durinsfire
{ C O L D. }
The last memory that came to focus moments earlier was of several cold, sharp stabs penetrating his right leg with the intention of harming him. He was certain that spells were not sentient and HAD to be controlled by a mage — ( the dwarf was starting to believe his superstition was to be a reality ). A sharp grunt of disapproval as he felt one ice shard pulled out his leg ; he knew that he just had to look at the gruesome injury that would have given him a l i m p if not for healing magics.
❝— Keep shaking your head like that and the world’s collapse will rain upon you like a group of O r l e s i a n s crying over a broken mask that fell on the road.❞
❝ now is really not the time, thorin. ❞
he's snappier than he means to be, frigid air leeching at what little warmth he has left. maker knows why the inquisitor insisted on dragging him out--- just an adviser, just a lowly wretch in the system. it feels a heavy betrayal, to face his old brothers and sisters. but, then, that was the worth of their friendship. he was willing to go the extra mile, for such a bastard as this dwarf.
he dislikes the taste of magic, even after all this time. not the taste of mages, (though maker knew he had little to say on that) but more of the after math of their work. the ozone pressed in taut between man's two hands left a bitter tang to the tongue, and he is not overmuch eager to have to deal with the dwarf's insults on top of it all.
❝ there. only two ice shards--- and aren't you lucky. last time we went up against an ice mage, i got stuck in the arse with four. ❞