Chapter Text
In the darkened depths of dwarven Dust Town
a babe was born with a branded face
casteless and cast out no crib for the child
Orzammar's ancestors turned away their eyes.
Brosca, the brat-child of bitter Kalah,
with legs like lashes running with Leske,
and flitting fingers quick and fearless
collecting coin for the shade-slinking Carta.
Red-haired Rica, bedecked with rubies,
his sister, seeking a son to bear
for a high-born house to raise up their heads.
Beraht would claim blood a brother to Kalah,
the nobles need never know of the lie,
for records weren't written of the Paragons' rejects.
Beraht bade Brosca for winning of bets
to fix a fight and determine the finish.
The Proving-Place whose purpose was honor
loomed over lava in blazing light,
Stone's blood searing a fiery sight.
A Warden was watching, waiting in the stands,
a human whose height hovered o'er Brosca,
with a bristly beard and belts a-plenty.
Duncan, he declared, greeting the dust-dweller.
Defender against darkness visiting the dwarf-home.
In the rooms of the ring-fighters 'round the arena,
a dwarf lay drunken, their destined victor.
Seeing him sprawling unable to stand,
Boldly Brosca brandished his weapons
and entered the arena in stolen armor.
The champions charged out to challenge the imposter,
and Brosca's blade shone like a brand,
swinging and stinging, jabbing and stabbing.
Fighting fiercely, a frenzied hornet,
the Carta-thug conquered with strength and courage.
The worthiest warrior witnessed the audience,
pride of the Paragons Proving his glory,
until, interrupted came into the arena,
stumbling in stupor the stolen-from drunkard.
The fight-master flailed and demanded his face.
Brazen Brosca revealed his brand.
They declared their disdain, the dwarven-folk railed,
but Brosca boasted, I was born with no house,
no caste and no claim. Yet I came and rose up
from the dark and the dust and defeated you all!
They cornered him, captured him, clapped him in chains.
No judge and no jury would free him from jail.
But darkspawn-destroyer honorable Duncan
stepped in and suggested a way to the surface.
Recruiting the rogue to take the risks
for Brosca to become a battle-worn Warden.
No refusal nor reservation but a thought of Rica,
in danger in Dust Town, he could not defend her.
Her suitor must save his fire-haired sister.
The way to the Wardens lay waiting before him.
The path led past the statues of Paragons,
casting their contempt on the heir of criminals
but the guards at the gate let the Grey Wardens go.
Brosca stood blinking at blinding sunlight,
the sky-lamp staring in the steel-bright expanse,
open and empty no ceiling overhead,
a place of possibility free from the Paragons.