faderift | We come from the land of the ice and snow

We come from the land of the ice and snow

WHO: Open to all
WHAT: Thedas' strange new guests are delivered to Skyhold
WHEN: 25 Harvestmere (October)
WHERE: Skyhold main gate & courtyard
NOTES: This is Part I of a two-part intro event, Part II will be posted tomorrow.

A long uphill tromp through the snowy mountains ends at Skyhold, the distant fortress finally before them in all its tumble-down glory. There is time to admire the drop into the river gorge far below as they cross the only bridge into the castle; it is briefly backed up with traffic, several carts bearing supplies and visitors stalled as the portcullis is raised. Those coming to help catalog and unload the shipment and greet the guests, or otherwise present near the front courtyard, will find themselves witness to a far more interesting arrival.

Guards at the gate carry the word quickly, and more gather, though they make no move to imprison the strange people who fell out of a rift. They just line the perimeter and keep a close watch. Perhaps this adds a level of tension to this first encounter, but it also reassures the many who are unsettled by the uncertain turn of events and keeps in check those who might attack first and ask questions later. Others will no doubt soften the Inquisition's first impression, offering food, information, and other assistance.

Medical attention is available in the tented-encircled corner of the courtyard where the wounded from Haven are still treated. The quartermaster's assistant is called upon to provide spare odds and ends of clothing to those in need, and to issue blankets for all, though they are left to fend for themselves to find places to sleep.

Any mage willing to help is called in to do so and a cluster forms in one side of the courtyard to examine the rifters. They are objects of curiosity in general, but the marks on their hands are of particular interest, resembling smaller slivers of the Herald's famous mark. Despite their best efforts, no mage will be able to provide any real insight after this initial assessment. What the rifters and their marks are is a question they cannot answer today.

But one question is answered: in the midst of all the commotion, another Inquisition agent arrives from Haven, rushing in red-faced to announce that the Herald's body has finally been found.

OOC

It will be decided (partly for OOC reasons, admittedly) that the rifters will not be imprisoned at this point, but they will be watched carefully, and the guards are on alert for any strange behavior by people with glowing hands or strange attire. And of course, their freedom can be revoked at any time if they're deemed a danger. Though there are some OOC considerations at play here, you're welcome to ICly lobby for more or less freedom for the rifters, and things may change based on IC action/consensus.

Also: Part II, aka the log for the funeral/wake/etc. event, will go up tomorrow!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"See? There you go with the confusion!" But she laughs because it's just the normal sort of confusion even though it's not really height ascribed to specific folk back home, it's more things like 'Castileans believe in mermaids' and 'Albasi believe that a girl kissed a bear who turned into a mighty warrior', things like that. "People are just people: tall, short, anywhere between where I come from. Do you think I'd get to go? I mean we're being watched, I can tell but come now, you have good strong legs, that's half the battle." Yeah she was looking at your legs (and more) on that climb because it was a lot nicer than just endless snow and a mountain that went on forever. "It's not always about being nimble, you have to have strength, right here." She balls her hand into a fist in front of her stomach to indicate her core which is damn strong when people actually get a look at it.

"But what goes back with fire? See, it's like this: I eat fish. I eat grains or bread made from them and we know the sea is involved in rain that nourishes plants and ships travel by sea to bring that and other meat and fruits and vegetables to us. So I eat that. I become strong. And then one day I go and they put me in the sea and weigh me down so the crabs and the fish and whatever else happens by can eat their fill and become strong. And then someone eats them and the sea has carried them and me and you get the picture?" Time for another drink because that's a sort of long explanation when she's making a constant circling motion with her hand because that's what matters, the cycle of it, going back to the start each time with each person. "Why was this martyr burned at the stake? I heard of some burnings in a few lands but those are as far from us in time as the stars in the sky."

"Andraste was burned at the stake because the Tevinter Imperium wasn't thrilled with her freeing slaves and leading a rebellion against them in the name of the Maker, to put it mildly. Her husband also betrayed her, making it possible. The Chantry will have a lot more to the story, but that's essentially what happened. So that's partly why you'll hear people around here talk badly about 'Vints', though the ones we have in Skyhold are decent folk." Lovely, too, in the case of Maevaris.

Korrin takes another sip and flashes a smile. "Noticing my legs, were you? Though fair enough, I hadn't thought of it like that. You move like you were born to it, though, that's not something I'm sure can be duplicated. But...we'll see. If I'm stuck around here any longer, I might want to learn something new just to break up the tedium. And I don't see why you wouldn't be able to go. Sure, you're being watched now, but they're just being cautious. Once they realize there's nothing to guard against, I'm betting they'll relax and give you more of a chance to prove yourself. Hence, travel."

