Petra Calavia had no serene bone in her body on an ordinary day but her current circumstances had all her senses aflame with vigilance. The overpowering odour of fish emanating from the docks did nothing to ease her discomfort and the strange sounds of the night did anything but placate her hammering heart. She had been an active member of the underground Tevinter rebellion for some time now, but her duties rarely included undertaking such intricate covert and likely violent operations. Things took a sudden turn, however, when the son of Magister Pavus returned home as an Inquisition veteran; and in addition to taking on the position of Ambassador, he embraced their paltry order and made it into a significant force of defiance against the current political system.
Manoeuvring amongst the academics of Minrathous and Vyrantium in search of information was a dangerous enough undertaking but following a fellow altus to some shady abandoned shack, likely full of prospective slaves, in Orlais of all places, was an entirely different kettle of fish. Ugh fish… the thought reminded her of her current location and sent her nose crinkling in disgust. She can do this, she told herself, her abilities were more than suitable and her contact was supposed to be awaiting her signal. If only her nerves would quiet so easily.
Nicon Sulara moved cautiously towards a particularly dark section of the building, possibly in search of a side door. Sliding without noise to a corner of the alley for a better view the woman's eyes were locked on the dark silhouette of her mark; her muscles tense, magic practically sizzling in her hand which involuntarily felt for the hilts of her spirit blades. A small flicker of light and a barely audible echo of a snap announced the shattering of a magical barrier across the street... and something else perhaps, something muffled closer to her side. A cat perhaps? Val Royeaux was notorious for her strays. She saw the robed figure disappear into the depths of the shadows and she knew she had to follow. Before she could contemplate her next move, however, she heard the previous sound again, from much closer. No sooner had she thought to charge her weapon than what felt like a decidedly sharp blade pressed lightly but firmly to her throat while another pinned her wrist back, into the wall.
"I do not suggest trying any magical trickery, or my dagger just might slip, Vint." Whispered the elf in her ear. His dark eyes held her gaze with cold authority while she stood too close to blade and man, at his mercy, yet defiant and silent. "It seems we share a target. I now need you to tell me who you are and why are you after Nicon Sulara. Do not play coy with me, I would rather get the truth from you without further coercion."
Her thoughts were racing at a rapid pace. This elven man was on the same trail as her and by his use of the hated slur, he is no friend to Sulara, nor to anyone from Tevinter for that matter. How did an unknown variable like him come to inconvenience her so? She very much doubted that Dorian and his Inquisition friends would have crossed their wires like this, they were like a well oiled machine together, after all; which meant one of two things. This was either an agent of an organisation outside her usual territory or, what was more likely, one of the usual suspects with a particular dislike towards… Vints. On a second (not unappreciative) glance at the tall elf at a breath's distance of her, she decided the latter must be the case and she was now facing a member of the Ben-Hassrath. Petra pondered her options briefly, concluding that giving a limited amount of truthful information seemed like the best course of action considering her knowledge on the Qunari. Logic could win her this contest of wills.
"My name is Petra Calavia, Qunari" She hissed the words through tight lips. The man smirked at what apparently was a correct conclusion on her part, looking somewhat impressed. "I am a knight enchanter of Vyrantium, a scholar of the Ancient Imperium amongst other things..., and occasional spy, it seems... That man is collecting slaves, as I'm sure you know. I am also certain neither of us wants him to succeed in whatever his goals are."
After a moment of consideration the elf gave her an appraising look then lifted his blade from the woman's throat.
"Gatt." He said. Was that his name? That was no rank she recalled and both her memory and knowledge were excellent, thank you very much. She was not about to question this concession on the man's part, however. "Getting those people out of their inevitable doom would be preferred, yes. The boy has multiple strings to one bow though and if I want to get to my people and disrupt his second operation, this one needs to be shut down fast."
Petra looked at him curiously. She met and fought Qunari before, but he sounded different, very unlike a fanatic (something she often thought of them as, in spite of her better judgement). The teachings of the Qun on paper could sound seductive but in practice… The yoke of the Qun was manifold and she had a hard time accepting that there were those who chose it voluntarily. Upon emerging from her thoughts the realisation that she may have been watching Gatt with some intensity elicited a blush thankfully invisible in the black night.
"You want to work with me then?" She finally managed.
"I don't see another option. You and your contact, whoever that is." The right corner of his lips turned up in a sly grin at her astonishment. "You figured out I was with the Ben-Hassrath, did you really think I won't know you are not working alone?" He suddenly shifted his head slightly. "I believe here they are already." His features unreadable, his hands ready, but unmoving.
The air shifted and something large came emerging from the gloomy alley with deceptively light steps. Horns glistened in the momentarily appearing moonlight and a sad smile was painted over the rugged face of the enormous Kossith.
"Gatt, it is good to see you!" His voice was low but earnest.
"Iron Bull…" The words seemed heavy and foreign on the elven lips.