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Estha de Riva
[This letter was written with a flair for the dramatic, complete with swooping letters and stark punctuation. The parchment is fine, and a spritz of fragrance has been added—spicy and warm, with just a hint of citrus.]
Charter,
Had anyone but my own Talon told me just who, exactly, had barged into your meeting with the Valistis, I would have believed them mad. Such willfulness is entirely unlike the newest de Riva; then again, her actions as of late have been quite strange. I truly wonder if we know her at all.
Were you to have asked me of Estha but three moons ago, I would’ve asked in turn who in Andraste’s name it was you were speaking of. Until recently, you’d be hard pressed to find anyone who knew of her. What digging I’ve done uncovered some, that she was a quiet girl from Arainai who knew nothing but the Crows, and kept to herself. Then she blew up. Literally. Until she reappeared a month ago—as if she weren’t a corpse walking, at that—we all believed her to be dead after a mission gone catastrophically wrong.
I was asked to look into it, and the questions bred like nugs. By all accounts she’s done nothing all her life save follow in the shadow of a certain Alouette Valisti, the former bard you sought to contract at the meeting she interrupted, but then there are all these little inconsistencies. Reports that don’t line up, accounts to the contrary. The only thing that’s clear is that she had a much heavier hand in Alouette’s success than our Orlesian lark would like us to believe. It’s why we took her into our House, in part. That, and Viago seems to have grown a fondness for her.
She is a strange one for certain. My apologies, but there's little else I've found on the matter. Whatever the case may be, Estha de Riva isn’t content within the shadows any longer. One can only guess as to why, though if the claims she made to you are in fact true it would go a long way in explaining. Her former mentor Damaso Arainai might know more of it, but it won’t be easy catching him sober. That, and I've gotten the sense that there is no love lost between the two of them.
Whatever it is you’re searching for within the Crows, don’t count her out just yet. I’ve a feeling none of us really know just yet what Estha might bring to the table
-Mimi de Riva
Yu Thorne
[The script of this letter was clearly written by a practiced hand, the letters neat, and easy to read. Its border has been embossed with a subtle floral pattern, and the fold of its crease is straight and crisp.]
Uncle V,
You could certainly say I know the rebel qunari Warden who saved that village, and worked half of our superiors into a tizzy! They go by Yu, and we were stationed at the same Keep up until recently. Got to know them quite well over the years, all things considered. Quite well indeed.
The thing about Yu is, she doesn’t really want to do the whole ‘fighting the Blight’ thing. I know, I know, it’s what Grey Wardens do, but they just…don't. Don’t misunderstand, she isn’t lazy in the slightest—they’ve always got their elbows deep in whatever task the other ensigns don’t want, mucking stables, cleaning latrines, things that need doing regardless. I daresay the whole Keep might just fall apart, were they to ever lose her. But fighting darkspawn? Going on missions to the Deep Roads? They’ve always found a clever way out of it.
So imagine my surprise, then, when one of our messengers brought back word of what they’d done, acting against orders to enact such a daring plan. I could hardly believe it! Now, it’s not that I didn’t think she could, I knew Yu was capable of such a feat, but she’s never let it show like that before. Didn’t want anyone to start expecting that sort of thing out of them, I suppose. Maybe they knew that pissing off our Senior Wardens was the best way to get stuck back at the Keep on chore duty. I’d like to believe it’s something more.
You’re looking for people to save the world yet again, I know. I’ll overlook that you failed to ask me first before considering some other Grey Warden, and say that I’m looking forward to reading the manuscript after you fend off the impossible yet again. They asked me to keep their secret and if nothing else my fathers taught me to be a woman of my word, so all I can say is this: Yu Thorne is much more than they let on. It’s why we had our…falling out, I thought I could push her towards that greatness, but she wouldn’t budge. If they’re actually trying to be the hero I know they can be, then you’ll find none better. And if she isn’t, maybe you can dislodge her where I couldn’t.
On another note, thank you for sending word of Vigil’s Keep, and for not telling. I promise, I’ll get around to writing them one of these days.
