- See also: Mounts
Codex text
Never seen a proud rider atop a regal mount? That's your failing. Such animals are common enough, but there're costs, so you keep them away from chance of blight, theft, attack. All the nonsense that makes for poor stabling. These aren't working beasts, with the fire bred out of their eyes so they can suffer a plow. These creatures are about spirit. A proper mount isn't some noble's plaything on a hunt, it's your everyday, and you'd better match it to deserve it.
On Horses
You've never had a mount like the Fereldan Forder, a hardy warmblood. Don't let the size fool you: they're not meant for the farm. Centuries of careful breeding have taken common stock and produced a glory. A creature as much at home in a charge as they are in a march across nations. But for all the stamina and speed they place at your command, press too far, and you'll be picking dirt from your teeth. They know their role and expect that you know yours. Warning and promise and all that.
On the Flames of the Inquisition Armored Charger
Never in all my days did I think I would handle such barding, never mind the quality of the breed. A true purebred lineage, clad in the hallmarks of a master. The combination is one of a kind, and this animal knows it. Mount and rider, meant for greatness. Don't disappoint—the bar has been set very, very high.
On the Red Hart
Honored to see one up close without meeting it points-first. The pride of the stable. Of any stable. Even the Dalish I've had occasion to ask have said it's rare to glimpse them at a distance. The few who have mastered one—and it truly is very few—say there is no animal more sure of foot, more attuned to its rider, more inspirational to simply gaze upon. You want to match the majesty of this creature? Grow some bloody wings.
On the "Bog Unicorn"
Still not sure what you unearthed. Talked to a mage about it and got a typical "head in the Fade" response. Got a better answer from that Tranquil of yours, and it still chilled my short hairs. Plain speak, there's a spirit of some kind in there. Now, a horse to me means "freedom", but I understand that sometimes it's a demon? The wrong side of what it should be. What's the wrong side of freedom? Chaos or just "unending"? Something like that. Whatever is in there, this animal was best of breed, an Orlesian charger fit for any Chevalier, and well tended in life. By its wounds, I'd wager it fell in battle with demons of some ilk and was finished by its master's mercy. Whatever spirit of loyalty or freedom or whatever makes horses run brought the strange thing back. It wants to serve. I've no doubt it will ride well, and I'll stable it, but I'm not going near it.
On the Dracolisk
I've heard of them. Seen a few. They're not as rare as you'd think, but they are very, very difficult. "Spirited" and "stubborn" suggest a reasonable resistance. No, they're just plain mean. Spur a horse a little too hard, and you're getting a brush against a tree. Kick this thing the wrong way, and it's taking a piece of you. That said, there's utility here. As fast and strong as any other, and the rider who masters one is making a statement. Not just "I can do what you can't". It's almost "I can do what you wouldn't even dare".
On the Light-Torn Steed
(Scratched out.) Where do you—I don't want to know where it came from, but I can't argue the utility. The bones of something already best of breed now made extraordinary. In all senses. It will be stabled because it is yours, but I will not feed or tend it. I'm not sure I'd know how. Thankfully it seems content on its own. Your Inquisition is strange, Your Worship.
Greater Mountain Nuggalope or "Deth Nug"
It has hands. It handles things. That's hitting me worse than anything else. What the ever-loving spit? Can't argue the impressive stature of the thing, and it's stubborn, like the most entitled charger. It knows how strong it is, and it knows you know. I expected the dull snuffling of its small cousins, but this—it has hands and spirited eyes. Mind where you secure the buckles of your saddle. I expect it'll let you know when it tires of suffering you on its back. Not that it tires. Hands. Hands.