Big Swords and Pointy Ears

[Surain]

It was big. Very big.


The wide-eyed Dalish elf had never seen a building that was so tall. Alistair, the grey warden pseudo-templar who had been tasked with delivering Surain to Ostagar to be inducted, noticed his look and couldn't help but comment. "What? Never seen a tower before?" joked the blonde imbecile, much to Surain's utter annoyance.


It annoyed him enough, in fact, to snap him out of his trance-like stare. "No," he shot back, voice laden with irritation, "I'm just imagining throwing you off of it." The pair of them had been at odds since they met, what with Surain having a disdain for humans in general, and Alistair's templar abilities. Who would have guessed that a Dalish mage and a human templar wouldn't get along?


In any case, The tower of Ishal was impressive, he had to admit. How could people have made something so large? Something so grand and tall, reaching up and tearing into the sky? It just didn't make sense... he rarely saw trees that tall.


It was probably magic, he thought glancing away from the looming sight and walking forward. Hopefully he would have a chance to climb it later, but right now, he wanted a hot meal and better company more than he wanted to sight-see.


"You know, it really hurts my feelings when you say things like that." Alistair retorted, giving Surain a mock pout as they continued their way towards the bridge. Surain contained a snort and kept his eyes forward. "Evidently not enough, or you would've stopped talking by now." That would be a blessing the elf thought, glancing around the area infront of him.


The best adjective that came to mind was 'brown'. It wasn't just the colour—dirt and dust covered most of the ground as it was. No, it was the feeling. The smell of filth and sweat, wafting over from the army camp across the bridge, coupled with air that felt more weighted the closer they got to their destination, like some outside force was pushing down around them, led to the sensation of 'brown' which was impossible to describe. Even the magnificent architecture of the bridge couldn't fully distract Surain from the feeling, as he scrunched his nose in reaction.


"..."


Silence. How odd. Perhaps Blondie McShemlen finally got the message, and-


"Eyes up, there's the king. Try to be nice."


Dammit. Wait, what? Surain glanced around rapidly, eyes wide, before he settled his gaze on another blonde human who was approaching from the bridge. Gold armor? How... obnoxious. Surain had a feeling that interactions with this Shemlen would go as well as any other.


"Ah, Alistair! Is that the new recruit for the wardens?" asked the presumable king, looking directly at the elf. Surain carefully arched an eyebrow in response, before glancing at his companion. "Er, yes, your majesty. He's an elf-" No, really? I haven't noticed "-we recruited from the Dalish. He's still adjusting to life outside of his clan." 'Still adjusting'? What is that supposed to mean? Surain thought irritably, a scowl etching itself lightly on his features, much to the king's amusement.


"He doesn't seem to think so," replied the king, before addressing the elf directly. "Ho, elf, might I have your name?" No. No you may not. "Yes, I suppose you might." he replied, as if that ended the topic. The dull smack of Alistair facepalming next to him was satisfying beyond words' ability to express.


The king just laughed. "I see what you meant, Alistair." pausing, he turned to listen to an apparent advisor who was whispering evidently important information. Surain couldn't have cared less. "I see... well, it was good seeing you both, but I have duties to attend to. Keep an eye on him, eh Alistair?" The king waved and Alistair said some sort of goodbye—Surain was too busy not paying attention to hear what else was said—and they eventually began to make their way across the bridge.


"You just sassed the king of Ferelden!" exclaimed the blonde buffoon in shock. Surain sighed, and walked faster. "Yes. Astute observation. Very impressive." The other side was getting closer. Just a little more.


"The King. Of Ferelden!" Alistair repeated, gesturing widely with his hands. Must... not... snap at him. Must... escape.


"I am aware, templar. Perhaps you are the one who is still, 'adjusting', judging by your inability to understand something so simple!" Well, I tried. "In your clan, is it common for people to be raised so stupidly? Hmm?" Okay, so I may have been offended. Stupid Shemlen.


"What- Is that what that was about? You insulted the king of Ferelden—and I wasn't raised in a 'clan'!" Alistair retorted, throwing his hands up in the air dramatically. Surain glared at him. "Obviously not: we elves have a standard!" He insulted, eyes vivid. By this point, they had attracted a small audience, who were glancing at them curiously.


They stared at each other for several seconds before Alistair finally sighed. "You know what—fine. Okay. Meet me and Duncan at his tent—ask around for directions, I don't care—at dusk. Go... talk, pray, or do whatever you Dalish like to do in the meantime." his voice carried his exasperation well, which surprised the elf; it was a drastic change from the stupid cheerfulness he was used to. Even as he simmered, he realised that he had found Alistair's breaking point... and all it took was sassing a monarch! The more you know.


"Fine." he replied, turning on his heel and heading off into camp. Where was he going? Away from Alistair. Maybe he could visit the mages over to the side—no, wait, there were templars there. Maybe the other recruits? Possibly an elf? To be entirely honest, he didn't care; as long as he didn't have to deal with an a human like Alistair until at least dusk.


Alistair just shrugged in defeat, and headed off in another direction, leaving Surain to do whatever he wanted.


Surain paused near the blacksmiths, taking calming breaths and looking around the rest of the camp. He must've looked intimating, or at least wise to avoid, his face set in a glare, his hand twitching, moments away from reaching for his staff. He's like to think so, anyway. One... Two... Three... four... he thought, Breath in... Ugh, that smell... Breath out... He needed to calm down, and quickly, or else he might just attack someone in a rage.

 

[Luxii]

Skylar Cousland

​

The last few days had been trying to say the least. Skylar had lost her home, her father, and her mother. The house of Cousland had stood long, heritage tracing back to the war in Orlias, where her grandfather at fought and held his ground against the Orlesian soldiers who sought to claim the land as their own. The Couslands had stewarded for many generations, long before Fereldan's first king was crowned. They had always ruled with compassion and fairness, earning the love and affection of those that they lorded over.


Skylar's older brother, Fergus, and father, Bryce, had been called upon by King Calian to take up arms against invading dark spawn at Ostigar. There had been a union of forces between the Couslands and arl of Amaranthine, Rendon Howe, and they planned to combine troops and march to Ostigar together. But the arl had spun a web of lies, claiming that his troops were still a day's march away up his arrival. Bryce had commanded Fergus to leave as scheduled with the bulk of Cousland's own troops, with the intentions of leaving with Howe's forces the day after.


But that night Howe showed his true colors, surprising those who remained at the castle by storming the gates with the full force of his army, who had lain in wait for the cover of darkness. A Grey Warden named Duncan, who had been at the castle looking for recruits, helped the Couslands as much as he could, but Bryce was struck down, wounds fatal. Skylar tried to urge her mother to escape with her, but she would not leave her husband's side. At Duncan's insistence and as her dather's dying wish, Skylar had escaped the castle and pledged to join the Wardens.


Her joining ceremony had only been the evening previous, and she was still recovering from it. Under things she never wanted to experience again, the Joining was definitely up there. For now, she was still lounging about on a bench in the center courtyard - her Marabari hound stretched out at her feet, not having the strength to train or really do much of anything for the time being.


Duncan approached, the sun glinting off his armor made Skylar squint her veridian eyes to be able to see him properly. "How are you doing?"


The young warrior had to crane her neck way back in order to focus on him. "I've been better," she said truthfully, but a small smile played on her lips. "If you told everyone about that bloody ceremony your numbers would be much smaller, ya?"


Duncan chuckled, but any further conversation was cut short as another Grey Warden stormed over to them. His name was Alistar, a former Templar so Skylar had heard, and he did not look happy.


"Maker, help me," the blonde Warden groaned, taking a seat next to Skylar on the bench. "Duncan, that is the last time I go to the Dales for you."


"Was your lastest charge a little much to handle?"





Alistar made a noise in the back of his throat. Something akin to a strangled groan and a sigh. "If he wasn't already cursed with the taint, I might left him there."


Skylar giggled, it was a melodic, infectious sound. "Oh come off of it," she teased. "He can't be that bad."


"Hi is!" Alistar insisted. "The whole way to Ostigar he did nothing but insult and belittle me. And then, once we got here, the king was on his way out and that elven apostate sassed him. Sassed the king of Fereldan!" Skylar thought the ex-Templar was about to faint from how worked up he seemed.


"Calm your self, Alistar," Duncan murmured in a soothing tone. "It's an adjustment period for one of the Dalish to be uprooted like this. I'm sure he will settle in soon."


Alistar grunted to show much he believed in that statement. "Just look," he gestured with his left hand across the courtyard, where the apostate in question paced in front of the blacksmith. "I wouldn't be surprised if he called down a storm of hellfire upon us."


Skylar rose to her feet and stretched her arms over her head. "For the Maker's sake, I'll go talk to him," she said.


"Good luck," Alistar replied, bitterly. "Perhaps you'll have more luck than I."


Crossing the courtyard only took a handful of paces, but the elf's back was to Skylar so he did not see her approach. She signaled for her hound - who had dutifully followed her over - to lay down and stay.


Gently she tapped him on the shoulder and he jumped. "Sorry!" Skylar exclaimed. "I'm Skylar, Skylar Cousland. Just wanted to see if you needed anything? Alistar tells me you've just arrived."


The warrior barely reached to the mage's shoulders, but she was used to peering up at everyone when she talked. Her petite frame was usually the first thing people commented about, the second was her fiery hair. But what she lacked in height she made up for in personality, at least that's what her father had always said. She charmed everyone around her, like moths to a flame. Her lineage of diplomacy and grace had melted even some of the hardest hearts, so surely she would be able to temper this new recruit. He just didn't know it yet.


He glared at her, the darkness of his eyes matched the storminess of his countenance. He had raked his fingers through his hair in his fit, it would seem, for it stuck up in all directions. The very tips of his pointed ears peeked from beneath the brunette strands, and Skylar reach out for them without thinking. In her defense, she had never seen an elf in person before. And she found him enchanting even though his face twisted into an unattractive scowl.

