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There were several lessons that Scipio had learned in his life: “Never mix mead with health potions”, “Don’t stand in enclosed spaces with wizards”, “Never take the first bite of food at a dinner party”, and various other handy little tricks that served him well in his years on the run. One rule, that he would unfortunately rely on more than any, was simply; “If you wake up somewhere aside from where you went to sleep, something is horribly wrong.”


So, when he woke up in the early afternoon, slumped on a table in some unknown town, presumably NOT at the cheapest inn he could find in Broodhollow, with a splitting headache, and a stranger sitting across from him quietly writing, he knew that something was… well, “horribly wrong”. It took him a moment to reorient himself, but once he did, he had to question the stranger.


“Oh, Gods… You there, do you know what town this is? ..How many days travel are we from Broodhollow?”


As Scipio became more aware of his surroundings, he also became more aware of the stranger he had just questioned: To be more specific, he was aware of how… oddly plain the man was. His clothes suggested he was a commoner but… something about it rubbed Scipio the wrong way. It was hard to place what the issue was, but it almost felt less like this man was a commoner and more that he was pretending to be one to blend in… and then there was his eyes, which were strangely unfocussed; not in a way that suggested he wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings, but instead a way that suggested he could see everything around him, at the same time.

In short, Scipio was well aware that there was something fundamentally wrong with this man being here, but he couldn’t tell what it was.


The man glanced over, his eyes focussing entirely on the tabaxi. “This town? Well, we’re in Wishborne, right in the heart of Astrium. Don’t you see the castle up on the hill there?”

Hearing those names made Scipio’s blood run cold, though he tried his damndest to hide it. If he was back in Astrium, that meant he was close to his hometown, close to everything he’d known before his exile.. And dangerously close to the man who wanted to see him dead. If anyone realized who he was, he’d not live to see the new dawn, and that son of a whore Bramir Padmont would be the one to do him in. Still, he tried to maintain his composure, and keep up small talk until he could understand how he got here. “Wishborne, huh? I’ve heard of it… That’s not a particularly large castle up there, all in all, is it? …Then again, my father once told me that bigger castles invite bigger problems.” He paused for a moment, carefully choosing his next words. “So… what’s the most interesting thing about this town, other than the castle? I like hearing about places I’m… new… in.”

The stranger seemed unfazed by how nervous Scipio felt, and he could only hope that meant he really was hiding it well as he got a reply. “Oh, nothing interesting in particular… Not yet, at least. Soon, though, a great tragedy will begin within those walls, brought on by those who think themselves above even the kings of the land.”

“A tragedy?” Was that the reason Scipio was here? To be given some noble quest? “Is there anything I can do to stop this?”

The stranger sighed. “No, not you, unfortunately. That is a story for others, and you have your own story... For what it's worth, I truly am sorry for what happened to you... Your brother would be proud of you, having held on this long.”

How.. How could this stranger know about Cass? Scipio should have felt fear, more than anything, but something in this stranger's presence invited peace. He shifted uncomfortably on his seat, then spoke, softly. "Thank you... it's a nice change, having someone express sympathy for me. I don't get that a lot these days."


Again, the stranger sighed to himself, as if every sentence was a great burden to bear. “I'm sure you don't... That's, regrettably, by design. Your story is one of suffering, of tragedy... But eventually, of triumph.” He paused for a moment, studying Scipio. “Tell me, if you could know, with total certainty, what your future holds, would you want to?”


Scipio felt an eyebrow raise, involuntarily. “Total certainty? Right, what’s the catch, then?”

“Nothing, but the weight of knowledge. I'm forced to bear it, knowing with one hundred percent accuracy what Fate has in store for you. I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, what will happen between you, Lysander... And yes, even Bramir. I know where you'll end up in just a few years, and I can promise it's not what you expect.”


Hearing someone else speak those names, the Padmont brothers… one of whom he loved more than life itself, and one he’d gladly tear limb from limb… Whoever this stranger was, they knew a lot about Scipio, and it was becoming clear that running would be a terrible idea. He couldn’t help but frown at the revelation, but pressed forward anyway. “All right… Tell me my future.”


“Well,” the stranger said, “I'll start with the bad news- the hardest part is yet to come. An adventure, of sorts, wherein you and a ragtag group will be forced to fight the strands of fate that drag you around. You'll come very close to death, many times. You'll live, but at times you'll wish you didn't. After that, a country falling to ruins, and you playing a small part in yet another adventure. Yours is a story filled with degradation and deprivation, but I promise it will pass in time…”


Scipio felt himself nodding slowly, before he even realized it. “And the good news, then?”


“You get so much out of that story, a hard earned happy ending. You finally reunite with Lysander, having a small wedding in Darkshore like you'd always dreamed. You become a cleric, healing those who need it most... You come to forgive Bramir, as impossible as that seems... Then, eventually, you retire, living out your twilight years with Lysander in peace and modest prosperity. You're one of the few adventurers who will not go out in a blaze of glory- you survive, Scipio, and get the happy ending you want so badly.”


