“I learned it on the Summerset Isle,” Therion said, speaking toward the unresponsive figure. “I was barely thirty back then. I used to sit in my room, bored to tears. So I made a game of seeing how many I could successfully light. My parents became legitimately concerned about the number of candles I kept in my room. And the singe marks on my walls and blankets.”
Farengar remained still.
“My record, if you’re curious, is twenty-six,” Therion said, a little pride in his voice.
Farengar made no response, but Therion felt the mood lighten ever so slightly, even if it was just on his end.
“The heartbreak…” he said slowly, hesitant to revisit the past. “It hurts like hell. My friends had to drag me out of town and tie me to a tree. I even broke Talamagne’s arm, poor bastard. I'd have beaten all five of them to a pulp if it hadn't been for Aran knocking me senseless. A blessing he didn't leave me simple too, I still see stars just remembering him cracking my head against Auriel’s statue," he said, rubbing the back of his head nostalgically. "After they forced me to take the antidote, my heart ached so awfully within my chest, I wished I could die. But after an hour, the love, heartbreak, desire…” he waved his hand absently, “All gone. Just temporary illusions, created by someone who wants to force you to feel as they do. So they can rob you of your senses... and take what they want of you.”
Farengar looked toward Therion as the mer fell into an uncharacteristic silence. He watched in fascination as Therion began to absently weave an elegant pattern of fire in the space above him, staring at the ceiling as he did so.
“Love doesn’t take what it wants,” he said solemnly, looping a trail of fire into his intricate design without looking. The glowing artwork bathed the room in warm, red light. Farengar watched the design grow, until Therion sighed and extinguished it with a gesture, as if waving away the past as well.
Reaching behind his back, he removed the book there.
“Have you ever read A Dance in Fire?” Therion asked, his usual playfully aloof demeanor returning, as he cracked open the worn book. “I’m going to assume you have, and read it to you anyway. Hopefully it will make the time pass quicker,” he said, clearing his throat, “The scene: The Imperial City, Cyrodil. The date: seven Frost Fall, third era, three hundred ninety-seven. It seemed as if the palace had always housed the Atrius Building Commission, the company of clerks and estate agents who authored and notarized nearly every construction of any note in the Empire…”
Therion read on, bringing different voices to each character and giving them individual personalities, while settling into the role of narrator and pouring his deep, resonating voice into each line.
When he closed the book, he was certain at least two hours had passed. He cleared his throat, feeling a bit hoarse. The wizard would be completely cured, and that was worth the extra wait. Pouring two glasses of water, he removed the gag from Farengar’s mouth and sliced his ropes apart.
The first thing Farengar did was to pull up the cowl of his robe, shrouding his face once more.
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timeasmymeasure
Re: Fire and Potions - 7/?
Date: 2014-06-22 08:37 pm (UTC)“I learned it on the Summerset Isle,” Therion said, speaking toward the unresponsive figure. “I was barely thirty back then. I used to sit in my room, bored to tears. So I made a game of seeing how many I could successfully light. My parents became legitimately concerned about the number of candles I kept in my room. And the singe marks on my walls and blankets.”
Farengar remained still.
“My record, if you’re curious, is twenty-six,” Therion said, a little pride in his voice.
Farengar made no response, but Therion felt the mood lighten ever so slightly, even if it was just on his end.
“The heartbreak…” he said slowly, hesitant to revisit the past. “It hurts like hell. My friends had to drag me out of town and tie me to a tree. I even broke Talamagne’s arm, poor bastard. I'd have beaten all five of them to a pulp if it hadn't been for Aran knocking me senseless. A blessing he didn't leave me simple too, I still see stars just remembering him cracking my head against Auriel’s statue," he said, rubbing the back of his head nostalgically. "After they forced me to take the antidote, my heart ached so awfully within my chest, I wished I could die. But after an hour, the love, heartbreak, desire…” he waved his hand absently, “All gone. Just temporary illusions, created by someone who wants to force you to feel as they do. So they can rob you of your senses... and take what they want of you.”
Farengar looked toward Therion as the mer fell into an uncharacteristic silence.
He watched in fascination as Therion began to absently weave an elegant pattern of fire in the space above him, staring at the ceiling as he did so.
“Love doesn’t take what it wants,” he said solemnly, looping a trail of fire into his intricate design without looking. The glowing artwork bathed the room in warm, red light. Farengar watched the design grow, until Therion sighed and extinguished it with a gesture, as if waving away the past as well.
Reaching behind his back, he removed the book there.
“Have you ever read A Dance in Fire?” Therion asked, his usual playfully aloof demeanor returning, as he cracked open the worn book. “I’m going to assume you have, and read it to you anyway. Hopefully it will make the time pass quicker,” he said, clearing his throat, “The scene: The Imperial City, Cyrodil. The date: seven Frost Fall, third era, three hundred ninety-seven. It seemed as if the palace had always housed the Atrius Building Commission, the company of clerks and estate agents who authored and notarized nearly every construction of any note in the Empire…”
Therion read on, bringing different voices to each character and giving them individual personalities, while settling into the role of narrator and pouring his deep, resonating voice into each line.
When he closed the book, he was certain at least two hours had passed. He cleared his throat, feeling a bit hoarse. The wizard would be completely cured, and that was worth the extra wait. Pouring two glasses of water, he removed the gag from Farengar’s mouth and sliced his ropes apart.
The first thing Farengar did was to pull up the cowl of his robe, shrouding his face once more.