Dust Town

CONTENT:
Rating: Mature
Flavor: Adventure/Drama
Language: yes
Violence: no
Nudity: yes
Sex: implied and discussed
Other: prostitution

Author's Notes:

I wrote a scene (gawd, YEARS ago) where Bannon descibes Dust Town as worse than an alienage. Until now, I didn't have any concrete idea about that... but my Brain totally came up with... yes, something worse. (Tip: don't be eating while reading this chapter...)

Recap:

Okay, so we're in Orzammar, dealing with dwarves. Bhelen is a murdering prince who wants the Wardens to bribe or bully Harrowmont's warriors out of the Provings. Harrowmont, who didn't actually meet with the Wardens, is a great guy, loved by all. He just wants the Wardens to look into a book stolen from the Shaperate by some tattoo-faced dwarven casteless.

Dust Town

==#==

Seven guards stood before the stone gates. They goggled at the motley crew of tall beings from the outside. A circus troupe, indeed.

One guard, the ranking officer, Bannon surmised, stepped forward with a hand out to stop them. "Hold there, friends. This is the gate to Dust Town. I think you are lost."

"No," said Bannon. "We're on a mission from Prince Bhelen." If he thought that tossing the prince's name around would earn some respect, well... it had perhaps a fifty-fifty chance of working.

The guard frowned. "You have two hours before our shift is over. If you get back by then, we'll let you out." He signalled to the other guards and two of them went to operate the complex mechanism to open the gates.

"Excuse me," said Wynne, "but I'm curious: with so many guards and such a difficult-to-open gate, how is it that any of the people in Dust Town sneak out into Orzammar?"

"There are a couple of rat tunnels to the Deep Roads. Most of 'em, though, just climb through the sewers."

Everyone waited awkwardly for the guards to crank open the gate wide enough for even Shale to get through. Not much headroom for humans, though. Less for giants.

They came out in a semicircular area, and the gate behind them started grinding closed. "Hey," said Alistair, "how do we signal them to let us out?"

Bannon felt a momentary panic. It wasn't like they could knock on the gate, or call out over it - let along through the thick stone. But he had his whole crew here. Between fire, ice, and giant stone fists, he was sure they could get out. Reasonably sure.

"Use the speaking tube," the guard said with surly impatience. His voice came out through a funnel situated in the wall.

"All right," said Bannon. "Let's go."

"What is that wretched smell?" Morrigan complained.

"That," answered Zevran, "my lovely, lynx-eyed friend, would be sewage."

"Mm, just like home," Bannon quipped. He thought he was used to the Drakon River at midsummer, but that could not compare to Dust Town.

Dust Town was the bowels of Orzammar - literally. Not far from the entry, a large pipe came down from the city above, dumping wastewater into a canal. Several of these outlets were situated around Dust Town, some with less regular flows.

At each, the companions saw children splashing in the water. True to Deshyr Ortovan's explanation, even the smallest had a reddened brand marking their left cheek. Their heads were shorn completely, and they were naked. They weren't frolicking; they held makeshift sieves and were searching out scraps of food.

"This is horrid," Leliana said, pressing her sleeve to her nose.

"What do these people drink?" Wynne wondered with the same kind of horror.

"Hopefully a lot of ale," Alistair said. He turned to Morrigan, who was looking decidedly green. "Remember not to breathe through your mouth," he told the witch cheerfully. "Don't want all this lovely effluvium to get in there and go down your throat."

Morrigan broke and ran off behind a crumbling wall. Leliana and Wynne, also looking more green now, glared at Alistair.

Sten wrapped a towel around his face, masking his nose and mouth. "We should get out of here as quickly as possible."

"I agree," said Zevran.

"What are the squishy ones complaining about?" Shale grumped.

"Well, another benefit of being rock hard all the time," Zevran muttered. He had a bandana that he tied over his face.

Leliana shared some of hers with Wynne and Morrigan. "Alistair, doesn't the smell bother you?" the bard asked.

"Nah. All those years I spent living and working in the kennels toughened up my nose hairs."

Bannon decided to tough it out. Mainly because he didn't have anything to use, and Leliana's frilly lace kerchiefs didn't suit him. He'd have to steal one from the assassin, later.

The group followed a canal, though they would have preferred not to. The canals led to what would be a town square with a fountain, only it wasn't a fountain. As far as Bannon could tell, it was a pit, and all the sewage dumped into it, to rot, or decompose, or maybe the water evaporated out and the solid waste packed down to form a new layer of rock. The elf didn't want to know, he just hoped it was actually a bottomless pit. The miasma in the square was practically a visible mist.

