The mischievous gamer God

It had been three years since Luke had arrived in the world of Dragon Age and started working for Varric. Things were going pretty good. Life as Varric's assistant was a lot better than he'd expected. Only about half the jobs he had to do were illegal—but none of them went against Luke's principles.

Varric never had him hurt anyone innocent. Most of the time, it was shady merchants or bandits. Sometimes, it was corrupt city guards and Templars. Those were the ones Luke enjoyed screwing over the most.

Today, he and Varric were heading out to meet someone Varric had praised pretty highly. The person in question was a refugee from Ferelden who had made a name for themselves over the past year. Varric seemed set on the idea of recruiting them for an expedition he and Bartrand had planned.

Varric said, "I'm telling you, Luke—I know their reputation. They're reliable. And if we want this expedition to go well, we need someone who can hold their own down there. The Deep Roads is not a place to be taken lightly."

Luke raised an eyebrow, his arms crossed casually as he leaned against a stone wall. "I hear you, Varric. But are you sure these people are all they're cracked up to be? Reputation only goes so far."

"Trust me, Luke," Varric said with a grin, adjusting the cuffs of his coat. "Have I ever steered you wrong before?"

Luke gave him a dry look, one brow arched skeptically. "Oh, there was that time you wanted to go out for a drink… and we ended up in a bar fight with pirates."

Varric winced. "Okay, besides that."

Luke smirked, folding his arms tighter. "Then there was the time after that, you convinced me to go on a treasure hunt with you… and we ended up falling through a hole into a cave full of giant, venomous spiders. Had to fight our way out."

Varric pointed at him, mock glaring. "Alright, wiseass—name one more."

Luke tilted his head, pretending to think before flashing a crooked grin. "Alright. How about the time I had to rescue you from that crazy apostate who was convinced you'd make a good soup?"

Varric groaned, running a hand over his face. "Shit… I had almost completely repressed that memory. Thanks for dragging it back out."

Luke chuckled under his breath as they continued walking, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. Despite the chaos, the bar fights, the spiders, and the near-soupy fates, this wasn't a bad life. And Varric—well, he might've had a knack for trouble, but he always made it interesting.

As they walked through the bustling, sunlit streets of Hightown, Luke and Varric took in the usual sights—nobles in embroidered silks, merchants haggling over wares, and guards trying to look far more competent than they actually were.

Suddenly, a voice rang out—"Hey!"—and they both snapped to attention.

They saw a man sprinting toward them at full speed, weaving clumsily through the crowd. His panicked eyes and clenched fists said it all.

Luke narrowed his eyes, stepping slightly ahead of Varric with a sigh. "Definitely a pickpocket," he muttered with dry certainty, watching the man's jerky movements.

Varric already had Bianca in his hands, the familiar weight comforting in his grip. He cocked the crossbow with practiced ease. "Yep," he said flatly—and the moment the thief got close, Varric fired.

The bolt slammed into the man's shoulder with a thunk, pinning him to the stone wall with surgical precision. The man screamed in pain, writhing as he clutched at the bolt.

Varric calmly slung Bianca back across his back and strolled toward him, voice smooth and storytelling tone in full swing. "I knew a guy once that could take every coin outta your pocket just by smiling at you. Hell, my young assistant Luke once stole a guard's sword right out of his sheath and replaced it with a loaf of bread."

Luke folded his arms and smirked at the memory, watching the guards nearby pretend they didn't see anything.

"Took twenty minutes for the guy to even notice," Varric continued with a chuckle, stopping in front of the pinned thief. His amused expression faded into something colder. "But you? You don't got the style to work Hightown. Much less the Merchants' Guild."

He grabbed the coin purse from the thief's belt and tossed it casually in his hand.

"Might wanna find yourself a new line of work," he added—and then slugged the man in the face with a solid punch. The thief crumpled like a sack of grain.

Varric yanked the bolt free, letting the unconscious man slump to the cobblestones with a dull thud.

"Off you go," he muttered, brushing his hands off as if he'd just dealt with a minor nuisance.

Luke snorted with a grin and walked beside him as they approached two individuals waiting near a stone fountain.

One was a young man with cropped black hair and sharp brown eyes, pale-skinned and broad-shouldered. He wore a white vest with a brown collar, well-fitted over his muscular frame, black trousers, and worn leather bracers. A massive greatsword was strapped to his back, and his posture was stiff, alert—like a soldier who expected trouble at any second. He looked exactly like someone who'd spent the last few years surviving with nothing but grit and a blade.

Beside him stood a young woman with short black hair, cut just above her shoulders with a fringe that fell slightly across one side of her face. Her intense blue eyes were observant and calm, but something in them suggested a storm not far beneath the surface. She wore sleeveless brown leather armor, built more for mobility than heavy defense, along with reddish-brown leather pants, sturdy boots, and fitted gloves. Slung across her back was a long mage's staff, fashioned like a mace with spiked metalwork and carved channels for channeled energy.

Her presence radiated quiet control, but the grip she kept on her staff was firm—ready.

Luke gave the pair a quick once-over, raising an eyebrow as he leaned toward Varric.

"Let me guess," he said under his breath, lips curled into a half-smile. "These are the heroes of the hour?"

Varric just grinned. "Told you they'd be interesting."

Then Varric casually tossed the woman the coin purse and said, "How do you do? Varric Tethras, at your service." He gave her a short bow and an easy grin. "And next to me is Luke—my young assistant and far too often my partner in crime. Watch your stuff around him if you want to keep it."

Luke rolled his eyes with a mock-scowl and said, "Please, I'm not that bad."

