[ There's a tavern on the northeastern edge of the Frostbacks, between Redcliffe and Skyhold, that--by Dorian's measure--is marginally less of a shithole than other Fereldan taverns. It's a rare reprieve when Lavellan suggests they stay here rather than camp, and Dorian has grown fond of it for the simple fact that it has four very solid walls, a well-tended hearth, and the beds don't touch the cold, wet ground.
That, and the matron who runs it doesn't care that Dorian's Tevinter so long as he tips well and brings her a little of Skyhold's best gossip. It's busy tonight, on account of a nasty storm, and Dorian has secured himself a table close to the hearth, a book in hand as he keeps half an eye on the door.
When Alistair does arrive, Dorian doesn't get up; just gives him an appraising look and closes his book one-handed, leaning back in his chair. ]
I was beginning to think I'd have to drink all four bottles by myself. Not an impossibility, but I start to lose feeling in my fingers by the end of the second. [ He wiggles his free hand, rings glinting in the firelight. ]
Try not to drip on the bearskin, will you? Ludwina hates that. [ With a tip of his chin in the direction of the freckled woman behind the bar, who brings a bottle to the table and uncorks it. ]
for abilities
[ There's a tavern on the northeastern edge of the Frostbacks, between Redcliffe and Skyhold, that--by Dorian's measure--is marginally less of a shithole than other Fereldan taverns. It's a rare reprieve when Lavellan suggests they stay here rather than camp, and Dorian has grown fond of it for the simple fact that it has four very solid walls, a well-tended hearth, and the beds don't touch the cold, wet ground.
That, and the matron who runs it doesn't care that Dorian's Tevinter so long as he tips well and brings her a little of Skyhold's best gossip. It's busy tonight, on account of a nasty storm, and Dorian has secured himself a table close to the hearth, a book in hand as he keeps half an eye on the door.
When Alistair does arrive, Dorian doesn't get up; just gives him an appraising look and closes his book one-handed, leaning back in his chair. ]
I was beginning to think I'd have to drink all four bottles by myself. Not an impossibility, but I start to lose feeling in my fingers by the end of the second. [ He wiggles his free hand, rings glinting in the firelight. ]
Try not to drip on the bearskin, will you? Ludwina hates that. [ With a tip of his chin in the direction of the freckled woman behind the bar, who brings a bottle to the table and uncorks it. ]