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They say you can buy anything in the Lowtown Bazaar. It's mostly true. On the right day, you can find vendors hawking spices from Seheron, the legacies of unknown dwarven Paragons, maps to hidden fortresses in the Donarks, and the crown jewel of Antiva. And no bookstore in Thedas peddles more wild stories than Lowtown.
Donnen Brennokovic made a point of greeting each shopkeeper as he passed so that the continual chant of "Guardsman" reached the ears of the two large men shadowing him since he'd left Lady Marielle in Hightown.
The address she'd given him led to a warehouse in the Foundry district, a section of the city populated only by rusted metal spikes and vagrants. Donnen knocked on the door.
An immaculately dressed butler greeted him and gesture for him to enter. "Guardsman Brennokovic. Messere Wagner has been expecting you."
Donnen followed him through a labyrinth of warehouse offices to a back room richly appointed with silk carpets and tapestries depicting the execution of Andraste. Two heavy armchairs upholstered in velvet occupied the center of the room. In one sat a smug red-haired man dressed entirely in blinding white samite. The other chair was empty. "Guardsman! Please sit." The gentleman spoke with a heavy Starkhaven accent.
"I suppose you would be Messere Wagner?" Donnen asked.
"I am a procurer of antiquities, Serah Brennokovic. As I'm sure the Lady Dunwald explained." Wagner carefully lit a pipe made of carved bloodstone and inhaled. "But we are both men of business, guardsman. You are soon to retire, are you not? Allow me to present you with an opportunity."
Donnen turned a critical eye on the tapestry of Andraste's pyre. "I'm listening."
Wagner watched him through a growing veil of smoke. "Do you know what Seamus Dunwald had in his possession, guardsman? What made the poor man worth killing?"
"The Sword of Hessarian." Wagner leaned forward, studying him closely. "The very blade that pierced Andraste's heart."
Donnen gave him a flat stare. "If I believed that were even possible, I'd think that blade would be worth a lot of coin."
"Most would look at it and see a rusted piece of scrap. It is no longer the jeweled blade of an archon. But to the right buyer, guardsman, the sword is worth an empire's ransom. I know such buyers." Wagner smiled. "It is here. In Kirkwall. And if you help me find it, I can make you a very rich man."