The mischievous gamer God

Luke casually made his way through Lowtown, heading out to meet his client. In the couple months he'd been here, he'd managed to establish himself as a reliable freelance worker. People hired him for a multitude of things—usually an escort through the wilderness, retrieval of lost objects, taking out some monster in the wilderness, sometimes taking out some random no-name thugs, etc.

Today's client was the city guard, whose name he didn't bother remembering. Good job was to take out some highwaymen that were harassing travelers. Why the city guard didn't just take care of it, Luke had no idea—but as long as he was getting paid, he didn't care.

Thanks to the food from Lady Hestia, he'd managed to make his money last for quite a bit. But more never hurt. He was able to use some of the money to get some decent leather armor and some new clothes. Walking around in a Camp Half-Blood T-shirt and Levi's forever would have been awkward—especially since people kept asking him where he got them.

Lowtown was dirty, busy, and loud—a twisting network of old stone and scrapwood stacked like a maze of slums and markets at the base of Kirkwall. Dim lanterns glowed weakly under archways, flickering through steam from nearby smithies and chimneys. It always smelled faintly of metal, sweat, and desperation.

Luke made it to the guard that hired him. The guard eyed him and said, "Did you manage to take care of that job for me, boy?"

Luke gave a confident smile and said, "Not even really a challenge. They didn't know what they were doing and they moved like amateurs. They're unconscious and tied up outside the gate."

The guard eyed him and said, "You mean you didn't kill them?"

Luke frowned, a little taken aback, and said, "They weren't bad people. They haven't killed or injured anyone so far. They've just done some intimidation and scare tactics. So for now their only crime is thievery. They didn't seem like bad guys—just desperate."

The guard scoffed and tossed Luke a coin pouch and said, "Fine. Take your coin and go."

Luke caught the pouch, opened it, counted the coins, and said with a deepening scowl, "This is less than half of what we agreed on."

The guard crossed his arms and said, "You left them alive and tied up outside the city gate. I gotta go grab them. That's extra work for me. Maybe next time you'll be more considerate."

Luke got angry. His nostrils flared, and he stepped forward and said, "Why, you little—"

Before he could finish, the guard put his hand on his weapon, and two other guards stepped forward from nearby, hands already resting on their pommels.

Luke's jaw clenched. His fingers twitched, reaching toward the bracelet on his wrist, about to draw his sword—but before anything could happen, from off to the side, Luke and the guards heard a voice say:

"Whoa, gentlemen. There's no need for all this. Let's all just take a step back and take a breather."

Luke looked over, brow raised, and saw a roguish-looking dwarf wearing a brown leather duster and a red silk shirt underneath. He had brown leather pants and black leather boots, a gold chain necklace that glinted in the lamplight. His brown hair was tied in a ponytail, and he had a scruffy stubbly beard, the kind that always looked deliberate.

One of the guards said, "I know you. You're a member of the merchants' guild—Varric Tethras."

Varric gave a mock bow and said, "Thank you for that kind introduction, mister."

The leader of the trio narrowed his eyes. "What do you want?"

Varric stepped casually between Luke and the guards, smile easy and charming, and said, "It seems you're having a misunderstanding with my young employee here."

Varric shot Luke a glance that said, Play along. Luke understood immediately and kept quiet.

The guard blinked. "He works for you? It was my understanding he was freelance."

Varric said, "True, he does do some freelance work on the side, but I can assure you he works as my young assistant the majority of the time now. It would seem my young assistant has made a small mistake and misunderstood how much you were going to be paying him for this job. You can understand his anger—but he's young. He'll bounce back."

Varric clasped the guard's hand, slightly sliding him a couple of coins, and patted him on the back, saying, "I'm sure you can find it in you to let it go this time, right?"

The guard stared at Varric through the holes in his helmet for a long second. Then he took the coins and muttered, "Let's go, boys. Nothing more to do here." With that, the guards turned and walked off into the distance.

Varric turned to Luke with a sly smile on his face and tossed a heavy coin purse at him, saying, "You've got a lot to learn, kid."

Luke caught it effortlessly and said with a grin of amazement, "That was an incredible lift. I didn't even see it."

Varric smirked and said, "Why don't you stick with me? You might learn a few things."

Luke looked at him, a little confused, tilting his head. "Wait... seriously?"

Varric nodded, resting a hand on his belt. "I wasn't just making up a story when I talked to that guard. I was actually looking around town to find you. In the few months you've been in Kirkwall, you've made something of a reputation for yourself—a young freelancer that's reliable and gets shit done."

"But your youth is a disadvantage. People look at you and see a kid. So they'll try to take advantage of you, just like that guard did just now."

He grinned again. "Come work for me. You'll have a steady job, good pay, and anyone who tries to rip you off in the future... well, they'll end up in the harbor," he said a little too cheerily.

Luke stowed the coin purse in his satchel with a satisfied nod and said, "So this job… what would I be doing?" His tone was curious but cautious, his eyes narrowing just slightly with interest.

