Test Drive Meme!

[faderifting]

New Year...

...Same Old Hinterlands

Maybe the Inquisition sent you, maybe you came seeking the Inquisition. Maybe you fell out of a rift into this world last week and are still just trying to find your feet. However it happened, the first days of the new year find you in the Hinterlands. Tucked between Ferelden's massive Lake Calenhad and the icy Frostback Mountains, the Hinterlands are a hilly region covered in patchy forests and small farms trying to eke out a living between the boulders. Though somewhat remote, the area is rich with game and minerals and home to Redcliffe, a bustling town on a busy trade route.

Lately the Hinterlands have also been full of mages and templars and rifts, all threatening to turn once-peaceful countryside into a dangerous warzone. The Inquisition has set up several camps and sent personnel to try to restore order to the region, unwilling to let it slip into chaos. There's a lot to be done, some of it straightforward killing bad things, some of it weird and nebulous morale-building.

STILL WITH ADDED SNOW.

1. SHOULD OLD ACQUAINTANCE BE FORGOT

You have turned the wrong corner in the snow, forded the wrong stream in the snow, crested the wrong hill in the snow, entered the wrong cave in the snow. Maybe you are far from camp, in the snow. Maybe you are in camp, which is also snowy. Whatever has happened, wherever you are: you are being chased through the snow by bears. Did you throw a snowball at the bears? Are they huge and snow-dusted? Babies burrowing through the snow drifts and coming for your ankles? Fade-touched in addition to snow-touched? Controlled by cold mages who are hiding in the snow? Popping up out of the snow like a game of whack-a-mole? What are they chasing you away from in all of this snow? What are they chasing you into, other than more snow? What warm things do you plan to make out of their hide if you kill them in the snow? What do you think they'll craft out of your hide if they kill you in the snow? P.S. It's still snowy.

2. WE TWO HAVE RUN ABOUT THE SLOPES

Farmers have been forced to abandon their homes after a series of vicious attacks by wolves. Packs of them are roaming the foothills and stalking paddocks and even roads seemingly without the usual wariness of humans. Inquisition agents and local volunteers guard travelers through the affected region, hunt the wolves through snowy woods, and track them back to their cavernous lair in the edge of a canyon. Only eliminating the demons that lurk there will free the wolves from their influence and allow the area to return to normal.

3. AND PICKED THE DAISIES FINE

Winter snows freeze and bury the ground, but the need for healing herbs is as great as ever. Stockpiles are thin after the chaos of the last year, and Corporal Vale is desperate enough to send people out to search caves and hollows and cliffsides and beneath overhangs for any plants still clinging to life. The weather is brutal, the search tedious, the footing often treacherous, but that last patch of Crystal Grace could be a key find. Getting it requires clambering up a slippery hillside and stretching up to a ledge and hoping whatever creature lives in that foxhole beside the plant isn't at home, but it's worth it, right?

4. WE TWO HAVE PADDLED IN THE STREAM

With many roads through the hills and ravines blocked by deep snow, some crazy, desperate few have begun traveling by river. The ice is thick and jagged along the shores but in the center the water rushes, just deep enough for a shallow draft boat lightly laden. Supplies are carried down from the passes toward Redcliffe this way, a white-knuckle process that you, for some reason, have become involved in. Maybe you were hired to help fend off the bandits that haunt the calm shallows and try to demand tolls for passage, maybe you're paying your way downstream by helping port both boat and cargo around the steep falls, the mist so thick and cold it coats whatever it touches in a thin sheen of ice. Maybe riding a glorified canoe through rocky rapids and narrow gorges just sounded like a good time. Don't rock the boat!

5. WE'LL TAKE A CUP OF KINDNESS YET

It is still snowing, and the tavern in Redcliffe is still the closest and warmest place to duck into to wait it out, and not only is it packed to the gills but it seems that the First Day celebrations have continued within long past the dawn of the second day. The Gull & Lantern is so packed with thawing visitors that it's hard to walk from one side to the other, the owner has given up on telling these Fereldans they can't bring their dogs inside, every few minutes the group in the corner breaks into a traditional First Day song that will be stuck in your head for weeks, and that lady in the corner is almost definitely someone you've tried to kill before, or vice versa. But there's a fire going, and the bartender seems to think that giving everyone half-price drinks might prevent a brawl instead of causing one, and there aren't any demons indoors, so it could be a lot worse.

