Our wagon was traveling from the port village to one of the larger cities when they fell upon us. They shrieked like beasts. Their facial markings were savage and nonsensical, their brutal weapons chipped and uncared for, and they stank of unwashed sweat as they charged.
The Tal-Vashoth snarled as they fought. One of the workers was bitten. The guards cut them down with blades until they fled, then finished the rest with arrows. We followed their trail into the forest and found their camp: there were women, hunched and cowering as no woman should be, filthy children, thin and underfed, and corpses. I will always remember the corpses.
There were more Tal-Vashoth as well, and the guards cut them down. As they disarmed the last Tal-Vashoth, one guard asked him why he lived like this, why he acted in this manner. The Tal-Vashoth looked him in the eye and said, "I deny the Qun." Then he threw himself upon the guard's blade.
I have questioned the Qun. I believe many of us have, although we do not admit it to each other. But when I saw that rage in the Tal-Vashoth warrior's eyes—when I saw the horrible savagery that the Qun alone holds in check—I knew where I belonged. I am not a perfect Qunari, but I know my place and my purpose. I am content.
—Excerpt from an interview with a Qunari worker in Kirkwall