The Hawke in the Rain

by Beast of Burton

Heroes are not born. They are crafted by the cruelty of the world, dashed upon the rocks until they are no longer a man or woman, but a weapon of change meant to bleed a new world from the old. Come and bear witness to the this hero's tale. Rated for violence and language.

1. Prologue: Drown

Author's Note:

Having just graduated with my second degree, I'm avidly avoiding the responsibilities of real life by spending most of my time reading and playing video games. Here's what happens when I mix the two.

The title and chapter names in this story come from the poem 'The Hawk in the Rain' by Ted Hughes. The world and characters herein are all Bioware's, I just play with them. Reviews are always appreciated, and if you like what you see feel free to check out the other stories I have up on this site.

Happy reading.

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You all know the tales, heard them ceaselessly since you were naught but babes. The epic of the Warden, the whispers of the Witch, the sordid start to the Templar war on magic. You've dreamed of all the heroes, the battles, the moments of glory that raised us all from darkness. You and all your kin know these things as well as your own stories, but tell me now.

Do you know how these pillars of man were wrought from souls as mortal as your own?

Heroes are not born into this forsaken world. We offer them up a sacrifice to history, men and women to be tossed upon the pyre until the heat of our disdain and the pressure of loss warp and hone them into weapons of change. Before the statue with the iron gaze there was a beloved second child of the noble house of Highever. Before the blackened rubble littered the highest hill of Kirkwall there was a mage's daughter who held her broken family above all else.

The story of the Warden is not mine to tell; for that you must seek out the Seeker. But I know how the world crafted the Champion of Kirkwall.

Listen, now, to the moments between the fateful battles. To the grief that hardened her soul. To the hatred that sharpened it against the world. To the love that tempered it enough to show mercy. For beneath the gilding and grandeur of the great tales, there was the story of a woman.

Listen, now, my brothers and sisters. Listen and see how the world can shape a tool of war from blood and earth. Delve beneath what you deign to know of the night Kirkwall burned. Let the truth fill up your lungs and take this pain as your own. Feel the silence of it press down upon you, the weight of a world in collapse, and take a measure on your own shoulders. Listen well and learn path that led us here, so that we all may divine a way forward through the chaos.

Listen, now, for this is the story of Abigail Hawke.