched the panic on her face, and that certainly didn't make him feel any better about this turn of events. She grabbed a large, round object and dragged it into the centre of the table.
"The tarot cards can be quite obtuse," she laughed, quite unconvincingly, "my crystal ball gives much more clear readings. Please place both your hands upon it."
The boy did as instructed, and at once the Great Forces Beyond began stirring the mana within. He saw nothing, but the attuned medium saw a song of thoughts flashing across the surface of the sphere.
"I... I see your past. You have committed many crimes, haven't you?"
Milo nodded grimly.
"Fear not, boy. It's not of interest to me. We shall linger on the past no longer."
The visions that sizzled along the inside of the crystalline surface suddenly shifted violently.
"I... I see your future. You— you will be captured— and sentenced to death."
Once more, Milo nodded, rescinded to his fate. She saw his pupils shift to look at the jewellery box where she had placed the ring.
"But..." the old woman's brow furrowed as she dug deeper into the vision before her, "you are innocent of the crime you're convicted of."
Milo looked confused now. His eyes shifted again and met hers.
The crystal ball shook once more, the contents suddenly changing to one very clear picture.
Madam Rosa stared down at the vision that the mana had formed between his palms. "I... I see your present," she stated, in bland disbelief. It showed a skeleton dressed in black, riding across a wasteland on a white stallion. XIII. Death.
She didn't hear the tent flap, but little Milo did. It took less than a second for the guard to aim and fire.
But Milo was quick. In no time at all, he had ducked in his chair and slid himself forward, under the medium's table.
The crossbow bolt smashed its way through the crystal ball, sending a shower of thousands of tiny shards in every direction. The guard heard the tiny projectiles twang harmlessly off of his armour. It sounded almost musical.
Madam Rosa looked down at her hands to find them covered with blood, much like her face and torso. She slumped forward, her bloodied face coming to rest on what remained of her beloved crystal ball.
When you live on the street you learn to be quick. If your hands are quick, then your legs don't need to be. It's not like the merchants who gathered in the square ever missed anything Milo had stolen. That makes it fine, right? Thanks to his lifetime of unhappy practise, Milo was very quick.
He stole what he had to in order to survive. Sometimes, on the cold winter days, a little bit more. But not much more. He was not a perfect thief; he'd been yelled at, chased, but never caught.
On one particularly cold winter day, the marketplace was very quiet. Milo had been waiting for the perfect window for many hours now, but no such opportunity had appeared. His hunger drove him to be hasty, and pick out a victim that just a few hours ago he wouldn't have dared. A fat old merchant, sitting how merchants do, half asleep in the comfort of his sheltered stall. This merchant was wealthy enough to hire himself an armed guard, so perhaps that meant the gold jewellery he was selling was real. Usually, Milo would've stayed far away from an armoured sellsword with a crossbow, but as the merchant napped beside him, the guard seemed rather lax in his duty.
As the guard flirted with a passing lady, Milo slinked around the edge of the stand and sprung into action. His nimble fingers found something, and so he clutched it in a fist and withdrew.
He was so close. The loud sound of clanging gates drew the guard's attention away from his new lady friend for just a fraction of a second, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw the little bandit boy.
"THIEF!" the guard yelled. In a much louder, much bolder tone than Milo would've expected. Despite his prior unprofessionalism, the guard was quick to cock his crossbow and leap over the table. Milo ran. He tried to stay calm but this was very bad. There was no crowd today to disappear into. His only chance was to escape through the narrow alleyway on the other side of the market.
Spectators watched as the burly sellsword chased the small, desperate child. Milo was rapidly discovering that, while daunting, the sellsword's armour was ill-suited to chasing children down icy streets. Milo slipped his way around a corner, knowing that he was almost home free. Then he saw the narrow alleyway— completely blocked off by a mound of snow. He damned himself for not checking earlier, just in case a situation like this arose. With the street dead-ending, and the guard quickly closing the gap, Milo had nowhere to go. He gulped, and strode into a nearby tent as though he was meant to be there.
The second the tent-flap closed it was like he was in a different world. The thick fabric blocked out the sound of the market. Dozens of candles resulted in the circular room drifting awash in brilliant light but littered with harsh, clashing shadows. A burning pot of some foreign incense twanged the air with a strange and unfamiliar smell.
A nobbly old woman sat at a nobbly old table in the centre of the room. She wore a hooded black coat despite the almost overwhelming warmth of her place of business. She nodded at Milo as though she'd been expecting him and gestured towards the chair across from her. Milo sat, anxiously.
"You want to have your future foretold, hmm?" she said.