6. WILDCARD

Hunt game in the snow, kill demons in the snow, dig under the snow for herbs, track bandits through the snow, deal with someone charging extortionist coat prices now that it's snowing, fall off a deceptively tall rock into the snow, get lost circling the same hill ten times trying to find a way up to the weird glowing skull on a stick you can see is up there in the snow, climb trees or abandoned towers covered in snow, rummage around in empty homes to get out of the snow, run from a dragon in the snow, cry over how cute that fennec fox you just shot in the snow was, set up camp and chat around the fire because it's snowy and cold, knock yourself out (figuratively, or even literally if that's more your speed)-- the Hinterlands are your Frostback Mountain oyster, topped with snow.

Comments

[dwarfing]

The large boulder Guy passed suddenly moves, turning to look at the man with glowing eyes set in a permanent frown. Shale had seen a lot of stupid people in their time, but they're pretty sure this is in the top five.

"It is going to freeze to death soon," the golem rumbles, sounding more curious than concerned. "Why is it trying to lose it's fingers in the snow? I thought you fleshy things preferred to keep them."

It was dry, sarcastic and slightly exasperated, because really. Shale was not about to babysit some idiot in the snow, but he looked really pathetic. Maybe it could be interesting to see how long it took for a person to freeze solid without ice magic.

1

[tactical_alert]

However, to a layperson's eye, Malcolm does look like a Seeker. He rarely takes off whatever garb or armor he wears to indicate as such off when he's in public unless he needs to be much less suspect, and there isn't any reason here and now for it. He's like any other person in this tavern: looking for some respite from travel and cold. There is no special treatment here; he will not allow for it.

He won't allow for someone to simply pick his pocket, either.

Malcolm gives her a moment after spotting her to see if she'll decide to make a move, and when she doesn't, he excuses himself through the crowd to her. What a mess she appears to be. It's no wonder she was looking to pick up some coin. "It's a fine time for wandering fingers to find their targets," he starts in a surprisingly amicable tone. "You might take more care in picking yours."

[unharrowed]

Vasran knows little of Seekers. They are, as far as she understands, a particular kind of templar. In this case, it would be difficult to say when her consideration of his pockets ended and she started staring at the insignia instead. But he noticed all the same.

She draws up a little when he speaks to her, involuntarily coming to attention, shoulders straightening.

"You mistake me, Ser." It is not entirely a lie, she tells herself, since she had already decided not to target him.

Malcolm Reed | Star Trek | native

[tactical_alert]

[Ferelden-born Seeker, avid loyalist to the Chantry and the Divine. Uptight, straightforward, stern, honourable. From a family line of templars of some mild renown. Brackets or prose hit me.]

4
Of course supplies still have to get where they need to, and people, of course, still must rely on trade for their own survival, but while arguing with one of said traders on the icy bank of a river, Malcolm is beginning to think these people have let the snow addle their minds.

"Ser, you cannot possibly think traversing these waters will net you anything but a loss of your life. If they must get where they are going, I suggest requesting the help of carts and horses from the Inquisition or even your fellow men."

The Inquisition, after all, as much wants to help the people in the area as it does want to focus on the bigger picture. The merchant is not having it. What a fool. And this has nothing to do with not wanting to get anywhere close to the edge where the ice finally melts off into swiftly running water in the centre. Of course not. Who has a problem with water? Not Malcolm, never. Why did he agree to go on this little mission again? Oh right because refusing would show weakness, silly him.

"Ser, I ask again for you to reconsider, but should you depart, I can grant that I will keep this side of the embankment clear of bandits and unsavoury lots." On horseback, he should be able to keep up, so long as the small vessel doesn't crash itself into icy shards and shred apart. Help.

6
He has more important things he could be doing than playing guard, but the day is quiet, he's out not far from the way to Skyhold, spending time honing a few of his skills. One can never practice too much; it's not practicing enough that gets one into trouble. Malcolm is still deeply troubled by the waves the formation of the Inquisition has made in a negative sense and hopes more of his brothers and sisters will come to their senses and heed the word of the late Divine.

It's almost a form of meditation, he's come to realize. Going through the motions of a punch, the follow-through of a knife's edge, or the pull and release of an arrow sets his mind at ease, body occupied with what it already knows so that he can worry internally at other matters.