 

[Surain]

Utter idiot. Buffoon. Shame of his mother's loins. Incompetent, asinine shemlen imbecile. Surain thought lightly. Mentally insulting people calmed his down, so he has found out, and after thirty more seconds of creative insults and 'unique' words, he felt calm enough to not kill the nearest living thing.


That almost changed when someone snuck up behind him, making him jump and almost set something on fire. "Fenedhis!" he swore, twisting around to face whoever scared him. It took him several blinks before he looked down to see the apologizing human.


"I'm Skylar, Skylar Cousland. Just wanted to see if you needed anything? Alistair-" Surain's eye twitched, "tells me you just arrived."


The apostate narrowed his eyes at the short girl, expecting something to happen. What, was he actually supposed to believe that the templar sent someone to ask after him? Sure, and the chantry apologized for what was done to my people. And it's started to rain naked—


"What in the fade are you doing!?" He asked, losing his train of thought as he dodged the woman's hands. Was she trying to fondle his ears? What, since he's an elf, is his permission not needed? Did this human think she could just walk up to him and touch all she wants? Well, humans aren't known for respecting boundaries, he thought, crossing his arms and glaring at the girl. "I—you—me..." He paused, raising a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose and trying to gather his thoughts. "I don't need anything from you, shemlen! Go molest someone else!" he almost shouted, glaring at her with all of the intensity he could muster. If looks could kill...


Surain turned away from her, looking around camp for somewhere to go. He needed to calm down. If one touchy human was going to get him down, then he wouldn't last long. He was better than this. He was better than them. Letting them get to him was letting them win. He needed to be strong. Like what he and Nat said as children, 'Strong as bears, smart as Crows, we—'


No. Think about something else.


The happiness from those memories would only be there if he didn't think about them to much. It was too soon... he couldn't let the sadness taint his memories. Nat was... brave. Foolhardy, maybe, but brave. And kind. And beautiful. His best friend since... ever? How cliche that must've sounded, but she just had to touch the mirror. Why didn't she listen? He tried to make her stop, listen... maybe not hard enough—Maybe not fast enough—





Something else.





Right. Don't think about it. Distraction. Suddenly feeling less angry... more melancholy... he thought, glancing back at the smiling, if slightly confused, face of the woman. Had he just been... lost in thought? Standing around silently for who knows how long? That's embarrassing, even if he didn't care what the stupid shemlen thought. The woman probably had said something to him, and he probably had replied with a (hopefully) blank stare. These have been happening ever since... well, they seemed to be happening less now, anyway, which is good. Dwelling on it would only make it worse...Distraction is what he needed, even if he had to ask a shem for it. Especially if he had to ask a shem for it.


His past self couldn't have born the thought, but desperation is an excellent motivator.


"Right, yes. I changed my mind... do you know where I can get something to eat?" The drastic change of tone was obvious, the previous rage had been replaced with a dull hesitation, as if all of his willingness to fight had vanished. Surain dully noted how strange it must've seemed, but he didn't care; all he knew was that he was still hungry from when he had arrived, and needed something to do that didn't involve screaming or murder to serve as a distraction. Asking a shem was the lesser of two evils, he told himself.

 

[Luxii]

He was a strange one, this apostate elf. And so jumpy too, she thought as she drew her hands back from his head. She had meant no harm of course, and stupidly hadn't realized he might take offense at her action. He sputtered and stuttered until he collected himself enough to scream at her so loud that most of the courtyard overheard and turned to look in their direction. Tank - her Marabari hound - growled low in the back of his throat, hackles raised, but with an upraised palm and a click of her tongue, Skylar told him everything was alright and not to worry.


In fact, inciting such a reaction from the elf was quite entertaining. Skylar had to place a hand over her mouth to hide her smile, lest he take offense to that as well. If so, she was afraid his head might pop off. The veins at the corners of his right eye were already pulsing. It was then that Skylar took note of a strange pattern that snaked across the underneath of his eye. Was it a scar? She dared not stare to closely, tempermental apostate and all. He'd most likely rain down bolts of lightning on her if she wasn't careful.


She let him collect himself as he spun away from her. After all, she had nothing better to do for the rest of the day except this. Duncan and Alistar were still standing across the courtyard, and Skylar could see their raised eyebrows and questioning stares. She returned their gazes and shrugged her shoulders as if to say "your guess is as good as mine".


And then, the elf's gaze was back upon her, but now he looked-- sad. "Right, yes. I changed my mind... do you know where I can get something to eat?" Skylar blinked. That calm of a response was not what she expected at all, but she would certainly take full advantage of his sudden amicability. It was second nature for her to step forward and link their arms together at the elbow, leading him off to mess hall where they fed the recruits - Tank followed dutifully behind. At home, she had always walked arm in arm with her brother, her mother, her friends, so while some might misconstrue the action as overly affectionate - it was simply how Skylar was.


"Right over here," she quipped. She had to practically take two steps for each of the elf's. By the Maker, he had some long legs! The walk would take them a few minutes for their destination lay on the opposite side of the courtyard, behind the recruits' camp. The red-head figured she would make some other attempt at conversation to fill the silence. "Did you have to travel far to get here? I've only heard stories of the Dales, but must confess I have no idea how long of a journey it would take to get there."

 

[Surain]

Humans are going to be the death of me, he thought as he was led off in a seemingly random direction by the elbow. Now, it took all of his self-restraint and a bit of fear (That Mabari was eyeing him up—Surain was generally good with animals, but this was not a chance he was willing to take) to stop him from pushing her away and running as far away as possible as soon as she touched him again, but he managed it. Barely. This eccentric human didn’t seem to notice, thankfully, and even as he quickened his pace to match hers, he felt himself relax the slightest more—his ears, which were still pink from earlier, finally started to lose their colour.


"Did you have to travel far to get here? I've only heard stories of the Dales, but must confess I have no idea how long of a journey it would take to get there." Hold on. Had he heard her correctly? Surain couldn't resist giving her a passing look of incredulity. Really? I... don't think she's being rude... So much as ignorant, anyway he thought, looking forward and thinking for a moment before replying. "It took about a week or so to travel from my clan to here, but I think the templar," he paused, glancing around and spotting him some ways off, staring agape at the sight of them. Surain raised an eyebrow before looking ahead again. "was trying to get us here quickly. We didn't have much time to rest on the way." He finished, scrunching his nose. That last tent smelled particularly bad.


"As for the Dales, I wouldn't know; my people haven't been there in the last few centuries or so. I'm fairly certain they're—the dales—are in... what's it called? 'Or-ay'? 'Oh-lay'? Something along those lines." he shrugged, feigning indifference. Of course he cared; this was basic Dalish history—taught to children at a young age. The elves were cruelly and unjustly driven of the Dales out by the chantry in something called, 'the exalted march'. From what he'd gleaned from Alistair, in the conversations that they didn't bait each other, the chantry seemed to teach that is was the elves fault, and how the elves deserved what happened because they didn't believe in some 'maker'. He would assume, for her sake, that she was ignorant and not trying to bait him. Malice or ignorance... in humans, it seems both are common.


Surain decided to change the subject before he got worked up. From what he'd seen, the mess was a few minutes of walking away, and she didn't seem to be in any hurry(even as she took almost two steps to his one—amusing and kind of pathetic at the same time) to arrive at their destination. "So," He began, trying to think of something interesting to say. "Have you met the other grey wardens—correct me if I'm misjudging, but I'm assuming since Blondie McTemplar sent you, you're one..?" he trailed off, letting her make of that what she would. She did seem like formidable warrior; Mythal, her grip almost broke his arm at the elbow at first. For a human, she seemed competent in what she does. Perhaps not much else, but hey, she was a shemlen. And a woman, but not that that mattered.


Surain, throughout their walk, kept glancing around. It wasn't a skittish action like before, but more so done in a curious, slightly cautious way. He saw a few elves dart by, which was exciting! But they were all servants, it seems, which is significantly less so. He wondered how the city elves would react to him, a Dalish, in the camp? Would they be in awe of him, a pureblood? Or would they hate him for it? He's heard—from a city elf who had joined his clan right before he left, and whose name escaped him—that the city elves thought that the Dalish were savages! Bandits, or murders, preying on innocents on the road. No doubt some shemlen lie, but he wondered if the city elves working here really believed it. He made a note to check, later... it would either be heartening to talk to another elf, or amusing to see them run in terror. Even as he walked, he couldn't help the faint grin that forced it's way onto his face at the thought.

 

[Luxii]

Oh Maker, there she went again, putting her foot in her mouth. So much for the famous Cousland diplomacy and tact. She really should have paid more attention to Ser Joren's history classes when she'd had a chance. At the time, daydreaming about fighting stances and footwork had certainly been more interesting to the young warrior, but now she regretted that foolish decision. The elf must think her a dunce, not that she had given him cause to believe otherwise. Thankfully after correcting her, her new companion seemed eager to change the subject.





"So," he muttered - his voice was like chocolate poured over gravel. "Have you met the other Grey Wardens - Correct me if I'm misjudging, but since Blondie McTemplar sent you, you're one?"


Blondie McTemplar? Skylar snorted in amusement. It was not a very lady-like sound, but she could not help it. This elf was growing on her quickly. "Very astute of you," she teased. "Most of us here are either recruits or full-fledged Wardens, so yes, I am a Warden now I suppose."


They passed by the infirmary, where shortly after there hung suspended a set of cages with a lone guard standing by. Only one of the cages was occupied by a dirty human man. His lips were cracked and chapped. "Milady, messere," he voice croaked out, hand reaching for the pair as they passed by. "Do you have any food or water to spare?"


Skylar halted in her tracks, looking first at the prisoner, then at the guard. "Isn't it cruel to deprive a man of meal and drink?" Her question was directed at the guard.


The man shrugged, the metal of his armor clanked together. "He's a deserter, milady. No use in wasting precious resources on the likes of him."


