|Carver Hawke (Aviv)|
|Occupation||"Younger Brother", Mercenary|
|Gear||Longbar Blade, Basic Ferelden Militia Clothing|
|Behind the Mask|
Kirkwall's streets were empty that night. Though the Blooming Rose was bursting at the seams with business, as usual.
Inside the brothel, Carver sat at one of the tables, a glass of brandy just off the side of his left hand. The Ferelden native couldn't have been more disappointed at how the day had turned out...
First, his elder brother decided to help the mage, Anders. Carver felt that something was wrong with the poor fellow. He takening offense almost as soon as the group had walked through the door. He was definitely jumpy, but then again, Carver wondered why his brother wasn't like that.
The warrior knew that his brother had never been in the Circle like Anders had been, so he could definitely attribute that to his fearlessness while striding through Kirkwall's streets. But just his blindly giving aide for what, a simple map. There wasn't any doubt that the map was important, but how could he risk alerting the templars of his presence while trying to save a mage?
As much as Carver didn't want to admit it, he couldn't bear to imagine what would happen if Hawke was taken away. Father had been the first one taken, then Bethany by the damned Ogre. The only ones left were Mother, Hawke, and himself... and Gamlen to some extent. He hated being simply known as “Hawke's younger brother,” but he didn't want Hawke out of his life either.
What bothered and angered him most about the day was the revelation of what Anders was: an Abomination. The damned mage had contracted with a “spirit of Justice.” Though apparently it had changed since Anders became its host. Man did he hate Anders.
The warrior took a drink from the glass, the amber liquid burning as it slithered down his throat. Varric wasn't there yet, but it didn't matter. The party would start as soon as the dwarf arrived.