Shaman Fugh

Prologue

The poor, in their despondence and ill fortune, prefer to cling to their conviction that ill fortune – their lowly lot in life - surely comes not from their own actions or lack thereof, but are a result of the cosmos' great conspiracy against them. Regardless of how hard they work, how devoutly they prey, surely, they would ever end up as the lowest caste.

The wealthy will, of course, be adamant of their superiority and the insistence that there is something tangible, some aspect of their character - perhaps the very blood in their veins - that sets them apart. Why else, they would ask, would they be so fortunate and elevated, far above the riff and the raff, if not for their excellence?

Clearly, they are both entirely wrong.

Yet the truth still eludes me, seek as I may.

If fortune favors the bold and brave, then what of the kind- hearted? Perhaps we have been measuring success entirely wrong this whole time.

Inheritance vs. Experience

Author Unknown

"Fugh!"

For just a second his name, exclaimed with such volume, brought him back to his youth. Very much an average Kobold family they were far from wealthy, and he had always struggled with his twelve siblings: fighting for scraps, vying for father's scant attention, competing for mothers favor. He had mostly lost on all accounts, ever the runt. He was never fast enough to eat first, nor strong enough to join the Horde with father. And, snapping back to the present, still unsure if his name, Fugh, was indeed a given name or simply an exclamation of disgust and annoyance.

"Fugh! Please! Favored Shaman, a minute of your time!" the call came again as he stopped and turned around, hist fancy robes swishing about him.

Running towards him, filthy and tattered robes flailing, was a disheveled figure. Fugh had to fight the instinct to cover his nose or take a step back, reminding himself yet again that not too long ago, he was not far removed from the decrepit figure falling to its knees before him. Dipping his Harmony Staff to gently tap the man's chin, he guided the man back to his feet with the indigo length of wood.

"Ser, I am nor favored nor famous, so please; whence have you my name?" he asked the stranger, locking eyes.

"Your legend is spoken with awe down in the Shambles, few have not heard of your spiritual proficiency, and many claim your charity has been of immeasurable value!"

It was true of course, he had made a habit of walking the less favored quarters of the Red Wizard Capital; The wealthiest city of all the land by a fair margin, the center of all commerce and the seat of the prominent elite of Red Wizards, of course had its darker side; Ever it seemed that wealth would invariably rest bloated backsides on the backs of those less fortunate.

Quietly and gently tapping into his magic, letting the familiar feeling seep into his mind, focused by his staff, he peered closer at the man.

Immediately his vision exploded with visions, his scrawny frame veritably crowded by spirits, all extremely agitated, blurring his vision. Quickly closing his eyes, and severing his connection to the Spirit Realm, he gasped and took a step back. "Are you alright?!" the man surged forward to grasp his wrist in support, but the contact only made the magical aura surrounding the man explode again in Fugh's mind. Roughly disengaging from the man, Fught shook his head to clear it.

"Ser, I am fine. Please, how may I be of service?" he asked, keeping a calm façade. There was definitely something converging on this man, to have the spirits in such an uproar.

"It is my son, you see. He is not well, will not take food nor drink," the stranger wailed, tears in his eyes. They seemed not malevolent, these spirits, and their intensity made for a difficult reading, however this felt significant; Much more so than any others he has ever witnessed. Who is this man, or perhaps more importantly who is his son? he thought.

"I will find you tonight, leave now, but first what is your son's name?" he asked.

"Thank you, thank you! He bears the name of his great-grandfather, his name is Samael,” he gushed as he turned around and ran, soon disappearing in the crowds.

Entered by: 0x7d4c…ae8C and preserved on chain (see transaction)