She was a superstition, a mythical creature to the normal folk. Though they believed in her well enough. They would speak of her often in hushed voices and dubious respect. Fear was a more adequate word to describe their respect of her concept. Offering her the dues owed her, but loathing her beneath the skin as something that would undoubtedly be their undoing. For as much praise they offered up unto her for her work there were equal amounts of blame for the suffering of others. Something utterly expected.
They didn't know she was walking beside them, among them, even with them. Every one of them was unaware of exactly who they were looking upon as their eyes glanced in her direction. Her actual appearance was associated with many different things, none of them the same as what they couldn't see. Unaware that she was both and so they didn't know to be afraid of the sight of her. Only the sound...
Well known across most of Thedas, she was an assassin who'd been named by the general public simply as Death. Slowly becoming more and more supernatural to them as time passed. An effect caused by never catching a glimpse of her and knowing what they looked at, but witnessing her unmatched skill and brutality in clarity. She was quick, quiet, efficient, and effective. Unlike most widely known assassins, she used no particular method to kill her victims, preferring whatever best worked for the job, and was not afraid to hunt after entire groups of people. By this alone were her marks left made clear allowing the kill to be identified as her work. This was the her everyone knew only in rumor.
Her appearance was known simply as Hawke, just a refugee moving up in the world. Some called her friend, others a nuisance. But, no one suspected her of being more than what they perceived. Her Dwarven companion gave her appearance a little boon in the wild tales he spread of her. Giving the outward shell of what she showed a touch of fame as well. Nothing that matched her infamous reputation, but that, in itself, did more than Varric realised. It painted her as something even someone else entirely, bolstering her ability to hide in plain sight.
Who she really happened to be, beyond her profession and her appearance, was divided between both and inner secrecy. No one would know the extent of it in life or death as it was meant to be. Masks were apart of her chosen fate, never to be altogether removed or have what lay beneath completely revealed. The manipulation, lies, and mind games were as much apart of her as anything else. And, even as she pretended to be more than she was, the truth remained that she was just as cruel as she was kind.
She figured this rhythm of life she had orchestrated for herself was a permanent one, as effective as her lethal expertise. She settled into it nicely, letting things shape carefully under her precise persuasions. Until life came tearing it apart in front of her emerald eyes, teaching Elvauni Hawke that not all of one's fate was made by that individual. A very difficult lesson to swallow for a woman who wished her secrets to remain veiled and everyone to be kept at a vast distance.
'He should not be here... This should not be happening...'
She stared from the rafters above, perfectly still breath controlled into silence. She had so carefully worked this out so that, even with his expected presence here, he would wander away none the wiser. She hadn't predicted he would linger, searching for more than he'd bargained for, a miscalculation on her part. She had very much assumed he would not be interested in a shack full of corpses or care what had killed them. Why should he?
Fenris was so vehemently despising of slavers, that she was well aware he would come to hunt them when he heard of their presence. Unwittingly, he was attempting to engage in a hunt that was not his to take part in, regardless of how he felt about them. Under contract, they were her victims to dispose of, and she would let him have nothing to do with it. Yet, he stayed after the hunt he came for was already over, disrupting the most important phase of her hunt which was not done.
He had come crashing into the building to find his prey already in the throws of death. Gasping and writhing upon the floor as they choked on the deadly substance she had contaminated their wine with. Not long after his arrival, they were lost to the world of the living, and his reason for being here no longer existed. Instead of turning to go like he should have done, he bent down to examine one. Lifting after a few moments only to move over to another. Oblivious to the danger he was placing himself into.
In her mind, he should have viewed what he had witnessed as a bad omen, a warning that it was not safe here. Were she in his place, she would find it obvious this was the work of an assassin, with no need to inspect any of the bodies. But, perhaps, what he was really searching for was evidence of Danarius's whereabouts. If so, he would be thoroughly disappointed. His Master had nothing to do with these slavers being here. Their existence in this shack were the consequences of far more complicated facts. Either way, he was over staying his welcome, it was time for him to depart from this place.
She readied one of her throwing knives, aiming only to startle, not to harm. This would give away her position to the others, for they were not alone. But, she could not risk the possibility of his removal by one of those others whose patience she could sense growing thin. Tensing her muscles in preparation to hastily relocate, she loosed the projectile leaping away into cover as other blades came at her. It streaked through the air and implanted itself into the wall just a hair's width from his ear.
He did start, but did not flee. Drawing his blade instead, he intended to take up an impossible challenge. He could hear faint shifting around him and the knives thrown at her as they made contact with wood, but could not comprehend what they meant as they were not thrown at him. The one enemy she suspected of wanting to end his meddling previously, took up his request for trouble, aiming one of his knives for the elf's left eye. She... Could not... allow this...
'So, this is to be my own undoing...'
Dashing soundlessly across the support beams, she dropped in front of him, erecting into a bracing stance, arm extended before and across his face. Catching the blade in her wrist between the bones, she registered the feeling of being hit by a weapon but neglected to take notice of the pain. Something training had conditioned her for. His eyes slid to her expressionless face in utter shock, and she left him standing there in awe. Time was limited now, she had to finish her hunt before the poison overtook her.
