[A throat clears theatrically, followed by singing in a competent-but-untrained baritone:]

Move over,
move over,
and quick like a riggity jig--
we'll always move over for our friends,
for our friends are not very big.

[A short pause, and Barrow continues:]

Let's sing of our comrades, Riftwatch. The verse format is as follows:

[he sings again.]

Move over, my friends, for dear Bastien,
a charming and affable fellow!
They say he could pounce on whomever he wants,
but on cold nights he cuddles his cello.

And so forth.

Play nice.

I always knew I was someone's dream girl, but I never thought it would be quite this literal.

[ The voice on the crystal is cheerful and warm. Her accent is Kirkwall-neutral - she sounds like a local - but from her words, it's clear enough she's a Rifter. ]

I don't suppose anyone else here is the, oh, product of some dreamer from Ketterdam, are they? Or the Wandering Isle? Ravka? [ That one's slipped in there completely neutrally, like it has no more meaning to her than any of the other lands. ] Novyi Zem? It's all right if not; I won't think any less of you. Really, I may well think better of you for it.

And if you're not from any of those places, then I'd like very much to know where you are from. And what I should eat if I ever go visit. Oh, and I wouldn't mind learning a few swear words, while you're at it.