Decision’s made, and speed’s of the essence. Ripping off the band-aid, making the choice: Strange nods and then leaves the room, leaves the infirmary entirely — the earlier discovery was right, the lyrium wasn’t being kept in the room itself — and even Fade-steps down the hallway in a disorienting blur to trim some more of those valuable few seconds. Unlocking and re-locking the more distant store-room, he eventually returns with a philter kit and a small chunk of ore. He weighs it on the medicinal scales in the infirmary, not too much not too little, grinds it into dust, mixing it with water into a thick sluggish draught.
He’s been taught how this works, even long before Barrow embarked on this journey.
Back into the side-room, carrying the small flask. Something more raw and potent than the lyrium potions the mages drink. He looks between the flask to the two men, the bed, thinly-stirring Barrow.
“You’ve better hands,” he says to Lazar. Relenting. He doesn’t want to risk trembling and spilling some of this precious liquid while trying to get it into Barrow’s mouth. “I’ll hold his nose and massage his throat so he swallows, if you can pour in the dose and help to hold him still.”
no subject
Decision’s made, and speed’s of the essence. Ripping off the band-aid, making the choice: Strange nods and then leaves the room, leaves the infirmary entirely — the earlier discovery was right, the lyrium wasn’t being kept in the room itself — and even Fade-steps down the hallway in a disorienting blur to trim some more of those valuable few seconds. Unlocking and re-locking the more distant store-room, he eventually returns with a philter kit and a small chunk of ore. He weighs it on the medicinal scales in the infirmary, not too much not too little, grinds it into dust, mixing it with water into a thick sluggish draught.
He’s been taught how this works, even long before Barrow embarked on this journey.
Back into the side-room, carrying the small flask. Something more raw and potent than the lyrium potions the mages drink. He looks between the flask to the two men, the bed, thinly-stirring Barrow.
“You’ve better hands,” he says to Lazar. Relenting. He doesn’t want to risk trembling and spilling some of this precious liquid while trying to get it into Barrow’s mouth. “I’ll hold his nose and massage his throat so he swallows, if you can pour in the dose and help to hold him still.”