There were many things in Orzammar one could be resentful of; there were the upstart nobles in the Diamond quarter or the slick merchants in the market who never failed in making a deal which their customers did not want, one of the more absurd tales was that some poor sod had been convinced into buying his own hat! And of course there were the dark alleys of the city, where the casteless gangs always waited, always watching for the unwary or the drunkard to relive of their possessions. And of course there was the constant threat of the darkspawn. They constantly besieged Orzammar, always looking for a way through the line, never tiring, never ceasing in their hell-spawned dream of conquering the city.

Still, let it never be said that the dwarfs were lacking in the duty that had been theirs for centuries. The dwarfs were warriors, a position that had to be since the fall of so many of their thaigs so many centuries ago. They were the first line of defence against the darkspawn. The surface kingdoms beat blight after blight and then forgot about the darkspawn, but the dwarfs were always there, always remembering, always fighting.

It was surprising how detached you could be from all this strife, even when you lived this close to them. The people of Orzammar truly had no idea as to what lurked beneath their very feet. If they truly did know, there would be an end to this pointless political infighting; every dwarf would be focused on fighting the darkspawn or trying to flee the city. Darker thoughts mused that was exactly what should be done.

The dwarfs were some of the best warriors in Thedas; constant battle with the darkspawn had made them tough, unforgiving and practical people. The dwarfs were the finest craftsmen, enchanters and warriors in the known world, time and again all the races had tried to take their fabled cities, and each time they had fallen to the blades of the valiant dwarven warriors.

Though these victories do not come without cost, each year the number of dwarfs dwindled. Some of the more pessimistic of the race say that the city can only defend itself for the next fifty years, a fact that many had claimed as outrageous, but never denied it. Because in the darkest recesses of dwarven minds they knew the fact to be true.

But the dwarfs would never go down without a fight.

You would think after so much time spent in the darkness the spawn would find the presence of a light unusual. They were there, just as the commander predicted they would be, at least twenty of them and quite well armed. They would have presented quite a fearsome prospect to even a veteran dwarven warrior, but Rat knew they were only a scout group now. It had been that way since the end of the blight; the spawn had gotten far more cautious now that they were getting beaten back. They had reason to be cautious; the warden commander of Ferelden had declared that the dwarfs would no longer suffer at their hands whilst the rest of the world thought that nothing existed under the ground. He had launched relentless attacks on their hordes, burned their spawning nests, and was driving them out of the deep roads, in desperation some of them had tried to escape to the surface, thinking their chances would fare better in the softer human lands. But all the other nations had been informed as to the threat of an undefended land since Ostagar, and any sighting of them was reacted to with a furious onslaught.

But obviously the spawn were slow learners, a lit torch illuminated the dark path before them, and they slowly but surely advanced towards it, like a child going to a sleeping mabari, he was prepared for them. Strapped to that torch were barrels of explosive powder, Rat admitted that it was not common to such an object in the deep roads, but after a few years they should have at least known what it was. Rat took out is crossbow and aimed it squarely at the barrels, he docked the bolt but had to resist igniting it. Even the darkspwan would notice a second unexplained light and this might lead to them fleeing and alerting their superiors. Something which Rat couldn't afford on his watch, no, for now he would have to use his patience. If all his years of thievery had taught him something, it was to be patient. "Ah yes, patience" his thoughts mused "that was the one thing that got you into this mess now, fool!" he hated arguing with anyone, least of all his own thoughts but he couldn't deny that they were right. When he was growing up rough on the streets of dust town it was patience that taught him which target was worth it, when to fight or flee or when the stupid nugs would come out when he could find no other source of food. And above all it was patience that led Rat to encounter that dammed Warden-Commander. Rat had been born casteless in the slums of dust-town, rejected by the class-obsessed dwarven society, with ultimately no prospects in life he had been forced to go the way of all casteless, working for the Carta. In his childhood he'd made quite the talented pickpocket, someone caused a ruckus while he snuck and his little hands did the work reaching into pockets and packs, between caring for his mother and turning most of his profits over to the Carta it was some time until he could afford to buy his own crossbow, the shop owner had a heart attack the day a casteless dwarf actually came in and bought something legally. That crossbow was his treasure; he'd trained with that bow until his fingers were numb and bleeding. The leader of the Carta, a foul dwarf named Beraht, had seen his talent and given him the job of scouting out which people were worth mugging or assassinating depending on the job at hand. Of course then Beraht died, slain by one of his minions, personally Rat didn't hold a grudge against him, Rat had always wanted to kill that weasel, but he was annoyed at the fact that Jarvia took over the Carta and had been cracking down, he had to check every piece of information twice and live with the constant threat of her leaning over him. Life just got much harder, but then she had gone and died too, leaving him in his early teens with nothing. There was no more income and he and his mother slowly began to starve. In anger and desperation he had sought out the warden commander, he remembered the encounter well.