But there are enough dissenters, and bears, and demon-possessed wolves, and bloodmages, and renegade templars around that keeping an eye out for potential troublemakers isn't going to hurt anyone. Should someone or something approach, whether it's a shadow in the trees, the crunch of a foot in snow, or a cloaked figure, he whirls to, arrow drawn, aim true. "Who goes?"

even wilder card
[feel free to bother him or flirt with him or flagrantly diss the chantry or spar or whatever with him]

[tactical_alert]

It does strike him as interesting, the way she stands so at his word. Military of some sort? She looks so young and scrawny, but hard times have come to all...

"Wise not to go for my coin, but it doesn't mean you won't go after someone else's." He's no local guard, of course, but he can hardly abide by a crime he can see coming. Still, his look shows more pity than anger or smugness. "My lady, have you had much to eat these past many days?"

6 (Hi, hi, it's Wizera!)

[demonicbeauty]

Ever since the Rift had dropped her in the middle of this mess of a land, Ariadne was quite frequently the shadow in the trees. Something about living among all the foreigners had forced her old, Alastrian instincts to take over. Ironic, considering the fact that she'd worked so hard to control them.

Ironic, considering the fact that she was no longer Alastrian.

She'd just jumped from the branch of one tree to the next when the Human caught her attention. The way he was skulking about made her leery and she fully intended to avoid any contact. But evidently, he'd heard her.

Which meant she needed to make it very clear, very quickly that she was a harmless little girl with no secrets whatsoever. A surprisingly easy game for Ariadne to play. She had an unassuming frame and a gentle, girlish voice.

"No one," she called, dropping down to a lower branch noisily and intentionally clumsy. "No one important."

[unharrowed]

She had not wanted to seek charity. It had seemed too easy a way to leash herself to yet another person, or group of people, who might lead her down another path she did not want. For several days now she has been self-sufficient — she does not relish breaking that streak.

Yet. She must survive, long enough to reach the Inquisition.

"Food is still scarce at the Crossroads." Oh, they're able to keep people alive there, now that most of the bandits and renegades have been cleared out. But it's still no life anyone would call comfortable. "I hoped to find better fortune here."

[maladgogo]

Really, if he weren't so used to sudden movements, living things in all shapes, and sudden voices from nowhere, he might have been a lot more surprised than he was that there was suddenly a rock talking to him. As it was, he was also too cold to move all that quickly himself, and just looked up at the golem first with a pout, then with dawning realization that he was, in fact, looking at a golem in the first place.

"Man, you think I went n' motherfuckin' did this to myself?" he asked between his teeth chattering. "You might not be cold, but I just fuckin' woke up like t'is! Why it so motherfuckin' snow out here brother, you tell me that."

All of that was rapidfire, with no actual regard for the fact that it was coming down harder. He'd be a frozen motherfucker before long, if he didn't find something by way of actual clothes soon.

[dwarfing]

There's a narrow stare at Guy as that attack of words just bombarded from him. It makes the golem want to forcibly shut his mouth. With their fists.

"I am made of stone. It is not possible for it to be my brother," Shale says with mild annoyance in their voice as they shake some snow from their large shoulders. It was taking piece by piece to put together what the human had said - and not because Shale was slow, but there was just so much wrong with those rapid sentences. "I do not need to know that it has done disgusting things with its mother, either. Has it not known snow before? It comes with winter."

A pause, and then Shale adds not-so-helpfully; "It's winter."

[gatheringstorm]

Korrin just stares around in disbelief, because...that's a lot of dead birds. Dead squished birds. The Vashoth mage isn't any stranger to seeing animals meet a violent end, though usually it's bears or wolves driven mad by the Breach, not...this.

"Andraste's tits...."

Ser Charibert - Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward

[bestowsmercy]

Wildcard | Fire & Blood

[If the smell or charred flesh bothers you, then perhaps this isn't the place to be. Drunk upon his lust for destruction and motivated by sheer boredom if nothing else, Ser Charibert managed to ease his boredom by frying the corpses of two alleged bandits who dared to impede his path.

In this comely world of Thedas, it seems that elven kind often fall prey to the depravities of short-eared men. This is quite the opposite since the proud Elezen is used to having everyone groveling for forgiveness. After all, he's a loyal Knight of Ishgard and well-known Executioner for the Holy Orthodox Church. With that being said, Charibert cannot help but watch in glee as the last bandit is set ablaze by his red flames.

The howling screams are like music to his ears as he listens to the fiend's dying cries for mercy. A satisfied sigh escapes Charibert as he enjoys the show. Maybe a good execution was all that he needed to feel alive again after spending weeks within a jail cell. ]

Scream, scream, you worthless rat! Beg for your Maker to save your useless hide. Surely he's listening.

