Daylen had kept mostly to himself since his arrival. He couldn't be blamed for it, really. Going from the midst of a battlefield upon which you faced certain death in order to save the world to the midst of a town that seemed not-quite-real was jarring, to say the least. So was meeting people you knew who weren't quite themselves and didn't remember you as they should. Privately, Daylen hadn't ruled out the possibility that he really was dead, or dying, but of course people didn't like it much if you spoke to them as if they were figments of your imagination, so he had decided to proceed as if it were all real, despite his doubts.
He was at the Emporium today with Rufus, his great mabari hound, at his side. Long walks with Rufus were a part of his routine now, and he'd decided to stop by and pick up a few things. When he'd first been told that there were no lyrium potions for sale anywhere, he'd been anxious, but it looked like the threats that made them necessary in Ferelden were absent here. Still, he carried his staff with him. It shimmered with a blue light, and made the occasional magical crackle. People here didn't seem to fear mages, and Daylen had been open about what he was for a long time now anyway. Approaching the counter, Daylen gave Caleb a friendly nod. He knew the other man in passing; they were on the same floor of the Last Resort, a floor that was a lot quieter now that most of the others had decamped to stay with Hawke. Although he was glad that he hadn't been alone for his first few nights in Night Vale, Daylen had adjusted well to the new building, and thought that a bit of distance was probably for the best.
What were those jars that Caleb was working on? Wisps of smoke? He peered at them, curious, and then gave a bit of an apologetic smile when he was noticed. 'They're interesting,' he said by way of explanation. 'What are they for, exactly?'