#makersvision

This was also a choice. They realize how badly choices can go. Amos and they had each drawn tonight's lot for the watch, but these wilds were not the least tame. The sand storm had taken them both by surprise, but Ashkaari had managed to find a cave. This led to them being trapped alone inside a cave, however. That was where the choice had gone so badly. Amos was... skilled. They could concede that much. He was also, as Lese had put it, a royal ass. Ashkaari had made more note of the dwarf's voice than of the term, and it had seemed appropriate. Amos misnamed and misjudged them constantly. 'Her' and 'Qunari' and 'giant'; it was enough to try the patience of a saint (another term they have learned, learning too that they are no saint), and Ashkaari feared that the storm would be intolerable. But Amos either sensed their clear displeasure or else was upset for reasons his own, for he mostly kept a surly silence, watching the partially-covered cave mouth with impatience. This suited Ash as well as anything. But it did give them time to reflect. The choice that had brought them here, the choice that had begun a long journey such that could not be rescinded; not out of the absolution of the Qun, but out of a warrior'a pride, of a commitment chosen, of words spoken and honored, of dark blood in a silver goblet. Finally it was Ash who chose to break the silence, for their thoughts weighed heavy today. "You're almost tolerable," they tease, and Amos tenses slightly and turns to face them. "And here I had begun to think I dream, that the giant bothered me not." But the venom was thin and lazy, more a casual habit than animosity, and Ashkaari very nearly had to smile.

Ashkaari. This became their name once they had realized they might choose freedom — that the Qun was not the beginning, center, and end all. They have learned to seek, they have chosen their own branching path towards enlightenment. And so they are Ashkaari. They are also unlearned. The strength of their arm is true, their aim cruelly accurate, their speech clear and practical, yet they are fledgling to freedom, newly birthed in choice. They see the chattering of city-folk who idle in their tasks or fulfill them or seek out more, and still it seems aberrant, still they seem misguided. But Ashkaari had come to one conclusion, the conclusion that subsequently forced them away from the Qun. This freedom. No absolutes, no control so firm that it is internal as well as out, no fate that had been pre-written in it's entirety. Yes, the elves and the mages here were still treated as cattle, yes, there was still the forceful guidance of their Chantry, and yes, they had their rulers (and from blood, rather than right), but it was not as the Qun. It was seeped into their culture, their language, their choices, but it was not the All, the Only, the Absolute. They found freedom here. They felt terribly naive here.