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WHO: Mac Journey and you there!
WHAT: Exploration of Skyhold, self-educating and existential dilemmas.
WHEN: The duration of Kingsway.
WHERE: Everywhere in Skyhold he can get access too, really.
NOTES: No warnings as of yet. Several prompts inside but feel free to bump into him anywhere! He's bound to stick his nose where it doesn't belong at some point.

Mac made it to Skyhold safely, accompanied by the lovely Miss Ellana. He learned most of the basics along the way, accepted his new palm and head accessories and decided sometime during the journey that he wanted to be part of the Inquisition, formally or otherwise. Anywhere people were in need, Mac was supposed to be there, and as far as Ellana said, the Inquisition was the choice to make. Fine by him.

Besides, they have a castle fortress and he's not about to pass up that opportunity.

Throughout the days following, Mac spends most of his time trying to learn about the world he's landed in and the people inhabiting it, both through literature and personal experience. As with all social efforts it's a bit touch and go; it's not made any easier for him being newly minted as a Qunari - or Rifter equivalent - and he certainly stands out with gold-plated ram horns, lime-colored eyes and long, undercut hair he painstakingly dyes a rich purple color.

Library

While terribly excited about the innumerable prospects available to him upon arriving at Skyhold, Mac is infinitely more intent upon the library, mentioned to him in brief. If is meant to be in the strange new world he has to do what any self-respecting Warlock would do: educate himself.

Back home the Guardian had scoured every library available to him and even gone on countless missions for the colleges to recover lost knowledge from the Ishtar Academy. He has a voracious appetite for knowledge (though a good many that knew him would say he wasted that motivation on his obsession with fiction and fantasy) and speed-reading is a talent he happily indulges. Thedas, as it turns out, is everything he had ever dreamed of and if he's going to inhabit the land for any length of time, being poorly educated is simply unacceptable.

Though certainly availing himself of other amenities available in the hold, Mac is most often found sitting on the floor surrounded by books, flipping through page after page, pale eyes scanning written words so quickly it's a wonder he can retain anything at all. His curiosity isn't limited to the written word, however, and anyone passing within range of him gets stared at without a hint of apology. He isn't trying to be rude, of course, but he's quite in love with everything and everyone he sees at present; that includes all those from the flashiest of Orlesian courtiers to the blandest of wool-wearing scullery maids.

Tavern and Kitchens

As it turns out, getting spit out of a green sky means you don't always come out the other side quite the same. Never actually having to eat or sleep back home was more of a dull fact than a boon and the novelty of needing to do both is unlikely to wear off anytime soon for Mac. As such he's always eagerly poking his head around corners and following the smells of local vittles.

There is nothing he's unwilling to try, however vile it might first appear, and his new appetite happens to be curiously large; he accounts it to his magic likely needing to be supported more by his metabolism and personal health now than the physics of his former home.

He's also never been able to enjoy the effects of alcohol and he's easily seen spending more time at the tavern during evening repast observing the effects on others while obviously longing to join in but being too unsure to try.

Healers

Injuries are a new thing for Mac, and they aren't at all welcome. While adapting to sleeping and eating regularly has been immensely enjoyable, having to actually heal from wounds is forcing him to question his usually more reckless approach to things.

Paper cuts, scrapes and bumps have been accepted as badges of newfound potential mortality, odd but harmless. The first time he endured a solid bruising left him bewildered but largely unmoved. The day he decided to hop down the battlement steps instead of walking the distance resulted in a tweaked ankle and limping. That was far more alarming. As a result Mac has endeavored to be more careful with his actions and person, but years of blindly barreling onward are difficult to change.

Due to his inevitable learning curve, Mac shows up at the healers regularly enough, pouting and holding new bruises and cuts as he seeks aid for ailments he's never had to deal with. It's about the most sullen he gets, having to put his fun on hold to treat a cut or burn. On the upside, he's certainly garnering a lot more respect for medicinal arts.

Main Bridge

When the library gets a bit crowded - as it sometimes does with all the mages, intellectuals and other curious Rifters - Mac likes to sneak a book off to the bridge and tuck himself against the stones jutting from the parapets, feet dangling over the side. Often, however, when he goes here he spends more time looking out across the frozen valley than actually reading, lost in thought or lost in the view.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Fruit baskets? People really do those? I thought it was a joke," he murmurs as he closes the distance, obediently seating himself where offered. Pale eyes flick curiously over Korrin, taking in the horns and other details, filing them away. He really needs to understand these people better if he's stuck being one. Though, thinking "stuck" implies he doesn't like it, which isn't true at all.

