This is bullshit, I thought to myself as I writhed on the ground after being struck in the balls for the third time that day, this time by way of a horse kick. Stupid fucking jester and his stupid fucking curse!
Thirteen years. That's how long it'd been since I pissed him off and was marked with this enduring vexation. I was seven at the time and, according to some, I was a bit of a spoiled ass. To be expected I guess, growing up in a wealthy family of acclaimed mages, I had been waited on hand and foot. My butler, Mortimer Eddelton, escorted me to the annual Hallow's Night Festival, a celebration of the dead and warding of demons holiday. The night had been refreshingly cool as the sounds of the crowd rippled with laughter and jovial conversation. The festival was a staple of Holton, a small city in the middle of Littany, the country where I was born. Every year merchants and minstrels and other vagabonds of the entertainment world would travel to Holton, hock their wares and set up stalls for various games with the chance to win alluring prizes. Stupid kids loved it. I didn't really bother with the games, and just purchased the prizes outright, walking through the crowd as the other, less fortunate children eyed me in envy, touting my trophies.
I had been drawn to a booth at the outskirts of the festival, just outside the city walls. A road tattered travel cart with a dark green awning sat on the side of the main thoroughfare, dimly lit by torch fire with bright bursts of green flashing from within. As I approached, my confounded curiosity besting me, I noticed several kids and young teens were gathered round, watching in wide eyed wonderment as a masked, lithe man in colorful clothing waved a staff around, conjuring green fire entertaining them. He danced to their "ooo's" and "ahhh's" around a small box on his table, gesturing grandly towards it. His words, like that of a song, were muffled behind a mask of black and white upon which sat a half frown and half smile painted on either side. He spoke in eerie cadence as his voice echoed over the hushed murmurs of the children.
"Gather, gather, gather all!
Come and play the game of fall!
If by chance your luck by true,
A lottery draw could do well for you!
For one ha' penny, no more, no less!
You could win this gilded chest!
What it contains, a certain prize,
To keep you shielded from demon eyes!
An autumn trophy sure to astound,
When the evil spirits are abound!"
I paused a moment, regarding the small, unimpressive box on the table before turning to my geriatric butler, "My purse Eddie!"
He wordlessly retrieved my heavy coin sack from his belt and held it out to me. I dropped my other prizes at his feet as I snatched it from his hands and pushed my way through the throng of unkempt masses towards the front.
"You there!" I called out to the dancing fool. "I'd like to purchase all your lottery tickets."
The man, halting his dance, looked at me in surprise, which seemed to mirror the expressions of the others amid the crowd, as silence smothered the boisterous merriment. He looked me over then regarded me with a wry grin.
"Oh no no no
That simply won't do.
Not all of the tickets,
Can be purchased by you
It's a game of luck
You can't have them all!
It's a contest for everyone,
Young, short, old, and tall!
One ha' penny ticket,
That's all you'll receive.
If you do not like that,
Then take your coin and leave."
I scowled at him. Who was he to tell me no? Everything was for sell. I didn't need luck if I just bought all the vouchers. I didn't particularly believe in the item in the box or its mysterious power but others wanted it so I had to have it.
"I'll pay double," I said looking at the man with every ounce of pomp I could muster. "Two ha' pennies per ticket. That should be more than enough to accommodate," I eyed the man and his cart with disdain, "your meager self."
The man understood my words and expression emphatically. His voice became harsh as he belted his rhythmic words.
"I'll not have a brat
Spoil my fun for all.
You shouldn't act like that,
Not in front of my stall!
You'll not get a chance,
No, ticket for you!
To your ill-mannered glance,
I bid it adieu!"
The children laughed as the jester turned and slapped his hindquarters at me. I seethed in rage. How dare he! Does he have any clue who my family is!? My temper snapped as the masked man joined with the kids and their combined laughter echoed in my ears. I ran forward and kicked him in the shin as hard as I could. The jester, taken by surprise at my sudden display of violence stumbled backwards, rubbing his shin as he hissed through his teeth. I move towards the stall table and flipped it on its side. The tiny box struck the ground, spilling the contents, a dark, foul smelling powder, across the ground. The crowd gasped as I stood there, victorious in my efforts to halt their ridicule.
