Nobody likes a good old fashioned Fereldan summer. Sera definitely doesn't, at least. Snotty guards are even more irritable than usual, staking out a good spot to set up an ambush is a living nightmare, and she can't even begin to imagine what it feels like under those heavy armors.

It's a good thing she's wearing a reasonably light one, then, because not only is she not dying of heatstroke, she's also able to climb up to this infernal roof and wait for this person who stopped the Breach from swallowing up everything.

Yes, that sounds interesting. The Red Jenny knows everything that goes on in the area and this is one connection that she wouldn't dream of missing out on, especially with all the wild rumors flinging about. Some say that this person is a stern faced, olive skinned woman wearing the symbol of the Seekers of Truth on her armor, but a more insistent bunch is saying something else.

This person they call the 'Herald', she isn't even human, elven, or dwarven. She's a legit qunari, and that must be her who's opening the door right now.

And she looks nothing like Sera expected her to look like. Qunari or not, the word 'Herald' brings a very specific image to her mind: regal coat, guards on her sides, skin as unblemished as smooth marble. She didn't expect to see horns that go on forever, marred with scratches and bumps and decorated with a ring over there and a single bronze clasp on the other. She didn't even know that qunari decorated themselves like that.

Under the thick looking coat is a full set of worn heavy armor, a bold choice given the current weather. A long, long sword hangs by her side. If Sera was the one to wield it, she would undoubtedly have to do so with two hands, but how light it seems on the Herald clues her in that she probably needs only one arm to do so.

However, Sera is more interested in her face. There's a lot of annoyance for one face, but perhaps that's only because she must be on fire under that armor, or because Lord Whatshisname is preening about with one of the most obnoxious speeches she's ever heard, and the thief has heard a lot of those. Lines of scars crisscross every surface of the qunari's visible skin, which isn't saying much, considering that only her head is visible. Thick lines, mostly healed ones, it's like a macabre canvas of war. She isn't sure, but that looks like a burn mark on the very edge of her jaw.

A hard-faced warrior woman with sharp cheekbones is at her side, while a very amused seeming dwarf with a crossbow that must have cost a house or two is nearby as well. A bald elf with almost no armor at all stands calm but alert, the staff between his fingers screaming "I'm a mage!".

Now that gives her pause. Rule number one of surviving as long as she has: don't come near mages. Enough waiting around, though, because Lord Whatshisname's prattling is getting on her nerves. The sooner she gets out of this heat, the better. She deftly takes an arrow from her quiver, nocking the projectile on her bow expertly before she finally speaks up.

"Hey, asshole!" She hollers, grinning most proudly when she sees the look on his face. It's the look of someone who's been walking with their noses upturned all their life only to step on dog shit for the first time. "Just say 'what'!"

"What is the-"

And the arrow whirs through the air, hitting right where she wanted it to. The noble sputters as he realizes that it's gone through his mouth in the middle of his inquiry, and then his body goes slack. Sera has got to admit that there was a chance that wasn't going to work that prettily, but it all worked out. Nothing benefits someone like her like ridiculously good luck and skills like that.

"Thanks, I was getting a bit tired of listening to him ramble."

"Blah blah, arrow in my face. Rich tits always try for more than they deserve." She bends down and yanks the arrow out with moderate difficulty. It's a bit bloody, but past experiences tell her to never waste an arrow unless it's snapped in half.

"Nice shot. Clean and quick, unlike listening to him blather on about how small he is."

Another unexpected response. Sera keeps the grin on her face, although she really thought that a qunari with such a snooty title would be less than happy with whatever she does. She slides down the stepladder, eager to find out more about this woman who everyone's talking about.

One thing that the Red Jenny notices as she walks towards her is that the Herald looks much, much bigger in person and her analytical stare is much more intimidating as well. Her hair is whiter than a ghost's face, or what Sera imagines it looks like, anyway. It's not too long, but it's tied back, obviously. No one wants a hair accident during a fight. Stray strands of hair freely frame her face, a few of them sticking to her obsidian skin with sweat. It's been too long since anyone's made a shiver of fear trickle down her spine, but she shrugs it off as always, even though those long horns look like they could disembowel someone with just a shrug of the qunari's shoulders. Talking about her shoulders, Sera is pretty sure they're twice as wide as the wiry elf's.

"Whoa." Sums up her entire reaction.

"Whoa?" The qunari's deeper voice sounds like it can command and conquer an army with just a shout, but now it's just confused. "That's a first."

"Inquisitor," The bronze skinned human interjects, glaring daggers at the thief. "We were to bring him in for interrogation. That," She aims a look of irritation to Sera. "Is no longer an option."

Sera scoffs and considers punching the woman's arm in jest, but she crosses out the possibility of doing that when she sees the look on her face. "Don't even bother, guy's one of the low life nobles. Well, even more low life than the usual. He hasn't even got property or proper guards or whatever, just a son of a cousin of some bloke with deep pockets."

"No ambushes? Now this, I like." Says the dwarf with the crossbow, although he doesn't lower his weapon. "Ever been to Kirkwall at night? If not, don't."

"It does seem like a nice turn of events, if it's true." The bald elf smiles.

"Well, no ambushes sounds right." Sera shrugs. "But his goons are comin' here right now. I stole their breeches."

"You what?" The sour faced woman asks. The Seeker isn't sure she heard her right.

"I. Stole. Their. Breeches. Undies. Panties. Knickers."

"I know what breeches are." Her defined eyebrow twitches with annoyance.

"I think Cassandra here just wants to know why you didn't take their weapons instead." The Herald translates. "It's a question that makes a lot of sense, unless you stole their breeches to impress us. If you did, then color me impressed." She chuckles, wiping a sheen of moisture from her forehead.

"Nah, just wanted to see their faces."

"Herah, don't encourage her." Cassandra frowns deeper than before.

Before anyone can respond to that, a door bangs open. Sera braces herself, another arrow in place faster than most people can blink, prepared to pick them off one by one like annoying flies in the air. "Here they are!" She waits patiently for the first fool to reveal himself, but before she can, something hot and quick flies by her ear, far enough for her to know it won't hit her but near enough for her to still feel the heat as the fiery projectile sails past.

It hits the first one right in the chest as he turns the corner to face the five, knocking him back and exploding powerfully enough to push the rest off their feet and into a nearby pile of barrels.

It must have been that bald elf. He's a mage. But that's not right, he was to her left, this attack came from the other direction. Curiosity killed the cat, but she takes a milisecond to check who the hell did that. She finds her answer with the turn of her head.

The Herald's sword gleams bright under the light of the fire in her other hand. Fire crackles hotly in a myriad of blue, purple and orange above her palm.

She's a mage. The Herald of Andraste is a qunari and a mage, and the battle won't last too long.