#time: spymaster

[makersent]

virsethlin liked for a starter

  The redhead counts herself fortunate now, having decided to observe the night guards. A lone figure appears out of the shadows between two stations, silent with eyes aglow. Smoothly, her bow is drawn, arrowhead facing the elf.

                                       "You have wandered too close for comfort.                                      State your name and business here, or leave."

[makersent]

Dear lelianna, I'm. Not. Dead. -Hero of the country that can't have a decade without something going horribly wrong, Kerensa Surana. (MEANING HI HI BEEN WAY TO LONG BRUH)

  Dear K, 

       Of all the people I thought might perish, you would be the last one.       At least you would have the kindness to inform me if you did “vanish”, yes?       Or maybe not, we have both been rather secretive. It seems you have found       where I have ended up, however. I’d love for you to return the favour.                                                                                                         - Nightingale

[makersent]

Laid on top of Leliana's desk was a rather simple looking dagger with a dark green bow wrapped around it's hilt. Upon closer inspection it would seem that delicate feathers are etched along the dagger's blade. There would be no note, just the bow.

  Though the bow, seemingly bought from a common vendor, was no indication towards the mysterious sender, the careful design of the dagger was another. Many smiths revered the beasts of flight, but few with such apparent passion in its representation as the elvhen and their owls. And though several of Skyhold could have achieved such a thing through indirect means, few bore enough care for or even bravery around the mistress of shadows.  With a delicate hand, Sister Nightingale lifted the weapon, fingers curling around the hilt in familiar comfort as a hint of gratitude pulled at her lips. She would need to thank the Inquisitor some time soon.

[makersent]

unwantedheir:

        ❝you know leliana–❞      alistair begins, hand moving towards the redhead.         ❝–i cannot for the life of me          understand why you keep that         on.  your face is quite lovely,          y’know, don’t hide it.❞      with a gentle, even innocent smile, he tugs the hood from           her head, the navy fabric falling to her shoulders, read            hair aglow in the candlelight.  

                                                  "You ask that of me?"

  An incredulous tone crept into her voice, though not completely void of amusement.   Leliana shifted the cowl so it lay neatly around her shoulders, but did not replace it.

                                      "I should think your own golden head                                 is no easier to disguise in the darkness, hm?"

[makersent]

Sister Nightingale, The Storm Coast is being overrun with darkspawn, any assistance in sealing their burrows would be appreciated. -Signed, Scout Lieutenant Harding.

Harding

 The Herald and Warden Blackwall will lead a team to aid you shortly.  May the Maker watch over you.

                                                                            - Sister Nightingale

[makersent]

Letter addressed to the spymaster, "It is odd writing, the past few days I've mostly been dealing with demons creeping around Rivian, I ask for your assistance, the seers and fishermen have endured enough. In return I offer my skills and abilities to the Inquisition, I would rather die for a cause warranting peace then of old age."

( The letter is sealed by a simple mark, though lyrium-touched. )

  I expect that you are on your way, as I have provided what you asked for. Hopefully they will be enough to help the Rivaini, though your own efforts will be of greater help here, in the end.   Should you encounter any trouble, send word immediately.                                                                                                              Sister Nightingale