The first person they met was a dwarven woman with long stringy hair partially covering her face, wearing a dark-colored shift. Bannon stepped up to ask her about the book thief, but before he got a chance, she said, in a deadened voice, "It's three coppers a go. Seven coppers if you want to go all at once."

"Go?" said Alistair. "Go where?"

Zevran snickered, and Bannon thwapped Alistair in the arm, simply because he was standing closer than the assassin.

Still, Bannon couldn't get over the math. "You do see there's eight of us, right? And one's a huge qunari, and one's a golem?"

"You want a go or not?" No, there was not a spark of... anything in her voice, her eyes.

"That's... very generous, but I do have ten coppers for some information? We're looking for a guy who might have a book. Stolen from the Shaperate. Have you heard anything about that?"

"Sounds like Carta. Don't talk about Carta."

"Well, who does?"

"Nadezda. By the well."

Bannon handed her the copper coins and resisted the urge to wipe his hand on his trousers. Great, they had to go closer to the Pit of Infernal Muck. "We might find out more faster if we split up, but stick to this area and stay sharp. Leliana, Morrigan, Sten; Alistair, Zevran, Wynne; and Shale, you're with me. All right?"

==#==

The air was poison. A slow poison that sapped strength from a body, hope from a spirit. Leliana tried to push the thought of the dwarven prostitute and her 'all at once' offer out of her mind. She must be addicted to something, some mind-numbing drug. But what was the point? To become numb enough to perform such acts, to gain enough money to become numb enough to... It was an endless cycle of pointlessness.

"Coppers? Coin for the poor? Help my baby."

Leliana and Morrigan, shadowed by Sten, moved to a quiet corner of the town square. A woman sat on an old stone step, nursing a baby. Leliana crouched beside her, tugged down her kerchief. "Hello. What's your name?"

"Zerlinda."

"Why are you here?" Morrigan asked in that snippy tone of hers.

"Where do you expect her to be?" Leliana growled at the witch. "She just wants to care for her child."

"She's not marked." Morrigan gestured to her cheek above her own kerchief. "She doesn't need to be here."

Leliana blinked. How had she not noticed?"

"It's my boy," Zerlinda said quietly. "His father... well, Thrake was casteless - don't get me wrong, he really... well, he wasn't like the thieves and criminals. He was... special." Her voice trailed off. Then she continued.

"We were secretly married, and we were going to move into my family hall when I had my baby. Only... I had a boy. They branded him, and won't allow him to live up in Orzammar; my parents won't have him. Then Thrake abandoned me because a son couldn't become a crafter like he wanted. He-He just left us."

Abandoned by her family, used by the one she loved, then discarded. Leliana shook her head sadly. "May I see him?"

Zerlinda tipped her arm so the babe faced her direction. He was all scrunch-faced and round-nosed, adorable as dwarven babies could be - except for the angry red burn on his left cheek. As if looking at it made it hurt all the more, the baby started crying. Who could do such a thing to a wee infant?

"He's your son," Leliana said. "Won't your family accept that?"

"He's a criminal."

"He's an innocent babe!"

"I can't take him back there. No one will let us stay."

"Well," said Morrigan, "there's a simple solution for that. And look. There's a convenient pit."

"Morrigan!" Leliana rebuked.

Zerlinda hugged her child closer. "Not my baby."

"Really, what type of life do you think he will have? One worth living?"

Tears welled up in Zerlinda's eyes.

"If your child turns out to be unsuitable, you can always get another."

Leliana burned, and felt about ready to slap the witch. But ultimately, Morrigan gave her the key to the solution of this problem. "Morrigan, shut it. Zerlinda, listen... You do not have to be trapped here with your boy. You can come with us - Morrigan is right, without a brand, the guards should let you through the gate. Just tell them you are taking the baby to your parents. Surely they won't believe an infant capable of committing any crimes."

"But my parents won't have us."

"You won't go to your parents. You'll come to the surface with us. There are no castes there. Your boy can become anything he wants to be."

Hope began to bubble through. "But I've never been to the surface. What if we fall up into the sky?"

Leliana smiled gently. "That can't happen. Do you ever fall up to the ceiling here?"

"Well... no."

"It is the same on the surface. Things only ever fall down."

