Thread: The Little Hawke and The Possessed Kossith(Post DA2 - Anansi n' Myself)

Silah Hawke had just had her twentieth birthday and was listening to her father, The Viscount of Kirkwall, as he told her of his expectations of her, now a fully fledged adult. The young woman was a skilled warrior, trained and crafted as such by the woman she considered family, Aveline Vallen. Her father was a mage, as her mother had been, but somehow she had been born without a magical inclination a once in awhile rarity, but an anomaly that did occur regardless. Hawke had been a little disappointed that she hadn't had magic, yet at the same time he had been relieved, knowing his daughter would never have to face the worry of becoming an abomination. Her mother and father hadn't much to teach her, so her honorary Aunt had stepped in and trained her in the ways of swordsmanship. Yet, as all things must go, The Champion and his friends were getting older and life was slowly winding down for them. The TemplarMage war had gone on for at least ten years, giving Silah a great deal of memories to deal with in her childhood, her father and mother constantly leaving to fight incoming hordes of Templars once the Circles had broken apart. A miracle had occurred, somehow, Silah wasn't told the details just that the fighting would finally stop. And it had, for awhile, but then her mother had been killed in a struggle with dragons at the Bone Pit Silah and Hawke had taken her mother's body back to Sundermount and buried her there, where her Dalish kin had been before they'd moved on, as they always did. She didn't look much like her mother and, despite being part elf, Silah looked almost exactly like her father icy, cerulean eyes and a halo of pretty, feather light blonde hair. The only features she had gotten from Merrill had been her dainty features, her small, pink lips and fine nose. Despite being so dainty, in frame and features, she was a strong swordsman and even carried a heavy two handed blade, much like her Uncle Carver did. The Grey Warden came around time from time, but she could count the times she had seen him in her life on the fingers of both her hands. Silah are you listening to me? Garrett Hawke frowned and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment. Off in your own world are you again, dear? Sorry, father, Silah gave her father a smirk and shrugged her shoulders, the heavy armor shoulder guards clunking a bit with the movement. I am still young, must be my youthful impertinence. Hawke's lips twitched, Silah could see it. As much as her father had often gotten fed up with her attitude, he had been the same way at her age she'd heard the stories. Hell, who hadn't heard stories? At least with her honorary Uncle Varric around stories were the dwarf's specialty. Youthful impertinence aside, Silah, you should be paying attention. Aveline is going to be retiring soon. I want you to take over for her. You're her lieutenant. I may even want you to take over as Viscount when I get too old, dear. That's why I need you to...grow up, as much as I hate that. Silah started to shake her head, but her father's stern stare had her stopping half through it. I am being honest, Silah. The war may have ceased, but there is no telling what could happen tomorrow, or a year from now. We can't all stay children and reckless forever. He sighed softly. Just think about it, okay? Keep it in your mind. Yes, father, I understand. Silah stood, the cloth of her back skirt falling to swirl against the back of her long, pale legs. I have patrols, excuse me, father. With that said, Silah swept from her father's office without another word or friendly, family affectionate gesture. It was unfair, she thought, to be forced into growing up without ever really being a child, or a teenager. That was the kind of world she lived in. Thedas was just that kind of place. Children were often forced into circumstances that they didn't deserve, or want. With a sigh, her booted legs carried her down the steps of the Keep toward the Guard Quarters to pick up her route schedule, her shorts hugging her heart shaped bottom. The Wounded Coast, she read, a brow arched. Her shoulders rolled in a shrug, to no one in particular. Slim hands picked up her heavy, yet lean blade and she made her way from the Keep through Hightown, toward the city gates. Patrols on the Wounded Coast hardly turned up anything besides thieves and bandits, an occasional slaver. Nothing the young woman wasn't able to handle. The trek took a couple of hours and by the time she reached the coast, the sun was high in sky noon time, she figured, shielding her eyes with a hand as she gauged it. Without further delay, she went about doing her patrol, not really expecting much trouble.