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By the tits of the Paragons, I kept saying I wasn’t ready for this. But no, the almighty Coterie in their sodding wisdom decided I was and off I go to Orlais. It smells like bad cheese here, and the scratching they call music up here gives me a headache. Nevermind, you don’t care.
I made it into the manor, though it was demeaning. I was decoration. Sort of. Not a lot of dwarves in Val Royeaux, and even less of them are dusters used to having no shame. The sodding noble was hosting a party for his hoity-toity friends, and thought it would be ‘quaint’ to have a dwarven theme. There was ale from Orzammar, roast nug, the works. And me and about five other dwarves painted up to look like gold statues, standing at entrances and exits. I guess th…Read more >