The Thief

Ch. 1: The Sister

Orzammar. The capital of the Dwarven kingdom. Cultural center of all Dwarven-kind. The jewel of the underground, Faren once heard. All Faren Brosca ever saw were the slums. The dirtiest, poorest, and literally the lowest portion of the Dwarven metropolis. There was nothing shiny or even clean about where he lived. Down here there were only three ways to survive: beg from the few people who came down here with money, find work which usually meant the least honorable, disgusting, or dangerous jobs that were reserved for the Casteless or join the Carta, the criminal organization that had sunk their teeth into the slums. Few people visited the Orzammar slums, better known as Dust Town. And with so many Casteless, jobs were scarce. Which left the Carta.

All because of one damned mark, Faren noted glumly as he stood before Beraht, the dwarven leader of the Carta. And the mark. It was a small thing. In black, it was a squashed 'S' with hard angles. That was what marked him as Casteless. That single tattoo meant he had to struggle to survive, day-to-day. That was why he had to become a criminal to support himself and his sister. And that was why Beraht, the haughty criminal lord was now talking to him.

Beraht was tall, by Dwarven standards, and had dirt-brown hair, which included a fine beard that went down to the top of his chest. His moustache was equally long, coming halfway down his beard with both sides of it carefully braided. He had large, hooked nose that he stared down from two beady, little amber eyes. And as much as Faren wanted to fight him, he was wearing fine scale armor and carried a weapon. As talented as Faren was at fighting, he was simply too under-equipped to be a match.

Faren's own features were simpler, with black hair that covered the back of his head and had two thing braids that came down just in front of his ears. As hard as he tried, Faren could never grow such an impressive beard, his own facial hair forever stuck at a thin, fuzzy hair. His amber eyes watched Beraht carefully, sitting above a large, but thankfully not a hooked, nose. He was armored, but it was much lighter than Beraht's, reserved on a fighter that utilized speed. His arms were uncovered, except for forearms guards and shoulder pads. His armored tunic ended in what some would call a skirt. It gave his legs the needed mobility to dodge attacks, though he did wear shin guards as well. Two belt buckles crossed over his waist, while two more criss-crossed over his chest. All of it to allow him to carry as many small items as he pleased.

If only I could find enough to pay my way out of this hellhole, Faren muttered to himself as he listened to his boss.

Beraht wore his typical smug frown as he looked at Faren's sister, Rica. Beraht was not happy at the moment. "I can't keep gambling on you forever, precious," He warned her in that deep, patronizing, slimy voice of his.

Rica glanced at the floor. "Please, Beraht. Can we not do this in front of my brother?" She quietly pleaded.

"Why not?" Beraht replied gruffly, looking at Faren. "He knows the slope of the land, don't you boy?"

Biting back what he really said, Faren bowed his nod and answered like a good little crony. "He's right. Whatever it takes to get out of this cesspool."

Beraht smirked as he addressed Rica. "Listen to the kid. He knows the deal you made. He lays low and does whatever jobs I don't want to risk anyone valuable on. In return, I put out coin so you can doll yourself up and get a bellyful of some nobleman's brat. Then you both go free. And I get to join the family and be called, "my lord," for the rest of the little prince's life."

That left a bitter taste in Faren's mouth, to imagine that Beraht would not only haunt him and his sister, but his future nephew as well. "We've kept our part of the deal."

"Well, unless I start seeing results, we're going to renegotiate," Beraht predicted. "I'm giving you another week, precious. If you haven't found a patron, you're back to sweeping the streets."

"But…I have," Rica nervously clarified as she stepped away from the conversation to look away as a faint blush appeared on her cheeks. "I have met someone. That is, I didn't want to promise, but he seemed interested."

"See, she's found someone. I told you we'd deliver," Faren pressed, hoping it would satisfy the crime lord and make him leave.

"It's nothing definite, but he… he said he wanted to see me again," Rica softly added.

"Excuse me if I don't start knitting booties," Beraht replied snidely. "Until I do, you're the one who's going to keep paying her debts with your service to the Carta."

"You have some more… errands for me to run?" Faren reluctantly asked.

"A few," Beraht affirmed. "Do a good job, and you might work your way up to footpad one of these days. Your buddy Leske's waiting outside. He knows what I'll need from you today. Don't even think about bungling this job. Your whole family's on loose sand with me right now. And I know you don't have anywhere else to turn," He finished victoriously, before he sauntered out of their little hovel.

