Redcliffe's tavern stood like a beacon of warmth in the darkness. Zahra counted herself lucky that it was as charming inside as it was on the outside. Squared, wooden beams supported the ceiling and the hanging lanterns attached to it. The walls were clear of anything, though it showed signs that plenty of things used to hang on the walls, though they had probably been knocked off by customers who had too much to drink. It suited her just fine. It just meant less things that would end up broken. She hated paying for things she never intended to keep.
The tavern itself was packed. The Inquisition seemed to be the primary clientele here, which could be seen as a bad sign, though she was sure it was not. Several long tables were occupied by her own crew: men and women who were throwing up their arms and roaring as loudly as they could. They were, by far, the loudest ones in the tavern. The other, smaller tables were also occupied by people who were clearly having a good time. Even most of the stools at the bar were occupied, though nobody seemed to mind more company.
Another cheer sounded from their table. And a loud, snorting laugh that came from the smallest one who had just spilled her drink across the lap of her neighbour: a dwarven lass.
Several goblets sloshed and spilled whenever someone slammed their fist across the table. There were far more wine bottles lining the longest tables, accompanied by squatter bottles Zahra was hoarding in front of her. She'd taken a seat at the furthest end of the table, just in case she needed to duck around any rowdy elbows being thrown. She rested her forearms across the table and cradled one of the bottles in the crook of her elbow. Aslan sat to her right. Nursing the same goblet he'd ordered since they'd first entered. Still with the same lackluster frown idling on his lips. Being here with them was enough to put her mind at ease. Sometimes, nothing needed to be said.
The main door of the inn suddenly burst open, as it likely had many times that night. This time, the tall, handsome elf, Vesryn, came lumbering through, weighted down by a lighter body that clung to either arm. He'd cast off his armor, clothed instead in light trousers and a soft blue tunic, with the sleeves removed, and the laces undone halfway down his chest. The girl that wrapped herself around his left arm was human, simply dressed, probably from the village. On the other side was an elf, doe-eyed, a mage as evidenced by her robe. She stared up at him dreamily, while the human girl played at his shirt, biting her lip. By the way their eyes and bodies wobbled, all three had already had a fair amount to drink.
"A night of victory, is it not?" Vesryn called out, when the door had shut behind him. A raucous cheer went up through the tavern, and he grinned, leading the two girls over to the bar, and securing himself a large mug of ale. He turned to the rest of the patrons, raising the mug. "A toast! To driving the mad cultists from beloved Ferelden! To a better future for us, the people that would seize it!"
He earned himself another cheer, and the noise died down for a brief moment as many took a good, long drink, Vesryn included. Grinning, he made his way over to the pirate captain's table, observing her crew. "Care to make space for an elf in search of a table?" He glanced at the girls still drunkenly attached to him, and his grin expanded. "One seat will do. We can squeeze in, I think."
This one, Zahra had never met before. Her eyes trailed his retreating back as he swaggered to the bar with two women hanging on his arms. From what she could see, he wasn't a local. She was no stranger to Redcliffe, as she'd been here many times before without chancing onto someone like that. An elven lad with an easy grin that promised trouble and fun. Just the type of company she normally kept. Perhaps, he was one of the important fellows Asala hadn't had the time to introduce her to. Perhaps not. She straightened up and roared along with the rest of them when he proclaimed his own toasts, tipping the ember-colored bottle to her lips, and settling it back down with a sigh.
A throaty chuckle sounded as he approached their table. Zahra scooted closer to Aslan and patted the wooden bench with a toothy grin of her own, “By all means. The more the merrier.” She leaned her elbows back on the table, and propped her chin into an upturned palm, considering her new drinking companions. Her dark eyes, settled at half-mast, flicked from one girl to the other, and finally settled on Vesryn's face. Unusually pretty, an impression she'd already decided. Snowy hair. Green eyes like swirling gems. She wasn't sure if it was impressive, or awfully obnoxious that he was so aware of it.