The red-head shot the unfortunate guard as nasty a glare as she could muster. "Well then he shall have my share," she snapped. Turning her attentions to the prisoner, she continued. "We will return - and I'll see you have food and drink before sundown."


The prisoner smiled, the action caused his lips to bleed. "Thank you, milady. You are most kind."


Now that Skylar had been set to purpose, with a tug on the elf's elbow they continued on. The mess hall was just the next tent down, the smell of cooked food made Skylar's mouth water.

 

[Surain]

If Surain heard her snort, he didn't say anything; the situation in front of him was far more interesting.


"Hmm... Have you... seen any elf wardens? The Templar—Alistair—said that they were uncommon, but not impossible to find." Come to think of it, he said the same about female wardens. If only I were a woman—two standards out the aravel at once he thought idly, eyeing up the prisoner they were approaching. His eyes were red with dehydration, and he covered in mud. Surain could hope it was mud, in any case.


Now, the conversation between Skylar and the deserter was short, but informative. Even as he regarded the man with a suspicious look and an arched eyebrow, she had asked the guard about the man's treatment. Then, the most surprising thing, she promised her own portion for him. Her own portion. For a deserter? She probably didn't know the man... else, he would have used her name. Why? Why would she give something like that to a stranger, especially one who was being punished for his actions? She's, she's... a shemlen! That... they don't do that! Surely she must know the man... or, perhaps, was trying to seem kind and selfless, maybe for Surain. To get him to trust her. Yes, that's it. It has to be. No shem would be willing to do anything for another person without having something to gain.


As they left, Skylar tugging at his arm to make him move again, Surain gave her a look a confusion. She seemed determined more than ever to get to the mess, stout legs working furiously—again, to his amusement. It was almost cute—and faster than ever, even though she was giving her meal to someone else. He couldn't help himself; he had to ask. "You're willing to give your meal to a deserter?" It was a simple question. Innocent. Well-intentioned.


Hardly, but at least it sounded that way. He couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice, though, no mattered how hard he had tried.


They had arrived at the mess now, the smells of meat stew mixing in and almost overwhelming the stench of excrement and sweat. The combination almost made him vomit, but he kept it in. I... will never complain... about being in a forest... ever again.


It seemed that they were serving some dry bread with the stew. He went up to the server, who glared at him for a few seconds before sloppily pouring some of the—supposedly edible—liquid into his outstretched bowl from a massive pot over a fire. Skylar soon followed, and they both grabbed their loaves of bread quickly before walking clear of server. The apostate stood there waiting, looking at Skylar expectantly. Maybe she had tricked the man, and here is where she tells me this. She's really going to sit down, and eat her meal normally... his cynicism has never steered him wrong before.

 

[Luxii]

"Of course," Skylar replied to the elf's question. "Does being accused of desertion make him any less entitled to being supplied food and drink?" He father would have never treated even a slave in the manner in which that prisoner was - hung out in display in a cage like a dog. The warrior had found that Wardens seemed to be in the business of punish first, ask questions later. She held her reservations that the man was even guilty of deserting; the least she could do was provide him some creature comfort. It was odd that the elf seemed so surprised at her intentions. "You would like someone to treat you with such kindness, if you and he had switched places, no?"


They arrived at the mess hall quickly. Skylar untangled herself from the elf's arm to allow her to balance the bowl of steaming soup and bread along with the tankard of water. She tucked the loaf under her left arm, each hand occupied with the soup and water. "I'll be back," she said. "Just find a seat somewhere and I'll come find you! And Tank.... stay." Her fiery hair flung over her shoulder as she spun on her heels, soup sloshing dangerously almost to the edge of the bowl as she walked away, leaving the elf and her hound to find a seat for themselves.


The prisoner took the offered bowl and tankard with shaky hands. "Thank you, milady. You're too kind." He finished off the soup in three huge gulps, and then took the loaf of bread Skylar extended to him. "Here," he said, holding out a closed hand through the bars and dropped a small key into the warrior's waiting palm. "I knicked it from another recruit - a mage. He was so drunk he probably still hasn't noticed it missin'." He spoke between mouthfuls of the bread. "But it's of more use to you than I at the moment - a small payment for you kindness - though I've no bloody idea what it goes to. I'd check the Magi encampment if I was you."


Skylar pocketed the key with a smile. "Maker be with you," she said in parting and she turned back to the mess hall. The elf and her hound were not hard to spot. Everyone had given them a wide berth, as if they had the plague. She took a seat across from her new companion, a small smirk on her lips. "In answer to your earlier question," she said, as if nothing else had happened, "I've not seen many elves here. You are the first I've ever seen this close, to be honest. But I haven't spent much time here so you might find some of your kinsman here yet. Duncan might be a good person to ask after such a thing."

 

[Surain]

Surain listened intently to her response, which only served to perplex him further. She seems to... actually believe it? She's lying. Or I'm missing something he thought, nodding with what she said. Was his distrust unwarranted? Hardly. Short of Andraste, what shem has ever done good for his people? Wait... his people. Of course; it's because the prisoner is human. The whole, 'Put yourself in his position' argument is pointless, as, since Surain was an elf, he would not only have gone hungry, but would have been punished in another way. Not to mention, expecting help from strangers is not only stupid, but also dangerous. No, Skylar is delusional. She has to be; she was human with demented human morals.


Surain nodded to her as she said goodbye—and left her mabari with him. "Don't get lost." he called after her, in a tone of voice which was just the slightest bit teasing. She soon left, swaggering confidently in the direction they had come from. You know, for a shem, she... is that growling? he blinked, and glanced down at 'Tank' as his name seemed to be. "What?" he asked the Mabari, "I wasn't staring. She's a shemlen, anyway." The Mabari's growl grew deeper, causing Surain to sigh. "Fine, human. Can we find a table, at least? People are beginning to stare." he asked the mabari, who just rolled his eyes and marched off to the nearest empty spot. Surain rolled his eyes in return and followed, holding his food carefully as he pursued the hound.


Several minutes passed as they were sat at the table waiting for Skylar. Surain finished off the last of his bread and washed it down with water, his stew remaining untouched. He had never liked to eat meat, but he would if he was hungry enough—however, the stew looked less than appetizing, and he could always scavenge more bread or go gather something if he was desperate. Perhaps cook something for himself. Either way, he was not eating that stew; his hunger was sated, anyway. A glance to the right and a sigh revealed Tank, looking at him expectantly. "What? I don't want it." he told the dog, whom he knew was more than smart enough to understand what he was saying. As the dog tilted his head, he couldn't help but sigh again. "I understand that this may be difficult for you to understand, but just because I can eat something, doesn't mean I should."


That comment earned him a light headbutt to the leg, to which he patted the dog lightly. He stopped as Tank growled. "Alright, alright... What do you want from me?" he asked, which earned him a condescending look from a dog. A dog. "What? I barely understand humans, let alone Mabaris." he added, glancing around. He had earned quite a few curious stares in his conversation, all of which he returned with a challenging glare, which was met with either laughter or shrugs. Tank's soft whine got his attention again, causing him to glance at the dog, and subsequently notice that Skylar was approaching. Then it dawned on him. Dog... imprinted... want's the best for it's master. Skylar, who does not have food. I have food I'm not using. Clever dog.


Skylar had sat down spoken, leading him to reply. "Hello, Warden. I'll be sure to ask him when I see him." First elf seen this close? Hmm he paused, hesitating. Was he really going to do this for a shemlen, just because a dog wan—Stupid Mabari, fine, I will he thought as he was headbutted once more. "...And, er, do you want my stew? You're probably hungry, and I don't eat meat often, myself." he asked casually, trying not to seem awkward, to give the air that he was offering it because it was convenient. It was obviously uncomfortable for him, especially since she was human, but did he have a choice? Well, yes, but this was the most efficient one...and the one which involved a placated mabari. He pushed his bowl forward for good measure, deciding to change the subject before she smiled at him or did something equally... affectionate. "And I've been thinking of what you've said earlier... Well, this is an army, correct? It's not a tool of mercy—it's a tool of war. It may sound cruel, but if he was deserting, then why should he be fed and watered?" he asked, tone challenging. "An army can't afford charity. Maybe your chantry can, but soldiers can't." He finished. He hadn't intended to be rude. Not really, anyway.


I wonder if she'll be offended anyway. It would be interesting to see he thought briefly, before his eyes picked up two figures in the distance, approaching slowly. It was just his luck; the templar and the other warden, Duncan, seemed to be heading for lunch. Wonderful. I wonder how this will turn out.

 

[Luxii]

It was the first act of anything remotely resembling kindness the elf had shown since his arrival. Skylar arched a slender eyebrow but accepted the warm bowl of soup with a smile. "Thanks!" She set to the task of eating, her hungry belly grumbling under the table. Picking a few choice morsels of meat out of the broth, she tossed them to Tank. He snatched them out of the air with a deadly accuracy, tongue lolling out of his mouth happily after consuming the treats.


The elf challenged her opinion and actions on what had happened with the prisoner and Skylar blinked up at him curiously. "If there is no value found in even the smallest life, no matter actions or deeds - then what are we even fighting for?" She lifted to bowl to her lips and drank the last of the broth. "The day I stop caring about others is the day I put down my sword." The words came out a bit more dramatic than intended. Skylar blamed her late father for that. He had a way with words that he could embelish just enough to inspire, even if it aired on the emotional side.


The appearance of Duncan and Alistar discontinued the conversation, probably much to the elf's relief. The two Wardens also held food and drink, and took up seats next to the warrior and the mage. Alistar did not seem pleased with Duncan's choice of seat next to Skylar, which forced the ex-Templar to take his seat next to the elven apostate.


"I'm glad we found you," Duncan's soothing voice broke the awkward silence. "I hope you both are up to the task I have."


Skylar looked expectantly at the dark-haired Warden. The meal had roused her spirits and energy somewhat, so she was definitely up for something to keep her mind off of home.


