And Two More

A gust of morning air swept in, carrying the scent of damp earth and stable hay from outside. The door banged wide, and Nott jolted so hard she nearly ducked under the table, heart pounding. Her gaze snapped up. Attack? Guards?

Thankfully no, just two new arrivals.

The first was a tall tiefling man… or was he a tiefling peacock?

Dressed in a riot of colors and brocade. A long coat of deep plum purple hung dramatically off his shoulders, embroidered with gold filigree that gleamed in the lantern light. He flipped a silver coin across the back of his knuckles as he entered, humming a tune. His skin was a muted lavender hue marked by swirling tattoos that crept up his neck. And his horns were great curling things adorned with dangling jewelry and bright ribbons that cut an impressive silhouette. The tiefling’s eyes were a vivid crimson, glinting with amusement as he surveyed the room. He moved with a theatrical flourish, as if every tavern were a stage and he the star upon it. He was beautiful in a sharp, dangerous way. He was fucking hot. Mama likey, Nott thought before shame chased it down, heat pooling low anyway.

But then the second stepped into view, and Nott forgot to breathe.

A woman, taller than anyone had a right to be but not bulky, not ogre-wide. Proportioned, elongated, as if someone had simply stretched a strong woman until she scraped the sky. Her pale skin glowed like carved marble beneath the dark fall of hair braided and knotted with blue-white strands. Strips of leather and fur lined her shoulders, a heavy cloak falling about her frame, and her tunic clung just enough to outline the swell of muscle in her arms and the heavy weight of her chest. Fuck- huge tits.

Nott’s throat went dry under the mask. Her bindings pressed hard where her cock twitched, betrayal sparking sharp in her belly. She ripped her eyes up fast, but too late, the image was seared into her mind: the sway of that bust under pale braids and scarred linen and the impossible length of her legs wrapped in greaves and boots. A very big woman, Nott thought helplessly, the kind who’d probably need a very big cock.

She had the posture of a soldier or perhaps a feral cat: alert, coiled, yet oddly hesitant. A massive greatsword was strapped across her back, and she carried an air of quiet stormy tension into the cozy tavern.

Her gray-blue eyes swept the tavern, cool and searching from behind the tumble of braids. For one second, they found Nott’s through the dim firelight. Warm honey seemed to pour down Nott’s spine in answer. She yanked her gaze away, ears burning, muttering silent curses at her treacherous body.

The flamboyant tiefling cleared his throat loudly, drawing attention like a magnet. With a broad grin revealing sharp canines, he spread his arms in a mock flourish. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen and all your un-ladylike and un-gentlemanly friends,” he announced to the room at large. His voice was rich and teasing, projecting effortlessly. “Mollymauk Tealeaf and Yasha Nydoorin have arrived. You may begin your applause now.” He swept into a theatrical bow, the ribbons and trinkets on his horns jangling. Yasha just stood there staring into space as he did so.

A beat of silence passed. A few patrons near the bar chuckled uncertainly; one drunk did give a solitary “Whoop!” before his companion shushed him. Most locals just shook their heads or ignored the dramatic entrance entirely, clearly writing the newcomers off as traveling performers or eccentric mercenaries.

Molly spun the silver coin over his knuckles, letting it flash in the firelight, then made it disappear even as a deck of cards seemed to appear in his hands.

“And since fate has so generously gathered such a charming company beneath this roof, allow me a word of invitation.” He spread the deck across his palm like a fan, tilting it so the painted backs caught the glow. “The Fletching and Moondrop Traveling Carnival of Curiosities has come to Trostenwald! Yes, that great tent on the green is ours. Wonders the likes of which you’ve never seen. Exotic beasts, feats of daring, glimpses into fortune itself.”

At the table, Jester’s face lit up like a child on Winter’s Crest morning. The tiefling girl bounced to her feet, practically vibrating with excitement. “Ohmygosh HI!” she blurted, waving enthusiastically at the newcomers as if they’d come just to see her. “Hello hello! Over here!”

