The dank smell of sawdust and nug shit filled my nose as I gazed at her-Rica Brosca. With her fiery red hair pulled into an intricate bun and those blood red lips, Rica was exactly like what I imagined the sun looked like: burning copper lying in a mass of pastel blue cotton, probably imported from Antiva. If she didn't have the Brand scarring her flawlessly white face, I might have taken her for an angely: you know, those things humans believe in. Yet, my sun had the tattoo that marked her the same as me. Unwanted and unloved. Well, she was loved more than she might think.
Both Rica and I were the scum of Orzammar, creatures not worthy or a place in their society. Dwarves are a little judgmental, so to speak. Rica and I didn't make it on their "great" city's list. Nope, we ranked just off the bottom of the page as Casteless. Our tattoo-Brand-marks us as about as significant as a squealing nug's unmentionables. Still, there are good parts to a Casteless life. For instance, you can get as shitfaced as you want at Tapster's Tavern without worry of being tossed out by some pesky noble, since they're too sodding afraid to even talk to you. Hey, you never know what diseases we Casteless carry.
Speaking of getting shitfaced, a few dozen mugs of ale might have helped me in the predicament I had gotten myself into. Somehow, I had mustered up just enough courage to introduce myself to Rica, though I now wanted to hang myself by my ankles and eat dirt instead.
"Sod it all. Get it over with, Narleth." I muttered angrily to myself and peeled my ass off the stucco wall of my shack-like home. "Right. You've got this. Just...say hi and smile." Despite this award winning pep talk, I found myself lingering shadily a good ten feet away from Rica's notice. Lucky for me, she was so immersed in examing something in her hand that Rica didn't notice me floundering about, practicing my grin and "smooth talk". I finally got over my stalking episode and actually took a step forward, attempting to smooth down stray locks of wiry blond hair.
"Narly! How are you, you useless little shit?" roared my good friend Braig. His usual bald head appeared, blocking my view of Rica like an ugly pimple.
"Dammit, B. I'm in the middle of something." I hissed venomously at him. His trademark obnoxious grin didn't even flinch as he looked around himself.
"Torn trousers covered in last night's dinner? Because I don't see you in anything else." He continued, blatantly ignoring my half-amused, half-irritated glare. His words hurtled off the cramped homes as I covered my face with my hands.
"Oh, Braig, not now." I sighed and glanced around him to catch a glimpse of Rica's retreating form. She had stuck the object which she had been admiring, now revealed to be a letter of some sort, into her dress's only pocket. As her slinking figure darted between some houses and down an alley, the letter slipped out of her pocket and flitted to the ground. "Move." I barked at Braig, nearly knocking him to the ground as well, as I hurried to fetch the note. He, unfortunately, followed me too.
"What's that?" He asked me and shrugged back in answer. We investigated the letter together: him peering over my shoulder as I "read" it. The letter was written on crisp parchment, yellowed with age: a sign of wealth. On the parchment, scribbles were written in black ink. I sniffed them, rewarded with hints of red clay and granite: a sign of power. What? My most useful position working for Beraht, the crime boss that every able bodied Casteless practically sold themselves to to survive, was appraising his smuggled goods. But, for all my so-called appraisal skills, I was left with one question. Who with wealth and power would write a letter to Rica? I didn't even think she could read. At least, I couldn't.
"Can you read?" I asked Braig with doubt. I should've known the answer since most Casteless never learn the art, so the shake of his head was no big surprise to me. "Don't suppose I could simply ask a merchant to translate it?" I mumbled bitterly, knowing the answer to that question too. Even if a merchant humbled themselves enough to translate for me, I didn't really want him knowing the letter's contents. I flt protective of it, almost as if Rica had slipped me the letter herself like she tossed it with a flick of her wrists, just for me to find. No, she had lost it.
"I'm going to give it back to her." I announced to Braig, standing up from my slouched position suddenly. He stared at me like I was crazy.
"What if it's a conspiracy theory or something? We could be famous!" His eyes glittered like onyx jewels. "Made paragons. Stone statue and all." I shook my head wearily.
"You, my friend," I smirked at him. "Are the crazy one. Now, let's go the Brosca house."
I stood outside Rica Brosca's house, anxiously pacing back and forth. For all my talk earlier, this would be the first time I actually talked to Rica and it felt weird to be discussing my sticky fingers. Braig was watching me curiously-he never did understand why I was so fidgety. Ever since I was little, my mom used to ask the paragons in her prayers why she hadn't been given a stronger son, one who could make her proud by somehow using a sword to solve all her life's problems. That's the thing with Dust Town; we just don't know when to give up.