“This is like being back in lessons,” she complains miserably, collapsing against the table with a long groan before gathering herself back up again. "I’m not one for judging all people by the reputation of a country, I’ve had it done enough to me and it’s not fun. Any ‘Vints’ here will be treated however they treat me." That’s the way you should go through life after all but it’s a shame that the majority of nobility don’t understand it.

"They’re very nice legs, you should be proud of them. As is the rest." You got a butt that won’t quit Korrin. "Maybe I just learned when I was too young to know how scared I should maybe be because you think you’re invincible in youth." From the grin, it’s clear that she’s still young enough to think that still, at least a little. "But then water is always flowing, it might be still, it might freeze but it moves always and we're raised to be light on our feet when we must. I do hope I get to go to the sea here, even just for a moment to think and to taste the salt of my lips."

"You will, though I can't say when. Just remember to look up, though; I've heard sightings of a dragon on the Storm Coast, and something like that could cut short a nice trip to the seaside." Personally, Korrin wouldn't mind fighting the thing, but she's smart enough to know that will take a lot of people and potions. Just like the Hinterlands one. She chuckles softly, leaning back.

"That sounds exactly what I used to think of myself when I was young; invincible. And then I learned magic, which...honestly didn't help change that perception. What did was the realization that mages just can't meant to be on the front lines in combat. We're not made for it." She turns her head a little and gestures to the scars along the left side of her face, evidence of her lesson.

“Ah but my friend I happen to be very short, so long as there are taller and muscular people around, I wouldn’t be of any interest to a dragon now would I? Although the dragons in our stories live in the parts of the sea even my people haven’t fully charted or the deserts none venture through in Zimevur, the dark hearts of Estene’s forests, curled about the Albasi ice mountains or deep in the hottest parts of the mines in Corundus.” Ebeos doesn’t have dragons because it’s basically all plains so if dragons existed there, there would have been sightings or stories at the very least like eveywhere else but Ebeos has very few fantastic things like that, preferring their birds and butterflies. Point is, she’s overly confident that she could sneak under a dragon’s snout without attracting much interest. “I just want to go breathe the air, find some shells for candlesticks, get my feet and hands wet, let the world wash away, even for a little while.”

A sigh follows, fond and a little mournful but she swallows it, tipping her head to the side to regard Korrin. “Oh you’re young, you must be, just look at you. Glowing.” Not like her hand but that inner glow, life, bright and luminous. Her gaze follows the scars, eyes widening a little at them although ‘front lines’ only makes sense in a vague sort of way, what with proper soldiers more or less obsolete in her world. “How did you manage that?”

"You know, I don't even remember the specifics; who did it, how, etc. I know it was in Nevarra, shortly after I first signed up. We were guarding a caravan and got ambushed. And like an idiot, I stepped into melee range instead of keeping my distance like any sane mage would. Next thing I knew, I was waking up flat on my back, bleeding from the side of my face. It served as an effective lesson, if nothing else."

Korrin chuckles, able to manage some self-depreciating humor about it now that it's far in the past. At the time she was furious, but it was her own fault for being so careless in the first place. She knows that now.

"I'm twenty-five, so I suppose I'm not that old. But I've been doing this for a long time now, closing in on a decade. I don't plan to stop, either." Why should she, when she knows what she's doing and it pays well?

"And don't underestimate dragons, alright? Sure, you might get lucky but they can be perceptive, and they'll focus in on anyone they please. Not to mention they can be found in a variety of terrains and sometimes close to civilization. You don't need to go into unchartered areas to find them, more's the pity."

“So really, next time we face demons,” maybe not her and Korrin though she’d like to go with someone she knows a little at least and who she can trust in a fight, “then the mages stay to the back and everyone with a sword gets up front?” It’d be a good time to say that yes, pistols work well from a distance but given the nature of how they work, you all end up in the melee, sword against sword and once or twice she’s had to shoot someone so close with her pistol that it barely fit between their bodies and she felt the punch of the recoil beneath her ribs as if she’d been shot herself. But it’s too new, too strange a thing to even have to explain in the first place when there’s confusion enough on both sides so she puts it to the back of her mind. “We all have lessons like that I think, mine are fortunately not on my face, I don’t have the bone structure to pull off scars like you.”