[This vile bastard of a knight isn't above taunting his prey even during their final moments. There's a maddening look of glee within Charibert as the flames devour the man whole. The air completely engulfed with blackened smoke and the snow beneath his feet is quickly melting. Charibert's penchant for fire is a skill of his.

As a thaumaturge, he's perhaps the most powerful of them all. This elf is the perfect embodiment of Halone's fury, a testament to the sheet madness that lurk within Ishgard.]

Tsk, tsk, tsk! Silent already, dear rat? I suppose the Maker came for him after all.

[With just the snap of his fingers, the crimson flames vanish just as quickly as they appeared. There's naught a thing left of the poor bandit except for a pile of scattered gray ashes.]

Lara Croft| Rise of the Tomb Raider

[make_my_mark]

2. In Soviet Russia, wolves are afraid of Lara Croft

It was becoming some sort of law in Lara's life that no sooner would she get answers, than more questions would present themselves. She'd followed, and furthered, her father's research to Kitezh, to the Divine Source. She'd held it in her hands, had denied it from Trinity by destroying it... and before she could even enjoy a night's sleep, here she was. Lost.

And glowing.

She might have thought she'd suddenly taken up sleepwalking, and had merely wandered away from the Remnant camp if not that for that bloody thing, casting a sickly green glow from her left palm. If not for the strange mountains, nothing like the great Russian peaks she'd spent the previous weeks traversing. If not for the thing she'd just seen staggering into the mouth of the cave she'd tracked the wolves too.

She'd been hoping to follow them to a recent kill, or to take a pelt or two of theirs if she absolutely had to, but she wasn't expecting that.

Eyes widening, mouth dropping slightly open, she gaped - and quickly ducked back behind the tree she was using for cover. Her mind turned rapidly, trying to place it, and coming up empty even when it placing it against the impossible things she'd seen in the past few years.

Peeking back around, she watched it, all long, pale limbs, like a stick-bug, but grown to a monstrous size. And with far more teeth and claws than usual.

"What are you?" she whispered, fingers flexing on the shaft of her arrow.

5. A flask half-full; I may need that

The stars were all wrong, but eventually Lara managed to stumble upon the village. It provided all the more questions - her therapist might have been a Trinity mouthpiece, but maybe he'd been onto something, if she was imagining herself in some Tolkien novel sprung to life - but she bemusedly went with it.

What else could she do, until she either woke or froze death somewhere in the Siberian mountains?

In the Gull and Lantern, the man with the ears had told her, someone would be able to help her with her hand. Someone with The Inquisition.

It was warm inside, at least, and the scents of food and ale were strangely comforting as she stood there, looking around, left hand curling gently, green light flashing softly.

[ungovernable]

( the small noise of dismay from the back of her throat is unplanned, unrehearsed and - if you asked benevenuta - a touch undignified, as well. when she wishes to be seen a certain way, she is shameless; when she is prompted into something unguarded, it is the worst of things, and that is probably why she frowns at him so severely when she approaches to get a better look. )

This is beyond me,

( with a hint of something - she wishes it weren't, that she could do more, that this were more her area than it is. the necromancer is not shy of blood, however, and she studies it closely to see what she can do in the meantime, setting down the second cloak (on max) and taking the poultices she'd brought. )

You will have to see Lady LeBlanc when we are back to Skyhold.

2

[forgottensavior]

[Celinie is still remarkably befuddled at finding herself once again not where she last was. It's been a few days and perhaps she should be accustomed to being jerked to somewhere new, but she's not. Carteneau is still fresh, too fresh, in her memory. The smells of blood and fire and death. The singing of an arrow being loosed brings it all back in a painful deluge that threatens to drown the poor Elezen staring at Leliana.

It takes a moment for her to register what she's seeing, that there is a woman trying to fight a dragon with arrows alone. She'll be killed, sure as she's standing on that cart now.

More out of habit than decisive thought, Celinie casts Stoneskin on the woman, following immediately with Protect. For her part, she will not harm the dragon, but by the Twelve, she will not let this woman perish either.

You, madam, have acquired a surprise healer. Tank not included, alas.]

[maladgogo]

Shale's narrowed eyes are met with Guy's own, but he refrains from going off on any more tangents, even though there are a couple right there on the tip of his tongue.

