Chapter Text
Bloadlikk's people, they became the nobles, Kiotshett's people fought beside 'em, against all things evil and calloused, blood thick and grimy. The other brothers, I guess they made things, served things, turned wheels, invented, discovered, ate, drank, slept, and played. Us casteless? They wouldn't fall into the sky without us—no, they'd sink to the Stone, which don't hold us to nothing. We got nug shit keeping Dust Town up, down, or any which-way, but we're the padding under Orzammar's feet, between the castes and the cool kiss of an eternal embrace. One day the city's gonna fall, to Darkspawn, time, or maybe some sorta treachery, but I ain't gonna be there and neither are you.
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Amidst the dust in an unstable hovel, there is a glowing candle in a stone dish. Brown and grey, flecked with small and intricately carved runes, and covered with dancing shadowed figures, the flame darts about the wick. It is the only item of any seeming value, as far as the eye could see. There, atop a few ragged looking documents and a whole lot of blank parchment and dull tablets, sits a dwarf who can only be described as looking rather stout.
Having been uninterrupted for nearly two hours now, Madam Brosca (as she now touts herself, on occasion) has accomplished much of her evening work. She sighs, and shuffles loose scrolls which themselves look like they could use a break, and a return to their tight bindings.
Quietly, there is a knock on the door. One knock at first, followed by two quick thumps, three more, and eventually five and eight, in sequence. The stocky dwarf sighs and muses quietly that “This system is shit,” and with a grunt and shrug, “We gotta do somethin' about the code. Right pain in the arse, it is.” Moments pass in blissful silence, as thirteen knocks are sounded. “I'm takin' my soddin' good time t'night, so shove it up yours, mam!”
“Shovin' it right back at ya, boss lady.”
“Oh, of all the—Leske, get in here. Now.”