It’s elsewhere she has them, but stripping off in a tavern has never been her style.

“Forty is old. Twenty-five!” Aghast she shakes her head, downs the last of her brandy and leans forward, pointing at herself. “If you say old at twenty-five does that make me almost over the hill at twenty? I’ve been a thief almost as long, seven years of just that.” Which isn’t a lie, she’s just not counting the last year since she’s been at the palace so it’s going to make her sound like she started a year later than she did but it seems foolish to make too many admissions when her real job might matter a little more here.

“Why even let them get close? They have to be little at some point, everything is. Get them then, don’t just say ‘oh, we’ll do that another day’.”

"Well, until a few decades ago, people thought that dragons had become extinct. That's why this current age is called the Dragon Age, because they were seen after so long an absence. I think most of them spawn in far-flung places where civilization doesn't exist, so they get to grow without our interference. The one in that pocket of the Hinterlands wasn't always there, I'm pretty sure."

If it was, Redcliffe would have been rubble by now or the dragon would be dead or driven off. Neither of those has happened...yet.

"Tch, you're hardly over the hill. I bet you'll be eternally glorious, whatever the age. Seven years just means you're experienced, and there's nothing wrong with that. If anything, that can only help you here."

She does grin at the comment on her bone structure, never one to turn down a compliment. "Most mages stay back, yes. We have staffs, so there's usually no real need to get up close when we can use those and our magic from a distance. There are exceptions, though. Knight-Enchanters have magic blades that can cut through most things like a not knight through butter. Their barriers are stronger, too. What I wouldn't give to have that kind of skill, but it's also a Circle-centric speciality, and I've no interest in joining or supporting one."

"Just because you don't see something doesn't mean it's not there." But she's thinking of krakens, of whales so mighty they could swallow six ships at once, hags that whip lightning out over the sea and mighty chariots driven by seafoam horses, all the half-glimpsed things she's seen when the waves are wild or in fleeting moments at night on waters so calm they reflect the stars and she thought they might sail up and up to trace fingers against the cold hard shell of the moon. "You name time periods? At most we just have the reign of a particular ruler, there's nothing quite so proper about it." There's an appeal to it though, and maybe it's like her home, where things can still live even if it's through stories that come from a half-drowned soul, gasping through salt-ravaged lips.

What a thing to see one, to watch something almost a shadow taking flight, so long as she's out of the firing line that is.

"My mother doesn't look old enough to have a daughter my age and the lines my father has are his scars and his laughter lines, all at his eyes, like an old map. I don't know how much call they'll have for my skills exactly, thieves are everywhere and don't usually cast a damn silhouette with their own hands, not if they want to be successful." And yet she manages to smile herself although it's strange not to have a real challenge beyond just finding somewhere to rest her head for the night without losing anything to frostbite.

"If you're in the back doesn't that mean you could hurt a comrade though? When you fight you should have awareness of everything but there are moments when it narrows down to just your blade and their eyes," her hands flutter as she speaks, unconsciously moving them like two foes circling one another, "and you can only think about not today, not my throat, not my lung, not my thigh and how to block them even when you're so tired it aches." Duels can last for hours sometimes because so much of it is in the show, in the strutting and the insults, all the flourishes that wear you down until it stops being something like art and it's just an ugly scrap with sweat in your eyes and blood and sand all over your clothes and hands. "A magic sword? Like in stories? Although usually they have to go find this magic sword and it's some humble boy or girl who lives on a farm or guts fish for a living, not someone making a magic blade." What she's picturing is something made of fire because, surprise surprise, Korrin's magic is her only real frame of reference for what it looks like.

Korrin just shrugs, increasingly comfortable and certain that her chair is going to be an impromptu bed in due time. The brandy and Araceli's company are definitely taking the edge off of the day, that's for certain. "It's a literal magic sword, as in they conjure a spirit blade into existence when they need it. It's pretty flashy, I admit, one of the reasons why I was tempted. As for being in the back, no, I'm pretty good about ensuring that friendly fire doesn't happen. Being up front, for me, is where things go wrong. Unless I get a spirit blade of my own, I'm just accepting that fact."

Maybe...but she's still betting that more likely than not, her magical studies will take her elsewhere. "And yes, every hundred years the current Divine gives the name of the next Age. This one's not even halfway done, so what the next one will be called, I can't even begin to guess. Tevinter has their own calendar, I think, but they they always seem to do every thing differently. Different Chantry, different Divine, and so on. If you want to know more about them, Maevaris or Krem will give you a better picture."