Nott cringed at Jester’s volume- why was the cute, bubbly one always the loudest?- but the purple tiefling, Mollymauk, didn’t seem to mind. In fact, his crimson gaze fixed on Jester with delighted surprise. “Well! A fellow tiefling,” Molly purred, sauntering over with an exaggerated sway. His eyes flicked up to Jester’s horns (short, blue, and wrapped in a few ribbons of her own) and a smile twitched on his lips. “A pleasure, my dear. Love the sapphire complexion, brings out your eyes.” He reached for Jester’s hand as he neared, bowing again.

Jester giggled, absolutely tickled. “Thank you! I love your everything!” she gushed. “Your coat is so pretty, and your horns have piercings!” She leaned in, unabashedly inspecting the glittering rings looped through Molly’s left horn. “I only have little ribbons on mine, see?” She pointed to the teal bows on her curved horns.

Molly clicked his tongue sympathetically. “Oh, we’ll have to fix that, won’t we? Every horn deserves a bit of shine.” He winked, then turned that same charm onto the rest of the table. “Mind if we join you fine folks? Yasha and I have a long day ahead of us traipsing the streets of this fine town delivering the good news and all.”

Without waiting for an answer, Molly pulled over an empty chair and spun it around to sit on it backwards, arms draping over the top. The fluid motion had the easy confidence of someone who could make a barnyard stool feel like a throne. Yasha followed slowly, almost lurking a step or two behind. She gave the group a cautious nod, her eyes flickering quickly over each face at the table. A soot-dark band on her pale white face, paint or ink, shaded her eyes like a stormcloud mask, and a single black stripe fell from her lower lip to her chin, a stark, deliberate mark that made every small movement seem ceremonial. When she reached Nott, curled back into her cloak and hood, Yasha offered what might have been a polite smile; she hid it so fast Nott wondered if she imagined it, the lip-mark swallowing that hint of softness as if it had never been there.

Up close, Yasha’s presence was even more intense; she seemed coiled tight, as if ready to bolt or fight at the slightest provocation. And yet the way she gingerly maneuvered, careful not to bump anyone with her massive sword, was almost… bashful. The ash-darking around her eyes only sharpened the contrast: a warrior’s visage, a shy woman’s careful steps. Nott’s gaze betrayed her, snagging on the line of Yasha’s tunic: not skintight, if anything trying to hide, but the fabric still pushed forward like an honest confession. That wasn’t a backpack worn wrong; that was sheer, generous titflesh, heavy and real beneath linen, the quiet weight of it making its own weather. The thought flashed hot and filthy- hells, those are enormous-and the bindings bit as her cock stirred, a sharp, humiliating throb she smothered with a swallow and a hard blink.

The tall woman then set a big hand on the back of a chair next to Fjord and Beau. “Is this seat… taken?” she asked quietly. Her voice was low and soft, carrying an accent Nott didn’t recognize.

Beau scooted her chair an inch away to give Yasha room (and possibly because Yasha’s sheer size made Beau look like a twig by comparison).

“Not at all,” Beau said, attempting nonchalance. She gave Yasha a once-over, one eyebrow climbing. “Plenty of space. I’m Beau. You’re, uh… very tall. That’s cool. I like tall. If you need someone to- y’know -help with, like, tent poles or… swords, I spot. I can spot. For you. I’ll… stop talking now.” She promptly banged her knee on the table and winced.

“Hello,” Yasha said, deadpan but not unkind.

Jester stage-whispered, delighted, “She thinks you’re pretty.”

“Shut up, Jester,” Beau hissed, flushing as she stared very hard at her mug

“Welcome” he drawled in a warm friendly accent, flashing a friendly half-smile. “The more the merrier.” His sea-green eyes assessed Molly and Yasha quickly, but if he found anything odd about them, he was polite enough not to show it. “Quite an entrance you made there, Mr. Tealeaf.”

Molly beamed. “Thank you for noticing.” He reached into his coat and with a little flourish produced the deck of illustrated cards again, idly shuffling them with deft, practiced fingers. “Life’s too short for quiet entrances, I always say. And please, call me Molly. All my friends do.” He began dealing the cards between his hands in an elaborate fan, seemingly just to give his restless fingers something to do. The cards made soft whip whip sounds as they flipped through the air.

