Agatha held the crystal up, letting it catch the dim light of the tavern's torchs. The seller looked on, seeming rather pleased with himself. He sat across the tab, hands clasped as he rested back in his cheap wooden chair.
"No imperfections," he said, pride seeping into his voice.
"So it would seem," she responded, retrieving a few more from the pouch she had been provided. She checked them much as she did the first crystal. "Very well."
The merchant's hands greedily went towards the sack of gil that was offered to him. He stood, offered Agatha a short bow, and left the tavern as quickly as he arrived. Her eyes rolled at the display. She replaced the crystals into the leather pouch, and set them off to the side of the table. Leaning back in her chair, she returned to nursing her drink, and debating if she felt like making a few scribbles in her journal. The book was becoming rather full, and she would likely need to pick up another one at the rate she was going.
Her eyes scanned the few people remaining in the bar, settling in on a man fidgeting in the corner. She had to lean to her left to get a better look, straining her eyes to see in the dim light. He sat alone, and fiddled with his hands. Rarely he picked up his drink, bringing it up to his lips for such a short time she could assume he barely had to take so much as a sip. His clothes were ragged, save for the hood he had pulled up around his face. And while it was certainly of a higher quality than the rest of his attire, it was clearly recently bought in a rush. It barely fit him, as though he had pulled it out of a pile and had only the time to check that it was not too small.
An ache began to grow from the back of her mind. On instinct her hands ran to her temples and she bent forward. The pain ingulfed her entire head until it disappeared into a bright light, along with the rest of the bar. The images her surroundings were replaced with were crisp and clear. A series of scenes, each shorter than the last. First the man sitting at home, debating financials with his wife. Next he stood in an Ul'dan alley, hesitantly opening a door. A bag of gold being presented. Weeks later men arriving at his home.
Just as soon as the sensation came it had left. She continued to sit there with her eyes closed, taking short breathes. For months she had lived with the visions now. There was no way to control them, no way to predict them. No rhyme or reason on what it was that triggered them. They were vivid enough that when she opened her eyes she feared she wouldn't be in the same place. Her eyes opened to reveal the tavern still around her, its creaky floor still under her feet, and an unfamiliar hand on her shoulder. Looking over her shoulder, her eyes met with a short miqo'te man's. She couldn't help but feel as though she had seen him before.
"You alright there ma'am?" he asked, looking rather concerned.
She took in yet another breath, and nodded, "Yes, fine. Drink was a bit too strong."
He released his grip on her shoulder, and returned the nod, "Perhaps try something lighter. Have a good evening."
With a sense of purpose in his gait, the miqo'te continued further into the tavern, before welcoming himself into the nervous man's booth. She watched the nervous man lean further back into the booth. If it were possible, she half believed he were trying to become one with the cushion and wood itself. It was impossible to tell with the miqo'te's back to her, but she could only assume he looked pleased with himself.
Intervention was not required of her. Nor was it expected of her. But she couldn't help herself. From some foreign memory, she counted out a stack of gil from her coin pouch, transferring it into another. Stepping from the table, she followed in the miqo'te's footsteps, and tossed the pouch onto the table between the two men. The nervous man's eyes went wide, and miqo'te's eyebrow raised.
"Double check me," Agatha said calmly.
The miqo'te snorted, and opened the pouch, bean counting in his head. His brow furrowed as he looked up at Agatha. "Right on the mark."
The poor man's face went flush, his has clasping together around Agatha's arms as he spewed an endless amount of platitudes. She tore his arm away from him, and strode out of the bar to leave the two dumbfounded. She paused at the top of the tavern's steps, and took in a breath of the dusty night air.
"Considering what you went in there to get, I find it hilarious that ya did that," a lilting voice from nowhere whispered into her ear. She rolled her eyes, and refrained from saying anything as she stepped into the street.
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