"We are low on supplies for the next Joining ritual. I'm sending Alistar out into the Wilds with a small group to retrieve a few vials of darkspawn blood. There is also a Grey Warden's cache somewhere in the north-east. I would see its contents returned to us if at all possible."


"When do we leave?" Skylar wanted to know.


Duncan smiled, amused at the young warrior's eagerness. "I would have the Joining happen after dark this evening, so as soon as you are able. Alistar will accompany you until your mission is complete." He shot a glance at the elf. "I trust you all will play well together, hm?"

 

[Surain]

She smiled. Ugh. Surain would need to cleanse himself later.


Even as he frowned at her response, raising an eyebrow at the dramatic amounts of pathos her argument had, he kept silent; first, because she was still his guide, and even if he didn't want to admit it, she made traveling around camp much faster. Second, because Alistair and another man were rapidly approaching the table, and he didn't need to make another bad impression by causing an argument. To he other man, of course—Alistair could shove it for all he cared. Even if these people meant nothing to him, it would be best to not seem problematic. At least until I'm cured he thought, then, I can leave and go back to my clan. Or somewhere else.


"I'm glad we found you," Duncan's soothing voice broke the awkward silence. "I hope you both are up to the task I have."





Interesting. A test for the recruits, perhaps? But, no, that didn't make sense, else he wouldn't have mentioned Skylar. Surain settled for raising an eyebrow at the man he presumed to be Duncan.


"We are low on supplies for the next Joining ritual. I'm sending Alistar out into the Wilds with a small group to retrieve a few vials of darkspawn blood. There is also a Grey Warden's cache somewhere in the north-east. I would see its contents returned to us if at all possible."


He glanced at Skylar as she spoke, "When do we leave?" she asked, her voice soft and sharp at once. Strange. She sounded different when she was dealing with authority. Concise, and respectful, with a hint of... something he couldn't place his finger on.


Duncan smiled, amused at the young warrior's eagerness. "I would have the Joining happen after dark this evening, so as soon as you are able. Alistar will accompany you until your mission is complete." He shot a glance at the elf. "I trust you all will play well together, hm?"


Surain arched another eyebrow sharply, feigning innocence. After a glance at Alistair, he sighed deeply and dramatically. "So long as he," the elf paused, pointing at the templar, "doesn't try to smite me. Again."





Alistair rolled his eyes before offering an explanation to Duncan, who was giving him a curious look. "He tried to petrify me when he first met me. Didn't really give me much of a choice..." the blonde commented, causing Duncan to turn his gaze to the obstinate elf, who was glaring back at Alistair. "You were a she—human," he hesitated, before continuing. "And a templar, who decided to walk into the healer's aravel. You didn't give me much choice." Surain retorted, glaring at Alistair triumphantly.


As Duncan glanced back at the other participant of the cat fight, even as the blonde man threw his hands up in the air. "I'm not a templar, and I wasn't trying to to hurt you!" the man defended himself, causing Surain to scoff. "You walked into my tent, knowing I'm Dalish, and said, 'I know you're an apostate, and I'm here to take you'. What was I supposed to do?" He countered, crossing his arms. Alistair sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You didn't let me finish—" he stopped as Duncan put his hand up, obviously not amused.


"If you two are incapable, I could find someone else to do it." he warned calmly. leveling both of them with the second most judgmental stare that Surain had ever seen. Alistair immediately straightened his posture and nodded, blushing with embarrassment. At least let him bend over before you try to kiss his... thought Surain, even as he fixed his expression and nodded. "I understand." he offered, glancing at Skylar and the blonde. "We can do this, Duncan." added Alistair, reluctant to support the elf but seeing no other choice. After several seconds of cold examination, Duncan nodded.


"Good. As it seems you all are done eating, I'd recommend you go now. The joining is at dusk, and you'll want to return before then." Seeing Surain's confused expression, he added: "Alistair had eaten on the way here.", causing the elf to blink. That hadn't been his question—what did he care? "Where is this cache? How are we supposed to find it?" He asked, genuinely unsure.


"I've given Alistair instructions, so he should be able to lead you there." said Duncan in response, when an elven messenger ran over to their table. Surain blinked. Where did he come from? The messenger handed Duncan a message, bowed, and ran off again, probably to deliver more missives. Duncan read it quickly before sighing and getting to his feet. "I've been summoned to speak with the king, you'll have to excuse me. If you have any more questions, ask Alistair; he should be able to answer them." On that note, the warden nodded to them and walked off in the direction of the king's tent.


After a few seconds, Alistair clapped his hands and stood up. "Right, well, you heard Duncan. We'd better get a move on." He declared, stepping away from the table as Surain and Skylar followed.

 

[Luxii]

Skylar had watched the back and forth argument between Alistar and the elf with great interest, the corners of her mouth twitching up into another smile - small enough the Duncan wouldn't see her amusement. This was almost better than when her mother and Fergus would get into screaming matches over trival things, and then her father would have to play referee just as Duncan was now. The warrior watched as the dark-haired Warden's brows crept higher and higher as the templar and elf spat vemon back and forth, until Skylar was sure Duncan's eyebrows would disappear right into his hair. She stifled a giggle, turning it into a cough while covering her mouth with her hand.





"If you two are incapable, I could find someone else to do it." Duncan's voice was low, a warning and one that should not be taken lightly. Skylar wiped the smirk from her face, lest Duncan turn on her next for taking enjoyment from the situation. Still, it was funny to see Alistar straighten so much he may as well have had a pole.... you know, and the elf did finally rearrange his features into something more neutral. Once they had insisted they could "play nice" Duncan continued to tell them that they should leave soon. Alistar had been given all the instructions they would need, and Duncan wanted them back by dusk. She could see the apostate was not pleased with this arrangement, but he must have decided to not be such a pain in the ass for he simply remained silent.


They were interrupted by an elven messenger, who only paused briefly enough to a message to Duncan's hands before scurrying off. Were all elves so fast? If Skylar had have blinked, she would have missed him. It appeared that Duncan had been summoned for an audience with the king, and with a sigh, he rose with instructions to direct any questions to Alistar. Then he was gone.


Alistar quickly took charge of the trio, clapping his hands together to get them all moving. Skylar eased her legs over the bench and with a whistle to Tank, who had slept through most of the heated exchange, kept right on Alistar's heels through the camp. "I'll need my gear, give me one second," she said as they passed by the section of tents where Skylar had been assigned. Quick as a wink, she darted between the folds of her tent and make quick work of equipping her minimalistic armor and slinging her broadsword over her left shoulder. Alistar and the apostate were waiting for her.


"Sorry," she gasped, effort to gather herself so quickly showed in the pink flush of her cheeks. "Ready!" Her sword was nearly as long as she was tall and the blade was nearly two hand-spans at its widest point. The crest of House Cousland was inlaid into the hilt with a vein of pure lyrium. Skylar adjusted the sword so that it spanned both her shoulders, her wrists hanging over the pommel and tip of the blade respectively.





"Can you actually use that thing?" Alistar asked with one blonde eyebrow raised.


Skylar snorted. She was used to stares and skepticism whenever she carried her blade. "You can ask the dark spawn when I'm done with them," she teased, a sparkle in her eye.


It took a few moments to reach the gate at the outskirts of the Kocari Wilds. Alistar spoke with the two men that guarded the passageway briefly before they stepped aside to let the group pass. The palms of Skylar's hands were sweaty. It was her first time facing dark spawn. Of course the stories had been told to her over and over, of what to expect, but something about the anticipation of the first time she would see a dark spawn in person was exhilarating. The wilds loomed ahead, dark and menacing, and Alistar gave pause just at the mouth of the forest.

 

[Surain]

If Surain had any opinions on the small woman wielding the massive blade, he didn't comment; rather, he was too focused on the blade itself to comment. Something... Something in the blade called, no, screamed at him. It was like lyrium, the little that he has handled in his life, but it was... different. Muffled. Almost like someone was gagged and begging for mercy. It's seductive, whispered screams beckoned him, asking, pleading for him to touch the blade. The power. The potential. Enough to cure himself. Enough to fix the death—


Surain actually growled and shook his head, clearing it. That blade was strange; it used lyrium, but it muffled the allure. It seemed to... have a strange effect that he hadn't been prepared for. Now that he knew what to expect, he tuned it out easily—however, he glared at Skylar for not warning him beforehand. Had he been relaxed, he might not have caught on as easily. That being said, the elf was more than curious about the blade. What was done to it that caused the lyrium to behave so strangely? This merited further examination. "Warden Skylar, can I examine that blade later?" he asked as they neared the exit of the camp. He hated asking that shem for anything, but it was her blade.


Stepping into the forest was the most refreshing thing Surain had done in a while; the nature, the life, still thrummed in the ever-familiar way a forest should, no matter that the elf had never been to this one before. The apostate reached for his staff and unbound it, feeling it tremble slightly at his touch as he stretched his arm and spun it once. Surain felt himself grin darkly; killing something would feel good, especially if it was darkspawn. He dared the forest to challenge them—to send it's worst to try and stop them in their quest.


The first enemies that they came across—rather, that came across them—were wolves. "Ready yourselves!" Alistair shouted, moments before the pack descended upon them. The response was instant and efficient: The templar stood infront of them all, trying to attract the wolves' attention and defend himself with his shield; Skylar stood just behind him, felling two or three wolves with every deceptively broad swing of her greatsword, her moves precise and effective; and Surain hid behind both of them, twirling and spinning himself and his weapon in sharp, graceful movements, sending missiles of magic at whatever targets his companions didn't fell.


They made a surprisingly good, if messy, team, taking no casualties in that first battle. As they all gathered themselves to move forward, Surain offered a comment. "It's a shame the wolves attacked... they needn't have died." he said, glancing at his teammates. Alistair looked back at him, incredulous and about to say something before he seemed to reconsider it and shake his head. "Right. Well, everyone ready? Let's move on." he said, gesturing for them to follow.


