21. Duncan's Shifty Little Menagerie

"And so, there we are sneaking around in an off limits area, trying to be as quiet as possible—because, hey, Templars have beheaded people for less—when Jowan suddenly yelps."

"Did you fry him?"

"Almost, yeah." Kazar smirked. "First because I thought we were under attack. Then, when I turned and just saw him just standing there, I almost fried him because he'd yelped. While we were risking our heads going after his phylactery!"

Garott leaned back against the column, surveying the mountain view as they talked. The pair had found this quiet little corner of the king's camp not long after the whole 'poison the Templars' bit had gone the way of the thaigs. Apparently, the Chantry had herbalists who could identify cave spider venom when presented with it; who knew?

Fortunately, Garott had noticed quick enough to split the scene, dragging the kid behind him with only some mild hissing and spitting on the elf's part. A duck around a tumbled wall and a hop up to a balcony later, and they'd found this hidden little edge of the ruin that was well out of the paths and views of any metal-covered humans who hadn't liked a little extra seasoning in their lunches. The fact that the isolated hiding spot happened to have a spectacular view of the Korcari Wilds was only a happy happenstance.

"So," Garott glanced over at his elven partner in crime. "Why'd he yelp?"

"I couldn't tell at first. 'Something bit me!' he kept saying, and he started swatting at the ground with his staff. I was like, hello, Jowan. You're an apprentice mage. Just fire some lightning at it or get over it."

Garott chuckled. "Did he do either?"

"Didn't need to. As it turned out, he was right. Something had bit him. And then it had the unmitigated gall to bite me."

"Ah." Garott eyed the remembered annoyance on the mage's face. "Let me guess, it never lived long enough to learn better?"

"Damn straight. On pure reflex, I shoot out a blast of lightning." Kazar illustrated by doing so now, electricity leaping from his hands to crackle into the air in front of them. A moment later, it dissipated. "Next thing I know, I see a half dozen little two-legged lizard things just emerge from the shadows and fall to the ground, dead."

Garott laughed full-bellied, because he recognized that description. The little vermin had a tendency of getting into the tunnels around Dust Town and making a mess of the refuse. "Deepstalkers, eh? Yeah, they do that."

The elf wrinkled his nose. "Is that what they were? Annoying little things." He paused thoughtfully. "Fun to kill, though."

"Tell me about it." Garott flipped his dagger idly as he spoke. "Me and the other duster kids used to make a game outta chasing the things. One point for a kill, two for a live capture. Ten points if you managed to get one of your catches to spit acid on another player."

Kazar threw back his head and laughed. "And to think, the most fun game I had back at the tower was 'Hide the Enchanter's Staff'."

Garott smirked at his younger companion. "Why do I get the feeling that's not nearly as dirty as I'm imagining it?"

"Because I've played it since I was seven, you sick and twisted dwarf."

Garott simultaneously laughed and gagged. "By the Stone, that was a nasty thing to say! Even for you, you evil, evil elf!"

"And now the image will stay in your mind forever." Kazar smiled devilishly. "My work here is done."

Truth be told, Garott liked the mage. He was a little snippy, sure, and Garott didn't want to be on the receiving end of his spells anytime soon, dwarven resistance to magic be damned… but the kid was overall a lot more tolerable than the other goody-two-shoes. Like that other mage and the knight. And that wasn't even touching on the princess. Kazar had a sense of mischief and a disdain for authority for its own sake that the duster related too. Also, like Garott, the elf had a bit of a mean streak. Garott approved.

"…thought I heard someone cast lightning over this way," a familiar voice came into earshot behind them, somewhere on the other side of the pillar they were hiding behind. Garott stifled a chuckle when Kazar groaned softly and started banging his head against the stone. "Or maybe I'm just losing my mind… tends to happen, you know, around bad-tempered mage runts who can't take a hint!" The last bit was delivered in a shout, obviously for their benefit.

Kazar sighed and raised his own voice. "Go away, Templar."

"Ex-Templar, thank you very much." Alistair's blond head poked around the column. "And there you are. Enjoying the view, are you?"

"I was before your ugly face got in the way."

"Ooh, what a clever comeback. Don't think I'll top that. Now come on; time to go."

Kazar bristled, and Garott saw a couple sparks started coming off his hands, as they tended to do every now and then. "Or what? I'm not some dog you can order around, you know."

"Me," a new voice spoke up behind Alistair. "I like dogs, I do." This was followed by an actual dog's bark.

Curious, Garott stood up and started around the column to see just who the Warden had brought with him.

As soon as he moved, Alistair jumped. "By the-! Don't… do that, Garott!"

Garott smirked, pushing past Alistair to see the landing proper. "What, walk?"

"Oh, ha ha. Like you don't know what I mean… you… lurky person." He heard Kazar chuckle at Alistair's discomfort.

Behind the Warden was a small group of strangers. Judging by the dust on their armor, they'd just come off the road, and the plates of camp food they were each working on only confirmed it.

