There was a merchant come by Dust Town the other day, some poor sod who's had his skin burnt by the sun up on the surface lands once too often, I'd say. How he gets let back into Orzammar I can't rightly say… he claims that he has a deal worked out. Who am I to argue when someone has an angle?

Point is, he tells me what them cloudheads think of us dwarves down here. It isn't even just the humans, there's surface dwarves who're born and bred up in the sun who think the same things, don't know any different. He says they say dwarves are smiths. Proud, noble warriors who like nothing better than to mine a vein of ore or forge a decent sword.

Had us a good laugh, we did.

What would them humans think if they came to Dust Town and saw how the rest of us really lived? The ones that are casteless, the ones who aren't even considered worthy of being servants in the homes of the wealthy or pure enough to work the forges in the Shaperate? The nobles make sure we casteless get tattooed so they know who we are when they see us. That way they know who to spit on, right? Helps us, too. Makes it easier to figure out whose pockets are worth picking.

That's a joke. Not all of the casteless are criminals. Some of us are beggars, nug-catchers, street sweepers and noble hunters. We do what we can to survive. And let me tell you, when the last defenses of Orzammar finally fall to the darkspawn, it'll be the casteless who survive then. Surviving is all we know how to do. Won't the cloudheads be scratching their heads when that happens?


Born casteless in a land where rank is everything, bound as the lackey and thug of a local crime lord, you have spent your life invisible... until chance thrusts you into the spotlight, where you can finally prove whether you will be defined by your actions or your birth...