"Hammers are involved. Made with them. Chiselled into you." Tuck that under your hat, Dalish aren't the only ones with things written on them but well who would admit to getting this dwarf out of his clothes? "It could be worse."

It could be like some places with Orzammar traditions, and Yngvi could have been from there or had someone very recent from there. The itch under his skin would be worse because then people wouldn't understand it.

"Everyone and no one. S'like all folk, some of them you'd trust to watch your pint, some of them you'd trust to sell everything out from under you. Depends what mood some of them are in what they'd do but reckon half of them thought I was dead and all; how d'you send letters tramping across Thedas?" Easily, one assumes because a lot of people manage that simple task and with the frequency of dwarven merchants everywhere you go and the Carta popping up more and more, it'd be even easier but yeah. "The old men worry. Old men do that, think it must be a hazard."

Yngvi is that child that never writes. Hold a vigil for him. (And everyone wants a good return on an investment.)

"Unless it's the hand, one came flopping up in my bed and slapped me across the face, swear on Andraste's probably sainted knickers."