The colorful fool looked about his stall, now in chaos, his expression uncertain behind the mask of black and white. His tone, however, was chilling when he spoke and stifled all hushed whispers among the dumbstruck audience.
"That, little boy
Was a dumb thing to do.
What have we done,
To earn such scorn from you?
You asked to buy all,
And I told you of rules.
You act with such gall,
You think we all fools?
You must, yes, you must,
At least me, by attire,
But I warn you now boy,
You have sparked my ire. "
He removed his glove as the elderly Mortimer stepped forward to my side. The jester pointed his staff at my butler.
"Sleep now, old man!
You'll not come between,
This child and I.
You'll not intervene!"
A wisping cloud of green floated from the staff and into the butler's flared nostrils. His body went rigid as he fell backwards in a large puff of road dust.
The jester rounded on me, removing a glove and dropping on the ground. He pulled a long needle from some where behind him, approaching me like a predator. I stiffened, unable to move as something primordial welled up within my chest.
"Young one, well known,
O' young Endoril!"
My name. So, this idiot does know who I am. I went to speak out, if this man knew me, he obviously knew my family. As if guessing by my expression, he cut me off and continued.
"Yes, I know who you are.
Now be silent and still!" he commanded with a venom that made everyone, including me take a half step back. He continued his stalk in my direction.
"Your family is known here
But not so far and wide.
Not a person knows them,
In the cities outside.
You come here and try,
To force luck to your hand.
And I tried to teach you,
With a soft reprimand"
He drew closer and knelt before me, his hot breath seeping through the mouth slit in the mask as he spoke. He held up his ungloved finger and pricked it with the needle, drawing a thin rivulet of blood.
"You tantrum, you toss,
My table, you turn!
Now it is time,
For a lesson, you'll learn!"
His hands moved faster than my eyes could follow as he streaked his bloodied finger across my forehead, smearing it in a line of crimson. I fell backwards in fear. This man terrified me. His words, his tone, the menace and anger, all stirred this uncontrollable fear from deep within me.
"Your luck which you force,
No longer you'll own.
Your manner, so ill,
For which you'll atone!
I give you this curse!
One to last your life!
No luck shall you have,
You'll only know strife!"
As if summoning the power of the gods themselves and finalizing his words, a peel of lightning broke through the night air as thunder punctuated his condemnation. The torch lights flared then went out, dousing the area in darkness. The kids squealed and wailed as they fled, apparently the scene had not only been terrifying for me. I looked around the poorly lit stall. The jester had vanished. The items from all around the stall were gone along with the table and box that had spilled. Only the beaten-up cart and threadbare awning remained. As I moved to tend to Mortimar my foot struck something weighty and I stumbled forward, scraping my palms on a sharp rock in the road as I caught myself. I looked at my hands as tiny dark pools formed. I reached out, searching for what had tripped me and touched what felt like a thick, heavy-bound book of some sort. It was hard to see in the darkness, as I clutched it to me moving towards my butler. I panicked as I felt a strange surge of warmth flow inside me. Unable to rouse Mortimar, I left him ran towards the torchlight of the city, praying for its lighted protection.
I was a walking disaster. That asshole had actually cursed me. Anything that could go wrong, in any given day, went wrong. It only seemed to affect me though, never anyone around me. The book I had found was a grimoire of unknown origins. According to the Holton librarian, the book was old and the scripting was written in the Ancient Tongue. He could only make out a few words but the title read 'Shared Fate'. I said the words aloud and a familiar warmth spread within me. As the librarian turned to put a book away the shelf collapsed and heavy bound journals and scriptures fell atop him, pummeling him into the ground. I rushed to check on him as the library patrons, startled by the noise, gathered to see what had happened. This lone incident, coupled with my unending series of misfortunes, labeled me as a bad omen. People avoided me like the plague.
