Toegoff
Toegoff was never like any other Dalish elf. He did not participate in the peaceful prayers of the rangers, or the balance wanted of the warriors. He instead, had a strict schedule of fighting and praying. Most Dalish avoided him, after all, this behavior was sure to attract the Keeper's attention, or even worse, humans. Toegoff however, did not care what others thought of him, after all, when the time of danger came Toegoff would be ready for it. Little did he know that the Maker had better plans for him.
Templars were a common sight in the forest. They hunted both Keepers and apostates. The forest was a place of hiding, and Toegoff knew. He usually helped apostates escape from that one determined Templar. That Templar had a faint aura around him. He radiated hate and anger. Toegoff knew that a fight with him would be his last fight. After all, humans were nothing but muscle and egos. And the only way to tame humans were with a sword and shield.
Strice loved the hunt. He was built for this. Nothing was more important than these precious moments, in these moments, he was the Maker's messenger. His two handed sword was his holy weapon, he himself, the faceless warrior. The apostates were the heretics, darkspawn, the force of evil. Nothing would stop him, nothing could. He smiled a smile of a predator.
Toegoff hissed in his breath. It was him. He was close to the apostate. The apostste was clearly nervous. He was sweating and tears stained his eyes. Toegoff wouldn't lose this one. "Hey templar! Taken any bribes this week?", He yelled. The templar gave a growl and spun around. "Elvish SCUM! YOUR KIND IS NOTHING BUT ANIMALS!". Toegoff vision started turning red. His hands trembled and his nose flared. He gave a roar of primal fury. And he attacked.
Scrice groaned. This elf was deadly. This elf had hunted him. He felt his stares before. He was obviously a warrior. His swordplay was good and he never relented. He would be a good combatant, but he had a mission. He heard a rustle through the din of sword crash. The apostate was escaping! He grinned and threw a knife right into his back. but before he knew it a sword went straight through his stomach. He couldn't believe it. he had been killed.
Toegoff stood above the Templar's body. He had inflicted more damage than necessary. His head had been cut up and his arms broken. His face had been damaged enough so that even the Templar's closest friends couldn't identify him. He didn't know what came over him. He didn't even know the apostate. He had been a rage. he suddenly heard a word pound in his brain. Berserker, Berserker, Berserker.