"Look, big guy, it's just a motherf- it's just a speech pattern. Ain't nobody fornicatin' wit' nobody's mama. 'cept my brother n' the priestess up the way, but that ain't neither here nor there. So don't be gettin' all fuckin' high n' mighty at me. I ain't pointed out that you callin' me 'it' ain't all that nice so we'll just be fuckin' leavin' it at that. 'n I know it's winter, wouldn't be in danger'a losin' my toes in the summertime out here. What I wanna know's why it so motherfuckin' snow. We ain't got no motherfuckin' snow in P'mouth, n' I wasn't headed back to Boston yet so what's the big motherfuckin' idea?"

Give him a moment, he might just realize who he's looking at.

"...now can you please be pointin' me at a motherfuckin' warm place so I don't drop dead'a the cold?"

[twelvelabours]

I've had worse. Packed some snow onto it before, helped stopped the swelling getting out of hand. ( Quite calm. One of his better traits, that, keeping a level head, even as the world falls apart (literally or metaphorically.) Hercules offers her a shade of a smile. ) I doubt there's much beyond you.

( because, really. ) Come on, we've got Striker. That'll cauterise the wound, if your Lady LeBlanc doesn't mind cutting cutting me back open to get at the bone. It doesn't knock out the infection, but it's good enough for stopping the blood.

( And now, his smile turns self-mocking. ) Couldn't do it myself, with my arm this way.

[ungovernable]

( where another might blanch, benevenuta sets her jaw, thinking. it sounds very reasonable, which means she is immediately suspicious of him, but - he does need to stop bleeding, for pity's sake. she is no healer, and no best judge of the right course of action, only ... indecision is a decision, so she might as well actually make one. )

Maker's breath, ( she murmurs. and then, sternly, ) If Lady LeBlanc disapproves, I shall tell her I acted only at your word.

( thedas will develop the automobile just so she can throw him under that bus, in other words. but for now - a little gingerly, cautious of the unfamiliar weight, she takes his sword.

maker's breath. )

Celinie Brookstone | Final Fantasy XIV (prose or brackets)

[forgottensavior]

Celinie is not wholly convinced this is not some elaborate dream from which she has yet to wake. Honestly, this is a far better dream than the ones she's suffered since Carteneau. The mark on her hand is certainly perplexing though. An explanation might be kind if anyone happens to catch her staring at her hand.


1. Wolves and Demons and Rifts, oh my!

There is a problem with holes in the sky that spew out violent creatures which in turn whip up the local wildlife into a frenzy. On a better day, a day a year ago, perhaps, Celinie would have responded as any Conjurer of Stillglade Fane would do: quell or pacify the wildlife and purge the source. However this young Elezen is no longer the wide-eyed innocent playing at adventurer to feed her distant family. She has seen too much. And now, all she can see are the Carteneau Plains, littered with bodies, air filled with screams of terror and agony as an elder primal bursts out of the falling moon. Falling debris of Dalamud crushing soldiers, both allies and Garleans alike. Fire and smoke and death and blood are still fresh in her nose. Once more she is in that moment and not in her present.

Her present has her standing before a pack of wolves driven to madness by the demons from the rift. One lone Elezen woman, frozen with fear and memory, unmoving and unaware of the doom headed for her. Hopefully those scouts are coming soon.

2. I'm a closet Botanist, really!

Hunting for healing herbs. This is something Celinie can do and surprisingly well. Before the war, she'd spent some of her days quietly learning the basics of botany from the Botanist's Guild. Master E-Sumi-Yan thought working with plants first hand, even if only enough to grow some flowers or lentils in a garden, would assist their fledgling conjurer develop a rapport with nature. What pleases her about this task is that it keeps her away from fighting, away from conflict. It is cold and hard labor searching for plants which she is unfamiliar, but it is soothing work nonetheless.

There are few finds, which is disappointing, but the potential to help bring succor to others drives her on. She spots a beautiful plant with purple and green leaves at the entry to a cave, certain that's one that's being sought after. However, there seems to be something skittering around inside. Uncertain if the creature is a threat or not, she turns and asks simply, "Should I put it to sleep, ere we collect the plant?"

3. Wildcard

Be careful if she starts holding her head. Someone's about to get a glimpse into your past whether either of you like it or not.

[twelvelabours]

Let's not be blasphemous, now. ( that wasn't even remotely blasphemous, he's just trying to be helpful and lighten the mood, and a way that is (more than likely) entirely unhelpful. honestly, herc probably had some terrible dad jokes to hand that only contributed to chuck's outbursts. defusing the situation is not his strong suit, never has been. )

Thanks for that. I'll be sure to remember you when my ghost is haunting Skyhold, in the aftermath.

