The Alienage in Denerim is not what you'd call a nice place to live, but it's calm, and it has some nice scenery. Enormous tree, shanty-huts, that sort of thing. And the people are always interesting.
One of those interesting people is standing shadily on a street corner and looking at nearby elves. One of his hands is in his pocket. He's unusually dark for someone in Ferelden. Unusually human, too, though he's hunched over so that it's not immediately obvious. And he's muttering to himself, which is a sure way to make people not want to look at someone.
The things he's muttering to himself aren't the ravings of a madman, though. "Not her, I'm sure she'd just rupture... couldn't get him... promising. Excuse me, young man?" he quavers in the voice of an old beggar. "Spare a silver?"
"How about," says Tev, looking around, "I suggest they reconsider their life of crime?"
"Great. Now fuck off," says Tev. He makes a shooing gesture with his shield arm, the shield still on it.
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