antivanruffles:
I wonder if the Inquisition has debriefings? Like, after the entire crew gets back from a mission they have a meeting with the advisors regarding everything that happened.
Or maybe everyone in the party is required to write a field report? I bet Cullen reads them all, just sifting through endless crap from the Inner Circle:
Sera’s reports consist only of crude drawings and obscenities – he actually finds those entertaining. She’s quite inventive and the point is always rather clear.
Cassandra’s are always perfect and detailed, if not a bit stilted. Not that he minds.
Dorian’s are always about the lack of amenities or certain comforts. Can’t you order us thicker blankets? I was freezing the entire time and there was a rock under my back.
Blackwall’s reports are always helpful, he makes notes about soldiers, or various things that need to be done in the area.
Iron Bull’s are always just an account of the things he killed or fought. Sometimes he’ll share a good joke he heard too.
Vivienne’s are to the point, crisp and tidy, never wanting. She’ll also tack on notes about the Inquisitor, or her companions, bits of pertinent information.
Cole doesn’t write reports, but sometimes he’ll pop into Cullen’s office and tell him a few things of note before disappearing again.
Solas’ are scholarly, recounting the areas they’d explored and interesting landmarks, usually with a very detailed map attached.
And then there are Varric’s, written on fine vellum imported from a printer in Kirkwall, the penmanship always neat, and flowing over the pages. And there are many pages as Varric describes, in that detailed way only a writer can, the exact way his boots squelched while in the Fallow Mire; the damp, musty smell that clung to him after spending ten days soaking wet on the Storm Coast, without a chance to dry out; the biting chill that cut through him in the Emprise du Lion, and the way the dark branches of the bare trees struck a bleak contrast against the snow. The fucking endless snow.
It’s when they return from the Hissing Wastes and Cullen sees that Varric’s report is eighteen pages detailing exactly where he found sand on his person, that Cullen informs him he is exempt from writing any further reports.
Curly–
Thanks for sending us to Emprise du Fucking Cold. This is exactly what I wanted to be doing at this stage of my life.
Everything is frozen. The wind sounds like it’s screaming when it sweeps through the trees, and it bites through fabric and leather and anything else that tries to stand in its way. Bare black branches stretch out their bony fingers and leave stark, torn shadows over the ice. The only color comes from red lyrium, and there’s so much of it, what sun there is shines through it like stained glass.
The ground crunches. Wolves howl. Ravens caw with doom in their eyes. There’s snow everywhere. I’ve got snow in my boots, snow down my back, snow up my sleeves. Do you know what it’s like being damp for days at a time? It chafes.
[This goes on for several pages.]
Everybody here looks like they’re awaiting the cold embrace of the grave. ‘Wolves took our last sheep, and Uncle Boris has the ague and will soon breathe his last, and little Peter isn’t long for this world, but ah, well, death awaits us all,’ they seem to say, and go back to their porridge, or whatever the hell it is people eat in this Maker-forsaken place. Of course, if I lived here, I would, too.
This place is the worst. Also, we killed some demons today.
–Varric
(Cullen replies:
Try buttoning your shirt.
–CR)
