[ This reeks of 'crazy cultist' all over.

Cousland doesn't consider herself a genius in any sense of the word - one flaw of many that she will openly admit to - but being herded around by a bunch of tepid, cheerful strangers has her suspiciously digging her heels in at every turn as they show her the sights. Not that it's really doing her much good, with her usual physical strength having mysteriously abandoned her at the worst possible moment.

"Yes, yes, that wall is very interesting. Wonderful. Lovely workmanship. Not even slightly identical to the last three you've dragged me around to. I'm sure I can navigate on my own -- "

Nope. No escaping the tourism train. Choo choo, motherfucker.
So, while being quite literally dragged around by the arm by a particularly enthusiastic native, Cousland has enough time to throw bystanders a pleading look. Save me. By the Maker, nobody deserves this fate. What if they try to take her to some cult library and she's forced to read scripture on ~*~love and peace~*~ and ~*~sacrificing small animals~*~?

So help her, one hint of blood magic and she's going to start breaking things. Or people. Probably both just to cover all her bases. ]

[ Certain privileges are made to be used sparingly, in only the amounts one needs, to be used to their fullest potential. Housing is certainly no exception. Only the necessities are really worth bothering with in all honesty - a modest bed, bathing facilities, the kitchen... perhaps a small sitting room, if the inhabitant is the kind of person to entertain a few friends on occasion.

Cousland, on the other hand, is more than happy to abuse the living daylights out of her newfound boundless redecoration powers. Excess is the name of the game as far as she's concerned.

So it should be no surprise at all that the moment a visitor sets foot over the unassuming threshold, the interior looms in all it's medieval glory.

The walls are solid stone, with many high windows of stained glass, a band of decorative stonework etched approximately a meter up, running the length of the foyer on both sides. Luxurious woven wall hangings depict fantastic scenes from Fereldan myth; the ancient warrior Dane locked in combat with a werewolf, a Grey Warden on griffonback, so on and so forth.
It should be mentioned there's a ridiculous excess of dog statues and/or decoration in general.

And then there's Cousland herself, comfortably seated on a sturdy oak chair draped with furs for cushioning, smugly surrounded by books, wine, and all the other comforts she could think of off the top of her head. Like any child in a candy store, she's clearly gone overboard in piling up as much material wealth as she possibly could in a short span of time.

Feel free to march in and point out that none of her newfound treasure can exist past the front stoop. Someone needs to rain on her parade. ]

[ Choose your own adventure! ]