She looks Araceli over, her gaze speculative before she flashes a grin. "It doesn't have to be about that, you know. I bet your charm will take you where stealth can't, and once people get over the whole rifter business, they'll remember the Herald of Andraste once had your mark. That will get the interest of many, and that can be used. How, I don't know. I've never been one for politics, or the Grand Game of the Orlesian court."

"You know that a conjurer is usually just an old person in odd clothes where I’m from, a spirit blade doesn’t actually mean anything to me." The only spirits she can really list are all alcohol and as amusing as that would be, she’s not so ignorant as to think her mental image is at all accurate. But then she's been clocked in the head with heavy bottles and done just the same so she could vouch for it as a technique if needed. "But you could still do damage with a staff, no? I suppose you must be used to shooting things out of it but you're taller than most of the men I've ever known, height counts for a lot in a fight unless you know how to turn it against a person."

She wouldn't mind giving pointers either but that's just a touch too brazen even for her when they're still getting to know one another and she's clearly not going to know just what a Castilean is typically like. "The Divine is the old dead holy lady, or that much I've gathered, how bizarre, one person getting to name such a thing for all the world and the whole thing sounds so complicated. You don't just worship what's around you? Take joy in it? Thank it for whatever comes your way?" Still, she makes a mental note of the names even if religion as organised as any of this makes her head spin. "I've only ever prayed to the sea and the things in it, to the maid up in the moon but I'm the child of a Bride and a Son, we have a special sort of luck in the world, it moves us where we need to be."

What does any of this say to that luck though? Will it still reach her here? She can't imagine that this is what was wanted and needed for her and yet she was on the water, wasn't she? The sea flows through all of Castileos and she ran over the top of it and then she was pulled here. Maybe it's as dangerous to take comfort from it as it is to find none.

"The Grand Game? I confess, and I hope you don't look at me differently, that I do take some interest in politics. I know more about how it works than is perhaps good for me though I can't say I enjoy it but knowing how it works? Well, it means you know how to dismantle it, if you take my meaning." Another charming smile is offered, along with a hand being laid over Korrin's lest the Vashoth think her some lover of all that nonsense but she hasn't touched on her other life at all and the last year has been so much politics and dressing a certain way, listening and talking and whenever you're doing one you're really doing the other.

That smile is infectious and Korrin ends up smiling back, not taking offense since it's not as though Araceli's given her any cause. "True enough. The Grand Game is...well, bluntly, Orlesian noble bullshit. They fight each other for power and influence, but never openly. It's all done in secret, behind those ridiculous masks of theirs. That's all I know or care to know, honestly. Those people have nothing to do with my life, nor I theirs. Not unless my company gets paid, but even then, we tend to steer clear of petty noble stuff. Too risky and too annoying."

Korrin always says just what's on her mind, so is it any wonder she can't stand those who take the complete opposite approach? She'll never understand them, nor they her.

"It depends on who you ask, about religion. Andrastianism is the major one, the only one with any real power, but the Avvar have their gods, and so do the elves. The dwarves worship the Stone. I don't claim to be an expert on any of those ways, but I know they exist." She shrugs, willing to elaborate on what little she knows about any if Araceli's interested, but it's not her forte. "I don't care for the Chantry's politics, but I'd put myself in the camp of having some sort of belief in the Maker. It just doesn't suit me to be organized and pompous about it."

"Oh nobles do that everywhere, there's always some dance where they keep changing the steps and fighting for the lead. The masks intrigue me, I confess, there's a country at home with many masks but no one even breathes their true name outside their front door. Obviously there's a whole endeavour dedicated to discovering such a thing along with all the other things." And she has learned those steps so well in the past year, all the ways to dress and how to listen, how to read the little things people say without saying. It's not a world she can say she likes and yet she does, when she manages to get one over on some noble who thinks they're better than her just because of their status.

But then there were always politics and games in the brothel, always politics and games aboard ships and on the docks. The stakes are just higher when she works for Leandra.

"I can't imagine being pompous about religion, I mean it belongs to everyone, doesn't it? Our lecterns come from the figureheads of old ships, the dice in my pocket came from the tooth of a whale - I don't understand why it can't belong to everyone, it's just ridiculous." She takes a swallow of her drink, annoyed at not really understanding the why and feeling like a child for asking it in the first place. "If it offers comfort, it offers shelter for all. Ridiculous, to make it levels."

