Author: Mishell

Vivec, Foreign Quarter, Guild of Mages

SOLO LINES
Craetia Jullalian, Alchemist
"No, no, no...  I've been going about this all wrong..."
"Is there a draft in here?  Every time I turn my back, that racer plume is on the floor again."
"What is that on my sleeve?  Ugh, that's never coming out."

Flacassia Fauseius, Guild Guide
(bored sigh)
"My neck is so stiff today!"
"No one needs to go anywhere?...No one?"

Janand Maulinie, Enchanter 
(pleased) "Aha!"
"Why is it always weapons?"

Malven Romori, Spell Merchant
"I wish the apprentices would leave me alone."
"That Trebonius, I swear..." (mutters irritably)

Trebonius Artorius, Archmage
"You know what this city needs?  A good invasion.  Natural disaster maybe."
"This is really not what I signed on for."
"I'm craving Argonian food for some reason.  Anyone else hungry?"
"I swear I can smell colors today."
"What do you suppose silt striders think of us?"

Sirilonwe, Nightblade
"Why is everyone acting like I cast a Hide spell?  I'm standing right here."
"Ow!  That blade's sharp.  Don't mind me, just bleeding to death over here."

Tiram Gadar
(irritated sigh)
"Women..."
(clears his throat obnoxiously)

DIALOGUES

Trebonius:  Malven?
Malven: Yes, Archmage.
Trebonius:  How's that tunnel to the mainland coming along?
Malven:  Proceeding precisely according to schedule.
Trebonius:  Splendid, splendid.

Trebonius:  Craetia, do you have some kind of anti aging potion?
Craetia:  If I did, I'd be using it.
Trebonius:  Nonsense, you're perfectly -- oh, I see what you mean now.

Trebonius: I feel like a trip to Ald'ruhn.
Flacassia:  Oh, oh, let me!  I can help with that.
Trebonius:  I meant, those are my feelings right now.  My life is a long trek through a sandstorm with a depressing destination.
Flacassia:  I'm ... sorry to hear that, Archmage.

Janand:  Archmage, do you have a moment to talk about this to-do list you gave me?
Trebonius:  I have all the time in the world.
Janand:  All right.  First of all, I have no idea what language this is written in.
Trebonius:  I just remembered, I'm very busy.

Sirilonwe: Archmage?  ...  Archmage Trebonius?  ... [Sir]?
Trebonius:  That odd buzzing sound is back.  Does anyone else hear it?
Sirilonwe:  Archmage, are you angry at me about something?  [Sir]. 
Trebonius:  (hums idly to himself) 
(Sirilonwe growls in exasperation)

Trebonius:  Tell me something, Tiram.
Tiram:  Anything, [sir].
Trebonius:  How many Dunmer does it take to light a lamp?
Tiram:  Is this a joke, [sir]?  Or an actual cultural question?
Trebonius:  It must take at least one more than I have, because the lamp in my office remains unlit.