Oh, colleagues, friends. Esteemed Inquisition members and orbiting loiterers. I have a question for you; a matter of function and form.

And napkins.

And delicate masculinity, imperiled by investment in attire. Finch and I have been discussing a deeply controversial topic, one that I fear may chill you all to the core. This could be what strengthens the Inquisition and brings us together as an effective force to defeat the evils of this world, or could see us forever divided and scattered to the winds of uncertainty.

( Aghast: ) It’s not del — how’s it delicate not wanting to sew a bib on half your chest? Can’t be the Banns actually dress like this. Not dribbling on themselves. They’ve got, I don’t know, servants for that.

(She sounds concerned. )

Have you been recently dribbled on?

( Not that concerned, though. ) Moving on— ruffles, Inquisition. Serah Finch asserts that there is never time or place for tasteful ruffles, which I must add, do not resemble bibs.

I washed it! That’s the point!

( Dribbling. )

Look. You’re all — ( Insane? But you can’t say that out loud. ) — Worldly, how long do you reckon we’ve got before someone catches their fancy sleeves on fire?

( Quietly, ) I think perhaps you missed a spot, there’s a little something—

( And perhaps it is possible to imagine her leaning over to (pretend to?) wipe something off his face. )

( The scuffling thump of someone toppling abruptly off a horse. )

Material properly fashioned - whether in ruffles or drapery or whatever fine form it may take - is not an inherent fire hazard. Competence and poise are key.

( Helpfully, ) And they might cushion your fall, sometimes. A thought for next time.

( ... )

Good afternoon, Inquisition. Some of you I have already had the pleasure to meet, but for those I have not, my name is Max.

[ It's a not unpleasant voice, as these things go. A smooth, melodic Orlesian of the sort one can imagine trading one's cares away to in exchange for gentle but firm reassurance. Today, it is mostly business, but artfully tinged here and there with a withheld sorrow. (Most of which may even be real.) ]

I have recently arrived from the island of Nascere, in the Colean Sea, under circumstances I believe concern us all. One week ago, after operating for some time under the guise of reinstating legitimate Tevinter governance, persons we believe to be agents of Corypheus ravaged our home and have killed or captured many of its people.

The situation in Orlais is no better, as you must know, but even as the Inquisition fights on that front, I would ask one small thing of all of you. While some of us were fortunate enough to make berth in Kirkwall, our sisters and brothers of Nascere have been scattered to the four winds. Some may be dead, others we fear enslaved, but there are still more whose escape we may simply not be aware, who may become allies to you as myself and my colleagues Captains Flint and Vane now are.

[ ‘Colleagues.’ As if they are partners. Perhaps friends. :> ]

I ask then, in the course of your travels to fulfill your duties to the Inquisition, if you should hear word in taverns or crossroads of refugees from Nascere, that you bring this news back to us as soon as you are able. And if you should have business with a man or woman of the account, that you pause but a moment where sense and safety allow, and ask if they are of Nascere. You may find a friend in place of an enemy, and one who would join our cause.

[ Or one of their causes, at any rate. Of those who once called Nascere home, a fair number are more likely to want her dead than reinstated. But there are some whose good opinion Max does not expect, who she would risk more than this to see alive again.

She draws herself up, forcing a gentler warmth into her tone. ]

And, as I am certain rumors abound, [ False ones, surely, ] I would be happy to answer any questions or concerns any of you may have about our island or its former residents as we join your ranks.

Grey Wardens. This is Ser Nathaniel speaking.

In the near future, I would like to print and distribute a pamphlet in the Anderfels. The Ander populace at large is, in my opinion, far too accepting of the new regime, and the more instability we can create, the better for the war effort. Therefore, I would like to print a great many pamphlets and drop them from griffon-back on the border towns. Of course, the Anders are a deeply religious folk. Perhaps swaying the priests will sway the rest of the population. But first we have to write the damn thing. I'll write the bulk of it, but I can't speak for everyone.

What do you want to say to these people about the true Wardens, and what we really stand for? How would you give power to a people from such a harsh land under such harsh masters?