Gareth touched his face, his fingers stroking along the new ridges and rough patches the fire had left. The burn extended from the bottom of his chin to his cheekbone, then sloped slightly away to end beside his eye, miraculously missing both his eyeball and the ear past it. The mark was the kind of thing you could miss completely if you looked at him from just the right angle, and yet from the opposite direction dwarfed the whole of his face--until all he was, all he looked like, cauterized and stretched and spiderwebbed.
Gareth dropped his fingers away from the marks, and it was clear it took a great deal of effort for him to do so. There was a kind of fascination in his inspection, like even he couldn't believe one side of his face had changed so much. As if, perhaps, continuing inspection would show him something new and interesting about the marks. A new tic he'd developed. Fascination would be the right word for it; instead of cringing away from the burning trees he'd conjured in front of the manor just earlier that day--or for that matter, creating a less frightening illusion--there had been a kind of deadly interest in his gaze when he'd stared at his creation.
The magician's eyes flicked upwards as a new shout filled the air, too far to be immediately dangerous but potentially troublesome if it moved clearer. Suzail was like a whole different city with the Paladin order on the move: the customary hustle-and-bustle of the place had been replaced by occasional yelling, pleading, gruff orders barked, and an underlying silence that was somehow worse. Not that they needed any audio cues to remind them of the city's sinister shift. The slightly smoking crater, as large as a barn and half as deep, remnant of Gorman's workshop, sat right in front of them like a sullen glare.
"I was rushing to get to the manor in time," Gareth remarked offhandedly to Winter beside him. His eyes tracked Zelly as she, in her still-childlike way, attempted to distract Gorman with chatter. "But I think you had it handled without me." "Still... it's good to see you. It hasn't been that long, but it sure feels like it."
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Gareth dropped his fingers away from the marks, and it was clear it took a great deal of effort for him to do so. There was a kind of fascination in his inspection, like even he couldn't believe one side of his face had changed so much. As if, perhaps, continuing inspection would show him something new and interesting about the marks. A new tic he'd developed. Fascination would be the right word for it; instead of cringing away from the burning trees he'd conjured in front of the manor just earlier that day--or for that matter, creating a less frightening illusion--there had been a kind of deadly interest in his gaze when he'd stared at his creation.
The magician's eyes flicked upwards as a new shout filled the air, too far to be immediately dangerous but potentially troublesome if it moved clearer. Suzail was like a whole different city with the Paladin order on the move: the customary hustle-and-bustle of the place had been replaced by occasional yelling, pleading, gruff orders barked, and an underlying silence that was somehow worse. Not that they needed any audio cues to remind them of the city's sinister shift. The slightly smoking crater, as large as a barn and half as deep, remnant of Gorman's workshop, sat right in front of them like a sullen glare.
"I was rushing to get to the manor in time," Gareth remarked offhandedly to Winter beside him. His eyes tracked Zelly as she, in her still-childlike way, attempted to distract Gorman with chatter. "But I think you had it handled without me."
"Still... it's good to see you. It hasn't been that long, but it sure feels like it."
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