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[b]-[i]The Gnawed Noble, Denerim, Fereldan[/i]-
[/b]

There were never many Dwarves in the Gnawed Noble. Like many of the prominent establishments in Denerim the tavern boasted a majority of Human patrons and/or residents. This was not a deliberate state of affairs; Elves were generally greeted with open contempt, Dwarves were eyed with suspicion and Maker forbid the response a Qunari was likely to receive if he or she ever walked through the door. This was, of course, a status quo that a majority of Humans would rarely even stop to consider; Denerim was a Human-run city and the Gnawed Noble was a Human-run tavern, it was just the way of things. 

Which is why there were so many hushed whispers between patrons about the Dwarf on the table closest to the door.

Delwin had chosen her seat for a strategic purpose, namely its proximity to the building's entrance and its position in the corner of the room. She sat with her back against the wall, chair moved slightly so she had a clear line of sight covering the entire room. Upon entering the tavern she had purchased an ale from the bemused bartender before claiming her seat; the beer stood untouched on the table in front of her, growing tepid and warm as the hours dragged on.

She was a fearsome presence in such a normal setting. The off-duty guards enjoying their drinks three tables away were making a determined attempt to ignore her, they couldn't get into an altercation with someone they didn't notice after all. The serving girls hadn't dared approach the Dwarf with all the tattoos and even the tavern's old dog was keeping well clear of her. A small human child had approached her and gaped before being grabbed and pulled away by a terrified mother. That had been two hours ago.

Her contact was late.

Delwin felt her back begin to ache. She had enough concealed weapons to arm a small band of militia and, even though she was sitting as comfortably as possible, they did cause discomfort after a while. She remained where she was, she had been unmoving since she had taken her seat and was not about to fidget now. She knew the effect it had on those around her and wouldn't trade their fear and confusion for all the cushions in the world. 

The door to the Gnawed Noble opened to admit an Elf. He was a lithe man, short (by Elvish standards) and skinny; the common characteristics of a resident of an alienage. He scanned the tavern and looked almost ready to leave before spotting Delwin. Cautiously he approached her table and, at her nod, sat in the chair opposite her.

"You're late." Delwin's voice was cold and harsh, it retained that twang that denoted an Orzammar accent but was otherwise unremarkable. 
"Sorry, I got held up." The Elf hurriedly explained, "There were more guards than usual and-"
"Enough." Delwin reached into a pouch with one hand and placed a small stack of copper coins onto the table. "I want information, not small talk.'
"Alright, alright." The Elf raised his hands placatingly, "So I've done some digging and...' he leaned in conspiratorially, 'they're not here exactly."

Delwin sighed and began to slide a portion of coins back into her pouch. The Elf grabbed her arm, "Wait!" Delwin's eyes flicked up to meet his, he hurriedly removed his arm. 
"I know where they are now." Delwin leaned back into her chair and gestured for him to continue. "The king's holed up in his castle but that Warden queen is outside the city right now." 

Delwin considered, "Word's out that there's some sort of rumble going on out there with the Darkspawn. How're they doing? Is there a retreat likely? Where would she be if they fell back?" 
"Whoa!" The Elf looked uncertain, "You hired me to scout out Denerim and the Royal Palace and that's what I did. I wasn't hired to search outside the city, [i]especially[/i] with all the Darkspawn so I figure I'm owed extra for that alone!"

Delwin's eyes narrowed slightly. "I hired you to provide two of the most recognisable people in Thedas, you've only given me the run at one and the other's even in the sodding city, you'll get half what I promised and be grateful. But if you're lying to me I will find you and you'll wish you'd been killed in the Blight." The Elf gulped and nodded hurriedly. Delwin stood suddenly, drawing the attention of the tavern once more, she stretched and felt her body click and quiver in mild relief. She left the tavern, not bothering to pay for the drink, they could beat the fee out of the Elf for all she cared. 

[b]-[i]The Streets of Denerim[/i]-[/b]

Delwin walked the city at a firm pace. She cut an imposing figure, even at her height, the ruffians and thugs who'd normally have gone for a lone walker in the backstreets of Denerim gave her a wide berth. The vicious weapons she kept by her sides were usually deterrent enough for any casual thieves or murderers and, for those who knew, the Carta marks tattooed on her face and etched on her armour were warnings that anyone who approached without her say so faced much worse than a mercenary.
 
But that was the problem, [i]no one knew anymore.[/i]

Delwin had been on the surface when she'd heard the news: 
[i]'The Carta's finished, Grey Wardens killed 'em all!' [/i]
She'd had enough presence of mind to disappear, for the past few years she'd gone to ground and used her skills as a common mercenary. That had stung; she had been the best fighter in the Carta, in all of Orzammar, and then in the blink of an eye she was back to blackmailing merchants and robbing caravans. 
Despite this, she'd never moved on, never allowed her hatred to subside. She had no idea why the Wardens had gone to eliminate the Carta, why they'd suddenly come down from the surface and eradicated the Orzammar criminal fraternity, but she'd [i]make them pay[/i].

Not that the Carta was totally gone, officially, there had been reports of surface Dwarves claiming the name in places like Kirkwall and running schemes in the Free Marches. They'd even reached out to Delwin and offered her membership in the 'New Carta'. Delwin had seen the offer for what it was, they wanted her as validation, a figurehead to show they had the blessing of one of the old guard. She'd sent her refusal with the body of the messenger. 

There was no one left really, no one but her. Delwin [i]was[/i] the Carta now, the last of the Carta. With that title there were... responsibilities.
She'd spent the past few years travelling through Fereldan, Orlais, even down to Orzammar itself. She'd closed down the Carta safehouses and settled accounts with those fools who hadn't maintained their payments in the last days before the Carta had been eradicated. She'd left each area with more money and more notches on her blades in almost equal measure. The Carta, the true Carta, may be gone but she would not have anyone in a position where they could accuse the organisation of not finishing its business. 

Now business was concluded, there was only one task now: revenge. 

Delwin would track down those who had destroyed the Carta and exact a punishment the likes of which would only be whispered about in the darkest tales.
She had heard enough tales of the so-called heroes who had 'saved Fereldan' and 'ended the Blight' to know who her targets were. She had debated going after all party members of that celebrated group but the stories were unclear about who had been present in the purging of the Carta and she was not greedy. She would confine her retribution to the leaders of the band, King Alistair and Queen Celica. 

As she reached the city gate Delwin grinned a bitter smile, Nobles were simple targets, royalty would be no different.