therookery | A SURVEY

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A SURVEY

FORM: Crystal
SENDER: Baroness Frédérique Durfort-Lacapalette, Brother Jehan Mercier, and Valentine Nicasius Maxence Mérovée Olivier de Foncé
RECIPIENT: Everyone
WHAT: Important questions
WHEN: Now
WHERE: Everywhere
NOTES: Please threadjack

Inquisition, we have a question for you.

[ DO NOT SILENCE YOUR CRYSTALS. That is an Orlesian voice, but it is not Val de Foncé's voice. Instead, it is the voice of a woman, which makes it immediately superior. You are probably safe. Maybe. Keep listening. ]

You see, we are scholars. The best of scholars! And this Inquisition, it offers the most magnifique opportunities to learn more of this world and we, my friends, we are here to take on that most noble challenge!

We are conducting a study. [ From the tavern. ] Which of Thedas' nations is your favorite? Le plus fantastique? [ A pause, some murmuring reminder while the crystal is covered with a hand. ] You may not say Orlais, and you must explain why, pour l'étude.

[ HERE is Val’s voice. Please keep listening. ]

You may not say Orlais because we already know that it is Orlais. We have been to Orlais, many times. [ A voice cuts in, dry: ] We are even from Orlais, in case you had not guessed. [ From, you know. The really obvious accents. ] For this, we seek other answers. Answers that are more diverse. Perhaps it is better to say second best? Second favorite? With, naturally, Orlais being the favorite. We are, you see, all in disagreement.

It is threatening to tear us apart, when we have only just been brought back together.

Yes, because you are wrong. If you would cease to be so wrong, we would not be torn apart!

No, you are-- Ah, courage, my friends! We must not be torn apart. [ There is some shuffling and oofing. It is possible that arms are being thrown about shoulders and necks are being squeezed. ] Inquisition, we turn to you, on behalf of our reunion, and the great Baroness Haut-Brion.

If you answer our question we will permit you to call her Freddie.

You will permit nothing, but I may permit it, if your answers are particularly clever.

Also, for a bet-- [ Should Chantry Brothers make bets? Shh. Should Chantry Brothers pause while speaking to drink wine? Shhhhh. ] How many times per day is it reasonable to pray? Suppose that you are also reasonably faithful.

Suppose that you are a madman, a holy madman--

And that you desire nothing more than to be Andraste's second husband and like Maferath to be cuckolded by the Maker himself--

[ Should Chantry brothers dump wine over the heads of their friends? Shhhhhhhhh. ]

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[Val come punch it. Or better yet: allow him to punch you into it if that is what Lady Gwenaelle-Better-Than-All-The-Rest desires because it would be such poetry.

You like poetry, don't you Val.]

In Orlais if it was fashionable to stick lurker balls on your chin then people would do it. [This...is very tempting. Could the Carta swing this. For reasons.] Darktown is where only the strong survive, because I survived, because I ate all but one of the rest of the siblings I had when we hatched out of the ground when our eyes met and we knew the other was worthy. It's where all the proper business goes on. Less merchant's guild frippery, more honest bloke-to-bloke chats over pints to get it done.

[Sometimes with thumbscrews and smashed kneecaps but Orlais has bards so no one can go throwing stones only they can in Darktown because there isn't any glass for it to be a glass house look at him just kicking the legs out from under this analogy.]

[Don't punch his face that's the second moneymaker! The first moneymaker is his brain which is stored behind his face, ish, so still: no punching.]

The lurker balls were on the forehead, actually. Four seasons ago. You must stay current.

I am a little disturbed at your concept of childbirth. Almost as disturbed as I am intrigued by a place without fripperies. You see, we did not waste time with Kirkwall, or else I am certain that I would have found my way to this dark place of such dealings. This may surprise you, but we are not, in fact, merchants.

[You must be very poor. Is what Yngvi would say were he privy to this. Because he is a rude child. It'd be a love tap okay, he's small so he'd need a box, or a ladder, or to hang upside down and swing at you Val which would actually be incredibly dramatic. There could be bards. Music. Some fop to write it all down.]

I was in Nevarra then. Got hired to do a job for someone with...five last names? Drank some of the corpse perfume.

[Tastes better than it smells, try it.]

I'm a dwarf. I think I know how dwarf babies are made, just like I know the way humans and elves do it is disgusting and noisy and smelly. Our way is better. Bet the Qunari way is incredible but good luck asking them. And you could've fooled me, you talk as much as a merchant does, so what are you then? Just some rich ponce's wordy thing that goes about saying he doesn't waste time with Kirkwall when Kirkwall was where Tevinter spent a lot of time in forever ago so clearly, it was definitely worthy of time. Important things happen there. A Chantry blew up there. Qunari happened. Orlais is only having a civil war because Ferelden did and it needs to do it louder and with bad songs.

