Those on the Galicia saw it first hand, but to those on the Walrus, the Venatori abroad the warship pursuing us have made us an offer of safe passage in exchange for the currently incapacitated Archon Radonis, who is aboard.

I would hope [ thranduil’s voice low and dangerous. ] that no one need reminding that the Venatori are liars and their promises worth nothing.

[ but there’s one in every batch who might think first of saving their own skin, and that’s why thranduil is hanging out with the (unconscious) radonis and his friend, a knife. ]

And I would think that we would far prefer to strike fear into the hearts of the Venatori after the ordeal we were put through in Minrathous, with some of our comrades still missing and presumed captured, rather than simper and beg their mercy.

[ waves crashing against hulls and piers is the first sound that makes it to through the crystal, then seagulls, and distantly, men shouting and the bustling of the docks. Charles Vane's voice is a low, gravely thing, sounding exactly like you'd expect a pirate sailor to sound. ]

It's become clear to me that this port city, much as it may have its share of sailors experienced in ferrying merchants to and fro, has very little in the way of true men and women trained for naval war. [ a pause, and a slow exhale, almost weary. ]

Something the Inquisition will desperately need if they intend to reach every corner of this world that Corypheus has tainted.

[ and as fast as the mean to reach it. the venatori are like weeds, sprouting up everywhere they're given space and air. some months ago, Vane might not have cared, but then they took his home, and now he means to burn them out of existence. he hopes this Inquisition intends to do more than just what they're comfortable with to attain that goal. ]

I'm Charles Vane, a captain of Nascere, and I've arrived with a crew of men who've known harsh battle and victory on the seas for an age. If you have it in yourself to attempt to do the same, meet us on the docks, near the galleon flying no nation's flag.

We will see you made battle ready.

Inquisition,

I understand there has been a temporary disruption in your administration, [ a light clap ] No matter! We'll muddle through it together.

Ottoline Gardet-Lorier — you may call me Otto — of Tantervale, and it's a pleasure to meet all of you by more than reputation. I'll be summering in Kirkwall this year and lending you my services, that we might find the diplomat inside each of us.

[ ayyy ]

Let's begin! Tell me: What is love?

On a related topic, I must speak immediately with those Rifter elves present.

I'm not actually walking across Ferelden again, because I'm not allowed to be in Ferelden, but if I were, you know, I think I would deserve some kind of medal. The Medal of Trudging. Awarded for walking clear across a country way too many times.

Anyway.

[ Anyway. The unspoken point is that he is bored, and it's time for a game. ]

Would you rather— [ continued in comments for organization's sake. ]

Good day, Inquisition.

This is Knight Enchanter Herian Amsel. I am working with Knight Enchanter Voss during this sickness to ensure proper guard rotation is fulfilled and that are quarantine can be enforced, if necessary. Due to any Templars and rifters making contribution to guard duty being currently incapacitated, volunteers would be gladly received.

We are all well aware of the Gallow’s history, and with that in mind we’d particularly like to encourage mages to contribute to guard duty, in the hopes this will set minds better at ease. I am also eager to ensure that, if there are the numbers for it, we try to make sure that the guard is dominated by no particular fraternity - again, in the hopes of offering some peace of mind to all the mages here present.

If you wish to volunteer for the guard roster, please respond with your name, combat skills and experience. If you are a mage, responding with your chosen fraternity if you have one would be greatly appreciated. Mages are by no means demanded to declare this information if you consider it a matter of privacy, but it may then be that we do not add you to the present roster.

Less immediately pressing, but any insight into combat skills and experience levels amongst mages granted to us will allow Knight Enchanter Voss and I to better prepare for commencing combat and defence training for mages, so whatever information you can offer us would be greatly appreciated.

I have also recently taken leadership of the Chantry Relations project, if there should be any with pressing need to discuss related matters, or if there is any further assistance I can offer. Project members, I will look to speaking with you all regarding matters once our present situation is better in hand.

Well everyone it's that time of year. Satinalia was upon us. Maybe you got treated nicely but it's probably time for you to get yourself all nice and snug. Now, I didn't get this for Satinalia but this was a gift so I thought I'd share it. Read you a bit of a story by an Orlesian noblewoman who found herself lost in the wilds, in an ambush. Set upon by Avvar barbarians--

Forgot about that bit. Avvar barbarians, swap that with elf savages, doesn't sound good does it?

Anyway, are you sitting comfortably? Let's begin.

[Several cosy blankets and pelts rustle, some nugs squeak as they get comfy again in his lap.]

Upon arrival at the hold, all heads turned at once to behold the newest arrival: she had the distinct impression an Orlesian was a rarity in these parts, and one of her calibre as Lady Sylviane Camile Roux with her hair the colour of wheat in the field before a bountiful harvest, and eyes the merchant sailors told her was the same blue as the Amaranthine Ocean on the fairest tides the rarest of all. In her finely made gown - she talks about her clothes a lot, ask me if you want the full description of the drape of her skirt and the cut of her bloody bodice - she felt she stood upon the brink. What did they know of the Maker here? Of the business of her life, rushing to and fro, never a minute to sit. To think. Clad in their warm furs--

Her rescuer, how suddenly she had come to call him that in her mind but she would certainly have been lost without him, came to her. How tall he stood. Unkempt, wild, untamed. It spoke to her.

[Look there's a lot of boring introduction before he can get to the good stuff okay, you have to meet your rugged bodice-ripping hero and his damsel in distress.]

It goes on like that a lot, just-- oh look at me, dainty Orlesian lady let me swoon into your burly arms you comely wild uncivilised man I shall be awed each time you aren't like the Orlesian books said you'd be. But y'know in that condescending way? [Elves do you get him? When people think rabbit is nicer than knife-ear? It's like that sort of thing. There's some page-flipping and--]

( and now for the good stuff )

Inquisition.

[Hello again it's Val, very Orlesian.]

Or should I said, traitors. When a man dies, it is customary to gather the family together in the most comfortable--or uncomfortable, if it is a family that deserves punishing--and read aloud from his will. Even the most foolhardy of men must have such a document prepared. Or else how will he, upon his death, deal one last blow to those who would grub for his worldly possessions, and deal one last kiss upon the cheek to those who he loved so well and in his love, found deserving of his best things?

An example. In my will, I have written: to Freddie, I leave half my books. To Jehan, I leave the other half. And if both are dead--as they must surely be, if my will is being read, for we would have perished together, the three of us, united as we have been for so long, no doubt embarked upon some fantastical quest the like of which only a small number have been privileged enough to have lived--then I leave all of my books to the great library University of Orlais, the place where my heart truly resides.

In my will, I have not written: to the Inquisition, I leave the right to give away my position. What is more--

[Loudly, now--] I WAS NOT DEAD. I am not dead. I am alive. And now I must prove such a thing? Absurd! And then, the insult that compounds the injury: now I find that as I bear this grave indignity, I must also bear demotion?

It is unheard of. Uncouth. I suffer. By the Maker, I will make all suffer with me.

Inquisition.

This city of Kirkwall, I am finding it lacking. Of course I have been occupied getting affairs in order, but is there nothing to be done of entertainment? One can only watch the same two dirt-covered rodents squabble so many times before one loses interest.

So I ask, what have people been doing for fun since coming to this [there's a pause like she's trying really hard to come up with the right adjective to describe Kirkwall and ultimately decides better of any of the ones that come to mind] ...place.

And by all means, if you enjoy watching the squabbling rodents, feel free to include that, everyone has different definitions of fun, of course.