I could remember when I heard a bone crunch for the first time.
I was 13 years old at the time. I met Leske that year. Leske and I were similar souls. We lived under the same circumstances. Our parents beat us, guards beat us. The only way we could stop the beating was learning how to fight. Life was dark, it was hard, you did what you had to do in order to survive.
And yet despite what we lived under, I saw the same light in his eyes that were in mine. A craving for adventure. We didn't want to be just two more casteless. I wanted to be someone, he wanted to be someone. Leske was the only one who could ever understand what I'd been through, because he had been through it himself.
I didn't know what rape was at the time. I didn't know the true nature behind the 'games' that my uncle played with me. All I knew was that it was bad and that it had happened to Leske's sister. That was who would start my career in fighting. Leske's sister.
We gathered a band of our friends to 'pay a visit' to the one who'd done it. Another dirty casteless, like us. But it didn't matter who it was. All I knew was that I had to fight, it was what I did, it's what I do. It's what I have to do.
He knew we were coming, and had recruited his two 15 and 16 year old brothers to help him. But even though we were younger, we were stronger. The thought of ever losing a fight had never crossed my mind simply because it never happened. Thus the fight was a quick one, and the boy's two older brothers were subdued, along with him.
The rest of my friends were fighting the older kids, it was just me against the boy. It was an easy fight, I had him on the ground just like that. I punched him until he was bloody, kicked him until he couldn't get back up.
He was on the ground and weeping, and I wasn't sure what attack had caused the sickening crunch I heard. My mind processed it but my body kept fighting. I knew it was the sound of bone cracking.
After the fight and after we went home, I thought about it. I felt no remorse for what I'd done. I was simply doing what life had trained me to do. In fact, I was curious about the sound. I knew I'd hear that sound many times more. I knew one day I'd hear that sound and realize it was my own bones crunching.
In the years that came the fights got worse. Blood was spilled, bones were cracked right in half. I learned how to use daggers. I learned cheap shots that easily subdued a victim. Other dwarves called us rogues, criminals.
I fought like a rogue. But I always considered myself a warrior. I fought in a war that was life. Being a fighter, a warrior, it's not for show. Being a warrior is a lifestyle. Once you've fought, truly fought, you are a warrior. You can never escape it. You know you're a warrior when you crawl out of a fight, bones broken and bloodied. That's when you're a warrior.
I heard many more bones crunch after that day. I saw death, I saw pools of blood you could literally bathe in. I watched the light in Leske's eyes dull, but never fade. I unlocked secrets I wished I never knew.
You can never escape the past. Once you've fought, you'll always fight. Be it against enemies, be it against yourself. You are branded just as surely as the brand on my face.
A/N I always drifted toward the dwarf commoner origin because it was so similar to my own life. This story here is based solely on personal experience. I've changed it just a little to match Dragon Age.
And no, this isn't meant to be a masterpiece.