"Uhhh, I don't know. What's good?" he asks, swiveling his head to look at the bottles and casks behind the bar. This was a part of human socialization he had completely glossed over back home and now he's wondering if just asking for milk will make him look like a tool.

"I'm Mac, by the way," he interrupts his own thoughts for a moment, snapping his attention back to Korrin and thrusting a gloved hand out with a toothy grin. "Are you a, uh, Qu...crap. Hang on. Q, Q, Q....QUNARI! Yeah. That's it. I've been informed I'm probably best served saying I'm a Vashoth. Hi. I'm a Vashoth."

Excellently done. Social grace on point.

That gets Korrin to laugh, not unkindly. "Yeah, I'm a Vashoth, too. 'Qunari' is only for those who actually follow the Qun or for humans and others that forget we're not all the same. Korrin Ataash, of the Valo-Kas mercenary company." And now the Inquisition, but he already knows that.

"...well, damn, I can't be mean to you and recommend dwarven ale. Don't, unless you like punishing yourself. The spiced wine is pretty good, as is Chasind Sack Mead or West Hill brandy. I think I'll get the former, myself. One good thing about being big and horned? Drink most things and it'll go right through you. Only the qunari brews have a chance of getting you hammered, without needing to drink truly epic amounts."

"You can be mean to me if you want to, I'm pretty used to it. Things go over my head all the time though, so I'll probably miss the joke," he remarks cheerily, shrugging both shoulders in a soft jangle of chainmail. Can't get him down, nope.

Hammered? Old colloquialism. Drunk. Shit-faced...He nods slightly, wary of doing so too enthusiastically; still not used to those horns.

"You sure about that? I've never actually drank alcohol before. Wasn't much point, back home. What if I have a thimbleful of some local brew and end up in a coma? You gonna take responsibility for that?" he asks, cocking a playfully warning brow. "What if I, like, die because my delicate butterfly of a liver can't handle it and my insides spontaneously melt?"

"Nah, that makes it worse. I only do it to people who give as good as they get." Korrin's in a relatively mellow mood anyway, so she can spare him the hazing. She raises an eyebrow at the notion of him never drinking alcohol before the rest gets her chuckling. "You'd be an embarrassment to all qunari and we'd have to go into exile. So, try not to spontaneously melt anywhere. And hold on, I'll get us some spiced wine then. It's not a bad way to start off."

If he hates it or wants to try something else, she might even buy him a second round. Returning after a moment with cups for them both, Korrin shoves his forward. "What do you mean, there wasn't much point? Even qunari here, the ones that are qunari still know how to unwind sometime. No alcohol at all?"

"Uh...well," how to explain? He's still not sure if it's alright to go with full disclosure and tell the truth or not, since no one has really cleared up whether or not Inquisition is synonymous with witch-burning. Kinda need-to-know.

"Thanks," he adds absently, taking the drink in both hands and drumming his fingers on the container absently before raising his left hand and shaking it a bit. A little green spark and he squints at his palm before looking at Korrin with a shrug.

"I'm sort of not from here. Things are way different where I'm from. Mostly not as cool as here, and a lot more fighting. Like...all the time. With everything," he grumbles, lifting the wine and sniffing it before taking a sip. Yep! Pretty foul compared to milk and juice, so far, but he's going with the benefit of a doubt and assuming it's the experience afterwords more than the flavor itself. Being drunk was evidently more important than drinking? He's really not sure, but he'll keep nursing it. The warm feeling is neat, at least.

Taking a long sip from her own wine as she listens to him, Korrin's brow furrows as she frowns in sympathy. "That sounds rough. As hard as things are here, at least there are moments like these were we can kick back and not have to be badasses for a while. Everyone needs some time to unwind or they go crazy, at least in my experience.

...not a fan, huh? It's alright, take it slow. Or if you want something else, their honey mead is pretty damn good."

"It's kind of vinegary and stings the back of my nose a little, but after the first few swallows it's alright. I guess all of this stuff is an acquired taste, so I might as well acquire it," he replies with a shrug, swirling the wine in it's cup and pursing his lips in thought.

"Well, I mean, civilians don't fight. They never have to because of people like me, but that means all of us are fighting all the time, ten times as much. Can't rest because evil never rests, I suppose. Something to that nature," he muses, arching a brow as a memory rises.

