Hawthorne

Hawthorne

Biographical information

Birthplace Born Died Age 43 Home Vel Anir Sexuality Pronouns

Physical description

Race Human Sub-Race Gender Male Height 5'10 Mass Hair color Black with grey streaks Eye color Hazel Skin color

Political information

Affiliation(s) Occupation Owner of The Journeyman Inn & Herbalist Clan(s) Caste Domain Masters Apprentices Alias(es)

Out-of-character information

Writer Created on Avatar Dishonored 2 by TheLabArtist

The man is weathered with more than a hint of undisclosed pain that never seems to leave his hazel eyes, even on rare occasions when he smiles. One can't help but notice the deep burns that are years old on his hands and forearms. He is physically unassuming due to the loose, old clothing he wears. Beneath the modest clothes he frequents lies a grizzly musculature that, although not what it once was, is still capable of wielding a maul for hours as he chops wood to feed the old, and worn hearth inside his inn and bar, The Journeyman. Yet if you look close through his dimly lit and hazy inn you'd see a hearth that is warm and calls out for the tired to rest in front of its ember glow. Hawthorne is like his hearth - worn and has years of blemishes. If you sit quietly though you might get lucky and catch a glimpse of a man just as warm and inviting as the hearth he tends.

No one knows much about Hawthorne. Hell, no one even knows if that is his real name. People tend to be fond of his soft spoken and respectful nature but no one really knows more than Hawthorne is willing to share. Everyone, however, knows his giant dog, Oak. Oak is always willing to tell everyone everything. Everyone he meets is a new best friend. When Hawthorne isn't around folks will joke about the pair they make. Oak is giant, tipping the scale at 130 pounds. He is mostly black, with a double coat of fur with streaks of white. It's hard not to notice Oak only has one eye. If Oak could talk he'd tell them why but since he can't and no one is willing to ask Hawthorne it remains a secret, like most things in Hawthorne's life. Folks are known to slip Oak a piece of warm bread or small piece of meat when they think Hawthorne isn't looking. Shit, Hawthorne has been known to steal a piece of warm bread or small piece of meat when he thinks no one is looking. In this hardworking merchant class neighborhood Hawthorne and his Journeyman pub and inn are such a staple that most pretend not to see Oak engage in such mischief.

While almost everyone is fond Oak not everyone is fond of Hawthorne. It has little to do with his appearance or his interpersonal skills. Whoever stumbles into The Journeyman (and most times it is truly stumbling) he can hold his own in conversation. Whether they be a blacksmith, laborer or craftsmen - no problem. A scholar he can do just enough to hold his own. Occasionally when one of the city's bankers or ruling class finds themselves sitting at his bar the conversation might be considered a game to him. No, this is not why some in this neighborhood disliked him... it was because his inn was known to be a place that asked no questions and would just as quickly pour a stiff juniper drink to an Elf or Dwarf as it would to a stateman. He disdains no race at The Journeyman.

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