"Honestly, I agree with you. It should belong to everyone, it should comfort and provide for all. And yet, the gap between what should be and what is, is so very wide. As the Chantry became more powerful, it seemed to care more about imposing its will than serving the world. There are still people who believe in the latter, though, and I'd like to think that the bulk of those faithful are in the Inquisition. The Chantry declared us heretics, after all." Korrin rolls her eyes at that. "Which is a stupid thing to do, since Divine Justinia created the mandate authorizing the Inquisition in the first place."

But, whatever. People in power are always the same, even the faithful. If it doesn't fit their comfortable view, if it can't be tamed or molded, they want nothing to do with it, if they don't destroy it entirely. The Chantry's ruderless now, though, so the latter isn't happening.

"Huh, and here I didn't think anything could top the Orlesians for needless complexity. Masks and masking one's name? What the hell's the point of that? I thought nobility names were things to be flaunted; you know, Marquise Pompous of Val Royeaux or something like that. All they like to talk about is their exalted lineages."

"Your religious authority, disavows a thing that your main religious leader actually sanctioned? Are they all drunk?" No really, are they actually do drunk their brains are just as pickled as their livers because she could understand if it was some splintered group but this is just utterly ridiculous and it makes her glad to be able to switch the subject to a tale of her own world.

"It's this whole - I suppose you'd say spiritual? - thing, it's to do with souls, they like the butterfly as their symbol too. I don't think I ever got the truth of it but there was this old legend, very very old and there was a monster of some sort. It would prowl the fields of wheat, slip between all the tall flowers and it would hunt you down if it ever caught your face or your name. You would never be safe from this fiend. The story goes that there were two young women and sometimes they're true twins who came into the world one after the other, sometimes they're sisters, sometimes they're friends but they wore masks and used the same name and the monster couldn't attack them both because he didn't know the right one. So ever since it's been all masks and false names. It all gets tied together much more neatly when a native tells you it, unfortunately she's not here to explain it better. Zimevur, now they really value their names and bloodlines but Zimevur is the clenched fist, Ebeos the knife in your kidneys." Nerissa would roll her eyes at Araceli's clumsy handling of such a tale if she didn't object to the level of honesty about it in the first place but there are no names, just a story that will make as much sense to a stranger as it does to Araceli herself. At least her increasingly tipsy brain understands it better than her sober mind does.

Korrin just snorts and takes another sip, shrugging at Araceli's question about the clergy. For all she knows, the Grand Clerics have been utterly hammered since the Conclave's bloody end. That would certainly explain some things.

At any rate, she settles in to listen, quietly taking a longer sip to savor it along with the tale. The telling doesn't seem clumsy to her, but then she's more interested in the content than how it's dressed up. "It sounds like Orlais would have plenty in common with both places. As much as I find the idea of cultural exchange interesting, it's probably just as well that Orlesians don't take ideas from either. It's already headache enough dealing with their nobles, as it is. The regular folk aren't too bad, though they're incredibly snobby about wine."

"Oh the wine," with an exaggerated old man's voice she raises her drink as if to examine it before she splutters, snorts, and starts laughing. "I care about what wine goes with my dinner and that it's rude to get drunk on the good stuff. Getting drunk on the vinegar piss is fine, that's the only reason you have it. We're at least snobby about the correct blends to use in your rum and brandy or how to brew a good ale to fill your belly as well as getting you drunk."

Or if you put gunpowder in a drink; it adds flavour but too much and you have a nasty mouth in the morning.

"Do your people have any particular drinks? Or others beyond the Orlesians and wine and my own folk with the good ones? Are there any people who only drink those spirits that you'd use to strip the paint and varnish off a ship?"

"Well, Qunari have a drink called Maraas-Lok and it's...strong. In my opinion, Qunari drinks aren't things to be savored, but tests in endurance. Dares, basically. And Dwarven brews? Are just plain gross. Don't have any, if you value your taste buds. But there is a drink called Aqua Magus; fine spirits infused with a bit of refined lyrium. It's dangerous to have in any great quantity, but it's a very unique flavor and I'd definitely have it again."

Given her sigh at the bartender, they don't have any in stock for the time being. Oh, well. "You should befriend our resident magister if you want to try any Tevinter brews. She has a stock with her and they're very good, not the vinegar piss you mentioned."

