So what do you actually do for fun around here? Besides drinking or sex. [ Because she already knows the joy of those, obviously. ] Do you have hobbies.

Hey everyone. So, I know Mal and I have both been pretty vocal about wanting to go back to Circles once they are brought back, and I still feel that way, but...

Well, I think a lot of you do have a really good point about being able to learn things we weren't taught in the Circle. Then we can take those skills back with us once we find a home. It will help to make everything so much better, I think.

[He still isn't sure what a reformed Circle will look like, but he is sure that's still what he wants. He just also sees the point that now is a good time for him to learn new skills. Maybe that will also help him feel more comfortable with eventually getting his own dog. He hasn't yet because he's been so worried that he'll have to give it up once he goes back to a Circle.]

Anyway, I would really like to learn how to bake. It would be great to make cookies and cakes and breads and just everything else like that.

Is there anyone around willing to teach that? I'm not sure what I can pay in return. Maybe we can trade for healing potions?

I lost a bet. [ Just getting that out of the way now, before anyone thinks that he actually wants to be talking to any of you. ] I have to ask you these survey questions. You will not be able to remember them all, so answer whichever you have something interesting to say about.

[ And you know what's really fun to listen to? Nearly twenty questions read off a sheet of paper, rotely and with barely any inflection, by someone whose combination of Nevarran and Orlesian accent gets more difficult to understand the more annoyed he is. ]

One. The weirdest thing you've eaten here.

Two. The most successful quote, international relation, end quote.

Three. The most impressive thing you've seen. —that is horrifically broad, Nell.

[ From some distance away: ] Your mother is horrifically broad.

Maybe.

Four, the strangest banner or coat of arms or nickname. From a competitor, I assume.

Five, the best one of those things.

Six, the most entertaining failure. From a competitor, I assume again.

Seven. Who do you think will win the Grand Melee, and how much are you willing to wage on it? If it is more than ten sovereigns, please let me know.

Eight. The most drinks you've had in one night this week.

Nine. The Inquisition member most likely to get married here and leave the Inquisition forever.

Ten. Best prize.

Eleven. Best facial hair.

Twelve. The competitor you would prefer to swap bodies with for a—this is stupid.

[ Still over his shoulder somewhere: ] For a day! Come on!

A stupid day. Thirteen, the event you wish had been included.

Fourteen, your best guess as to what made the animals so sticky.

Fifteen. The nation here you would most like to party with.

Sixteen. The nation here most likely to be cheating.

Seventeen. Best muscles.

Eighteen. The event you would have won if it existed.

Nineteen, the combat event animal that likely had the cutest offspring waiting for it at ho— [ Rapidly getting louder: ] Maker's tits, that is not on the list—! And wyverns aren't cute! [ There are sounds of a brief scuffle, and then it cuts off. ]

Skyhold has ordered that the phylacteries recovered from the Seekers in the Storm Coast be locked up here in the Gallows until they choose what to do with them. Since they seem to be struggling to come to a decision, we thought we should help them by making clear to them where the mages of the Inquisition stand on this issue. To begin with, Kostos and I are drafting a letter to the leadership urging them to destroy these phylacteries and any others that come into the Inquisition's possession in the future, and we would like to be able to tell the advisors that the affected mages here in Kirkwall are in unanimous agreement, or near enough.

We'll be getting in touch with the mages in Skyhold and the other bases separately, and may speak with others in the wider community if further support seems needed, but since former Circle mages are the only people actually affected by this decision, we are the ones who should be making it.

[ Kostos—quiet, due to both internal conflict, a habit of following Nell's lead, and a natural disinclination to talk to large groups of near-strangers—breaks his silence to add, ] In the meantime, if everyone could refrain from doing anything hideously stupid that would remind people why they're useful, that would be… [ Good. You know. ] And we do need to know how you feel, and how strongly. There is a fine line between making threats and explaining consequences, and we can do our best to stay on the right side of it.

But we need to know how many of you will be willing to follow through if it becomes necessary to demonstrate to the Inquisition just how much they need us.

Beloved Inquisition. Charming, benevolent, remarkably good looking, delightful Inquisition.

(Here there is a quiet snort of sarcasm that belongs to Nikos.

