This isn’t funny, she thought. Then she giggled.
Mystenia took another gulp from her mug and watched as her new friends basked in the adulation of the locals. Going in and wiping out a goblin warren in a single day has turned them into heroes of sorts, and there was a good celebration going. Normally Mystie loved a good party – or even a bad one – but for now she found herself sitting alone, brooding, while she drew pictures in spilled ale on the tabletop.
With a sigh she reached under her shirt and pulled out the necklace she wore. The lone charm was a pair of stylized dice in mid-roll. She wasn’t sure why she’d had that made at the time, but it had seemed like a good idea. A tribute to her luck. Sure, she had her bad streaks, but mostly things fell her way. The problem with that was when she was winning, others were losing, and some didn’t know how to handle that. Things got particularly dodgy one night when a rat-faced little git had pulled a blade on her and accused her of cheating. Caught flat-footed (and angry because at the time she hadn’t been cheating AT ALL) she’d blurted out the first thing that came into her head: “I’m not cheating, I’m just lucky. Most who follow Sinashakti are.”
After a few seconds the knife went away and the guy sat back down, apparently appeased. Mystie, however, had been more than confused. Where had that come from? She barely even knew that Sinashakti existed. A little research uncovered info on the minor deity, primarily associated with travel but in some aspects mentioned as a god of luck. Interesting. Intriguing. Frightening. Dressing up in robes and swinging censures was not Mystie’s style, and she did her best to put it out of mind. And she had, for the most part.
Until today. Until she opened up that secret door just in time to see the big goblin – well, as big as goblins get, anyway – dodge a swing from the guy who smells like a horse. Batulzi. He’d left himself wide open and the chief was going to bury his spear in his side. She hardly knew Batulzi but he seemed decent enough, and kind of funny, but she wasn’t going to be able to stop the blow with her shortspear. The point drove toward Batulzi and in her mind she voiced a useless protest – NO!
To her amazement the tip of the spear glowed with an odd purple light, just for a the barest of moments, and veered just a hair to the left, digging a groove along the big man’s hide armor but not puncturing his side or anything else. It didn’t look like anyone else had seen the glow. She wanted to believe she hadn’t but she knew, she KNEW, that she had. And that she had caused it. And that the best thing to do then would be to stick her spear through the goblin’s head. So she did. And now she sat here nursing her drink, trying to figure out what it all meant. Was it a calling? Could it be on her terms? Was this why she was always so lucky? And could the dice on her necklace actually be a holy symbol of sorts?
Now THAT was funny. She drained her mug and smacked the ass of the barboy as he scurried by, smiling at his howl of outrage. Good day to be Mystie. Then again, they usually were.