Hello. This is-- Salvio Pizzicagnolo. Seneschal Pizzicagnolo. [And for once he's sounding almost normal. Dare we even say... excited?] Seneschal to the Inquisition's base in Kirkwall and Head of Base Operations.

Recently the Inquisition has come into the possession--or, well, we will come into the possession--of some texts. A result of the negotiations, with the-- [You know what, who cares, the less strikes and mages and rifters and the Chantry are brought into this, the better, all that would only sour the news, and so Salvio revises what he is saying midway through the sentence.] In cataloging and examining the list of texts that will be added to the Inquisition's library, I have discovered an extremely rare text: The Emergent Compendium.

It, um--the text, that is--the text is likely unknown, to most--I have only seen passing reference to it, in other works and--well, to quote Scholar Bodaliere, [and in a voice of one reading right from a page] "the volumes are automatos: new entries appear of their own accord, with no scrivener's quill in sight".

Yes. So. I, I wrote directly to request access to the Compendium, and-- and I have had it for some time now, and--by the Maker, it produces pictures that appear and then disappear, out of nowhere, accessing some--some vast, unseen library, or--ah, and text, it will produce lines of text, obscure in their--well, so, I would invite those who would wish to behold it to do so, but--please, within the office hours of Base Operations, and I would suggest that you wear gloves--

But, um, in addition to viewing the Compendium, I have-- I have taken the liberty of making some... some rudimentary copies of the Compendium. Imitations, I mean. What connects the original to its unseen library or author, I cannot say, so the copies, they-- they are connected to one another instead.

It was, um. Premature, perhaps, uh, presumptuous, but--they seem to be operational. I have tested them. You can write back and forth, as if sending a letter, but much, much quicker. Of course, they are but test copies. They are limited in that they will only function within the walls of the Gallows, once they are outside of the Gallows, the connection severs, and they become as plain writing-books, but--

Um. To those members of the Inquisition that remain in Kirkwall--I, that is, Base Operations, requests your current assistance in the testing of these books. Your assistance will be invaluable in refining this, um, this development in communication, streamlining the process of-- communication.

If you are interested, and are in Kirkwall. Please, the Base Operations office--I mean to say that I will be in the Base Operations office. Handing out these texts.

Yes. So. That will be-- uh. Thank you.

[ thranduil's voice is tight, if still somehow pleasant: ]

I understand that there are a great number of questions and concerns at the moment regarding the Inquisition's proposed policy of phylacteries for Rifters.

If there are concerns that anyone would wish to make known through official channels, the Research Division has been appointed to handle the research of this new, proposed policy. [ very pointed stressing. ] My office is where it has always been, and any concerns should be turned into the box reserved for correspondence of that nature.

I would remind all Rifters that we are yet considered a single unit. [ remember the curfew? ] That poor behavior will affect all of us- indeed, anyone currently afflicted with a Shard. I would advise them that this is never as true as it is now, and that consequences for actions taken in the heat of the moment are the same as those made when rational.

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.

So ... hello Project Rifts and the Veil. For those of you who don't know me - and that should probably be all of you - I'm Mal. I'm working on getting us some open space outside Kirkwall to test Rift magic, and I need your help. Our researching Leader Thraundril asked me for a report on what projects we were working on here in Rifts and the Veil, and now that I am up and around again I was hoping to talk to you all about what we're up to so I can send a summary to him. That way he can go to Viscount Bran, and then hopefully Bran will give us space we need to - you know - practice really questionable magic on something we don't entirely understand away from a lot of people.

You know. Magical responsibility and all.

I'll come to you, no worries, I don't want to take anyone away from anything important. Just let me know when it's a good time.

Tell me about dragons. (Short, sweet and to the point.) Apparently bears and large spiders will not do.

(Maedhros, get out of your head and explain. Quiet comments to yourself don't count as communicating.)

I want (need) to go on a hunt.

[ it might be reading into things a little, maybe, to call her voice tense ]

It is — uncommonly quiet today, no?

