Oh Christine, dear sweet Circle-educated Christine you keep talking and providing him with more opportunities to open his lying mouth.
"Few times," he begins with that sort of shifty look about before he gets into the tale, the kind of 'you keep this to yourself because it's worth more than our lives' quality to his voice all communicated through how he lowers his eyebrows. "We did some jobs for the ones that stick about up near Orzammar. And they're just a weird sorry breed, don't talk about them like embarrassing cousins - you're Orlesian, bet you've got embarrassing cousins somewhere - anyway few times we'd get messages. Come pick up this shipment. I was a lad, small lad, fetch and carry boy, the young scamp years but I remember seeing these crates because lyrium gets carted about all special like because it's lyrium, got to be careful."
Everyone knows what happens when things with lyrium goes tits up. You're going to have a bad time. Especially in Kirkwall.
"Thing is, it came in crates. Just normal crates but I knew what lyrium looked like. It squeaked. Just like a nug and me, being a young scamp, and Gunnar - you mind my brother, Gunnar, course you do, he's the less charming and handsome version of me - we had a look. And it was a nug but not like any nug I've ever seen. Had these...not spikes or growths but crystals? I was young, it was years ago, I didn't touch them but I think that's what they looked like. They were growing out it, all down the back." His hands shape the air as he speaks, moving over an imaginary curve as his face takes on a haunted expression, as if what he saw all those years ago (not that many, he's not very old even if he doesn't know the exact numbers) has scarred him in some way.
Then the spell is broken because that's a really good question Christine. "I don't know actually. Reckon it should be asked though. To assess the character of folk."
no subject
"Few times," he begins with that sort of shifty look about before he gets into the tale, the kind of 'you keep this to yourself because it's worth more than our lives' quality to his voice all communicated through how he lowers his eyebrows. "We did some jobs for the ones that stick about up near Orzammar. And they're just a weird sorry breed, don't talk about them like embarrassing cousins - you're Orlesian, bet you've got embarrassing cousins somewhere - anyway few times we'd get messages. Come pick up this shipment. I was a lad, small lad, fetch and carry boy, the young scamp years but I remember seeing these crates because lyrium gets carted about all special like because it's lyrium, got to be careful."
Everyone knows what happens when things with lyrium goes tits up. You're going to have a bad time. Especially in Kirkwall.
"Thing is, it came in crates. Just normal crates but I knew what lyrium looked like. It squeaked. Just like a nug and me, being a young scamp, and Gunnar - you mind my brother, Gunnar, course you do, he's the less charming and handsome version of me - we had a look. And it was a nug but not like any nug I've ever seen. Had these...not spikes or growths but crystals? I was young, it was years ago, I didn't touch them but I think that's what they looked like. They were growing out it, all down the back." His hands shape the air as he speaks, moving over an imaginary curve as his face takes on a haunted expression, as if what he saw all those years ago (not that many, he's not very old even if he doesn't know the exact numbers) has scarred him in some way.
Then the spell is broken because that's a really good question Christine. "I don't know actually. Reckon it should be asked though. To assess the character of folk."