"That pompous idiot" thought Rat as he watched him.

Here he stood soaking up all the celebration, and so he should, the assembly had cleared him of his brother's murder and then blamed it on his youngest brother. And for defeating the blight he'd just been made Paragon, a living ancestor, the highest rank in Ozammar. But Rat imagined that he shared a common trait all noble-born dwarfs shared, they completely forgot about their lesser, those who helped them get where they were. Where would that arrogant bastard be without armourers to forge his arms and amour, enchanters to give his equipment a little extra punch? And his companions who helped him kill the Archdemon. Where was the mention of them? Did he kill the Archdemon all on his own, that's what he probably said. Anyway, Rat was going to kill him, they'd certainly execute him for murdering a Paragon, but with no work he was as good as dead anyway. He aimed his shot and fired.

The moment seemed to go on forever, he could watch the arrow as it flew past the heads of his adoring fans, watched with shock as he caught the arrow mid-flight and snapped it in two, and with horror as his eyes turned directly on him. Rat didn't think twice, he turned tail and fled, but hunger had weakened him and now he was as no good as his crippled mother in a chase. The Warden had caught up to him and had grabbed him with a strong hand; he tumbled over into the ground.

"Nice shot lad, though you might want to have picked an easier target" mumbled a deep voice. "I once survived an attempt by the Antivan crow's lad; you haven't got much of a chance"

Rat looked up at him, "Well if you're so high and mighty you'll want to get rid of a duster like me!" he spat.

"That so?" his enemy mused "I'll admit that wasn't the best shot I've ever seen, but for a nugget like you that wasn't so bad." He stroked his beard in thought, "and don't be so hard on the duster thing lad, when I got exiled I was technically a duster, and I turned out okay, mostly because I had the right guidance. Something I think you're in need of"

His captor smiled "kid, you hear of the new regiment in the army that's forming"

"The all-casteless one?" Rat had heard of it, but dismissed it as nothing but a rumour, who would hire a brand to fight after all?

"Indeed, it's no rumour lad, it took me a long time to convince king Harrowmount to take up the offer, but in the end he accepted, it's going to be founded soon and we're looking for recruits, interested?"

Rat was dumbstruck; he'd never expected this kind of offer from one of the highborn. His thoughts were broken as the angered shouts of the city guard filled his ears.

"There he is!" shouted the leader "that the casteless filth!" he ran up to Rat and slapped him hard, aided by the heavy chainmail gauntlet he wore. Rat fell onto the ground once again inhaling a cloud of earth and spitting blood as his lip cracked on the stone.

The leader spat on him, "you want we should take it from here paragon? Assassination of a higher caste is a capital offence, he'll get a beheading for sure, and the assembly will probably let you carry out the honour!"

The paragon waved his hand dismissively, "actually this one will be joining the casteless regiment and will be fighting the darkspwan".

The guards looked at him as though he declared a sixth blight, "you're going to make this brand a solider of Ozammar! You must be sodding mad!" he roared before he realised he was talking to a paragon, he quietened down immediately. One of the smarter guards muttered "we stand by your word paragon" before the group turned away to convey the bad news to the crowd.

The paragon looked down "guess that means you're signed up, welcome aboard kid!"

Rat got up to protest "I didn't sign up to this you know!"

The paragon cuffed him across the face "you stupid boy! It's either this or beheading, dunno about you but I prefer army, kill more darkspwan that way eh?" he finished with a chuckle.

Rat opened his mouth to protest but he realised he had no choice, the paragon saw this and smiled, he offered his hand and helped Rat up.

"Glad to see you can think straight, that'll be useful for the scouting job I have in mind, by the way I'll have to know your name"

"Rat"

An eyebrow was raised "Rat, you serious?"

He shrugged "it's what those nobles called me, a dirty thieving rat, real names Askel, but I prefer Rat, they're survivors, so are we"

"Alright then the names Krieger Aeducan, that'll be commander Krieger or paragon Aeducan. We clear on that."

