The rain fell on us in a slow drizzle. Not enough to get you drenched and too much to ignore as a mist. The caravan was divided into several groups. The well-to-do men rode, dour faced; their steeds squelching through the mud. The poor men trudged along mumbling to themselves, trying their best not to make eye contact in their misery. Feeling that the lads could use some cheer, I reached down into myself and prayed to Cayden Cailean. Thanking the great, Brewmaster for the opportunity to be free on the road travelling to our destiny. I broke into a song about the great Paragons of our people. Thinking back to Orzammar, memories of my family came flooding back, adding a spirit of longing to the song.

Back in Orzammar, the Othen family line has a long history among the people with two Paragons in our times past. My father was so very proud of his sons and their potential roles in the future of our people as a whole. I never had any interest in leadership roles, but father was not to be denied. Trying to take a tangential approach, I thought to join the Shaperate. Father, wasn’t thrilled at my choice to step away from politics, but he took my devotion to scholarship as another avenue to power, and offered me great encouragement. The historians and justicars of the Shaperate were serene, serious, and grim. Barely able to stay awake most of the time in their long testimonials and readings, I took to visiting the warrior caste taverns before I went to the library. A brief sip turned into more and more but there was never enough ale. My visits to the library became shorter and more infrequent as my visits at the taverns become more habitual. The lads at the tavern and I got along very well and I would often lead them in songs glorifying our people’s history. The warriors knew about the skirmishes, but they were eager to learn about the details of our people’s more elaborate tales. I told tales of ancient lore learned from my tutors and led them in glorious singing! One glorious day, turned into two and then three. Completely intoxicated and unaware of even where I was, that was the day the Brewmaster came to me.

I was in the middle of a grand song when the tavern emptied and I was suddenly alone. There was the sweetest voice I ever heard, calling my name. There was never a particular being, but the air was electrified and in that moment, I felt connected to the entire universe. Everything suddenly made sense. My place in the grand scheme of things. The sacred nature of freedom, to roam the world and experience my own destiny. The consciousness expansion of the ale. This was what I was meant for!! My purpose had finally presented itself to me! Cayden Cailean, the Brewmaster had chosen me to be one of his honored Brewers.

That was when I woke up in bed with my father glowering at me. According to the non-believers, I passed out and spent the evening with my face in a mug of ale. My life had forever been changed. I tried to show them the ways of the Brewmaster, but my father only fumed more and more. I was disowned and expelled from the Nobles. My family saw it as exile and I only saw my freedom before me. Taking only a few supplies and an old set of armor, I braved the deep roads towards the surface, alone. I became “sun touched” but didn’t stay with the other surface dwarves. I waited for the Brewmaster to point me in a direction, and he did. I haven’t looked back a day since.

There were many among the humans who were not fond of my pursuit of freedom for all and the sacred nature of the brew. The Grey Wardens were men in service to a cause. When the Magistrate offered me a choice between the unbearable horror of incarceration or the freedom of the road, the choice was obvious. There was another dwarf in the party, a beardless, sour fellow with a crooked grin. He seemed lost in his own misery, growling occasionally at anyone who came too close. I am quite familiar with this dwarf. Several times over the last few years, we have run into each other in several towns. Usually with the poor lad being on the wrong side of the law. Confinement isn’t the way of the Brewmaster. At every opportunity, I supported his release whenever I could. When I couldn’t, I helped free him, sharing a drink before we took our leave of the township’s magistrates. This latest adventure proved us to be one or two ales too many and the deputies nabbed us. We set off with the Wardens on the next caravan.

Service to the Wardens would offer me the chance to spread the word of the Brewmaster far and wide. I see this adventure as answering my calling. I continued the song and quickened my step. Many of my companions only sneered, but the caravan continued on a touch faster. Blessed be, to the Brewmaster.


Dragon Age: Rise of the Runelords richarddonaldson SinisterIII