Flippancy and Old Bones

Vizon was dissatisfied. But this was a good thing, for the mare’s magic worked better if she was discontented. As a result, the occasional quandary of satisfaction was a self correcting one, for there was nothing she cared more about than power.

She’d earned a beautiful tower of white stone in the beautiful Southside of Leona, overlooking the wealthier areas and the ocean all from the same building. Stained glass windows cast dazzling kaleidoscopic sprays across the spiralling ramp, where occasional balconies provided locations to take in various views in the fresh subtropical seabreeze.Servants tended to her needs, she ate of the finest fruit from multiple continents, she savored local spicy dishes in her spare time, she met with the most thrillingly powerful mages everytime there was a Great Hunt to send them off wherever they needed to go. Businessmen came frequently to court her favor; Lady Kaid Fola herself occasionally allowed Vizon to pay her social calls. An admirably cunning woman. They played chess with each other, metaphorically, at all times; one pulling the veil of the Order down over the city for her own prestige and influence, one carefully drawing it back in favor of her own power and independence and control over magic. It was Vizon’s favorite thing. And she was dissatisfied.

After her services were made heavy use of against the Pyre of the North, Vizon had agreed to show up on the scene of the battle herself instead of just shipping Order lackeys and firefighters and medics to the scene remotely. There were conditions for putting herself in harm’s way so helpfully, mainly that she be granted more control over her own business affairs, fewer restrictions. Fairness and competition were social constructs she cared nothing for, having no concept of deserving or of rights. All her life she’d only been given what she could take, and she didn’t see why, now that she could take so much more, she should be stymied by the rules of a fair market in the king’s misplaced concerns. Now she could undercut whoever she pleased by simply not having to bother with little nuisances like cost of shipping. At least for nearby vendors. Her power was still growing, thanks to her training and the recent stretching of her capabilities against the burning monster. She was proud of herself and it had been thrilling. Someday, her power would be stronger still, and she would be able to teleport goods across the world.

And anyway, whether she believed in fairness or not she was a fair person by all practical standards. If she drove talented merchants out of business, she would simply hire them and pay them a good wage. There was something to be said for earning the goodwill of the public and the loyalty of her underlings. Leona would thrive under her tending.

 

Even though everything was going well, according to plan even, she was dissatisfied. She’d expected more…accolades, more praise, more promotion, and audience with the king perhaps, after her enormous effectiveness in the fight and the cleverness and guile with which she used her magic to defend the kingdom. The Horizon’s Embrace was quite effective for the fighting of fires if a body of water was anywhere within a few miles of it. She had been…congratulated by a peer or two, but nobody stronger than her, only those who craved what she had and a thank you from her Order superiors for doing as told. She’d been granted the economic freedom’s she’d requested. It just…wasn’t enough. It wasn’t ever enough. She had to be more. And only one person in the world could succeed for her. In the privacy of her inner sanctum, inaccessible except by teleportation, Vizon looked in the mirror at the hero she needed.

She squinted into her own violet eyes.

Actually. There was one other who could help her help herself.

Ah, that was risky. Lady Vizon, Parter of Horizons was no fool. Fortune offered everything one could ever want but love and quickly, but it wasn’t cheap, not really. Still…could she afford their price?

She scoffed. Of course she could. She’d never stooped to Corruption before. Souls were resilient. She could take a little bit and be fine as long as she didn’t act like one of those idiots who went crawling back to Fortune’s grinning throne again and again like that was somehow conducive to their or anyone else’s survival. Corruption killed.

She knew when to say enough was enough. Well, at least in regard to this. There was nothing wrong with ambition when it didn’t involve an endless stream of spiritual automutilation.

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The shimmering mare flipped a coin over the stone wall of the Market Bridge along the stretch where many others did the same, hoping for blessings and prosperity. She made a wish too, but hers was for mastery. Mastery over the horizon.

Lazily the glinting golden coin spun hanging through the air before plummeting down in  a glittering arc in the beautiful sunshine of the day. Vizon’s chameleon tail curled and uncurled, grasped and ungrasped at the air. Some watched the beautiful woman as they passed; as obviously magical as a mage could be, and as well known and respected as one could be as well. She belonged here, and she laughed. The soaplike film of her dorsal fin caught the light, sending rainbows beaming to her side, echoes of distant vistas reflected in each membrane, barely perceptible.

It was a beautiful day to make a wish.

Behind her, a fight broke out. Quick, a skirmish. Eastsiders. They knew who to pick on- other Eastsiders. The flash of the knife mirrored the flashing of the coin, sending a silver reflection skittering for the briefest of moments across the cobbles. The shabby gray equine was cowed into submission by the big, swift bovine, and nobody else but Vizon noticed the cunningly concealed knife near a throat or the exchange of words. Or maybe they didn’t care. She certainly had better things to do. If anything, this was a sign meant for her; a clue at Fortune’s will. The glint of more coins as the victim bought his own life back, exchanged beneath sleeves. The brush of a kiss against the man’s neck, as though they were lovers, when it could not be farther from the truth. (Though lovers could certainly be the most predatory of creatures.) 

Above the waves, a seagull bothered a pelican until it opened its great beak to vocalize its frustration and the gull grabbed the meal right out of its pouch.

Fortune wanted her to take something that wasn’t hers.

As she walked back to her home (her doctor had recommended some walking, rather than just teleporting everywhere), she contemplated the optimal flippancy of an offering to Fortune, for she had an idea.

“Emiliana, passionfruit rum cooler on the rocks,” the mage ordered her plain looking assistant as she came through the door.

“Yes your Superbness,” the nonmage responded, a bit dryly. Mare would have to get that sas in check. Not now though. She was in a good mood.

Vizon teleported to her sanctum, leaving a small portal open for the drink to come through. The miniature portals above her crescent shaped horn’s points thrummed, passing the marble along its path from the bottom of the natural rail to the top every time gravity pulled it along the path to completion.

“Pretty flippant,” she decided, planning to take from Fortune themself.

The mage went to her sink, put the small grate over it, and opened up another portal. This time, it lead to the bottom of the estuary, where all the coins tossed to Fortune sunk.

Did she need the money? No. But that made it even better. She thought Fortune might like her nerve.

She was expecting a lot of trash and muddy coins and random oddments and ends. She wasn’t expecting a bunch of old bones or the late Lord Moacir’s old sword.

She…blinked…for a few moments.

How had…?

“Your rum cooler, your ladyship,” Emiliana called through the portal, placing the drink on the bar.

“Congratulated,” Vizon answered nonsensically, brain still catching up with reality. The servant left, and the mage snapped the portal shut.

The sword was muddy, of course, but the craftsmanship was so superb she didn’t think it an imitation, though she was no expert in blades. It wasn’t the late ruler of Leona’s main weapon (which famously was a war hammer), but rather a backup weapon or sidearm, nonetheless sealed with the Fola crest and decorated in silver, red, and gold. It had barely tarnished at all. 

Fortune approved of her thievery, evidently, and a smile parted her lips with a whicker. She’d never stooped to physical combat in her life, but who said she had to play by the rules ordinary peasants and powerful princes did in combat?

Vizon dropped the sword through a portal and caught it up in an endless torrent of steel with a pair.

She would find a use for a blade with as rich a history as her own. The coins she tasked to Emiliana to clean. The woman knew better than to ask questions. The bones she cleaned herself, grimacing, and put aside in a chest. They looked like they might be from Ulv’s Corrupted form himself, slain by Moacir Fola.

Fortune certainly didn’t wish to let her forget the consequences of selling one’s soul. Good. She liked her soul. After all, she had to live in it.