Nott watched those cards warily from beneath her hood, her curiosity piqued in spite of herself. A hustler’s deck? Some enchanted tarot? Molly’s hands moved so fast and fluid, she wondered if he was performing a trick. More importantly, were those cards marked? Could be useful for cheating rubes at games of chance, Nott mused. If he left that deck unattended, maybe she could- No, bad Nott. No stealing from potential friends. At least not yet.

Jester plopped back into her seat next to Nott, nearly jostling Nott’s hood with her tail in her excitement. “I’m Jester! This is Fjord, Beau, Caleb, and Nott.” She rattled off their names at breakneck speed, pointing around the table. Jester’s hand lingered an extra second on Nott’s shoulder as she introduced her, a little reassurance that made Nott stiffen and then, begrudgingly, relax. Jester didn’t seem the type to judge anyone. In fact, the tiefling girl looked positively delighted to have more strangers at the table.

Molly inclined his head to each in turn. “Charmed.” When his gaze swept over Caleb, still half-hiding behind his unkempt hair and book- and then Nott, Molly’s smile quirked knowingly. “Love the mask, by the way,” he said lightly, addressing Nott. “Very mysterious. I have a few masks myself, for performances. Yours is quite the statement.” His eyes crinkled with genuine intrigue.

Nott’s pulse jumped. He was talking to her. Complimenting her even, in that honeyed performer tone. Under the table, she clutched Caleb’s sleeve instinctively. Caleb tensed beside her, ready to intervene, but before he could say anything, Nott managed a reply. “Oh! Th-thanks,” she squeaked, trying to sound casual and failing utterly. Her voice came out muffled from behind the porcelain half-mask strapped over her mouth and nose. “It’s… it’s not a fashion piece, actually. It’s, um, medical.”

Molly’s brows rose. “Ah, say no more. I understand privacy.” He tapped the side of his nose with a wink. “Plenty of folks wear a mask in public these days.”

Nott couldn’t tell if he was poking fun or not. The red-painted smile of her mask hid her frown as her paranoia flared. Did he suspect something? She quickly lowered her gaze to the splintered tabletop, picking at an old stain with a claw.

“Well, Molly and Yasha,” Fjord said, breaking the momentary silence, “we were just getting to know each other here. So you’re with that group putting up that tent over yonder?”

Molly’s face lit up. “Indeed we are! The Fletching and Moondrop Traveling Carnival of Curiosities, at your service.” He gave a little theatrical flourish with the cards in his hand, spreading them in a fan. “I was one of the top-billed acts, if I may toot my own horn. Which I often do.” He tooted, softly, through pursed lips in a silly way that made Jester giggle. “Fortune telling, knife dancing, a bit of magic here and there, whatever keeps fine folk entertained.”

Beau nudged Yasha with her elbow, aiming for casual and landing somewhere in “trying very hard.” “Let me guess… strongwoman act?”

Yasha blinked once. “Bouncer,” she said, deadpan. “And I put up the tent. Carry things.”

Her eyes flicked up under her dark lashes, and Nott could have sworn Yasha sneaked another quick glance in her direction. Or maybe Yasha was just staring into space? Hard to tell with all that hair covering half her face.

Jester clapped her hands, enthralled. “That’s so cool! I wanted to go to the carnival yesterday but we got sidetracked.” She pouted, tail swishing. “ Oh! But maybe- Molly, you can do a fortune for us now?!” Jester leaned forward eagerly, bouncing in her seat. “Pretty pleeease? I’ve never had my fortune read and it sounds so fun!”

Molly’s lips curved into a sharp grin. He began rifling the deck in one hand. “How can I refuse such an enthusiastic request?” His eyes danced with amusement. “Alright, darling. One fortune, coming right up.” He swept aside a few empty mugs and crumbs on the table to clear a space. “But I warn you,” he said playfully, wagging a finger, “the cards tell what the cards tell. No refunds, no complaining to the management if you don’t like what you hear, hm?”

Jester mimed zipping her lips (an odd gesture, since she immediately broke it to chatter, “Oh I’m so excited! Eee!”).

Beau leaned back, crossing her arms. “This should be good,” she remarked, clearly skeptical but interested in the entertainment value. Fjord set his mug down and watched with a polite half-smile. Caleb closed the book he’d been pretending to read and finally gave the scene his full attention, curiosity evident. Even Nott found herself peeking over the tabletop, drawn in by the prospect of harmless fortune-telling.

