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Feast

It is a special day, in the city of Orzammar. For one man, especially. It is a day of celebration for the second son of King Endrin Aeducan. Despite his physical... issues, he's been made Orzammar's newest commander. Tomorrow, there will be quite a lot of bloodshed. But tonight is for Stalas Aeducan. Not only is there a feast in his honor, but Provings, as well. It's his day, one of honor, but also his formal presentation to the heads of houses.

The merchants have even been allowed into the Diamond Quarter, a rare treat they only see on special occasions. They're probably regretting it, by now, after trying to talk to some of the dwarven nobles and tackle their very particular brand of pride, but it's a chance to win over the highest class, instead of hoping they deign to notice the Merchant Caste.

Regardless, today is certainly a day to remember. Possibly for the wrong reasons.

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"You'll do fine. There will be some times where you put your pants on backwards, but you learn fast enough."

"And here I was hoping you'd forgotten that incident."

"Never. It was too funny."

"Well," he says. "Here's hoping I live long enough to get drunk, pass out, and wake up in your lap at least once more."

"Agreed," says Gorim, amused.

"It's a deal," he says, reaching a hand through the bars.

Gorim takes it and shakes.

"Good luck. You probably don't need it, but - have it all the same."

"Considering where I'm headed, I'll take all the luck I can get." Against his own better judgment, he squeezes Gorim's hand before letting go.

Gorim smiles back.

"Smart of you. You'll do fine."

A guard calls out, "You done yet?" Gorim rolls his eyes.

Stalas actually has to bite his lip to hold back a bad joke about what's taking them so long.

Gorim doesn't comment. But he does smile, a bit.

"I believe I have to go now, my lord. I'm - goodbye."

"Goodbye, Gorim."

And off he goes.

Leaving Stalas alone.

His smile gradually evaporates.

He sits down again.

His next visitors are the guards to take him to his death-by-exile.

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