[ The start of this crystal broadcast is heralded by the ringing of a bell. Not like, a nice bell; more like a cow bell. Desperate times, and all that. ]

Everyone, it’s my turn to read out some miscellaneous news to you all and hoo-boy is this one a doozie.

[ She clears her throat, preparing to read--which is evident by the sound of her shaking the creases out of some papers. ]

Baron Andres Llwyd Guildbert, noted Orlesian composeur of such so-called masterpieces as Reine Asha and Andraste, Diva, has gone into hiding after the release and export of his newest theater production, en...entitled… Les Chats.

[ All of these very Orlesian combinations of letters are read with some inferred pronunciation she’s picked up from Bastien, but others are completely butchered. “Rine” Asha, “Less” Shats. And it’s clearly hilarious and Athessa is having a hard time not cracking up after every word. ]

Due to the h-hermitical? nature of the artiste, it is unclear whether his seclusion is due to his pre-established misan--misanthropic tendencies, or if it is in response to the divisive discourse that has erupted across Thedas.

[ There’s some gasping and giggling as she tries to compose herself enough to read the following: ]

Theater critic Alessandre Crane had this to say: “I witnessed an entire man, knit cap and coat, just standing in a scene among a gathering of cats. I saw a terrifying gray statue looming over a character, only for it to blink and realize it’s a woman who is a cat, but they painted her and then forgot to add fur.”

An excerpt from another, anonymous review: "The bobbing butts have their obvious appeal, but Guildbert’s mistake is that he’s tried to class up the joint. What a blunder! In feline terms, this is a play without epic hairballs, without rear-end sniffing, without a deep, wounding scratch."


[ She has to pause now, positively crying with laughter and her giggles interspersed with undignified snorts. ]

And finally, from Matthias Guildbert who asserts that there is absolutely no relation between himself and the reclusive playwright: "But if it wasn’t enough to make the cats horny (why are they so horny), The Baron also feels the need to make it gross by having them dig through trash and play up their animal instincts. Les Chats always feels like it’s two seconds away from turning into a furry orgy in a garbage heap. That’s the energy you have to sit with for almost two hours."

The Kirkwall City Guard has issued a notice that singing the terminally catchy songs from the production is not allowed in the streets, as some physicians in the city have reported patients complaining of ear worms and fear a widespread plague of...song.

[ Ridiculous! Absurd! Absolutely hilarious!! ]

The writer whose poem inspired the play has expressed his wish to remain anonymous.