Balalaika
TokyoPewPew
WhiteAngel25
Tlaloc
To say that Cullen was taken aback was an understatement. He stared at the scout in varying degrees of irritation, then shock, then resigned fatigue. Of course Leliana had sent a spy to work among the Inquisition's forces under his command, it made complete strategic sense. He had to hand it to her, she truly was competent, and no Spymaster would be worth their salt if they went about asking for permission. It must have had some purpose, too, that this particular agent of hers had decided to share this tidbit. He was far too tired to decipher the intention behind the decision at the moment, but if secrecy was involved, then he had to wonder what for. Far easier to ask this one, even if he doubted any real answers would come.
"That's Commander to you," he shot back, unruffled by her defiance. His tone was authoritative, though it was not proud - the voice of a man who was used to the simplicity of order and the enforcement of it. "And... I suppose I won't get any details on your duties, but thank you. For serving the Inquisitor. And Sister Leliana." He tore a portion of the letter he had scribbled upon and handed it towards the elf, waiting for her to take it. The note bore instructions for the bearer to have extra servings of strong ale and hot meals. "Here. I know the supplies have been rationed, but I believe Fisher deserves some relief. The sight of a demon... it makes for sleepless nights. And did you see the attack yourself?" The way his brows furrowed as he said this implied a knowing sympathy, though he did not say much on the subject. "Small mercy it is a rage demon. Fire leaves cleaner wounds, in most cases."
He wondered if she was the type of scout who observed from a distance and kept away, or actively got herself involved in whatever she was watching. Something about her demeanor told him that she was unafraid of conflict, one who solved problems with directness... which was a method that Cullen also preferred. It was imagined common ground, but common ground nonetheless.
"In any case, I'll have instructions made to make sure gatherers always work in pairs, where possible, and increase the drills on stealth. There's not enough shields to go around, and not everyone is strong enough to carry them... but anyone can learn to be less of a target," Cullen crossed his arms and looked at her, curious. "Did she also send you to observe the troops out of suspicion? There is always the risk of it, infiltrators... have you found any, among the troops?" There was an unease in the question, almost as if he didn't want to hear the answer. It was clear that he placed much trust and hope in the forces, in the men and women who were giving their lives to the cause. "The enemy is always looking for ways in, and even if Skyhold is nigh impenetrable, the Inquisition itself is not."
All Void broke loose, and before she knew it, she was on the floor with a crazed, disheveled woman on top of her. It would have been a great time on paper, but in practice, Alba's head hurt from the impact, and worse, her hat was nowhere to be found. She growled and fought back, rolling to the side and wrenching her limbs free from the hold, before making a quick, but ungainly rise to her feet. Maker, this group was full of surprises - and the Tevene did seem to walk his talk. Or well, the talk his clothes seemed to imply, at least.
She ducked as an arrow whizzed past, barely avoiding a cut on the cheek. Strangely enough, the pirate still refused to draw her sword, despite the flurry of combat that had erupted all around them. Alba had noticed that the Inquisitor did not wield a blade, and so, she felt it dishonorable to draw her own against her in an unserious fight; the self-righteous nobles and leaders alike were precious about their reputation, and Alba deduced that this one would not dare to slaughter her in public without due cause. Likewise, her experienced crew was close enough to provide cover from the worst of the onslaught, and they would live. The good Fereldan villagers here only wanted blood after all, and not death.
"It looks to me that the fight only started when you and your companions got here," she shouted, staring at the four in turn. There was a constant lilt of amusement in her voice as she spoke. "Funny. I thought the Inquisition was here to restore order. Perhaps we have been at sea for too long, and the winds have changed, here?"
Over in the corner, a piercing shriek cut through the din; those who turned to look would see the minstrel, now cornered by the very group she had been pointing out with her eyes. One of them moved an arm, and after a flash of silver, the woman's throat was slit, sending a gush of hot, red blood pouring out over those nearby. As the spectacle made people freeze in horror, those involved made a run for it, breaking windows and pushing their way past the door to escape.
Alba turned and stared at it all, a hand over her heart, shaking her head. She did not lift a finger to help, however, and merely watched, as the poor woman bled out. Her crew merely gawked, too, standing idly by, and many even returning to tables to finish their meals and their ale.
"My, my. Her singing was not at its best, but that hardly warranted death," she remarked, turning to Ophelia. "A shame. I didn't even get her name. But she smelled like lilies. I imagine, now, she must smell more like rust."
