[ Vane rarely ever posts on this thing, because he rarely ever has anything to say, unless responding to someone else. But today he has gotten A Letter. His voice comes in with a tone like he's reading off of a script. ]

"We do hereby assign you, Charles Vane, the title of Assistant Project Leader of Naval Presence." [ There's a low, rumbling chuckle, and the rustling of paper when the letter's set aside. Well doesn't that shit just sound like an actual, legitimate job. It feels a little gross, but here we are. ] Alright then.

[ man of many words. not quite silence falls, but he does stop talking for a while. what's left is a deep inhale and slow exhale as he smokes, the easy wood creaking of a ship underneath him, and the distant lap of water against the piers and the ship's hull. eventually, after half a minute or so: ]


Where's my pet kraken?

[ what? Araceli has one. ]

Do you ever think about the point of the Chant?

❰ it's been a while since adalia spoke on the crystals about... much of anything, really. her voice isn't quite as energetic as it's been in the past, her words coming out more slowly. there's the faintest sound of a pen scratching against parchment as she goes on. ❱

I used to think I had it figured out. It wasn't about the actual story and history of Andraste, it was all about power. Who had it, who was willing to use theirs to hurt people, what people would do to keep it. The Chantry had learned all the wrong lessons from it, I thought. Bunch of wolves, hoarding over the carcass of the truth, tearing strips off and eating them to deny the rest of us access. Uncaring that eventually they would strip the bones bare and leave nothing behind.

❰ for all that adalia's words are blasphemous, inflammatory, she doesn't sound any different than when she started. ponderous, if there had to be a word for it, and if someone could be ponderous while also being uninterested in the answer to their wonderings — she switches topics without so much as a change of inflection. ❱

What do you do when you're angry and it doesn't help? When all of the things that should keep you safe fail and you're powerless and the last thing you have is your anger and then you don't even have that? Is there anything to do, or is it just... this, forever?

[First off you'd be forgiven for thinking that Yngvi either dropped the sending crystal in the bath (yes, he bathes, he's just not some soft Orlesian ponce about it) or fell in the river with it from the splashing in the background until there are other voices, all of them shouting at one another.]

Has anyone ever been to the Lakes of Wildervane before? Didn't realise they were this brackish, smells about as-- [which would be when Yngvi is interrupted by howling in the background that he only attempts to talk over the top of. Someone else is calling for the master dwarf to please come look at this but Yngvi has bigger fish to fry. Sadly metaphorical but he's in the mood now with all this water he's surrounded by, he could go a fish supper for dinner.]

Nah, reckon you've got it covered mate! So. Smells a bit like the Wounded Coast on a low tide by the harvest moon when all the bodies start turning up, pretty appropriate seeing as I bumped into some lads havin'...dunno, don't think this was a jolly. They look like guards. Also like tits.

Right, anyway people who do the dreaming thing I always keep hearing about weird boats in the Fade and me and these lads here, well I think I know how one got there. But I need to ask because I don't do that so I don't know, do I? But if a mage in a boat falls out the boat and then stops being a mage and twists themselves up like a hideous mutilated creature d'you reckon that's how that happens? I've got money on it. And I might need to help. Also do abominations swim?