Home is where the hearth is.

by Burntsierra

Eyes roving slowly, he prepared himself. Hair slicked back? Check. Garments smoothed and uncrumpled? Check. Thrusting his jaw forwards, he stood to his full height and admired his reflection in the water, ripples distorting his features. Strange little town this. Seyda Neen they called it apparently, but he'd decided to stick to the west side of the island first, the strange stories of half mad wizards on the east having put him off such an adventure for now. Staring across the water, the shrill screech of a flying bird overhead, he resumed his inspection. A fine specimen, he thought smugly. Last check, does my smile look genuine, he thought. Perfectly even teeth smiled back at him. The very definition of trustworthy, and such a handsome Breton. Opposite him was the house he'd decided to target first, a small shack he'd seen an elderly woman enter just a few moments before.

Knocking on the door, he plastered on his smile, and gazed beatifically at the old lady standing in front of him.
"Good day to you madam. My name is Fenandre Hastien, recently arrived from High Rock, and an official representative of the Mages Guild here in Vvardenfell. Here, let me show you my credentials." With a flourish, he puled a glowing, gold enchanted card out of his robe.
"How can I help you?" the old lady asked, leaning heavily against the door.
"I'm here to offer you something really special. The opportunity to learn a spell of your choosing, for a modest fee of course."
"A spell? But I don't have any need for a spell, young man."
"Everyone can always use a good spell. Perhaps I could demonstrate my wares. You are, of course, under no obligation to buy."
Slowly, she nodded, and invited him in.

Demonstration over, flickering lights still lingering from the dazzling light show he'd just put on, he leaned back in the armchair, sure he'd snagged a sale. A cup of tea sitting comfortably next to him, he launched into his rehearsed spiel.
"Well, any spells can only be bought from us. The Telvanni as you know aren't allowed to sell training due to the charter. And," he lowered his voice, and leaned towards her conspiratorially, "You wouldn't want to learn from them. They have a tendency to set traps in their spells, such is their disregard for life."
"Charter?"
"Yes, by law only representatives of the Mages Guild are allowed to offer training. House Telvanni are most upset about it" he chuckled. "Now, I have all variety of spells on offer I can teach you. What do you think might be useful?"
"Well, I have difficulty lighting the fire. Especially in winter, when my old bones are playing up." she said, hesitantly, pointing to the old rusted fireplace haphazardly spewing out fumes.
"I have just the thing. We don't want you straining yourself unnecessarily now do we?" He smiled at her, and gave what he imagined to be a roguish wink. "I have a very simple fire spell, which is targeted. You could light the fire from here, without needing to leave your armchair."
"That would be most useful, but..."
"Yes, my dear?"
"I've never cast any magic before. Will it work?"
"I'll teach you, its really very simple. Now, as for my fee. Does 20 gold pieces sound reasonable?" Seeing her hesitate, he rushed onwards. "Think of all the money you'll save on supplies, and how convenient it will be."
"I suppose so" she replied uncertainly, voice trembling slightly.
He fought to keep a triumphant smile of his face. Poor old dear, he thought. The elderly were always the easiest. Placing his most genuine and comforting smile back on his face, he knelt by the side of her armchair, and started the lesson.

"No dear. Here hold your hands like this..." he moved them into an arch, "thats it, now concentrate on the words."
A faint glow emitted from the old ladies fingertips. Twenty minutes. He couldn't believe it. This was such a simple spell.
"Like this?" she asked.
"Yes, you're getting there." he replied encouragingly. "Just concentrate."
"Maybe it would be a little easier if I stood up?"
"By all means, whatever you think will help." Just get on with it, he thought impatiently.
"Could you stand there please?" She asked. "I want to know if I'm doing it right."
"But of course my dear." he smiled. "Thats right, move the hands together and concentrate on the words."
The old lady dropped her head down, and rapidly muttered a strange language.
"What? That isn't what I.." the Breton began.
A ferocious gust of fire emitted from the old ladies fingertips, engulfing him. As his skin turned to ash, the screams gradually dissipating, the door outside slammed open and two figures dashed in, speaking breathlessly at the same time. The Dumner's eyes on the floor, the female Khajiits on the old lady.
"What happened?"
"Are you alright, Mistress?"
"Oh, just another of those annoying door to door Mages Guild salesmen. Nothing to worry about." she replied. "I ask you, what kind of a mage doesn't know God's Fire?" she sniffed disapprovingly.
"So, Mistress Therana." the Dark Elf said haltingly, unable to remove his eyes from the pile of ash on the floor. "What do you think of the house? Suitable for a summer retreat?"

(c)2005 Burntsierra