“I see . . .” His voice trailed off.
“I see . . .”
The elderly dwarf rubbed his hands together anxiously, unsure of what to expect. “Tell me, what do see Ezmyr?”
“I see . . .” he said as he narrowed his eyes, glaring at some focal point Bornen believed to be located in some distant dimension, or perhaps another plane of existence, or even somewhere beyond time itself. “I see – an eggshell!” he proclaimed stoically.
Bornen’s heart was racing, his perspiration was evident, but when he heard the remark he nearly reeled over in a complete stupor. “Excuse me?”
“Wait a moment,” Ezmyr replied apprehensively, “that is not supposed to be in there.” He submerged a long pair of bony fingers into the froth and delicately fished out the white flake. After examining it briefly, he flicked the tiny fragment impassively off to the side, then persisted to peer into the cauldron again. “Hmm,” he mentioned ambiguously, “that’s odd . . . quite different really.”
The suspense was too much for Bornen to bear. “Come now Ezmyr,” he cried, “don’t hold out on me! What of my grandson? What of Grom? Will he be an adventurer?”
The elf’s sight sifted through coiling pools of raw, formless magic as they flowed untamed through the limitless wellspring of untapped arcane power. “There are no truly prescient visions when scrying. Everything is circumstantial; that is the number one law of precognitive magic.”
“What does that mean?”
“What I see is not guaranteed. Regardless of my answer, it is not definite unless certain events are set in motion.”
“Well, is there a chance,” he inquired desperately, “or even the slightest possibility?”
“If Grom takes to the road in search of a journey, he will not be an adventurer per say-”
Bornen frown and sighed despondently. “What a shame, he has so much potential too.”
“Enough,” Ezmyr asserted curtly, “allow me to finish. If he takes to the road, Grom will, I see something . . . yes, it is clearer now. Grom will be involved in . . . in a – oh!” His achromatic eyes turned away, locking onto Bornen’s, and they each shared an expression of extreme curiosity. “He will be engrossed in a long forgotten prophecy that-”
“A prophecy? Really?” Bornen beamed with the radiance of pure dwarven pride. He swung one of his arms approvingly and said, “That’s my boy.”
Ezmyr sighed irritably. “Let me finish I said.” He painted circles in the empty spaces of the air, then the whirling mists began to coil in the opposite direction, and the elixir showed events unfold that brought color back to the hermit’s eyes, (which wasn’t much, since they’re usually the color of wet granite on a good day). “Impossible,” he cried as he shielded his face from whatever phantasmal horror he suddenly witnessed.