Fandom High School

It was clear and cool outside when the students gathered at Morrigan's hut, as they had been handwavily informed by letter. There had been trail markers, if they had the sense to see them, and if not, well, Morrigan had some of her four-legged friends out looking to herd them in. A fire was going in the outside pit, and a few logs had been rolled closer for seating. Morrigan herself was seated upon one of them, roasting some vegetables on a stick.

"Generally, one must have shelter to live," she began dryly, once the majority of the class had arrived. "For instance, my hut, here. It is slightly larger than the one my mother and I share in the Wilds, and neater, too, for Flemeth cares not for creature comforts." It was sometimes a point of contention between the two of them, yes. "But this suits me, and would be considered a fine home in any village in Ferelden, and indeed, most areas of Thedas."

"Were we in Orlais, well, I doubt they would consider it fine enough to house their pigs, since it is not doused in perfume." Morrigan gave a shrug. "Orlesians place flippery over practicality on a regular basis."

Suddenly, and without any prior warning, a small wave of blue magical energy spread out across the area from a couple of dozen feet away. By the time it got anywhere near the students, it was very much weakened - though the magically-inclined might feel a brief itch.

Very little else occurred.

Well, Morrigan's lips twitched in amusement as she recognized the type of spell - and the source of its origin - but she wasn't going to say anything.

"Where you are from, what are living situations like? Do you live in a home with family? Dormitory style? Villages, cities, or spread out across land? The Wilder-folk build homes on stilts, for the Wilds can flood quite quickly. Fereldens like sturdy buildings of stone and wood, while Orlais has bright windows and airy arches. Rivain...pirates, the lot of them, and love their ships more than their mothers, although I cannot fault them for that."

A few moments later, Alistair appeared - well, sort of. He'd wrapped a giant leaf around his hips and three-fourths of him was standing behind a tree. "Morrigan," he hissed, sounding both mortified and righteously furious.

Another moment later, Alistair-and-leaf were darting into Morrigan's hut like the darkspawn Archdemon itself was on his heels.

Morrigan was doing a wonderful job of keeping a straight face. In fact, she looked as sweet and innocent as those little statues of Andraste that merchants often hawked. Not that dirty one that was rumored to be in Kirkwall, but maiden-sweet.

"If you would like to go into my home and look around before we discuss dwellings, please do, but do not touch or drink anything in any flasks," she said simply. "Some of them have...unfortunate side-effects."

To his credit - or at least his realisation that saying anything to call attention to himself might, uh, lead to horrible embarrassment, Alistair did not shout 'YOU TURNED ME INTO A TOAD!' at the top of his lungs as he stepped out of the door wearing a makeshift cloak. "Don't touch anything in general," he gritted out, "It might be a trap."