And that had been it, from that day onwards Rat had been assigned as chief scout of the regiment, his pay was quite good and he was able to feed his aging mother and earn more right's for fighting in Orzammar's army. He was struggling to come to terms with the fact that he actually liked that Aeducan noble bastard. As a grey warden, paragon and last survivor of his legendary house he'd built up quite a reputation. Though he was given a lot of grief because he stuck up for casteless he didn't care, he went to the surface to battle the blight, making him casteless as well. So most of the brands saw him as 'someone who sticks up for us, about sodding time' indeed it was no secret that his new house almost exclusively employed casteless, and he also funded repairing dust-town, making him even more popular. 'Maybe all nobles weren't so bad' Rat mused as he made his way back to the command post.

To call it a command post was flattery, it was little more than a collection of ramshackle tents. But the place was a meeting point for the leaders of the regiment and the commander was there, silently contemplating the next course of action as the captains reported to him. His eye picked out Rat and he straightened up and bade his captains silent.

"What news scout-captain?"

Rat was uneasy, he never liked being called by that title "the spawn are nearing the trap paragon"

"Their leaders?"

"Unknown, estimated close proximity"

"So be it, men! The scouts will spring the trap and then we march!" a rousing cheer greeted his words, the casteless regiment, more commonly known as the Brand's, were ready for battle.

The darkspwan were clustered all around the barrels now, poking and prodding them. The scouts had seen no danger and signalled for the main group to come along. Rat loved this part the most, he wrapped the tip of a bolt in oiled cloth and struck it alight, in the deep dark the spawn noticed it almost instantly, but it was too late. The bolt sped off with a purifying twang and hit the barrels, the pure white explosion was almost deafening. The spawn unfortunate enough to survive were unnerved by the next deafening sound, the battle cry as the dwarven soldiers charged into battle.

By now the rest of them had reacted and charged back, Krieger could see that the spawn outnumbered them about five to one, this was going to get very bloody soon, Krieger knew what he had to do.

"Modest charge!" he shouted, his warriors knew what this meant and their charge slowed, except for some who stayed ahead muttering things under their breath. The darkspwan thought that the dwarfs were intimidated and pressed forwards eagerly; Krieger hoped they appreciate the surprise.

"Berserkers!" he roared.

Some of the advancing dwarfs ran forward with surprising speed, roaring oaths and curses as they cleaved into the darkspwan lines. They were a fearsome sight, raving and ranting while swinging weapons wildly everywhere; they seemed almost immune to pain and cut through the terrified darkspwan. The holes they left were quickly filled with the rest of the dwarven warriors. Krieger's plan had worked perfectly, the dwarven soldiers were making short work of the spawn, but they hadn't won yet.

A sharp high pitched shriek made Krieger look around frantically with dread, and then they came. They appeared as if from nowhere, out of the shadows came scythe limbed creatures and started hacking into the regiments lines, one appeared behind three unfortunate men, the first met his end when one of the scythe's they called arms split his head open, his brain-soaked comrades rushed to react, one of them lifted his axe to strike but the creature was too fast and dodged his swing while slicing him across the stomach. One of the others tried but another creature appeared and wrapped its arms around his neck, the blades slit his throat and the creature began devouring his head. Krieger new these creature's all too well, their official name was the Sharlok, though they were far more commonly known as shrieks due to their ear splitting cry they made in combat. One of them charged towards him, spittle flying from its lips as it made its killing leap towards him Krieger charged towards it shouting an oath to his ancestors he ducked and slid across while thrusting his great-sword high into the air. It cut through the creature easily and when he got back up the shriek fell to the ground in two very moist heaps. Krieger immediately sensed more danger, this was one of the few times he was thankful for the grey warden abilities. He could see one of the bastards crawling to him in the corner of his eye, when it leapt for him he did a downward slash and cut its legs off, the creature gave a cry of agony and looked back up at Krieger and roared its defiance, and he simply smashed into its head with the pommel of his weapon.

By now the darkspwan were beginning to have the upper hand and Krieger had been a leader long enough to know when morale was failing. He hefted his great-sword high and willed the rune to activate, the grandmaster silverite rune burned beautifully in the darkness, this rune had been created specifically to fight darkspwan and they knew it as well, they began shying away from the commander as he turned to face them, his eyes glowing a ghostly shade of silver "send these spawn back to the hell spawned pits from whence they came! For Orzammar!" Krieger roared, his troops echoed these roars and cut into the spawn with renewed faith. Krieger was at the head, each cut he inflicted burst into purifying silver fire.