Scholar. I'm a scholar, and an adventurer, thanks to the field research. But very rich, you are right about that one. Well spotted. Clever dwarvish intuition at work!

[Even if you have drank corpse perfume and think babies come from hatching out of the ground (?), bro. Actually maybe the corpse perfume explains that.]

And you see, the thing about these places of interest is, if we all know that important things happened in Kirkwall, what is the point of visiting Kirkwall? Because, you see, w know of all the things that happened. Kirkwall has happened. Word has got around, people have written of it historically, philosophers considered what it means, to have a Chantry blown to bits, the militant forceful occupation of Qunari has been weighed and considered and analyzed--for us, this is the past.

We must look to the future. Where will the next important thing happen? What is the important thing that is undiscovered? It is more than a place of interest. It becomes, then, centres d'intérêts.

Edited (more words) 2016-09-27 21:42 (UTC)

[Is Yngvi doing this on purpose or does he genuinely believe this. Val, please decide.]

What do you scholar? Turnips? Carrots? Fields are boring, those are for Fereldans unless they're crying because oh no, Darkspawn, let's go to Kirkwall and ruin it for the people living there.

[Make him a war correspondent, he'd be brilliant. Orlais would love him at least whenever it was time to cut to the weekly 'Fuckery in Ferelden' segment.]

Don't believe what some puffed-up merchant's guild type wrote, merchants love the smell of their own farts. [Merchants guild, you can't trust them unless you're blackmailing them.] And that was all some idiot doglord they should have hurled back into the sea along with most of them because they didn't bring anything with them, at least the Orlesians marry in and don't just clutter up the place, looking untidy. The Orlesians have terrible wine but they've got wine. The Qunari bit was fun for a while though. Livened up the place. Unless you took the scenic route home - ever had a picnic on the Wounded Coast with your much more interesting lady friend? Oh no you haven't.

Well it won't be Orlais because it's about to disappear entirely up its own arsehole trying to find a new arse to sit on the stupid holy throne no one cares about because that's a scam, and to sit on the other stupid throne no one cares about but at least the songs are shorter. Won't ever be zen-tress day-internets.

[...Nailed it.]

[Not... sure... if horseshit... or... belief.... which is really what makes this all the more interesting.]

I scholar architecture, demolitions, and zoology, mainly. With other scholarly bits throughout. We are not all but one or nothing, my friend. A field is only boring if you do not know of the thousands of lives and deaths that go on in minute, in the small places you never see. Like a dance that is conducted in secret.

Which is more than I can say for Kirkwall, no matter what you seem to believe. Which I am honestly not sure of. Is you more interesting lady friend more interesting than you, or me? If it's the latter, I would need to see her to believe her. If it's the former, I'm not sure I could handle her.

["zen-tress day-internets". ouch.]

Now I'm just thinking about Nevarra because secret dances are naked dances but you're talking about dead stuff so it's just...weird

[What a letter he's going to write back to the others about the strange people he's met. Even meeting rifters and the Orlesians remain the strangest ones of all.]

Your lady friend. On this thing. Thought you went to university you cheeky dipper. [You don't even know what that is.] You take her out to the Wounded Coast, probably doesn't smell as much like corpse juice as it did a few years back but you might get lucky and a few Tal-Vashoth will be roaming around. Got word from one of my uncles, said folk are worshipping some of the statues what came to life.

[Ah, Kirkwall, never change. Of course his uncles are trying to exploit the shit out of that. What's the Orlesian for that?]

Ah, you speak of Freddie.

[Finally, he knows what is being discussed! What a relief! A relief that does not last.]

There is no handling Freddie. The point stands. Tell me, why do they call it the Wounded Coast, do you think? Is it the corpse juice? The statues that have come to life and, presumably, torn people apart?

But it had the name before these things happened.

[If they actually happened, or are happening, which....]

Yeah, roulade.

[Freddie you will forever be named after foods.]

Once, long long ago-- [ah and here is the voice of one of the old dwarves who was so old one day he just crumbled into so much dust but for his teeth (all iron struck into blades) and his eyes (two sharp flints) but those are stories for other days, the way Yngvi tells it] and nevermind any of the stories raiders tell you because raiders aren't Kirkwall in their bones so they don't know it, used to be old things there. Down in the dirt and the muck. Great big grabbing ugly things. Crabs. Big enough to pincer most things you could ever imagine clean in half. Saw part of a claw cracked open once, takes a long long time, imagine that sort of smell. Went all sorts of places with the Boneflayers but you never forget that on the right sort of tide.

Used to have a little tiddler one when I was a nipper y'know. You can still find 'em if you know where to look, course none of us live long enough to see them grow big as they should.