"But what would I do? Where would we go? I know nothing about living up there."

"You are a crafter, yes? There is great demand for dwarven-made items on the surface. You can work as you were meant to, you can even teach your son your trade. There is a dwarven merchant who travels with us, and he may know the best places you can go."

Zerlinda looked at her baby a long, long time.

"Your future on the surfaces is uncertain," Leliana said softly. "But your future here, I think, is quite clear."

"I'll go. We'll go."

==#==

Dust Town looked as if it had once been a part of the city proper, ages ago. Its facades were crumbling into fungus-covered ruin, the interiors filled with rubble. Unlivable. The Dusters as they were called, seemed to live in the streets, tucked into any corner or free space. Of course, there was no weather here. No rain, no cold.

Nadezda had a relatively grand spread. A pile of blankets, a pillow, a rusty crate with some broken pottery on top. Scattered bits of broken glowstones lit the immediate area. The low wall of the central well provided a backrest.

The woman herself watched them approach with a squinched eye and cold grimace. She didn't stand to greet them, just remained reclining against the wall. "Surfacers," she said in a gravelly voice. "I smell money."

Alistair said, "I'm surprised you can smell anything from here." He wrinkled his nose.

"Keeps all but the most desperate away."

"Are you Nadezda?" Wynne asked. "We were told you might have some information about a recent theft."

"Aye. But it'll cost ya."

Zevran said, "Considering the price of a whore is three coppers, I doubt information costs a whole lot."

"Feh. You can't go by Binn. She smokes too much of the green lichen."

"So how much is this going to cost?" Alistair asked.

"All your money. Empty your pockets."

"What?"

"You're surfacers. Don't you have more money up top?"

"Uhhhh... technically?"

"Alistair, stop talking," Zevran said. To the woman, "Your demand is unreasonable. Supposed we have other people we need to bribe?"

"No one has the information I have."

"And what is your guarantee that it is both accurate and useful to our purpose?" Zevran was clearly a better negotiator than the Templar.

"If you're looking for dirt on the Carta, I'm the one who has it, and I'm the only one who will give it up."

"Why is that?"

"Carta owns everyone and everything down here."

"Who or what's a carta?" Alistair asked. "And don't tell me that answer costs all our money."

Nadezda sighed. "Surfacers. Look. Carta is the guild of thieves and thugs. Run by a woman named Jarvia. They do everything - smuggle lyrium, steal what needs stealing, rough up people, run whores, gambling dens, drugs, black market food - you name it."

"Would they steal a book?"

"If somebody paid 'em to."

"Why would someone pay to steal a book?" the Templar wondered.

Wynne said, "The Shaperate is more than a library. It records dwarven history. There may be things there that someone wants forgotten. But tell me," she said, turning to the woman, "if the Carta owns everyone here, doesn't that mean they own you, too?"

Nadezda laughed bitterly. "They'd like to think so." She shook her head. "I used to be Carta, one of the top lieutenants, 'til one day some guards ambushed me on a smuggling run. They took me prisoner instead of killing me outright. Wanted to make an example of me, see? They broke my legs, then forced me to kneel in shit until infection set in."

Wynne gasped behind her lace kerchief. "That's why- oh."

The dwarf waved it off airily. "They sent me crawling back to Dust Town. I went to contact the Carta, but while I was gone, my good friend Jarvia had taken command. And she refused to help me get revenge! They wouldn't take me back, as useless as I was now." Her lips twisted, and she dry spit in the general direction of the Carta. "But I still have connections. I hear things. I sell off information. Speaking of which-" She glared up at them. "Money, now. Or bog off."

"It seems to me," Zevran said, "that your detainment at the hands of the guards was rather convenient for getting you out of Jarvia's way."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it is quite obvious, no?" Zevran looked at Wynne and Alistair, who looked away. The elf turned back to Nadezda. "Jarvia gives the guards information on a certain smuggling run, slips them some coin." He gestured illustratively. "They break your legs and give her ample time to stage her coup."

Slowly, the dwarven woman's fists clenched, her brow knotted as she chewed over this idea. She seemed ready to explode into action, to run after Jarvia if she could. "That little-!"

"You should actually be paying us," Zevran interrupted smoothly. "I am a Crow Assassin, and for a fee, I will kill her for you."

"Or at least tell us for free," Alistair said.

"No! No, Jarvia wouldn't betray... The Carta wouldn't..." Nadezda glared up at them. "You're a bunch of surface shits! You don't know anything!"