After he was gone, Rica turned to her brother. "I'm sorry you had to see that." Faren turned to look at her. She was slightly taller than him, and in contrast to his dark hair was gifted with bright, red mane, which was neatly combed and pulled into two buns at the back of her head. Her green eyes gave her a distinguished look among dwarven women. She was dressed in the latest fashion, thanks to Beraht's funding. The outfit was two layers of skirts with a white long-sleeved top. Two long, fingerless gloves had a jewel in the center of the hand. A belt gripped her stomach, making her midsection smaller in order to make her hips and breasts look bigger. She was a beauty; there was no doubt about that. If only we'd been born in a higher class.

"I can't stand the way he treats us," Faren muttered angrily.

"Just be careful about showing him," She soothingly advised. "You've been lucky so far; he thinks it's funny when you and Leske get vulgar. Some of the nobles I've met, they'd as soon have your head for speaking your mind. That's why I didn't tell you. Beraht's been warning me ever since two of his other girls found patrons at Lord Harrowmont's reception. They've been getting gifts already. Lord Rousten gave Elyse a surface-silk gown and she's not even pregnant. Beraht's getting impatient."

"Beraht expects too much from you," Faren grumbled.

"You know how desperate the nobles are for more children. They can barely field enough soldiers to hold the walls against the darkspawn. If I could… give one of them a son, the whole house would celebrate. And we'd all be raised up to noble caste to join the family." She sighed wearily. "It's what Beraht's betting on. That's why he paid for my clothes, my voice lessons. He wants to share the reward."

Faren didn't like the idea of his sister being used as a baby machine, but he remembered what she said earlier. "Did you say there was a noble who was interested?"

"Yes," Rica nodded, a small smile appearing on her face, which provoked a smaller, unsure one on his. "That is, I hope. He certainly seems… charming. He treats me like a real lady, not just someone to tumble and forget."

Now Faren was very curious about this mystery patron. "Who is he?"

"I-I don't want to say," Rica admitted as though mentioning his name would make him disappear. "In case I'm wrong. It just seems too mad to think of one of the most important men in Orzammar with… someone like me. Anyway, time is rusting, and I need to get dressed. These fashions will be the death of me – a hundred buttons on each sleeve!" She exclaimed before uttering another sigh. "And Leske's probably already outside waiting for you."

Leske, Faren's only friend, though at times, it seemed he was more of his unwanted partner on bad days. Not to mention he was a constant reminder of Faren's ties to the Carta. "I don't know why I can't join the army and fight darkspawn," He growled rhetorically.

"It's sheer folly," Rica agreed. "One more way the nobles protect their status. They say casteless soldiers are more danger to each other than to darkspawn… that it's an insult to the smiths to let us touch a fine-made weapon. Truly, they just don't wish to insult the Warrior Caste by showing that given the same opportunities, we could lead an army just as well."

Faren believed that too. He'd already proven himself a capable fighter on the streets. However, news was hard to find down in Dust Town. He glanced at Rica and wondered if she heard anything in her up Diamond Quarter excursions. "But haven't the darkspawn almost overrun the current troops?"

"Every year, more of the beasts come up from the Deep Roads. I've heard they've even been harrying the surface."

Faren frowned. "Is anyone doing anything about it?"

"Aye. They would even turn to humans for aid before us, it seems," Rica answered bitterly. "There's been talk of an alliance against the darkspawn, even that the Grey Wardens have stepped up. But we don't have time for this now. Leske must be waiting, and Beraht won't like it if I'm late for my appointment."

The name brought a sneer to Faren's face. "It's not fair that Beraht gets to push us around."

"Money gives him power. He's got family on the surface, which means he can smuggle up lyrium and smith crafts, and bring down silks, wines, and furs. And he played it smart. When he started expanding, he made sure it was only the casteless he shook down for protection, so the guardsmen didn't care."

Faren found himself wishing that he was the one with all of the power and wealth that Beraht possessed. "And now he has everything a dwarf could want."

Rica frowned at her brother. "I hope there's more you want in life than to be some copper-plated crime lord. You've still got the chance to get out of here. Dream big," She encouraged. "Be a Paragon! Don't stop at becoming another Beraht."

Faren scoffed, adorning his face with a wistful, rueful smile. "Someone like me could never actually be a Paragon."