"We do get a little downtime between assignments, but that's usually filled with other equally hardcore pursuits like training with live weapons, really dangerous races with some pretty competitive gambling. There's always the bar under the hangar, but you really only ever see civilian workers there, not Guardians. We don't have to eat or drink so we don't really do it recreationally, either. No point wasting resources on us."

That's a lot to process, though Korrin wouldn't ever compare that to what Mac must be going through. "Just because you don't have to do something doesn't mean it doesn't do you some good. It doesn't sound like there's a lot else to keep you sane. Training isn't really downtime, though I guess the gambling counts. We'll have to introduce you to Wicked Grace and some other card games here. There's gambling to keep it interesting, but the main event is hanging out and telling outrageous stories and just enjoying the moment. Occasionally, there's streaking. Don't say I didn't warn you."

She takes another sip from her wine, accepting the acquired taste aspect for Mac even as she loved it from the beginning. "What do you fight? Do you have anything like the demons we fought at the rift? Or is it all people fighting each other?"

"We don't go insane," Mac answers, looking up from another sip at the wine. He wasn't sure how far into the nature of his world Korrin wanted him to go, but trying to simplify it with other people seemed to have the opposite desired result. Being direct at least meant there was less to comprehend after the fact.

"We're...I don't know. Like a mass-produced product designed for a single purpose...No. Hang on, I'll coem up with a better analogy," he mutters, taking a long swallow and setting the wine aside to inside press his fingertips against his temples.

"Okay. We - Guardians - are like swords. A sword is a sword, no matter what. It can be used for a lot of things from killing to cutting food or whatever, but it's always a sword. It's made a sword, it stays a sword, it doesn't ever think about being anything other than a sword. That's us. That's Guardians. Well...usually. There's always exceptions. But we don't go crazy because we don't think about all those other things. We pursue stuff, have our own personalities, get hobbies. Whatever. But there's never a negative impact on us for just doing what we were fashioned for. The sword doesn't go crazy because it's only ever used for one thing."

He pauses, glancing side to side before smiling crookedly and shrugging.

"I have no idea if that makes any sense to anyone but me. Oh well," he sniffs, shrugging again a few times, shoulders bouncing as he closes both hands around his wine, which at some point became empty. Odd...

"Actually yeah, we've got something that looks and acts really, really close to your demons, which is why I was super confused when I fell into the water and got tossed right into combat. Just felt like any other day back home. We call them different things back home, but it's all the same. Evil is evil is evil, right? The Darkness is ambiguous, but universal."

Korrin's expression grows steadily apologetic even as her curiosity is hard to contain. She wants to learn more about his world, sure, but not if it's going to give him a headache explaining. He never asked for any of this to happen, whereas she's accepted her role of answering any and all questions sent her way. "No, you explained it well enough, it's just hard for me to wrap my head around that way of doing things. Some of it even sounds...well, uncomfortably close to the Qun. Not that it's your fault, of course."

She'll try to see it through a different lens, but the mindset he's given insight into is a pretty foreign one for her. Demons are more familiar ground, though, and the fact that Mac has encountered them or something like them puts her more at ease again. "At least that familiarity meant you knew what to do, and you didn't freeze up. That's leagues ahead of some others, who arrive not knowing what the hell they're facing or what to do about them. It still makes me shudder to think about the rifters who thrown into that mess before we knew where to predict their arrivals. You got a crash course in demon-slaying and lived to tell about it, but I can give a hand with what hurts which types the most."

"Oh yeah! Please, do. I'm already interested to hear about new things, and combat - while sort of repetitive - is suddenly way more interesting these days. New bad guys changes things up a bit. You people at least mostly know where all your trouble comes from. We've been fighting for centuries and aren't really any closer to figuring anything out than when we started, seems like," the Guardian complains, looking into his cup before raising it slightly.

"May I please have another?" he asks who he assumes to be the person in charge of refills. How do tavern?

"I need to read about the Qun, too. People keep mentioning it and apparently it's supposed to be relevant to anyone with horns, so...there's that," Mac mumbles, wrinkling his nose.

"If the demons are anything like the Hive, then you've probably got really fast small ones, beefy smashy big ones, flying ones - stop me if I'm wrong - and the floaty-flying ones are super bad with anything ranged and high impact. Go down like woah. And fire probably works pretty well against most of them, but there's always that one asshole that is completely immune, of course..."

The bartender grunts at the question, but a nod from Korrin means he returns with more. As she's not looking to get drunk -and spiced wine really wouldn't do it, anyway- Korrin is savoring her own and thus still sipping from it, not ready for a refill just yet.

