BioWare's…
-.-
She hummed lightly under her breath while inspecting the array of herbs, potions, and elixirs filling the small cabinet strategically placed in the rear of her tall wardrobe. Vigilance had been stressed when she studied the exacting craft of alchemy in her youth; training she'd never forgotten. The Antivans may be the rather boastful experts in their knowledge and use of this fairly delicate art-form, but Orlesians had mastered subtlety long, long ago.
A wistful smile graced her lips as she thought of Orlais. Many of the uncultured and poorly educated did not recognize the importance of Orlais to all of Thedas. The great general, later known as the first Orlesian Emperor Kordillus Drakon I, was responsible for changing the Cult of Andraste into the Chantry of Andraste, which guided all of their lives to this day. Unsurprisingly, Ferelden did not honour such an achievement - most likely due to their inbred hatred of foreigners. She shook her head slightly to clear her mind, and focused her attention once again to the items at hand.
Elfroot in small doses could be used for cleansing. Deathroot in small doses induced mild hallucinations. Mushrooms varied in their effect according to the age and size of the consumer, as well as the choice of mushroom. There were added effects when including distillation agents, concentrator agents, and corrupter agents. The challenge of creating the perfect mixture never ceased to exhilarate her.
Ferelden was so cold. It seemed forever since she had visited the warmth of Val Royeaux. How she missed the beautiful architecture, the perfumed gardens overflowing with a myriad of bright flowers in constant bloom, and most especially the intrigue. Orlesians lived and breathed culture and intrigue, which were only truly appreciated when mingling with the Empress and her court. The rich fabrics and colours of clothing were also a blessing in Orlais. By contrast, even the former Queen of Ferelden seemed nothing more than a colorblind commoner dressed in silk.
The dawn's chorus of chirping birds brought her attention back to the present. She glanced over her shoulder to check on the amount of light seeping through the bedchamber window. There was not much time left for the preparation of her concoction. The morning tea she demanded on a daily basis would arrive soon. With swift and well practiced motions, she minced the herbs with the small dagger she kept hidden in the cabinet drawer. The expertise of her actions made her smile, being rather practiced at what she did.
A hint of mushroom with a dash of distillation agent for stamina, a touch of mixed herbs for euphoria, et voila; her signature potion - her masterpiece - that enabled the constant state of amour in her man. She never tired of the satisfaction of a job well done when watching its effect on him.
The gentle rap on the door startled her, and she quickly brushed the mixture into a flask. With brisk movements, she returned the herbs and leftover mushroom into their corked containers, and replaced the dagger to its drawer. She realigned the wardrobe's contents to conceal the cabinet, and closed its doors quietly.
A quick glance towards the bed assured her that he was still soundly sleeping. Sighing in relief, she quietly made her way to the chamber door to accept the tray prepared for her. This ritual was monotonous at times, but she often found comfort in the routine - something that never changed.
As a teenager she'd had a chance meeting with him, and learned of his affluence; his power reached far beyond what her own family was capable of attaining. The first time she had placed a potion in his drink, it was to ensure that he only had eyes for her. Many years later, his adoration guaranteed her a secure place in his society. She would not be looked down upon by the heathen barbarians he called brethren, not while she stood at his side.
Isolde Guerrin quietly tapped the contents of the flask into her husband's favorite tea, stirring it vigorously. A few moments later, she gently brushed her fingers across Eamon's cheek to waken him. He did enjoy his tea first thing in the morning, and always seemed touched by the sight of her attempting to bring some sort of comfort to his day. She smiled when his hands grasped the mug, lifting it to his lips.
He would not discard her as easily as he would have others discard their wives.
-.-
Thank you Shakespira, ChampionTheWonderSnail, ArtemysFayr, Piceron, kwintessa and Reyavie...your words are inspirational...