Gee wiz. I haven't written anything for this site in forever. I'm out of touch.
I hope you enjoy regardless. C:
xxx
It had become nothing short of obsession.
Day after day he'd speak it, and yet never hear it in return. Even his own comrades in battle, even after all this time, had failed to quell the growing fire inside the pits of his stomach. He pined away for the day that somebody- anybody, he really was getting desperate now- would consider him more. More than Gray Warden. More than Knife-Ears. More…
"Call me Shiraz."
The Dwarf eyed him with a stupefied expression, glancing between the schedule and the pleading eyes of the elf in question. "Er… Right. We'll just call you Gray Warden then. Elven names are so difficult to pronounce, you understand."
The elf bit back the urge to say anything he may regret as the champion of some lout he'd decided to Champion for in order to get some support for the man. Sure, as much as he was getting slightly fed up with the scattered armies and their convenient dilemmas, he knew well enough by now that it'd be hardly honorable to commit such indecency towards…. But Shiraz? Really? How hard /is/ the name? It's a type of WINE, for Maker's sake! Dwarves like their spirits, don't they? So why not?
I mean, really. Say it with me. Shiiii-raaaz. Is that really so hard? Why, if he didn't sorely need the support of the armies, he'd take that clipboard and shove it…
Well, not even Zevran would be able to reach where it'd end up. Well, maybe he would, if he aimed one of his damned knives for the gullet. Point stands, nobody would see it again.
Sleeve tugging. Whispering. He saw them doing it from the corner of his eye as the dwarf looked on expectantly, waiting on an answer from the fidgety elf in front of him.
"His eyebrow is twitching again. I say we relocate him before he begins ransacking the corpses this time, no?"
The taller of the two coughed, pouting a bit. "Really? Is he STILL on about that? … I only forgot the first time we met, and-"
"Aye, he'll hear you-"
"Oh, my dears, too late for that. Far too late."
The elf turned to his two traveling companions, whom were presently eyeing him in a sort of fear. He would not name them, of course. My, no. If he didn't get a name, they didn't either. It was only fair after all. "You're not going to be approving of me too much when we get back to camp…"
It would be also fair to say the way the elf's face had contorted itself, the typically slightly reasonable fellow could probably pass for an abomination of sorts. It fit along with the ominous tone his voice had taken. He was sure Wynne- er, the elder one who shant be named was shaking in her boots right now. In reality, she just shook her head. Perhaps she thought they had it coming- one had just held a very serious conversation about her magical bosom, the other losing his socks within her luggage. She who must not be named was not the vengeful sort, was she?
… No, no, she'd intervene if something happened. The Dwarf continued to stare with mild confusion, nothing more. Taking in a deep breath, the elf sighed, closing his eyes.
"Gray Warden is fine."
