Stories were the backbone of any society, and stories of the cursed were the backbone of all persecutions. The treatment of those who had been cursed or purportedly curses left little to be said on the fear and superstition of the people of the city. Though they may claim themselves greater than any deity outside these four walls, only second to that within their temples, it was we who they feared. I suppose I should take some solace in it, my standing was enough to shake even the most steady of men. I suppose it's because my cursing was political, taken before a judge.

Yes, many seem to ignore that, the cursed are made. I remember that day as clearly as I would remember my first birthday. I was brought before the king on suspicion of having incited riots, cursed by his magician that the prophecies and gifts which I bore would never be believed, and sent to live in the slums. Now here I am, a Cassandrian Seer, lost to the tides of thought. It was ironic, they had the wrong person. It wasn't I who incited the riots. I could not control what I saw, nor was I in any position to control the one who would take my visions and use them.

At least the slums were beautiful in the evening, the joys of shared poverty. We took care of each other to the best of our abilities, generally a man who was cursed to loss of money would leave his money with another. We found our ways in this world, and it almost felt as though we were the family we were destined to have. I didn't have much use, though. I could do the fishing and herbalism but my predictions often fell short because, as so wonderfully declared on me, no one would believe me. I couldn't even leave notes about possible raids or weather changes, it had my vision on them and so they would also not be believed. No matter which way I turned my eyes, I was clouded to others. At least I could do herbalism, the one good thing my hands could do.

I sat at my desk, finishing some writing. It wasn't something great, a small treatise that would probably only be heard after my death when this curse is taken with me. Still, it gave me a break to speak. The rain had only gotten worse the past few weeks and the slums took the worst of the floods, resulting in our having to figure out better ways to get around. As I sat, I heard people walking on my roof to get to their designated places. It was all well and good, the hearthfire was only slightly affected by the constant gusts. It was peaceful, for a change.

I looked up from my work, hearing a knock on the trapdoor on my roof. Groaning slightly, I got up and went to unlock it, knocking back as sign for entry. I didn't bother to look at who came down, this weather meant the cold would be about, and shivering fits. I went to the shelf, sorting through my herbs.

"What may I get you, I have a tincture that just finished. She's good for the shakes," I said over my shoulder.

"A reading, please," responded a deep and gruff voice. My hands stopped, I looked over at the visitor. He was a tall and gruff man, not necessarily clean shaven. His boots were sopping wet and had trekked in some water so I pointed to the cloth near the trapdoor. Chuckling deeply, he went and took it, drying himself off and taking off those boots which I would have to clean up after.

"I don't do readings, sir," I said quietly, turning my attention back to the bottle that I was holding onto tightly. I let it go, stretching out my fingers so that they would ease.

"You're a seer, so you must do readings," he retorted, shuffling out of his cloak and putting it down on the table. I turned around, seeing him fully now. He was nearly hitting my roof with his head and his body was unnaturally large. You could see some fat, but it seemed as though he was more a wrestler in form. His hair was unruly and tangled, he had a beard and his arms had a considerable amount of hair as well. I assumed he was from the colder regions, normally theirs had more hair than the warmer southern regions. Would explain his affinity for the rain storm as well.

"That's the past," I said quietly, seeing his eyes round with concern, the crow's feet on them fading for a brief moment.

"I'll pay you a good amount, more than this house is worth," he said. I raised my eyebrow at him, then looked down at his cloak and clothing. He didn't seem all too rich, what was he playing at?

"If you're so well endowed, maybe go find a more suitable seer for the job," I said, turning around to sort out the shelf. I heard him chuckle again, that breathy laugh sending shivers down my back.

"I am well endowed, thank you," he said in a sultry voice. Sighing in frustration, I turned around to see that he had walked closer and that I was now, quite awkwardly, facing his chest. I think I've smelled wet dogs that were better. Still, him looking down at me was something of a sight. He had warm eyes, their age only betrayed by the wrinkles around it. Beyond that, there was a glint of a child in there. Frustrated, I relented and knew that it would get him out as soon as he didn't believe the prophecy.

"I'm not in any position to move, sir," I said, gesturing to his form right in front of me. Raising his eyebrow, he moved to the side and I went towards the hearth. From the mantle, I brought out the bag of bones and shells that I collected overtime. Not that they do much use for others, but they do help me prepare indirectly. He watched me with a keen eye, like a child watching an animal do some trick. Had I not thought any better, I'd assume he'd start clapping and calling me baby names like you would a dog.

Returning to my desk, I put away my writing materials and bid him to sit in a chair opposite me. He took that chair and moved to sit just next to me, on one end of the table. I looked at him expectantly but he stared at me blankly.

"A question?"

He startled, before realizing that he was actually supposed to ask a question for me to divine on. He looked distantly before returning back to the room and saying thus:

"I would like to know about whether or not I should carry on eastward," he said quietly. A part of me broke at that, what if I saw something bad and he wouldn't believe me. Regardless, maybe I could find some way to sabotage his movement. I shook the bag, blowing into it a few times. Gathering a few of the items into a scoop, I threw them out onto the table. His bone, a significator, was dead center facing towards a smaller pile of bones. Behind him was what looked like land issues. One particular issue was that he'd deal with struggle before reaching his goal, but that struggle was obscured somewhat, even from my own eyes. Frustrated, I moved to pick up one of the bones and as soon as I touched its cracked surface, it dawned:

---

A kingdom ripped asunder by civil unrest, a class war which resulted in the overthrowing of a hierarchy that was not suited to them. Immigrants coming eastward and seeking refuge, but there is no solution to the civil crisis in sight. A man walking in the snow bearing a bloodied crown, and the sun darkened by the moon in the sky. He falls and his crown rolls of his head and down the slope before landing at the feet of a masked man with deer horns. Behind him, however, is the man sitting next to me right now. His face is bloodied and his hair is matted, and he holds his blade up to the air before repeatedly slicing at the neck of the invading ruler.

The scene changes, he is in a court before multiple men. I do not hear their voices but I hear one distinct voice which echoes around him.

"Coward, fleeing his people," I know all too well what will happen.  A snake coils around a sword and I see two paths, one which has the sun shining brightly and the other with the sun being eaten by a snake.

---

"Are you alright?"

I came to, feeling his hand on mine as he tried to shake me from my vision. The hand on the bone was shaking and I could see a thin layer of glimmering sweat.

"Going east will only bring troubles, you need to make sure that you have at least one quarter of the Table on your side before petitioning others," I said quietly.

"Alright, then I won't go eastward."

"Pardon?"

He got up, dusting off his pants as he grabbed his cloak and boots.

"I won't go eastward, you gave me a prophecy and I'm respecting it."

He put on his boots and cloak before standing up and climbing through the trapdoor, leaving me staring at his empty space.

"You believed me, what in the name of all heaven and earth?"