Chapter 1 - The Mark

It should have gone according to plan. When things don't go according to plan, it makes you look like an amateur. And to someone who has been training their entire life for this moment, nothing could be worse than looking like an amateur.

However, Fate is a fickle god. Most humans have very incorrect suppositions about Fate. To some, Fate can be found in the form of 3 old crones sitting around a cauldron or sewing a tapestry while sharing a single eye between them. If this were so, Fate would be blind to most things that went on, but experience tells us otherwise. To others, Fate is seen as a nerdish, obfuscated figure in a robe toting around a tremendous tome which no one else can read. This can be a very appealing idea because it puts Fate so far away from the rest of us.

For Eaups, the god of Fate was a slightly balding god with a penchant for the flamboyant, anything violet (but absolutely NOT purple) and a very annoying laugh. He also went by the name of Murphy. Eaups was very certain of this because he'd not only seen and met Murphy, but he owed the guy $20.

Eaups, whose name was usually pronounced "oops", was a priest in the Pantheological Cloister in Kell, the capital city of the Kingdom of Mayford. He was a star student, rising in ranks quicker than almost anyone in the cloister. The 12 Mediators permitted him to be the youngest Avatar of a god in over a hundred years. None of this, however, did anything to ease his mind as he hid in a large, rank urn that smelled like it had recently been used to do something unspeakable with a cow's digestive system.

"Stop squirming," came a brusque voice from outside, that of a girl.
"Sorry, it's.. it's cramped in here and it smells like sh-"
"I don't care! You said this would work, and it better, or we are out $300." There was a sharp strike against the side of the urn, causing a dull CLANG to ring in Eaups' ears for some time.
"It'll work, Jesz. Trust me," Eaups said, though there was definite doubt in his voice.

Jesz wore a large burlap sack, trying to make it appear as if it might be a robe. In the dark alley, the illusion worked fairly well. Though her voice was young and sharp, her wrinkled hands shook as though she had palsy. In front of her was a large cart which carried the urn Eaups was hiding in, as well as a host of other nondescript items of pottery, basketry, and glass-works.
"Witch's brews, potions, charms, fetishes," she cried out in the voice of an old hag as she pushed the cart clumsily onto the cobbled street from the alley.

There were few other people on the road this night, which was typical of the neighborhood. In the day, it was a busy market place, lined with shops that sold everything from the obscure to the dangerous. By night, however, only the brave dared to venture down its winding lanes. The road-side shops closed up at nightfall and only carts remained. Unlike a storefront, carts were mobile, and with the proper lookout even the slowest cart selling the most prohibited goods could make a decent getaway.

A tall, woman with long, flowing hair the color of autumn leaves in the winter moved up to the cart. A dark, expensive-looking robe and cowl wrapped around her to conceal most of her features. It was an exquisite display that screamed aristocracy, the kind that was only ever seen either being sold or being stolen on this street.
"What are you selling, madam?" she asked in a loud, gruff voice. Although no one would recognize her on that street, it was not because of her rather amusing attempt at a disguise.
Jesz leaned in and whispered behind clenched jaw, "Not so loud. Geez, where did you get that robe, Mel? I thought I said a rag!"
"It was the only thing I could find on such short notice," the woman answered in a hurried whisper, then leaned back as she "inspected" a jar filled with what she hoped were pickles.
"Well you stick - Only the finest charms, fetishes, 'n potions, deary - out like a sore thumb!" The change in her voice from chastising to little-old-lady made Eaups shiver a little. She did that too easily.

After a moment or two of silent bickering and loud appraisal, Jesz shot a knowing glance to Mel and nodded beneath her hood. Two men had just come into view, one with arms thicker than Jesz's ego, the other with a large crimson patch over one eye. As they wandered closer, Jesz moved around the cart, hobbling as well as she could, and Mel stepped back while holding the jar of pickles up the light of the moon as if inspecting it carefully.

"Charms, brews, and potions. Sir, you look like you could use a first-class item of genu-ine witchery," old-lady Jesz said as she picked up some items from the cart and moved closer to the man with the eyepatch. She held up a bracelet that looked like it was made of a lizard - or perhaps several parts of several lizards - and motioned it towards the man.

"No... thank you," the man added, holding his hand up in a gesture of dismissal. He knew better than to anger a witch. In fact, the eyepatch was a constant reminder.

"Yer lookin' to get even, ain't ya?" Jesz said. Although the only part of her face the man could see was a large nose, the kind that could only be attached to a crone, he could tell she was smiling. This wasn't just any smile, but the smile of a known secret. The man stopped in his tracks, causing his companion to run into him, mutter a few apologies, and step back to oversee the transaction.

"How did you know that?" the one-eyed man asked, raising his eyebrow.

Jesz cackled and tapped the side of her crooked nose. "Granny Beetle has her ways," she said. Mel ventured a glance over at the bodyguard, but rolled her eyes at the name Jesz chose to call herself. "If'n yer lookin' to get an eye fer an eye..." Jesz said, leaning closer. The man found himself leaning in as well. "...then you'll want a boggart's brew," she continued, pointing at the urn Eaups sat in. Eaups had been holding his breath ever since the man began to talk. That, however, was his cue. He closed his eyes and started to mutter the incantations of a spell as quietly as he could, his hands having just enough room to weave the necessary gestures.

"What's a boggart's brew?" the man said, his eye following along Jesz' crooked finger to the urn. He already seemed drawn by the air of mystery it possessed.

"Trade secret," Jesz replied with another ghastly cackle. "Boggarts're nasty little buggers that peck out yer teeth and leave ya gold," she said, eliciting a groan from Mel. The bodyguard turned to look at Mel, who looked back to him with a huff and moved to the cart to put down the jar of pickles.

Everything was ready. The man was starting to lean over the urn with the promise of money and revenge, Mel had put herself into position to block their escape, while Eaups was almost done with his spell.

Jesz reached down and removed the top of the urn. Everything was in slow-motion. Jesz was pulling out her big guns. "Gar-an-teed," Eaups heard her say as he came to the last line of the spell. His mind raced with the thought of the bounty they were going to get as he looked up into the face of his unsuspecting vic-CRASH!

The urn fell over, shattering pots and jars on the cart. With a heavy earthen CLUNK, it rolled onto the street. Eaups didn't have time to process what was going on; all he knew was that the world started to spin and then the urn shattered around him.

"STOP!" he heard Mel yell as she took off after the two men, who were making their escape.

"What happened?" groaned Eaups to no one in particular. He brushed some of the urn shards off, took a breath of fresh air, and then looked around. "Jesz, what..." Back at the cart, Jesz was sprawled out on the ground with a strange man on top of her. He dressed in black, unconscious, and had an arrow sitcking out of his side.