"Ashby Brewer, a somewhat notorious alchemist (according to other alchemists), has been making the rounds to all the usual lecture spots throughout Orlais (the parts that haven't been invaded), Antiva and the Marches. Today, he's making a show of blowing things up in a field outside of Kirkwall because the Viscount Keep wouldn't give him a permit to put his presentation on in Hightown. Go soothe Brewer's ego and get a copy of his research notes."

Commandeering a cart to carry the pair of them out into the well-used field outside of Kirkwall had cost John only a small amount of coin, but he has the sense he's overpaid. Surely it shouldn't cost him money to soothe the temper of an explosives-enthusiast, who made the mistake of asking permission rather than begging forgiveness with regards to his intended display.

Their approach had been marked by a series of loud blasts. As the cart lurches to a jolting stop at the far end of the field, John sighs, and remarks dryly, "At least he's impossible to miss."

Even without the concussive booms, smoke and intermittent shower of sparks, Ashby Brewer's shock of red hair can be seen from this distance. It's all standing on end, and John can't be certain whether this is an intentional style or a byproduct of his work in the moment.

As they set out, John questions, "Before we begin our appeal, would you mind telling me if his work is impressive enough to warrant our attention? I'd like to strike the right note in our greeting."