Creature of calamitous ruin. Deceiver. Possessor. There is a wolf amongst the herd.

The man known as Emet-Selch is responsible for loss of life on a planetary scale. He is a cultist, to speak plainly, and the god he claims to no longer serve led him to slay more lives than this world possesses in its entirety. He has kept this secret. Offers nothing in the way of remorse.

I do not care if you call him ally or friend. I do not care if you choose to disregard this, or question the veracity of my claims.

I ask only that you are wary of trusting fully his own assurances of allegiance: for if he still worships the promise of death, there is no oath enough to be given— a dormant threat he remains.

[ In the middle of the day, around lunchtime, when as many people as possible are likely to be in the Gallows but also positioned to take a break: ]

The uniforms are here, [ is sing-song, Orlesian-accented, and probably not surprising. The uniforms would have been mentioned before. Sometime prior to this, someone would have been around collecting measurements. ] The packages are in your pigeonholes in the dining hall—but, [ dramatically, ] they are not complete.

Yes, several items have unfortunately gone missing, [ chimes in a second voice, that which belongs to Loxley, distinctly and threatrically posh, particularly in light of the drama currently being narrated. ] The pins with which each division is demarcated are mysteriously vanished to all corners of the Gallows, I'm afraid. But we're willing to award the division who happens upon them first.

The first division to find its pins, change its clothes, and assemble all of its members— all of its members who are in the city today, we are reasonable men— whichever first has all of them assembled in the dining hall in full regalia, pins and all, will win a crate of wine and five pounds of coffee, courtesy of the Diplomacy Division. Not each. To share.

Speaking of reason, perhaps we ought to give them a hint of where to look.

Reasonable and generous. D'acc. All four boxes of pins are in the Gallows, hidden in or near something that begins with the same letter as your division. If any of them are hard to guess, you will have to find the terrible villains who stole the pins and tell them so later.

They won't hang around, pointing their loaded crossbows at us all day. Chop chop.

[ OOC: The winning division will be OOCly determined by who guesses their box's hiding place correctly first in this post. If no one guesses correctly, it will be judged by which division has the highest % of participation (also in this post). If no one guesses correctly and participation is a draw, we'll RNG. ]

Okay, okay. So—

( There’s a huff of laughter, and then she clears her throat. Very serious. Very dignified. )

So the last world-dimension-whatever I woke up in that wasn’t home, it was like this… constant roster of stuff going totally to hell. I mean like, “hey, by the way, you don’t remember who you are right now and you’re on the Titanic, except there are monsters,” or “hey, you’re going to be starving for a couple months and then the only way to get food will be to enter a mega death pit of doom,” or “surprise, blood flood.” Except more like… Bram Stoker than Stanley Kubrick. And we’d all like… We tried to live normal lives around the fact that we were all somewhere we shouldn’t be, and people kept dying and coming back, so it’d be like, “oh hey, Julia, where’s Kravitz? Oh he died? Again? Wow, we need to talk to him about that, this leave without notice is racking up.”

( There’s a bit of a pause, and perhaps the audible slosh of liquid in glass. A swig from a bottle, maybe. )

Really awful things would happen, and people would take bigger and bigger risks because they knew - or they figured, anyway - that they’d come back. And I was thinking that maybe… maybe this place was scarier, because there’s this war and magic and monsters and Corypheus does not sound like a nuanced individual. It’s not this dream town prison a la Stephen King, it’s like… real. This time I’ve wound up in a world with history and consequences and… death is death. It’s not temporary or an inconvenience or something you should be prepared to do as a bare minimum to protect people.

Anyway, what I meant to say was I thought that finality might be worse, you know? No second chances, and all, but— there’s different sorts of scary. Back there, any day could be torture or hell or it could be a time for a cute crafternoon history lesson at the library, and the cycle was scary. Here there’s… gosh, I mean, so much stuff i’ve read about I’ve forgotten because there’s so much and I just gotta reread over and over, but because it’s real… there’s potential for meaningful good stuff to happen and not just arbitrarily disappear. Same goes for the bad stuff, but actions and consequences matter here. That’s kinda great.

And scary. Fingers crossed that, like lightning, murder does not strike twice.

