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Legend said that generations ago there was a powerful witch. There was little he could not do. He traveled the land, accumulating respect and awe. However in his arrogance he stood against a god, and for his arrogance was cursed. His bloodline would remain powerful, but his son, and his son's sons, would be unable to use their great power, instead their own magic turned against them. And with time, people would fear them, until the same people who were awestruck by their power, turned against them instead. They would fear their powers, which would become their own downfall.
At least that's how the story went. The details were lost to time, not necessarily out of a lack of care, but that it was hard to pass the stories on when you were dead. Or when you got amnesia. But the core stayed the same.
Martin was born, son of a son of a son and so on of this supposed arrogant witch. His magic strong, but uncontrollable. It lit things on fire randomly, summoned storms and incited madness in animals at the most inconvenient of times. Sometimes it even cracked the earth wide open. However people did not turn against him. At least, not everyone. Sure most people were rightfully, a bit afraid of his magic. Martin was sometimes afraid of it himself.
But mostly, people were perfectly happy with Martin as long as he and his family mostly kept to themselves. It wasn't lonely, his family forged strong bonds so he was never really lonely. His brother was his best friend, his mother was his protector, his father his role model.
And there was no shortage happy moments.
But the happiest day of his life had been when Brigette, the beautiful girl who moved from across the water to the Tri-Kingdom had agreed to marry him. He'd been even happier on their wedding day, and even happier the day Sara was born.
Well, during the day he'd been stressed beyond belief. The midwives had sent him away. While he wanted to be there with her, he understood why he'd been shooed away. He'd spent the day (and night, he'd gotten used to sleeping in odd places) by the ocean away from anyone, until the midwives apprentice had come to fetch him nearly a whole day later.
She'd been so small, but she'd looked at him with big blue eyes like he'd crafted the woods and poured the water into the sea with his bare hands (instead of the reality of him starting a couple minor forest fires and nearly drowning on a couple occasions).
The community had been relieved when Sara was born. A girl, un-cursed. A proper witch. Witches were for good reason, revered and valued throughout communities. There were no other witch families for miles here besides the Murphys
But Martin didn't really care about all she could do for their community.
Sara was bright and sweet. From a young age. He loved her simply because she was her.
And sure she was a powerful young witch, her first signs of magic was healing a small cut on his hand at three years old. Perhaps she would grow into a healing specialist. It wouldn't be an unsurprising thing. Healing magic was a powerful magic.
A few short months later, they were awaiting the arrival of their second child.
Sara had been INSISTING the new baby would be a brother. But really, until Murphy's Law kicked in there would be no way to know. The day Milo was born Martin had gotten caught up in a run away wagon, which would always get launched back up a hill or something every time it seemed to come to a rest. It took hours before he finally was able to head home, and a day to walk back.
It wasn't unusual for him to disappear for a day or two as a result, of the curse, but when he walked in his front door Sara rushed up to him.
"I told you he was a boy!" Sara said, jumping up and down excitedly, and after having looked him over once for injuries, jumped at him, which Martin caught to scoop her up. Martin scanned the room and caught sight of his wife, sitting in their bed, a bundle wrapped in the crib beside her.
"I thought he wasn't coming for another month."
"He got impatient." Brigette said fondly.
"Sorry I missed it."
"No worries," Brigette said kissing him, "Sara was a big help."
"Oh were you now?" Martin asked.
"Yep! There was a fire, and I had to go to town and there was a dog..." Sara launched into the story, but stopped short when she noticed how intently he was staring at the baby, "Do you want to hold the baby, Daddy?"
Martin stared down at his tiny son, "I do, but I don't want to disturb him."
The baby in question blinked his eyes open, probably disturbed by the commotion. But he didn't cry.
"Hey there baby brother, Daddy's home and ready to meet you!"
Martin looked at Brigette for approval, who naturally just nodded. Martin carefully.
"You gotta be careful and hold his head." Sara said seriously.
Martin laughed, "I'll be sure to do that."
The baby stared at Martin with big brown eyes, "Hi there little guy. Nice to meet you. Sorry I'm late. Do you have a name yet?"
"Mommy said we had to wait for you." Sara said.
"I still think Milo's a perfect name for him." Martin said.
"Then Milo it is." Brigette said, "If Danger works for his middle name,"
Suddenly a plate randomly flew across the room, and slammed against the wall, barely missing Martin and Milo began to whimper. Martin began to bounce around a bit to sooth him, and Milo's whimpers quickly ceased.
"I think you'll be just fine Milo Danger Murphy."
People were less pleased about Milo being a boy, but it wasn't unexpected. It was the way things went. But Martin had been just as happy the day he'd walked in on his new baby boy as he had been the day he'd returned to meet Sara.
It maybe hurt a little, that people were less enthusiastic about Milo's birth, but Martin didn't pay it much mind. Milo was every bit the delight his sister was.
Once when Milo wasn't quite three he'd disappeared from the house. They'd looked high and low but there was no sign of him. It was as if he had just disappeared, and Martin and Brigette had never been so worried sick. But a couple hours later, a white horse galloped down the road chased by a pack of wolves tangled up in some sort of rope dragging a flaming fallen tree behind them, scrapping up the road and knocking over brush. The wolves got tripped up and continued down the road, as the horse stopped in front of their house. A young girl, clearly a squire, sat atop the horse, Milo sitting in front of her There was destruction all around him, but Milo just kept smiling and laughing.
