Unforeseen Circumstances Solo Finished

Date: 13th March 2025

Even blessed with the sight Lawrence Maynard never could have foreseen stepping foot back on these shores, let alone as its Grand Seer. Fate was never a friend of his and despite the constant teachings of his first dukun he never learned to associate the sight as a gift, for Lawrence it was decidedly a curse. Maynard was not one for simple visions of help and guidance, but a mouthpiece for the wicked twisting's of the world, the threads of fate no one ever wished to hold bound him eternally. With age came mastery and with control came the ability to seal his third eye away where he could handle it, where he could harness it.

Once a student here he met each tree he passed as an old friend, flashes of images filling his mind of times spent carving and cultivating. Hours spent just ruminating in the peace of the jungle and delving into the treasures beneath its coves and within its caves. The Isle of Divination was once a home Lawrence thought he might never leave, until everything changed. Yet as his cargo boots buried into the soft white sand, he realised just how much he too had changed. The day he left was so clear within his mind, the terrible vision he had witnessed and the worse events that had led to its conjuring. Only a boy, he was expected to master a power many lost themselves entirely to.

When called to duty though the only answer appropriate had to be yes. Denbeigh was a complicated teacher who worked in riddles more often than not and indulged his students to learn as much from themselves as they did from him. The man was an idealist, a dreamer and all those years ago Lawrence had loved him for it. Denbeigh wasn't just his dukun but a surrogate father while he was away from home. While they hadn't spoken in a great many years, his passing had devastated Lawrence who came to regret their distance. A distance he created and maintained. It was a wasteful failing on his part that would haunt him forever.

Unlike the majority of the world, word of Denbeigh's death was not learned by Lawrence in traditional means. No Lawrence had been forced to suffer the vision the night before they came to be, utterly powerless to stop it. Camping at the time in the outback for spiritual clarity Lawrence was awoken ruthlessly in the night eyes pale as snow the feeling of breath being torn from his lungs he howled into the night. The vision was hazy, the death count numerable but undefined, threads not solidified yet in the pattern, but Denbeigh's broken form was of full clarity. Rooted back in the present he faltered under the harrowing pallid of his hair, having turned stark white. A trouble he had fought against since his childhood. As simple a spell as Crinus Muto was, the transfiguration was at the forefront of his arsenal on a near constant basis. The worse the vision the worse the change, and even with all his learned control and vast multitude of teachings he was still bound to the sight’s rules.

Seeing the last breath of his former teacher led Lawrence to further isolate himself, until even he himself was unsure of his location. Travelling across the lands Tenūsa encompassed he met with those touched by the former Grand Seer collecting stories and consolidating a memoir for the man that dedicated everything to helping him. A man he had defied and rejected. A man who he would never be able to apologise to. Alas fate had intentions of its own and Denbeigh was a master at perceiving it. While Grand Seer Reyes was moving on to new opportunities Coen Poelina a highly regarded aboriginal dukun whom Lawrence had trained under presented evidence of Denbeigh's wish for Maynard to become Grand Seer.

Such a development sent waves of confusion and discord into society who had deemed the seer a criminal and condemned him without fact. Sentenced with the suspicions of the disappearance of Dukun Poelina's very own daughter it threw the media into a whirlwind of questions, unaware that Lawrence had studied under the dukun years ago. With two of his mentors advocating for his position he could do little to refuse. Having dishonoured Denbeigh once already he would not do so again and thus the lost soul returned to a place he no longer knew, breaking a vow, he had not dared speak of in years.

With each branch and leaf Macan Tutul welcomed him home, the Isle's magic embracing him like an old friend. On route to Omah Geni Lawrence found himself pausing, closing his eyes and absorbing ever sliver of the Isle. The bright call of the bird’s overhead, wind as it drifted softly through the foliage and the distant call of the ocean as it rushed up the shore. In his hands he took clumps of moss light moisture in its spongy quality, earthy scents drifting up from it filling his nostrils with nostalgic bliss. The very air smelt of home and natural serenity. The closer he got to the village the deeper his heart yearned, for the music, for the food and for the people. Parts of his history he had long considered lost returned unexpectedly but happily.

Eventually Lawrence would find himself wandering streets of jungle wood and stone, peering at the hand-crafted lanterns and resisting the urge to defend against every questioning stare. The transition wouldn't be easy and likely there would be a number of people opposed to his placement, but he was no politician, and his duty was to the pewaris and dukuns. Years of self-reflection and connecting himself to nature and to himself had prepared him to look past the insinuations and opinions of others. Whatever whispers evolved would fall upon deaf ears. The past would haunt him no more than the future would define him. Once a prisoner to both he would not relinquish control back to either. Lawrence would be a man of the present, fate be damned.

Having survived the first of his many trials Lawrence found himself climbing a familiar staircase while remnants of memories wisped through his mind transporting him back to his childhood. Suspensions, detentions, lessons and commiserations. Moments of grief, of development and of mischief. All pouring through him in streams of his consciousness, unlocking parts of him long since forgotten. At the top lay the Grand Seer's office, a place he now would call his own. A place he could see in his mind's eye before he even walked inside. It was surreal to experience, and the man felt his knees grow weak as he clutched to the root doorway. Despite his immediate collapse the place quickly shifted to a calming atmosphere as he took in every small detail, every change that the headmasters and headmistresses had made since his day. A place forever imprinted in his memory adapting through time.

Despite his personal beliefs Lawrence Maynard had been named Grand Seer, but he had not officially taken ownership of the position, at least not yet. Placing a hand into his linen pockets he drew a purple eyed tarot deck that had been with him since he was just 6 years old. Well-worn from repeated use, signs of devotion were clear to see. Making his way behind the desk he entered the central alcove and with reverence and purpose placed his own deck with the others who came before him saying, "I see with more than my eyes, so I may guide the way for those who cannot."