That green light was so eerily familiar that for a moment Dorian forgot where he was. That light belonged to his Inquisitor. It didn't occur to him until he was sprinting toward it that if he had his magic back, the Inquisitors would have their marks.
That Lavellan wasn't the one holding his hand to the sky - an almost literal beacon - was a jarring realization. But not one he thought about for more than a second. After all, everything about this place had been jarring.
He wasn't being particularly careful. He was almost disappointed that he'd come out of the cornucopia unscathed - he hadn't even had a chance to show off his new found powers again. He also hadn't managed to grab anything of use - at least not for himself. The war hammer in his grip was much heavier than anything he was used to using. But he remembered Tabris telling him that she used them, so he brought it with him anyway.
When he got to the house he arched his neck up to see Maxwell. Not Adella, then. Though it could have been either of them.
At least the whole death game thing should make this a little less awkward than it might have been.
"Well this certainly feels like a homecoming," he drawled after he had slipped up next to the house, his voice carrying up to the roof but hopefully not much further. "I almost feel like we should go raid ourselves an empty castle, hm?"
[B - inside the house, for everyone]
Dorian leaned against the wall, arms crossed, wearing very little clothing save a gossamer loincloth, a sash from one shoulder to the other hip, a pair of brilliantly iridescent wings, and long laced sandals that ran up to his calf. He was surely the King of the Faeries, and he really didn't give a rat's ass about it. He made it look good.
Now if only it wasn't so fucking cold.
"Please tell me someone managed to find a decent pair of trousers, in the Cornucopia?" He said wryly. "Or, Maker's mercy, a jacket? I'll even settle for a pair of stockings."
Dorian
That green light was so eerily familiar that for a moment Dorian forgot where he was. That light belonged to his Inquisitor. It didn't occur to him until he was sprinting toward it that if he had his magic back, the Inquisitors would have their marks.
That Lavellan wasn't the one holding his hand to the sky - an almost literal beacon - was a jarring realization. But not one he thought about for more than a second. After all, everything about this place had been jarring.
He wasn't being particularly careful. He was almost disappointed that he'd come out of the cornucopia unscathed - he hadn't even had a chance to show off his new found powers again. He also hadn't managed to grab anything of use - at least not for himself. The war hammer in his grip was much heavier than anything he was used to using. But he remembered Tabris telling him that she used them, so he brought it with him anyway.
When he got to the house he arched his neck up to see Maxwell. Not Adella, then. Though it could have been either of them.
At least the whole death game thing should make this a little less awkward than it might have been.
"Well this certainly feels like a homecoming," he drawled after he had slipped up next to the house, his voice carrying up to the roof but hopefully not much further. "I almost feel like we should go raid ourselves an empty castle, hm?"
[B - inside the house, for everyone]
Dorian leaned against the wall, arms crossed, wearing very little clothing save a gossamer loincloth, a sash from one shoulder to the other hip, a pair of brilliantly iridescent wings, and long laced sandals that ran up to his calf. He was surely the King of the Faeries, and he really didn't give a rat's ass about it. He made it look good.
Now if only it wasn't so fucking cold.
"Please tell me someone managed to find a decent pair of trousers, in the Cornucopia?" He said wryly. "Or, Maker's mercy, a jacket? I'll even settle for a pair of stockings."