Foreshadowing

With the last of his meetings and classes concluded for the day, Bellamin made the slow ascent from the ground floor meeting hall toward his upper-level office. The wide halls, still crowded with students travelling between lecture halls, humming with activity and conversation faded slowly as he began his steps up the first of hte staircases climbing toward his office.
Pushing his way in through the admittedly oversized oaken doors, the sunset light filtered in through the overlook windows that peeked out into the courtyard beyond, looking over the landing area, the academy's central spire, and the entrances to the various campus buildings wher attendants would travel for their lectures, and to their dormitories at the end of the day. Bellamin took a deep breath, sighing contentedly with the scent of parchment, some hundreds of years old still hanging in the air. Generations upon generations of discoveries in a single smell. He strolled his way over to the overlook, and watched as Elamen crossed the courtyard below, toward the dining hall, and his lips pulled into a tight line, ends pointed downward.
Turning from the window, he surveyed the many shelves of books that lined the tall walls of his office. More than a thousand years of writing on every subject imaginable hung in the shelves, all penned by the same hand some time after World's Edge Academy made its first flight. Bellamin strode with pattering steps to the bookshelf closest to his desk, eyes rising to the upper shelves. With a wave of his hand, he summoned the newest book from its perch, and it landed with a dull thud at the center of his desk. He settled heavily into the chair, before opening the book to the pages most recently written.
For more than a thousand years, Bellamin had catalogued the exploits of many a Jebberkinsie, and every one to date, without exception shared a theme. However, the Jabberkinsies, being so in-tune with the world and the many courses of events that could possibly take place, were often presented with the opportunity to...alter the natural course of events, to displace a series of events to a place later on in their individual narrative. Often, it was Bellamin himself that would help these children to see the course of events, and the possibe consequences of either choosing or failing to act. As he set quill to page, he reflected on this, and on the fates chosen by the generations of Jabberkinsies whose lives he had chosen to chronicle.
Of course, there was always a cost to offsetting an event. Any time a Jabberkinsie chose to alter a significant event, it would go into a sort of slumber. There, it would grow, magnifying itself to an even greater effect. Perhaps a Jabberkinsie would be offered a small reward, a few gold coins for a service rendered. In an act of charity, they refuse payment that, by rights, is theirs. Later, perhaps months or years later, they find a strange burrow beneath the roots of an oddly out-of-place tree, only to find an immense cavern containing a king's ransom in riches. A Jabberkinsie might be offered a small favor by a friend, a fresh meal, or a few stitches in a tattered bit of clothing, but they decline this time, being in a rush to find their companions. Later, the same friend appears at the most auspicious moment, saving the Jabberkinsie from what would otherwise be certian death.
Interest, Bellamin decided, was what the Jabberkinsie clan dealt in. Saving up a proverbial narrative currency, and in choosing not to spend it, earning a much greater return when they decline to allow a significant event to pass.
Bellamin bore witness to these events, and many like them countless times, but the just rewards being multiplied when a Jabberkisie acted in charity, those were not the stories he had chronicled. Bellamin's chronicles were those of the Jabberkinsies who chose to delay pain, to delay conflict, or even heartbreak. Yes, many a Jabberkisie received a vast reward when they chose to delay a gift, but this was to be expected. A few, however, would chose instead to serve themselves, and deny a loss, rather than a gain.
The events that followed were almost universally catastrophic. GFruesome wars, costing the lives of thousands would suddenly commence between countries previously at peace, kind and beloved kings, found dead in their chambers, throwing kingdoms into chaos...Entire races, erased from existence. Always, thousands more paid the price, when a Jabberkinsie chose to deny fate. It was simply a matter of locating the Jabberkinsie responsible.
With the ink dry, Bellamin shuttered his current chronicle. Lifting it from the desk, he stood again before the great shelf housing his life's work. With a wave, the book settled back into its place upon the shelf, and Bellamin breathed a great sigh. Often, this work felt much like a burden, especially because none would read this gathered collection.
Finally his eyes fell to the floor. The day had been long, he was old and tired, but there was still work to do. It could wait, he decided after a moment of contemplation, and for now, he would take some time to rest.
Bellamin gingerly reached out with the toe of a boot, and nudged at the ladder that stood by his shelves. He moved it a couple inched to the side before looking back up at the bookshelf one last time. He sighed deeply yet again, and went to bed.