It's the last thing Milo needed right now but all he could do is stall for time. He nodded. She held out an open hand, and it took Milo a moment to realize that she wanted payment. He dropped the shiny golden ring into her palm, dying a little on the inside and praying that it didn't show on his face. The old woman inspected it for a moment, nodded, and then carefully placed it into a jewellery box amongst the clutter on her desk. Suddenly, in her hand was a box of cards, which she flicked open with deft skill. She splayed them out, backs facing up, along the desk in front of her.
"Pick three," she instructed.
Milo tapped a card at random with his fingertip and the old lady slid it across the table towards him. After repeating twice more, he had his three chosen cards neatly lined up. The old lady flicked over the card furthest to his left.
Milo was greeted by a horrifying skeletal figure, riding across wasted lands on a white stallion.
"XIII. Death," the medium said. She saw the boy's eyes widen with fear and felt the need to clarify. "The Great Forces are not so straightforward, boy. This doesn't necessarily foretell your death. It could mean any number of different things. A metaphorical death, perhaps."
To take his mind off of it, she moved her hand to the next card and flipped it over.
The table shook as the boy's legs buckled underneath. Never before had Madam Rosa read fear so plainly on another human's face.
"XIII. Death," she stated, quite unnecessarily. "Twice in a row is unusual, and whilst the field is rapidly narrowing, I assure you there are still a number of things the forces could be foretelling." Madam Rosa didn't let herself linger on how unpleasant each one of those possible interpretations was. She quickly flipped the final tarot card over.
Suddenly, she swatted all three cards off the table, but not before the boy saw the third identical card that she had just revealed. He looked ill. Madam Rosa purred in confused frustration.
Milo watched the panic on her face, and that certainly didn't make him feel any better about this turn of events. She grabbed a large, round object and dragged it into the centre of the table.
"The tarot cards can be quite obtuse," she laughed, quite unconvincingly, "my crystal ball gives much more clear readings. Please place both your hands upon it."
The boy did as instructed, and at once the Great Forces Beyond began stirring the mana within. He saw nothing, but the attuned medium saw a song of thoughts flashing across the surface of the sphere.
"I... I see your past. You have committed many crimes, haven't you?"
Milo nodded grimly.
"Fear not, boy. It's not of interest to me. We shall linger on the past no longer."
The visions that sizzled along the inside of the crystalline surface suddenly shifted violently.
"I... I see your future. You— you will be captured— and sentenced to death."
Once more, Milo nodded, rescinded to his fate. She saw his pupils shift to look at the jewellery box where she had placed the ring.
"But..." the old woman's brow furrowed as she dug deeper into the vision before her, "you are innocent of the crime you're convicted of."
Milo looked confused now. His eyes shifted again and met hers.
The crystal ball shook once more, the contents suddenly changing to one very clear picture.
Madam Rosa stared down at the vision that the mana had formed between his palms. "I... I see your present," she stated, in bland disbelief. It showed a skeleton dressed in black, riding across a wasteland on a white stallion. XIII. Death.
She didn't hear the tent flap, but little Milo did. It took less than a second for the guard to aim and fire.
But Milo was quick. In no time at all, he had ducked in his chair and slid himself forward, under the medium's table.
The crossbow bolt smashed its way through the crystal ball, sending a shower of thousands of tiny shards in every direction. The guard heard the tiny projectiles twang harmlessly off of his armour. It sounded almost musical.
Madam Rosa looked down at her hands to find them covered with blood, much like her face and torso. She slumped forward, her bloodied face coming to rest on what remained of her beloved crystal ball.
When you live on the street you learn to be quick. If your hands are quick, then your legs don't need to be. It's not like the merchants who gathered in the square ever missed anything Milo had stolen. That makes it fine, right? Thanks to his lifetime of unhappy practise, Milo was very quick.
He stole what he had to in order to survive. Sometimes, on the cold winter days, a little bit more. But not much more. He was not a perfect thief; he'd been yelled at, chased, but never caught.
On one particularly cold winter day, the marketplace was very quiet. Milo had been waiting for the perfect window for many hours now, but no such opportunity had appeared. His hunger drove him to be hasty, and pick out a victim that just a few hours ago he wouldn't have dared. A fat old merchant, sitting how merchants do, half asleep in the comfort of his sheltered stall. This merchant was wealthy enough to hire himself an armed guard, so perhaps that meant the gold jewellery he was selling was real. Usually, Milo would've stayed far away from an armoured sellsword with a crossbow, but as the merchant napped beside him, the guard seemed rather lax in his duty.
As the guard flirted with a passing lady, Milo slinked around the edge of the stand and sprung into action. His nimble fingers found something, and so he clutched it in a fist and withdrew.
He was so close. The loud sound of clanging gates drew the guard's attention away from his new lady friend for just a fraction of a second, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw the little bandit boy.
"THIEF!" the guard yelled. In a much louder, much bolder tone than Milo would've expected. Despite his prior unprofessionalism, the guard was quick to cock his crossbow and leap over the table. Milo ran. He tried to stay calm but this was very bad. There was no crowd today to disappear into. His only chance was to escape through the narrow alleyway on the other side of the market.
