Solona Amell and Open
Ale. It had taken a dwarf - one with definite alcoholic tendencies, but that was not important neither now or then - to open her up to a world of pubs, bars, and ale. She’d hated the taste at first, but Oghren’s company had made sure that only the finest of ales had come to pass muster. Unfortunately, moving away from Fereldan borders meant a clean break with her beloved Brakien Brew. Ales turned into harder stuff, and while some of it was barely drinkable, she was a good sport. Alcohol brought people together and loosened up even the stubbornest of tongues. Especially once she'd found herself in lands far beyond the reach of the Blights, it had turned out to be invaluable.
Turned out that even there, they knew the language of gold. Gold was exchanged, a jug pushed into her hands - simple enough. she moved away from the counter, and tried to go back to her table, where others were waiting to have their tongues loosened.
But the world shifted soon enough; the pub's dark, candle-lit interior made way for daylight and a town square that was unfamiliar to her, and annoyingly [...] something. Not Orlesian, or Fereldan. It was something new. And it certainly did a grand job of making her look entirely out of place. Her armor, tarnished and dinged, certainly didn't help. Neither did the sword, or the tan leather backpack slung from her shoulder, which was filled to the brim with herbs and potions.
She took her time checking out the crowd in front of her. Some of them were looking at little boxes in their hands - why, she had no clue - others were lost in conversation, and others were eating. Roasted meat. Her stomach rumbled in kind- she ignored that, thank you very much - and scanned the crowd. No weapons. No alcohol. But relative safety as a concept was laughable, so [...] Fuck it.
She stepped closer, and put the jug down on the first stable surface she found. There. All this gathering needed was cups.