Prompt #1a

Laurence stared down the scope of his modified G28 rifle, its time for use had almost come.

A jeep barrelled down a jungle trail, Inside were three men, former cartel hitmen not even worth the million dollar contract they had just lost. They rounded a turn and a thousand meters away was their safe house, where they intended to bunker down after their failed attempt at an assasination. They couldn't see the rented helicopter behind the house. At four hundred meters six shots were fired. At three hundred and fifty meters the jeep slammed into several trees. Laurence made a call, and received the final payment of his contract.

The next day his jet was in the air leaving Guatemala behind and Laurence was pondering over a hand written note. Laurence had picked it up from his dead drop in London as he was traveling to Guatemala but hadn't taken a good look at it. He flipped open his phone and made a call.

"Brandon Wilks electronics," the voice said over the cell. "What can I help you with?"

"It's Laurence Cassidy, I'd like to ask you about internet security."

"Oh, hey! Did you change your number or something I thought you were a cop?"

"No, same number. I'm using a burner," Laurence replied. "Figured I might as well use the minutes before I toss it."

"You never were much of a waster. What do you need to know?"

"I'd like you to figure out how a nine year old girl living in the suburbs of Glasgow found out how to get a letter and twenty three pounds to my dead drop at the London City Airport."

 "What?!?" came the shocked reply.

"I said I'd like you to . . ."

"Yes, I heard what you said" Brandon interrupted.  "I just don't understand. It shouldn't be possible." Laurence rolled his eyes and made a grunt. "Right," Brandon continued. "pull up your laptop so I can connect to it and we can go through this together."

"No can do Brandon. I'm on my plane."

There was a pause. "It's nice to know that signal booster I installed is working." Brandon cleared his throat. "I'll get to work on it from here and we can comb through it once you get back."

"Yep, and I'll give you a head start. the girls address is 321 Hedge Row Drive."

"Okay I'll start with that. Have a pleasant flight!" Laurence snapped the phone shut.

He read the pink ink of the letter for the eighth time.

Dear Murderer,

I need you to kill my step-dad. He is cruel and mean and needs to die.
I've included the money, now kill him. But leave me and mommy alone. 
We live at 321 hedge row dr. and we're really close to Glasgow. 
Please kill him soon, I don't want to see him again. So you don't
accendently kill me, I'm nine and have pretty brown hair and I'm the 
tallest in my class.

Love,
Jessy

Question #0b

Rules of Divination

1.     Observe, do not act out of ignorance; you must watch and learn.

2.    Do not question what you see, question the interpretation.

3.    There are no contradictions, only missing explanations.

4.    Do not ignore a sign, not one, not ever.

5.    Nothing seen may be unseen.

Am I missing anything?

Story building #5b

Alisa smiled a little, "You're a manipulator."

"I like to think of myself as an outcome engineer," Claude replied. "Besides, if they want to waste their time looking for a dinky old sword, they may as waste their money too." He watched as the treasure hunters faded in to the crowed at the Redington spring fair. 

"And those flower chains you sold them?" Alisa raised her eyebrow.

"Festive and conducive to merry spirits." Claude said as he stored their gold in a hidden drawer of his wagon.

Alisa rolled her eyes at her guardian. Though he was nearly thirty-seven his personality as well as his body were  twenty-two. "Well then, since I'm clearly not going to miss anything I'm going into town to have a look at the wares."

"As you wish. just be sure not to get locked inside," he said with a trace of concern.

"I won't almirra (elvish term: adoptive father), I'll be back well before dusk." With those words, Alisa mixed into the churning throng. Claude then took this moment to go behind his vardo and see that his cows and bulls were in want of nothing. 

While he was out of sight, a dwarf approached his vardo. In this land, dwarves were seldom adventurers. Most preferred to stay in their mountains, or else if they did travel they were merchants. None the less, there were some dwarf adventurers and all of them were treasure hunters.

This particular dwarf treasure hunter was names Kil'ador. He had after many long years, finally found out how to locate a very precious magical item. Unfortunately, he had also discovered that only people of a certain blood lineage could access its chamber. As such, while the other members of his team purchased supplies, Kil'ador sought out a soothsayer to locate someone who could aid the effort. 

Kil'ador strode up to the vardo with dwarfish purpose. He jumped, as much as a dwarf could, up the four steps into the wagon.

Then he froze in place, caught in awe of the interior of the vardo. In the doorway rested a dozen beautiful flower chains. Beyond them were cabinets and drawers made of gleaming spruce. From the roof hung shelves loaded with chests and crates. In the center, covered with a dark green cloth, was a round table. But what really got Kil'ador's attention, was the polished silver mirror on the surface of the tablecloth. It was pure, that much was certain to the dwarf. It was unlike any other mirror the treasure hunter had seen. It shined more purely than any but the best silver, with a slightly concave surface, lining the edges were ruins of a language unknown to Kil'ador. He drew nearer to the mirror, his dwarfish heart enamored by the unknown value of the mirror. So enamored was he that he neglected to even notice the shelves of books beyond the table. Nor did he notice second door to his right. The door through which Claude returned.

"May I help you, dwarf?" Claude asked with eyebrows raised. Kil'ador took a guilty step back and fumbled for words.

"well, um, er, ya see, erm."

Claude cut him off. "You're here to seek my mystic guidance in order to locate something of great value is that it?"

Kil'ador shook his head a little. "No, a person," he said,"a person who has the power to access something of great value."