"So, are we going to knock or what?" Braig interrupted my reverie. My head snapped up at him in surprise. I had forgotten he was there in the midst of my maniacal what's-the-meaning-of-life tirade. Taking his advice before I could run far, far away, I knocked quickly on Brica's door. There was some scuffling inside and then silence. Just as I was about to knock again, the door swung wide open and Beraht haughtily marched out of the door frame.
"Out of my way, duster." He leered instinctively, before noticing who I was. "Ah, Narleth. Just the guy I've been looking for. What ever happened to that shipment of 'Orlesian' daggers I inquired about? When was it? Oh, right. Last week." He fixed me with such a look of disappointment, that I felt queasy for a moment. I could hear Braig shuffle anxiously beside me.
"The merchant hasn't received it yet, Beraht." He addressed the other dwarf with a mild hint of defensiveness in his tone. I was never one to be able to handle Beraht's...presence. I got intimidated pretty easily, and Braig had seemed to pick up the need to defend me over time, as we grew closer. Of course, it also usually got Braig into trouble.
"Do I detect laziness, Braig? I suggest you two find out what happened to my goods, before I introduce you to some other daggers. Mine. In your gut." He threatened before stalking off with his usual goons following behind him. I sighed shakily at his retreating form.
"You two really should know better than to piss off Beraht." A cold voice lectured from inside the home. "He will kill you, you know." The muscled figure of Aranya Brosca materialized in the doorway. Her black hair was cut at her chin and her green eyes glistened with annoyance. Her mouth was a thin line of distaste. Aranya-Rica's older sister-was known throughout Dust Town for completing Beraht's dirtier work. Word had it that they hadn't been getting along lately, though she still seemed to be his woman through and through.
"I-I came to see Rica." I forced out, my voice still a little shaky. Having to deal with Beraht and then the icy Aranya tended to take a lot out of a man. She narrowed her eyes at me until they were just slits and crossed her arms.
"What do you want with my sister?" She questioned and I felt a little like I was being interrogated. Aranya was a little protective, you could say.
"I just need to talk with her. It's no big deal." I replied, surprised to find the shakiness had disappeared from my voice. Aranya also seemed surprised because she frowned at me in disapproval. I expected her to slam the door in my face and was already plotting how to slip in through the roof (how long would it take to carve through with a rusty spoon?), when she stepped aside.
"Come in. Rica's about to leave, so you'll have to be quick. I've got work to do." Aranya said bitterly and, without even saying good bye, she strutted off to no doubt work. That left me and Braig alone in Rica's house. I sighed again for the bajillionth time that day.
"Um...Rica? It's Narleth. You lost something in the alley." I called out to the seemingly empty house. From somewhere in a back room, a loud thump could be heard along with a "oh!" Images of Rica falling and dropping a chest on her head popped into my mind, and I hustled towards the sound. There, I found Rica Brosca indeed knocking over a small chest. Well, it was more like a jewelry box. She had just set the box down and was turning toward my direction, before she noticed I had already come.
"Oh!" She repeated. Her beautiful face was masked with worry and panic.
"Are you okay?" I asked her, my voice full of concern. I took a couple steps toward her and her mouth opened to say something. She stopped and looked down at my hand. Her eyes lit up with joy and then shifted into something else: suspicion.
"You...you found my letter." She pointed out, her forehead wrinkled with thought. "Did you read it?" She asked, the accusation evident in her voice.
I shook my head and held the letter out to her, which she snatched up right away.
"I can't read." I explained and shrugged as if it explained anything. "It's a pretty fancy letter though. Do you have some secret boyfriend writing you sweet nothings?" I teased lightly, hoping to clear up the tension. Of course, I only made it worse. Her green eyes bulged like saucers.
"N-no! Of course not!" She denied my joke and laughed nervously.
"R-really? In that case, I was wondering if you might want to...If you're not busy...I mean, would you like to see my book collection?" I spit out finally. Rica's face was filled with confusion as I sputtered, until it flushed with embarrassment at where my line of questioning turned. I could feel my own face growing hot with anxiety. "I-I have a particularly large focus on dwarven lore and history. It could be, you know, a date." I shuffled awkwardly before her gaze. Her blush grew and she averted her gaze from my eyes.
"I-I'm sorry. I don't even know you." Rica answers, her voice sounds confused and a little hesitant. My mouth opens and shuts quickly. I should have known she would say no. What in the hell was I thinking? She's never even talked to me! How would she want to date me?
"Right. Sorry. I'll just be leaving now." I spinned on my heel and began to flee from the room. Rica said something to me that sounded somewhat apologetic, but I didn't hear: I just wanted to get out of there.
Damn. I needed a drink.
Alrighty! There's not much action above; this chapter was strictly meant to let y'all get to know Narleth. Tell me what you think! I'm using this fanfic to help me get better at writing, so any reviews/pms are greatly appreciated. Also, I need a beta. Please? X3
Huggles,
Evileduck