( What a funny and good joke. IRL finger guns, etc. )

Dear members of Riftwatch, this is Byerly speaking. Your head of diplomacy. I fear this shall be a message without wit, charm, or ironic deliciousness, so you know it's a serious matter. It hurts me to not charm my listeners.

[ A noise like a cup is being adjusted. ]

Corypheus is an evil man. He claims to be one of the Magisters Sidereal: this was the group that, in ages past, slaughtered countless enslaved men, women, and children in a blood ritual to open the Fade. I personally think that story is the height of bullshit, but whether it's true or not it speaks to the corruption deep at his soul, that he admires the deeds of those men. And he draws on the taint, and on darkspawn - which, believe me, is a sign of someone truly without conscience.

If he takes control, he will bloody our lands. He will kill the defenseless and the vulnerable for more power. And as you all are aware, he is winning this war. The odds are against us - quite literally; in the gambling halls in Lowtown, you will see that the oddsmakers see our victory as a losing proposition. Which begs the question, of course, of what they'll do with the money if they turn out to be right - but that's neither here nor there.

It is worth it to remember that we are all here to stand against an evil man. No matter what we think of one another, no matter our past hurts and our angers, no matter how big an asshole your neighbor is, playing his violin in the middle of the night - that's the most important thing. The men and women that stand beside you are shedding their blood and risking their lives and sanity and safety to stop the advance of a man who would wreck the world. As are you. As am I. We're all damned heroes, lads.

Personally, I've put several gold - several of my own gold, I'm not embezzling, I swear it - on the long odds in that gambling hall. I think that in five years, Kirkwall will be a free city, and my own Denerim will be free, and even Minrathous will be a free place. In the meantime, keep fighting, keep your spirits up, and if anyone is gasping for a mouthful of wine in the face of our most dreadful shortages, I have some bottles stocked up.

Does anyone know of a seller who still has coffee that isn't incredibly overpriced?

[ guess who burned though his entire stash during a trade crisis! ]

Hallo.

[ A husky-toned feminine voice, Orlesian, deeply dry. ]

Welcome to Thedas, all the new rifters. Perhaps it is a bit different to places you knew? Perhaps you're wondering about all the new differences there are. Perhaps you are a shemlen who has come from a world only of shemlens—pardon, that is the Elvhen word for 'human'. I think the true translation is something like 'well-endowed tall ones'.

But perhaps you are an elf, and you are wondering what it is to be an elf in Thedas. Perhaps we can talk about it publicly. I think that would be a fun way to spend some time.

My name is Sabine, what's yours.

Hey,

[ —literally days after that one particular network post, Tony's voice snaps dad-like across the network. ]

Everyone calm down, or I'm cancelling Satinalia. Which would be a travesty, 'cause guess what, it's come early.

I need some items field tested. I'm putting up a piece of paper outside of the dining hall and I swear to god if there's not at least one dick on it when I take it back by the end of the week I'm going to freak out.

Long story short, I need at least one of each of the following:

A person who wears plate armor, or some armor. A person who uses a shield. A person who is real good with heights—actually, maybe a couple people, in case one of you doesn't make it. Someone who's only pretty good with heights and likes to climb things. And some generally combat-ready folks who can test out a few other bits and pieces for me.

Last item is I call dibs on a top bunk in wizard prison.

Bye.

So, these are The Gallows.

( There’s a single breath of amusement. The voice that’s speaking is warm and upbeat, and Canadian, for those who know such places. )

How many times have jokes been made about this place having a special sort of humour? And, okay, I know there’s going to be historical reasons behind it and all, but it might be worth rebranding or… I don’t know, having a different name for when new kids turn up. Because, “we’re taking you to the Gallows” really didn’t fill me with any kind of positive vibes, you know?

( Unseen, she’s turning the crystal over in her hand, and there’s a few moments of silence before she continues. )

Um— last time I turned up in a strange world it was a little more familiar to home, just like… Pleasantville and Stephen King all kinda smooshed up, but this is pretty… different. Surprisingly, there are less creepy statues here, but those cliffs really are— yeah.

My name’s Waverly Earp. I’ve done some library work, speak some languages that might not exist here, and am a big ol’ nerd who needs knowledge to keep on keep in’ on, so like— if any Research folks are listening, beam me up. Or just, I don’t know. Whatever the appropriate equivalent here would be. ( Anotuet pause, and with exaggerated solemnity, ) Trebuchet me thence?