I trust that all is well, [ a pause that manages to audibly convey the act of suspicious looming ] Else we would hear of it.

[ is that a threat or a question? ]

I have a question for the native mages among us, if you all don't mind!

❰ adalia sounds inquisitive, curious, sort of sing-songy — she's been pondering this for a while, both in general and today specifically. ❱

Would you consider magic something you are, something you have, or something you do? A combination of those? All three? Something I haven't yet considered?

❰ a sound of shifting fabric as she sits up on her bed. ❱

See, I would consider myself magic, innately. I'm a sorcerer where I'm from — we have magic in our blood. I would be considered a mage by Thedosian standards, but to me "mage" is a very broad word. Anyone who does magic could be considered a mage where I'm from, and then there are breakdowns within the broader "mage" classification — there are sorcerers, who are magic innately; wizards, who learn magic through study; warlocks, who are granted power by others — not to mention bards, and those who are given access to divine magics for worshiping their deities.

All of these different classes of mage approach magic in a different way. What is your relationship to magic? Is it part of you, or is it merely a tool? I'm curious.

I swear to Eru, if you do not answer me - ! (The low growl of Maedhros Fëanorian is not to be taken lightly. And not just because he sounds unhinged.) I promised and instead you -

(Tears choke him and he collapses on the bed that once belonged - or was used, at least - by his brother.)

Kano is gone. He returned to Arda...to Middle Earth...without me. I know he was suffering and now he is...

(Suffering more. Endlessly until their world ends.)

I'm sorry, Elros. I'm sorry, Finno. I tried to keep him here.

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.

[There's the slight tinkle of glass, and something thick being sloshed around in a tiny container. A deep, heartfelt sigh. Then Mal speaks softly.]

... this is the first and last piece of willing blood magic I have ever been part of. Everything else was, and still is, just scars on my soul and on my memory.

[She's silent for a moment.]

I'm from Nevarra. In Nevarra, mages are respected, given power and influence but they don't rule. There is - was - a Circle and it was ... amazing. Books and teachers willing to teach you just about anything about magic. I could go home whenever I wanted. The Templars there were strict, but respectful. It was ... competitive, for me. My mother was such a Nevarran institution - a Mortalitasi with a powerful reputation. I could never live up to her, her expectations. I thought excelling in the Circle would finally make her love me.

[Another tinkle of the glass.]

Instead, she just used me as a tool in her blood magic, and since she did that, I was the tool that stopped her. The scar is gone on my skin, but sometimes I trace over it, just to see if I can still feel the raised skin.

[Slosh, slosh.]

My mother was a terror. A monster who attempted to murder an innocent family because they didn't invite her to a baby's name day. The only way they stopped her was me, and finally, her phylactery. When I was taken to Ostwick, I was glad to see my vial wrapped up and packed away. I never wanted to be used as a tool for blood magic -- but I have always been, and and always will be, more afraid of what my desires will drive me to do.

I am my Mother's daughter, after all. Even if she never really wanted to admit that.

[A heavier sigh.]

I have always chosen to go back to a Circle, a safe place, after all this is over. One of our own making, where Carlos and I can feel secure again. Roof over our head, food in our stomachs ... and far, far away from the kind of people who would drag us back down into darkness. If nothing else, this has strengthened my belief of that. Mages, brothers and sisters of the Chantry, Templars and Seekers.... are all, in the end, just people, and people are weak. People will do what they have to, to survive. To move forward, to move up. People will do horrible things to other people, to get what they need, what they want.

[Fingers tighten around the glass object, before there's the sloshing sound of liquid being poured from one glass container to another. Yes, that might be liquor.]

So now, the Inquisition holds my leash after this whole thing and and ... I don't trust myself with it. I don't trust the Inquisition, or the Chantry either. So ... what do I do? Who do I give this to, who do I trust, to stop me when - if - I go too far?

[Tinkle of glass.]

Any ideas, Inquisition?s