(codellmarie: That is some really insightful reading! I can tell you that you are correct on at least one account (not saying which ;) ). One of my favorite parts about playing with this many characters is seeing how it changes canon, both due to their collective numbers and individual natures. If it didn't give you guys something new, then there would be no story!
Again, I'm glad to see my little (big) project getting so much positive feedback. Thank you all, and I hope you keep enjoying.)
19. Just an Elf
And now there were Templars here. As if he could hate this camp any more than he already did.
Kazar could feel them watching him as he wandered the king's camp alone, and the weight of their stares made heat prickle up and down his spine. Word of what had happened at the Tower must have gotten back to them, to make them watch him as unwaveringly as they did while he passed. Only his own assurances that they could no longer touch him kept him from exploding right there… though whether in rage or gibbering fear was up for debate.
He just couldn't shake the memory of Greagoir's hand on the back of his neck, somehow pulling all the magic from his body and blocking his connection to the Fade. To him, being left bereft of his magic was absolutely terrifying. Without it, he was just… an elf.
He'd never really thought of his race before. At the Tower, he'd always just been Kazar Surana, Irving's favorite apprentice and mage not to be trifled with if you valued keeping certain parts from being frozen off.
But here… ugh. Here, no one knew about his exceptional talents or his reputation. Here, he was "the elf". As in, when someone didn't know his name, they called him "the elf".
As in "Hey, elf! Fetch my quiver, would you?" or "You're the elf Duncan recruited" or "What's it like being an elf at the Tower?" Elf elf elf elf ELF ELF ELF!
As if that was some important, defining feature, or something. It was just the shape of his ears, for the Fade's sake.
And then that… that other elf had walked into camp, all proud of her heritage and speaking of things that Kazar had a feeling he should understand… And he hadn't. And he had sort of wanted to.
Why did he care? He wasn't like other elves, who scraped livings together being walked on by Ferelden's upstanding nobility. He was a mage, and a powerful one. He didn't need some stupid list of gods or codes of conduct or sense of kinship.
He'd never needed any such thing before. So… why did the Dalish's obvious rejection of him hurt so much?
"Hey, elf! Where's that armor I requested?"
Kazar whirled, lightning coming unbidden to his hands. "Do I look like a servant to you?!"
The tall, balding man who had addressed him backed up, eyes widening. "Whoa, sorry. Didn't mean anything by it. I just thought-"
"That I was an elf, so obviously I must exist to do your bidding? Wrong." Kazar released the electricity building around him at a nearby crate, destroying it and its contents. Then, he whirled and stalked off. He could see that a pair of nearby Templars had put their hands on their swords, but he just glared at them and they made no move toward him.
"I'll give ya one thing, elf," a low, rumbling chuckle sounded from nearby. "Watchin' you is sure as a prince's balls a lot more entertaining than watchin' any of the other sticklers here."
Kazar whirled at the voice, because if one more person called him "elf"… just one…
Garott hopped off the base of a ruined statue. He'd been sitting there, apparently, though Kazar would never have guessed it a moment ago. The shadows had an eerie way of blending into the dwarf's skin; it made him hard to spot if he didn't move too much. "Easy, kid. I been called 'brand' and 'duster' all my life." The dwarf tapped the curving tattoo on his cheek. "I know better'n anyone here how frustrating it can be. So stop pointing that thing at me, huh?"
Belatedly, Kazar realized he'd been nursing a lightning bolt in his hand. With some effort (given his agitation), he let it dissipate. "Then why did you do it just now?" Kazar snapped.
A toothy grin crossed the dwarf's face. "Like I said. You're entertaining."
Kazar made a noise between a scoff and a growl. Then, he spun on his heel and continued his exploration of the king's camp.
Garott fell into step beside him. "I notice how those Chantry tin cans watch you. Not too fond of ya, are they?"
"The feeling's mutual."
"Mm. Then would ya like to have a little fun with 'em?"
Kazar stopped, turning curiously at the dark humor in the dwarf's voice. "What do you mean by 'fun'?"
The dwarf shrugged casually, though the smirk on his face was far from innocent. "Nothing permanent, of course. But wouldn't it be funny if, sometime around dinner, they started to feel real woozy. Too woozy to harass any young mages who are minding their own business, of course."
Kazar was intrigued. "And how would this come about, exactly?"
Garott laughed and pulled a vial out of one of the pouches at his belt. "Why, how do ya think?" He twirled the vial around his fingers and smirked. "My own special brand of magic."
Grinning himself, Kazar followed Garott as the dwarf led them through camp, toward the Templars' mess tent. Perhaps there was a silver lining to having the Templars here, after all.