His name is Damien Hawke, Hawke to everyone but his family. He’s new to Kirkwall, he hasn’t yet made his mark in the Free Marches. His hope is to secure a safe home for his family, and start fresh.
For now he, his sister, and his mother are all stuck with their gambling Uncle, Gamlen Amell. For a year, Hawke and his sister have to work as smugglers. Hawkes’ boss, a pretty elf named Athenril.
The brother and sister gear up at night at head out of their Uncles’ home and into the cold air of Lowtown. The area is quiet, though the siblings know an ambush of fools is just around the corner.
Slinking through the darkness they manage to avoid any altercation with the mercenaries and head up to Hightown. Few guards are on post that night, Hawke recognizes one of them as Aveline, the woman who came with him and his family from Lothering.
Bethany, Hawkes’ little sister, makes a move to greet their friend, but Hawke lightly grabs her arm and pulls her back into the shadows. He shakes his head and motions to other guards around Aveline.
They continue to the Smugglers’ meeting place, a spot next to a bunch of crates stacked up taller than Hawke himself. A few whores from the Blooming Rose beckon him towards the brothel, but Hawke ignores them as he knocks on a crate a few times in rhythmic tapping.
Bethany clutches her staff tighter as Athenril and a few of her lackeys jump out of their hiding places. The mage releases a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding and nods at her boss.
“Alright, the docks will be empty in awhile with the exception of my mole, and I need you two-”
“What? No hello? How are you? I’m hurt. I truly am.” Hawke interrupted her with a sarcastic tone, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head to the side.
Athenril looked irritated by this, and rolled her eyes. “Fine, hello Hawke. Kill any idiots lately?” Her elven accent came out in her words, lacing her annoyance. Hawke smiled.
“Now was that so hard? And yes, interesting story actually, some pea brain thug-”
“Hawke.” The blonde elf growled. “Save it for the Hanged Man.”
Bethany placed a hand on her brothers’ shoulder, nodding at him. Hawke just kept that bastard grin on his face as Athenril rolled her eyes again.
The Athenril laid out the plan, giving them a short description of the mole, location of the send-off, and the password Hawke would need to give the him. The elf then gave him a chest of goods, which was a little heavy in his arms.
“Remember, Felrick and Tawna will be watching.” She gestured to the two masked smugglers behind her. One held a pair of daggers and had a male form. The other had a bow and a quiver full of arrows, her body lithe and small.
“Oh, Bethany, look! HawkeSitters.” The mage shook her head, sighing at her brother. Hawke simply grins wide at the smugglers.
Turning up his rogue-ness, Hawke stealths away. Bethany followed on her toes and they make their way past more guards, killing a few mercenaries and idiot thugs.
It took awhile but they eventually made it to the docks under the cover of night. The newly arrived Qunari Compound filled, and Hawke shuddered at the thought of one of them noticing him.
He had no real problem against the Qunari, they just looked similar to the ogre that had killed Carver, Hawkes’ little brother and Bethanys’ twin. The memory caused Hawke to grit his teeth and his blood to boil.
But then a whisper from Bethany caught his attention as he moved away from the compound and approached the spot Athenril told them to go.
“Hmm, where is that mole…” Bethany murmurs as Hawke catches up to her. He had shifted the chest onto his shoulder on the way over, and kept his eyes peeled on his surroundings.
There was a sharp noise, and Hawke slunk back into the shadows. He positions his hand over a dagger strapped around his waist and waited. Bethany followed his movements, holding onto her staff so much her knuckles turned white.
After a short, agonizingly silent, pause a man stepped out from an alleyway. His eyes darting around as he walked into the center of the meeting place.
A rare opportunity presented itself as Hawke grins from ear to ear. Slyly, he stealths forward. The rogue had shifted the chest back into his arms and comically tip-toes over to the mole.
Back turned to Hawke, the man he assumes to be the mole seems slightly nervous. The rogue crouches down a little, before leaping up and shouting something in gibberish.
The mole screams, very unmanly like, and his skin drains of color. The pale man looked like he was about to roll around on the ground, foaming at the mouth.
“Mole? What kind of name is that? You’re not blind or live in the dirt.” Hawke furrows his eyes at the man. “Quit blubbering.”
The man seemed to regain the color in his face, and glars harshly at Hawke. “Andrastes’ tits, man!”
Hawke chuckles and thrust the box into the others’ arms. “I’m afraid I’m out of Andrastes’ tits, but here is some smuggle stuff.”
“I’ll tell Athenril about this.” The mole threatens, and then he disappears back into the alleyway.
“I’m sure she gives a damn about you!” Hawke replies with a positive voice, and a wide smile. He turns back to Bethany, whose hand seems to be stuck to her face.