Emmaline slid towards the distressed man even before she was certain of what she was going to do. Quickly she drew a scarf from her sarai and tied it over her head to give herself what, in the Empire, would be the look of a soothsayer or fortune teller. The move also showed off her blonde hair, making her appear strange and exotic by Arabyian standards. She caught the fellows wrist with her fingers.

“Away with you woman!” the man snapped by reflex. He had a clean look to him, perhaps a minor merchant who invested in the caravans, though his face was haggard with worry and lack of sleep.

“I am cursed by the gods,” she declared dramatically.

“I can see the strands of fate and follow them to their ends!” she hissed. The man raised his hand as though to strike her but hesitated a moment.

“You would know the fate of your caravan, set out from the City of Slaves seven nights past!” she declared dramatically. They had an audience now, the denizens of the bar glancing at her with a mix of expressions from skepticism to desire and not a little fear.

“How did you know that?” the man demanded, as though he had not been moaning about it for all to hear.

“I see many things, perhaps I can tell you of your caravan,” Emmaline declared.

“Speak then woman,” the man snapped through the eagerness in his eyes belayed the anger in his voice. 

“The Gods do not reveal the fates of men easily,” Emmaline told him, leading him towards a booth at the rear.

“An offering is required,” she whispered.

“What kind of an offering?” the merchant asked. People always got suspicious when you asked for payment up front, so it was best to camouflage what you really wanted. 

“Gold yes, but more importantly, blood,” she told him, taking a seat in a booth across from the merchant. His eyes seemed to be drawn to the eyes of her staff so she held it up more as a dramatic prop than for any real effect she expected it to have.

“Blood?” the merchant replied in a dreamy voice. Emmaline nodded encouragingly.

“Blood and Gold,” she confirmed as the merchant drew a hand full of gold pieces from his pouch and set them on the table. Emmaline produced a small knife and muttered some nonsense snatches of Imperial Opera and then drew the blade across the mans palm allowing the blood to dribble over the coins. Whispering a word of real magic her eyes became shining gold as she drew on the Winds of Magic. The gold coins seemed to sink into the dirty wood of the table, her legs concealing the fact that they dropped into her hand beneath it and vanished into her robes. She pretended to read the pattern of blood remaining once the coins had ‘vanished’ and gasped theatrically.

“Death!” she declared in a loud voice that carried through half the tavern.

“Bandits and buzzards, ruin and wreck, the caravan will never see the walls of Copher!”

The merchant leaped to his feet, eyes wide and panicked, and then rushed from the tavern.