My father had made the mistake to disprove the curse by having me assist in the family finances and investments when I turned twelve. Big mistake on his part. The curse reared its ugly head and within two months, my family's fortune dwindled substantially. After that, my mother and father agreed to seek out specialists in curse removal. They informed them that the only way for a blood curse to be lifted was to find the caster and have them remove it. After a few months of unsuccessful searching for the asshole who had ruined me, my father sent me away, terrified at what might come if I stuck around. I was shipped to the Gamurling Magic Academy using what was left of the family's name to get me in with little tuition. Apparently, that was one place outside the city that knew my family's lineage.
I barely graduated. The Helivac family members were powerful pyromancers, however, anytime I attempted to conjure a flame I set something on fire unintentionally. Usually myself. After blowing off my eyebrows for the twentieth time I gave up on pyromancy and instead devoted myself to the one thing that could protect me against, well, myself. Wards. Shielding magic was not a difficult thing to learn but it was difficult to master. I spent my entire academic period perfecting my wards, strengthening my defenses, to give me some type of reprieve against my misfortunes. I also perfected my use of Shared Fate. When people laughed at me, they found themselves tripping, or falling, or in some other sad way, injuring themselves shortly after. I found that I could affect multiple people or single out specific people by simply point my finger at them and repeating the spell name. There was no real permanency to Shared Fate, the length of time varied by how much magic I put in. The longest I have made it last was about a half hour, enough time to watch the suffer in misery alongside me. Not fantastic magic, I know, but it always made me feel better. Apparently, the rumor was, however, that my bad luck was contagious by any who witnessed it and again, I was treated like some disease. Hooray for fun school memories.
Now, when I say I graduated, I'm fairly certain it was not in any legitimate manner. Based on my grade average and test scores after second reviews, I could tell someone was pillowing my marks. Probably someone being paid by my father. Whatever. It's not like I didn't know the material, I just kept making stupid mistakes. I knew magic. I knew it well. I had to. I didn't have luck on my side, so guessing my way through something was impossible. I had to know it implicitly.
Being considered a disease by the student body does not exactly make you the most desirable person to be around and I found myself with few friends among the academy. At present, I have only two. The first friend I made was Petra. To this day, she is still the sweet, kind, and an extremely endearing person who befriended me after I fell down a flight of stairs. She is also a very illogical girl, who always tries to see the best in people whereas I am very much a cynic. Don't get me wrong, the girl isn't dumb by any means, she is just a bleeding heart and, at times, she tends to think more with that heart than with her brain. Petra specializes in healing magic and used me regularly as a guinea pig to try out new spells when I hurt myself during our stay at the Glamurling Academy. She became very well practiced in a short amount of time, however, my luck did manage to turn some of her more experimental spells south. One time, I actually ended up growing two extra fingers as she tried to mend my broken hand after it was crushed by an iron gate. That removal process was actually less pleasant than the break itself. She could have had almost any job she wanted in the medical field but decided to stay with me, following me to the one job someone like me could do. Guild work. After graduation we joined up with the Telefar Adventurer's Guild on the south side of Littany. We take jobs based on requests, we split the earnings with sixty percent for us, forty percent to the guild. Any collateral damages however, are taken from our shares.
Yes, I know. I told you about two friends. The second one is not a person I would not actually call a friend but I have to deal with her as she is obsessed with Petra and imposes on our duo frequently. Her name is Laurel. Laurel is a failed knight who turned to the guild after quitting the knight initiate school. It was not her skills that were lacking, per say, but her judgment. Laurel decided to celebrate early before her final exam, got extremely drunk and flunked out. They told her she would have to take the courses she flunked over again as punishment and so she left, her pride unable to deal with the humiliation. Laurel is hot tempered and quick to violence but one of the best fighters I have honestly ever seen.
Laurel has refused work with anyone else but us, and to be honest we need her. I am not much of a mage, pretty much just a walking punchbag because no matter what anyone does, the enemy never stops targeting me. Petra does her best to heal anything my wards don't guard but her specialty is just that, healing. She is not very adept in any sort of offensive magic. Laurel gives us that offense we need. Her spear is fast and she is surprisingly tough, she is just a bitch to anyone but Petra. Gods, I can't stand her.
Oh, and incase you were wondering, it was Laurel's horse that kicked me. I can't stand her horse either.