01. || crystal

[fairforce]

FORM: sending crystal
SENDER: Theophania Hart
RECIPIENT: Riftwach
NOTES: nah

Hello, Riftwatch. I can't tell from observation if it's the custom to give an introduction--I think it's not--but I prefer this to waiting to catching everyone one-by-one in the hallway or training yard. I'm Lady Seeker Theophania Hart. [Well.] Tiffany. I do the title first so there's no surprise later.

I'm among the newest of your company, permanently, but here to investigate the recent abomination. I'll be requesting records and following up on the leads that I have throughout the course of my work, but if anyone has anything additional that should be said, please, let me know.

For the record, I'm finding the Gallows to be surprisingly comfortable, but maybe that's because I've been on the road for what feels like an actual Age, and the weather is terrible, and I'm suffering what I believe to be a mild case of trench foot. Given the time you've all been having, I'll stop my complaining there.

I suppose that's it, unless anyone has any advice to offer to a new recruit. And you can skip any hazing, I'm much too old for it.

Comments

[fairforce]

Heated water?

If you're having me on, I'll tell you now: the wrath of a Seeker is nothing to sneeze at, serrah.

[hornswoggle]

I would never joke about such a thing as heated water in the middle of a southern winter.

Especially considering Kirkwall has so little else to recommend it.

[fairforce]

If that's the case, then I revise my response and apologize for my suspiciousness. You're clearly sent by Andraste to give me this good, good news.

[hornswoggle]

That's very generous. I'd imagine Andraste would choose a more grand messenger than a humble sailor, even to deliver the good news of heated baths.

[fairforce]

On the contrary. I think Andraste has a love of humble things most of all. Which is good for us, or else we might all be forgotten. We should keep that in mind when trying to discern our paths. The Maker's truth might come from unexpected places.

[hornswoggle]

I imagine that train of thought is of some reassurance, now that you've found yourself in Kirkwall.

[fairforce]

You're not impressed with Kirkwall?

[hornswoggle]

Is anyone?

[fairforce]

I've spent the last ten years of my life in a frozen, isolated, dragon-and-demon-scourged watchtower, then in an isolated keep in the wilderness. Kirkwall is beautiful.

And as say that aloud, I realize that my standards may have significantly lowered. Even so.

[hornswoggle]

Then Kirkwall benefits from the comparison.

I admit, after spending so much time here and suffering it's winters, the charm has gone. But ask me again when the weather turns, maybe we'll both have had a change of heart.

[fairforce]

How much time is 'so much time', if I may ask?

[hornswoggle]

A few years, give or take. I was present when we parted ways with the Inquisition.

[ for better or for worse ]

It's not comparable to ten years between wastelands and embattled watchtowers, of course.

[fairforce]

Isn't it? From what I've heard, Riftwatch gets up to its own share of trials and tribulations. I'm admittedly more familiar with the Inquisition's reputation, but word of Riftwatch has gotten out since the split.

[hornswoggle]

Dare I ask what you've heard of us?

[fairforce]

I don't know. Do you dare?

If you do, I'll ask you to remember that I'm just the messenger.

[hornswoggle]

I'll pluck up my courage. Tell me, what have you heard?

[fairforce]

[She lets out a big breath.]

All right. And remember: you asked.

I've heard that you're heathens, that you're cultists, that you all engage in blood magic rituals, that you eat only rats, that you're working against Corypheus because you plan to raise a figure who wants to take over Thedas and rule--which is also why you broke from the Inquisition--that you were all visited by Andraste herself in a dream and were summoned to Kirkwall, that you're harboring the reincarnation of the Herald, that Rifters are demons and you're all in their thrall, that Rifters aren't demons but they've enchanted all of you like a demon would, that you plan to raise your own army, that you house criminals and thieves and pirates solely so that they can plunder gold under your banner, that you have the Viscount in your pocket, that the Viscount is a demon that has you all under his thrall, that you're running an unsanctioned Circle, that you split from the Inquisition because your mission is holier.... Should I keep going?

[hornswoggle]

Only if you're going to tell me whether or not you've heard the one about the Viscount being replaced by several large rats in an ornate coat.

[fairforce]

[She laughs.]

No, that's a new one. Maybe it hasn't made it out of Kirkwall yet.

[hornswoggle]

Lucky you, you'll be here for the evolution of it. It seems you've timed your arrival perfectly.

[fairforce]

If this is what luck feels like... then I guess I've never felt luck before now. Thank you for telling me of it, serrah. Though I'd prefer to use your name.

[hornswoggle]

John Silver. Quartermaster of the Walrus, and Master of Information. Which I suppose would make me one of those plundering gold under the Riftwatch banner, among other things. It's a wonder I find time for anything, considering all I've been party to.

[fairforce]

If you could give me any tips on time management, I'd appreciate it. I always end up with the longest list of things to do, and not enough time to do it in.

What does the Master of Information do, exactly?

[hornswoggle]

Gossip.

[ this is surely enough of a description ]

What does a Lady Seeker do, exactly?

[fairforce]

Seek.

[Two can play at that game, okay--but Tiffany is forthright at her core, so she takes just a little comedic pause before she says:]

Seekers investigate corruption. We also protect the Chantry from the threats that would assail it--both threats internal and external, and often the corruption has something to do with that. And some Lady Seekers train recruits for years and then one day receive orders that the Inquisition's Free Marcher cousin might need some help.