mail delivery.

[serjeant]

FORM: Crystal.
SENDER: Seoraj Allaway.
RECIPIENT: You lot.
WHAT: Couple things.
WHEN: Current.
WHERE: Kirkwall.
NOTES: If your character has anyone who'd write them from Val Royeaux, feel free to put their hand up as one of the names he reads out.

This a funny little thing, isn't it. Ho, the Inquisition;

( and this is a very distinctly starkhaven accent, too, and the warm, somewhat gravelly voice it belongs to might be recognisable to some of those listening to it, )

your new blacksmith. Got a few letters come out of Val Royeax for - ( he goes through the names, mostly not mangling the pronunciation though there are a few that give him trouble and he sounds them out with care ) - if you want to come down to the forge for 'em. Don't mind coming to you, if needs be, and I'd mind less if you were inclined to be grateful.

( give him a beer it was a long trip. )

Other'n that, if you see a little fellow looks like he last bathed before he were born and answers to name of Yngvi, tell him Seoraj is looking for him and how high I toss him in the air depends how long it takes me to find him.

( Disclaimer probably won't toss him in the air. He sounds affectionate, not like he's owed money. )

Comments

[serjeant]

( Survival is a series of large and small compromises. It is small victories and bigger losses, and it is negotiating what you can learn to live with and what you know you couldn't. It's hoping that you're not losing too much of yourself in the negotiation; it is ugly and dirty and you do what you can within it to be someone you can still look in the mirror.

Sometimes it means working for people who wouldn't break stride to step over your corpse if you died in the doing, so you can send their money to people who deserve the world and will never get it. )

I've not, ( he admits, clearly regretting the answer; knowing that it isn't the one she wants to hear, and hardly the one he wants to be able to give. ) Merc work had been up and down Orlais for a time, now, and I came direct. Might never have got out of the house if I'd gone home, things being what they are.

( His mother being what she is - his family having lost enough sons. )

I got letters, though, if you want news.

( She might remember his mother wasn't exactly prone to limiting her interest to her immediate family, as far as alienage life went. )

[dashing]

I'm sorry.

( She would say that she knows how hard it is not to be able to go home, but that seems stupidly obvious. She'd also say she knows how hard the very act of going home can be. It's not as though she has ventured back to Starkhaven since the Spire fell, and it's hard to pinpoint why, at times. Fear, perhaps. Duty could not be dismissed either, she had been determined over and over to help elves find safety away from the humans and Dalish that tormented them. She has dedicated hours, days, month upon month to helping people, and though all of that had been done with sincerity and the best of intentions there had still been a duty neglected in the midst of it. Fear had claimed a piece of her as it should never be able to a knight, invading her heart and making itself all too comfortable.

But, for the first time, there is the potential of news. )

I would be very glad of whatever news you might have to tell me. Though—

( Her smile is very slight, and more self-conscious than she generally allows herself to be. ) If I might selfishly ask for any news of my mother first, I'd be most grateful for your indulgence.