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| - DATE: 092705 PAYMENT: In full He called himself “Daryl”. Sometimes my clients don’t always use their real names and sometimes they do. I sensed this was not his real name but a way to hide, perhaps a former life or from public embarrassment? Whatever the client’s reasons, I respect that enough not to ask the Spirits. He anxiously stood in the door twisting a part of his robe in his hand while he told me only a scant amount of information about himself. He was an older gentleman, a spell-caster from Stormwind. He said that he had heard of me through the town’s network. Immediately, I knew what that meant, “the town gossip.” I suppose that seeking my professional assistance will always be met with a certain amount of suspicion and “gossip.” Daryl was quiet and reserved and extremely nervous when we met. I do try to comfort first-timers in many ways, such as caressing their hands and present a warm smile. I gazed at his hands while they were within mine, broad and rather large. His hands reminded me that he had not always been a spell-caster. They were muscular, worn, and calloused. He was a tall and physically imposing individual, though his visage exposed a compassionate heart. I could see by his expression that I was not what he expected. I sensed he was anticipating someone older, perhaps more experienced? That always did amuse me. He sought me out for a reason, and I needed to make him as contented as possible in order to ensure that this experience provided all he sought and more. After all, they pay me for this. Daryl’s eyes were tender, the kind of eyes you could fall into if you weren’t careful. He tentatively sat down on the cushioned seat opposite me and placed a hand on each of his knees. There was barely room for him in the chair, indeed a robust man. I had to smile seeing him sitting there and not being sure of how to conduct himself. He looked everywhere else but not at me, and not into my eyes. He was so very uneasy. “Is this your first time seeking someone in my profession?” I inquired softly as I laid out the purple and gold silken cloth across the table between us. He seemed suddenly unsure what he was doing there and moved as if to get up. I quickly laid a reassuring hand on his forearm. He paused briefly. While he took in a long breath his eyes glanced into mine and I held his gaze. As if someone had opened a window on a spring day, all that I needed to know about him flowed into me like a warm breeze, the Spirits whispered into my mind. I removed the glimmering spell-caster orb from my bag and set it on the table in a small silver filigree stand. There was no real magic in the thing, its purpose was for “show.” I don’t need trinkets in order to see or hear the spirits, but I found that they help clients make sense of all the "etherealness" to the sessions. “Daryl,” I whispered to him as I touched the pulsating orb lightly with my fingertips. “What do you seek to know?” He made a motion as if wringing his hands under the table and inhaled deeply. He closed his eyes tightly before opening them with new found resolve. “I…uh…”He glanced up at me searchingly. “Will I be alone all my life?” For a moment, the room was silent before he plaintively continued. “I live alone in a tower with my spells and books. Women pass me on the street and never really see me…and, well…” His brows knit in response to his internal torment. “Is…is there anyone for me?” It was such an honest question and yet one with so many years of anguish behind it. This question was probably the bulk of my business, “Will anyone truly ever love me?” I felt my heart plummet into my stomach and closed my eyes. The Spirits had already provided me the landscape of his answer, but I was hoping to know other than what I knew. I waited for a few moments as my hands hovered over the faux orb. Even if my eyes were closed or I was in the next room, I could feel his presence there with me without having to see him or hear his voice. It was how they worked, the Spirits. They provided me knowledge and I have used this talent all my life, even since my days of servitude as a “fortune teller” for Darkmoon. “Will anyone truly ever love me?” This question was too close to me and one that plagues us all in many ways. It resounded throughout my own heart, and is one that I have asked myself throughout this life. I got up from my chair and knelt near him, and looked him in the eyes. “Daryl, of eyes as soft and green as Elwynn’s Forest, your path is filled with many people already that you need to stop and encounter in your lifetime. You should not discount any and should greet each one as a gift to your life.” The edges of a smile began on his face. “There is one, though, of sable hair touched by the blush of the sun’s light that will make an inquiry of you in an unexpected place.” I squeezed his hand. “It would be wise to offer to escort her through the forest that night toward Eastvale.” I added as an afterthought, “To ensure she arrive there safely.” His mouth hung slightly agape, but something else whispered into my mind. “Your fondness for art will be of great interest to her. Be sure to talk about such things.” I smiled to him, “Remember to mention the stars as you walk that evening, she does so love the stars as you do.” I stood and squeezed his hand. He thanked me, paid me, and half-danced down the stairs on his way out, quite an achievement for a man so physically large and muscular. It wasn’t the entire answer and I was deeply conflicted. I sat heavy-hearted back into my chair. The woman, the one for him, was to die that night on her way to Eastvale. She was to be brutally murdered, her blood spilling onto the new grass of the Eastvale Camp. It was to have been a tragedy unrivaled since the wars. I closed my eyes as if to shut out the horrific images that the spirits had shown to me. One thing stood out though, she had traveled that way alone in those images. This meant that the future wasn’t set in marble. He was a competent magus, perhaps he will be able to save her life when the marauding band of gnolls arrive. There are some things that need to be left to fate and to a person’s tenacity. It was his large, strong hands. He hadn’t always been a spell-caster.
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