Chapter 1: Acquisition

Nights in Kirkwall were colder than one might expect, and there were few who ventured out into the dark, save for drifters and drunkards. Tonight, there was a man, an odd looking man searching for someone. No one of importance, mind you, but someone willing to do tasks for him without a need for coin, as he hardly had any sovereigns that he could spare. However, since it wasn't light out yet, the few souls that he ran into were either severely intoxicated or otherwise unfit for the task. No, he just needed a loner that he could scare into helping him.

Finally, he spotted a dwarf wandering about, looking like he might be in his right mind. A glance in all directions gave a clear indication that he was alone, so he made his approach, but still remained in the shadows just in case. "You there, dwarf!" he called to the shorter man, watching him turn quickly on his heel towards the location of the voice.

"Who-who's there? Sh-show yourself!" the dwarf stuttered, now obviously realizing that he was alone in an open area. His wish is quickly granted as the owner of the voice stepped into the light, revealing himself as an elf; a bizarre looking one. His strange white markings twisted and curved over his skin, and they almost appeared to glisten in the moonlight. The sight of the pale-haired marked elf caught the dwarf off-guard, and the best he could do was freeze and not say a word.

"What is your name?" the taller man asked, bending down a little to be at the dwarf's level. The other man offered no response, eyes tracing over the elf's strange tattoos as if to attempt to decipher their meaning. When he looked up, he realized he was being stared at, but he still didn't answer. "Your name!" the elf yelled, taking a step into the dwarf's personal space.

"A-Anso. What do you want? Who are you?"

The elf scowled and stepped back. "Quit babbling," he snapped. "I require some assistance."

The dwarf pressed the tips of his fingers together a few times in complete fear and nervousness. He had never seen someone of this elf's appearance, and had a feeling he was more capable than most. He didn't look like the poor elves that lived in the Alienage, that's for sure. He was different, and that alone scared Anso into warily accepting. "How can I help you, Mesere? I'm nothing more than an addict. I'm not good at anything."

The marked man scoffed and folded his arms over his chest, the metal of his armor clanking together lightly as he did so. "Certainly you can deliver some messages?" he shrugged, eyes narrowing on the dwarf.

"Messages? To who?"

After a long night out with Varric at The Hanged Man, drinks and long dramatic tales included, Hawke was reading to go home. As usual, her dwarf friend had spewed out stories of heroes and heroines far and wide, grabbing the attention of anyone who cared to listen. Round after round of drinks, and they found themselves sufficiently intoxicated; well, Varric at least. Hawke had taken it slow, as she typically did, since the walk to her home was farther than her friends, who lived in a room at the pub.

When Hawke arrived, she discovered that she had received mail; a letter. It was from Athenril, no doubt, and there was no way she wouldn't take on any work that she was given. After all, she desperately needed more coin to try and get her sister out of this horrible hut they dwelled in with their uncle, and Athenril provided that way out. The work wasn't always the most legitimate thing she could do, but a few silvers here and there made it worthwhile. The letter directed her to a contact near the Alienage, and she planned to visit there tomorrow night once she'd had a decent night's rest and the alcohol had been given ample time to wear off.

The following evening, the Hawke and her companions went for the unfortunate little hovel known as the Alienage, and met with the contact, who was more than a little nervous. He explained that there was a building they needed to find that had a chest containing certain contents that he didn't detail, but that that is what they needed. They had more questions than answers, but the dwarf scrambled off into the night before any of them could say more. The group shrugged it off and continued.

"Doesn't this all seem a little strange to you?" Aveline inquired of the rest of her friends. She was always a little wary about the work that Hawke volunteered herself for, but she kept her feelings to little comments here and there, knowing that Hawke herself was better than the work she took on. Still, the red-haired widow kept alert and ready, just in case something went wrong.

"Which part?" Hawke said as she looked over her shoulder at her friend. "The crazed dwarf, or the task itself?"

"Both," Aveline replied. "I don't like being tricked."

Her words still lingered in Hawke's mind as they came upon the door to this seemingly empty building. Varric and Bethany said nothing, simply going along with it without question. As soon as the door opened, a small group of thugs was there to greet them, but it wasn't a task that they couldn't handle. They easily took down each one, Hawke sneaking and literally stabbing them in the back, Varric shooting the ones that tried to flank them, Bethany throwing out some bolts of electricity, and Aveline proving her skill with a longsword.

