“A wish of my own, a fortune to be told. I wish you could see.”
 
* * * * *

A long haired hunter walks through a deserted field; only a few caravans remain. He knows no one will come for them, the rest had left and the circus is gone. His companions are off scavenging, but he has a different objective. There’s something worth much more here than a stack of signed and blank contracts. In a moment, he feels drawn to something: a book. He flips through the journal, noting pages about contracts signed, but finds his way to the beginning of what he was clearly looking for:

Dated November 16th, 1213
Crownhurst has been destroyed. Everyone is dead and my livelihood in ruins. Was I spared from this demonic insanity for a reason? Were that reason torturous, I might agree.

I am beaten and broken. I have nothing.
Tomorrow I will go to join my lost friends and family and be rid of this wretched abyssal world.

I'm not afraid anymore.
The show has come to its end.

Dated November 18th, 1213
It might have been the reason I survived. I was approached yesterday as I stood over the ruins of my home, waiting for the demons to return. She had white hair, yet so young. Like something out of a fairy tale.

She seemed interested in my plight, inquiring if I wished to have back what I lost.
Too peculiar for a passerby, though I've heard of djinn and their powers.

Maybe.
Maybe I can have it all back.
Maybe I can have them all back.

* * * * *
 
A jester, one so familiar to many, sits in an unfamiliar place, laughing to himself. He knows of his Knight’s failure, but seems unfazed. Perhaps, he expected it. Perhaps he simply wanted to put a show of his own on for the heroes to enjoy.

He laughs and waves his hand, summoning another, bearing a Rook on it’s tabard, “Our game of chess has just begun, I hope Edwin is ready for a rematch.”

He sends the Rook on it’s way and sits in silence, musing to himself, “A wish I wish to have. A Travance, all mine, to play my games. I’ll have it soon.”

 

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