Airthel couldn't suppress a gasp from leaving his lips as he entered the city of Val Royeaux. He was familiar with how the city normally looked; bright, festive, and stuffed full with pride. The crowded mass of paupers he saw infesting the city's streets was a stark contrast to what he was used too. Thinking about it, he wasn't really surprised. Had he been in Fereldan, he would've fled to the regal city as fast as he could. Shaking his head, he immersed himself into the roaring crowd. He had previously been north with a familiar Clan on the edge of Nevarra, but he had been messaged through courier by a friend in the Grand Cathedral about a few old scrolls they had found in storage with strange runes. He had planned on setting up in a room in a tavern near the Cathedral he frequently stayed in, but now he was worried there would be no room. Honestly, he didn't mind that much, because he knew most of these people needed the room much more than he did. As he approached the courtyard of the Cathedral, he kept moving until the inn was in sight. There was a large crowd in and around the place, and he figured he wouldn't have any luck getting a room. He sighed, and then turned to the large double doors of the seat of the Divine.
The tattooed elf was soon outside the courtyard, again facing the familiar inn. Mother Rachel had asked for help with the full chanters board when he went to see her for the scrolls, and he had agreed. He didn't mind helping out, and being asked by a friend just made him that more willing. She had told him that a few people had gathered in this inn who were all intent on the jobs of the chanter's board, and figured that a group of like minded individuals would be able to do a lot of good to some people who really needed it. He entered the tavern looking for a Gray Warden in heavy armor and an elf with less of a description.
Slithering through the gathered people with a fluid grace, Airthel made it to the bar. He ordered a glass of feywine, and when it came to him he looked around. There were some kossith at the bar (he was a learned man, he knew there was a difference between the race and the religion, and not knowing the two he did not want to assume), but other than that it seemed he would have a bit of a time finding the people he was looking for. There were more than a few of his kind here, one of the reasons he liked this inn, and he had little luck being able to distinguish a man he didn't know from the crowd, so he looked for the Gray Warden. Scanning the crowd, Airthel saw a few people donning heavy looking armor, but none bore the insignia of the Gray Wardens.
With a frown, his attention averted to the two kossith women at the bar. By chance, one of them shifted and the elf caught a glimpse of glinting steel, and, craning his head, saw the heraldry of the fearsome order. Airthel quickly stood, finishing his glass, and approached him. "Excuse me, ser Warden. My name is Airthel," the elf intoned respectfully, and then continued as he brushed an errant lock of black hair from his face, "A woman from the chantry said there was something about a few people banding together to help the refugees and mentioned someone of you're description. Do you know anything about that?" His voice was slightly colored with a Dalish accent, but it was not thick.