crystal.

[byblow]

FORM: Crystal
SENDER: Alistair
RECIPIENT: Everyone
NOTES: Check this report.

More good news, everyone.

[ Already, it doesn't sound like good news. He isn't faking any obnoxious good cheer. Instead it's quiet drawl, 100% subdued sarcasm. ]

We've more or less confirmed that when Hawke and her friends, ah, when they 'killed' Corypheus—

Obviously he wasn't dead. If that part is news, we need to have a talk. But it seems the way he got out of prison while his big, creepy body was dead on the ground was by transferring himself—his soul—into a Warden who was there, and walking out, easy as that.

The Archdemons could do something similar, but not to us. That was the whole point of us. So that's... great...

[ Wearily. But after a moment he steels himself and sounds, if not brighter, at least more brisk. ]

Anyway, if anyone does ever get close enough to kill him, try not to have a Warden with you, I suppose. If you can't help it, you can ask them to laugh afterwards. If they sound too creepy about it, you'll have to kill them too.

Comments

[gentlecountry]

Well, now! No shit.

[There's a short, involuntary little guffaw at that, the boldness of it, and the catlike surleyness. She might as well have added and what's it to you at the end, bless her heart.]

Beens quite the long time since I talked with someone's not a born surfacer. Warden-Constable Bartolomeo Bjurnsen, at you're service.

[okayimin]

[ There is still some pretense at manners, since she's a representative of the Chantry and all. And also he's a Warden. ]

Sister Sara, at yours. I've been above for about four years or so. If you're looking for news, can't say I have much.

[gentlecountry]

Don't expect you'd haves none for me anyhow, that would much matter. Beens up tops here for... [shit, how long?] Oh, gots to be more than twenty years.

Just glads not to be the onlies one, I suppose, Sister Sara. You'll be withs the Chantry, then?

[okayimin]

There's others. They just. [ Are Carta thugs and not inclined to hang about anywhere reputable.] Don't stick around long. Twenty years' a long time.

Yeah, out of Orlais. Took vows and all.

[gentlecountry]

Oh sure, 'specially for a Warden. Even if we're lucky, tends to start dropping off after not so long. Hazards of the job. [He's not that old, for a person, dwarf or otherwise. He's very old indeed, for a Warden.] Ain't lost my stonesense yets, though. Helps that I takes my turns through the Deep Roads, I s'pose.

[Took vows, come out of Orlais... but never quite got rid of that Dusttown drawl, just tamped it down under something respectably neutral, where it mattered. Then something occurs to him, and Barty has to ask;]

Wait now, you wouldn'ts be going by the name Sister Sawbones, woulds you?

[okayimin]

Huh. Always wondered how long that took to go.

[ Well, there it is then. ]

Only folks who call me that are Dusters asking to get leeches on their bruises instead of something nicer. It's Sister or Sawbones.

[gentlecountry]

Yes, ma'am.

[Oh, he likes you. You're trouble.]

Well, I do tends to considers myself a Warden firsts and foremosts, but to be fair to Dusters, there ain't a single sod in Orzammar that'd call this Dwarf anything else.

They takes all sorts, Grey Wardens do.

[okayimin]

[ She would argue that she's not trouble at all, it's everyone else that keeps causing trouble. ]

A deshyr who hasn't seen Ozammar in twenty years wouldn't know who Sawbones is to start with. Either way. You can ask for me if you or yours need stitching up and can't get a mage.

I owe the Grey Wardens anyhow.