Post by Bela on Dec 30, 2006 13:16:20 GMT -5
Twas a few days after Christmas had passed, and Triangle Tunnel had returned to most of it's usual business. The selling of various implements and devices wizards could use, both legal and directly off the black market; but for those rarities one would have to know where to look. It was in this lesser traversed part of the Tunnel that a man was sitting in front of a shady cafe; taking great draws from his pipe before loosing a giant plume of multi-colored smoke. The man was wearing baggy pantaloones that were of a faded red with several patterns embrodered in golden thread. His shirt was of a muddy white, it's collar folded as if in a hurry and the top few buttons were unbuttoned; giving to the man an aire of silent forboding. However that aire was dampened by his small stature.
The man was only 5'10", of a stocky build and a chest like a barrel. But if there was one feature that couldn't be ignored about the man was his eyes; one was greener than Nature's womb and the other was yellow like the rays of the Sun. And how the light reflected off of them; it made the man seem very mystical, and yet there was an emptiness to his eyes. This emptiness was a common sight amongst those like him that traveled away from his home country. Where was he from one might ask? Transylvania; a land that was filled with terrors from the night. Vampires, Lycans, Werewolves, Werebears, and worse ran rampant through the country; terrorizing both muggle and wizard communities so much that they had to integrate in order to perserve their country. Many of these hardy people either banded together or left the country in search of where their talents might best serve the interests of others.
This particular man considered what his profession was simply as means of earning a living, but it was his vices that he viewed as a mandate from the Lord. The man smoking from his pipe was quite religious; hanging around his neck was a cross made of Carpathian silver. More than once had he done things that would make ordinary folk shiver, but then again no one that came from Transylvania was ordinary. No; they were extraordinary for having survived all those centuries of torment and agony. But alas, it seemed that the man had to play the part of his profession; for an angry customer was fast approaching him. As he slipped a fake eye patch over his left eye, the approaching man shouted, "You! Fortune teller! You tell nothing but lies!".
"Is that so?", asked the fortune teller as he let out a large puff of smoke from his pipe; vague amusement playing around his right eye of brilliant yellow. "Yes, Bela; you played me false! You said the Moldovian berdirche of Vtalys would be here at 50 galleons and that it would be in Gorm's Grizzly Grips! But Gorm swears he never had such a thing in his shop. You lied to me Bela, and by Merlin's beard you'll pay for that."
Leaning forward from his seat so that the angry customer might hear, Bela pulled the pipe away from his lips as he spoke; his yellow eye beginning to fog over. "Word of caution to you, my son. Your future growing clearer to me now", murmured Bela in almost a trance-like state, "Tread you further down the path of Anger; pain will follow you acrimoneously. However should you turn back now and follow the path of indifference; pain not share your bed." At first the angry man backed away out of fear, but confidence came back into his eyes and he swung a punch at the blind side of the man. However the punch never hit home; the fortune teller Bela flipped his beat around in his hand and firmly smacked the man's hand with the pipe; spilling the hot contents onto him. And as the man ran off, Bela smiled to himself as he took another contented puff from his pipe.
"Looks like your future come true after all."
The man was only 5'10", of a stocky build and a chest like a barrel. But if there was one feature that couldn't be ignored about the man was his eyes; one was greener than Nature's womb and the other was yellow like the rays of the Sun. And how the light reflected off of them; it made the man seem very mystical, and yet there was an emptiness to his eyes. This emptiness was a common sight amongst those like him that traveled away from his home country. Where was he from one might ask? Transylvania; a land that was filled with terrors from the night. Vampires, Lycans, Werewolves, Werebears, and worse ran rampant through the country; terrorizing both muggle and wizard communities so much that they had to integrate in order to perserve their country. Many of these hardy people either banded together or left the country in search of where their talents might best serve the interests of others.
This particular man considered what his profession was simply as means of earning a living, but it was his vices that he viewed as a mandate from the Lord. The man smoking from his pipe was quite religious; hanging around his neck was a cross made of Carpathian silver. More than once had he done things that would make ordinary folk shiver, but then again no one that came from Transylvania was ordinary. No; they were extraordinary for having survived all those centuries of torment and agony. But alas, it seemed that the man had to play the part of his profession; for an angry customer was fast approaching him. As he slipped a fake eye patch over his left eye, the approaching man shouted, "You! Fortune teller! You tell nothing but lies!".
"Is that so?", asked the fortune teller as he let out a large puff of smoke from his pipe; vague amusement playing around his right eye of brilliant yellow. "Yes, Bela; you played me false! You said the Moldovian berdirche of Vtalys would be here at 50 galleons and that it would be in Gorm's Grizzly Grips! But Gorm swears he never had such a thing in his shop. You lied to me Bela, and by Merlin's beard you'll pay for that."
Leaning forward from his seat so that the angry customer might hear, Bela pulled the pipe away from his lips as he spoke; his yellow eye beginning to fog over. "Word of caution to you, my son. Your future growing clearer to me now", murmured Bela in almost a trance-like state, "Tread you further down the path of Anger; pain will follow you acrimoneously. However should you turn back now and follow the path of indifference; pain not share your bed." At first the angry man backed away out of fear, but confidence came back into his eyes and he swung a punch at the blind side of the man. However the punch never hit home; the fortune teller Bela flipped his beat around in his hand and firmly smacked the man's hand with the pipe; spilling the hot contents onto him. And as the man ran off, Bela smiled to himself as he took another contented puff from his pipe.
"Looks like your future come true after all."