[IMG]http://i165.photobucket.com/albums/u79/SharpshooterJack/markerGerald_zps253683a8.png[/IMG]
[h3]Duchy of Pelgaid, secluded pond[/h3]
“Speak of nicer things,” she said, and immediately turned the subject to fire. Gerald was too drained at this point to even react to being touched, as she just had, but not enough to be beyond a cynical smirk at the irony of this turn of subject. What was he supposed to respond to that? That he personally had always preferred to stick to the shadows himself, unhealthy as he had realized attention could be? That he appreciated fire for its practical applications only, and counted numerous fire-based spells among his most frequently memorized repertoire mostly due to the destructive capacity of fire, both in terms of annihilating physical obstacles and demoralizing any who witnessed its invocation? It was the same cold rationalization that lead him to use lighting-based magic despite his negative predisposition towards the element simply because it had been the one Dennis had been naturally attuned to, and water- and ice-based spells even though they served as a painful reminder that his brother had affinity for the element of water. He was not fascinated with fire, and looking at it he saw nothing more than a tool.
Or was he supposed to point out the irony in Jillian expressing her fascination with the exact element the sovereign deity of which they were going to confront and fight in the morning, who was likely going to use that very same fire to reduce both of them to ash and cinders?
It was difficult for him to be anything but cynical and sarcastic, particularly on such a mundane and ill-chosen subject, but he could not bring himself to mock or dismiss her when she was clearly trying to make him feel better. Not that such efforts were necessary; he fed on his misery and let it fuel his resolve. He would walk the darkest shadows of the planes and endure and inflict any horror necessary, as long as it brought him closer to his destination.
Still... he supposed that he appreciated the sentiment, if nothing else.

“Fire...” he muttered, wracking his brain for something to say that did not sound too depressing. “Fire is the origin of the first law of magic. Did you know that? ‘Power demands sacrifice’; a flame cannot burn without fuel, and the flame that burns twice as bright burns half as long. So many mages throughout the ages have been inspired by it, and much of the magical theory we know today was learned through observing flame.”
He paused, thinking even more. “You have heard of the Fire Clan, right? Based in Jevog Denûm, in Inferno Mountain. They build their entire lives around fire to the point of living on an active volcano. Supposedly they meditate while staring into the molten magma at the mountain’s core; stone so hot that it catches fire and burns even hotter than any man-made flame. I would like to see that someday; burning stone.”