Elves
"Your markings are like vallaslin. Like the Dalish traditionally mark adulthood." Merrill tells me, like she's doing me a favor.
I cut my eyes at her "Mine were burned into my skin with lyrium against my will. I very much doubt yours were."
She balks at the image.
Hypocrite.
I know she is filthy blood mage. Why should she feign surprise at the depravities her kind revel in?
"I only meant that the design is elven in origin. Whoever drew them must have taken your heritage into account, at least…" she mumbles the last.
I scoff openly now "My elven heritage you mean? That means nothing to me. The only heritage I know is slavery. All I have ever been is a slave and my heritage is the abuses Magisters inflict on those deemed beneath them. THAT is my heritage, blood mage."
Her face crumples and she seeks solace at Hawke's side. They cut me a scathing look.
I don't care.
She seeks to instruct me in the ways of the Dalish? The glory of my elven ancestors? The impudence!
What are the elves to me? Just another people who were too weak before the strength of the Imperium. I have no need for such useless things.