Accepted

"You may call me Gerald," says the portly man. "The ancient and wise Deri'zar once wrote that the sage master would always accept those offerings fate gives you. You must be fate's offering because I am in need of an assistant. Ah now. I make no mention of apprentice. Do not believe that you will learn even one spell while you serve me. Believe instead that you will carry and fetch, work and toil. If you serve well enough, hard enough, long enough, then I may test to determine whether you could safely try a simple spell. Do you wish to withdraw your offer?"

What a lecture. Aaralon maintained a straight face. Deri'zar taught him basic herbalism and Aaralon had certainly never thought of the junior teacher as 'ancient' or 'wise'. Perhaps the gulf between High Mages and the rest of the world was a large as the College had said.

"My offer stands," Aaralon stated. The longer the hedge mage went without trying to investigate his power the better, as far as Aaralon was concerned.

Gerald folded his arms over his chest, "There will be danger. I am about to embark on a mission. A mission for a rich, powerful and unforgiving noble. You will face ****. Does your offer still stand?"

"It does," Aaralon repeated again. As Gerald's speech went on it seemed to Aaralon that there was less pomp and actual concern in his tone of voice. The round man was speaking the truth about danger and ****.

"Good," Gerald concluded, "Fate works in mysterious ways."

A female voice introduces herself with an, "... excuse me".