6th of Ashan, Arc 718
Devin Thorn, thief, con man extraordinaire and self-proclaimed member of one of the Eastern Settlement’s richest families arrived at the town square shortly before dawn, when the streets were still empty and most upstanding members of society were still asleep in their beds. He was not normally a morning person, but he wanted to set up his newest business without anybody getting in his way and asking him what he was doing. That early in the trial it was still cold. His breath formed little clouds of mist in front of his face, and he shivered slightly as he set the large bag that he was carrying down in front of the central fountain, furrowing his brow as he did so. The water in the fountain was not frozen. He quickly removed a vial from one of the many pockets of his coat and filled it with water so that he would be able to study it later on. Water that never froze would most likely come in handy one trial.
Having done that, he took a quick look around the square to make sure that nobody was watching him, and then he unpacked. First came something that looked like a large piece of multi-colored fabric that was tied together with a piece of rope, but that was actually a tent. He struggled quite a bit with it – he had never erected a tent before – but after nearly half a break it was standing, and it even looked halfway stable. Next, he pulled an old carpet that he had stolen from a clothesline out of his bag and put it on the floor of his tent, followed by a small folding table. He placed several items on it in quick succession: a lime green table cloth, a glass ball, a bowl with bones that he had gotten from the butcher and a deck of cards. Having done that, he pulled a black hooded cloak out of his bag and put it on, making sure that his face was sufficiently covered so that nobody would be able to recognize him. It made him feel quite mysterious.
Last came a jar that was filled with bright crimson paint, a brush and a piece of cardboard. He looked at it thoughtfully for a moment, wondering how much he should charge his future clients, and then he dipped the brush into the paint and wrote “Fortune telling! Only five silvers! Only until the 13th of Ashan!” on the cardboard. Once he was satisfied with his masterpiece, he placed it next to the tent entrance so that it would be hard to miss.
Satisfied, he sat down inside his tent on the old wooden crate that he had found at the nearby market (one of the merchants seemed to have forgotten it which meant that it was free for the taking in his opinion), pulled out a cigar, lit it, put his feet on the table and waited for all those superstitious fools to come and pay him for the lies that he told them and help him finance his luxurious lifestyle. He’d heard that a fortune teller had been in town a season or two earlier – her name had been Joelle, if he remembered correctly – and that she had been quite popular.
He planned on surpassing her.
Having done that, he took a quick look around the square to make sure that nobody was watching him, and then he unpacked. First came something that looked like a large piece of multi-colored fabric that was tied together with a piece of rope, but that was actually a tent. He struggled quite a bit with it – he had never erected a tent before – but after nearly half a break it was standing, and it even looked halfway stable. Next, he pulled an old carpet that he had stolen from a clothesline out of his bag and put it on the floor of his tent, followed by a small folding table. He placed several items on it in quick succession: a lime green table cloth, a glass ball, a bowl with bones that he had gotten from the butcher and a deck of cards. Having done that, he pulled a black hooded cloak out of his bag and put it on, making sure that his face was sufficiently covered so that nobody would be able to recognize him. It made him feel quite mysterious.
Last came a jar that was filled with bright crimson paint, a brush and a piece of cardboard. He looked at it thoughtfully for a moment, wondering how much he should charge his future clients, and then he dipped the brush into the paint and wrote “Fortune telling! Only five silvers! Only until the 13th of Ashan!” on the cardboard. Once he was satisfied with his masterpiece, he placed it next to the tent entrance so that it would be hard to miss.
Satisfied, he sat down inside his tent on the old wooden crate that he had found at the nearby market (one of the merchants seemed to have forgotten it which meant that it was free for the taking in his opinion), pulled out a cigar, lit it, put his feet on the table and waited for all those superstitious fools to come and pay him for the lies that he told them and help him finance his luxurious lifestyle. He’d heard that a fortune teller had been in town a season or two earlier – her name had been Joelle, if he remembered correctly – and that she had been quite popular.
He planned on surpassing her.
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