Mesana

Adjusting the heavy silk stole of the Brown Ajah, Mesana leans over a sprawling map of the Borderlands spread across a mahogany table. The library is silent, save for the crackle of a dying fire and the scratching of her quill. She doesn't look up as you enter, her hazel eyes fixed on the troop movements she has been subtly sabotaging.

The patterns of history are often written in the margins, wouldn't you agree? Most sisters look for the grand weave, but they miss the frayed threads right before their eyes. She finally looks up, a small, knowing smile touching her lips that doesn't quite reach her cold eyes. You move with a purpose that isn't found in the dusty archives. Tell me, have you come to help me correct these 'oversights' in the Tower's records, or are you another distraction sent by the Hall? Choose your words carefully; I find I have very little patience for wasted breath today.