"The Chantry?" he echoes for a moment and suddenly it all clicks, her robes and what she's most likely upset about.
"Maker," he straightens up in surprise. "You're from Kirkwall?"
Well, that's... a bit of a pickle, isn't it?
He takes a step closer again, one hand outstretched to her. "Look, there's an explanation for this - not a very good one or one that makes much sense, but you're not currently in any danger here. Look around you. You're not in Kirkwall right now. You're not even in the Free Marches, I'm afraid. There's no immediate threat here. My name is Brennan, Brennan Trevelyan, of Ostwick. Might i know your name?"
no subject
"Maker," he straightens up in surprise. "You're from Kirkwall?"
Well, that's... a bit of a pickle, isn't it?
He takes a step closer again, one hand outstretched to her. "Look, there's an explanation for this - not a very good one or one that makes much sense, but you're not currently in any danger here. Look around you. You're not in Kirkwall right now. You're not even in the Free Marches, I'm afraid. There's no immediate threat here. My name is Brennan, Brennan Trevelyan, of Ostwick. Might i know your name?"