The Templar's Daughter
When her brother was alive, he’d fled to Darktown in the hopes of avoiding whatever fate their templar father or the Chantry might have had in store for him. After months of worrying, he had sent word to Hana albeit discreetly by means of one of the many street urchins the city slums had to offer. Sadly, there were quite a number of such children. Orphans and bastards were not merely beggars or thieves in Kirkwall, but oftentimes recruited by one street gang or another to serve as runners or spies. Kirkwall’s forgotten children, her father used to call them. Hanamene stood leaning to one side, shouldered up against a graffiti-laden wall, and paid note to these such children, as they scurried by, though she observed without giving them her full attention. Her primary interest at the moment was the bloody brawl occurring before her.
This was neither misunderstanding, personal vendetta, nor random dispute. Instead, Hanamene had come to watch the last vestiges of her brother that Kirkwall had to offer: the bloody bouts of Darktown. Unofficial and unregulated, the questionable anything-goes-tournaments were likely the closet thing to a natural calling that her brother Caethan had probably ever known. And now they were all Hana had left of him, thanks to the Grey Wardens. She watched from a slight distance, away from the cheers and jeers of a crowd of mostly gamblers and drunks. Darktown was brimming with the kind of malcontents and misfits that Hanamene once actively abhorred. In many ways, she still did yet ever since the loss of her brother something else had begun to flourish where her regard for Kirkwall's undercity was concerned. Something... voyeuristic, perhaps. She could be there, without really being there - and it was a way to feel close to her older sibling again, whom she missed terribly. When her father was killed as well, Hanamene found herself coming to Darktown with a little more frequency. Each time she tested the limits of her comfort therein, by either staying a little longer or exploring a little further than usual. On this evening in particular, it would be both.
Hanamene had placed a small bet on one of the bare-knuckle fighters, a broad-built Antivan mercenary. To her surprise, a wiry city elf took him down in the first round. It was too impressive to even be mad about the loss of coin. She even laughed, while pushing herself off and away from the wall by shifting her weight. It was the unsteady, nonchalant movement of someone who was mellowed by the effects of drink herself. Hanamene lacked the constitution for strong alcohols and yet, even knowing that about herself, that evening she thought, what's the harm? She would quickly learn her error.
"Watch where you're going, Fereldan."
Hanamene made a poor attempt to steady her stance after having propelled her own entire self into another person. Rather, persons. A small gang, by her estimation of anywhere from four to seven in number. She would later reflect on that moment, and realize she had probably been seeing double - but in the moment itself, Hanamene had thought whatever their number; numbers be damned. "How about," Hanamene responded almost cheerily, entirely out of character, "You watch where I'm going."
"What's that!?" was the reply she received, as a semi-circle of bodies began to form around her. Regrettably she'd not gone far from the wall, and quickly found herself boxed in.
In response to this, she stood straight... ish. "You didn't let me finish. You watch where I'm going. That way... I'll know... and you'll know... we'll all know... where I'll be," Hanamene told them, in a tone that was in contrast to her words themselves. A tone that suggested nothing but sense.
"Think you're funny Furelden?" their ringleader said, closing in on Hanamene.
"Venhedis!" Hanamene cursed him in Tevene, while daring to laugh in the man's face, "A mabari reference, how original!"
He grabbed her by her cloak and all but spat in her face, "Ven-what?! What d'ya just say to me?!"
An inebriated Hana leaned into the man's face, enough that they were nearly nose to nose and re-emphasized her response, "Venhedis." She noted some amongst the ringleader's crew were discreetly reaching for their weapons, some concealed and some not. A sword here, a dagger there. Hanamene would have done likewise at that point, had the other man not taken it upon himself to knock her back into the wall itself. With clearer faculties, she might have turned the shove to her favour and dodged to the side while unsheathing her sword. Unfortunately for Hana, the strange drink she'd partaken of earlier that evening would not align with any such coordinated effort. Though she remained standing, she had stumbled back and hit her head - hard - against the stone wall. Once more, she would look back on the moment in question - at a later date - and admit that was when went from seeing double to triple.