"I am Ser Ordhan Wyland. We have business in the Alienage." The guard did not answer at first. Their gaze was upon those behind him. If there was ever a strange sight, it could be found in Denerim, but even so a horde of humans, elves, qunari, and a dwarf entering the Alienage was hardly a common occurrence. Ordhan did not need the guards' permission to pass; the greeting was more routine than anything else, as was the guards' salute and nod in return.
He moved on. The thought of questioning the guards for any useful information hardly passed his mind. There were only two types of guardsmen stationed at the Alienage: first, the incorrigible, drunkards and insubordinates and troublemakers given the dangerous and dirty task as punishment; second, the elf-haters, who endured the grimy surroundings to relish a chance of antagonizing its inhabitants. As one of the former, Ordhan had known many of both. Asking for their assistance would be fruitless at best; at the worst, one might even be in the pay of the very slavers they were hunting. It would not be the first time.
It was an early start for how late the night before had gone. When the company had settled in the Chantry the night was already old, and by the time Ordhan had made his way to Fort Drakon, turned in the prisoners, written his report, and returned to the rest, dawn was just around the corner. Even so, they were all anxious to begin. The slavers would no doubt tarry in Denerim long enough to meet Marianna and Trevor, a meeting likely planned for today. Ordhan realized with no small discomfort that if they did not learn anything by nightfall, an important opportunity to track down these transgressors at their source may slip away. Fortunately, Ordhan was accustomed to long nights and longer days with little or no sleep between them, and he was more than up to the task ahead.
Even as his legs were striding forward, his mind shrunk from his surroundings as the circumstances of his last time here returned to him. Perhaps this was his chance to redeem his inaction--or perhaps that was the wishful thinking of a sin-stained soul.
Within moments of entering the Alienage proper, every eye seemed to be upon them. Tension erupted on every side, a tangible force that crackled in the air like the lightning of a mage's storm. It was to be expected. Humans did not go into the Alienage alone, especially these days, where the relations between the Queen's forces and her elvish subjects were as strained as ever. A group as large and well-armed as their own could hardly mean anything good in the eyes of the inhabitants. Hopefully the sentiment would not interfere with what they had come to accomplish. Their arrival was anything but subtle, but since when was it in the knight's nature to be subtle?