The Thief and the Blind

The autumn air felt weighty and stagnant. With each passing breath, Arianwyn felt as though the atmosphere itself was falling, closer and closer, threatening to cave in upon her and bury her here, in the middle of the distant woods.

Out here, so far from civilization that not even the enchanted lights of Namarast lit her path, Arianwyn felt the crushing weight of panic settling ever more upon her. Her heartbeat thumping in her ears only served as a distraction from the ominous creaking noises of the forests through which she passed. A sharp gust of wind grasped at her, sweeping her forelock into her eyes; it was all she could do to shake herself free. Arianwyn swore she saw plague-bearing rats scurrying along the well-worn path, only to realize after a moment that they were merely desiccated leaves tumbling in the wind, though this realization did little to calm her nerves. Not only was she terrified, cold, and alone; she was beginning to see things. Paranoia had a vice-grip on her nerves, and she longed for the warmth of her fireplace. She was a long way from home, and much of her journey still remained.

 Crack! Arianwyn wheeled around suddenly at the piercing noise, every hair on her body standing on end, desperately searching for the source of the sound. Was that a stick breaking in the woods? A wild animal, or a footstep? Frantic, desperate, she searched the wood's edge, almost dizzying herself as her eyes darted between tree trunks. The sound was behind her, right? She kept turning, never settling, never pausing her frenzied glances. Now she wasn't sure where the sound came from, and not even certain which direction of the path she had come from. She was disoriented, turned around. Lost. Distraught. Alone. Her flanks heaved as she panted for breath; gripped by dizziness and swaying unsteadily. She felt as though she might pass out.

 Crack-crack! That was definitely the sound of footsteps. Arianwyn spun again, looking back and forth down the path. She saw nothing, but her skin crawled with the sensation of being watched. She was not alone in the woods, and that was terrifying. "Show yourself!" the Silverweaver called out, attempting to sound intimidating, but the shakiness of her voice betrayed her fear. "Come out here and face me, coward!" Even she knew her bravado was far from convincing, and she fought the tears of sheer anxiety that threatened to pour.

 Down the path again she peered, her fear bubbling in her throat. No one was there—did she imagine it? Was she going insane? She had heard a noise, she was certain of it! But wait, had the second noise come from a different direction? Were there multiple creatures stalking her in the woods, flanking her, ready to pounce? She swore she saw eyes in the shadows, watching her, coming for her, she heard their footsteps in the leaves—

 Wheeling around, she found that she was no longer alone.

 In the dim light of the moon, it took Arianwyn's eyes a moment to focus on the figure who appeared before her. It did not help that there was no face to focus on, no features to latch on it. A hazy cloak seemed to fade into the fog in the corner of her vision, as though the very boundaries of this person were ill defined and fading into the darkness. Her eyes eventually settled onto a mask so bright in color it felt as though it might blind her; she blinked away her shock as she recognized its pattern. A cruel mockery of Fortune, the visage's hallow eyes regarding her as one might peer at a plaything, or a bug. Their amused laugh twisted Arianwyn's stomach; she wasn't certain if they were laughing with her or at her.

 "You'll have to forgive me for not greeting you face-to-face, my dear." The thief's words were sickly sweet as he regarded Arianwyn with those empty, peering eye sockets; he seemed to behold her with some strange interest, though his words were enough to send a shiver down the Silverweaver's spine, chilling her to her core.

My dear?! Had she had her wits about her, she certainly would have snapped back with some witty retort, though for now it was all she could do to feign composure. "Who are you?" she demanded, once again sounding far less intimidating than she had hoped. "Why are you doing in the fucking woods?"

The laugh she received should have been far from comforting, though even she felt it washing over her with a calmness that seemed to dull her nerves, the way a leap into cold water was soothing, if only for a moment before the freeze struck one's core. "I could ask you the same thing," the figure retorted with amusement. "I am here to offer you a gift. A blessing, if you will." Though the mask lacked eyes, she felt the eye contact as the stranger regarded her with mirth, though she could sense a challenge in its words. A dare. "A prize from Fortune herself! You would be a fool not to graciously accept her kindness."

She should have run. She should have known better. Every base instinct was screaming at her, begging her to run, to not accept a gift from a stranger in the woods. And yet—

A blessing. From Fortune. A gift, for her. The stranger had found her greatest weakness; her ego. Though her pulse drummed in her chest, all it had taken was a promise of fortune to sway her from utter fear to intrigue. She was chosen by a patron, and god damn it, she was not going to let opportunity pass her by. In that moment, Arianwyn forgot where she was, discarded the fear that had gripped her being.

 "I accept," she replied, the confidence of her voice surprising even her. Greedily, she stepped forward, anxious to receive her promised gift, her salvation. All she had ever deserved and more.

 However, when she blinked, she found herself in the company of the masked stranger, but alone in the woods, standing over a pile of bones.

Arianwyn takes the Blessing of Rot.