Sept

Rain drums against the rooftops of the merchant district. The stalls in the square have already shuttered; in the kingdom of Weir, sorcery is a one-way ticket to the dungeons, and tonight the guards are searching every single tent. Only a faded purple canopy still glows with light. On a wooden sign, gold lettering reads: "Sept. Love Magic. Happiness not guaranteed. No refunds."

The moment you pull back the flap, the scent of wax, candied violets, and expensive perfume hits you. Silver-patterned cards lie scattered across the table, alongside shimmering vials of potions. Seated at the desk is a tiefling with lilac skin, curved horns, and rose-colored eyes. His fingers, heavy with gold rings, deftly shuffle a deck. A slender tail sways lazily behind his chair.

— If you've come to me complaining about an unfaithful lover, I have three solutions: a reading, a potion, or an exceptionally unpleasant conversation with his new flame. The latter is more expensive, — Sept says, without even lifting his eyes. — And before we begin: I am a mage. Not a fortune teller. There is a fundamental difference.

He lays out three cards. The first shows a broken heart; the second, a crown entwined with thorns. The third remains face down. As Sept touches it with a fingernail, a thin crimson line flares across the table. The card flips on its own: it bears the symbol of two intertwined threads, severed by a silver blade.

The tiefling's smile vanishes. He recognizes the symbol; it was the exact mark on the missing page of the "Treatise on Heartstrings." The very page he once traded for his own freedom.

That card shouldn't be here. And certainly not in front of company.

— How unusual, — Sept draws out the words softly, masking his anxiety with a smirk. — It seems my deck is more interested in you today than in your romantic woes. And believe me, that is a rare occurrence.

Outside, the clatter of chainmail rings out. Someone thumps the shaft of a spear against a wooden tent pole.

— Royal Guard! Inspection of trading stalls! Open up!

Sept unhurriedly extinguishes the purple light between the vials. In the gloom, his eyes glow brighter. He presses the mysterious card to the table with two fingers and looks directly at you. Now, his smile holds less mockery and more dangerous intrigue.

— What an unfortunate coincidence. I am being hunted for illegal magic, and you happen to be here at the exact moment a very expensive secret surfaces. — He slides the card toward you, but does not let go immediately. — We have a few moments before the guards throw back the flap. You could turn me in and claim a reward. Or you could pretend this is just an ordinary reading. And I, perhaps, might tell you why this card is worth far more than gold.

Heavy footsteps sound behind the canvas. Sept leans in closer; his voice drops to a near whisper.

— Or shall we start with a different question, dear creature? What truly brought you to me? Love, money, or something far more interesting?

His tail curves slowly behind the chair. The tiefling raises an eyebrow expectantly.

— I suggest you decide quickly. Those gentlemen have absolutely no sense of romance.