"A person, huh, that may be a little tricky." Claude rubbed his chin. "Tell me what you know about this person and I'll see what I can do."

So the dwarf explained about the lineage and how he didn't actually know the name of the person. However, he did not open up his plan to Claude. Nor give any hint about what item it was he was searching for. While he listened, Claude put away his mirror into a cabinet. and began to extract and replace various items as Kil'ador told what he knew. First there was a bundle of herbs, he put these away when Kil'ador admitted to not knowing the person. Next there was a flask of some brackish liquid, Claude put this away when Kil'ador didn't know the name. After that a pouch of needles, and after those some brownish paint. Finally, when Kil'adore finished, Claude reached up to the shelves hanging over their heads and removed a large leather bag full of clattering objects. 

"This will do it." Claude said as he took a seat behind the table. "Although, this method will be rather expensive for you."

"If it works I will gladly pay," Kil'ador answered.

With a nod, Claude dumped the contents of the bag onto the table, and out came dozens of knucklebones inscribed each with a rune in the language from the mirror. With quick movements the soothsayer plucked out four knucklebones from the pile. Holding the four in hand, he brushed aside the pile leaving a clear space in front of him. 

Claude extended hand, and in his palm the knucklebones seemed to quiver for a moment. With a flick he cast them into the air. They fell to the table, two rune down and two rune up. 

"You'll need to travel south east." Claude said chrisply. "I've enchanted these knucklebones to point out this person you're after. Each rune stands for one of the four directions. This one is East." He raised the knuckle bone to show Kil'ador. "This one is South" he raised the south rune knucklebone. "This one is West" he displayed that one as well. "Which means the last one is North." Kil'ador inspected the north rune for himself. "The best part of this enchantment is that anyone can use them now. Just give them enough of a toss to move and they'll align with the direction of your query. The only thing that will stop them is a shielding spell, but if that ever happens they'll just lead you to another descendent who happens to be closest" 

"Very fine, I'm sure" Kil'ador muttered. "For what price are they mine to use?"

"I see you are one who knows the value of things so I shall give you but my lowest offer, twenty-eight gold pieces, seven per bone." 

Kil'ador inwardly groaned, he could afford twenty-eight in gold but only if they were to set out on foot. This was far from Kil'ador's plan, but the soothsayer seemed honest about twenty-eight being his lowest price. So, he decided to barter.

"Alas I could not part with that amount of gold." He said using his best market voice. "Perhaps I could interest you in this dwarf crafted appraising glass, as a fair trade." 

Fair was stretching things a little, this glass had been purchased for only ten gold pieces. However, the finery of dwarf craftsmanship was rare in Redington and so Kil'ador hoped the difference of value would be  overlooked. 

Claude reached out his hand to receive and examine the glass. "It is of good value, but it alone is not enough." Claude paused and leaned forward a little. "Since you don't wish to part with your gold, include that smaller dagger of yours and I will consider this a deal done."

To Kil'ador this seemed a fair trade, and so left the wagon tossing and catching the knucklebones, confirming the location and beaming with success. Claude for his part, swept the other knucklebones back into their bag and grinned at the acquisition of his new appraising glass, and at such a good price.

Story building #4b

     An hour passed and the warmth of spring woke Alisa Fellgreen, the ward and apprentice of Claude. She peeked her blonde hair and angular face around the curtain to see that her second cousin was asleep on his mattress. For indeed, Claude’s cousin had been her mother, until disease took her mother away from both of them. This was more than ten years since, Alisa had been nine at the time. In the years since, she had come to love Claude as her father, and teacher. In spite of those years, however, she was still amazed by how soundly he slept even in the light of morning. He didn’t as much as stir as she dressed nor did he even shift when she knocked over the milking bucket. Alisa left the tent to attend to their cows, and gather wood for a cooking fire.

        Alisa was a half-elf; her father had tired of her mother when she was very little and left them both. Her mother was Mira Pythian, and by extension Alisa herself, belonged to a small family of scribes. When Alisa’s father left, Mira took refuge from rejection by joining a merchant caravan and working to write contracts and translate gnome and elf contracts. When the time came, and Mira knew she was to die, she contacted her cousin and asked that he be her guardian. This decision came because half-elves have almost twice the lifespan of most humans, and Claude was the one person who might understand how she would have to live. Claude was a soothsayer; he arrived a day too late to speak to his cousin but in the years since her passing had cared for her daughter, his second cousin, with the love and attention of a protective father. As a result, Alisa has grown into a kind natured, well-traveled, and clever young woman. Much to Claude’s pleasure, she was also a promising soothsayer apprentice. 

Story building #3b

        The morning sun swept up over the young green treetops of the misty woods. As it did, six humanoid figures emerged from the trees, each wearing a hooded cloak. They were greeted by their tired comrades and worried families. One particularly bulky individual was pulled into a bear hug by a shorter, but no less bulky warrior. Another of the figures was tackled by two small bundles of energy. While the other three were received with a comparable treatment, one resting a bow against his shoulder slipped away to the south end of the liberator camp.

        At the edge of the camp, set apart from the closer gypsy tents was a vardo wagon with several ayrshire cows grazing beside it. Alongside the wagon was an adjoined canvas tent branching to the east. The polished wood of the roof began to gleam in the emerging sunlight when the archer entered into his tent-wagon home. He heard the gentle breathing of his ward behind a curtain of canvass. He removed his cloak and boots as quietly as he could and lowered his youthful, but tired body onto his bed. A bed that was made of twisted straw and lavender, which belonged to Claude Pythian.