I. OPEN.

[liberalum]

FORM: Sending crystal.
SENDER: Dorian Pavus and some fans.
RECIPIENT: Everyone.
WHAT: Karma.
WHEN: Guardian 18.
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: I won't actually action this one out, but we can work out by arrangement if your character would in fact like a chicken, but most will go to the barn despite this offer. Dorian just wants people to remove them. ;-;

[ Clearly, this message is being sent on slight impulse, a certain degree of stress and despair in his tone despite being delivered, initially, with somewhat sarcastic cheer. ]

It appears I have come into a sudden wealth of--

[ A brief pause, a struggle, not really wanting to say it. ]

--poultry. Livestock.

[ In the background, the gentle clucking of perfectly content chickens makes for a background to Dorian's clipped syllables, clenched teeth, the slight implication in his tone that he might laugh or cry or both, left unchecked. ]

Do come by if you would like one of these. Take as many as you can carry, you're welcome to them. They're not leaving, they just keep running back in, I swear they're following me around-- oh, look at this, just--! It laid an egg! In Nevarran satin! And feathers, everywhere, this coat was spotless, and now it looks like I've rolled around in a chicken--

[ This is the moment he realises why this is happening to him. ]

--coop. Well, I hope you're happy. [ Whether he's addressing a broody hen or Leliana is left to interpretation. ] But no, really, someone take them from-- no no no, get away from that--

[ Message ends. ]

Comments

[arlathvhen]

[ Leliana gets +10 approval. Beleth tries very hard to sound sympathetic when she speaks. Not really. ]

...Have you tried taking them to the barn--Of course, you might not have heard about that. If that's the case, I'd be happy to direct you.

[liberalum]

[ Oh, he dimly recognise that voice. That tone. As dry as the Hissing Wastes, yet perfectly in character; ]

Are you referring to that dirty wooden building where we keep the peasants and my horse? No need, I can follow the smell.

[arlathvhen]

Oh, good. Would you like a hand transporting them? I'd hate for you to get your nice clothes all mussed up having to wallow with the peasants and the horses.

[liberalum]

You're too kind, but I'll pass.

Who is this, anyway?

[arlathvhen]

Donnen Brennokovic.

[liberalum]

My goodness. What an honour.

[ He's read that book. ]

And so far from your usual beat! Perhaps you might solve the mystery of the suddenly appearing chickens for me.

[arlathvhen]

[ She tries to sound serious, because MAGISTER!!!! But she can't help it, a snort escapes her lips. It's her own fault, really. ]

Well, alright.

[ Pause. ]

It was Corypheus. A clever ploy to overthrow the Inquisition with poultry. Starting with the most important member, obviously. No one will take you seriously with feathers in your hair. Thus falls the Inquisition.

[liberalum]

I should have known.

[ Content to lay it on thick, even the congregation of chickens milling around his ankles won't stop him from banter.

If only to see if he can make a convert out of her. ]

Unfortunately for the Elder One, he neglected to take into account my instinct for trendsetting. When this is all over and order across Thedas is restored, Orlesian nobles will continue to wear chicken feather fascinators for seasons to come.

[arlathvhen]

[ She is trying to resist, and makes a noise that's both resentful and amused. This is probably what it blood magic playing with your mind feels like. ]

Wearing on the outside what's on the inside is a novel concept, but one I hope will stick to heads alone.