Natia Brosca
Gentleman Adventurer
Status Alive
Race Dwarf
Age 22
Birth Date
Gender Female
Sexual Orientation Bisexual
Hometown Dust Town, Orzammar
Residence Denerim
Affiliation Mercenary
Occupation Dwarf-for-Hire
Class Rogue
Specialization Shadow
Gear Customized Carta Armor, Dagger, Mace, and Dwarven Mining Goggles. Also carries a variety of poisons in her many pockets. You can never be too careful.
Behind the Mask
Player Flip Sides/Aikia
Face Claim
Profile Link Here

A young dwarven woman sat at a table in the Gnawed Noble, nursing a mug of bitter human ale. It wasn’t bad ale, though everything would taste better, even piss, to Orzammar’s “famed” lichen brews. Actually, if one asked her she would very well confirm that piss truly does taste better than any dwarven drink. How she exactly knew that was another story, one that she didn’t particularly care to share. When you are born damned and casteless, well, sometimes you make do with what The Stone gives you. As she took a moment to savor another sip of her drink she stared at the figure sitting across from her.

“Natia, but you already knew that didn’t you? I suppose then, you’ve wasted all this time tracking me down to find out just how I’m still alive? Well, salroka, you already know most of it, don’t you?” The dwarven woman grinned. Even she had to admit it was a pretty amazing story, and maybe just maybe for once the Ancestors had smiled down on a casteless and deemed her worthy. Probably not. It was a simple matter of survival and every dwarf knew that survival was the one skill any duster had.

Natia Brosca’s Escape

Natia Brosca’s story didn’t start in a glittering palace, or even in the commons. Her story started on a fateful morning when her former and very dead, boss Beraht had decided to pay a visit to her family’s little shit hovel in Dust Town. As usual he had come to hassle her beloved sister Rica about finding a “sponsor” of sorts. It was true; her sister had sought to buy their future with a tumble. She never did find out who the noble was that had become besotted with the older Brosca. One day perhaps she’d know. After Beraht’s usual insults he assigned Natia with her newest round of skull bashing idiots. Fortunately enough today’s mission meant she got to work with the one friend she had in this nug humping trash heap – Leske. Work went as it usually did and soon a merchant who had made a side deal involving lyrium was dead. All in all it was another day in the life of a Carta thug.

Of course things never did stay simple for Natia. The next thing she knew Beraht had her fixing a Proving match! A PROVING. And as always, something went terribly wrong. The warrior she was supposed to “help” win? Well he was drunker than her mother on Moss wine. It was Leske that came up with the wonderful idea of her impersonating the daft idiot. Natia, being an idiot as well, went along with the idea on one condition. Her friend couldn’t drug her opponents. And as the story goes, she won. She beat every sodding snob nosed noble to the stone in back.

Natia Brosca was the champion.

At least she would have been had the previous owner of her stolen armor hadn’t shown up and ruined everything. Everything after that was a blur. In her opinion it was probably for the best that she didn’t remember how she ended up in the basement prison of the Carta’s hideout. Now, in Natia’s opinion at least, her escape didn’t matter. She and Leske broke out, got their armor and killed everyone in their way. Carta thug after thug fell to her blade and mace. Soon she was soaked with blood, though very little of it had been her own.

She found him in his “office” of sorts. Discussing her sister. There were few things Natia cared about and one of those things happened to be her sister. Beraht paid for his insults and years of threats with his blood. Even Leske had been amazed that they got this far and killed him. This would have been the perfect time to celebrate their newfound freedom and terminal case of awesome.

Except there’s always a catch. Or rather, Natia never could catch a break. There was still that little problem that Jarvia had brought up earlier. The whole Warrior Caste was out for her blood to prove themselves in the eyes of the Ancestors. She’d already escaped death once, and well, she truly didn’t feel like having a repeat performance. Rica had always told her she was a smart girl and would do wonderful things with her life. It looked like those wonderful things would have to wait. Instructing Leske to go find her sister and make sure Rica was safe. This would be the one time she wouldn’t tolerate any of his ribbing or protests. With her mind made up the casteless woman disappeared back into the shadow of the Carta tunnels.

“… and now here I am. Sitting in some shoddy human tavern drinking. Wait, you didn’t think I’d actually TELL you how I managed to sneak out of Orzammar, avoid all the guards, and make it the surface?” She laughed in surprise. As she gave her companion a cheeky little grin she continued on, “… well you know what they say, love, rogues do it in the darkness. I’ll tell you this though; I managed to become queen of a war band of schleets and rallied them to my cause. Together we rampaged through the Deep Roads until we stumbled upon an old entrance to the surface. Separated from my loyalists I told them to head back into the dark and multiply so that one day all of Orzammar might know true terror.”

Natia winked, “Or I stole a set of armor, pretended to be a guardswoman and snuck out through the front door. Take your pick.”



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