Good Luck Henri

Henri Fitzroy has never been one for temples and priests, nor for hymns and ceremony. Father always made sure to bring him on the holy days: on Midsummer, when he would rather be out playing in the streets, and on Starfall, when the air was just turning crisp and the fire at the tavern was roaring.

"Can't I just say a quick prayer at home, Father?" Henri would plead.

"I'm afraid not today, son. Come, it'll be good for you." his father Emil would reply. "You don't want to disappoint your Mother now, do you?"

And so it is that Starfall comes again, and Henri finds himself looking not for a temple nor a priest, but a fountain. And without much trouble, he finds one. A small one, tucked away in the streets of Daring Heights, the water shimmering in the late afternoon sun above glints of gold and silver and copper.

Henri fishes in his pocket, pulling out a copper piece of his own. Always copper, his Father had said. His Father also taught him the words to say, the motions to take.

"A copper to the Lady returns tenfold in gold."

Henri closes his eyes, flicking the coin into the water. The water ripples out, creating circles on circles that lazily dance out until the entire surface shines with dozens of motes of light.

He murmurs a few further prayers - for good luck in the days ahead, for good fortune wherever it may find him. The words come easily, pulled up like so many coins from the well of his memory. Of his Father, with a hand on his shoulder, teaching him what to say. Of his Mother, her face barely visible through the haze of memory, smiling as he learns the rites of her favoured god.

"You know, if you whisper something to Lady Luck, she may take your words to your Mother." Emil's hair was jet-black, then, and Henri was no higher than his knee. "Go on. Quietly, so that only she can hear."

And whisper he does.