"It wouldn't be the first time," Rica countered. "Gherlon the Blood-Risen was born casteless, you know, before he went to the surface. And he came back and won the throne! Many Paragons have humble origins. All that matters is that the Assembly recognizes their achievements. And once they get that vote, they found their own house, and are as noble as if the ancestors themselves had made it so."

"That would certainly surprise Mother," Faren wryly said, glancing toward the front, and only other room, in the hovel.

"Oh, don't pay attention to her," Rica admonished him. "She's just a bitter old drunk. She also said you'd never learn to walk or stop dumping in the bed. Make something of yourself just to spite her."

"Maybe I will at that," He said jokingly.

"Maybe you will," She replied sincerely."But until then, we can only serve as Beraht demands, and he won't like it if either of us is late."

"You're right," He reluctantly agreed. "Goodbye."

"Stay out of trouble. I'll see you tonight," She promised before she prepared for her appointment.

Faren nodded, "See you soon sister." He left the room, walking through the second room. His mother, Kalah sat at a table surrounded by empty bottles. She had been beautiful once. Rica shared her fine hair, but she had yellow eyes that were often unfocused thanks to the drunken stupor. Faren didn't even nod to her before he walked out of the house after grabbing his two daggers, placing them in the holds on his back.

Right outside his home, standing next to one of the few burning lamps in Dust Town was Leske. His best, that is his only friend, was waiting impatiently for him, leaning against the lamp's stone holder. His features matched Faren's, except his hair was arranged in a series of lines between black hair and baldness. Like Faren, he couldn't grow his facial hair out, but had blue eyes. And the other dwarf was about the same size as Faren. "About sodding time. I was starting to think I'd have to bust in and get an eyeful of that spicy sister of yours. Ga-row!" He declared sleazily.

Faren snorted. "Haven't I told you never to talk about my sister that way?"

"But no hot-blooded dwarf can help himself. Those perfect lips, just made to be screaming my name… you must have had a few naughty thoughts yourself, huh? What do you say?"

Faren clenched his fists for a moment. "Shut up about Rica, or you won't have a tongue left."

"You know I'm kidding," Leske replied, switching gears and tone to friendly and joking. "It's strictly hands-off with me and Rica. But much as I'd love to keep chatting, we'd better get down to business."

"Right. What's the story?"

"Boss says we're out for a search-and-discipline. One of his smugglers is holding out on him. Name's Oskias. Some surfacer. Beraht got word that he's been selling shipments topside that never make it to Beraht's ears down here. He wants us to find the rotter and see what goods he's holding back," Leske explained casually.

"Any idea where this Oskias is?"

"All he told me is 'Find him.' Duster's got some family from the Merchant Caste. He's probably staying near their quarters," Leske said with a shrug.

"What do we do with him if he has been holding out on Beraht?" Hopefully, just a roughing, Faren hoped.

"Well, if he is skimming, we kill him, of course. I mean, Beraht doesn't let anyone swindle him and live. Bringing his head on a plate is completely optional, though."

Rica's plea for Faren to be better than Beraht was ringing in his mind. Damn. "Fine. But let's at least find out what he's done."

"Whatever lets you sleep at night, my friend."

The pair of thugs began walking toward Dust Town's only public exit, passing by smelly beggars, smirking prostitutes, and enough old, broken stone to fill their quarter of the cavern. Every now and then one of the city guards would walk past them on a patrol, a permanent sneer of disdain worn and pointed at every Duster. One grey-haired woman called out to him, pleading for a silver to give her boy some needed medicine. A likely story, Faren thought callously.

Their walk eventually pulled them out of Dust Town and into Orzammar proper. After climbing a stone set of stairs, they were in the Commons. From here, they could see the center of Orzammar's 'foundation', a lake of molten rock that was still hot and flowing. Nothing was built on it, but next to it. Orzammar was a spiral of buildings, with the Diamond Quarter and the King's residence at the literal top, winding its way down to the bottom, Dust Town. Shops were made on the edge of the circle toward the lake. The temporary ones anyway, that consisted only of a few tables and an overhead to place signs. The more permanent structures were built into the mountain proper along the mountain wall.