Zevran shook his head at such foolish beliefs. Alistair looked away uncomfortably again, but Wynne moved forward. "Will you at least let me look at your legs?"

"What are you, some kind of sick pervert who gets off on scars?"

Alistair said, "She's a healer."

"Really?" Hope kindled in the dwarf's hardened eyes, but she quickly suppressed it.

"I can't promise anything," Wynne said, "but I would be remiss if I didn't even try."

Zevran moved away, ostensibly on guard. Alistair stayed near Wynne. Nadezda got her twisted legs pulled out in front of her, the rags drawn back. Wynne lightly cupped her hands over the thick scars. Her eyes unfocused and her brow creased in concentration.

She remained frozen that way for quite some time. Alistair worried when he saw a sheen of sweat on her forehead. What would a true Templar do if the mage in his charge overexerted herself? For once, he wished he'd completed the training... or at last a little more of it.

At last, Wynne shook her head. "I'm sorry. The damage is too severe, and i has gone unhealed too long. I'm sorry." She choked and moved away a little.

"Well, that was useless," Nadezda spat. "Big surprise."

Alistair said, "You did your best, Wynne."

"Give her your money. You too, Zevran."

"Me?" the assassin protested.

"Yes, both of you and all of it. She's right, we'll get more back on the surface."

Alistair and Zevran started opening their coin pouches.

"What about you, old lady?" Nadezda snapped.

"I'm a Circle mage. The Circle provides our food and clothing. They don't give us money."

Alistair didn't say anything about that, or their current state of finances that was handled by Bannon. He handed over his handful of coins. He didn't keep anything back, though he wouldn't lay bets on the assassin.

Then Zevran took a small vial from his belt pouch and added it to his contribution.

"What's this?" the dwarf asked with a suspicious frown.

"Adder's Kiss. Don't drink it unless you want to die," he said with an eerie grin. "Perhaps you can find some way to get it to your enemies, hm?"

She glowered and made the vial disappear faster than the coins. "Fine. Now here's how you find the Carta and get inside their stronghold..."

==#==

They left Nadezda and her throne of refuse. They caught up with a somber Leliana, Morrigan, and Sten, adding to Wynne's morose mood. No one felt much like talking about what they discovered, so they milled around a bit, looking for Bannon and Shale.

Soon, growing stompy footsteps heralded their approach.

"Sorry I'm late," said Bannon.

"Oh good, there you are." Alistair turned to him. "We found a lead on where the book might have ended up. There's this cartel of thieves that live in tunnels behind the walls."

Wynne added, "Members of this Carta use carved fingerbones as keys. If we can lift one from a member, we could gain access. Well, some of our more stealthy folk, anyway."

"You mean thieves and assassins, my dear?" asked Zevran. "There is no need to be coy."

"In that case, an accomplished pickpocket could acquire a key." The old mage nodded at Bannon. "Unobtrusively observing one of the Carta's doorways should be our next move."

"Nah," said Bannon, waving that off.

"'Nah'?" Alistair voiced everyone's thoughts.

"I already got the book back."

Everyone blinked. Again.

"You... Already?" Alistair squeaked.

"You are one hell of a thief, amore'!"

"But how?" Wynne cut to the point.

"Oh, I saw a suspicious-looking dwarf, with a lot of ink like the guy described, who was trying to sneak up to a doorway."

"You noticed him because he was trying to be stealthy?"

Bannon shrugged. "Yeah, he wasn't very good at it."

"How did you get the book?" Wynne asked.

"Oh, I'm very persuasive," the elf said with a sly grin.

"I thought I was very persuasive," Shale complained, wiping the smug look off Bannon's face.

"I was just about to say, 'And I had a golem with me.'"

"After you took all the credit?"

"No, I pretend to take the credit, then I say, 'Plus I have a golem,' and everybody knows it was actually all you."

"Really?" Stone brows knit in a dubious expression.

"Really, Shale. Trust me." The Denerim elf looked up at the golem. The golem didn't look convinced. "Would the Slayer of Birds let you down?"

"Hmm. I suppose not."

Bannon looked at the group. "You all got it, right? Shale got the book for us." They all nodded and agreed. Leliana even thanked Shale. "Good," said the elf. "Let's get out of here; I'm starving."

"Even with this stench, you can think about eating?" Leliana gasped.

"My stomach doesn't smell."