Two of them had that distinct not-on-the-up-and-up look that Garott recognized as akin to his own. If they'd been dwarves and branded, he would have taken them for dusters, but they weren't either. One was tall and human, with a longbow slung across his back and a cheeky grin on his scruffy face. The other was an elf, who Garott's keen eyes noted had a dagger on each forearm and what appeared to be a lockpicking kit tucked into his belt.

Behind them stood another human and a dog. The human was blond and thicker set than the other two… more along the lines of Alistair's build. He had a longsword and shield stowed on his back, and wore armor that indicated access to decent craftsmen. No mere sword grunt, there.

While the other two were grinning, this one bore an expression that was both listless and careworn. It was the sort of expression a guy saw a lot, in Dust Town. It said that the person had been through a lot of crap, and was about one bad hair day away from either trying to scratch the eyes out of the nearest caste-member or throwing himself on his own dagger.

Interesting.

Next to the blond man stood a dog that was very nearly as tall as Garott. He'd seen a lot of mabari since their arrival almost a week ago… and he didn't much like seeing one off a leash like this. Scary things, mabari. And waaaay too smart.

The elf of the newbies smiled in a way that was likely supposed to be friendly. "How do you do? We're the new Warden recruits."

"So the boss scrounged up more, eh?" Garott smirked at Alistair. "Pretty soon, we're gonna outnumber you actual Wardens. So watch your back, Goldie."

"Ah, so that's your plan, is it? Going to take over the Wardens from the bottom up?" Alistair rejoined. Always good for a bit of banter, was Alistair. "Can't say I mind, but watch your back when you get to Duncan. He'll school all of you at once, just you wait."

The human thief burst out laughing. "Learned that first-hand. Man, but the old bugger can run, can't he?"

Alistair turned a worried look on the human. "Do I want to know why you were running from Duncan?"

"Cut his purse," the man deadpanned. "Had to run, or else he'd have caught me sooner, wouldn't he?"

Garott couldn't help it: he threw back his head and roared with laughter. The mental image! And the way the cutpurse admitted it so baldly, in front of goody-two-shoes Alistair!

"Is he all right?" Garott heard the new elf asked when his laughter didn't abate.

"Ooh, the other Wardens told me about this…" Alistair said. "Apparently, he's out of his bloody mind… fits in rather nicely with the rest of them, really."

"I resent that!" Kazar's voice snipped. He'd come out from behind the pillar, and now stood with his arms crossed over his chest. He scowled at Garott. "And you shouldn't be encouraging him. You're supposed to be on my side."

Garott took some deep breaths and mastered himself. He smirked up at the mage. "You know, I'm noticing a couple things about Duncan. Recruiting a guy who cut his purse…" He pointed to the human. "…a kid who helped a blood mage escape…" Pointing to Kazar. "…a fella who worked for the local crime lord…" Pointing to himself. "…and who knows who else?" He turned his smirk to Alistair. "Duncan's a little shifty, ain't he?"

"He… but… it's…" Alistair sputtered.

At this, the new elf laughed. "I'd noticed that, too. You know, he plucked me out of the hands of the Denerim guard right as they were about to arrest me?"

"Same song here, elf," Garott said. The elf was amiable enough… might as well make nice. "Name's Garott Brosca."

"Finian Tabris." The elf glanced about at his companions. "And this fine upstanding citizen is Daveth. Behind us are Hugo and his pet human, Percival."

The only acknowledgement the human behind them gave that he'd heard was to reach down and scratch the mabari behind its ears.

"How about you?" Finian turned to Kazar, who had remained silent and smoldering the entire time. "It's good to see another elf among the-"

Garott suppressed a snort before the explosion hit, knowing that was entirely the wrong thing to say.

"Us both having pointed ears," the mage interrupted flatly, "does not make us kin."

Finian, to his credit, recovered quickly. He turned apologetic so swiftly and smoothly that Garott leaned forward, reassessing the elf's demeanor. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound like I assumed we were. You've got a staff: you're a mage, aren't you? Must be a strong one, to catch Duncan's attention."

By the Stone, did the elf just do what Garott thought he did?

Kazar's guard relaxed slightly. "Of course I am. In fact, I'm one of the most talented mages of my generation."

Finian smiled abashedly, and Garott narrowed his eyes, the gears in his head turning. "Admittedly, I don't know much about magic…"

"I don't know how you could, the way the Chantry keeps everyone locked up in the Tower." Kazar was speaking freely now, his previous hostility completely forgotten. "They barely even let us learn about magic, and that's only because we'd probably unwittingly pull Ferelden into the Fade if we didn't."

While Kazar continued to rant, Garott only stared with new respect at the smiling, seemingly unassuming elf in front of him. This elf had just cooled, with a few words, one of the hottest heads in camp. Or rather, he'd redirected the heat, like a master smith redirecting his fire so that he could use it to serve his own purposes.

Very interesting.

When Kazar had wound down—ending with a note somewhere along the lines of "and that's why all Chantry priests need to die painful fiery deaths"—the ex-Templar stepped forward.

