|✏️||Magnus Hegaard Hansen|
“Diviners” følger en gruppe diviners, mænd af Ordnen, håndhævere af “the Code,” og lovene i dette land, som de prøver at opklare sandhederne bag en række mord. Og de ser hvad mange andre ikke gør.
Er du en chiromancer? En clairvoyant? En cathard? En chronicler? en cognizant? En cabale?
Er du beredt? Hvad vil du finde i de mørke gyder? Hvad vil du se i din krystal-kugle? Læse i dine kort? Læse i en død mands håndflade? Vil du se tegnene i tide, eller vil det være for sent?
Alt er op til dig, min kære diviner.
The paved dirt road cut through the mushy bog, small rivers running down its sides. It was dark, pitch dark, as had the sky been completely covered by a woollen carpet. The only light provided, were the warm spheres of the road-side lanterns, spread along the snaking road like pearls on a string.
‘Dresden…’ a calm female voice said behind him. He recognised a bit of nervousness in its tone.
‘I’m not sure this is a good idea.'
He let silence fill the road, as to suggest neither do I.
— - — - — - —
‘The tale-teller…’ the old man mumbled beneath his breath. Miren watched him in silence.
A late night breeze entered through the gold-framed windows, the heavy royal red curtains barely moving. The study was lit only by the lanterns he and the old man was holding, the light cast upon walls covered in wallpaper of pearly purplish white with splatters of gold, a room littered with fine furniture of glistening wood, dark and detailed in their ornamentation, covered in soft pillows.
The centrepiece of the room was the grand desk before them, the desk where Lord Caldren had enjoyed spending his late hours. Now, he laid dead before it, in a pool as royal crimson as the curtains. He was in his casual attire: a fine brown gold-trim west over light-blue shirt with fringed sleeves and neck-line. His grey beard and slicked back silver hair was as well-trimmed as ever. But his skin was as pale as the wallpaper, Miren thought to himself. Except for the purplish colour of his face. The old man crouched over the body.
‘So, you found him an hour ago?’ The old man asked. How could he have known? Miren thought. Of course, he reminded himself, he’s a diviner.
‘Yes, I went to bring him his evening sweet-root tea. He was accustomed to me bringing him it at this hour. He is… was, usually up reading.'
‘I see…’ the old man said, half-mumbling. Miren could just make out the old man’s features in the lantern-light: Deep lines, as cut into stone, carved the life-story of the aged man. A few strands of white covered his balding head, and a white scruff his chin.
‘Wynen. Salander,’ the old man called, his voice suddenly loud and clear. Two men entered the room, one tall and slender, the other smaller and a bit stubby, both dressed in long coats of oiled brown, falling just past their knees, adorned with leather strips - markings of their masteries of the basic ways of divination. The old man wore the same, though with a lot more strips, Miren noticed. It was the uniform of all diviners.
‘Wynen, I want you to go talk with the other servants. Ask them about their dreams, and see if there’s anything interesting to read from them. Join up with Hassel once he’s done doing the perimeter.’ The stubby man nodded, and left the room.
‘Salander, I want you to look through all the books of this room. Take note of anything out of the ordinary.’ The slender man nodded, and began doing so. Miren was shaken, obviously. But he could not but be entranced by these diviners. He had never actually seen them work. The old man lifted Lord Caldren’s arm, the sleeve dripping thick crimson, and began to inspect it. A chiromancer perhaps? Miren had heard the chiromancers were trained in medicine, as well as...
The old man unfolded the fingers, and began tracing the lines of the palm, inspecting them in great detail...
‘Yes. He was a smart man, your master… no lovers, not for years.’ the old man mumbled.
‘Yes, his wife Floren passed a few years ago.’
‘… no friends either…' The words hit Miren like a punch to the stomach. He had always considered them friends. He watched the old man further inspecting, finding himself leaning in to better see.
‘Salander, anything interesting?’ Salander was sifting through books at a curious speed. Miren did not think he would learn much from reading at that pace.
‘He had a lot of business-partners. I could do readings on of all them…'
‘… but doing so would take too long,’ the old man continued, nodding.
Miren’s trance was broken by another diviner entering the room, this one new. His dark hair curled around two large ruby earrings, his hands wrapped around the largest emerald Miren had ever seen.
‘Nothing?’ The old man asked. The new diviner shook his head, and the old man let out a deep sigh.
‘I feel the search around the premise will bear no fruit. Trest, go call the others,’ he said, the diviner turning around and exiting the room. Miren hadn’t stopped looking at the emerald, his eyes following it out. He had never seen one that size before… and those ruby earrings… a clairvoyant, he thought to himself. He must be.
The old man turned towards him.
‘Mr. Miren, I’m sorry, but we cannot be of much more help this evening. Salander, send message to Carthal. Tell them to send another pack this way.'
‘But… but…’ Miren stuttered. The old man stood and laid a firm hand on his shoulder. For the first time, his face was well-lit enough for Miren to see his features clearly. Old as he may have looked, there was a sense of real experience to the lines of his face, and an empathy to his dark eyes.
‘I’m sorry my friend, but we have to get going. We are going to send for another pack to come investigate further,’ he said, looking deep into Miren’s eyes, leaning a little closer to him.
‘I assure you, these men will be highly competent. We don’t train them any less so.’ Miren nodded timidly.
‘Salander, send the message. We’re heading west.'
— - — - — - —
A pack of diviners are on the prowl. In the outskirt town of Rimmen, a town of clinging silvers, merchants, Lordlings, and Richlings are dropping like flies. The death of these 'silver barons', is looking to be of greater trouble than the Order would have liked, but with their attention spread thin along the western border in preparation for an upcoming attack from Darkland invaders, unfortunately, all they can spare, is you.
“Diviners” is a game following you, a pack of diviners, hands of the Order, keepers of the Code and the laws of these lands, as you try to unfold the truths of these murders. And your eyes see what most do not.
Are you a chiromancer? A clairvoyant? A cathard? A chronicler? A cognizant? A cabale?
Are you up to the task? What will you find in the dark alleyways? Gaze in your crystal sphere? Read from the cards? From the hands of a dead man? Will you see the signs of what is to come? Or will you be too late?
All is up to you, my dear diviner.