Varric smiled with that trademark smug ease and said, "You'll mostly be sticking with me as I do my business—learning the trade and acting as my bodyguard. And as I said before, you'll be my assistant. You'll run errands for me here and there." He leaned in, voice dropping slightly, just enough to sound conspiratorial. "And I won't lie to you. Sometimes you may have to work outside the law—if you know what I mean. And I may even have to ask you to kill some folks every now and then. Think you can handle that?"

Luke raised a brow but didn't flinch. His voice was firm, steady. "Shouldn't be a problem," he said, his posture relaxed, but his tone edged with principle. "But I don't kill folks that don't deserve it." He met Varric's eyes with quiet intensity.

Varric's smirk turned approving. "That's fine. I don't either." He nodded, pleased. "So I take it that means you'll take the job?"

Luke nodded again, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I doubt you need a bodyguard. From the way you carry yourself, I'm pretty sure you'd be fine in a fight." He said it with a half-joking tone, but with a note of genuine respect.

Varric chuckled, his chest shaking slightly. "That's true. But an extra blade between me and the other guy doesn't hurt."

Luke laughed and said, "That's true, I guess. Yeah—I'll take the job." His expression softened a bit as he added, "Having steady work sounds better than being freelance."

Varric clapped a firm hand on his shoulder. "Great. Always happy to have new talent. Let's go celebrate." His grin widened. "I know a good bar."

Luke blinked, hesitated a second, and said, "I'm seventeen." He raised his hands slightly, as if to preempt whatever this dwarf was about to say.

Varric replied without missing a beat, "I'm not seeing the issue." He spread his arms wide, incredulous.

Luke replied with a faint grimace, "The drinking age where I'm from is twenty-one." He crossed his arms, the corner of his mouth twitching in annoyance.

Varric looked genuinely shocked and horrified and said, "Now that's just cruel. Drinking age around here is fifteen. Where the hell are you from that they make you wait an extra six years?" He looked like he'd just heard someone suggest banning ale entirely.

Luke said with a quiet shrug, "Very far away." His voice dipped, almost wistful. "But I've put it all behind me, and I'd like to focus on moving forward."

Varric's expression softened a little, the smirk giving way to something more genuine. "I won't pry," he said gently. "You'll tell me if you feel like it. For now, let's go get you your first drink," Varric said with enthusiasm, his grin returning as he gave Luke a hearty pat on the back.

They entered The Hanged Man, a rickety tavern that practically oozed atmosphere—its warped wooden floorboards creaked with every step, the air filled with smoke, spilled ale, and laughter that could quickly turn to shouting. The bar was half-lit, crowded with mercs, drunks, gamblers, and folks who'd clearly been awake far too long. To Varric, it was home.

They sat down at the bar.

Varric said, "Corff, think two mugs of my usual." He tossed a couple of coppers onto the bar with practiced ease.

The bartender nodded, poured a couple of drinks, and slid them over to Varric.

Varric passed one to Luke with a raised brow and said, "A toast—to your first drink and our first day working together."

Luke shrugged his shoulders, tapped his mug against Varric's, and took a drink. The moment the bitter liquid hit his tongue, he immediately coughed and said, "That tastes awful." He winced and nearly gagged, pulling the mug away like it had betrayed him.

Varric laughed his ass off and said, "Takes some getting used to. Eventually, you won't even notice the taste anymore." He took a hearty swig from his own mug, looking like he was born doing it. "Anyway—tell me a bit about yourself, kid. I only know the little bit of reputation you've built for yourself, but I don't know much else about you."

Luke said, "Well, first off—I came to town hoping to build a better life for myself." His voice was quiet but steady, eyes briefly drifting down to the mug in his hands.

Varric said, "Most people do—and most end up getting their dreams crushed in the first month." He leaned back, looking Luke over with something between amusement and approval. "But you seem to be doing pretty good. You just need a little guidance. But let me go ahead and say—before it comes up later—I know that you're an apostate."

Luke looked a little nervous when Varric brought that topic up, his fingers tightening on the mug slightly and his jaw tensing.

Then Varric said, "Don't freak out. You've hid it pretty well. My sources are just better than most other people's—especially the Templars. And my sources are discreet." His voice was calm and reassuring. "I just wanted to make sure we got this out in the open so that it doesn't cause any issues later. I also need you to know that I have no problem with mages."

Luke relaxed and finished his drink, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

Varric said, "Alright, get some rest. You start your job bright and early tomorrow." He pointed a finger at him in mock seriousness.

Luke said, "You got it, boss." He gave a cheeky salute.

Varric groaned and said, "Don't call me boss. That makes me feel old. Stick with Varric." He rubbed his temples dramatically.

Luke got up and smirked, said, "But Varric… you are old." Then he dashed towards the exit, grinning like a fox.

Varric said, "You're fast, kid—but not fast enough." He said this while taking aim with his mug.

Then he threw it—just as Luke reached the exit, the mug flew past Luke, who turned back and said, "Missed."

Only for the mug to bounce off the doorframe and slam into the back of Luke's head with a dull thunk.

Luke rubbed the back of his head in pain and chuckled, said, "Damn. I deserved that." Then he left the bar, still laughing quietly to himself.

Varric grabbed another drink, lifted it to his lips, and said, "He's a good kid. I look forward to having him around." He swirled the mug thoughtfully. "He should be better company than Bartrand."