And no one can sleep.

When you grow up a thief, in Kirkwall, there's a great chance that you'll be noticed by the Coterie. He thieved because he had to, sickly mother, absent father, siblings to feed. And as he grew up, life didn't get better for him. Eventually he picked the wrong pocket. He didn't go home after that. And he had no idea if his mother missed him, if she noticed. Taken in by the Coterie, indebted and indentured, and though he'll never admit it, enslaved.

It was the first time he felt like he had a family, though. They taught him their ways, to better his skills. And eventually, he rose in their ranks, earned their respect. And as he earned respect, the family became more family, less prison. He rarely thought of his mother; though the woman would find a small pouch of gold on her stoop every month. She never looked for him, and he has the connections to know that she never searched. Some of his siblings sought him, but he would rather not be found.

It was not their fault that their mother was thankful for one less mouth to feed. But he resented them, still, even though he's aware his life was probably much better than theirs. Bastards born from the men who stopped in, no fathers, a mark of stain upon their very existence. He was able to strip that away. Become someone else.

Whatever name his mother had called him, he refuses to recall it. The first chance he had, he named himself. Nairn. A name separate of his past, though short it may be.

We were gone in a blink—

Often injured, usually not during jobs but doing stupid shit in practice, Nairn was no stranger among the Coterie healers. But when the Qunari attacked Kirkwall... the injuries were vast; and it seemed to never-end. Nairn watched brother and sister go down, fought to protect the ones he called family—and experienced a lot of loss during this time. It was like he wasn't strong enough to save them; to protect them.

And when everything exploded, his injuries were severe; shrapnel pierced his heart—

Nairn was found under some rubble, unconscious and near death. He doesn't really know what happened next, but he woke up in a reclaimed thaig, attached to machines and surrounded by a small group of dwarves. He learned over the next few days, that his heart had been ruined beyond repair. But between an enchanter and a handful of inventors, they'd found a way to craft something new using dwarven technology.

This is where Nairn spent the next few years, recovering, learning to maintain his new 'heart'.

We are haunted by life outside of ours—

By the time Nairn was well again, and knew how to take care of the metal contraption that rested where his heart had, almost three years had passed. He resurfaced in Kirkwall, a world different than the one he had known. The Coterie was in shambles, and under his guidance, it reformed to a mere fraction of what it had once been. Nairn did not leave the shadows; though he was in charge, he had someone else to be the face of the organization for him.

He couldn't show back up after years missing; especially not when he was shown the letters that a certain elf wrote over the years.

He walks in the shadows...

Enough time has passed, and the Coterie is once again a major player in Kirkwall. He's in the shadows, biding his time, trying to convince himself that he should show himself. But the shadows have become a comforting blanket, protecting him from the questions, the answers, the tears and the upset that are sure to come... A lot about him has changed, and there's some part of him that frets that he will not be recognized, remembered, or considered.