"Am I alright?" Dorian's voice, still rough from the violence, became shrill, as it often did when he was under a certain amount of stress.

"There is red lyrium on my study floor! Something's happened to my stash, it shouldn't be like this. It wasn't. It's gone corrupted."

Dorian swore a storm, hissing, creative curses in Tevene, strung after one another in regular patterns.

He looked around the room for, what? Some kind of impenetrable glove to pick it up and put the shit away. Where were his dragon skin gloves?