Varric gave him a side glance, the grin never fading from his face. "Luke, I once had to buy Bartrand's favorite pipe back for him… when it mysteriously ended up in a stall in Lowtown. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

Luke whistled innocently and looked anywhere but at Varric, hands in his pockets and pretending to study the local architecture.

Varric let out a hearty laugh and said, "That's what I thought."

He turned back to the pair in front of him, smoothing his vest and speaking warmly. "May I have your names?"

The woman caught the coin purse mid-air with casual reflexes and replied, "I'm Marian Hawke, but everyone just calls me Hawke. And this is my brother, Carver."

Carver gave a stiff nod, arms crossed over his chest.

"Good to meet you," Varric said with a nod, though his tone took on a note of irritation. "I apologize for Bartrand. He wouldn't know an opportunity if it hit him square in the jaw."

Hawke smirked faintly, her voice laced with sarcasm. "But you would."

Varric grinned. "I would. What Bartrand doesn't realize is that we need someone like you. He'd never admit it either. He's too proud."

Then Luke chimed in, arms folded as he leaned slightly toward them. "And too dumb."

Varric shot him a sharp look. "Don't let him hear you say that. I don't want to find out tomorrow that my brother sent someone to kill my friend."

Luke looked right back at him, unbothered, and said, "If he's that touchy about insults, then he doesn't need to be a merchant."

Varric chuckled and turned back to Hawke and Carver. "Me, on the other hand, I'm quite practical."

Hawke tilted her head slightly. "There has to be some way to convince your brother to hire us on."

Varric nodded. "We don't need another hireling—we need a partner. The truth is, Bartrand's been tearing his beard out trying to fund this expedition, but he can't do it. Invest in the expedition—fifty sovereigns—and he can't refuse. Not with me there to vouch for you."

Hawke sighed and crossed her arms. "It sounds interesting. But if I had any gold, I wouldn't need this job in the first place."

Varric leaned in slightly, voice lowering like a seasoned storyteller reeling in his audience. "You need to think big. There's only a brief window after a Blight when the Deep Roads won't be crawling with darkspawn. The treasure you find down there could set you and your family up for life."

Carver looked at Hawke, his jaw tight but eyes gleaming with something close to hope. "I say we go for it. Anything, if it means a chance to get out of Lowtown."

Then Luke said, voice level but firm, "Personally, I think you've got a better shot throwing your lot in with us than you do taking whatever odd jobs you can find here and there—praying that the guards or Templars don't beat down your door to take you away to the nearest Circle."

That set off alarm bells. Hawke immediately tensed, her hand tightening on her staff, and Carver shifted protectively toward her.

Hawke narrowed her eyes. "Why would someone want to take me to a Circle?"

Luke gave a short, wry chuckle and shook his head. "Please. You couldn't be any more obvious about the fact that you're an apostate if you tried. You're carrying a damn staff out in the open, and there's no Templar standing within two feet of you breathing down your neck. I'm actually kind of shocked you haven't been caught already. Then again, considering how incompetent some of the Templars are... maybe it's not that surprising."

Varric stepped in quickly, raising both hands in a placating gesture. "What my young friend here means to say is—on your own, you might make it. But with us? Rather than just survive, you'll thrive. You'll carve out a place for yourself in this messed-up world of ours."

After a couple of minutes of thoughtful silence, Hawke finally nodded and said, "Well… it's not like I had anything better planned."

Varric's smile widened. "Perfect. Kirkwall's crawling with work. You set aside enough gold from every job, and you'll have the money in no time. Luke and myself will accompany you and lend you a hand."

Carver said, "Maybe Aveline has some work for us. She's got a position with the city guard now."

Then Luke perked up slightly. "Aveline? I think I know her. Redhead, carries a Templar shield?"

Hawke nodded. "That's her."

Luke replied, "Yeah, she's not a bad person. And she's certainly more competent than most of the guards."

Carver furrowed his brow and said, "What is your deal with the guards, anyway?"

Luke shrugged, the grin fading a bit. "They've tried to screw me over more than once. In fact… that's actually how I met Varric."

Varric laughed, clapping Luke on the shoulder. "And he's been a good assistant ever since—and an even better friend."

He turned to the group and stretched his arms. "Now, with all that settled, let's get out there and see what kind of trouble we can stir up."

As they walked toward the guardhouse, Luke casually fell into step beside Carver, hands in his pockets, tone conversational.

"So… you were a soldier, right?"

Carver blinked and looked at him, surprised. "How could you possibly know that?"

Luke smirked faintly. "It's all in the way you walk. You carry yourself with a certain degree of discipline and alertness—like you expect to either have orders barked at you or an enemy attack you. You need to fix that. Fast."

Carver narrowed his eyes slightly. "What's wrong with that?"

Luke shrugged. "It can be a disadvantage in certain situations. People with experience will be able to tell that you're ex-military—and that's not something you always want to telegraph. It puts people on guard."

He glanced ahead, then added with a casual tone, "Anyway, I've said my piece. You can either take my advice or ignore it."

Carver looked at him thoughtfully and said, "I appreciate it. I'll consider your advice."

Then Luke looked to Varric. "The expedition is set to leave in two weeks. You got a plan?"

Varric gave a confident smirk. "Don't worry about it, Luke. We can get the scratch together in no time."

He leaned in closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "In the worst case… you and me can go rip off the bandits and other scum that live in Darktown."

Then Hawke said, "Let's just go see what Aveline has for us, shall we?"

And with that, they entered the guardhouse.