To most, Ferelden simply ends with the Korcari Wilds: There is nothing beyond. The Wilds is a land of great trees, wet marshes and dangerous monsters. What more need be said? [The book closes with a snap, borrowed from a library long ago not the Inquisition or the Gallows, not even from the Court in Orlais but much older, the words of Mother Ailis whoever she was. Morrigan makes an amused noise in her throat.]

But I wonder, for those who would call themselves well-travelled with the Inquisition, would they be willing to dare to venture there? Sundermount has yielded all that it can and I must depart in hunt of prey I might only find deep in the Wilds but I would prefer not to travel alone. Do you have the stomach for it? To venture deep into the marshes where so few have ever returned from? Where we might find the Chasind Wilders so many bedtime tales are made of?

If so, speak with me and I shall tell you more of what I hunt, if not then do not trouble me. What good comes of troubling witches? [Are you going to listen Inquisition no she would guess not but it's worth a try.]

Right, gotta ask since it's been nigglin' me like a loose tooth for a bit now Inquisition, what d'you all know about dwarves? Rifters you don't get a free pass unless you fell out the skies yesterday, s'not like we're a rare sight but, y'know, 'specially since we've been here a while now and-- [there's a little edge to his voice, he coughs to clear that, can't sound like he gives a shit, just the damp and the smoke lingering yeah?] you've been with lots of dwarves. Lot of my family even!

Might get invited to Sunday dinner if you play your cards right but word to the wise, maybe don't? Politely decline. But not too polite yeah? [Don't know what you'll be served on a Darktown dinner table do you now?]