Yes, she has been aware they had poisoned their weapons by the ALMOST undetectable smell it left on them. She could even discern the type and concentration. She is among the best in her field and has been at this for years, she knows everything she needs for ultimate survival. Something she has willingly just risked for an acquaintance that held no significant use to her...
Removing the dangerous shiv, she returned it to its master in an attack that freed her of one contender. Moving with incredible speed to the shelter of a doorway to another room, just out of reach of more projectiles. She hurriedly pulled her father's knife from a sheath at her back, a tool not inherently a weapon, and bled the injury. Buying herself more time and improving her odds of living through the poison. She had a general antidote that would raise her chances even further, but there was no time to down it currently.
The others were coming out of hiding, as there was now no need for it. She had made a mistake in their eyes and, not only given herself away, but made herself vulnerable by confining herself down here and defending a meaningless life. Their head aggressor mocked her for this upon his approach and she shifted from the doorway to face them.
"It looks like it is true you cannot CHEAT death. You've been aware of our harboring poison from the start, I suspect. But, surprisingly, Death herself seems to have a weakness. A foolish little rabbit who should have run for his burrow." His hooded eyes shot a glare at Fenris who still had not left for the safety of elsewhere.
Glowering back, the angsty warrior made clear his intentions to fight to the end as he displayed his sword in a ready manner.
"I am not so helpless as you might expect." He bemused.
She pulled her daggers from where they rested at her shoulders.
"Even if you've bled the wound enough to survive it's grasp, it will not be long before it incapacitates you leaving Death helpless against her own demise. Better make haste, my dear, and claim us before we do you."
He was cocky, a good sign for her. His type always seem to misconceive themselves as capable of more than they are. She, on the other hand, knew every extent of her limitations and planned for them. She would indeed need to finish this within the time alotted by her actions, which is why she drew them out. The vigorous nature of hand to hand combat would speed the tainted blood's progression, but, she would not be left as incapable as she would if she were dispatching them at a distance and lost the edge of her focus. She need only concern herself with striking to kill anyone that came too close.
They closed in on her, just as expected, attempting to overwhelm her in numbers. Four at once came upon her while their head hunter kept Fenris at bay. For a fool who seemed incapable of understanding when he should turn away from something, he was at least exercising caution against getting marked by any attack. Wary of the threat of toxic weapons in enemy hands and only making a move when he was certain he had an opening which was rare. She keenly took notice of this as she twisted with unbelievable flexibility away from the death strokes made at various critical points along her body.
Carefully she weaved, giving them just a little ground, bringing them closer. Feigning slight indicators that she was already losing sense and focus. Until, at last, they all went for the kill at once as she slid contortioned back with her hands and legs positioned just right between each pair of their legs. With a sharp jerk of motion, she swept their feet from beneath them, caving their stances in and narrowly avoiding them as they came tumbling down. Spinning round in an awkwardly graceful, almost dance like move as she erected herself to her feet once more, she silenced three of them with her daggers as they sped by. She proceeded to stomp down hard on the fourth's gut, keeping success from her struggles to get up and then kicking her head to the right with precision at a weak point to snap her neck.
Meanwhile, the final foe who had busied himself with her elven companion, flipped away and she let him come at her from behind feeling now the contamination begin to take true hold. Having avoided certain death from his daggers but making no progress against him in the least, Fenris stiffened in place as the adversary poked the point of one blade into the back of her neck. Moving forward with his stabbing motion keeping right on the precipice of instant destruction from his strike, she allowed it to unbalance him ever so slightly first as she made way to the floor for a hasty handstand. Putting all that was left of her into it, her right leg came up between his and, with the speed and momentum, managed to lift him up and over to fall face first into the floorboards as she bent her knees, hooking her feet over her back. He rushed to turn over, hazy from the blow to his head. Struggling to move and block with the one dagger he managed to keep hold of in his trip, she was faster in bending her spine to touch her feet to the floor and flip her back up and then over one of her own weapons in full swing. Collapsing into a crouch, blade poised for his heart, it barely skimmed the edge of his as it plunged deep. The battle of the hunt was now over...
She felt the pangs of her heart as it seeped with the taint of poison. Still, she did not take more than a fleeting notice of any pain. Standing she turned to face the cause of her self endangerment, sweat beading on her brow. Replacing his blade into the hold on his back, he stared at her, utterly unsure of what would come next. Her face remained as stone, vacant. But, her voice was chilled with bitterness.
"You should not have lingered. You should leave."
He raised a brow in surprise, taking notice of how different she seemed compared to the bits of herself she used as a front before him normally. No sarcasm and jokes to intermingle between serious talk and idle conversation, just stern directness of opinion.
"Why are you even here, Hawke?" He was genuinely curious, not judgemental.
"I was paid to kill them, isn't it obvious."
"Well, yes... But, they are mere slavers. Not the typical prey for an infamous assassin I suspect."
He was taking this fairly well, seeming unconcerned that she could slit his throat to ensure his silence.
