[So lyrium isn't common across worlds. And why should it be? But then again: why shouldn't it be? He wonders vaguely how mages in Astarion's world power their mana, fuel their spells— and further than that, how the dwarven castes make their money, how they consolidate their power . . . it doesn't matter. Certainly he won't ask tonight, curious though he is.
No, Astarion is more important. The way he angles himself towards him, all bright eyes and trusting expression, matters so much more.]
An ore that fuels magic. It is the basis of most magic in this world.
[He wants to move. To help him clean himself off, maybe, or see to that swollen eye— and sooner or later, he will. But he's equally wary of scaring this elf off, no matter how invested he seems now— and and so all Fenris does is offer his hand a little further forward, letting Astarion peer as he likes.]
Rare, and astronomically expensive in the quantities I sport. But it gives me an edge like no one else in this world— and such an edge was incredibly useful when I served as bodyguard for a power-climbing magister.
[With a wry little smirk, he adds:]
It has its drawbacks. Ignoring all the chronic, endless pain and the question of what it has done to my lifespan, I also sometimes have trouble staying solid. Objects and people both can and will fly through me at times, especially if I'm not expecting it.
[A thought occurs to him, and he adds more seriously:]
The monster that is terrorizing this world— the one I warned you of before. He uses what is known as red lyrium, which looks exactly as it sounds. If you see jagged red rocks bursting out of the earth, do not touch them. Do not even go near them, alluring though they may seem. They corrupt and cause madness, from which I have never witnessed full recovery.
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No, Astarion is more important. The way he angles himself towards him, all bright eyes and trusting expression, matters so much more.]
An ore that fuels magic. It is the basis of most magic in this world.
[He wants to move. To help him clean himself off, maybe, or see to that swollen eye— and sooner or later, he will. But he's equally wary of scaring this elf off, no matter how invested he seems now— and and so all Fenris does is offer his hand a little further forward, letting Astarion peer as he likes.]
Rare, and astronomically expensive in the quantities I sport. But it gives me an edge like no one else in this world— and such an edge was incredibly useful when I served as bodyguard for a power-climbing magister.
[With a wry little smirk, he adds:]
It has its drawbacks. Ignoring all the chronic, endless pain and the question of what it has done to my lifespan, I also sometimes have trouble staying solid. Objects and people both can and will fly through me at times, especially if I'm not expecting it.
[A thought occurs to him, and he adds more seriously:]
The monster that is terrorizing this world— the one I warned you of before. He uses what is known as red lyrium, which looks exactly as it sounds. If you see jagged red rocks bursting out of the earth, do not touch them. Do not even go near them, alluring though they may seem. They corrupt and cause madness, from which I have never witnessed full recovery.