Harmless, right?

Mollymauk shuffled his deck once more, the cards making a satisfying shhhk shhhk. The tavern’s din seemed to recede as he began. Nott’s keen ears noticed the fire popping softly, and outside, the wind rattled the shutters with a sudden gust. She startled, glancing at the windows. The night had gotten eerily quiet; even the drunken laughter from the bar seemed muted, distant. A prickle ran up Nott’s neck, but she shook it off. Probably just her imagination.

“Let’s see what the threads of fate have woven for you, Jester,” Molly intoned in a mystical, showman’s voice. He drew three cards from the deck with a flourish and placed them face-down on the table. Jester leaned so far in her nose nearly touched the cards. Molly gently tapped her forehead with a clawed finger, laughing, “Patience, patience! Let the mystic do his work.”

Jester giggled and settled, though her tail swished rapidly across Nott’s boots under the table. Nott nudged the tail away gently, her nerves ratcheting up for reasons she couldn’t pinpoint. Something about the air felt charged, as if unseen eyes were suddenly watching over her shoulder. She took a swig from her flask to steady herself, the burn of cheap liquor warming her throat.

Molly flipped the first card. The painted image of a grinning figure with a mask and cane was displayed. “The Juggler,” he declared. On the card, a merry fool danced between two lives, one half of his face painted black, the other white. “This card represents your present, my dear. The dual life, the hidden jester behind the jester.” Molly cocked his head at Jester with a curious smirk. “It seems you carry a joyful facade, but keep many secrets.”

Jester’s eyes widened in surprise. She let out a tiny, involuntary gasp. Only Nott, sitting so close, heard it. A secret? Jester’s blue hand went to the symbol she wore around her neck. A simple wooden amulet of a path and doorway. Her fingers toyed with it nervously. The gesture was fleeting, but Nott noticed. So did Molly, if his brief glance at Jester’s necklace was any indication.

Jester **** a bright laugh. “Hee hee, secrets? Me? That’s silly. I’m an open book,” she insisted unconvincingly, her cheeks flushing a deeper blue. Beau raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Mollymauk gave a nonchalant shrug, already moving on. “Of course. Open book. But even open books have a few dog-eared pages, don’t they?” He winked, then revealed the second card.

The painted image showed a tower struck by lightning, but this was no ordinary spire. Its stones were green, overgrown with vines that curled in veiny, pulsing patterns too deliberate to be just leaves. And at its crest, instead of clean battlements, the crenelated top had been shaped, unmistakably, like the blunt head of a cock, crown half-shattered as the lightning ripped down.

Nott’s eyes bugged above her mask. Caleb stiffened beside her.

Jester’s hand shot out, finger stabbing the card with delight. “That looks like a dick!” she cried, voice carrying over half the tavern.

Beau choked on her drink, snorting through her nose. Fjord pressed a fist to his mouth to smother a laugh.

Molly’s grin froze for the barest instant, crimson eyes flicking to the card as though he hadn’t put it there. Something almost wary shadowed his expression- confusion, like he didn’t recognize the art himself. But the moment passed, and with practiced poise he flourished his fingers across the table, hiding the falter in a showman’s sweep.

“Ah, well,” he said smoothly, fangs flashing as his smirk returned. “Every tower has its… symbolism. Fertility, power, collapse, rebirth.” He tapped the veined vines with one painted nail, but his gaze lingered on the cockheaded top with a faint frown before he looked away. “The Upheaval. The card of challenge, of revelation. A disruption is coming, my dear, the kind that topples faith in what you thought secure.”

His tone dropped lower, almost reverent, as though something else guided the words from his tongue. “The smiling one will falter. A truth will crack the guise. Be ready to let go, little one.”

Nott felt the hairs prickle on the back of her neck. For a heartbeat, Molly hadn’t sounded like himself at all.

The candle at the center of the table flickered, its flame suddenly rising a few inches and turning a shade of greenish-gold before settling. Nott’s breath caught. She glanced around, did anyone else see that? It was so quick, maybe just a trick of her eyes. Caleb frowned at the candle, and Nott caught him tracing a subtle sigil in the air, checking for magic. The wizard’s expression grew puzzled when he sensed nothing amiss.

