Chapter Text
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CHAPTER ONE ;
the life and times of a casteless warrior
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THACK!! The dummy stood lifelessly as it took another whack, unimpressed as always. Being made out of different scraps of thrifted metal from the back of the Blacksmiths in the Commons of Orzammer by Natia Brosca and a friend of hers. It was the only way she could train on her own, without arousing suspicion from others. She glared at her makeshift practice dummy and slammed her shield into its side. A loud ring filled the room as the impact shuddered through the dummy and shield, making her vibrate with it. Grunting in pain, she dropped her weapons and sank to her knees. Her friend had been right when they built this contraption, it was a bad idea. A fucking bad one. But, how else was she supposed to train? A woman of her caste could never become a warrior. The Casteless and the Surface Dwarves were not allowed to do that.
“I’m such a fucking genius,” she muttered to herself and sat up against the closest wall. The red head wiped at her sticky brow and glanced over to a small shrine at the back of her room. “I know this isn’t what you wanted for us, but I will make sure Rica is protected.” The stone altar stared back at her, no words of wisdom in response. That was how it had been for years now — her father returned to the stone, her mother drowning her sorrows in anything alcoholic and an absent brother who joined the Legion of the Dead to pay a debt that their dead father owed. It was left to Natia to carry the family and give her sister the best life she deserved. Since their mother wasn’t present or avoided Natia completely, she had to do what must be done. She aligned with the Carta out of need and not of want. She wanted to do right by Rica. “You left us all in the shite, didn’t you? Left us in the shite!”
The stone altar didn’t say anything and it didn’t need to. Her father had no right to say anything to the Brosca family anymore. They could have still been a part of the Warrior Caste and Natia would have been a warrior too. Her dreams were now nothing, as she needed to look out for her sister. “You should see us now, Faren — mum’s drunk on moss wine, Rica’s chasing some noble and I’m in service with Beraht’s lot,” she looked up at the ceiling as she spoke. Granted her brother was still alive and kicking Darkspawn butt with the Legion, she had no need to speak to the altar. “Speaking of wine,” she pushed herself off the ground and reached over to a rucksack. “I’ve got to keep her happy, haven’t I?”
Natia left the room through a stone slab that blended in with the wall once in place. It was her secret place that nobody knew about. The only person she would have been inclined to tell was already gone and she doubted anybody would understand why she hid it at all. That room was a part of a life that she wished she could live, but she couldn’t and she went on living anyway. There was no time to be sad about it, not with everything she had to do.
“What’s this — more piss water?” Was the usual slurred greeting from her mother when she entered the main room. Her mother looked nothing like her (more like her sister, if Natia was being generous) and was skinnier than she had been a decade ago. Not that it meant anything. Natia was always treated like trash from her mother and she wondered if she wished that she went to the Legion instead of her brother. Faren was always the favoured child, after all. Kalah Brosca used to hold herself so well and often gushed about her children. Now, she was a drunken wretch, who functioned on wine all day and night. She was a lot skinnier nowadays too since she only threw up whatever she ate (which wasn’t a lot). Natia had stopped feeling sorry for her mother a long time ago.
“You should have been left out on the mountains the day that bastard went!” Another one of Kalah’s rants, slurred and nonsensical as always. Natia assumed this was about a long lost love that was too painful to talk about. There again, it could have been some random bollocks that she had dreamt. You never knew what this woman was talking about these days.
“It’s your favourite,” Natia held out the bottle, keeping her tone as gently as she could allow it. She wanted to scream, but felt that would lead to many dangerous things. She already dealt with enough of that already. “I’ve got to go out and —“
“I know your game,” Kalah muttered darkly, snatching away the bottle. “You’re off to see that cocky shite-arse, aren’t ya? Well good, and don’t come back!” Those words should have hurt Natia, made her flinch even, but she straightened up and headed for the front door. “Natia,” her mother’s tone changed so suddenly that it made her turn back, “you and Faren don’t have the same father as Rica. He left for the surface when you were born.” She narrowed her eyes at those words. That was the most sense that woman had uttered in years.
“What do you—“
She barely got out of the way of the bottle that Kalah launched. It smashed against the wall and she screamed a string of unintelligible insults at Natia. The redhead bit back her retorts as she stepped out onto the street, and to her first assignment of the day.
