Farengar resented the people he saw dashing around Dragonsreach. Always someone coming to see the Jarl, or trying to make a name for themselves in Whiterun. He remained largely to himself, despite being the Mage of Dragonsreach. He supposed he preferred his scrolls, alchemy and enchantments to simpering over a Jarl who could barely do his job.

That had earned him a lot of dislike, he thought, as Farengar studied an empty soul gem in the palm of his hand thoughtfully. He knew he came off as condescending, even arrogant, sometimes, but he was just uninterested in the political powerplays. His emerald-green eyes flit down to the soul gem as he adjusts the blue robes he’s wearing, covering brown hair.

Farengar’s eyes flit briefly to the book on dragons he was reading. No one knew more about dragons in Skyrim than him, apart from maybe the professionals of course. Not that he’d ever seen one, always too busy cooped up in his rooms in Dragonsreach.

Life was a bore, and people wanting to speak to him, were just inconveniences. And he wasn’t afraid to let that be known.