The darkspwan soon began to realise they were beaten and began fleeing back into the darkness; the more eager ones began to pursue them but were called back by Krieger's guttural shout. They had come here to cause high casualties among the spawn, not take any territory.

Krieger spat a mouthful of blood into the blood-warmed stone and looked around, there was entrails everywhere, not all of them darkspwan, Rat came rushing to his side.

"Report" he simply grunted.

Rat snapped to attention "heavy casualties on the darkspwan sire, it'll take them at least a week before they can come back here"

"Our own?"

"More than we would have liked, about a quarter of the regiment" he was about to elaborate when he saw the saddened look in his commander's eye. "I'm sorry sir"

"No I'm sorry lad, I charged in too recklessly, maybe we could have checked more"

"Don't worry sir, it wasn't your fault" Rat comforted, Krieger placed a hand on the young lads shoulder. "Thanks lad, let me tell you this, life's too short to wonder what might have been"

Rat didn't like it when his commander got this solemn; usually he was trying to hide his regret, "let's go to the tavern sir, that'll make you feel better"

"Maybe you're right lad, company out! Let's get home"

Dust town

Rat only spent a little bit of his wages on drink; he went to the market and bought a bag of food for when he got home, he sighed as he remembered the dirty looks he got, even though he was still a well-respected warrior of Orzammar he still wasn't an equal, personally he doubted he ever would be. He opened the door to his house, ever since Krieger had become a paragon he had spent most of his coin trying in an effort to rebuild and repair the homes of the people who would eventually serve him, now dust town was a well built, if still looked down upon suburb of the city. He entered his house and his mother greeted him, she tried to get up but it was only causing her pain.

Rat rushed over to her and hugged her "hello mother Nadezda" he greeted.

She lovingly hugged him back "hey there Askel, hope you didn't get to roughed up fighting those darkspwan"

"I keep telling you I'm fine" he grumbled.

"Well you can't be too carful" she sighed, "oh I really wish there was some other job for you then the army"

"Doubt it mother, the nobles won't even spit on people like us, and besides, fighting the darkspwan is helping the city as a whole, it feels pretty good you know, doing my duty and all that."

Rat gave his mother the bag off food and she gave a sigh of relief, since he had begun working for Krieger they had never been hungry again but she still guarded every meal as though it were her last. He didn't care, these were the parts he loved the most, no darkspwan, no arrogant nobles, just him and his family quietly enjoying an evening.

The Aeducan estate

Krieger was mulling over the deaths of his men, the was truth in that statement he told rat, a lover of his had told him that once, but that didn't stop him feeling guilty. He lifted his mug of ale.

"May the Stone rest these proud warriors and welcome them into her embrace" he finished poetically before taking a large gulp. This experience couldn't help but remind him of his low opinion of the dwarven noble caste.

Him being born a noble, he rarely spoke of his feelings towards his caste mates but secretly he hated the whole caste system. All that occupied their massively overstuffed heads was furthering their own power. The was no unity even as a threat that had enough power to make their race extinct was on their very doorstep. Krieger knew that if they had to face half the responsibilities he had to they would soon give up their hopes of paragonhood. A minor noble would only have to worry about his house; he had to worry about the whole city falling prey to darkspwan. A minor noble would have to worry about scandal, he had to make sure their thick skulls weren't so busy infighting they forgot about the threat that lurked beneath even their feet.

And when they actually got what they wanted they did nothing with it, many nobles became generals and soldiers then ended up getting killed because although they had the money for such a position, they had little experience.

His lover and once told him of a game of intrigue and assignation that was played in the human nation of Orlais, they called it the grand game. This was a game of nobles constantly trying to get ahead of each other. He smiled as the raised his glass again.

"The Grand Game of Orzammar! A classic example of how those born without power crave it and those with power can't bear the responsibility that comes with it!" if that wasn't poetry then Krieger didn't know what was.

His thoughts were cut short as a messenger ran into the room.

"Paragon Aeducan! I bear a message of urgent importance!"

"Speak then"

The words that came out were not what Krieger expected to hear.

"I bear a message from your old order, the grey wardens!"

Authors note: well this'll be my first dragon age story, as with all my stories it is dependent on your reviews, so please give me feedback whenever possible. And for my regular readers, sorry for my long leave of absence, I've been very busy. Quill-weaver