"Well, that was… informative. Anyway, believe it or not, you two, I didn't just come here for the company and promises of mass murder."

Garott smirked. "Aw, I'm hurt."

"The fact is, Duncan's back." At that, both stood a bit straighter. "Turns out he's done building an army of new recruits, and is ready to put you all through the Joining. He wants to get the ritual done by tonight, so the sooner we get started, the better."

Kazar sighed. "Finally."

"So the boss wants to see us?" Garott guessed.

"Yep." Alistair nodded. "As soon as possible, all gathered together for the first time. Quite touching, really."

"A moment that bards will sing about for years," Finian agreed with that disarming grin of his. So he bantered too, did he?

"Well, let's get going, then." Alistair made a shooing motion, and they all started off toward the middle of camp. "If we take too long, he'll give us his 'disappointed Warden Commander' look. Believe me, you do not want to be on the receiving end of that little gem."

Finian's riposte was quick. "Know that from experience, huh?"

"I do try to live as an example to the rest of you. Mostly, a cautionary one."

Finian and Daveth both laughed. Kazar, trailing behind even Percival and the dog, just wrinkled his nose.

Garott drew even with the new elf as they walked. Softly, he said, "You are one manipulative son of a nug, ain't ya?"

The lollygag grin on his face faded slightly, and he shrugged nonchalantly. "I just want everyone to get along."

"With you."

"Hey, Garott?" Alistair called back.

Garott's head snapped up. No way had the guy heard that brief exchange. "Yeah?"

"You haven't seen Meila about, have you? She's the only recruit we haven't found yet."

Garrot snorted a laugh, though he was aware of how the mage behind them hissed at the sound of the Dalish elf's name. "What, you're actually looking in camp for her?"

Alistair groaned. "That's what I was afraid of."

"Relax, Goldie. From what I saw in the deep roads, Rehg's a decent tracker. He can probably pick up her trail."

"Won't need it," Kazar grumbled from behind them. When they glanced back at them, he pointed over toward the wall that separated the ruin from the Wilds. There seemed to be a giant lizard of some kind dead on the ground beneath it.

As Garott watched, the Dalish elf's lithe form landed lightly next to it and stumbled a step, having jumped off the top of the wall.

"What the…" Alistair groaned and raised his voice. "Meila, is that how you've been getting out? Climbing over the wall? And that doesn't seem a mite bit dangerous to you?"

The Dalish only acknowledged the question with a cursory glance in their direction. Then, she picked up her dead lizard and started off in the direction of the mess tent.

"Pleasant girl, Meila Mahariel. Talkative. Friendly." Alistair sighed. "You guys go on and report to Duncan. I'm going to go see if I can't convince her to stay in camp long enough to meet us there."

Garott chuckled, and Kazar mumbled something under his breath. The other three only looked on in confusion, though there was definitely awe in Finian's expression as he watched the Dalish elf weave through the camp.

First Kazar's sulking when she didn't want to make friends, and now Finian's semi-reverent staring? What was it with elves and their fascination with the Dalish? It was like Meila was a bloody Paragon or something.

Kazar was the first to continue on toward camp, expression dangerously close to murderous (and to Garott, Carta thug, "murderous" was not just a figure of speech). The dwarf followed behind, though he let himself turn to watch Alistair try to catch up to the Dalish elf. It proved well worth the attention as the Warden nearly bowled over a messenger, and the dwarf chuckled.

The other three followed behind him and Kazar, speaking quietly amongst themselves. Or rather, the two shadier ones were speaking, while "Percival" followed behind in brooding silence. The dog seemed to be attending to the conversation more than he was.

Garott narrowed his eyes at the dog, again wondering how smart it was. And how vicious. He'd have to step lightly around the hound, because a dog as big as a dwarf could easily tear his head off. He rather liked his head where it was. It was useful.

He turned his attention forward again. As far as he was concerned, that dog wasn't the only one to keep an eye on out of the new batch of recruits. Daveth didn't really seem wily enough to be much of an actual threat to anyone without a bulging purse, so Garott wasn't really worried about him. No, it was the other two.

Finian… that elf was crafty. Garott had seen a lot of someone else in the elf's quick responses… the way he could change course mid-conversation, and bring you along for the ride. The way he could talk his way around a volatile situation when pressed. It reminded him of Beraht. And anyone who reminded him of Beraht, no matter how seemingly benevolent, was someone to be watched.

Percival, on the other hand, wasn't much of a threat… now. But Garott had seen that look before: he was hanging onto sanity by a thin thread. If that thread snapped—and who could say what would make it do so—then the blond man was just as likely to go berserk as he was to throw himself off a cliff. And if Duncan had recruited him, it was a fair bet he knew how to use that fine blade on his back. Garott didn't relish the thought of being mowed down by some depressed pretty-boy who couldn't handle a couple punches from the bitch known as life.

Garott, for his part, took any punches life threw at him. And then he laughed in her face.

Thinking about the sorts of people he'd be expected to work with from now on, he just hoped the bitch wasn't laughing back.