AN: This is a Dragon Age Origins story about a caustic casteless dwarf recruited into the Gray Wardens. Expect him to be an irreverent bastard. Parts of this story may be a bit AU for entertainment purposes.
Chapter 1: The Beginning
It was another early stone cursed morning. I opened my bloodshot eyes and stared at the fucking ball of light waking me from my slumber. It was an unnatural thing and I cursed its freaky presence every nug blasted morning.
I grumble as I get up cursing under my breath. It was only a few weeks ago I was happy and content underneath the stone in Orzammar. Well not content or happy. But at least I wasn't staring up at the sky every bloomin day. If I couldn't fall up into the sky than what in the ancestor's name prevented the blasted sun from crashing onto us?
It made my head hurt thinking about it. I looked around for some decent brew and to make matters worse it was all gone.
"Duncan! How do you expect me to fight the bleeding nug humping darkspawn if you don't have any blasting ale?"
The Grey Warden smiled at me and said, "We'll arrive in Ostagar today. There we will be resupplied and I'll make sure to ask for extra ale. You are in luck that the king thinks highly of us and listens to our requests."
"I guess your king ain't half bad for a surface dweller than. Well? What are you waiting for let's move there is ale to be had!"
Duncan gave me another smile. I think the bastard was amused at my single minded devotion to alcohol. Mead, ale or whisky it didn't matter. If I wasn't fighting or fucking I wanted to have the good stuff flowing in my veins. Being part of the casteless meant I didn't get the good stuff often enough. One of the perks of being a Gray Warden was the promise of ale.
Not that I had a choice about joining. It was that or be executed because the nutless bastards in the warrior caste were offended by me mopping the floor with their prized fighters. I had been ready to take out a score of the blighters before they took me down but Duncan gave me a way out. My life, a promise of ale and all the fighting I could stomach.
The man had been impressed my fighting skills. And I'll give him that he has a good eye. I've never been beat in a fair fight against another dwarf. I'm bigger and stronger than a lot of my kin and tougher than a bronto's hide. My casteless tattoo sits on my right cheek above the impressive beard I was growing out. Sadly I only had a thin leather jerkin for armor but I had been requisitioned with a solid round shield and a stout hammer.
I loved hammers. Bladed weapons are for pansies and their ilk. Nothing feels better than to smash a good maul or war hammer into someone's face. The crunch is music to my ears. I'd never been on any of the wars with the darkspawn and was looking forward to seeing if their skulls broke just as easily.
Despite the man's longer legs I was outpacing him and he was forced to walk faster to match my stride. I wanted ale, a roof over my head and a good fight. In any order would be fine but this walking on the surface with nothing to drink and nothing to fight was driving me mad.
"Remember Lortag you still have to go through the joining before you're officially a Gray Warden."
I snorted. I didn't fear any sort of ritual hazing or trial they had planned. I was Lortag the toughest son of a bitch in Orzammar and I was ready to take on anything this blighted surface world could throw at me.
AN: This is one of those little plot bunnies that wasn't going away. I'm also experimenting with first person perspective – any critiques good or bad will be appreciated.