They came across a dying soldier, battered, bloodied, and lying on the path. "Who... is that? Grey... wardens?" asked the soldier weakly, struggling to look up at them. "Well, he's not as dead as he looks, is he?" asked Alistair, trying to insert humor into the situation. If it hadn't been Alistair, Surian might've laughed.


The soldier was not nearly as amused. "My scouting band was attacked by darkspawn! They came out of the ground... Please help me... I've got to return... to camp." the man begged, his voice hoarse and trembling. Surain crossed his arms, not moved; they needed to be at camp by dusk, either way, and If his companions wanted to help the man—and they probably would—they had to do it quickly. He found himself looking at Alistair and Skylar expectantly, eyebrow raised, arms crossed, and condescending voice at the ready.

 

[Luxii]

Skylar gave pause at the elf's request, looking to her sword then back at him. What reason would he have to want to handle her blade? It's not like he could hurt it.... she supposed and with a shrug of her shoulders she replied. "Sure, don't see why not. Just don't go mucking it up, ya?"


There was a thrumming she felt in her blood, the forest pulsed around them. The apostate seemed visibly more relaxed in this environment; it more than likely reminded him of home.


She had anticipated their first fight would be against darkspawn, but it was a pack of wolves that descended upon the group. "Ready yourselves!" Alistar bellowed as the first wolf charged against them. For a newly forged group, they did quite well against the wolfpack. Alistar led at the front, using his shield to fend off the lunging wolves as Skylar came up from behind to cut them down with a swing of her sword. The elf brought up the rear, but was no less lethal than his warrior counterparts. The spinning of his staff sent bolts of magical energies soaring through the air, felling any of the wolves that dared lurk on the outskirts of the battle. It was over quickly. Skylar used the back of her right arm to mop a bit of sweat from her brow, then flicked her sword to removed the majority of the blood from it's edge.





"It's a shame the wolves attacked... they needn't have died," the apostate mused. It was a sentiment that Skylar shared, but the beasts had left them no choice. Better her than them in this case. Alistar seemed to have a rebuttal in mind, but shook his head instead. "Right. Well, everyone ready? Let's move on." Skylar was more than happy to oblige.


Several paces more into the forest, they came across a soldier. He was badly wounded and lying in the center of their path. "Who... is that?" he croaked. "Grey Wardens?" Alstair responded quickly: "Well, he's not as dead as he looks." Skylar shot the ex-Templar a dirty look, then knelt at the soldier's side to examine the exent of his wounds. "My scouting band was attacked by darkspawn," the man gasped. "They came out of the ground... Please help me... I've got to return... to camp." His wounds were indeed dire, but if bandaged properly, he would have no problems making it back to camp. He would have a better chance of surviving once he saw a healer there.


"Let's bandage him up at least, yes?" she said. She wouldn't take no for an answer and her question was spoken as more of a command than an actual inquiry.


Alistar nodded, kneeling beside her. "I have some bandages in my pack." Together they made quick work of patching up the soldier, while the elven apostate looked on with his arms folded over his chest; he was clearly not pleased with this little detour.


"Thank you!" the man exclaimed, and with Skylar's help he rose to a standing position. "I've got to get out of here." He scurried away between the trees, and if the Maker willed it, he would make it to the camp unscathed.


"An entire patrol of seasoned men killed by darkspawn..." Skylar mused, slinging her sword back over her shoulder. "We will be fine if we are careful," Alistar replied as he readjusted his grip on his shield. The elf had remained silent and Skylar wondering if he might have any smartass remarks to add to the conversation.

 

[Surain]

Surain watched the whole exchange out of the corner of his eye, his attention focused on their surroundings. Both of their warriors bent over a useless hunk of meat? The darkspawn are probably salivating at the thought of such a perfect time to attack. "Not to hurry both of you—no, please, take your time—but by the time you're finished, I think the blight might be over." he commented dryly. He could've helped, of course, what with having been the First of his clan—healing, among other things, having been taught to him extensively in his training—but he decided against it solely to save himself the mana. The man didn't need to be healed anyway, only patched so that he could shamble to camp.


As the man got up, thanked them, and shambled off, he gave the apostate a wary look. Surain ignored him in favour of preparing to move out again. "We'll be fine if we are careful." said the local buffoon in reply to Skylar's worry, causing the elf to roll his eyes. "I'm sure those soldiers were very reckless, indeed." he replied, resting on his staff. "...us grey wardens can sense darkspawn, anyway, so we won't be surprised." the templar added, referring back to Skylar. Surain snorted in reply, "Wonderful! If we're about to be eaten alive, at least we'll have fair warning."


The templar sighed, and shook his head. "Let's just get this over with." he conceded, leading the group down the path. Soon enough, they stopped and Alistair warned them. "There's a group up ahead. Be careful."


After a few moments, they moved forward and were attacked by dozen darkspawn, about half with swords and half with bows. Alistair's job was significantly harder here as he had to protect himself from not only melee attacks, but also arrows raining in from afar. Skylar was... well, wielding her sword well, staving off the creatures as she had done the wolves, and seemingly doing her best to dodge the arrows coming her way.


Surain had, at the sight of archers, immediately put up a kinetic barrier and focused on them, being the only ranged fighter in the group. The fight was over quickly, Surain taking down the archers as fast as he could as the others kept the melees at bay. These things were like how he remembered; they were worse than dogs and thrice as dangerous. Pitiful, hateful, evil little things that weren't worth the people they killed. They weren't worth the friends they took—


With that particular thought, his stonefist spell managed to smear an archer's head on the wall that was behind it. That seemed to anger the other archers. Bring it on you bastards. His kintetic barrier managed to deflect most of their bolts, leaving him to take only only scratches from those that stayed just enough on course.


The battle ended when Alistair, Skylar and he having dealt with the swordsmen, went and beheaded the last archer remaining. Surain immediately stopped focusing there, and checked himself for wounds; the scratches from earlier were sealed and healed in seconds, magic being the wonderful tool that it was. He found himself pausing to rest and regain his mana as Alistair open is gods-forsaken mouth again.


"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Alistair called to his companions, receiving a condescending look from Surain. Alistair ignored him in favour of checking Skylar for injury, looking her up and down. "Are you alright?" He asked, the same moment Surain commented, "It would be a good time to," he paused to glare at Alistair, before continuing, "gather the blood we need. Best to get it out of the way." the elf pointed out, resting on his staff again. This quest had just begun, and already it felt like a week had passed during it's duration.

 

[Luxii]

Skylar had taken her fair share of knocks during this altercation. There was a long scratch that ran from under left eye across her cheek, courtesy of a well-timed arrow that she had barely dodged at the last second. A metallic tang bloomed over her taste buds and she spat off to the side, touching the back of her gauntleted hand to her mouth. It came away bloody. The last darkspawn she killed had gotten in a good knock with the butt of his sword; it must have split her lip.





"Are you alright?" the other Warden asked, eying Skylar for wounds.


"You should see the other guy," she quipped with a smile. "I'm fine."


The apostate's voice crashed over both of them. "It would be a good time to gather the blood we need. Best get it out of the way." He leaned against his staff for support, his glaring gaze resting firmly on Alistar.


With a roll of her eyes Skylar knelt next to the nearest darkspawn corpse and collected a small vial of the creatures blood. It had the foulest smell and the warrior had to cough to stifle her gag reflex. Alistar and the elf stared at her, making no move to help. Andraste's tits, I guess I'll collect all of it, yes? She was able to use the same corpse to fill up three extra vials, stowing them carefully in a cloth before tucking them into her pack.


"Alright, Alistar," she spoke as she stood to her full height - which wasn't very much. "Where exactly is this cache that Duncan wants us to find?"


"To the north-east," the ex-Templar replied with a wave in the said direction. "It's an old Warden tower outpost. We just don't have the resources to keep it occupied anymore. Duncan said there are important documents - treaties - that will aid our cause if we can retrieve them."


The group carried on in silence for the most part. They came across two smaller groups of darkspawn and were growing much better coordinated to compliment each other in battle; Alistar took up position to pull the attentions of most of the creatures, allowing Skylar to cleave most of them in half while the mage cast protective spells and ranged attacks to take out any stragglers. There were no injuries to any of the party members during the altercations.


In time they came across an abandoned, crumbling building in the north-eastern part of the wilds, just as Alistar said. Just inside the mouth of the only standing archway, a cracked chest could be seen amongst the wreckage. Skylar ventured forward, kneeling beside the chest to see if any of its contents were left; it was empty.


"Well, well," came a voice from above. "What do we have here?" It was a dark-haired woman, scantily clad with piercing eyes. She climbed down from the ruins above, gaze restly solely on Skylar. "Are you a vulture, I wonder?" she continued - her voice was almost a purr. "A scavenger picking amidst the bones of a corpse long since cleaned? Or merely an intruder, coming to these darkspawn filled wilds of mine in search of easy prey?" Skylar made note of the staff bound at the woman's back: an apostate. The woman came to a stop directly in front of Skylar, who had manuevered herself at the front of her companions. "So what say you," the apostate woman barked, her arms crossed over her bosom. "Vulture or intruder?"


"Neither," Skylar replied evenly, though her green eyes narrowed slightly, trying to gauge if the woman was a friend or foe. "The Wardens once owned this tower."


"It is a tower no longer," the woman said with a cruel laugh. "The wilds have obviously claimed this desicated corpse. I have watched your progress for some time." She continued walking, circling the group. " 'Where do they go?' I wondered. 'Why are they here?' And now you disturb ashes that no one had touched for some time. Why is that?"

 

[Surain]

Alistair was the next one who spoke. "Don't answer her." he warned, "She looks chasind, and that means others may be nearby."


