[ WP ] Far apart , and under different circumstances , people find themselves thinking or feeling the same thing

Not for the first time, the one they called Quiver lamented the world ’ s utter lack of sense for the dramatic. There was no great wind to make his cloak billow like a gryphon ’ s wings. No sunrise to arrive with, seeing as it was evening. No sunset for him to silhouette against either, seeing as the sun was to his left and behind layers of trees anyway. There weren ’ t even any crickets to add a sense of mystique, scared off by the hacking cough of some damn overgrown pidgeon. 
 
 Still, he was undeterred. If he ’ d always waited for the world to humor him, he wouldn ’ t have gotten anywhere. Or lived this long, really. In his line of work, it paid to be a bit of a scoundrel. And when push came to shove, Quiver was a lot of a scoundrel. His chosen path was hard to see, in no small part on account of not, strictly speaking, existing. But he knew the way, and failing that, he relied on his nose and instincts. 
 
 After all, he had to be in the right spot at the right time. Eventually, he arrived. And due to an utter lack of dramatic timing, and a healthy dose of practicality, he spent the next half hour watching the sky darken and the forest orchestra finally switch from a crow with halitosis to a badly tuned cricket choir, before progressing to a full-on terribly tuned cricket battery. 
 
 Thankfully, eventually it was time. Quiver got up, dusted himself off, tried not to think about what he was doing and stepped into the moonlight. The world changed, just a little, but at least it shut up. There was a breeze around him, rustling the leaves, and light, that strange magical light of a moon that ’ s too large and too important. It suited him well enough. He shook off the feeling of unease and continued into a village he could just barely see. 
 
 The village, on closer inspection, turned out to be a town, the buildings resembling the twisted roots of trees so much that they seemed grown rather than built. There were people there, too, though definitely not human. If anything, they resembled the shadows of humans, with their large pale eyes and their midnight skin. Really, with their smooth curves and slender necks, they were quite beautiful, in an unnatural, long-limbed way, as long as one could keep their mind open. 
 
 The two armed guards that stood in Quiver ’ s way fit that description fairly well. They had a calm demeanor that suggested that they were either too arrogant, too trusting, or too competent to treat the intruder as a threat. He didn ’ t press his chances, and besides, he arrived in the proper way, so they bought his excuse about a pilgrimage to the temples and wishing to stay the night and blah blah. They even pointed him the way. He could tell they weren ’ t telling him something, which would have been far more worrying if he didn ’ t knew exactly what it was. 
 
 Trailed by softly glowing eyes too sad to be curious, he made his way to the temple. It was the largest of the root-buildings, standing proudly at the very edge of a great cliff overlooking an even greater ocean, its surface perfectly black and still, reflecting the still moon. It wasn ’ t a real ocean, of course, in the sense that it didn ’ t exist in the real world, not for another several days ’ walk that way, but it was an important metaphysical feature, so here it was. 
 
 The entrance was unguarded, but Quiver ’ s line of work gave one an eye for discreet arrow slits, heavy doors and suspiciously heavily armed and robustly shaped statues. Check, check, and those root columns looked rather kneelingly humanoid in an oversized fashion. The inside was filled with prayer. Dark figures, prostrate on the ground, whispering or wailing their pleas to their distant god, begging forgiveness or asking for aid. Between them were the silvery robes of the acolytes, tending to their flighty flock. Quiver spent a bit longer than strictly necessary watching them, before approaching the one the others deferred to. 
 
 As far as he could read these shadowy people ’ s faces, she was far younger than he expected. The hooded robe hid her hair, but not at all her figure, slim and athletic. More importantly, she was the one he needed, and he realized it when her refusal was more detailed than needed. The Priestess, after all, was in mourning and in prayer, but the girl would not say why. 
 
 So he showed her why he came. 
 
 She said nothing. She just silenced a gasp, then turned to lead him deeper into the temple. The moment they were out of sight of the other petitioners, she all but broke into a run. The path led up, over winding stairs, ever tighter. Tall enough to rob them both of breath but there they were, at the mouth of a great hall, one entire wall missing, showing the moon in all its glory. There stood the Priestess, or rather knelt, in a shallow but still and thus reflective layer of dark water. 
 
 The Priestess… if the one who led Quiver there was the archetypal maiden, she was the mother. Her robes hid curves and her ornate headdress hid the scars of too many kind smiles. She never questioned the girl for bringing him up there - after all, to use her judgement was her duty and her right. No, the Priestess apologized. Whatever he came to ask for, it was not in their power to provide. Something was taken from them, she said. Something of unmeasurable value. Something rightly theirs. 
 
 Then she turned. And she saw the ornate silver charm that hung from his hand, at its heart a vial containing the purest moonlight. She fell to her knees and extended her hands in disbelief. Into those same hands he placed the charm, closing them with a small smile. They didn ’ t ask about where he found it. They didn ’ t ask about the foes he tricked and felled. They didn ’ t ask why he, finding a fortune beyond imaging, chose to return it where it belonged. In truth, he couldn ’ t answer. Perhaps it felt right. 
 
 He certainly didn ’ t do it for the reward. He knew there was precious little material that the temple could offer him, and even less they could spare. And yet they offered, anything they could provide, they would try. 
 
 He looked down and, try as he might, couldn ’ t help but smile at a thought. 
 
 -- -- 
 
 “ I ’ m gon na tap the Moon Princess. ” The girl says evenly, a bit hesitant at first, but gaining confidence. “ And… yeah. And then the Hierophant. No, wait, both at the same time. ” 
 
 The man opposite her - easily half again her age and twice her weight - blinks and sits up straighter. He runs the numbers and repeats the rulings in his head, eyes falling onto the board. Why would she… then he sees it and his eyes open wide. 
 
 “ Oh. _Ohh_. On the Chieftain? ” 
 
 The girl -- what is she, fourteen? Sixteen? She smiles and nods. “ Two damage. ” She says, sounding proud now. ‘ Poison. ” she adds. He ’ d swear her glasses flashed solid white just then. 
 
 The man nods with understanding and more than a little respect. That ’ s a really sneaky way to get around magic resistance. He slides onto the card two little cheap glass gemstones, vicious green in color, then looks at his hand again, trying to think of a new strategy. That girl, he realizes, is going places. 
 
 -- - 
 
 _-119 | [ more ] ( /r/vonBoomslang ) _