"Oh yeah, rage demons are made of fire, so throwing Antivan Fire grenades or fire spells are pretty useless. If you have any ice powers, those are the ones to aim at them; they're stupidly susceptible to that. Despair demons -the ones in raggedy robes that fly- are the opposite; they're resistant to cold but fire hurts them badly. Terror demons, the ones with the spindly arms and legs, are vulnerably to spirit magic, but if you don't have that, just down them before they get a chance to phase behind you and knock you over. Fear demons, the ones with the face tentacles, are vulnerable to spirit or electricity magic or whatever can mimic that. Wraiths, those green floating humanoid figures, don't do much by themselves, but if a more powerful demon is nearby, that can give them the resistance and attack of that demon's type. And Pride demons are resistance to electricity and a lot of other physical effects; trying to put them to sleep or freeze or paralyze them will do nothing. Your best best is to hit hard and fast and stay the fuck away from their lightning whips."

After that, she leans back and takes a lengthy sip to counter all that rambling. "Now, the Qun...well, that's complicated. The short version is that it's a lifestyle that the Qunari brought over when they sailed from...I dunno, someplace overseas. They never said, not in the three hundred or so years they've been here. Anyway, this philosophy of theirs governs every aspect of their lives, not leaving room for such things as self-determination. You have one role in the Qun and that's it. If you don't like it, too bad. They have breeding programs, but you can't have romantic attachments, and families as we know them don't exist. You don't have a name, either; your job is your name, as far as day-to-day life goes. And they treat their mages like utter shit. They're chained and masked, lips sewn shut, and always in the company of someone who can control them, kill them if they become corrupted.

So as you might have guessed, I'm not big on the Qun. I wasn't born to it, but my parents told me what would have happened if I was, so I have no incentive to see it brought here. Unfortunately, the Qunari are pretty damn aggressive about converting people. They've invaded Thedas in the past with that intention, took over a large chunk of it, too. Eventually, they were driven back but it's always been thought that someday they'd try again."

He doesn't even really get into the second cup of wine, all eyes and ears for Korrin, expression almost childlike as he soaks everything up and catalogs it away. Plenty of space for remember details when your whole life before adulthood was a total blank. Several times he parts his lips with the intention of making a comparison about his life back home to the Qun, but each time he stops, distracted by a disparity he's grateful for.

He barely stifles a laugh when Korrin mentions mages getting their mouths sewn shut - it's nothing to laugh at - but he's instantly reminded of every time his patrol would threaten to do the same to him. Fond memories when it's a harmless threat, but apparently that's a real thing in these parts.

"Breeding programs?" he gags, leaning back and grimacing. Of course he'd attach to that, first. Manchild.

"That's...ugh. Ew. I don't even...what? No. I'm not a whatever. Qunari. No. I'm whatever else. Tal-Vashoth. Vashoth. No no, no thank you. I mean a lot of it sounds like back home, but that's different. Way different..." Not different enough for him to feel more comfortable about it, though, and he turns away for a moment to take a few more swallows for his cup. Korrin might not have felt anything, but for a first time drinker with no food in his belly, Mac was starting to feel a bit light.

"That's all really far away though, right? Yeah? I don't have to worry about lip-stitching and arranged marriages and all, right?" Because that's a real buzzkill on his exciting fantasy world vacation, lady.

"I know, right?" Well, she thinks the breeding programs are gross, too, so no judgment from her. "You'd be Vashoth, born outside the Qun. Tal-Vashoth are my parents, the people who rebelled and broke away from it. They have a checkered reputation, since many don't know what to do with themselves after they leave and become bandits to provide for themselves. The rest become mercenaries or less commonly, something else."

She shrugs, not able to provide a lot of insight on that since she obviously sent the way of the mercenary. Taking a lengthier sip, Korrin shakes her head. "They don't do marriage, or anything romantic. Do that, and they send you over to someone for brainwashing. I'm not making that up. But you're right, it is pretty far away least from this point in Thedas."

She traces a map on the table, not carving into it but giving him a general idea of the shape. "We're down here, on the border of Orlais and Ferelden. North of that is the kingdom of Nevarra and east is the Free Marches, where I'm from. Northwest is the Anderfels, with not much to recommend it except the Grey Wardens. Then there's the Tevinter Imperium, which is into slavery and blood magic and their own version of the Chantry. Antiva and Rivain are in the northeast corner. Most Tal-Vashoth are in that area, especially in Rivain. North of Rivain is Par Vollen, just across from the Northern Passage. Stuck between Par Vollen and Tevinter is the island of Seheron, which they've constantly fought over ever since the Qunari invaded. Tevinter is the only nation still actively at war with them, by the way."