The scantily clad woman sneered, "You fear barbarians will swoop down upon you?" she taunted, goading for a response. "Yes, swooping is bad." the templar replied dryly, throwing a glance at Skylar. Surain's eyebrows shot up into his hair at that comment. It appears he was rubbing off on the man, to his disgust. The elf quickly fixed his expression and turned it back towards the woman. "So, a witch of the wilds? Such an impressive title. Are you planning on turning us into toads? Or boiling us in a pot?" asked the good apostate, crossing his arms arrogantly. They were in the wilds. She was quite obviously a mage, and even more obviously a woman. It was not a large leap of logic to make.


The woman fixed him the third most condescending look he had ever seen. "Witch of the wilds? Such idle fantasies, those legends. Have you no mind of your own?" she jeered, glaring at the other apostate. "I do," he countered, returning the look she gave him, "But I've yet to see why I should waste its power on talking to you." Morrigan glared at the elf, who glared back.


"Maker, as if one bitchy apostate wasn't enough." whispered Alistair, only loud enough for Skylar to hear.


Morrigan was the first to break eye contact, being on a mission. "Bah! You there." she called, directing her gaze at Skylar, "Women do not behave like little boys. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine."


Surain allowed himself a grin; she forfeited the duel, and he had won. Truly, he was the most proficient sarcastic apostate around.

 

[Luxii]

"You can call me Skylar," the red-headed warrior answered respectfully, though the corners of her mouth her upturned at Alistar's comment about bitchy apostates.


"And you may call me Morrigan, if you wish," the woman replied. "Shall I guess your purpose?" she continued, throwing an eye to the remains of the chest in the rubble. "You sought something in that chest, something that is here no longer?"


"'Here no longer?' You stole them, didn't you?" Alistar's tone was accusatory to say the least, his brows knitted together. "You're... some kind of.... sneaky... witch-thief!"


Morrigan laughed haughtily. "How very eloquent," she sneered. "How does one steal from dead men?"


"Quite easily it seems," the ex-Templar snapped back. Skylar shot him a warning glance. It would not to well to enrage this witch of the wilds. Who knew what sort of magicks she could wield. "Those documents are Grey Warden property, and I suggest you return them."


"I will not," Morrigan scoffed, "for 'twas not I who removed them. Invoke a name that means nothing hear any longer if you wish; I am not threatened." She unfolded her arms and placed one on her curvy hip, gazing haughtily down her nose at the Warden group.


"Then do you know who took them?" Skylar inquired. Her tone was neutral, neither accusatory nor complacent.


Morrigan smiled at her cheekily. "'Twas my mother, in fact." As if that was answer enough.


"Could you... take us to her?" This question from the red-headed Warden came a little more hesitantly, as if she didn't know if this was overstepping the bounds.


But Morrigan laughed, a throaty, sultry sound deep in the back of her throat. "There's a sensible request," she mused. "I like you."


"I would be careful," Alistar warned. "First it's 'I like you' and then 'ZAP!' Frog time."


Morrigan peered at Alistar with a look of disdain as Skylar fought to hold back a grin. "You may follow me, if it pleases you," she snapped as she spun on her heel and ventured off into the wilds.

 

[Surain]

As Morrigan walked off, hips swaying, Surain walked up next to Alistair. "If that's the case, then be grateful I don't like you." he commented lightly, wearing a look of innocence as the templar glared at him.


After a short walk in which the elf memorized the root they had taken and was always on his guard, they arrived at a feeble-looking hut with an equally feeble-looking woman before it. "Greetings, mother. I bring before you three grey wardens who—" Morrigan was interuptted as she walked up to her mother. "I see them, girl. Mmm." she said, looking them over. "Much as I expected."


"Are we supposed to believe you were expecting us?" scoffed Alistair, who was standing just behind Skylar.


The old woman was having none of it. "You are required to do nothing, least of all believe. Shut one's eyes tight, or open one's arms wide... either way, one's a fool!" she declared with conviction.


Surain was the next to comment. "That... actually makes sense. I suppose I'm the fool, then?" Surain asked, trying to start a conversation with her. If she did know they were coming, which is possible, then she might know something else. At least she would pretend to. Instead of the woman replying, however, Alistair did. "At least you admit it." he commented, smiling and thinking he finally one-upped the elf. Surain blinked at him. "You're too foolish to be a proper fool." he replied, turning his attention back to Flemeth.


"There is a smart lad. Sadly irrelevant to the larger scheme of things, but it is not I who decides. Believe what you will."


At this, she walked up to Skylar. "And what of you? Do you possess a different viewpoint? Or do you believe as the others do?" she challenged, looking at Skylar expectantly. It seems that she has been dubbed the leader. I'm being led by a shemlen. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. thought the elf, crossing his arms again.

 

[Luxii]

Skylar met the old woman's eyes evenly, looking away would be considered a sign of weakness. "I'm no fool," she said, choosing her words carefully, "if that is what you mean." She cast a glance over her shoulder at her companions: Alistar just looked at her expectantly, while the elven apostate glared at her with his arms crossed. His face was going to be stuck that way if he wasn't careful.





The grey-haired woman erupted into a sharp bark of laughter. "If you must protest so quickly, then perhaps I need not ask? So much about you is uncertain... and yet I believe. Do I? Yes I do," she muttered to herself. Clearly the old woman was a bit touched in the head.


The look on Alistar's face was priceless - somewhere between incredulity and skepticism. "So this is the dreaded Witch of the Wilds?"


"Bah!" the old woman sneered. Her poignant gaze turned to the blonde Warden. "Morrigan must have told you that. She fancies such tales, though she would never admit it." The younger of the witches put the palm of her hand to her face in embarrassment. "Oh how she dances under the moon!" The old woman's speech gave way to another throaty cackle.


"They did not come to listen to your wild tales, mother," Morrigan snapped, obviously irked by her mother's playful jab.


"True," the Witch of the Wilds continued. "They came for the treaties, yes? And before you begin barking, your precious seal wore off long ago. I have protected these," she insisted as she retreived several scrolls from the doorway of the house.


"You---" Alistar stammered, as if he couldn't believe it. Skylar thought his eyebrows would disappear into his hair. "You protected them?"


"And why not?" the witch's tone was condescending. "Take these to your Grey Wardens. And tell them this Blight's threat is greater than they realize." She placed the scrolls into Skylar's hands carefully.


The warrior surveyed the witch warily. Her next question came softly. "What do you mean the threat is greater than they realize?"


"Either the threat is more, or they realize less." Well, that is most unhelpful. "Or perhaps the threat is nothing. Or they realize nothing!" Another cackled from the old woman. Definitely unhelpful. "Oh, do not mind me," she said between chuckles. "You have what you came for."


A smug look crossed Morrigan's face. "Time for you to go then," she said with a wave of her hand.


The comment earned her a nasty stare from her mother. "Do not be silly, girl. These are your guests."


Morrigan huffed. "Oh very well, I will show you out of the woods. Follow me."

 

[Surain]

The trek back to camp was a short one—Morrigan knew the forests like the back of her hand, and brought them near the entrance of camp in less time than the rest of their journey had taken. It was the journey itself that was interesting.


Surain was the first to comment. "You know, she actually made some semblance of sense." He said, stepping over a particularly large root. She had made sense, it was true... to a degree. If one is open to all ideas, they are easily fooled. If one is closed to all ideas, they lose the chance to learn. Perhaps that made everyone a fool. As for the entirely helpful bit about danger... perhaps they were underestimating the blight somehow? He didn't know; that required more thinking.


Morrigan threw him a glance. "Oh, really? Normally it takes one several years of speaking to mother before one can say the same—providing they aren't made into a stew by then." she said, eyes glinting with a predatory tint. "I would make a lovely stew, wouldn't I? A bit chewy, but with some salt..." Surain trailed off, shaking his head. "No, but the woman made some sense, I feel. She's wiser than she lets on." the elf added, raising an eyebrow at the witch.


"Are all apostates insane, or am I just lucky?" asked Alistair, looking up to the sky in wonder. Mages would be the death of him, at this rate.


He was ignored. "Well, while I'm sure what you 'feel' is interesting, little elf, I don't care. You're welcome to tell her your feelings yourself, however."


"I don't have 'feelings', arrogant human, assuming I do it a grand mistake, as would be approaching your mother for anything else; if she can produce you, I fear what else she can do." he replied, preparing to wage a word war.


"You're afraid of an old woman? How very noble of you. And assuming anything about you 'tis nowhere near as grand a mistake as assuming anything about me." Morrigan replied, equally prepared.


"With what you're wearing, they're isn't much left to assume, witch. And fear is quite different from common sense; I wonder, do you lack either?"


"Elf, if you've bothered to notice, what you think means nothing. Be grateful I don't lack self-restraint, or you would be dead."


"I highly doubt anyone with your level of shamelessness possesses anything resembling self-restraint, witch, and what is death but another way to torment you?"


"Death is the final tool used, how you use it is your business. Don't you know this? A pity. You must come from one of the lesser clans."


"Of course I know this; you're the one who lacks the understanding of your own incompetence. Do you not know that death is not the final tool? A pity that the 'witch of the wilds' lacks such basic knowledge."


"Oh, speaking in riddles are we? Very well, as death is not the final tool, then it must be life."


"Clever, witch, but not quite. The final tool is deceit, for what can deceit not do?"


"It couldn't fool me into thinking you competent, to begin. Neither could it make me find you attractive."


"Oh, resulting to low blows, are we? How sad; I expected better."


"Do you know what is said about failed expectations?"


"That you're one? Yes—I just said that myself. Try to keep up."


"No—that you should expect them. Especially you, elf."


"Oh? And why is that?"


"...I refuse to play this absurd game. 'Tis foolish to argue with an idiot."


"I suppose I'm foolish, then? I've said that before as well... why haven't you fixed your hearing, I wonder?"


"'Tis far easier to ignore you without my hearing, fool elf, than with it."


This continued for the entirety of the trip back, save for the occasional interruption from Alistair and perhaps Skylar.


