D’oh. Really, a way to go. First, Orsino and Meredith decide to wash their dirty linen in public and make me their referee, then the High Cleric comes up and calls Meredith “good girl” in front of half Kirkwall. Really, Elthinna, if there ever was a chance to talk some sense into Meredith, you have just blown it. Please, don’t wonder why the situation is so explosive these days.
– Oh, and Meredith: don’t you dare to use my mother as an argument ever again… alright, do: you’re dead after this first time, anyway. Don’t think I won’t have the guts to go against you, you’d be petrified to find out what I am capable of.
Huh. I just hope Orsino stays sensible; having to kill both them idiots would spoil my day.
Sure, Carver. Go on, blame it all on me again. Not the Qunari, not Isabela, not the incapable Viscount – the only person to blame for the Qunari invasion is Catelyn Hawke. Really, didn’t you join the Templars to solve your sibling rivalry problem and shine on your own? – Let me guess: I am to blame again that you have run out of mail polish.
I had a strange encounter at the Hanged Man – I mean, stranger than usually. Now, if you’re a female and walk into a tavern in Lowtown, you have to be ready to deal with trouble. If you’re a female wearing something that looks like a wetdream fancy of clothing, you’re asking for trouble anywhere, not just Lowtown and the Hanged Man. So, if you are the said female wearing the said attire, why do you toss around pieces of advice how one should be careful? Do you also sit with your bare ass on the hot stove and then tell people not to? No-one will ever convince me that this Isabela does not want trouble.
Heh, something I’d call a serious case of public embarrassment: the Viscount’s son hangs out with the Qunari. I am surely an embodiment of understanding for people’s little depravities, but the boy’s taste for being dominated has surely gone a little too far. No wonder the Viscount has lost his hair over it.
So, let me check:
Followers of She
This city is really weird. Normally, one would say that the hobby of preference after nightfall is sex. In Kirkwall, though, people prefer to stalk the streets in gangs with funny names and jump down six meters tall buildings. Not funny in the least. I’m really, really considering moving elsewhere.