The Tale of The Thief and The Blind
There is an old Ivratian story, often recalled in the foggy days of Autumn, called The Thief and the Blind. It’s a tale as old and hazy as the mists that inspire it—the details changing with every retelling, save for the name and the core of the story: two enemies caught in an eternal chase.
A cautionary tale about accepting gifts from strangers
Author's Notes
Word Count: 814
word count (8) + milestone (2) + world-specific (1) + familiar (1) + character development (2) + backstory bonus (2) + atmosphere (2) + dialogue (2) = 20 x 2 for prompt response = 40
Total: 40 gold
Prompt 1: The Thief
Does your character accept the bones?
Kivo accepts the Blessing of Rot
Kivo wasn't one for straying far from the confines of home. It's where he felt safest. However, today, he felt a strong pull to venture beyond the city walls. When he first came here, he spent many years exploring. He crossed every river, climbed every mountain, grazed in every field. It was no clumsy judgement or rushed decision that led him to settling in Faline. Every part of Ivras stunk of dishonesty and distrustfulness but Faline stunk the most. The Kingdom's beating heart quivered with vulnerability, knowing that at any moment, it could be crushed. If anywhere were to be the new beating organ of this stinking country, it would be Faline to overturn first. Now, Kivo had no particular interest in overthrowing the government or beheading the royal family but if there was trouble to be had, he wanted it. It's why he'd nestled himself into the seedy criminal underworld which seemingly thrived in every back alley and dosshouse imaginable. If only The Order knew what was said in hushed tones in the corner of some speakeasy in the shiftiest part of town over a pint of illegally-brewed mead. Oh, how cold their blood would run.
What had dragged Kivo away from Faline was some important business that needed attending to based on some information he had received from a friend of a friend. It took him on a exploration towards Siregal's border, although he had taken precautions, of course, to ensure his safety in the form of his familiar, Onyx. Onyx was a black panther - sleek coat, padded paws, exceptionally long tail. He walked silently beside his master, bright yellow eyes scanning constantly for danger. Not only was he a powerful beast, he had every ability that Kivo had with the thanks to the medallion he wore around his neck. Kivo had sourced that from a black market in Mead. The seller had been vague in its description - all he was aware of was that it was magical. It wasn't until, one night, when Kivo was ambushed on a route through The Whispering Sea, that he truly understood the power of the amulet. If it hadn't been for Onyx, Kivo probably would've been killed that night. From then on, they were never parted from one other's side.
Danger could lurk around every corner so it was important they both stay on high alert. After all, this 'friend of a friend' was hardly trustworthy. Kivo didn't know anyone who he would trust wholeheartedly. They continued on their path, the creeping autumn night sinking in quickly but quietly like an assassin. Kivo yearned for winter to come. It was his favourite time of year. The longer nights allowed for longer fun. However, there was something not quite right about the beckoning darkness that swirled around them. It was then Kivo realised they had wandered off course from the path.
"Onyx..."
His breath could be seen as the temperature plummeted, a thick fog surrounding him suddenly. What was left of the path had now been devoured, Kivo now blind in the misty grey. He stood tall, standing his ground, his fierce friend taking position behind him to protect from any sneak attacks. The sounds of footsteps could be heard, shadows dancing to play tricks.
Closer they got, Kivo tensing with anticipation of a fight. Bursting through the mist, a mysterious figure approached. His body was covered in a black coat; so black that it seemed to eat the light around him. The only feature that was visible was the unsettling carved mask, painted with the colours that Kivo knew all too well. This was Fortune. In front of them was a bundle of something which floated ominously towards him.
“A blessing,” they say, “from Fortune themself! Yours, if you'd only take it.”
Kivo had first-hand experience of the abilities Fortune had. His simple, golden half-mask and matching leg braces hid the deformities of their last meeting. You would think that the stallion had learnt his lesson, then, but, alas, he accepted the collection of bones. The effect of the bones wasn't immediate but Kivo felt the power that radiated from them. It coursed through his body, making him feel powerful and powerless at the same time. Within him, it raged a war over his natural instincts. They tried to will him into submission, fighting for the reins. It was an unusual feeling which he struggled to comprehend. On one side, he wanted to give in to their power so he could embrace the gift he'd just been given. On the other hand, there was something inside of him which said no. The bones swirled and danced as they hovered in front of him, transpiring the fight into a physical form. They glowed and pulsed with anger and hatred, wanting to corrupt their victim with the magic they held within.
There was more to come.