Eventually, they made it to the camp, Morrigan having left them a ways off. It was almost dusk at this point, and so the group rapidly made their way to Duncan's tent; the warden in question was standing by a fire and waiting for them, waving them over as they approached. Duncan was obviously quick to get to business. "So, you return from the wilds. Have you been successful?" the man asked promptly, directing the question to the elf of the group. "We have." he replied, remembering the earlier encounter with the warden, and trying to remain as professional as possible. It was odd that Duncan spoke directly to him, but, as he was the one about to go through the joining, he supposed it made some semblance of sense.


"Good. I've had the circle mages preparing. With the blood you retrieved, we can begin the joining immediately." The Warden-commander replied, his tone suggesting a subtle urgency. Well, his tone was subtle; his wording was not.


"Just what is involved in the ritual, anyway?" the elf asked. It couldn't be terrible, if both the fool Alistair and the dwarf-human Skylar had done it.


"I will not lie; we Grey Wardens pay a heavy price to become what we are. Fate may decree that you pay your price now rather than later." The man said solemnly. Surain blinked. wait, what?


"I was told I'd be cured. This ritual could kill me?" Surain asked, his eyebrows shooting up into his hairline. I knew I shouldn't have...


"As could any darkspawn in battle. You would not have been chosen, however, if I or Alistair did not think you had a chance to survive. Your keeper's word, and the fact that you're are alive now are good signs." Duncan replied, trying to smooth over the situation. I suppose I don't have much of a choice... Fire and damnation! Mythal, protect me.


Dirthamen, control my fear...


"It's my only chance, correct? I have no choice." The elf replied, his voice uncharacteristically small. He could die now, succumbing to whatever trial awaits, or he could die later, stuck down as a ghoul. This was his only chance to live.


"Then let us begin. Alistair, take him to the old temple. Skylar," he paused, looking at the woman. "You can watch or you can go rest. We'll tell you the result later, if you wish." Duncan said as Alistair took his reluctant charge. This was going to be a long night.


-Break-


"At last, we come to the joining." spoke Duncan, approaching an altar which held a goblet. "The Grey Wardens were founded during the first blight, when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation. So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darpspawn blood and mastered their taint."


Surain paled. "I'm... I'm going to drink the blood of those... darkspawn?"


"As the first Grey Warden's did before us, as we did before you. This is the source of our power and our victory." Duncan finished as Alistair began. "Those who survive the joining become immune to the taint. We can sense it in darkspawn, and use it to slay the archdemon." he said solemnly.


They seemed to be expecting the elf to say something. "Let's get this over with." Surain said quietly, eyes on the goblet. Falon'Din, guide me should I die...


Duncan nodded, "We speak only a few words before the joining, but these words have been said since the first. Alistair, if you would?" he asked, turning to look at the templar.


Alistair looked at the ground, whether out of respect or apology, the elf didn't know. "Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand, vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day we shall join you." he finished, meeting Surain's eyes, face sombre. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Surain noted how strange it was to see the templar so... serious. This whole situation didn't seem to suit the people involved.


"Step forward, Surain." Duncan said, carefully retrieving the goblet. Surain obeyed silently, ready to accept what would come. Being handed the goblet, he put it to his lips and drank the foul liquid it held as quickly as he could. "You are called to submit yourself the taint for the greater good..." Began Duncan, watching the elf drink.


Taking the cup back and retreating, the man continued, "From this moment forth, you are a Grey Warden..." his words were lost to the elf, who was panicking beyond words.


It burned and cut and killed him. The darkness within him—that had been eating, slicing, burning him—reached up and welcomed the elixir. Surain bent over, clutching his head, and managed to let out a strangled cry. The noise. So much noise. The world spun around him, the sky had turned green, Duncan was a dragon. It—he—she spoke to him, saw him, judged him, screamed at him. The world wasn't. It can't have been. Orders, he needed to follow. Something stopped him, stopped him from following the voice that tried to guide him! Chaos, green, dragon, army! Nothing made sense, just the dragon, pain, then...


Surain threw his head back, eyes wide and perfectly white, face stricken with horror, before he collapsed onto the ground and he knew no more.


Several minutes later, he laid passed out on the floor. He had lived. Barely.

 

[Luxii]

She hadn't thought it possible, but it would seem they had acquired yet another spicy, flippant mage - much to Alistar's dismay and Skylar's amusement. For the entirety of the journey make to camp, Morrigan and the elf slung back witty and sarcastic comments, clearly testing each other's boundries and capabilities and quickness of tongue. Their banter back and forth made the trek back seem to take no time at all, and before she knew it, Skylar found the group poised at the gate back into the encampment. Morrigan had taken her leave, but Skylar had a sneaking suspicion this was not the last they would would see of the wilds witch.


Duncan was waiting for them, no doubt eager to get on with the joining ritual. He had taken up a space near one of the roaring fires that dotted the camp after dark, and as the group came to a stop before him, Skylar sank onto one of the benches that surrounded the firepit, letting her sword come to rest between her legs. Her gaze focused on the fire, watching the flames lick the wood at its center, while she vaguely heard Duncan and the elf's exchange. Ah, so he doesn't know either, she mused, given the elf's questioning of what the ritual entailed exactly.


Only Skylar had survived her joining ritual, one out of three. The first recruit to drink - Daveth, was it? - had succumbed to the taint and after gulping his share of the darkspawn blood mixed with a pinch of lyrium, his whole body had convulsed and with a cry he was dead. Skylar shuddered as she remembered the dead whiteness of his eyes. The other recruit - Jory - had panicked, drawing his sword against Duncan. Duncan had put his own sword through the man's belly, blood blooming from the wound.


"Skylar," Duncan spoke, breaking her thoughts and turning her attentions away from the fire. "You can watch, or you can go rest. We will tell you the results later, if you wish."


Alistar was already leading the apostate towards the old temple where all the joining rituals took place. The red-headed warrior rose from her seat, leaning on the hilt of her sword for support. "I'll go with them," she murmured. "It will be good for the elf to see a familiar face when he wakes, yes?"

xXx



​

Skylar hung back between two of the pillars, watching as Duncan began the ritual. The elf was visibly pale, it was the first time Skylar had seen fear in his features. But only a fool would not have been scared.


"Step forward, Surain," Duncan said. He held the goblet in outstretched hands.


Surain... At last she had a name to assign to the elf's haughty face. It was short and to the point, very fitting. She could see the muscles in his throat working with each nervous swallow, but he stepped forward bravely to grasp the goblet. His fingers barely trembled, something that would have been missed in the darkness if one was not looking for it.


He gulped down the foul liquid as quick as possible, and Skylar knew too well that the thick concoction did not go down smoothly. Duncan's strong voice completed the final words of the ritual, and Surian curled into himself with a scream, his angular face contorted in agony. Skylar held her breath, it would all be over soon. Maker, let him live! He collapsed to the ground, and Skylar broke from the shadows and ran to him. She knelt over his fallen form and placed her ear to his mouth. His breath, while shallow and uneven, still came. Oh, thank the Maker...


A small smile played on Duncan's features. "He is strong," he mused. "But he will need rest. Alistar, help Skylar get him back to camp, please."


Alistar nodded and helped the warrior pull the apostate up with a grunt. "He's heavier than he looks," the blonde groaned.


"Has he been assigned a tent yet?" Skylar asked as they made their way from the temple. The walk to camp was short but the effort of carrying the unconscicous mage weighed on both of them.


Alistar shook his head. "We didn't have time today."


Skylar sighed. "He can use mine for tonight. There is space enough for both of us."


"Is that wise?" The look on Alistar's face was hard to read. "I mean, what if he wakes up and wants to blast the first thing he sees into oblivion?"


"Better me than you, no?" Skylar retorted.


Once at her tent, Skylar pushed her few possessions to the far side to make room for Surian. Alistar laid the unconscious elf over the small cot, and Skylar placed a blanket over him. Alistar took his leave shortly thereafter, leaving Skylar and her new roommate alone. He's rather... peaceful while he sleeps. All of the angles in his sharp face were softened, and Skylar could see now that what she thought earlier was scar was actually a swirling tattoo of vines. It was beautiful, and she reached out her fingers to trace the design. He twitched beneath her fingers and she snatched them back quickly.


It was very late now, and Skylar laid on the floor a pace away from the cot. The ground was hard but she had slept in worse conditions before. She focused on Surian's rhythmic breathing, and it lulled her to sleep.

 

[Surain]

The rage of the dragon, the loud crash of its voice, the turning of the world, that hideous shade of green eventually softened. Everything was muffled. The word 'muffled' was muffled. Nothing made sense, but everything was soft. The confusion was soft, the contentment was soft; his thoughts were soft, unclear, and he was too weak to struggle or comprehend what or why was. It was to cloudy, open to interpretation. He couldn't—


Suddenly, Surain was faced with himself. Haughty eyes of his own, met his own. The elf who was and wasn't him was tired. He wore bags under his eyes, wrinkles on his skin, scars on his heart, tears in his clothing. Unclear. Where was he? Where was either of he? Who was he? The world was so soft... the only clear thing was the unclear version of himself standing before him.


A knife. A knife? Why would he have a knife? How strange... a hunter's knife. It looked familiar, vaguely. Was it his knife? Was it someone else's? The dream—the softness—wrapped itself around the knife as he—the elf infront of him, himself—held it, sharpening it and itself in the most peculiar way. The world spun softly, and his attention was brought back to the man infront of him. No longer himself. Himself, but not. He was... dark? The man—the one infront of Surain—was Surain, but wasn't. He was cold. Broody. Corrupted. A stranger. He held the knife masterfully, twirling it around. He spun it gently, entrancing the elf with how it shone. Oh, how it moved...


Suddenly, the man lunged at Surain with the knife, shattering the mirror that held him.


"Halani!" whispered the elf in a panic as his eyes snapped open, reality crashing it's cold hold over him. Everything was so sharp. Gasp. Breath. Where was he? What had happened?


