The Friends? Don't poke them. It's tempting—because what else can you do—but don't. Never know what you'll get. Because Red Jenny, she's been around a long time, she's everywhere, and she hits hard or she hits light, but the choosing isn't up to you. You want someone to get their desserts, save your coppers for a moral Crow and know what you're getting. —Notes from Ser Keiter, a traveling merchant, to his son, Erbal —Anonymous —Recommendations of Captain Varn, private militiaman contracted in Denerim —Interview at a Montsimmard tavern, no name given —The scattered notes of Bann Markal
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| - Codex entry: The Friends of Red Jenny
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| - The Friends? Don't poke them. It's tempting—because what else can you do—but don't. Never know what you'll get. Because Red Jenny, she's been around a long time, she's everywhere, and she hits hard or she hits light, but the choosing isn't up to you. You want someone to get their desserts, save your coppers for a moral Crow and know what you're getting. —Notes from Ser Keiter, a traveling merchant, to his son, Erbal —Anonymous —Recommendations of Captain Varn, private militiaman contracted in Denerim —Interview at a Montsimmard tavern, no name given —The scattered notes of Bann Markal
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| - The Friends? Don't poke them. It's tempting—because what else can you do—but don't. Never know what you'll get. Because Red Jenny, she's been around a long time, she's everywhere, and she hits hard or she hits light, but the choosing isn't up to you. You want someone to get their desserts, save your coppers for a moral Crow and know what you're getting.
—Notes from Ser Keiter, a traveling merchant, to his son, Erbal
They're a distraction, whichever they are. Keeps people busy and the lords edgy. And with the assaults not having any bearing, we've been paid to strike at guessed rivals several times now. Bards should pay "her" a commission.
—Anonymous
My father went after her once. You want to lose your friends fast? Just say you're tracking hers. He found a report that said she was killed in Nevarra. Everyone in that command, to a man: dead or hobbled or somehow lost their claims during the winter following. Know when that was written? Fifty-two years ago! I'll take a witch over whatever she is. Let her pick at the nobles; I think it's nature.
—Recommendations of Captain Varn, private militiaman contracted in Denerim
How's it work? You tell me how to tell. Ask for something bad to happen, eventually something does. Did she do it? Does it matter? Either way, you think you had a piece. Maybe that's enough.
—Interview at a Montsimmard tavern, no name given
I know it was her! Keys do not simply go missing! And the horses, I suppose they were loosed quite by accident? And the fires that swept the southern quarter, the flooding in my summer home, the drop in the price of trade goods that just happened to coincide with my plans to sell my investments, the cholera I suffered last season, the weather that is inclement whenever I'm traveling. You cannot tell me all these things were mere happenstance. Perhaps your disbelief is her doing as well. You're dismissed. Everyone is dismissed.
—The scattered notes of Bann Markal
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| sortkey
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| location DAI
| - Unlocked after completing A Friend of Red Jenny
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| - The Friends? Don't poke them. It's tempting—because what else can you do—but don't. Never know what you'll get. Because Red Jenny, she's been around a long time, she's everywhere, and she hits hard or she hits light, but the choosing isn't up to you. You want someone to get their desserts, save your coppers for a moral Crow and know what you're getting. —Notes from Ser Keiter, a traveling merchant, to his son, Erbal They're a distraction, whichever they are. Keeps people busy and the lords edgy. And with the assaults not having any bearing, we've been paid to strike at guessed rivals several times now. Bards should pay "her" a commission. —Anonymous My father went after her once. You want to lose your friends fast? Just say you're tracking hers. He found a report that said she was killed in Nevarra. Everyone in that command, to a man: dead or hobbled or somehow lost their claims during the winter following. Know when that was written? Fifty-two years ago! I'll take a witch over whatever she is. Let her pick at the nobles; I think it's nature. —Recommendations of Captain Varn, private militiaman contracted in Denerim How's it work? You tell me how to tell. Ask for something bad to happen, eventually something does. Did she do it? Does it matter? Either way, you think you had a piece. Maybe that's enough. —Interview at a Montsimmard tavern, no name given I know it was her! Keys do not simply go missing! And the horses, I suppose they were loosed quite by accident? And the fires that swept the southern quarter, the flooding in my summer home, the drop in the price of trade goods that just happened to coincide with my plans to sell my investments, the cholera I suffered last season, the weather that is inclement whenever I'm traveling. You cannot tell me all these things were mere happenstance. Perhaps your disbelief is her doing as well. You're dismissed. Everyone is dismissed. —The scattered notes of Bann Markal
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