"They were clearly expecting someone," Aveline chimed as she flicked a bit of blood off the edge of her sword. Hawke nodded and searched the area for the items they weren't sent to retrieve, quickly locating a chest that had to have contained what they came for. The group huddled around the chest eagerly, hoping to lay their eyes on gold or other valuable merchandise, as they were led to believe that that's what they were looking for. After she took in a deep breath, Hawke lifted open the unlocked storage box, smile quickly fading into a frown. Empty. They all tilted their heads, confused as to how they missed what they came for. Had one of the men who attacked them taken the items? No, there was only one entrance and exit to this place, so one of them slipping by with the goods was impossible.

Frustrated, Hawke slammed the chest shut and looked to her friends and sister for some sort of answer, and the best she got was a remark from Varric, who looked just as agitated as she was. "Waste of bloody time. Who put us up to this?" he said as he threw his hands up in question. The other three exchanged glances and then went for the exit simultaneously. He was right; someone had been tricking them, but the who was unknown to them. The dwarf, Anso? Unlikely. That man didn't seem to have the capacity to do much of anything, let alone trick them into a wild goose chase.

As soon as they stepped out of the building, they were met with another group of mercenaries, these ones waiting as if they had been expecting them. So this was a trap? Of course. It wasn't hard to recognize this group as Tevinter hunters, and they all silently wondered what they were doing here, since this wasn't their usual turf. The apparent leader of the group suddenly spoke up. "That's not the elf!" he exclaimed. "Who is that?" He pointed towards Hawke and her companions, and they could all sense a fight about to commence.

"It doesn't matter! We were told to kill whoever enters the house!" remarked another hunter. With that, they charged a the four, swords and daggers being unsheathed as they approached. Immediately, Hawke disappeared in a poof of smoke, eluding the lunges of several men that came right at her. She reappeared behind them, driving her daggers into their backs at the same time. Meanwhile, Aveline was knocked back people with her shield, thrusting her sword into them as they hit the ground. Varric, as well as Bethany, stepped back from the crowd, both being more capable of ranged attacks. They worked together, Varric shooting arrows into their feet to hold them as Bethany tossed fireballs at them. Occasionally, he'd manage to get off a very well-placed shot, when the crowd parted enough for him to do so, hitting a few of their enemies right between the eyes.

One by one they fell, Hawke and her friends taking minimal damage, and nothing that couldn't be healed with a bit of time. Just when they thought they were out of danger, an additional man appeared by the steps, his voice shifting their attention to him. "I don't know who you are, friend, but you've made a serious mistake coming here." Again, Hawke and her companions gave each other knowing looks, all of them moving in towards the man just as he called in reinforcements. They were all prepared for another fight, swords, shields, spells, and arrows at the ready. Surprisingly…there was nothing. The armored man looked around nervously, expecting to hear his men scurrying in but hearing absolute silence, or at least for a moment.

They all hear a shuffle, but what appeared was a single man, blood pouring from multiple wounds on his neck and torso. He attempted to speak, gurgling as blood filled his throat. He collapsed in a pool of his own blood, and the other man stands terrified. No reinforcements? He knew he was no match for the dark-haired woman and her friends, but he was not about to surrender. Just then, more footsteps, significantly lighter as they approached. Hawke and company readied their weapons again, once more seeing only one man appear. As soon as he rounded the corner, he began to speak, his voice matching his stone cold demeanor.

"Your men are dead and your trap has failed," the tattooed elf said to the man as he came down the stairs. Blood decorated his armor, and the fate of the lieutenant and his men became clear. This elf had killed them, no doubt, and until they knew otherwise, Hawke and her friends would consider him a hostile as well. "I suggest running back to your masters while you can," he continued as he passed the lone hunter to head towards the group.

"You are going nowhere, slave!" the man growled as he grasped onto the elf's shoulder, as if that would restrain him. The four looked on as a peculiar scene unfolded, the elf having some sort of energy coat his skin in a pale blue light, radiating from his hands. His expression became harsh and unfriendly as he turned towards the hunter. In a flash, his hand goes straight through the man's sternum, as if his flesh and bones were made of mere air. Bethany shot a glance at Hawke, both of them realizing that this type of ability might not even be capable for a mage. Bethany surely wasn't capable of such, she knew, and they both watched this mysterious man act. With a sound that neither could explain—almost a ripping—the elf rips out that man's heart, dropping it to the ground just as his victim collapses at his feet. He then rounded on the group.

"I am not a slave," he declared. The party watched him, confused as to how he was able to pull off such a feat, but not in a state to question him. In fact, the man began to explain himself, as if he's used to having to do so. As he spoke, Hawke watched as the blue glow that had covered him gradually faded, like a fire slowly burning out. Her eyes traced his markings, over every twist and turn they made over his skin, and she couldn't help but wonder where they ended, or what they were even made of. She shook the thought off, catching him making his actual introduction.

"My name is Fenris," he began.