A lot to remember on the spot, but he's pretty sure he's got it, nodding his understanding. Seheron, Tevinter, Rivain. Lots of places to read about. Good.

"What's that like? The Free Marches, I mean. Compared to here," he gestures vaguely, indicating the mountains and Skyhold territory versus anywhere Korrin had been. Seemed to him to make more sense for Korrin to talk about herself. He was always willing to chatter on about his life, give it some kind of meaning by sharing it with those that weren't familiar, but the odds of Korrin seeing his world were slim to none. Meanwhile Mac is definitely on the short end of the knowledge stick at the moment.

"Also, though it sounds unpleasant in the extreme, what's "blood magic"? Is that like...virgin sacrifices, or voodoo or something?"

"I don't know what voodoo is, but the more extreme versions of blood magic do involve human -or other people- sacrifice. Virgin or not, I don't think it matters. Blood is power, and those hungry for power will shed a lot of it to get what they want. So, naturally, the south condemns it and Tevinter gives lip-service to doing so even though everyone knows they still pull off sick shit behind closed doors. It's worse than that, though. Blood magic can be used to control minds, which is another reason why it's so feared. I've seen the toll that can take, though thankfully wasn't on the receiving end of that myself. It also hurts the Veil, the barrier between us as the Fade, making it easier for demons to slip through. And in case you didn't notice, we have enough demon problems.

"Remind me to pass on a map, alright? I know that's a lot of names and places to keep in mind, but you'll need to now that stuff. The Inquisition sends us wherever we need to be, and that can often take us pretty far from here."

Draining most of her glass, Korrin sets it down and leans in. "The Free Marches are a gaggle of independent city-states. They each have their own way of doing things and often have rivalries with each other. Practically the only things they'll unite for are an invasion and the Grand Tourney. When that happens, everyone's a proud Marcher and don't you forget it. I was on the road more often than not as a kid, but if there's any place I could pinpoint as a hometown, it'd probably be Wycome. It's on the coast and the revelry capital of Thedas, so they end up with a lot of Antiva's wine."

"Map. Yes, please. I'd love a map," he mumbles, leaning to one side and propping his head in his hand, watching Korrin in perhaps the most relaxed state he's felt since arriving.

"Well, at least it's harder to control minds here than back home. That's good, I suppose. Not very comforting, but I guess people start disappearing into cookpots other people ask questions, so that's nice. Sort of. Mixed bag, I guess," the Guardian murmurs, frowning in thought before taking a few more swallows of wine.

"So, in this world, there's some wall between one place and another, and doing nasty magic makes that wall into more like tissue paper. Got it. But is everything on the other side bad? Like, is there a particular reason you people don't just seal it all up completely so it can't be tapped? Or is that to do with the magic again? Like you need to poke holes in the wall once in a while?"

"No, it's not all bad. The Fade is the home of spirits as well as demons, beings that usually don't interfere with or even try to help you. But that help isn't always...well, helpful, since spirits tend to think on a completely different level than we do. You might want to seek out Solas, he's the Fade and spirit expert. I just know enough to not get possessed."

As for how to explain the Veil...Korrin rubs her temple, knowing she brought this upon herself but still wondering if her explaining will make any sense at all. "The Fade is where we -and by 'we' I mean everyone except dwarves- go every night in our dreams. Mages are the only ones who can be lucid dreamers, but still. It's a thing. It's also where we get our magic from, so sealing it up completely wouldn't do us any favors. Not that I'm even sure that's possible, but you know, I'm not going to put the idea in anyone's heads.

And...seriously? Mind control was even more an issue back where you came from? Ugh, that's harsh."

"Yeah it's bad enough that we've got a name for it: Taken. Because you literally get taken, taken over and then you're just...a puppet, I guess. I don't know, we're not really in the habit of inducing states like that, even for the sake of science. That's all pretty much reserved for the "bad guy", y'know?" he mutters, shaking his head slightly.

Solas? More names to remember, more people to go hounding in the hopes of getting a hand up the ladder. He's starting to wonder just how much trouble he's about to get himself into, no matter how well-meaning.

