His eyes were reddish and his head ached..
And so he just sat in a stool by the kitchen's fire and stared into the flames.
The rain was falling slowly outside.. And the wind was finding his way to his weary back through the cracked wooden walls of his cabin..
But even then he just sat there.. Slowly drifting into an hipnotic dream led by the fire.
And in this waking dream he saw her..the beautiful Red Oracle from the Highlands..in pain..and that made him sad and impatient.
But to understand this we must first understand why a stranger would provoke such worry on an old and not so given man.
The Alchemist is a solitary soul. One of those that many times go amiss because he is not afraid of crowds.
He laughs, and jests like it's a first nature to him.. For he enjoys the laughter and joy that that brings to his days.
But he is alone because he chose the solitude before sharing his time with just anyone.
He gives laughter joyfully, but hardly laughs himself.
And he tries to dispense advice, when called upon it, without taking it easily from others.
He bears and dries other people's tears with tender care..without sharing his with anyone.
Many times he is seen wondering empty streets..and he fears not being alone this man.
At least not as much as he dreads sharing his life with the wrong person.
The Alchemist walks alone.. Even when in company.
Until the day a Beautiful Red Oracle came from somewhere in the Highlands.
When he saw her..he did his bidding and jested her as he usually did.
But with every jest he was mesmerized by the Red Oracle's retort.
Until something happened in him he did not felt happen much in the way it did.
A certainty.. A clear thought..that was intensified by a clear sign from past prophecies whom the Alchemist hadn't given much thought.
He knew her...From nowhere that he knew of.
And this spurred a strange feeling the Alchemist had only felt once before.
He felt Home.
And so, against his better judgment, and without much thought he trusted this Red Oracle like he never trusted no one before.
He felt close to this strange Stranger.
And in his mind a phrase from nowhere came.."My protection, and all the laughter, pleasure in the world that is mine to give.. Is now yours".
And so he started playing music and singing songs to this Beautiful Red, whom he cared so much for no reason than the one I told you before.
And now she was with sickness and pain, and none of the Alchemists casted protective spells had done it's bidding.
And the Alchemist lied there.. Sitting on a stool.. By a fireplace.. With nothing he could do.
Magic is truly a Mage's gift and craft.. He had none to cast.
The future was not his to see.. So he had no future to bestow on her.
His only gift.. Words.
His only craft.. The choosing of lirical chords.
What was there to do to bestow on this Beautiful Red that he strangely cared for so much.
And so he new..
And into the open and inmaterial ether he casted what he knew better..
His words.
His music.
His soul.
And so he wrote..
"In the beginning.."
And with her smiling face in his mind..
Many hours later..
He went to sleep.