Jester, meanwhile, had gone very still, her hand frozen over her necklace. Her usual perky demeanor dimmed. "Let go.. of what?" she asked softly. For a moment her voice was small, uncertain-very unlike the irrepressible tiefling who’d been showering strangers with baked goods and hugs all morning. Mollymauk blinked, shaking his head as if waking from a daydream. He gave Jester a reassuring smile. "Hard to say, love. The cards speak in symbols and riddles. Could be nothing!" His normal showy cadence wavered though, and Nott noticed a sheen of sweat on Molly's temples that hadn't been there a moment ago. He hesitated, then flipped the third and final card.

Nott felt an inexplicable thrum in her chest as the card turned over--an almost personal jolt, like static electricity zapping through her veins. Something is here. Watching. She gripped the edge of the table to ground herself, claws digging into wood.

On the card was painted a womanly figure, rotund and radiant. A stout goblin mother was depicted, arms open in welcome. She was wreathed in green wheat and smiling children clustered at her feet- goblin children, from their pointed ears and toothy grins. In the goblin woman's hands she held a clay pot overflowing with water. Above her head, a stylized symbol of a blooming flower was emblazoned.

Molly's eyes widened. His tail flicked once behind him. "The Birthmother" he breathed, voice oddly hushed. The title hung in the air, and a warmth seemed to emanate from the card itself, a golden glow painted in its backdrop that made the goblin mother's face shine kindly. Not's heart skipped. She knew this image.. or rather, something deep in her bones recognized it. A wave of dizziness washed over her, and for an instant, she thought she smelled sweet corn and fresh-turned soil. Her vision blurred at the edges with a faint green haze.

Molly continued, each word leaving his lips with careful weight. "This card represents destiny. A transformation and a calling" He met Jester's gaze, and his vibrant crimson eyes now looked almost gilded, like a halo of amber rimmed his pupils. "Your path will shift from the fickle to the fertile. A new power, ancient and hungry for life, beckons you." His voice resonated strangely, each syllable thrumming in Nott's ears. “I see you, bright one, surrounded by small green hands, countless little ones reaching up to you with love."

Jester's mouth parted in astonishment. Molly's words poured out slowly, inexorably. "The laughter of a trickster fades from your heart," he said, and Jester flinched as if struck. "In its place, a warm, wild music grows. You will become a beacon-a mother of joy, a nurturer of the lost. A change in form, a change in faith... guided by the Blooming One.”

At that, Nott did gasp aloud. The Blooming One. She hadn't heard those words before... or had she? They reverberated inside her skull with intimate familiarity, like an echo from a dream or a half-forgotten lullaby. Her vision swam. For a split second, she wasn't in the tavern at all but somewhere vast and green and sunlit-grass brushing her ankles, the smell of summer air and.. goblins. Dozens of goblin voices, laughing and chanting her name. What- Nott swayed, and Caleb's hand was suddenly on her shoulder, steadying her. "Nott? You alright?" he whispered, concern sharpening his features. His Voice drew her back. The vision-if it was one- receded like a tide, leaving Nott clammy and trembling. She managed a faint nod.

Across the table, Mollymauk blinked hard and sucked in a breath, as though emerging from under deep water. The tiefling's usual jaunty aura snapped back into place, but he looked rattled, pupils narrowed to slits. He stared at the "Birthmother" card in his hand with open confusion. "Well, that was dramatic" he tried to joke, though his voice shook. Molly quickly shuffled the card back into his deck and cleared his throat. "Ahem! So! That's the gist of it, my dear." He flashed Jester a shaky grin. "The fates foresee big changes, motherhood in your future-uh, metaphorical motherhood perhaps-and plenty of, er.. goblins?" He coughed, clearly second-guessing what he'd just said. Jester was staring at Molly with round eyes, her cheeks a dark cobalt flush. That was-" She broke into a sudden toothy smile, though it was a bit ****.

Jester’s eyes stayed wide a beat too long, then she beamed and clapped. “That was amazing! So specific!”

