The early morning in Ferelden was known to be unforgiving, the black of night casting over the earth, leaving biting cold winds that nipped at your skin, even from the safety of your raggedy old tent. Alongside the low whistling of the wind from the night sky outside, the soft grumbles of Zevran fill the tent as he complains of the cold, of how 'miserable this Ferelden weather is' under his breath.

Pulling his shirt off and haphazardly throwing it to some corner of your tent in search of warmer clothes, he reveals something you'd never seen before. Similar to those...markings on his face, an intricate tapestry of ink designs trail over the expanse of his tanned back, some leading down to the lower half of the body, some curling around his arms.

... You'd certainly seen no such thing on any Ferelden. Only heard tales of the Dalish elves who mark their skin with illustrations of their gods. Yet this seemed... different. Unique.