- DEEP ROADS -
“LOOK WHAT THE NUG DRAGGED IN! Did you sleep in again, Natty?” Natia heard as she pulled the door closed, and pressed her forehead against the damp wood. She needed to breathe before she shouted for all the beggars to hear. “Beraht wants us to collect some stolen lyrium today,” her friend continued, either not noticing her demeanour or not giving two fucks about the world. Knowing him, it was probably a mixture of both. The redhead turned to take in her friend now. He was a clean-shaven Dwarf with dark braids pouring out from the top of his head. She had always thought he was handsome until he opened his mouth and sprouted some stupid shit that she either laughed at or slapped him for. There was no in between for this guy.
“Right, lyrium. Who supposedly stole it then?” Her friend then chose an expression that she thought she would never see on him. An expression she was having a hard time placing. “Leske,” she growled, “who the fuck took the lyrium?” He blinked at her, shaking his head.
“It was Oskias,” he told her gently. Natia turned away to connect her head against the door once again. She hit it a little harder this time. Leske knew that the redhead had always had a soft spot for
Oskias, the way she helped him whenever he got caught in deep shit. Natia wasn’t one to understand or admit when she liked anybody. She often called Oskias many names and would rather go into the Deep Roads before admitting anything. Leske often teased her for her apparent crush on him, despite having had an alleged fling with her. After Leske and Natia’s supposed night of passion, the two had a silent agreement to never discuss it nor to do anything foolish again. Of course Leske brought it up everytime he spoke about Rica, suggesting that Natia was jealous of his love for her sister. Natia always responded in kind by punching him.
“What do you want to do?” Leske asked as they moved away from her house and a moment of silence had passed between the two. This was met with more silence. It was clear that Natia didn’t want to think about it. “Natty,” he sighed softly, trying to get an answer from her. She shook her head, leading the way to the markets.
“I’m just thinking of a way to do this without any bloodshed,” she tried out, not meeting her friend’s eye. Leske imagined that her face had turned a nice shade of tomato. A comparison that could have earned another punch from her. No wonder they never pursued a relationship; it would have been a messy and violent one. Natia was enchanted by Oskias, it was very obvious. “Do you know where he is, at least?” Leske shrugged his shoulders.
“I know who does,” he hastily added, knowing that she wouldn’t like not knowing. “This way,” he led her through the throng of stalls, nodding to the odd person they passed. Being part of the Carta, meant that they knew quite a few people; whether as friends or people who feared them. Natia never liked it, this line of work. It was very messy and many were hurt by it.
“Olinda!” Leske called to a woman manning a stall of various sundries. Natia raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. This woman was clearly her friend’s type, even his demeanour had changed. “I was wondering if you could help a bit,” he leaned against the edge of the table that held Olinda’s goods. “We’re looking for Oskias; have ya seen him recently?” The merchant glanced between him and the redhead, her lips going into a thin line.
“You know how I feel about you hurting people, Les. I’m not gonna rat him out, if you’re going to hurt him. I just won’t.” She folded her arms to show that she wouldn’t be backing down on this. Leske placed a hand over his heart and pouted, stating that Olinda wounded him. Natia resisted the urge to hit her friend, focusing her energy on speaking to the other woman.
“Olinda,” she leaned forward, lowering her voice a fraction. She didn’t want anybody hearing her next words, except for Leske and Olinda. “Let me level with you, I am truly fond of him and I don’t want to see him harmed in anyway. It’s just that he’s gotten into trouble with our boss and I am hoping to help Oskias before anything bad happens.” As she spoke each word, a plan was forming in her head and she really hoped it worked. It wasn’t Beraht she was scared of, however. It was the man’s partner-in-crime, Jarvia, that truly made the hairs on the back of her neck stand to attention. Natia just knew that woman was up to something. She heard Olinda sigh.
“I think I saw him going into Tapsters,” she whispered back, her eyes sliding around the marketplace. It was clear that this woman was mindful of the Carta. Everybody was. “He seemed… well, he seemed twitchy. It worried me somewhat. Please,” she pulled at Natia’s hand, her grip tight, “don’t hurt him. Whatever he did, I’m sure it was out of desperation.” Natia bit her lip, glancing away from Olinda’s gaze, guilt pooling her stomach. She pulled her hand away and gestured towards the pub.
“We’d best get going, Leske.” She didn’t wait for her friend as she weaved through people, to get to the pub. Her breathing was ragged, wondering if her plan would work. It was the only way, she reminded herself, the only way! She clenched her fist as she climbed some steps and pushed the door open into the busy tavern.
- DEEP ROADS -
“HOLD UP, NATTY!” Leske had finally caught up to her, just as she started a conversation with the bar keeper. Unna cringed as she spotted the two friends, her disgust was clear over her round features.