( it's strange-- not uncomfortable seeing someone else wielding striker, but definitely strange to see it in the hands of someone so entirely not a warrior. dangerous, he's not doubting that... it just seems possible that the weight of the thing might make her topple over. quiet chuckles aren't really an option when you feel like you might pass out, however. and he really doesn't want her to miss and take off his head, by accident. ) Count of three?

( she's going to do it on the count of two or one, he suspects, that's the way people always try to "help" )

[ungovernable]

( it is how people try to do it. he's expecting that, she thinks; a warden of his age has been in the wars often enough to have dealt with some uncomfortable field medicine. probably, she thinks with renewed optimism, worse than this. he expects the count of one, or two, and so -

precisely on three, maybe just a moment after, she strikes. )

[twelvelabours]

( nothing like having your own strength turned against you, and he's pretty sure there are plenty of tales about beautiful women and sharp blades. braced, ready, and his teeth still grit and muscles spasm with the charring of his skin, with flesh crackling and the sizzle of his blood along. there is worse pain, that he knows. doesn't mean his skin doesn't take on a new pallor and there isn't a dangerous moment where he might just pass out, even as his voice strains with a yell that he's making himself swallow.

max growls, whines at his would-be physician, and is about to drag a slobbery tongue over herc's face when he stops the beast's head with an armoured hand, gently pushing back. ) Don't you dare.

( herc's breath comes ragged, frankly he looks terrible, but at least he's not bleeding. he'd try and express a coherent word that comes out as more than a strained growl. the good lady just gets a nod, weary. )

[ungovernable]

( the blood has stopped and she hasn't done him any new injuries - it is as much as she might've hoped for. her expression is a little wry at max's displeasure, and she lowers the sword as gingerly as she'd lifted it, slow to avoid clumsiness.

she is not accustomed to wielding a sword. her staff is one thing. )

There,

( infusing a bit more certainty into her voice than she has rightly felt. )

The poultice, then, and back to camp.

HI sorry for the slow ;u;

[fightingale]

It would have to be a bad day indeed, for Leliana to miss the arrival of an old friend, especially one so... distinct as Shale. There was nothing tactful about the potential to take a door, its frame, and possibly part of the wall down when entering a room, and she schools a smile into careful submission as Shale lumbers closer.

"The same could be said of you," Leliana observes, tilting her head slightly towards the scramble and grumble of their fellow patrons.

"You are a sight for sore eyes." It seems appropriately... friendly, without excessive sentiment, although there is the momentary pause as she wonders just how literally this may be taken.

[twelvelabours]

( and he'll just be accepting the precious sword back, now. the grip of it, the weight, it's not something he can really wield effectively right now, but he can garner some strength from striker eureka. it was as much as part of him as a mage's magic was part of them. fingers curled about the grip, hercules nods, licks his lips, and ignores the parched feeling. the need for a water skin could wait a moment, until the poultice was seen to. )

You did all right.

( such high words of praise - the sentiment stronger than the phrasing might suggest. )

Maybe I should take up your staff, next time. ( with a slight grin, before he looks to the wound, violent pink and red and black, but at least not open. ) Keep things interesting in the field.

5.

[fightingale]

( It is as her agents said; a new arrival, a rifter, wandering the Hinterlands. They spoke of her fighting wolves, of her prowess with bow and arrow, and Leliana had found herself curious. A rifter versed in archery was not enough to draw her from Skyhold, no, but other matters of business that required her hand rather than any other had brought her hence, and if she were here, what was the harm in investigating such a person?

No coincidence bought them both to the Gull and Lantern, that much she knows. Whether the Maker's hand guided her to Leliana or Leliana to her, though, is another matter for consideration. Faith has proven a double edged blade more than once, even as it gnaws away at her bonds it is likely to find ways to bite into her flesh. To be faithful and to survive could be a treacherous balance, and the Left Hand of the Divine knew what it was to move in shadows.

The sign of the Herald's mark glow in the young woman's hand, and Leliana watches over her wine, let's the crowded bar do its work for her, before she gestures to the traveller. ) There is an empty seat here, if you're in need.

( She can be more direct, yes. Sometimes it was nicer to attempt a lighter touch, however, and Leliana tilts her head towards the empty seats, lifting her lute off one of them and setting it to the side. )