[Kirkwall: A Bad Case of Crabs.]

[Roulade... no, he'll let Freddie hear that one. It's time to listen to the story anyways.

It's a better story than it has any right to be. Val is intrigued despite himself. Kirkwall, yuck, but all the same--]

And where do you look, for these crabs? Must a deep deep hole be dug?

[There are worse names, like you will always be Dipper or possibly some sort of salad if he's hungry and he gets your full name.]

Well depends on who you ask. Some folk say you need to slather up a bronto in butter to do it but I mean, greasing a nug is hard enough though I bet you've never done that but I've got over two dozen if you fancy having a shot, so imagine doing that to something the size and temper of one of those. Or folk say slather yourself. Or a mage. Heard about doing it half honey mustard but that seems like a lot of waste.

There's a song. Or, well, you'd call it a song if you were a crab I reckon. A lot of moaning into a shell. Lie flat on your back as the tide goes in and out so it almost covers you, think deep thoughts and I mean literally deep thoughts, deeper than the bottom of a well or a hole right down in the world and maybe up they'll come.

How interesting.

[And disgusting. And intriguing. And possibly not worth it, but then again, only possibly--]

Which is it you recommend, for the buttering? I've left honey mustard off from my list already, at your word, my friend. The moaning should not be so difficult--I have heard my share of it. Not from a crab, of course, but all the same. It is the buttering that concerns me most.

I like a glaze, me. But that's apparently the fancy side and what happens when you know them from the Coterie, Rivain, and the Halamshiral alienage. Does need to be something interesting though, something with a bit of a kick to it yeah because, like, it's a crab. You ever seen a crab with a nose?

Something good and pungent, bit of spice won't hurt. Good roll in the sand too because you can't just go standing out like a sore thumb and well, it's Kirkwall. Still a lot of demons might come after you. How fast d'you reckon you could run all buttered up if a rage demon was trying to set your arse on fire?

[That's actually a sincere question since you're a scholar. Apparently. He will confer with Gwenaelle and Lex on this matter.]

[There's a expectant pause in answer. Then Val realizes: oh, hang on, that's a question--]

Quite fast. I have done my share of running, both toward and away. Usually while carrying heavy things.

Are demons particularly attracted to pungent glazes in your experience? I cannot say I have known the same. Then again, I have not glazed myself very often.

[Gotta keep up. There will be a quiz, class is in session.]

Good, we'll need to test that though but I've a keg, mead, many fine nugs that can be a part of it.

What do they teach you? Nothing worth knowing I reckon - how to squint at a pot of piss and know if an old man is going to croak because you don't need to do the first to know the last, trust me. [Usually you hit them. Wait to see if they hit back.] Of course, rage demons like spicy ones that make your skin itch, desire demons are more for something you'd put on a pudding or a person if you're both of a mind. Pride demons are those weird fancy salad vinegar things. That's hard, not very successful, doesn't really qualify if you ask me but last time I weren't being asked.

I think you are describing medicine, with the pissing. Not my expertise, I am afraid, and better for everyone that it is so. But I am good at tests that involve running so, in that at least, I will be prepared.

Were you a sacrifice?

[There's a loud snorting noise. Half-offended, half a laugh.]

No. Got lots of brothers and sisters, only one of them weren't worth eating and he's with the rest of the Boneflayers now. The rest? Well you put them to use how you can.

But last time you weren't being asked. Last time you were buttered and oiled as-- not a sacrifice. But not a willing participant, either.

My friend, I can only conclude that you have lead a life perhaps more storied than my own. Good or bad stories.

S'called a bait and switch, because children are fuckin' stupid. Especially when you say you're going to go get big fat crabs if you slather yourself up good. I'm short but I've got bloody longer legs than a child. A dwarf child that is.

[Even elf kids are bigger than Yngvi.]

Feed me and I'll tell you some. [That's all you need to do, you don't even need to get him drunk you just need to throw food in and around his face.]

[Actually--]

What would I need to feed you? Nothing buttered, I hope. I think I have sworn off butter completely. And oil.

You could club together with another lad, he's got his heart set on watching me eat a whole boar but I'm not fussy, I'm from Kirkwall. I'll eat anything. 'cept dodgy pies from Starkhaven.

I wouldn't say I want to watch. Why does he want to watch?

Because it's his heart's desire as a rifter to watch a young dwarf eat, I'm going to make all his dreams come true because the spirit of generosity is all up inside me.

I suppose that does explain it. These rifters are all half mad. But, if you are amendable to a second guest, my friend, perhaps I will also observe.

If only to study the rifter's interest more closely.

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A SURVEY

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yikes sorry this got buried :[

s'all good

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