“No, not this! I ain’t got time for two Casteless shites in me tavern!” Unna slammed down a tankard, the ale splashed onto the surface of the bar. Natia rolled her eyes as she ignored the other woman. This happened every time they entered Tapsters. Instead, she scanned the room and squared her sights on a twitchy man. He had his back to them, but was hunched over a table and muttering to himself. Natia glided over, leaving Leske to chat to Unna. She didn’t need him for now.
“Na… Natia,” the man squeaked when she sat beside himself, her hands meeting his own on the table. She noticed that he didn’t look very well and he was clutching a small pouch on his person. Natia felt a sharp pain stab her chest, as she watched him carefully, “what… what brings you here?”
“I’ve come to have a drink with you, Oz.” She gave his hand a slight squeeze, ignoring the warmth in her face. The redhead needed to do this, quickly without too much heartache. There was no way that she was going to lose this man, regardless of her own feelings. Whatever they were. Natia had accepted long ago that she would never understand this. She doubted she could consult anyone on them either. Her father being dead and her mother being a slave to the drink. Rica was younger than her and Faren was far beyond anybody’s reach. She had to rely on her instinct to get through this.
“If I knew you wanted to drink with me, I’d have taken you elsewhere.” Natia tried to smile at that, and gave his hand another squeeze, reminding him that Tapsters was the only tavern in the area. It was Oskias’ turn to look nervous, “so… so it is. Then, how about we go elsewhere? Just us two, and start a better life for ourselves.” His confidence seemed to grow as he spoke and squeezed her hand in turn. Natia’s heart and lungs were about to explode at his words, unable to speak. “You see,” his voice lowered as he leaned in and went to open the pouch. She quickly reached over to stop him;
“Don’t. Not here,” she sighed softly, knowing the heartbreaking truth. Oskias let go of her hand and leaned back in his seat, his demeanour changing. It broke her heart, but this had to be done. “So, you really stole from him, didn’t you?” He looked away, pretending that he didn’t hear her and she tried to find Leske. Her friend was slowly making his way over, with three tankards in his hands. Of course, he had managed to get them drinks would be a mystery for the ages, Natia mused with a small smile.
“Here we go,” Leske plopped down the drinks and took the seat opposite her. He gave Oskias an unreadable expression, an expression that didn’t suit him. “I’m assuming by that look, Natty has told you what we know? Let’s have a drink, so we can figure out what to do. Betraying Beraht isn’t worth it, you see.” His words hung for a moment, Oskias’ panic being more apparent. Natia hadn’t wanted this at all.
“You need to go,” she suggested and the two men shot her looks of confusion. “Go to the surface, nobody will follow you up there.” Oskias opened his mouth, but she shook her head. “I can’t go with you, Oz, I need to look out for my sister. My mum… well, Kalah won’t do that. I can’t abandon Rica, surely you can understand that?” She watched her friend move his hand toward the pouch and she shook her head. “We will tell the boss we never saw any sign of Oskias or the lyrium, you got that?” Her voice was low again now, “nobody has to know that this conversation ever happened. We were just drinking with a random guy who owes us money and that will be all to it.”
“Right,” Oskias was clearly hesitant. Natia watched him palm at the pouch, his intent written over his face. She rose from her seat and turned away, avoiding his eyes.
“Just go, don’t make this more difficult than it has to be.” She gestured to Leske to follow her and made her way towards the exit. Natia could do this. She could pretend that the conversation never happened. The redhead could lie to Beraht and Jarvia, and continue working for them. Nobody was going to die on her watch, especially the ones she truly cared for in this world.
“Natty,” Leske sighed as soon as they were out on the street once more, the bustling of the markets replacing the noise of drunken singing and chatter. She didn’t meet her friend’s gaze as she continued her walk, she needed to distract herself with something. Perhaps she could whack her practice dummy for a bit? ‘Yes,’ she thought to herself, ‘I’ll do that before going to speak with the boss.’ A hand on her shoulder stopped her in her tracks and she finally looked at the man. His face reflected how she felt on the inside, how she should have been showing but found she couldn’t. “Should we talk about this? Get our stories straight when we tell them?” The redhead wanted to shake her head and carry on, but knew that would have been useless. Instead, a long sigh left her lips and she nodded.
“I suppose you’re right but not here,” she glanced around them, gesturing to the people. “You never know who's listening to us. Besides, I need to hit something before I go crazy. Let’s get out of here.” Without another word, the two of them headed back toward the slums to work on their stories and to avoid talk of the markets. This was going to be a long night.
- CHAPTER ONE, END. -