Wait, do the dragon's palm! he says walking over and lifting the sleeping dragon's paw. He wants to know if there are any tall dark dungeons in his future.
"Hmm, yes," Auntie Mab says unenthusiastically, noting the dragon's lack of a coinpurse,
"I'm afraid that won't be possible dearie. You see the mystical art of palmistry requires that the supplicant be conscious during the reading. And I'm not feeling too well disposed toward dragons today, having just had to eradicate a particularly nasty member of the species."
"Now you on the other hand dearie..." she says turning to Prime,
"My, my! Well aren't you a marvelous contraption. What wondrous adventures might Apoli have in store for you? May I?," Mab asks, taking hold of one of the construct's hands.
"You are right-handed aren't you dearie? Or does that even matter? Let's just say that your are right handed," the old woman plows ahead without waiting for the tiles in the warforged's chest to finish whirring.
"Yes, marvelously engineered! And such a strong grip! I sense that you stand firm in the face of danger," she says attempting to wiggle Prime's thumb in its socket and failing to budge it an inch.
"Ooh, and the hands themselves, let's see: cold, and dry of course, with squarish palms, and protruding knuckles. The fingers are thick and strong though, and just as long as the palms. Hm, yes. Earth and Air are your elements dearie, and Fall is your season. Tell me, dearie do you tend a bit toward melancholy? Bit of an introvert? Well of course you are! As long as it takes you to communicate, who can blame you?," Auntie Mab rambles on, communicating at warp speed,
"And a bit of a perfectionist I'll wager. One who can't help but protect others? Mmmhmmm. It all checks out. Well, a word of advice dearie: it doesn't hurt to let your guard down every now and then and lean on your friends. I mean we can't all go through life like icebergs in the seas of Arcadia, now can we?"
"But now how to read the lines? Hmmm... well, this hinge here could be the Head Line. Yes, nice and straight across the palm. You're very rational, dearie, some might even say calculating. And where is the Heart Line? It must be here somewhere, unless... You know I once heard a fascinating tale about a lion, a scarecrow, and a warforged who went on a journey with a young maiden to consult a great artificer to replace various things they were missing... but that's neither here nor there. Let's just skip the heart line shall we? Moving on to the Life Line... My word!," Auntie Mab says staring in shock at the canyon of gears, cogs, rotors, and cams that attach Primes thumb to his palm.
"So fractured! Oh dearie," the old woman says, eyes brimming with apparently unfeigned sympathy.
"You've got a hard road ahead. So many terrible injuries and close calls. And it crosses right through the mound of Lauto. I hope you're friends with a good cleric!," Mab says, making the sign of warding against Persefa.
"Still, it's a long Life Line, and Lauto's touch is not always deadly. It may even lead to great wealth if you survive all the bumps and jolts on the road..." Then, apparently finished with the reading, Mab dries her eyes, and recovers her composure, adding,
"So how about sharing some of that future wealth with old Mabbeth? Seeing as that was my first time reading a construct's future I'll even cut you a deal. How does 6 gold pieces sound?," she asks, smiling hopefully.