"Oh I've known things like that, terrible awful things and it's like licking...I don't know, the worst thing you could lick a hundredfold and given I like my palate as it is, I'll take that advice." Although what little food here is so bland she might do better to lose her ability to tell just how very bland it is. What she wouldn't give for some hot peppers, for cloves and saffron, for salt farmed in just the right way that it turns the delicate pink of the inside of shells, perfect for rubbing in fish and roasting until it spits and crackles.

"Did she bring them with her?" Yes she's remembering that climb and how carefully bottles need to be packed even on ships so they'll last the voyage. "Oh it must have cost at least an arm and a leg to get fancy wines to a crag like this!"

"It must have, but I did't ask the cost. As a guest, it would have been rude. But yes, she seemed to have enough to last her for the time being. Who knows, with some time and influence, we might end up with some high-end drinks here. For now, though, it's mostly the cheap stuff."

Korrin shrugs, not minding as long as there's something to make her pleasantly mellow. She can afford to be more discerning when there's opportunity for it, which in her mind is at least possible. The comfortable Vashoth takes another sip, sighing contentedly.

“I used to know all the captains of the ships and they always knew just how much their cargo was worth, down to the tiniest thing because a captain has to know when it’s worth their while to defend what might be stolen from them. It was habit to just ask one of them and be told so I knew if I stood a chance of bartering for it or if I should just steal it instead. Wine merchants are some of the richest folk you’ll ever know, their clients just a bit richer still.”

Not that she knows if she’ll make a habit of theft in Skyhold outside of the usual reasons for keeping her skills sharp. She might get bored (or she probably will or she’ll say she’s bored when she’s thinking of home) and see if anyone can catch her at it but as blunt as she is about it, she’d rather at least ask first and sneak a taste later.

“Cheap brandy and cheap rum, it’s a crime.” But that doesn’t stop her from refilling the glasses and raising them in a toast, half a smirk on her face as she does.

Korrin raises her own glass in response, a small tired smile on her lips. "If I get the chance, I'll treat you to something better. Count on it. I bet you'd love some of the Antivan and Rivaini vintages, they're better in my opinion than anything even Orlais has to offer. Which isn't to say that their stuff isn't work trying, but don't let Orlesians fool you into thinking they have the only liquor work drinking in Thedas."

She pauses to take a sip, savoring this one. "I don't think anyone here is truly that rich, though I admit I could be mistaken. Most of us barely escaped with the clothes on our backs and that's it. So I'd be careful about mentioning anything in the way of theft around here. You're too pretty to languish in a cell, not that I'd give you away."

“It’ll be terrible if I don’t, I’m sure plenty of folk are going to mistake me for one of the two because you can’t tell the whole world and there’s not always a chance to say otherwise. But if they’re like my home then I’m sure I’ll enjoy them, some things must be alike.” Still, there seems to be an awful lot of odd feeling towards Orlesians and it makes her more and more curious about them, about what they’re really like and how they’ll behave when she’s actually confronted with one. The masks do sound intriguing, she’s never actually been to Ebeos before to see such a place in full swing and balls don’t count because those masks are just for show and nothing more.

“I agree, rich people are very bad at hiding it. They can’t help themselves, even their idea of ‘simple’ is so outlandish it makes me laugh. Simple is whatever bread you can get, not some artisan thing with little seeds shot through it and glazed in just the right way, all shaped like a shell or a sand dollar cast.” This all comes from her fellow guards too, whenever they’ve had to rough it with her for an assignment that makes her realise how far they are from one another, all girls who grew up wanting for nothing but their expectations so wildly different it’s as if they came from other worlds not merely countries. The last comment makes her smile in delight, leaning forward across the table. “Such keen eyes you have but then often we merely reflect another, don’t we? It’s why you can call me pretty but I can call you striking, statuesque, stunning.”

That provokes a deep chuckle from Korrin and a lingering grin. "Such flattery, but you won't have me complaining. The horns and height don't scare you off, then? It does with others, but then they're the assholes who don't bother to learn I'm anything but a 'qunari' anyway. At least you're willing to listen and learn...and I enjoy returning the favor."

“Why would it scare me?” No really, why? But then she’s never once been accused of being shallow, she cares far more about the person underneath - pretty things are pretty but you can’t survive on that alone. “Almost everyone I know is taller than me if they’re of age and your horns are quite beautiful. I feel sure that if ladies where I come from had them, they would be adorned with strands of pearls and delicate shells to draw even more attention to them. I like you, that’s what matters, the inside, that the outside shines just as bright is a welcome bonus.”

We come from the land of the ice and snow

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