Dorian was the work of art. The staff was simply a stroke of luck. It still warmed the elf inside, feeling it well up in his chest. A cleansing rune would suit his lover fine, a light in the dark, a spark of brilliance to push back temptation. He took the staff back, leaning in to kiss his partner's cheek before he began to wrap it once again, looking fondly at Dorian all over again.

"No, consider this payback for that carver antler you got for me," he beamed, pleased to have finally found something to match the significance found there. He kept that antler proudly on display in his room, upon his writing desk. Something he could gaze upon whenever he was bogged down with whatever work the Inquisition needed, letters and requests, the boring side of leadership. That antler brought him so many fond memories - and fond feelings of the man who'd given it to him. Now Dorian would have something similar, a reminder of Bramen's affections.

"Now I'd say we're even."