Much love,
Edwyna
Zarca Laidir
[A letter written in barely legible chicken scratch. Two large, thin holes have been punched through the upper-right corner, side by side, as if affixed twice before to the surface beneath it with a dagger. The edges are dry and rippled, and dusted with the fine, salty residue of seawater.]
Dearest Lace,
Do I know what happened with the Lord of Fortune and the Rivaini noble? My good friend, I was there! A more riveting tale I could hardly conceive of myself, and you know me, I’ve quite the active imagination.
It began like any other contract. Sure, the nobleman who hired us seemed a tad tight-lipped, but his coin purse certainly wasn’t. Now, dear Zarca isn’t typically one for the adventuring part—more the navigating type, that one, can read the stars like no other—but she’s a fair enough sapper as well, knows quite a few ways to knock one’s socks off, don’t I know it. Captain knew there’d be rubble and such where we’d be going, so no amount of bellyaching could save her from coming along. And believe you me, there was certainly bellyaching.
So off we went, deep down into an ancient ruin to seek treasures untold. Regrettably the delve itself was quite humdrum, a real walk in the park, and not even the kind with any weird performers clamoring for coin to break the monotony. It wasn’t until the last chamber that we came upon any trouble—a cave-in, but that’s why we brought Z along. She set the charges while the rest of us looked for traps and, most importantly, treasure, but before we could so much as find a sovereign we heard a right ruckus.
I turned around just in time to see it, and wasn’t it a sight! Zarca had shoved one of her toys into the poor loon’s hands, and kicked him square in the groin off the side. BOOM! I was picking bits of noble prick out of my hair for a week, at least. We hadn’t the foggiest why she’d done it—Captain looked red enough to blow, too—but she was adamant that he’d been messing with her charges or something of the like. I wasn’t really listening by then, honestly, much too busy laughing my ass off. It wasn’t until we went through his things, conveniently dropped before all that hubbub, that we found out what it was the bastard meant to do. Lucky, that, or Z might’ve been done for.
Cap told her to lay low for a bit, so she’s off wherever now. Never did stay with one crew for very long, anyway. I think she was planning on visiting her tyke, but then again, she’s never been one for planning anything. Your guess is as good as mine.
Best of luck in your no doubt riveting ventures—do tell, when next we cross paths,
Ahn
Felicitas Ingellvar
[Little stands out about this letter, save for a slight musty scent. The handwriting seems to be that of a scholar, written in haste but competent. Included is a note, written in a much less legible hand. It reads: “I’m sorry for what I said about your face. Thank you for leaving.” ]
To our most esteemed guest,
I must extend my deepest—and I mean deepest— apologies for the conduct of my colleague during your most recent visit to our Grand Necropolis. We of the Mourn Watch understand that such behavior is wholly unacceptable. The Inquisition’s surprising expertise and insight into the anomalies affecting our crypts and their denizens has been a veritable blessing during these most trying times, and as such we have taken steps ensuring that the situation be rectified.
I plead your understanding for, you see, our Felicitas was found within the crypt as a child, and as a result has always been a tad strange. We aren’t entirely sure ourselves where she came from, truly, only that she’d been living down there for a while already when we did find her, and that she knew not a word of Common. By the time we’d found someone who spoke enough Qunlat to communicate with her she already much preferred the company of cadavers, if you can believe it, and in truth they had grown quite fond of her as well! Many a spirit knows true friendship and deepened sentience because of her companionship but, well, understandably such an upbringing has left her…shall we say, ‘lacking’, with regards to certain social graces. Or, really, any social graces at all.
Please, do not take her comments concerning your current marital troubles to heart. Upon investigation, it appears she was merely attempting to appease a pair of love spirits within the crypt who were somewhat unsettled by the current strife within your relationship. The comment concerning your dour expression, however, was entirely her own fault.
Included with my letter is a note of apology from Felicitas herself. Rest assured that, should you or your comrades visit again soon, you’ve no need to worry about encountering her again. After a mishap involving a civil war within the crypts, she’s been sent to, shall we say, broaden her horizons, and shall not be back for a time.
I hope you can forgive us this transgression, so we might work together again in the future.