He tried to jolt up, but groaned softly at a spike of pain before giving up, laying on the cot. A cot. He was in a tent. He paused; he could hear someone else breathing, he wasn't alone.


He calmed his own breathing down and looked around himself as best he could. Merely two feet away, on the floor, was lying another person. A woman. Short. Skylar? Why was he sleeping next to her, a shemlen. Alcohol? Had he had been drugged? What had he been drinking—


Then it clicked. The joining, the blood, the dreams; it made sense. He had passed out for who knew how long, and was waking up here. So I wasn't used for sex by a shemlen. Not all things are bad, it seems.


He managed to slowly prop himself up on his elbows to gain a better perspective. His staff laid a little ways away from her extremely odd blade, which was set at the opposite side of the room. Where was he? He was probably in the woman's tent, her having taken responsibility for him. Probably. From what he could see of the outside, it was the middle of the night; there was no point in trying to leave or talk to anyone. Skylar—the elf glanced at the woman—probably wanted to sleep.


She... he thought, flat-out staring at her in confusion. This was the only time he had taken to carefully examine her. Her hair was spread out behind her, wildly going in any direction it wished. She—her face—looked relaxed, soft, save for the occasional twitch. She curled slightly, in her sleep, into a pseudo-fetal position. She looked far less intimidating without her sword. It was... she looked...


Several words came to mind, but he instantly shot down all of them. 'Cute' is not a word for a shemlen. Neither is 'nice' or 'adorable' he thought, his face returning to a mild scowl. Since talking or leaving weren't real options, he decided to try to sleep again. The elf lowered himself onto the pillow, and waited; strangely enough, it was the woman next to him's slow, rhythmic breathing that eventually lulled him into the fade.

 

[Luxii]

Morning came far too quickly for Skylar's liking. She rose to a seated position with a soft groan, rubbing the small of her back where a rock or branch or something had dug into her in her sleep. There was a kink in her neck and she rolled her head forward then around, kneading the spot with her delicate fingers. That apostate better be grateful for my sacrifice...


Surain was still asleep, his chest rising and falling smoothly with each breath. Skylar made no move to wake him, given that he would now doubt return to his normal glowering, sassy self when he awoke. And she quite enjoyed how peaceful he seemed now. He would need the strength that sleep bestowed in order to recover from the joining.


She wondered if he had also seen the archdemon, heard the dragon's roar, felt its call. There had been no chance to see how other's had reacted to their joining. Was it an individual experience or a communal one? Only time would tell.


Quietly she rose, leaving her sword and pack for now. A bath was something she would literally kill for right now. There was a natural hot spring towards the back of the encampment, and Skylar made that her first destination of the day. She grasped her only other change of clothes, tucking them under her arm as she exited the tent.


The smell of the camp hit her hard. The sun was already high overhead, blistering heat sweltering down onto the Wardens and recruits. Ugh... hot springs are the last thing I need now. Yesterday they had passed a river, just inside the Wilds. That would do nicely, she supposed. It wasn't far enough into the Wilds to cause worry and all she needed was a quick dunk in the cool water to clear the grime of yesterday from her skin. She reached back into the tent for her sword. Just in case. Surain was still in a deep sleep. The slight wheeze from the back of his throat was not quite a snore.





She strode confidently towards the gate, and the guard posted there peered down his nose at her.


"What business do you have in the Wilds?" he snarled.


"Warden business," she replied, with a warm smile. "It won't take long, perhaps an hour at the most."


He eyed her change of clothes, then the sword slung over her shoulder, before letting out an exasperated sigh and swinging open one side of the gate for her to pass.


Skylar much preferred the energy of the Wilds to that of the camp. Her steps were lighter as she approached the river. There was no tingle to alert her to the presence of darkspawn, but she set her sword down on the bank within arms reach all the same. Then began the task of undressing, peeling off layer after layer of clothing, setting her boots off to the side, until she stood naked as the day she was born. She splashed into the clear river, the chill of the water made her gasp, but it felt so good.


Under the water she went, her fiery hair disappearing under the water's surface. She scrubbed at her skin, letting the dirt and dust fall away into the coursing river. She broke the surface when her lungs burned for air, invigorated by the icy cold of the stream. Once satisfied she was moderately clean, she stepped out of the water, wringing the moisture from her hair as best she could. The beads of water on her body dried quickly in the heat from the sun that reflected beams of light of the water's surface. It didn't take long before she deemed herself dry enough to dress. Her dark brown leather breeches were the first to be pulled on, then a longer linen tunic that was a lighter green color, then her brown leather belt cinched around her waist. Her boots were the last, they were black, over the knee, sturdy.


When she crossed the gate back into camp, the guard raised his eyebrows at her, no doubt noticing her change of clothes and damp hair. She simply threw a cheeky smile over her shoulder as she walked back towards her tent.

 

[Surain]

Surain awoke after a surprisingly peaceful night's rest. His eyes fluttered open, his calm self yawning softly as he sat up from the cot he was on, and looked around. That all was ruined when his customary scowl lightly etched itself onto his face as he remembered who his sleeping buddy had been. Somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, a small voice reminisced about waking up and smiling, dressing, and going off to begin the day.


A larger, significantly louder voice reminded him that he needed to use the restroom quickly or he might actually explode.


He shambled off of the cot and onto his feet rather ungraciously, his terrible bed head and clumsy maneuvering evident in his mad dash to get to the doorway. With a groan, the elf redirected himself to the cot, put on his shoes which had been conveniently left there for him, grabbed his staff and holstered it, and then dashed out of the tent.


The smell almost put him back to sleep, and not in a good way. The overbearing sun—damn it with fire—bore down on him with a intensity that was unholy in nature, even as he ignored it in favour of looking around for... what, exactly? Where would the latrines in this place even be? He needed to go somewhere to, well, go, but there wasn't a place here! Humans are so... too early to think of insults


The elf pushed down the rising note of panic and held himself together. The wilds are an option. Asking someone for help also works he thought, looking around to see Alistair a ways off, staring at him. He immediately turned off in the direction of the camp's exit. Wilds it is, then.


"What business do you have in the wilds?" asked one of the guards suspiciously, eyeing up the elf. Surain had no time for this mans incompetence. "Grey Warden business. Very important." replied the elf shortly, causing the man to grin at him. "Sure. Enjoy your 'business', I won't say a word." The man winked at Surain, much to his utter confusion, before opening the gates. Tinkle now. Ask questions later.


It was a quick event; he walked away from camp, relieved himself on a bush, and walked back. It took five minutes at most.


"...I guess some men—er, elves—are just lucky. How he managed to snag her is—Oh! Hello there." said the guard, surprised at early Surain's return. The elf just glared at the man as he was let back into camp, not saying a word, not caring at all what the idiotic guard was thinking. He promptly walked back to the tent he had woken up in, the guards behind him staring at him as he went.


"I don't know. He's good-looking enough, 'suppose. Do you think he was rejected?" one guard asked the other, who was nodding to what he was saying. "Definitely. That glare he had on? That's the glare of a love unreturned, I bet. I saws it in this girl I met one time..." the man trailed off, earning a laugh from his companion. "Sure." the guard returned, before pausing. "No, but for them? I don't know. The elf seems so... elfy." he added, to the amusement of his companion. "And the woman is so... womany. I think it makes sense. Did you know that they're both new recruits for them Wardens? It's fate, I tell you." They continued talking, creating gossip about the two newest Grey Wardens. Duncan would be interested, later, to find out why his two newest recruits were doing obscene things in the wilds.


-One hour in the future-


One of the guards winked at Skylar as she passed into camp, but went unnoticed. His friend jokingly suggested that'd he have better luck with the elf, which the guard took into consideration. Would he? Ah, how love was so fickle...


-Present time-


Entering the tent, Surain froze at the sight of a man rifling through some clothes in the corner. It wasn't the mage's, and it certainty wasn't the man's, which could only mean—


Disgusting. The elf cleared his throat loudly, catching the attention of the pervert. "One reason why I shouldn't set you on fire. I'm trying to think of one, but I'm having trouble." The elf said, upholstering his staff and planting it firmly on the ground. The man froze like a deer in headlights at the sight of it, and stammered for a response. "I-I-I sho... I mean... you... Sorry?" He finally settled for an apology, hoping to play on mercy.


A short scream, and what sounded like a strike of lighting later, and the man was flung out of the tent, bum blazing like the sun. Alistair, hearing the noise, turned to look just in time for a man to dash by, screaming "My ass is on fire! The elf set my ass on fire!" Oh maker thought the templar, pinching the bridge of his nose as he heard some soldiers trying to put the fire out. How the mage managed to set fire to metal was beyond him, but that was beside the point; the newest Grey Warden had managed to stir up trouble before breakfast was over.


Meanwhile, in the tent, Surain was examining his staff. No fractures from where he had hit the man—of course, why would there be? It was ironbark, and thus very difficult to break. The spell he had used to launch him on contact didn't provide near the amount of strain one might've expect, anyway. He turned away from his staff, and immideatly began picking up after the utter mess the place was in. His earlier dash, plus the man's rifling have left the place in the most chaotic state he'd ever seen a tent. I don't like owing debts. She gave me her cot for the night, cleaning up after myself should be recompense enough, right?


One might ask why Surain had been so inclined to protect the dignity of the human. The reasoning was very simple: He had the opportunity to set someone on fire and appear good for doing so, and it was a breach of privacy. If someone had attempted that in his clan, they would be severely punished, if not expelled from the clan. It was wrong on a matter of principle, above all, even if Skylar was human. Especially so.


Soon, the tent was spotless—everything was put perfectly in place. He felt a small amount of satisfaction at the sight of it, stretching his back in reward. It took him completely by surprise to hear the tent flap open again revealing Skylar there, with damp hair and a change of clothes. He near-instantly turned and faced her, returning his ever-present light scowl and blinking at her. "Hello there." he said dumbly, his brain racing to catch up with the woman in front of him.