Spectators watched as the burly sellsword chased the small, desperate child. Milo was rapidly discovering that, while daunting, the sellsword's armour was ill-suited to chasing children down icy streets. Milo slipped his way around a corner, knowing that he was almost home free. Then he saw the narrow alleyway— completely blocked off by a mound of snow. He damned himself for not checking earlier, just in case a situation like this arose. With the street dead-ending, and the guard quickly closing the gap, Milo had nowhere to go. He gulped, and strode into a nearby tent as though he was meant to be there.
The second the tent-flap closed it was like he was in a different world. The thick fabric blocked out the sound of the market. Dozens of candles resulted in the circular room drifting awash in brilliant light but littered with harsh, clashing shadows. A burning pot of some foreign incense twanged the air with a strange and unfamiliar smell.
A nobbly old woman sat at a nobbly old table in the centre of the room. She wore a hooded black coat despite the almost overwhelming warmth of her place of business. She nodded at Milo as though she'd been expecting him and gestured towards the chair across from her. Milo sat, anxiously.
"You want to have your future foretold, hmm?" she said.
It's the last thing Milo needed right now but all he could do is stall for time. He nodded. She held out an open hand, and it took Milo a moment to realize that she wanted payment. He dropped the shiny golden ring into her palm, dying a little on the inside and praying that it didn't show on his face. The old woman inspected it for a moment, nodded, and then carefully placed it into a jewellery box amongst the clutter on her desk. Suddenly, in her hand was a box of cards, which she flicked open with deft skill. She splayed them out, backs facing up, along the desk in front of her.
"Pick three," she instructed.
Milo tapped a card at random with his fingertip and the old lady slid it across the table towards him. After repeating twice more, he had his three chosen cards neatly lined up. The old lady flicked over the card furthest to his left.
Milo was greeted by a horrifying skeletal figure, riding across wasted lands on a white stallion.
"XIII. Death," the medium said. She saw the boy's eyes widen with fear and felt the need to clarify. "The Great Forces are not so straightforward, boy. This doesn't necessarily foretell your death. It could mean any number of different things. A metaphorical death, perhaps."
To take his mind off of it, she moved her hand to the next card and flipped it over.
The table shook as the boy's legs buckled underneath. Never before had Madam Rosa read fear so plainly on another human's face.
"XIII. Death," she stated, quite unnecessarily. "Twice in a row is unusual, and whilst the field is rapidly narrowing, I assure you there are still a number of things the forces could be foretelling." Madam Rosa didn't let herself linger on how unpleasant each one of those possible interpretations was. She quickly flipped the final tarot card over.
Suddenly, she swatted all three cards off the table, but not before the boy saw the third identical card that she had just revealed. He looked ill. Madam Rosa purred in confused frustration.
Milo watched the panic on her face, and that certainly didn't make him feel any better about this turn of events. She grabbed a large, round object and dragged it into the centre of the table.
"The tarot cards can be quite obtuse," she laughed, quite unconvincingly, "my crystal ball gives much more clear readings. Please place both your hands upon it."
The boy did as instructed, and at once the Great Forces Beyond began stirring the mana within. He saw nothing, but the attuned medium saw a song of thoughts flashing across the surface of the sphere.
"I... I see your past. You have committed many crimes, haven't you?"
Milo nodded grimly.
"Fear not, boy. It's not of interest to me. We shall linger on the past no longer."
The visions that sizzled along the inside of the crystalline surface suddenly shifted violently.
"I... I see your future. You— you will be captured— and sentenced to death."
Once more, Milo nodded, rescinded to his fate. She saw his pupils shift to look at the jewellery box where she had placed the ring.
"But..." the old woman's brow furrowed as she dug deeper into the vision before her, "you are innocent of the crime you're convicted of."
Milo looked confused now. His eyes shifted again and met hers.
The crystal ball shook once more, the contents suddenly changing to one very clear picture.
Madam Rosa stared down at the vision that the mana had formed between his palms. "I... I see your present," she stated, in bland disbelief. It showed a skeleton dressed in black, riding across a wasteland on a white stallion. XIII. Death.
She didn't hear the tent flap, but little Milo did. It took less than a second for the guard to aim and fire.
But Milo was quick. In no time at all, he had ducked in his chair and slid himself forward, under the medium's table.
The crossbow bolt smashed its way through the crystal ball, sending a shower of thousands of tiny shards in every direction. The guard heard the tiny projectiles twang harmlessly off of his armour. It sounded almost musical.
Madam Rosa looked down at her hands to find them covered with blood, much like her face and torso. She slumped forward, her bloodied face coming to rest on what remained of her beloved crystal ball.