Watcher Dmitri of the Grand Necropolis
Vattik Mercar
[This letter is tucked inside an attractive envelope, once secured with an elegant wax seal. A note is written on a smaller piece of parchment in immaculate script:“For your consideration. -D”]
Magister Pavus,
I strongly urge you to reconsider your recent interest in the Shadow Dragon who goes by the name Vattik. While her most recent venture has no doubt painted her in quite the heroic light, I cannot express enough that she isn’t what she seems. Yes, she may get results, but one must consider the cost in their evaluation of what is to be gained. To that end, Vattik comes at far too high a price.
She is a loose cannon, one that will do anything to reach her ends. One can hardly blame her, I hear she was a slave once herself, but to say her methods are extreme would understate the fact. Even in freeing herself, the effects were far-reaching and disastrous—the slaying of her former master and his renowned guest undermined years of careful planning by another of our agents, and put us under scrutiny that nearly broke us. Shaking the Magisterium was no small feat.
Not only this, but she is charismatic as well, incredibly effective and compelling despite the setbacks being a qunari within Tevinter no doubt ensures. She’s accumulated a gang of like-minded individuals that follow her every beck and call, without question. With the trust of a Magister, what could she accomplish? How many more would she snare with her spell, were her reach extended by your own?
Many a senior member has sought to aim her, but too often they are the ones burned. She cannot be contained, Magister Pavus. Only cleaned up after.
-A concerned Shadow Dragon
Danath Aldwir
[The parchment of this letter is on its way to being worn, softening at the edges where its clearly been passed between multiple hands. It still holds tightly to the remnants of the herbs its envelope was originally packed with—dried embrium and tree moss.]
Lethallan,
It did my heart good to hear from you after so much time, and trust that the others I brought with me from our clan were relieved to hear from you as well. I know your hunt to be all-consuming. Know in turn that we hunt, too, for whatever we might find to aid you in this endeavor.
Joining hands with the Veil Jumpers has offered us many a lead. My knowledge as First has aided us significantly, and yet I find myself stunted by the bias of my learning. That is not to say your maela taught me poorly—on the contrary, were it not for the teachings of our Keeper, I fear I’d find myself too prideful to admit such a fact—but so few of our hahrens’ stories teach of the Dread Wolf in truth. They lean so far into fear so as to deter wandersome da’len that reality becomes obscured, and difficult to discern. I worry I know nothing at all, when that which I am certain of is so often mired in generations of misconception.
I’ve had to search beyond myself, beyond our people. I believe my search has borne fruit. There is a Jumper here by the name of Danath Aldwir who I’ve been keeping an eye on. She’s served for many a year longer than I within these wilds and, if rumor is to be trusted, she is devoted single-mindedly to chasing all things involving Fen’harel. The possibilities of what she knows and has seen are endless, I am certain she would prove an invaluable asset, if not for a single fact.
She may as well be myth. She is incredibly difficult to speak with, and works entirely alone. In the years I have spent within Arlathan Forest, I have seen her twice. Her brief forays into camp are solely to restock before promptly disappearing, and while I did attempt to speak with her our second time passing, she made it very clear she wished to be left alone.
There is very little else I can say of her. She has a vallaslin, but her demeanor was unlike any Dalish I’ve met as of yet. A former city elf, perhaps? I did hear her speaking before I approached, as if to another. “We’re close, Haseir, I can feel it.” She was alone, when I spoke with her.
Were she to know who it is that we hunt I’m certain she’d be interested, though to what end, I cannot be certain. I never got that far, but you’ve always had a way with people that I lack. I’m not sure how Deshanna expected me to succeed her, when I can barely talk to strangers. I know you could convince her.
Whether you follow this lead or not, all of us here hope that you’ll visit soon. I have so much I want to share with you, some of the artifacts and relics we've found have been just...beyond the words of ours or any language, a true testament to what our people once were capable of. And please, send word of my brother. The last I saw of Athi, I feared the bags under his eyes might smother him. Has Ilo been making sure he gets enough—or any—sleep? And has he been eating?
Our love and pride follow in your path, lethallan. Dareth shiral.
Eseldys Athimien Lavellan