By now, Scipio had tears in his eyes. As the stranger spoke, he could almost, for a moment, see the future that he was hearing about… A happy ending with Lysander, all he’d ever wanted. “Are… are you certain?”

“It is written in stone. I am certain, beyond any measure, that this is how your life plays out... After all, I am the one writing the story.”


“The one writing the story?” Scipio chuckled, moved by the strangers' words. “Well... I think you've given me something to live for again, stranger. Thank you for… for giving me hope. For giving me a sense of certainty… I can’t begin to say how much it means to me.” Then he thought for a moment. “You know, you never told me your name.”


The stranger gave a knowing smile. “And you never told me your name, Scipio Kane. As for myself? I suppose I'm no one, and everyone, all at once. I am the one who tells the stories of others, and... If I'm being honest, you're my finest story.”

It was at this moment that Scipio realized how he must have gotten here. It was clear he was talking to someone who knew things, things that should be impossible to know. He must have been dealing with some sort of god… It wasn’t unheard of, but it was incredibly rare. Well, it was common if someone had died, but last he checked Scipio was alive and well… Then again, last he’d checked he was in the Akarin Empire, not Astrium, so anything was possible at this point. Still, he decided to press his luck. “And what makes my story special? What’s so important about a runaway servant?”

“In truth? Nothing.” If Scipio had a drink, he’d have choked on it at the bluntness of the strangers reply. “You’re no more or less special than anyone walking by us. And yet… I admit, I have a fondness for you. I’m truly sorry for the hardships you’ve endured and will endure, but I promise it will be worth it in the end.”

“Hmm.” Scipio grunted. What else could he say? “Well, I shall remember this when times are at their hardest… You’re a kind soul for telling me all of this.”

“A kind soul? No, no…” The stranger looked out at the crowd again, the people going through their day to day lives. “If I were a good person, I wouldn't sit idly by as tragedies play out... Take that man over there, for example.” He gestured towards a man who was, at this moment, purchasing fruit from a nearby stand. “I know that by the end of the day, he and his entire family will be dead. It's written in stone, just as your future with Lysander is. If I were a good person, I would at least warn him, and yet, I do nothing. I sit here and I watch stories play out, knowing full well I could at least attempt to change them... In what world is that ‘good’?”


Scipio shook his head, and found himself speaking before he even knew what he was saying. "You give me back hope for the future, just by telling me my story. Is that not what a good person does, at the end of the day? Give others hope? Maybe you can't or won’t change the course of lives for everyone... but you've changed mine. You might not want to believe it, but I'm going to remember this, and look to the future more confidently because of what you've told me… Why don't you think that makes you a good person?"


The stranger was ready to reply, but was cut off as the tabaxi pressed on. “Even the Gods don't stop tragedy from happening, you know that, right? Even they let wars happen, and famine and pestilence... it's all a part of life. There has to be some tragedy, otherwise, what would be the value of triumph? The bad times make a person appreciate the good times that much more.”


The stranger's eyes became distant again, this time deep in thought. “The bad times make a person appreciate the good times... You might be right.” Eventually, he glanced over at Scipio again. “You know, I shouldn't be surprised by your wisdom. When I wrote your story, I chose your name, Scipio Amicus Kane, after a brilliant scholar from the third age, and an emperor of the second age who was known for his compassion... I'm glad to see you inherited both of those traits.”


Scipio laughed- he didn’t want to, but it forced its way out anyway. “You chose my name? Well, I’m glad I live up to what you’d chosen for me… Amicus means ‘friend’, right? Was that what the emperor was known for?”


“That it does... It wasn't his real name, of course, but it was his legacy, the name he’s remembered by... And one day, it may be your legacy as well. Of course, you don't lead an empire like he did, but, as I said, you do get your future with Lysander.”


“Well,” Scipio began, “I never cared for politics. What you’ve told me is more than enough.” Another smile, more genuine, more heartfelt, came to his face. "Thank you, sir, for this. I don't have much to offer you for the kindness you've done me, but if you ever need anything... I'm here for you, you know that?"


“All I ask in return is you live the life I’ve written for you. Your best life. I’ve worked hard on it, and I can only hope that it’ll be everything you’d ever wanted.”


Scipio nodded, then stood, feeling the conversation coming to a close. “You have my word, on what honor I have left… And it would seem we’ve both made a friend today, haven’t we?” He held his hand out to the stranger. “Friends for life, what do you say?”

The stranger smiled, stood, and took Scipios’ hand. “For life, and then some. No matter what you face, remember: I’ll be watching over you, helping as best I can… Remember this, Scipio Kane. The Universe loves you.”

With that, the stranger turned and walked into the crowd, disappearing almost immediately… as if he’d never existed in the first place. Scipio was left standing in the capital of a country that hated him, and yet… he felt no fear, no danger, for the first time in ages. He’d make it back out of the country easy enough, he was sure of it. He spoke, one last time, to end the conversation, though no one heard it. “Thank you… whoever you are.”

With that, he picked a random direction and started walking. If he was quick, he could be halfway out to Tyrgan’s south desert by nightfall, and from there, join a caravan back to the Akarin Empire…