Three Lingering Questions from Dragon Age: Inquisition

I love Dragon: Age Inquisition. You love Dragon Age: Inquisition. Everyone loves Dragon Age: Inquisiton. It’s no secret that BioWare’s massive new RPG is incredible, something we noted in our review, but its high quality doesn’t eliminate some of the major questions that it leaves unanswered. No, none of these questions have to do with the long-winded and often confusing plot revolving around your Inquisitor. We’ve got far more important topics to discuss than apocalyptic alternate timelines and doorways between the realm of the living and that of the dead.

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Why can’t I forget about the Inquisition and just worship the majestic Druffalo?

The Chantry is nonsense, the Empress is annoying, and Corypheus looks too much like the lovechild of Smeagle and a chicken for me to fear him. Is all of this Inquisition nonsense really necessary? If Dragon Age: Inquisition is a robust role-playing game, shouldn’t I be able to play whatever role I want? In a perfect world, the Inquisitor should have the option to quit the Inquisition at any time, forget about what comes after the colon in the title, and enjoy whatever humble pleasures he or she sees fit. You can pretty much do anything in Dragon Age: Inquisition, but the one thing you can’t do is become an alcoholic and dedicate your life to drunken Druffalo worship.

There’s religious themes floating around everywhere in BioWare’s newest epic. From seemingly every character praising Andraste to the bizarre struggles of the Chantry, Dragon Age: Inquisition is certainly a title in which religion plays a major role. Think about it though, if the Inquisitor is truly the “chosen one,” why can’t he or she simply form a new religion? The perfect pick for said fictional religion is Druffalism, or the worship of the mighty druffalo. There aren;’t too many video game species with less creative names than this, so it only makes sense to put these bastions of thoughtlessness at the forefront of this ridiculous hypothetical scenario. Of course, this would be predicated on drinking gallons of mead at a time, as no one in their right mind could watch bison-esque creatures for more than five seconds without being heavily intoxicated.

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If it’s unavailable at merchants, then where does Dorian obtain his mustache wax?

Humble merchants across Thedas seem to stock all sorts of useful wares, though none of them seem to aid proper facial hair twirling. Dorian, the witty mage of the Tevinter Imperium, doesn’t seem to realize that mustache wax is not readily available according to Dragon Age: Inquisition‘s in-game lore. There is not one codex entry explaining, in detail, the thorough process that Mr. Pavus has to go to to ensure that his soup-strainer is as curly as those awful mustache tattoos that 19-year-old girls think are cute before an inevitable lifetime of regret. A number of incredibly complex theories could explain how Dorian manages to look like the high-fantasy Pringles man. Does his frequent contact with Fade Rifts somehow contort a standard handlebar mustache into one with an upward twist (the “Hogan to Monopoly Man Corollary)? Is his mustache actually a piece of Fennec fur that he stole from the Inquisitor’s inventory? Has he been stealing dragon blood from Reavers before their sacred rituals and applying it to his upper lip?

In their hours with Dragon Age: Inquisition, players will find answers to a number of important existential questions, but this one will likely remain a mystery for all of time.

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Are the Hinterlands the video game equivalent of Purgatory?

Talk to anyone who has played more than ten hours of Dragon Age: Inquisition and the number one bit of advice you’ll receive is to get the hell out of the Hinterlands. Sure, this low-level forest is as visually appealing as it is expansive, but the only quests you’re able to undertake are various fetch quests and baby things (except for the incredible religious experience that is “Where the Druffalo Roam”). I don’t care about horse races. I don’t care about gathering whatever stupid trinkets my journal says I should collect. I don’t care about fighting bandits that have the same amount of strength as a crippled youth soccer player.

This brings up the very real question: if I feel like I’m in some sort of weird RPG limbo whenever I enter the Hinterlands, does this mean that Dragon Age: Inquisition‘s first area is basically Purgatory? The Hinterlands is the best area choice for anyone looking to raise their Power count without having to expend any real effort, though leading the lost druffalo across a river requires spiritual effort…since the druffalo is God and all. The Hinterlands is where you simply do things without thinking, and for the sake of this metaphor that means you’re a dead person.

Also, dead people can’t read so this seems like a wonderful jumping off point. Go buy some coffins or whatever dead people eat.