The population is obsessed first and foremost with their grand Game— their term for all the endless lust and backstabbing and intrigue and petty wars that make up any wealthy class. Orlesians, however, make it into an art: even the commoners are caught up in it, and almost anything is allowable so long as you manage to be discreet. It is not dissimilar to Tevinter in that respect, I suppose, though they somehow manage to put an even greater emphasis on how one looks and acts and is perceived.
They all wear masks, and you and I shall have to as well, lest we stick out. Their fashion is impractical at best and needlessly complicated at worst, offering endless layers and frills and patterns to dizzy any eye. Their wine is decent, but their food, much like their people, tends towards the extravagant, and it is hard to find anything of substance.
And they are even worse to elves than Free Marchers are— though most will end up simply ignoring us, I suspect, or assuming we're the consorts to some wealthy Duke.
[The more he writes, the easier it gets: the heavy emotion of before not so much dissipating as easing, ebbing through him with a familiar warmth. His heart is still pleasantly heavy, thundering with emotion and adoration— but complaining about something meaningless helps. Allowing them both to inch away from that ledge helps, though Fenris is assuredly still thinking of it.]
no subject
They all wear masks, and you and I shall have to as well, lest we stick out. Their fashion is impractical at best and needlessly complicated at worst, offering endless layers and frills and patterns to dizzy any eye. Their wine is decent, but their food, much like their people, tends towards the extravagant, and it is hard to find anything of substance.
And they are even worse to elves than Free Marchers are— though most will end up simply ignoring us, I suspect, or assuming we're the consorts to some wealthy Duke.
[The more he writes, the easier it gets: the heavy emotion of before not so much dissipating as easing, ebbing through him with a familiar warmth. His heart is still pleasantly heavy, thundering with emotion and adoration— but complaining about something meaningless helps. Allowing them both to inch away from that ledge helps, though Fenris is assuredly still thinking of it.]