"THEY," she motioned to the dead assassins mixed with slaver carcasses "were not mere slavers."
"True," he admitted with a slight nod "I suppose the there must have been more to their operations than meets the eye."
She let silence confirm his theory, careful not to sway as her mind began to blur.
"You're beginning to look ghastly." He warned, prompting her to down the general antidote.
"I'll be fine," she insisted as she dropped the bottle "Why did you stay? Why didn't you leave at the first signs of trouble?"
"I was searching for evidence... Of Danarius, locations of other slavers or hunters, that sort of thing. When the chaos began, I figured there was no chance they would just let me go. So I turned to fight." He shrugs slightly.
"And after I stopped your eye from being gouged out?..." she insisted, perpetually more irritated now that her strength was beginning to falter.
"I figured you were in need of help."
The emotionless mask now cracked, her patience all but lost, but without much reason as to why.
"You aren't worried that I could simply kill you at any given time to keep you quiet?"
He seems slightly amused by this.
"Nothing stands in your way to try," he pointed out "But, you made effort to rescue my hide rather than letting them kill me for you. Somehow, I doubt I have much to be concerned about."
Her disturbance at this exposure to such concepts showed, eyes wide. She had saved him. He offered her no use as a tool or an ally other than another blade between her and opponents when her known appearance bustled off into combat during their 'adventures'. It would have made little difference if he were gone. She might miss the company, the flirting, but ideally nothing more. She was then entrapped in her mind's inner networks of thought that were always in motion, always processing something, as it considered the term ideally. So lost was she in her thoughts, she was strangely unaware of when she had stumbled to the floor fever blinding her senses. Unaware when he caught her from landing hard among the dead and spirited her away from that place.
Ideally... Ideally, she would be alone unfeeling forever. Ideally, she would never have to face the past, her reason for being this way. Ideally, people would leave her side, leave her forgotten so that she was nothing more than that fantastical creature of doom everyone imagined never knowing any other concept of Elvauni. When had she started thinking this way, what had convinced her so entirely of these ideals?
Memories of Carver flashed before her darkened vision. Yes, the source of these was her greatest failure. Before the Blight had ever come, she was an assassin. But, vastly different than she had become. Akin to the reason she had become such a mortal weapon, she had hunted only the worst of those who walked Thedas. And, she had loved. She had openly felt love for her family, which was why she had come searching for them during the Blight. She had always been sarcastic, a tease, and had always kept secrets. But, her humanity was not so lost then.
Then, came the time when she had failed, hesitating for the first time to attempt a kill of something she deemed worthy of departure from the living. It made no difference to her if it were human, ogre, or entirely something else. It had been her target by circumstance and her duty to hunt it to its end. And she had, but not before it claimed the life of someone she loved. For the first time, she was on the recieving end of a killer's brutality. Witnessing firsthand the the potential agony she could inflict on others.
And her mind had rejected such terrible thoughts such weakness, infecting her with other more simple ones. Calculative ones that taught her to forget how to feel. And she began to push her sister and Mother away, forgetting that she loves them still. Began thinking only of how best to use everyone around her to build black walls to hold her secrets and keep her safe. But, was she safe? Or utterly being destroyed by herself? Things that were once of her were now missing.
She had rationalized that, when she hunted other assassins who stalked selected companions for whatever reasons, keeping them safe from the shadows, she was doing it in her own best interest. Now she realized, this was not so. She did it because, the remains of her humanity cared for them. And it was now, upon revealing this that her world was shattered leaving her to pick up and reconfigure the pieces yet again. The same as after Carver's death. The same as after the incident that made her into Death. And all this time, she knew she had been just that. Dead.
Memories of all the interactions shared between those around her flooded forward releasing a myriad of feeling. The sensation of utter numbness she hadn't noticed she was bound in faded away, showing her it's prevalence through contrast. And at the head of all these recollections, a scene of HIM holding a wine bottle and gazing at her. HE had paved the road to these discoveries by being in the one place she didn't want him to be at the right time.
He was not so different from her. They both held a sense of darkness and hidden regrets. He aspired to keep changing to be more than what others determined for him, like she had sought to do. Perhaps, he would be understanding of all her oddities and differences from others. Maybe, he would not mind so much the things she has been through to get this far and her reasoning for all that she does. It was possible... she could try...
She decided it was time to shift things, to change. Not sure of what she intended to become instead, she knew she wanted to feel again. It was akin to a different poison, more like an addicting drug, the thrill of feeling. Only known to those who have lost it. When she placed those pieces back together, she hoped she would be contaminated by the taint of emotion at the end.
Feeling determined but uncertain, she cracked her eyes open as she felt the coolness of a wet rag drape her forehead. He was there, Fenris, helping her through this himself instead of seeking help, keeping her secret. She felt... Gratitude, yes, thankfulness... And she smiled, this time sincerely taking him by surprise.
"I appreciate it." She breathed before being taken by darkness again, and she had meant it. And he noticed the new depth in her actions and words with a tug of his heart, feeling the difference...