A Cast Of Hawkes

There was one more, he could feel it, somewhere just beyond the veil...he concentrated, focusing in on them...it was difficult, like trying to hit a target you could only see through the corner of your eye but...There! At last, the final one, almost within his grasp. Soon, all their power, all the strength they possessed, would be his, and he would be unstoppable.

Slitting the throat of the slave at his feet, he drew upon all the power their life blood gave him, sent his magic spiralling into the 5 other universes – and pulled.

Jacob Hawke

This wasn't the first time he'd woken up not being quite sure where he was or how he got there. Normally he had a worse hangover though. Delaying opening his eyes for the moment – it was rare in those situations you saw anything good – he tried to figure out where the Maker he was. Hmm...

Well, the cold, gravelly surface beneath him suggested he hadn't made it home – it would be unlike Bodan to leave him passed out in the courtyard – and the smell, being sewers and decay rather than flowers and spices or stale beer and tobacco, suggested Darktown rather than High-or-Lowtown. Opening one bloodshot green eye and then the other confirmed it. Yep, definitely Darktown.

Getting to his feet in a single swift move that would have surprised any casual observer taking him for your common-or-garden Darktown gutter drunk, Hawke patted himself down. Fully clothed – check. Twin blades at his back – check. Nothing bleeding or broken – check. Muttering to himself about how it can't have been that good a night then, he stomped off in the direction of his favourite Darktown resident – well, the only one who didn't try to kill him or rob him on sight at least...

Juliana Hawke

Eyes wide in panic, she tried to breath both deeply, to calm herself, and quietly, so has not to draw attention to herself – difficult not to when you were an obvious Mage in a yard full of Templars. The Gallows. How in the Maker's name had she got here? The last thing she remembered was being on her way home following a trip to the Wounded Coast to look for some scrolls – encountering quite a horrifying number of abominations for her troubles – and then...nothing.

Drugged, she must have been drugged. It was the only explanation. Meredith must have grown tired of tolerating the presence of the apostate mage Champion in the city, and had her drugged and dragged off to the Gallows to await her fate. Except that, well – why was no-one holding her down? Why, when surrounded by templars, could she still feel her magic flowing through her? Why was the dreaded sunburst brand not heading even now towards her brow? Why, in short, was she being so thoroughly ignored?

Aveline, she thought. If there was anyone who could make sense of the nonsensical it was her. Besides, if this was some sick new game of the Knight Commander, it was likely the Guard Captain would have heard about it, or be able to find out if she hadn't. Edging towards the gates, expecting at any moment to be smited, she headed for the keep...

Leo Hawke

He didn't stop to question where he was or how he'd got there. Uncertainty was for the weak and the stupid and he was neither. Brandishing his mace, and with his shield held firmly at his side, he quickly assessed the situation. Quite how he'd gotten to the Chantry courtyard wasn't clear, but what mattered right now was ensuring he wasn't under any immediate threat. Blue eyes narrowed as he surveyed the populace...chantry sisters...the odd guard...a couple of merchants. It was probably safe, he decided, stowing his weapon on his back once more.

So how had he got here? He had been on his way to see the First Enchanter, he remembered, the man had sent him a letter appealing for his help, but he could remember nothing after that. Could he perhaps have taken a blow to the head? It certainly wouldn't be the first time, but that still wouldn't explain how he ended up here. He was not a spiritual man, being more given to action and aggression than contemplation and prayers, and therefore not given to often visiting the Chantry. In fact the only time he ever came here was to speak with Sebastian...Sebastian. Was that it? Had he wanted him to accompany him? It made sense, he trusted the holy man's judgement far more than his own, knowing his own tendency towards rashness and hot-headnesses, and he certainly could have used his counsel when dealing with Orsino, whom he knew little about.

Satisfied that he'd solved that little mystery, he went to find his friend.

Artemis Hawke

Merril's squeak of panic as strong arms pulled her off the street was swiftly cut off as a slender hand covered her mouth, but she immediately relaxed as a familiar voice hissed in her ear: "Merril, how often have Varric and I warned you about wandering around the docks in a daydream? You were about to walk straight in to an ambush!"

"Mmmph"

"Not that I'm really in much of a position to criticise, seeing as I've no idea how I got here myself. Last thing I remember I was in the Hanged Man. I blame Isabella. She must have spiked my pint.

"Mmmph hmph mmmph..."

"What? Oh, sorry".

The hand removed itself from her mouth but the other kept her back pressed firmly against Hawke's soft chest. She vaguely wondered what had happened to her friend's usual armour, but was too grateful to be able to breathe easily again to give it much thought.

"I said, Isabella wouldn't do that".

"Dear, sweet, naive Merril, of course she would. Anyway, never mind that for now, my wreaking bloody vengeance on our pirate friend can wait while we spring our own little ambush on our slaver chums over there, don't you think?"

"Yes."

"On the count of three then. 1...2..."

"Hey, there's someone moving in the shadows!"

"Bugger. Get 'em Merril!"

Leaping into action whilst yelling Dawlish curses, the elf didn't bother to look back at the woman behind her...

Alexander Hawke

The familiar metallic tang in his mouth gave him a clue about what had happened before he even opened his eyes. Blood magic, he'd know it anywhere. He should, after all, he'd dabbled often enough, but the lack of cuts or open wounds on his body told him this was not another of his failed experiments. Besides, this felt different, stronger. Something was very wrong.

Well, at least wherever I am I'm not far from home, he thought, glancing across the square to the doors of his Hightown estate. Or I'm farther than I've been before. Let's see what I can piece together, last thing I remember...I was at home, I'd was pouring some of that delicious brandy Aveline sent me while Bodan ran me a bath...Maker knows I needed it, that high dragon had made a hell of a mess when I exploded it, of course I should have expected that really, stood a bit further back, but it's damn hard to concentrate when some huge scaly thing is bearing down on you breathing fire, focus Alex for Maker's sake, where was I? Ah yes, I'd just taken a sip of my brandy and then there was this sensation of being dragged, pulled away almost, and then...he'd woken up here. Wherever here was. It looked like home, but...

Slipping behind a pillar, he slashed his palm lightly and concentrated as the blood trickled out, feeling around him with his magic. It all felt right, familiar, and yet there was something there, a feeling akin to walking into your house and realising there's someone else inside...wait...his house...that was it...across the square in his estate...he reached out with his magic. Yes, there was Bodan, and Sandal...Orana too, and Max – no, hang on, that wasn't Max, it was a Mabari, but not his Mabari, and who was that, there was someone else, someone familiar, but it couldn't be, it just couldn't...

The clatter of his knife slipping from his fingers returned to his senses, and he realised he was trembling with shock. He stood for a moment, staring at the estate, then began walking determinedly towards it. If he was right, then in that house was probably the only person who could help him right now. If he was wrong...well, he could still use that hot bath and stiff drink.