NEVER HAVE THEY KNOWN A LAND SO DAMP AND STILL. moisture clings to the sour air in this place without so much as a breeze to stir it. save the stop-start pulse of writhing blight, they've yet to find a sound of life for miles beyond the relative safety of the wardens' perimeter, and the longer they spend in the hossberg wetlands, the more they grow to hate it. that sound.
after the disaster that had become of weisshaupt, rook has spent nearly every hour since trying to aid what remains of the order here.
still, they haven't yet decided whether to count the death of the first warden among their failures or as a little blessing of sorts. he is decidedly more useful this way, but his rank and file have been all but decimated, davrin is grieving, and the single most lauded living warden — the hero of ferelden — has come from the south to see the mess they've made of their centre of command.
she's expecting you. evka had said, sounding only vaguely like she'd just ratted them out to the local guard. and despite her tone and rook's trepidation, they still wander closer to her door. “ if it's another report— ” rook swipes a spot of darkspawn blood from beneath their eye and steels themself for the worst. they haven't had the best luck of late with trying to run varric's operation for him. but it seems, this time, they're pleasantly surprised.
“ ah, well— ” the same gauntlet scratches idly at that spot on their cheek. “ i did try diplomacy. ” warden commander tabris doesn't appear nearly so pissed as antoine had suggested, they think, and then curse themself for thinking it. “ yes, of course. weisshaupt was— ” catastrophic. “ —unfortunate. but we did manage to slay ghilan'ain's archdemon, at least. ”