Off to a great start. Marisol sighs wistfully. ) You will be happy to know that we are making headway in repairing our relationship with Nevarra. There is much to do, still, but the team I attended with did excellent work, and I am thankful to all of them.

Marisol. ( Quiet chiding, not really meant for anyone else but her. The point, Marisol, the point. )

Ah! ( A moment of enlightenment. Bless you, dear cousin. ) Another of my wondrous Nevarran relatives has descended upon the Inquisition. She is residing in the Gallows, but I would ask all of you to treat her with the utmost respect, and maintain a safe and healthy distance.

( c: )

She— ( wait, no, Kostos isn’t playing along with that ridiculousness ) —It is in a locked room in the central tower. You should not be at risk of encountering it unless you make an effort.

Don’t make the effort. Unless you want your eyeballs speared by long fingernails and the state of your cloak slyly disrespected. The former more likely than the latter. I think her tongue is rotted. (wait…. In a Kostos voice that actually sounds pretty much like his own voice, slightly different accent, slightly more sullen? Less sullen? Hard to say.) It has a rotted tongue. All dust.

(And he sounds way too darkly amused about that. Meanwhile, Marisol sounds as chill and entertained as always, the faint note of reproof entirely playful. )

Great Great Great Aunt Berenike is a woman of considerable reputation, but presently also of considerable temper. She has very graciously acquiesced to participate in our efforts to cure the revered dead of the Necropolis of their current ill-humour, but she is not not one to suffer fools.

Except for dinner. She will gladly suffer fools for dinner.

This is Colin the shopkeep. Now that two separate crises are under control, I have something I want to bring to your attention because I know how good-hearted and generous all of you are, as demonstrated all last month.

It's Darktown. I've been helping Anders in his clinic there, and...I thought I'd seen poverty before. I thought I'd lived it. I thought my family was poor when I was a kid because we didn't have much. We shared a wall with our neighbors and there were seven of us living in two tiny rooms. Sometimes we didn't eat well, but we never starved. Our roof leaked sometimes, but we could fix it and be dry after that. We had a roof and walls and clothes and food. After the, um, the war started a few years back, I went hungry for a while, but my teeth weren't falling out.

People in Darktown don't have walls or a roof. You'd think living under Hightown would mean they have at least a roof, but they don't. On the seaward side, people are exposed to everything--cold, rain, snow, everything. And the muck that leaks down from Hightown is some of the worst stuff you'll ever smell. Most people down there can't work, or can't find work, and they have to live down there with their families because they can't afford rent in Lowtown. They spend day in and day out wading through filth trying to find coins people dropped through grates. That means their feet are constantly wet and cold, and that's bad even in summer. I treated feet what were soaked and pale and cracking, skin sloughing off and frozen in some places. Some of them have to take a cot in the clinic till they get warm and dry, but it'll only happen again after they've left, and on and on till they lose their feet.

And they don't have food, not really. Sometimes they'll get lucky and catch rats or pigeons or seagulls, but otherwise it's whatever they can find what was thrown away or dropped. And yes, their teeth are falling out, some of them. They have scurvy, they have rickets, they can't breathe for the chokedamp. Sometimes you find people who suffocated to death without anyone there to help. By the time a healer gets there, it's too late. And magical healing can't do anything about the damp and the cold and the hunger. It can't cure scurvy or rickets, or fleas and lice, and it's not very useful against frostbite.

If they try to go up to Hightown they'll just be arrested, or worse, escorted back. Everyone thinks they're thieves and carry diseases. There's nowhere for them and nobody wants to help them. And you can see in their eyes that they know that. They have these...hollow, vacant looks. They've given up. They're broken.

I think that this is the kind of thing the Inquisition is meant for, and we need to address it. These people need food, clothing, and shelter. It needs to make a real difference and not just look good. And seeing as we all have different experiences and different expertises--is that the right word?--we all must have something to bring to the table. So I wanted to discuss all of this with all of you and maybe together we can come up with some ideas we can bring to our leaders. So what can we do about Darktown? What are some possible solutions to these problems?

[OOC: for the sake of organization, I'm putting in a few top-levels under which people can make comments about specific concerns. Anything that doesn't fall under these, or any suggestions to improve the overall state of poverty in Darktown, you can make your own top-level for. Threadjack, go crazy, y'all know the drill.]