"So your theory is that when we dream we go to an actual place? Well, I guess it's fact here, not so much theory. Man, the Osiris guys would have a field day with this. Okay, so, what? I went to sleep and slipped through the cracks somehow? Weird...but I can see why blocking it all off is a bad idea. I'm already uncomfortable just having my powers hampered, can't imagine what it would be like cut off from them completely." Chilling thought, really, since Guardians are defined by what they are more than who they are, since the who part is usually erased to a blank slate.

"Question, though maybe you'll redirect this to Solas, but if the Fade is a dream space where we all go, how do you know what you guys call spirits and demons aren't actually dreamers from other worlds?"

Taken. Korrin shakes her head incredulously, repulsed at the notion of being anyone's puppet. She's happy to move on to another topic, not wanting to dwell on the idea of her will being overwhelmed like that. Who would?

"Yeah, it's not a theory; it actually happens. And from what I can tell, that's pretty much how it is for rifters; they fall asleep and the rift spews them out. So far, I haven't heard of any other way they cross over. It makes sense, though, or as much sense as the Fade ever makes."

She stretches a little, taking a moment to answer that question. "Well, they aren't a recent thing; spirits and demons always been part of this world, before the Breach shredded the Veil to shit. And the Breach spawning those rifts is the only way we've ever gotten people from other worlds to come here. Maybe some of them did come from elsewhere, for all we know. But there's no real evidence on that, so we go with what we have.

Spirits and demons...they don't think like us or behave like us. They embody a virtue -or vice- and that's their whole existence...and they can change from one to the other, depending on what happens to them. A spirit embodying Hope can be corrupted into one of Despair, though I'm not really clear on how. Unless there are dreamers that are that malleable, I think it's safe to say that they're unique unto themselves."

"Are there any studies on it, though? I mean, just as a curiosity. If people are coming through on one end and coming out different on the other, that might be worth considering," he murmurs, more to himself than Korrin. He's not the most academic of Warlocks, so those deep schools of thought don't always interest him. He likes knowing things more than figuring them out. Let someone else run all the tests and do the math. He'll accept the result later on.

"So vices and virtues have real form here? That's gotta get complicated. But, spirits are good and demons are bad? It's that cut and dry?"

"Nope, not in the slightest. All spirits have the potential to be dangerous, especially to mages. We're like a beacon to them, with our power. That's why demons try to tempt and possess us. But demons and spirits aren't exactly unrelated; a spirit that becomes corrupted from its original purpose will turn into a demon. A lot of those demons you see around the rifts? They could have been spirits at one point, but being dragged unwillingly into our world drove them mad." Korrin shakes her head, a little pitying but not to the extent that she'll ever hesitate to destroy them and save the rifters or others involved.

"Wow...that's....really sad," Mac mumbles, sipping more from his cup and tapping the fingers of his shard hand along the side. Good spirits getting corrupted by bad magic. Awful stuff.

"We don't have active spirits where I'm from. Not really. We have the forces of nature, which can be embodied or manipulated, but past that most people don't believe in real spirits. We're not even sure about souls anymore, the way Guardians are. But for physical manifestations to be ruined like that seems wrong. Like...really wrong. Man."

It isn't quite like anything Mac has encountered before, more the territory of the Darkness than those that walked in the Light, and he isn't sure how to feel about it. He knows he definitely feels deep concern for the world he's in, if there's something rending the very fabric of reality and twisting the spirits representative of emotion. Not exactly sunny thinking.

"So...close the rifts, beat the bad guy, save the world?"

"It is wrong, I couldn't agree more." Korrin knows not to let her guard down around spirits, ever, but that doesn't mean she wants to see them warped from what they were. Especially on a practical standpoint, that just makes life harder for everyone else.

Gesturing for a refill, she then turns and nods to him with a crooked smile. "Something like that, yeah...or at least it's saved until the next Blight or when the Qunari invade or any number of things. The Dragon Age is not lacking for excitement."

Puffing a long sigh and shaking his head, Mac finished off the remains of his second wine and leaned forward, cradling his head on folded arms.

"It's never one thing, is it? Here you have the Blight and civil wars and demons. Back home it's the Darkness, Hive, Cabal, Vex, Fallen...now the Taken. It never ends. It can never just be one simple, obvious enemy. And it's always so gray!" he complains, stomping a foot in the manner of a complaining child.

"It can't ever be just bad guys that are bad, always have been, always will be. Noooo, there's always gotta be exceptions to the rules, civilians, defectors. All these tangles. Stupid tangles."

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