Morrigan rolled her eyes. "The Gravy Wardens strike again."

==#==

The Wardens made their way to the gates. They found a dwarven woman waiting for them.

"Zerlinda," said Leliana with a smile springing to her face. "You came."

"Who's this now?" Bannon asked.

"This is Zerlinda. She's going to come with us to the surface to start a new life with her son."

"I'm so nervous," the dwarven woman said. "What if this is the wrong decision?"

"You must have faith, Zerlinda."

"Trust me," said Bannon. "Anything would be better than staying and living in this shit hole. It's even worse than an alienage, and that's saying something."

Eager to quit this sewer, Bannon called the guards through the speaking tube, telling them to open the gates for the Grey Wardens. "Need I remind you, we have two mages and a golem, and if we have to destroy your precious gates to get out, you're going to have a big problem."

Then they wanted to stop Zerlinda.

"Look at her face, pal. She has every right to go where she wants."

"But the baby is branded," said the sharper guard.

"What's he gonna do? Rob the palace while your nobles try to decide what to have for lunch?"

Fortunately, Leliana stepped up to diplomatically smooth things over. Zerlinda boldly gave her cover story about visiting her crafter parents. The guards decided the best way to not have to deal with everything was to let them pass.

As they walked up the tunnel pathway, Zevran sidled up to Bannon. "You are so aggressive today, my sexy patrone."

"I guess I've wanted to tell off gate guards for as long as I can remember." Bannon smiled. "Feels good."

Zevran chuckled lightly. "Perhaps a massage will go a long way towards easing your tensions, si?"

"Bath first."

"Why not bath during?" Zevran grinned hungrily and was rewarded with a flush of heat in the Denerim elf's cheeks.

==#==

Later, the freshly-scrubbed (and 'Antivan-rubbed') elves met the rest of the group in the back mezzanine of Tapster's. Alistair was deep in conversation with some loud dwarf. Zevran went to annoy them while Bannon joined the ladies.

He passed the stolen book to Leliana. "I don't know, I tried reading it, but it just looks like a list of names and numbers." He signalled the waitress for some food.

Leliana opened the book and looked over the front page. "Perhaps it is a ledger? Or - ah, a family tree."

Zerlinda leaned over, careful not to jostle her sleeping baby. "It's a lineage record from Vanek Thaig. Where did you get this?"

Bannon said, "Some guy stole it from the Shaperate. We stole it back." He grinned at her shocked look.

Leliana began paging through the book with a frown. Wynne said, "My dear, if you want to see the good part of a lineage -"

"Start at the back," they both concluded.

Leliana did so, flipping the end pages until she came to the final entries. She pored over those. "I don't know," she said after a few minutes. "Nothing jumps out at me. This may take some studying." She glanced up at Bannon. "Were we in a rush to return this to Harrowmont?"

The waitress had arrived with Bannon's platter. He shrugged at the bard. "I think we ought to know why it is so important before we let it out of our hands. It's only prudent, right?"

She nodded and went back to turning through the pages. "Zerlinda," she asked suddenly, "do you know any of these names?" She turned the book.

"Maybe nobles Harrowmont wants to bribe or bully?" suggested Bannon.

"No, this is a lineage from the merchant caste," the dwarven woman replied. "Wait. Tomic. I think that is the name of Harrowmont's uncle."

"His uncle?" said Wynne. "If his uncle was a merchant, then so was his father."

"Making Harrowmont totally not a noble," Bannon said, catching on with this caste inheritance thing.

"Then he can't be -" Zerlinda gulped - "king." She looked ill. "I don't think I can be party to such political matters."

"Relax," said Bannon. "Remember, these aren't your people any more. Their problems aren't yours."

This only seemed to upset her more. She excused herself to retire to her room.

Wynne gave Bannon an admonishing look. Morrigan just gave a flat accustory glare.

"I was only trying to help."

"Bannon, what are we going to do with this book?" Leliana asked pragmatically.

"Hang on to it," he said. "This is the best bargaining chip we have if we make Harrowmont king and want to make sure he upholds the treaty."

"If?"

"If we decide Bhelen is our best bet, it also works."

"You haven't decided on Harrowmont?" Wynne asked with a wrinkled brow.

"Alistair likes him, but..." The elf shrugged. "We can have another meeting and discuss it. But not here. I'm pretty sure one - if not both - of the candidates are spying on us." He stretched his shoulders nonchalantly. "We should set up camp outside."

==X==