"What are you doing here, brand?" One of the guards at the top of the stairway sneered at Faren and Leske. Faren ignored him as he walked forward, nearing one of the lava fountains that was still very much active. The fountain was mirrored by another one that sat on the other side of an alehouse. Leske quickly suggested they try looking for Oskias in there. While some might think that only drink was on the Carta member's mind, Faren knew that the alehouse was a good destination to find information and people. If Oskias happened to be there, so much the better.

Faren lead the way into the Tapster's Tavern. Inside, Faren stopped on the edge of the raised entrance, looking down into the center of the huge room where the bar was on the right along with some tables and seats, before looking at the far side which was also a raised floor filled with the rest of the tavern's seating. "Do you see him?"

Leske stopped staring at the bartender and his wares to scan the room. "Nooo…don't thi-wait, that's him right there." He amended pointing his finger at one particular dwarf.

Faren nodded. "Let's get this over with then."

Oskias was sitting by himself at one of the tables with a single mug in front of him. Faren studied him as he came closer, noting his lighter hair color along with the lone faded moustache. A sword and shield were on his back, though he wore no armor.

Faren walked up to the table and took the other stone seat across from Oskias. "Hey, I was saving that seat!" Oskias protested.

"That's real thoughtful, Oskias. It's tiring work looking for you." Leske said as he stepped up to the merchant himself.

"H-how do you know my name?" Oskias murmured nervously.

"We're here to stop you from making a big mistake," Faren answered as he stared at him.

"I don't know what you're talking about. You probably have the wrong Oskias, see. I just got here this morning. I'm usually on the surface and—"

Leske cut him in a relieved, sarcastic tone. "So you're not the turncoat, two-faced swindling duster Beraht told us about?"

"I never did anything," Oskias quickly countered, his hands twitching on the table. "Beraht's got no reason to send you after me!"

"If you did nothing wrong, you've got nothing to fear, right?" Faren reasoned, keeping his demeanor pleasant.

"I just want to make sure nobody, uh, does anything too hasty," Oskias explained as he watched the two of them carefully.

"Of course not," Faren agreed. "This is just a friendly inspection."

"Making sure you didn't accidentally pocket any processed lyrium, you know," Leske helpfully added.

"Look, I-I always been loyal to Beraht. He's been good to my family; I-I know how much I owe him," Oskias replied.

"I believe you. But I just need to make sure," Faren pressed.

"Keep him still. I'm gonna search his bags," Leske said as he knelt down next to Oskias packs.

"W-wait! I do have some lyrium," Oskias admitted. "It's just ore. I-I made a side deal with one of the mining families. If it worked out, I was gonna bring Beraht his cut, I swear. I-I'd be crazy not to."

"Suicidal, one might say," Leske suggested seriously.

"How much ore did you take?" Faren inquired.

"Just a little," Oskias started. "Maybe twenty-five sovereigns worth—"

"Twenty-five sovereigns!?" Leske muttered, surprised by the answer yet keeping his voice low.

Although Faren kept his face neutral, inside his mind was reeling with images of gold coins that could buy anything he wanted. Just like Beraht.

"Most of that's with my buyers on the surface. I just picked up a few nuggets down here. If I were to… maybe give you a piece, that's a lot of coin. Could you, uh, forget to mention this to Beraht?" Oskias hopefully offered.

"I'm listening…" Faren assured him.

"I-I don't got any coin myself. I make that topside. But you can take the ore, sell it, maybe get enough to get out of this nest? What do you say?"

The words 'freedom' and 'gold' echoed in Faren's mind. "Give me all you have, and I'll pretend you weren't here," He roughly demanded of the merchant.

"All I have is the two nuggets," Oskias reluctantly explained. "But they're yours if you let me out of here."

"Are you breathing smoke?" Leske hissed at him. "Beraht'll kill you if he catches you with his lyrium!"

"Me?" Faren repeated 'confused'. "You think I wouldn't share with my best friend?"

Leske immediately turned back to friendly. "Well, that's a whole other story. We'd need to sell it before we go back to Beraht. And to someone who won't run to him. Tell you what—cut me in fifty and we'll go to Olinda. She's a merchant. She likes me and refuse to work with the old man."

"Deal."

"Then what happens to me?" Oskias asked unsure of what was now going on.

"I'm killing you," Faren quietly declared. "As far as Beraht knows. Got it?"

Oskias vigorously nodded his head. "Yes. Yes! I'll go back up to the surface right now. I'll move to Orlais, to Antiva! Thank you! You're as noble as you are strong! May the ancestors bless your steps!"