“But there's a price for your seat. We like to know who we're speaking to, don't we boys?” Women and men alike slapped their hands on the table and heartened their assent. Except for Aslan. He seemed far too preoccupied trying to look like wasn't enjoying himself at all. “I'm Zahra. Captain of the Riptide,” she tilted her head to the side and laughed, “and that's my merry crew.”
"Zahra!" Vesryn exclaimed, delightedly. "I have indeed heard much about you." He eased himself forward onto the bench, the human girl sliding in next to him, while the lithe elven mage shifted around onto his back, draping an arm over his chest, the other idly playing with his hair. "My name is Vesryn Cormyth. Captain of nothing, though I've steered a heart or two over the years. I believe we fought together, in the castle hall."
He grinned, taking another long drink of his ale. "I'm a different man out of my armor, I'm told, but no less desirable." His eyes were caught by the stare of another mage from across the room, a young elven man with braided red hair. Vesryn threw him a mischievous smile and a wink, and the elf reddened in return, smiling despite himself.
"I am going to miss this town," Vesryn admitted, to Zahra. "Makes me want to go back to mercenary work."
There was a cat-calling whistle that came from down the line of rowdy crew mates, though there was no discernible source as to who it was. It might have come from the bearded man with his feet kicked up onto the table, bright blue eyes peering over the rim of his goblet. Leering, more like. Where his appreciation was directed was anybody's guess. Although, it was apparent he'd said something lewd as well. The red-haired elf-woman to his side elbowed him in the ribs and looked somewhat disgusted. Whatever bickering that was happening in the background was expertly ignored by their Captain, who seemed intent on picking apart the creature slouching beside her.
“Ah, that's where I remember that face of yours, Captain of Nothing,” Zahra slapped a hand across the table and grinned cheekily. Swinging a ridiculously large axe around with impressive strength. For someone so pretty, it seemed like a weapon that was far too rough. But there was a saying about deceptive appearances, and perhaps, this Vesryn Cormyth was a man of many surprises. She sucked at her gums and took another swig out of her own bottle before finally relinquishing her hold on it. There was quite a bit left. Seeing as this was her second bottle, and it had come from her own private reserves. A woman needed something proper to set her belly on fire. The offer was made with an inquiring eyebrow, following his gaze over to the seated elf across the way.
A jingle of a laugh bubbled from her lips, flashing her teeth, “Now, you've got my attention. Before I ask you about your old occupation, seeing as we've got something in common—do you always do that?” She tipped her head towards the bar and waggled her eyebrows.
"Only after victories, love," Vesryn said, leaning back and securing his arm more tightly around the waist of the human girl, who was likely not even half-listening to the conversation. "Of course, the word has a flexible definition. Tonight definitely applies, I think." He gulped down a swig of ale, apparently finishing the mug, and the elven girl grabbed it from the table, waving it over at the innkeeper.
"As for the mercenary work, I was with a small company, called the Stormbreakers, out of Orlais. Not half so glorious as our own Argent Lions, but a tough bunch, and a sure bet if a contract needed doing. Good place to hone the skills before I set out on my own." Left unsaid was obviously why he'd set out, but likely the armor she'd seen him fighting with in the throne room had a thing or two to do with it. It wasn't something an elven mercenary would just come across in that line of work, nor would the pay cover the cost of making a set like that. Clearly, by the glint in his eye, he enjoyed having some aspect of mystery around him.
Zahra didn't press him on any of his actions. He'd answered her question well enough. Even if she was a mite interested in why he behaved that way. From the long line of bright-eyed charmers she'd met on her many adventures, there were reasons why they needed to surround themselves with warm bodies. Inadequacies they were trying to fill within themselves. If he wanted to act like he was intending to board everyone's ship, that was his business. Another throaty chuckle sounded as she leaned back and stretched her arms above her head, dropping them back across the table, “May we have many victories, then.”
“Stormbreakers,” she rolled the word around in her mouth, as she often did with names she was unfamiliar with. It had a nice ring to it. One of her eyebrows raised. Orlais was an interesting enough place. Full of mask-wearing nobles with fancy tunics, laced up to their necks. A mass of peacocks, strutting about. Her initial impression was that he'd been raised elsewhere. In the Alienage. In the woods. Her understanding of elves, and their peculiar cultures, only went so far. But seeing how eccentric he was, she supposed she could've been wrong.
“A mercenary without a company is a sell-sword. There's a story there, I bet.” Quick as a viper, Zahra snatched up one of his free hands and turned it over so that she could look at his palm. She squinted her eyes, pausing for a moment, before releasing it: a grin lit up her dark features. Though, she gave no clear explanation, save for another question.
“So, was that when the Inquisition found you? Or did you find them?”
“That was the Fallow Mire. And I think there was a bit of mutual finding involved.” The voice belonged to Estella, who had apparently entered the tavern with little fanfare, beneath the notice of its rowdy occupants. Though she spoke from roughly behind them, she had soon enough moved to near the front end of the table, so at a corner with Zahra, and close enough to be easily heard by Vesryn as well, though she did not raise her volume above its usual modulation. She made no request for further room on the bench. It was, after all, quite occupied already; instead she dropped halfway into a crouch, so as to be at a decent level with the table’s occupants.
She was of course not in armor either, though whatever she was wearing was obscured by a considerably overlarge cloak, clearly a man’s and meant for someone at least six inches taller than her. It was thickly-lined, though, with what looked like sable fur. She smiled with her eyes, just a vague little change in their shape, and nodded to both of them. “You four look to be having quite the time. Perhaps I shouldn’t interrupt.” A smile did curl half her mouth then, though, and she arched one of her brows.
"Nonsense," Vesryn objected, turning to get his eyes on Estella. "I'm tempted to make a horrid joke about my sword needing to be sold somewhere, but... the point is, I believe my friends are growing restless." The increased groping was likely a sign of that. At Vesryn's behest, they extricated themselves from the bench, leaving Estella more than enough space in their absence, should she want it.
"I shall see your beautiful faces again come morning. Until then, farewell." He rounded the corner of the table, the elven girl half upon his back giggling, and somehow the young redheaded elven mage had fallen in behind them, adding another hand to the mix. Vesryn started up the stairs towards the room, managing to turn halfway after a few steps. "Remember, a night of victory!" Laughing carelessly, they continued on, until the sound of a heavy door slamming removed them from the hearing of those drinking below. Zahra snorted as the outrageous group retreated up the stairs. That was something she never thought she'd see unless she was in a brothel. At least the Inquisition wasn't letting her down.
In the wake of his departure, Estella blinked, then shook her head. “Well then.” She returned her attention to Zahra and smiled a little more fully, apparently not at all fazed by the rowdiness going on in all directions. “I’d hoped to catch you and yours before we left Redcliffe. I don’t suppose I could meet your crew? I confess I’m about to try bribing my way into their good graces.”
No sooner had she said it than the tavern’s staff were all amongst the crowd, passing out what looked distinctly like a free round of whatever everyone had been drinking before. “Compliments of the Inquisition, and the Herald of Andraste!” The grinning barman jabbed an arm in Estella’s general direction, and she grimaced.
“I thought I told him not to do that.” She sank a little lower in her crouch, as though hoping she might spontaneously become invisible.
Another full-bellied laugh came from the petite Captain. She knuckled at her eyes, wiping tears away and slapped her hands across her knees, accepting the goblet of ale that was pushed across the table. “We're lucky you did, ducky. You know, being the Herald might not be such a bad thing,” a lofty grin twitched at the corner of her lips as she leaned precariously backwards and grappled onto Estella's elbow, encouraging her to take the seat Vesryn had just recently vacated. How else would they do proper introductions?
For all her obvious discomfort with attention, Estella went along easily enough, sliding into the spot next to Zahra. Someone passed her a tankard of something, which she accepted with a word of thanks, bringing it up and taking a quaff before laying it gently back down on the table and wrapping both hands around it. From her body language, it was evident that she was one of those people who drank slowly, and not much—she was clearly settling in to linger over the tankard rather than quaffing it as quickly as possible.
“So these are the nefarious mercenary-pirates of the Riptide, then? I’m honored.” It would seem that the energy and humor of the situation had soaked into her, like she was a sponge of some kind. Or perhaps more accurately, a mirror: reflecting her surroundings, but more softly then they truly appeared. A kind mirror, then, if such a thing had ever existed.
Once Estella had secured her seat, Zahra straightened up in her own with a discerning wobble. She caught herself by plopping her elbows back onto the table, causing some of the drinks to slop over. Not that she seemed to notice. Her attention secured itself back onto the black-haired lass sitting at her side, bundled up so ridiculously in that overly large cloak of hers. Others were already turning in their seats, bumping shoulders or leaning back to get a peek at the one who'd earned them all free drinks. She bit her lip and chuckled softly this time, “Nefarious? No. Opportunistic is a little closer. Don't tickle our egos too much, dear. Garland's head will spin right off.”
There was another round of laughter, though a bearded, blue-eyed man crossed his arms over his chest and seemed to mutter something under his breath. Zahra inhaled deeply and allowed her shoulders to slump forward, eying Estella through narrowed eyes. In one abrupt movement she slapped her hand against the table and cried out something in another tongue. Heavy rolling syllables. Rivaini, most likely. A call to those belonging to the Riptide. Several heads turned. And there was a blasting roar in response. “Introductions are in order. This little lass here is Estella. She's come to meet you fine folk, so be on your best behavior.”
She slapped a hand onto the Qunari's hefty shoulder and crooked an eyebrow up, “You might've seen him bumbling about Haven, but this here's my best mate, Aslan. A man of few words. He makes up for it, though.” He granted Estella a low grumble and a curt nod, though his gaze quickly fell away. She didn't seem to mind, smiling politely and offering a nod.
“Over there, yes, right there,” Zahra's waggling finger pointed out a blonde-haired elven lass seated beside a much smaller individual. She lifted one of her hands and wriggled her own fingers in response, smiling brightly. “That's Brialle Maven. Used to be a wee cut-purse until she found her hands in the wrong pocket. Why I ever let her aboard, I'll never know. But our bellies are thankful she's with us.”
The Dwarven lass seated next to Brialle was growing restless and tossing her arm in the air, signaling for the barmaid to come back with more ale. She huffed over her tankard and scrunched up her face, clearly irritated. Zahra gave Estella a soft nudge and made a vague attempt to smother down the grin stippled on her lips, lowering her voice so that she had to strain to hear, “Beside her is Nuka Lenkasdottir. It's a mouthful, don't even bother trying. She's a little lass with a big temper. Picked her up on the surface, but I'm sure there's a story there. Someday...”
The Captain dropped one of her arms across Estella's shoulder and pulled her closer, as if they were secret conspirators and not two individuals making simple introductions, or amiable conversation. Her smile quibbled and she snorted. “Nixium Elenvaul. Yes, that red-haired lass there. Told me she'd come from some Dalish clan. She doesn't smile as much as she ought to. And always tells me when I'm toeing lines I shouldn't.”
Zahra blew out her cheeks and retracted her arm, crossing both over her chest. A fine imitation of Aslan if there ever was one. She glanced up at the ceiling and worked at the last introduction, chewing around words she truly wanted to say. Her brows drew together as her gaze dropped back onto Estella, “And lastly, Garland Langley. Cheeky bastard with the beard over there. Don't let those blue eyes fool you. Wandering hands. I wouldn't fault you if you slapped him.”
“I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” Estella replied diplomatically, but touches of amusement remained in her eyes, before she turned slightly away from Zahra to address the rest of the crew. “I actually came to thank you all, as well as meet you. I’ve been a mercenary myself. Still am, actually. I know a high-risk job when I see one, and it means a lot to me—to the Inquisition—that you’re here with us. So… you have my gratitude, in the form of free drinks.” She raised her own tankard, just briefly, but either she wasn’t one for overblown speeches or she just suspected giving one would bore them; whatever the case, she seemed content to leave it at that, and straightened herself back out on the bench so as to be able to talk once more to Zahra.
“Which goes doubly for you, Captain. Taking risks is one thing. Leading others into them… that’s different. Especially when they matter to you.” Her expression darkened slightly, but the shadow over her features only lasted for a moment. “Something for thinking about some other time, though. I do believe this is a party.”
The tavern itself was packed. The Inquisition seemed to be the primary clientele here, which could be seen as a bad sign, though she was sure it was not. Several long tables were occupied by her own crew: men and women who were throwing up their arms and roaring as loudly as they could. They were, by far, the loudest ones in the tavern. The other, smaller tables were also occupied by people who were clearly having a good time. Even most of the stools at the bar were occupied, though nobody seemed to mind more company.
Another cheer sounded from their table. And a loud, snorting laugh that came from the smallest one who had just spilled her drink across the lap of her neighbour: a dwarven lass.
Several goblets sloshed and spilled whenever someone slammed their fist across the table. There were far more wine bottles lining the longest tables, accompanied by squatter bottles Zahra was hoarding in front of her. She'd taken a seat at the furthest end of the table, just in case she needed to duck around any rowdy elbows being thrown. She rested her forearms across the table and cradled one of the bottles in the crook of her elbow. Aslan sat to her right. Nursing the same goblet he'd ordered since they'd first entered. Still with the same lackluster frown idling on his lips. Being here with them was enough to put her mind at ease. Sometimes, nothing needed to be said.
The main door of the inn suddenly burst open, as it likely had many times that night. This time, the tall, handsome elf, Vesryn, came lumbering through, weighted down by a lighter body that clung to either arm. He'd cast off his armor, clothed instead in light trousers and a soft blue tunic, with the sleeves removed, and the laces undone halfway down his chest. The girl that wrapped herself around his left arm was human, simply dressed, probably from the village. On the other side was an elf, doe-eyed, a mage as evidenced by her robe. She stared up at him dreamily, while the human girl played at his shirt, biting her lip. By the way their eyes and bodies wobbled, all three had already had a fair amount to drink.
"A night of victory, is it not?" Vesryn called out, when the door had shut behind him. A raucous cheer went up through the tavern, and he grinned, leading the two girls over to the bar, and securing himself a large mug of ale. He turned to the rest of the patrons, raising the mug. "A toast! To driving the mad cultists from beloved Ferelden! To a better future for us, the people that would seize it!"
He earned himself another cheer, and the noise died down for a brief moment as many took a good, long drink, Vesryn included. Grinning, he made his way over to the pirate captain's table, observing her crew. "Care to make space for an elf in search of a table?" He glanced at the girls still drunkenly attached to him, and his grin expanded. "One seat will do. We can squeeze in, I think."
This one, Zahra had never met before. Her eyes trailed his retreating back as he swaggered to the bar with two women hanging on his arms. From what she could see, he wasn't a local. She was no stranger to Redcliffe, as she'd been here many times before without chancing onto someone like that. An elven lad with an easy grin that promised trouble and fun. Just the type of company she normally kept. Perhaps, he was one of the important fellows Asala hadn't had the time to introduce her to. Perhaps not. She straightened up and roared along with the rest of them when he proclaimed his own toasts, tipping the ember-colored bottle to her lips, and settling it back down with a sigh.
A throaty chuckle sounded as he approached their table. Zahra scooted closer to Aslan and patted the wooden bench with a toothy grin of her own, “By all means. The more the merrier.” She leaned her elbows back on the table, and propped her chin into an upturned palm, considering her new drinking companions. Her dark eyes, settled at half-mast, flicked from one girl to the other, and finally settled on Vesryn's face. Unusually pretty, an impression she'd already decided. Snowy hair. Green eyes like swirling gems. She wasn't sure if it was impressive, or awfully obnoxious that he was so aware of it.
“But there's a price for your seat. We like to know who we're speaking to, don't we boys?” Women and men alike slapped their hands on the table and heartened their assent. Except for Aslan. He seemed far too preoccupied trying to look like wasn't enjoying himself at all. “I'm Zahra. Captain of the Riptide,” she tilted her head to the side and laughed, “and that's my merry crew.”
"Zahra!" Vesryn exclaimed, delightedly. "I have indeed heard much about you." He eased himself forward onto the bench, the human girl sliding in next to him, while the lithe elven mage shifted around onto his back, draping an arm over his chest, the other idly playing with his hair. "My name is Vesryn Cormyth. Captain of nothing, though I've steered a heart or two over the years. I believe we fought together, in the castle hall."
He grinned, taking another long drink of his ale. "I'm a different man out of my armor, I'm told, but no less desirable." His eyes were caught by the stare of another mage from across the room, a young elven man with braided red hair. Vesryn threw him a mischievous smile and a wink, and the elf reddened in return, smiling despite himself.
"I am going to miss this town," Vesryn admitted, to Zahra. "Makes me want to go back to mercenary work."
There was a cat-calling whistle that came from down the line of rowdy crew mates, though there was no discernible source as to who it was. It might have come from the bearded man with his feet kicked up onto the table, bright blue eyes peering over the rim of his goblet. Leering, more like. Where his appreciation was directed was anybody's guess. Although, it was apparent he'd said something lewd as well. The red-haired elf-woman to his side elbowed him in the ribs and looked somewhat disgusted. Whatever bickering that was happening in the background was expertly ignored by their Captain, who seemed intent on picking apart the creature slouching beside her.
“Ah, that's where I remember that face of yours, Captain of Nothing,” Zahra slapped a hand across the table and grinned cheekily. Swinging a ridiculously large axe around with impressive strength. For someone so pretty, it seemed like a weapon that was far too rough. But there was a saying about deceptive appearances, and perhaps, this Vesryn Cormyth was a man of many surprises. She sucked at her gums and took another swig out of her own bottle before finally relinquishing her hold on it. There was quite a bit left. Seeing as this was her second bottle, and it had come from her own private reserves. A woman needed something proper to set her belly on fire. The offer was made with an inquiring eyebrow, following his gaze over to the seated elf across the way.
A jingle of a laugh bubbled from her lips, flashing her teeth, “Now, you've got my attention. Before I ask you about your old occupation, seeing as we've got something in common—do you always do that?” She tipped her head towards the bar and waggled her eyebrows.
"Only after victories, love," Vesryn said, leaning back and securing his arm more tightly around the waist of the human girl, who was likely not even half-listening to the conversation. "Of course, the word has a flexible definition. Tonight definitely applies, I think." He gulped down a swig of ale, apparently finishing the mug, and the elven girl grabbed it from the table, waving it over at the innkeeper.
"As for the mercenary work, I was with a small company, called the Stormbreakers, out of Orlais. Not half so glorious as our own Argent Lions, but a tough bunch, and a sure bet if a contract needed doing. Good place to hone the skills before I set out on my own." Left unsaid was obviously why he'd set out, but likely the armor she'd seen him fighting with in the throne room had a thing or two to do with it. It wasn't something an elven mercenary would just come across in that line of work, nor would the pay cover the cost of making a set like that. Clearly, by the glint in his eye, he enjoyed having some aspect of mystery around him.
Zahra didn't press him on any of his actions. He'd answered her question well enough. Even if she was a mite interested in why he behaved that way. From the long line of bright-eyed charmers she'd met on her many adventures, there were reasons why they needed to surround themselves with warm bodies. Inadequacies they were trying to fill within themselves. If he wanted to act like he was intending to board everyone's ship, that was his business. Another throaty chuckle sounded as she leaned back and stretched her arms above her head, dropping them back across the table, “May we have many victories, then.”
“Stormbreakers,” she rolled the word around in her mouth, as she often did with names she was unfamiliar with. It had a nice ring to it. One of her eyebrows raised. Orlais was an interesting enough place. Full of mask-wearing nobles with fancy tunics, laced up to their necks. A mass of peacocks, strutting about. Her initial impression was that he'd been raised elsewhere. In the Alienage. In the woods. Her understanding of elves, and their peculiar cultures, only went so far. But seeing how eccentric he was, she supposed she could've been wrong.
“A mercenary without a company is a sell-sword. There's a story there, I bet.” Quick as a viper, Zahra snatched up one of his free hands and turned it over so that she could look at his palm. She squinted her eyes, pausing for a moment, before releasing it: a grin lit up her dark features. Though, she gave no clear explanation, save for another question.
“So, was that when the Inquisition found you? Or did you find them?”
“That was the Fallow Mire. And I think there was a bit of mutual finding involved.” The voice belonged to Estella, who had apparently entered the tavern with little fanfare, beneath the notice of its rowdy occupants. Though she spoke from roughly behind them, she had soon enough moved to near the front end of the table, so at a corner with Zahra, and close enough to be easily heard by Vesryn as well, though she did not raise her volume above its usual modulation. She made no request for further room on the bench. It was, after all, quite occupied already; instead she dropped halfway into a crouch, so as to be at a decent level with the table’s occupants.
She was of course not in armor either, though whatever she was wearing was obscured by a considerably overlarge cloak, clearly a man’s and meant for someone at least six inches taller than her. It was thickly-lined, though, with what looked like sable fur. She smiled with her eyes, just a vague little change in their shape, and nodded to both of them. “You four look to be having quite the time. Perhaps I shouldn’t interrupt.” A smile did curl half her mouth then, though, and she arched one of her brows.
"Nonsense," Vesryn objected, turning to get his eyes on Estella. "I'm tempted to make a horrid joke about my sword needing to be sold somewhere, but... the point is, I believe my friends are growing restless." The increased groping was likely a sign of that. At Vesryn's behest, they extricated themselves from the bench, leaving Estella more than enough space in their absence, should she want it.
"I shall see your beautiful faces again come morning. Until then, farewell." He rounded the corner of the table, the elven girl half upon his back giggling, and somehow the young redheaded elven mage had fallen in behind them, adding another hand to the mix. Vesryn started up the stairs towards the room, managing to turn halfway after a few steps. "Remember, a night of victory!" Laughing carelessly, they continued on, until the sound of a heavy door slamming removed them from the hearing of those drinking below. Zahra snorted as the outrageous group retreated up the stairs. That was something she never thought she'd see unless she was in a brothel. At least the Inquisition wasn't letting her down.
In the wake of his departure, Estella blinked, then shook her head. “Well then.” She returned her attention to Zahra and smiled a little more fully, apparently not at all fazed by the rowdiness going on in all directions. “I’d hoped to catch you and yours before we left Redcliffe. I don’t suppose I could meet your crew? I confess I’m about to try bribing my way into their good graces.”
No sooner had she said it than the tavern’s staff were all amongst the crowd, passing out what looked distinctly like a free round of whatever everyone had been drinking before. “Compliments of the Inquisition, and the Herald of Andraste!” The grinning barman jabbed an arm in Estella’s general direction, and she grimaced.
“I thought I told him not to do that.” She sank a little lower in her crouch, as though hoping she might spontaneously become invisible.
Another full-bellied laugh came from the petite Captain. She knuckled at her eyes, wiping tears away and slapped her hands across her knees, accepting the goblet of ale that was pushed across the table. “We're lucky you did, ducky. You know, being the Herald might not be such a bad thing,” a lofty grin twitched at the corner of her lips as she leaned precariously backwards and grappled onto Estella's elbow, encouraging her to take the seat Vesryn had just recently vacated. How else would they do proper introductions?
For all her obvious discomfort with attention, Estella went along easily enough, sliding into the spot next to Zahra. Someone passed her a tankard of something, which she accepted with a word of thanks, bringing it up and taking a quaff before laying it gently back down on the table and wrapping both hands around it. From her body language, it was evident that she was one of those people who drank slowly, and not much—she was clearly settling in to linger over the tankard rather than quaffing it as quickly as possible.
“So these are the nefarious mercenary-pirates of the Riptide, then? I’m honored.” It would seem that the energy and humor of the situation had soaked into her, like she was a sponge of some kind. Or perhaps more accurately, a mirror: reflecting her surroundings, but more softly then they truly appeared. A kind mirror, then, if such a thing had ever existed.
Once Estella had secured her seat, Zahra straightened up in her own with a discerning wobble. She caught herself by plopping her elbows back onto the table, causing some of the drinks to slop over. Not that she seemed to notice. Her attention secured itself back onto the black-haired lass sitting at her side, bundled up so ridiculously in that overly large cloak of hers. Others were already turning in their seats, bumping shoulders or leaning back to get a peek at the one who'd earned them all free drinks. She bit her lip and chuckled softly this time, “Nefarious? No. Opportunistic is a little closer. Don't tickle our egos too much, dear. Garland's head will spin right off.”
There was another round of laughter, though a bearded, blue-eyed man crossed his arms over his chest and seemed to mutter something under his breath. Zahra inhaled deeply and allowed her shoulders to slump forward, eying Estella through narrowed eyes. In one abrupt movement she slapped her hand against the table and cried out something in another tongue. Heavy rolling syllables. Rivaini, most likely. A call to those belonging to the Riptide. Several heads turned. And there was a blasting roar in response. “Introductions are in order. This little lass here is Estella. She's come to meet you fine folk, so be on your best behavior.”
She slapped a hand onto the Qunari's hefty shoulder and crooked an eyebrow up, “You might've seen him bumbling about Haven, but this here's my best mate, Aslan. A man of few words. He makes up for it, though.” He granted Estella a low grumble and a curt nod, though his gaze quickly fell away. She didn't seem to mind, smiling politely and offering a nod.
“Over there, yes, right there,” Zahra's waggling finger pointed out a blonde-haired elven lass seated beside a much smaller individual. She lifted one of her hands and wriggled her own fingers in response, smiling brightly. “That's Brialle Maven. Used to be a wee cut-purse until she found her hands in the wrong pocket. Why I ever let her aboard, I'll never know. But our bellies are thankful she's with us.”
The Dwarven lass seated next to Brialle was growing restless and tossing her arm in the air, signaling for the barmaid to come back with more ale. She huffed over her tankard and scrunched up her face, clearly irritated. Zahra gave Estella a soft nudge and made a vague attempt to smother down the grin stippled on her lips, lowering her voice so that she had to strain to hear, “Beside her is Nuka Lenkasdottir. It's a mouthful, don't even bother trying. She's a little lass with a big temper. Picked her up on the surface, but I'm sure there's a story there. Someday...”
The Captain dropped one of her arms across Estella's shoulder and pulled her closer, as if they were secret conspirators and not two individuals making simple introductions, or amiable conversation. Her smile quibbled and she snorted. “Nixium Elenvaul. Yes, that red-haired lass there. Told me she'd come from some Dalish clan. She doesn't smile as much as she ought to. And always tells me when I'm toeing lines I shouldn't.”
Zahra blew out her cheeks and retracted her arm, crossing both over her chest. A fine imitation of Aslan if there ever was one. She glanced up at the ceiling and worked at the last introduction, chewing around words she truly wanted to say. Her brows drew together as her gaze dropped back onto Estella, “And lastly, Garland Langley. Cheeky bastard with the beard over there. Don't let those blue eyes fool you. Wandering hands. I wouldn't fault you if you slapped him.”
“I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” Estella replied diplomatically, but touches of amusement remained in her eyes, before she turned slightly away from Zahra to address the rest of the crew. “I actually came to thank you all, as well as meet you. I’ve been a mercenary myself. Still am, actually. I know a high-risk job when I see one, and it means a lot to me—to the Inquisition—that you’re here with us. So… you have my gratitude, in the form of free drinks.” She raised her own tankard, just briefly, but either she wasn’t one for overblown speeches or she just suspected giving one would bore them; whatever the case, she seemed content to leave it at that, and straightened herself back out on the bench so as to be able to talk once more to Zahra.
“Which goes doubly for you, Captain. Taking risks is one thing. Leading others into them… that’s different. Especially when they matter to you.” Her expression darkened slightly, but the shadow over her features only lasted for a moment. “Something for thinking about some other time, though. I do believe this is a party.”