IC INBOX for FADE RIFT

[slipshot]

 

Gavin has a little box stuffed full of notes. Feel free to stuff one in there, if you like, or come say hi.

 

The notes may just be all doodles. 

just saying.

 

Comments

[slipshot]

[Gavin laughed on the other end, more shuffling ensues.]

Well, you have reached Gavin the Stuck Mucking Out The Stables Again And Dropped His Crystal On A Horseshoe. I'm just glad it didn't break.

Where are you? Down at camp? Do you need anything? [He asks this every time, as if he assumes everyone wants him to run delivery.]

[byblow]

I am

tragically

in Orlais.

Proper Orlais, I mean, not just the western side of the mountains.

Did I ever tell you how many Orlesians there are in Orlais, Gavin the Lucky Mucker? There are a lot.

[slipshot]

You poor tragic soul. [He sounds amused.]

Orlesians aren't so bad, you know. Once you - ah - get them lubricated. Then they relax and open up a bit and start swearing in wonderful, fantastical ways. Orlesian swearing is the best, by far. And you probably even have the benefit of not automatically being targeted as a servant or a criminal! That would make things even easier, and require a far fewer dwarves.

[Though it sounds like it should be sarcastic, everything he is saying is completely earnest. What is your life, Gavin.]

[byblow]

I do not want to hear about lubricated Orlesians opening anything.

[ This is a lie. He only minds Orlesians half as much as he pretends, due to having embraced his Barbaric Dog Lord designation during the ten or so years he's lived in Orlais, and then only the ones with the masks and bad attitudes. Some of the others are all right. Some of the others are pretty.

But there were no dwarves, no, except the usual Legionnaires during the usual Deep Roads excursions. ]

But please, tell me about your dwarves.

[slipshot]

Are you suuuuuure? [He has plenty of lewd stories, Alistair. He'll even draw pictures.]

[But he is all too happy to ramble about dwarves.]

Oh, you would have loved them. They were part of the surface - caste? Or is it the fact that they don't have a caste on the surface, I don't recall - and most of them had been merchants at one time, but the six of them had come together and formed a sort of travelling theatre. They picked me up after a very drunken evening, and I ended up travelling with them into Orlais. Most of the Orlesians assumed I was a servant of theirs, and I suppose I was, though all I really did was make sure they all got back to the caravan without passing out drunk somewhere. At least not alone.

[byblow]

--a traveling theater? Really? Dwarves?

[slipshot]

Would I lie to you, Alistair? [He says this in a way that both sounds like he is hurt, and also sounds like he definitely probably lies about dwarves a lot.]

I swear on The Bear's hide that I'm not making it up. I travelled with them for almost a year and a half. They are in Nevarra, now, I think. Last I heard, anyway. They don't exactly send letters.

[Which is good, because he wouldn't be able to read them.]