She leaned into Nott with a conspiratorial little squeeze of the shoulder, voice pitched just for the table. “All those little green hands… I do like kids,” she said, squinting at the card, then at Molly, as though half-suspecting some private joke at Nott’s expense. “Maybe that’s my destiny- helping a whole crew of tiny scamps. I could be, um… your nanny someday, Nott.”

She wiggled her fingers like tickly claws, grinning. “Snacks, naps, stern bedtime stories… very official.”

The warmth of her closeness hit Nott like a hammer. The press of Jester’s arm against her shoulder, the innocent gleam in her violet eyes, the scent of sugar and lilac clinging to her skin- Nott’s mouth betrayed her before she could stop it.

“Mmh, but you have such child-bearing hi-” she muttered, half under her breath, and then snapped her teeth shut, words bitten off in panic.

Her ears burned crimson under the hood. She coughed loudly into her mask, trying to cover the slip. “Uh, hips of… honesty. Bearing honesty. Very child… honest.”

"Ooh, that was so cool. Thank you, Molly!" Impulsively, Jester reached over and gave Mollymauk a big hug from the side, nearly tackling the lithe tiefling off his chair. Molly let out a surprised laugh and patted her arm.

"You're most welcome" Molly said, though he still looked a bit distracted. He tapped the deck of cards against his chin. "Truly, I've never had a reading quite like that one." Understatement, judging by the slight tremor in his hand.

Yasha, who had been quietly observing, laid a gentle hand on Molly's shoulder. "Are you alright?" she murmured. The tall woman's voice was so low Nott almost didn't catch it. Yasha's concern for her friend was evident in the crease of her brow. Molly flashed Yasha a reassuring grin. "Im fine, dear. All good." Then he snickered, adding under his breath,

Molly clicked the deck back into a neat stack and, with a flourish that pretended nothing odd had happened, let his grin settle. “If that whetted your appetite for mysteries, the Fletching and Moondrop Carnival is on the green at dusk, five copper to be astonished, and I’ll even throw in a smile.” He tipped an imaginary hat toward the table. “Front row seats would look very good on all of you.”

The tension around the table eased with the ripple of laughter that followed. Beau shook her head in disbelief. "That was one hell of a fortune, Mollymauk. Gotta admit, I thought this was going to be,I dunno, more vague nonsense. But you got real specific." She narrowed her eyes playfully. "Did you slip something our drinks first or what?" Molly raised his hands innocently, his earlier bravado returning. "I promise, I'm as surprised as you are. Perhaps the spirits find our Jester here especially interesting."

"Oh, I am interesting!" Jester agreed, hopping back to her seat. She grabbed her previously forgotten apple tart and finally took a huge bite-apparently fortune-telling worked up her appetite. Through a mouthful of pastry she added, "Maybe the Traveler was listening in and having fun." Crumbs sprayed the table. "He does that, you know, sometimes he--" She stopped herself abruptly, cheeks puffing with tart, as if realizing she nearly let slip something secret. With an exaggerated gulp, she finished, "-he travels. Obviously." Her eyes darted away. Nott noticed Beau smirking knowingly, but the monk still held her tongue.

"Well, whatever the case" Fjord said, lifting his tankard, "cheers to new friends and mysterious fortunes."

"Here here!" Molly clinked an imaginary glass in the air. Yasha quietly lifted a cup of water that Jester pushed toward her and nodded in solidarity. As the others laughed and drank, Nott finally released the breath she'd been holding. She wasn't sure what unsettled her more: the uncanny fortune that seemed to sing to the secret buried in her soul, or the strange longing that had ignited within her during the reading. The idea of a "warm, wild music" and little green ones laughing.. It tugged at something in her-a yearning she didn't even know she had. A new goddess? A new life? It was absurd. She was Nott the Brave, a cursed goblin desperately clinging to her old identity, not some beacon or mother or whatever that flowery nonsense was. Yet her hands were still shaking under the table.

Caleb leaned in, speaking under the cover of the group's rising chatter. "You sure you're alright, kleine?" he asked in Zemnian, his tone gentle.

“Fine,” she muttered behind the porcelain, then added in a rush, “just… wondering if front row seats include the tall one’s lap.”