"The Happy Basilisk! What a wonderful name and I meant absolutely no disrespect about what you're wearing, if that's how it came across I apologise it's that you look like the sort I'm of person I'd be looking for." Maker, Andraste, help him in his hour of need and not get punched in the throat by someone who reminds him not only of hirelings but the soldiering sort that tend to be around the family home, there to trip over when you come home.

Tavin falls into step easy enough, a long stride for long legs, spidery hands flapping about as he goes. Some unfortunate soul walking past him narrowly avoids one to the face. "Some of the armour I've seen - I'm assuming Riftwatch, I can't imagine a Kirkwall guard salary pays well and there are tales, some more salacious than others - is all flash, no substance. Doesn't fare well in the field. Have you seen what happens when an alpha wyvern spies his reflection in the breeding season in a polished silverite breastplate?"

Tavin why do you sound gleeful about wondering if someone else has?