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

Special That was what the men had called him as a child. If it had not been for the mass migration of the Qunari he would have likely had a different life. Half qunari, half summer islander, his platinum white hair and violet eyes made him stand out as much as his six ten frame. Golden brown skin with a hint of copper sheen to it made it so he couldn't hide from anyone, or thing. He had always just been called Ari. He knew his father had been killed long ago, his mother refused to speak of it. While they lived in hightown he always felt uneasy. They lived as though due to another's kindness, on occasion men would come and go on the behalf of some mysterious benefactor. He'd watch them come and go but when he asked questions the men quickly became replaced by nondescript couriers. He'd pried no further into the matter. Rather he trained. He trained with the Tal Vashoth, he trained with the Crows, he did whatever he could to learn. He didn't train with the guard however, or the mages, he trusted neither. They seemed the types who'd looked at him with a mixture of fear, loathing and desire much of his life. His well muscled body had become the object of attention at a young age. He remembered lords being chased from his home by his mother telling them to go to the rose for pleasures rather than chase him. As he got older woman after woman came and lingered like hungry vultures awaiting a chance. He'd focused on training instead. He didn't know why, but he always felt as though his father had fallen in combat and the same fate might befall him if he let down his guard. Then, the voice came. Soothing and sweet. It cooed into his ears constantly. It put to blaze a hunger he'd never known. Had he been a mage he would be an abomination by now. But the demon existed for the desire he created, far more delicious than the mere thought of entering the mortal realm. He'd found it harder to resist as it wore on him, so he ran. He found himself one day lost and alone. But there was still hunger. He lured in female travelers who eventually found themselves overcome, he left them barely alive husks. Those who actually made it back never seemed quite right to anyone. They told tales of an incubus who lived in the mountains who in return for what seemed like your life force offered unending pleasure. One who's touch had forever marked them, one they intended to seek out. He however got no reprieve. Sometimes he fought, other times he simply obeyed, the demon now a part of him. It gave and took, their symbiotic relationship changing with each day. Sometmes it gave more, saving him from dying when besieged by many, others it took lik when it had him take its toll from his attackers. Today however it was oddly quiet. He sat near the road pondering on its purpose as he waited for a trader. His hair was wild, his eyes bright, but he had gold in earnest and knelt waiting for a caravan. He could interact with others so long as it did not awaken. He hoped his deep black cloak would hide his body well enough. He'd smeared his face with soot attempting to appear dirty. He'd only been here for a month, or was it two, but he'd never made the attempt due to the risk. This place was fairly new to him, but the path was well trodden. So sitting, he waited. His sword was at his side,not enough to be threatening, just enough for preparedness.