Original background, gouache on art board, 50″ x 10.5″, with key matching production cels, gouache on acetate, from Chuck Jones’s 1970 Peabody Award-winning television special, “Dr. Seuss’ Horton Hears a Who!”.
“And I’m also pretty sure that I’m the only one who knows how smart you really are. And once you’re done pretending being a nitwit you’ll eventually go off and write some insane mathematical theorem that wins you the Noble Prize.” [listen here]
I don’t know about you, Corvo, but I’ve had a lovely time. Intrigue and mystery, butchery and betrayal. The death thrones of an Empire! And you were on avenging spirit, spreading chaos at every turn. The city is feeding on itself now, liars and merchants and nobles like maggots on a carcass. Soon there’ll be nothing left for the rats. It’s just as well, the Empire was dying already, completely rotten. All that was needed was the right man, to send it over the edge. But now, you’ll be off over the horizon, on an outbound ship, I wonder. Are you chasing something, or running away?
“Kirkwall’s nobles weren’t prepared for the arrival of the mysterious Garrett Hawke. Attractive, charming, and ferocious, the rugged entrepreneur made his fortune with dangerous expeditions into deep, sealed parts of the Deep Roads - and half of the young ladies of Hightown were just dying to find out more. But Serah Hawke is more than he seems.
The young Fereldan expat has a secret as dark as the Thaig he explored - and ties to half the unsavory characters of Lowtown. And when Hawke meets the mysterious and tenacious apostate known as The Darktown Healer, sparks might just… fly.
Is their love real, or a matter of convenience? What hidden past could the young Serah Hawke be concealing behind his charming smile? Just what else happened in the Deep Roads that nobody knows about? All these secrets - and more - lie await for you in this, the first chapter of the new Tethras serial, /The Apostate’s Treasure/….”
Actualmente no tengo falsos recuerdos, sí los tuve durante mucho tiempo. Lo consideré un hombre perfecto, noble, desinteresado, inteligente.
Es cierto que no tuvo compasión al dejarme, pero pude comprenderlo. Yo no merecía tamaña perfección a mi lado.
Pero no sé exactamente cuando pude desdibujarlo, sin embargo un día pude fragmentarlo. Comprendí que su perfección era irreal, la nobleza una máscara, su avaricia opacaba su aparente desinterés por lo material, su inteligencia era mediocre.
El tiempo había girado y yo había podido ver la realidad. Entonces sentí odio y piedad. Me odié por haber sufrido en vano durante tanto tiempo por un ser que yo había creado con mi imaginación, por haber idolatrado una imagen supuesta. Y sentí piedad hacia mí por haberme destruido por nada.
Visitors to Orzammar should keep in mind that the hierarchies of dwarven society are much more complex than our own. It is easy to gravely insult a man simply by mistaking his position. Since this can lead to unnecessary loss of life and limbs, I will attempt to mitigate the danger for my fellow travelers.
The society of Orzammar is divided into nobles, warriors, smiths, artisans, miners, merchants, and servants. Now, you are undoubtedly saying to yourself, “We have all those divisions among our own people.” This is a dangerous misconception. Certainly, we do have nobility, artisans, merchants, and these positions are largely inherited from our parents. However, the younger children of noblemen often choose to be artisans or soldiers. The sons of merchants may join the army, or become servants, or apprentice themselves to a craftsman. This is all freely chosen. Limited, perhaps, by the circumstances of birth, but still chosen.
What is a matter of choice for most human folk is dictated entirely by birth for dwarves. No one may become a smith who was not born to Smith Caste parents. A servant who marries a noblewoman will never be a noble himself, and although his daughters would be nobles, his sons would be servants, for daughters inherit the caste of their mother, while sons inherit the caste of their father.
—From In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of a Chantry Scholar by Brother Genitivi
The caste system in Orzammar includes many groups of privilege–the nobility and the warriors above all others, but to a lesser degree the merchants and the smiths and the miners. Tradition establishes a clear hierarchy. But as in any culture with an upper class, there is also a clear underclass. These unfortunates, the so-called “casteless,” are believed to be descendants of criminals and other undesirables. They have been looked down upon since Orzammar’s foundation. They have taken up residence in a place called “Dust Town,” a crumbling ruin on the fringe of Orzammar’s common areas.
Orzammar society considers these casteless lower than even the Servant Caste (indeed, the casteless are not allowed to become servants, as it is too honorable a position). They are seen as little better than animals, their faces branded at birth to mark them as the bastard children of the kingdom. Their home district, little more than a slum, is a haven for crime, organized and otherwise. Orzammar’s guards seemingly cannot be bothered to patrol its streets. The best that most casteless dwarves can hope for is a life at the whim of a local crime lord, ended abruptly by violence or an overabundance of toxic lichen ale.
Even so, there is some hope for the casteless, a dangling rope that offers a way up into greater Orzammar society. Since a dwarf’s caste is determined by the parent of the same sex, the male child of a nobleman is part of that noble’s house and caste. Strangely, it is acceptable for casteless women to train in the arts of courtly romance to woo nobles and warriors; they are known as “noble hunters.” Any male born from such a union is considered a joyous event, considering the low rate of dwarven fertility. The mother and entire family are then taken in by the father’s house, although they retain their caste.
The dwarves we know on the surface are also considered casteless once they leave Orzammar, although this is only relevant to those who return–if they are allowed to return at all. Dwarves who leave for the surface (the “sun-touched,” as they’re often called behind their backs) lose their connection to the Stone and the favor of the ancestors, and thus are worthy of little more than pity, for upon dying they are said to be lost to the Stone forever. Put that way, it seems a sad existence indeed.
—From Stone Halls of the Dwarves by Brother Genitivi, Chantry scholar
Hey, Jules. So I've been away for a bit and I come back to see all these messages on your page? You aren't messed up at all. Don't let me see you getting so down about such things, because it's not true, and you better believe it. You'll never be temporary company to me, kay? We're friends, and that means you're stuck with me for the long haul. It's not pity or anything like that at all. Friends care for each other. That's just how it is.
Between her anxiety and fear, the coffee and the wine, Jules really didn’t have it in her to form words. Tears welled up in her eyes as she read Laia’s message over and over again, wishing desperately that she could somehow reply. Laia wasn’t the type to lie, after all.
Finally, after several long minutes trying to pull words from her brain, she sent the other trainer a simple message back: