i'm not a saint

He arrived under the pale glow of a fading moon, a time when most folks were deep in slumber, and he should have been too. But when it came to answering the call of his liege, saying no was not in his repertoire. The night had unfurled its dark embrace, casting everything in an eerie shroud. Typical, really. This young man had an uncanny knack for enduring long hours in the saddle, relentlessly pushing forward. It was this determination that had brought him to Denerim right on schedule.

Denerim, the capital of Ferelden, hailed as a holy city by the pious. They believed it to be the very birthplace of Andraste. However, his destination lay in a completely different part of the city, the squalid city wards, known as the Alienage. The buildings there were little more than shabby hovels, squeezed together like sardines in a can, some practically on top of each other. It was a chaotic jumble of tenements and grungy shops, the perfect setting for clandestine dealings. He managed to slip inside just before the early morning sun transformed the scene into brighter hues. He is well-connected, one could say.

Perched atop the tallest building, he peered down at the urban sprawl below, observing it all with the keen focus of an eagle eyeing its prey. He lounged with a casual air, biting into a juicy apple, clearly in no rush. Strange sight, a human wanderin' these parts, he whispered to himself. Curiosity gnawed at him like an itch he couldn't ignore. Using the environment to his advantage, he skillfully traversed from one shadow to another, becoming one with the dark as he shadowed the stranger's every move.