"I heard this was your son?" The girl said, swiftly dismounting her horse, despite the toddler she held in her arms.
"Milo!" Brigette said, taking him from her arms, "Thank you so much, I am so sorry..."
"No thank you!" the squire said, "He helped me when I was in a bit of a pinch, who knows where I'd be if. I heard in town that this..." she gestured to the trail of flaming brush, "Was because of a family curse,"
"Yes," Martin explained, "The Murphy Curse, whatever problems our magic can cause, it does."
"Well, it might have gotten me into a pinch, but it got me out of one too." she said, "Milo here was very helpful!" She said poking him in the nose causing him to giggle, "He has my thanks!"
Who else could say their toddler son had earned the gratitude of a squire?
Being a Murphy wasn't easy, but they'd managed. They'd managed for generations.
And so, Martin had gotten pretty used to the sounds of screaming. He was a Murphy after all. A man of cursed magic. Danger and disaster followed him, wherever he went. They rarely even caused him to flinch.
But there were a few screams he'd never get used to, and one was the scream of his young son. Milo rarely screamed. Yelled for help sure. Frequently. He often needed help, still young, and new to the curse he'd spend his life with. But he rarely screamed.
That was reserved for the most painful of injuries. Broken bones. Head injuries. It jolted through his mind, and a little voice whispered that maybe, Milo was going to fall victim to his own magic, the way so many thought he would. The way so many of his ancestors had.
So when Milo screamed one summer day, while Martin carefully chopped firewood, Martin resisted the urge to throw his axe aside and rather set it down gently flat on the ground and burst inside, expecting to have to set a bone, or stitch a nasty cut.
But rather, Milo appeared unharmed.
Sara, was the one who lay unconscious. Her eyes were open, but unseeing. A soft, purple, indigoish, light seemed to pour from behind her eyes. Clutched in her hand was a bundle of herbs. Candles flickered, but there was truly no sign of disaster otherwise.
By all accounts Martin had no idea what could have caused this situation.
A rare girl born to the Murphy clan. A powerful witch, not unlike himself and Milo. But with magic that wasn't cursed to trouble for reasons that no one really understood.
Or at least shouldn't have been.
"What happened?" Martin asked. Milo, while an eloquent 4 year old, was still only 4 and not always able to put his large emotions into words. Instead he just shook with fear and hugged Martin's legs tightly. Martin knelt down to Sara's side, and gently moved her to lay her head on his lap, and gently tried to pry the herb's from her hand.
She began to mutter, "Goats yell thrice, roosters twice... the water roars once, till nothings left."
"Sara, what are you..."
Sara's eyes closed and she seemed to fall asleep.
Martin set her in bed, and debated running into town to fetch a doctor, or taking her with him.
Was there even anything a doctor could do?
Sara woke up not long after, and she seemed alright, a bit shaken up, though clearly not as much as he and Milo. She said she had a bad dream about a flood, which was odd, but not terribly unusual. They'd dealt with floods before.
Martin worried of course, but it had passed. When Brigette returned home he told her but there was nothing to be done but worry. But Sara seemed alright, and perhaps it was a fluke. Something had gone wrong, but something they really had no understanding of. Life was like that sometimes.
But a few months passed, and the thought the words stayed in his head, he had no idea what they could have meant.
And it had been an ordinary day, the family had gone into town together for some necessary shopping.
The goats that Mr. Draco kept had gone into a frenzy when they had come into town.
It wasn't the first time it had happened, and they soon settled down.
A rooster crowed.
The goats became riled up again, and could be heard throughout town.
Sara had become anxious at this point.
"Are you okay?" Brigette asked.
"I'm okay," Sara said, but it was hard to believe her.
As they were about to leave down the goats became weirdly riled up a third time.
"Goats yell thrice" echoed in Martin's mind.
Sara took off running towards the river.
Martin and Brigette chased after her to find her arguing with the town crier to make an announcement to evacuate the town riverside market.
"What did you do now?" he asked, catching sight of the rest of the Murphy's.
"No time to explain!" Sara said, and took of running, around the market, "Get out of here it's going to flood!"
People looked to Martin for an explanation, "You heard her." was all he said. Hoping that this wasn't something they'd add to the lists of reasons to scorn their family.
The people reluctantly packed up their goods, but once the first person started moving they all started moving faster, and soon it was empty, the town square instead bustling with people.
Until suddenly there was water creeping up the street towards the town square. Where the market had been really had flooded. It was later discovered that a dam up the river had burst. If it wasn't for Sara there would have been casualties.
The town, sang her praises.
Martin was just relieved the blame didn't fall on him or Milo.
But it had all come into place.
Sara was a prophet. A rare type of witch. Time-magic was some of the rarest and most powerful forms of magic. Even in the most powerful witch bloodlines they were rare. Time magic was neigh impossible to learn and no one knew what made prophets.
Her insistence that Milo would be a boy hadn't been a childish conviction it'd been something she had known.
Brigette went to the library to consult books. The last recorded prophet in the kingdom was over 200 years ago. But there wasn't anything else of interest. Prophets were rare, and little known about their magic.
At the end of the day it hadn't changed much. Sure, more people came seeking her skills, and more often than not she would shrug and turn them away until the visits became rarer. She was still the same Sara she always was. They were a family of unusualness, and this was no different.
At least. That's how the story was going.