Cassandra sighs as she looks out across the ocan, her toes curling in the sand. It seems like just yesterday her mother was sharing the story around the fire with the rest of the Varisians about how they found her as a baby on the shores of Lake Encarthen. That was many years ago now…and her time with the Zandros Clan has passed into the annuls of time like sand between her fingers.
Such is the way of Elves, however…especially when they live with humans.
She stands and brushes the sand off her breeches before tightening the Kapenia her adoptive father gave her around her waist, the faint siren’s call of the ocean soon drowned out by the joyful sounds of carousing drunkards on their way to the bar nearby.
“They say the best treatment for meloncholy is a full mug of ale. Perhaps I need to test that theory.”
“Wait… so what’s this one mean with the Juggler?” asks a young barmaid scooting into the booth next to Cassandra to look at the cards spread over the table. “I’m sorry… don’t mean no harm or nothin’, just trying to avoid Jimmy over there until he passes out already.” She nods toward a particularly loud and burly human with ale dripping down his beard.
“You have my sympathies,” Cassandra mutters before turning back to the cards. “The Juggler is a card of Dexterity that signifies destiny, the gods, and those who like to play with the fates of others.”
“Playing with people’s lives… that sounds like the gods, allright,” the barmaid snorts. “What about this one?”
“Ah… The Marriage. It’s a card of Charisma that tells of a union of peoples and ideas that could be damaging, or very productive depending.” she looks up from the cards and notices with curiousity that the burly thug is no longer at the next table. “I think your…”
“And what about this one?” the barmaid interrupts as she points to a picture of a well-dressed tiger, her eyes flicking about the bar room nervously.
“Domination and slavery…” Cassandra answers grimly as she looks down at the image of a Rakshasa. She scoops up the cards with a grunt and deftly pockets them in the hidden pocket of her Kapenia. “Okay… what’s the deal here…”
A hairy and muscular arm wraps around her neck from above and behind and she finds herself struggling with trying not to gag from the smell as much as trying to breathe.
“Just be a moment, missy… you’ll be in your new home soon enough.”
“I’m sorry miss, really I am,” pleads the barmaid as Cassandra’s vision fades to black. “You should listen to your cards more often…”