Farengar looked up from his desk, sensing he was not alone.
Since the incident, he had become more irritable than usual. He was a private man, preferring to be left alone. His new status as a celebrity was mortifying. The number of idiotic questions he received daily seemed to have increased a hundredfold.
“What?” he snapped sharply, causing his newest, and most bizarre, visitor to gasp in shock.
“Oh my, Cicero has angered the court wizard! And poor Cicero was just standing here!” spouted the tall jester dressed in black and red, sounding hurt. The bells on his costume jingled as he spoke eccentrically, their melody as disharmonious as their wearer’s gaze. “No, no, no! No time, none at all!” he growled, making a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. “Cicero broke the rules, poor Cicero, he broke them! He must speak with the Jarl’s wizard, no time, no time!”
Farengar looked him over.
“I think he’s the large brute by the throne, the one wearing a lot of armor. Go and bother him,” he said, returning to his tome, hoping to pawn the strange man off on the guards. Which, he considered, needed a lesson on whom to allow into the keep.
A disconcertingly shrill laugh came from the jester as he danced from foot to foot. “Ah hah, a jest! The wizard jests with Cicero! Oh yes, how thrilling!” he cackled with veritable excitement. His voice turned unexpectedly low and menacing as he added, “I do enjoy a good laugh.”
Farengar reconstituted himself against his sudden change in tone.
“And what business would a madman have with a Jarl’s court wizard?” he asked, leaning back while secretly placing a ward in one hand and paralyze in the other.
“Cicero is not mad, he is worried! A message for the wizard, message message message! Bring the Listener now, now!” he cried urgently.
“Yes…” Farengar said slowly, vowing to discuss the guards’ sense of humor regarding his visitors with Irileth. “The Temple of Kynareth is what you’re looking for. Danica is a superb listener,” he said, forcing himself to keep a straight face as he described the impatient priestess.
Cicero began to scream with frustration, then quickly shushed himself, muttering under his breath. Farengar watched his mercurial mood swings with growing concern. Perhaps he could tempt him into drinking a sleeping potion, and avoid injuring him in combat.
“Therion!” the jester whined, catching Farengar’s undivided attention. “Loredas, Sundas, Morndas - Cicero waited, waited and worried, pacing beside Mother! Poor Mother was beside herself, inconsolable! By Tirdas, Cicero could wait by himself no longer! The mer always comes on Loredas, to sit and listen to Mother, never late, never! He brings Cicero tidings, and oh yes! Sweet rolls… gooey and delicious. Kind words, he always speaks to Cicero,” he said despairingly, before snapping ferociously, “The wizard must tell Cicero where he has gone!”
Farengar looked at the peculiar man, deciphering what he could from his gibbering.
“I neither know, nor care, where that man is,” he said, tiring of the nonsensical ramblings of the jester. “As you can see, he is not here, in my laboratory. Try looking in a rotting crypt. Or, if he’s not robbing my ancestors, a tavern.” Farengar had no actual knowledge of how Therion spent his time, but he had a general idea of the habits of adventurers and their ilk.
Cicero glared at him sullenly, grumbling ‘no help at all’ repeatedly. As he turned to leave, he shot a maniacal look at Farengar. “If the wizard took away the Listener, if he hurt him…” he cackled gleefully, before his voice fell to a dark whisper, “I will bring him home to meet Mother.”
Farengar watched the lunatic leave with an unsettled, bemused look. Shaking his head, he reached down into his desk and fished out his strongest bottle of ale. As he sat up, he was greeted by two new figures standing before his desk.
“Divines, what now?!” he demanded, slapping his hands on his desk as he stood up. The red headed Nord male in adventurer’s garb and the female figure, wearing a familiar set of black armor, both started in surprise. “No, I don’t want to know! I’m retiring for the evening. Away with you!” he said with a curt wave of his hand.
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timeasmymeasure
Re: Fire and Potions - 12/?
Date: 2014-06-29 02:19 am (UTC)Since the incident, he had become more irritable than usual. He was a private man, preferring to be left alone. His new status as a celebrity was mortifying. The number of idiotic questions he received daily seemed to have increased a hundredfold.
“What?” he snapped sharply, causing his newest, and most bizarre, visitor to gasp in shock.
“Oh my, Cicero has angered the court wizard! And poor Cicero was just standing here!” spouted the tall jester dressed in black and red, sounding hurt. The bells on his costume jingled as he spoke eccentrically, their melody as disharmonious as their wearer’s gaze. “No, no, no! No time, none at all!” he growled, making a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. “Cicero broke the rules, poor Cicero, he broke them! He must speak with the Jarl’s wizard, no time, no time!”
Farengar looked him over.
“I think he’s the large brute by the throne, the one wearing a lot of armor. Go and bother him,” he said, returning to his tome, hoping to pawn the strange man off on the guards. Which, he considered, needed a lesson on whom to allow into the keep.
A disconcertingly shrill laugh came from the jester as he danced from foot to foot. “Ah hah, a jest! The wizard jests with Cicero! Oh yes, how thrilling!” he cackled with veritable excitement. His voice turned unexpectedly low and menacing as he added, “I do enjoy a good laugh.”
Farengar reconstituted himself against his sudden change in tone.
“And what business would a madman have with a Jarl’s court wizard?” he asked, leaning back while secretly placing a ward in one hand and paralyze in the other.
“Cicero is not mad, he is worried! A message for the wizard, message message message! Bring the Listener now, now!” he cried urgently.
“Yes…” Farengar said slowly, vowing to discuss the guards’ sense of humor regarding his visitors with Irileth. “The Temple of Kynareth is what you’re looking for. Danica is a superb listener,” he said, forcing himself to keep a straight face as he described the impatient priestess.
Cicero began to scream with frustration, then quickly shushed himself, muttering under his breath. Farengar watched his mercurial mood swings with growing concern. Perhaps he could tempt him into drinking a sleeping potion, and avoid injuring him in combat.
“Therion!” the jester whined, catching Farengar’s undivided attention. “Loredas, Sundas, Morndas - Cicero waited, waited and worried, pacing beside Mother! Poor Mother was beside herself, inconsolable! By Tirdas, Cicero could wait by himself no longer! The mer always comes on Loredas, to sit and listen to Mother, never late, never! He brings Cicero tidings, and oh yes! Sweet rolls… gooey and delicious. Kind words, he always speaks to Cicero,” he said despairingly, before snapping ferociously, “The wizard must tell Cicero where he has gone!”
Farengar looked at the peculiar man, deciphering what he could from his gibbering.
“I neither know, nor care, where that man is,” he said, tiring of the nonsensical ramblings of the jester. “As you can see, he is not here, in my laboratory. Try looking in a rotting crypt. Or, if he’s not robbing my ancestors, a tavern.” Farengar had no actual knowledge of how Therion spent his time, but he had a general idea of the habits of adventurers and their ilk.
Cicero glared at him sullenly, grumbling ‘no help at all’ repeatedly. As he turned to leave, he shot a maniacal look at Farengar. “If the wizard took away the Listener, if he hurt him…” he cackled gleefully, before his voice fell to a dark whisper, “I will bring him home to meet Mother.”
Farengar watched the lunatic leave with an unsettled, bemused look. Shaking his head, he reached down into his desk and fished out his strongest bottle of ale. As he sat up, he was greeted by two new figures standing before his desk.
“Divines, what now?!” he demanded, slapping his hands on his desk as he stood up. The red headed Nord male in adventurer’s garb and the female figure, wearing a familiar set of black armor, both started in surprise. “No, I don’t want to know! I’m retiring for the evening. Away with you!” he said with a curt wave of his hand.