Legend (Dragon Age Origins)

Chapter 1: A Second Chance

SHE STOOD ON THE BALCONY, her toes overhanging a sheer drop to the chasm below. Blood swept past her feet, cascading down like a crimson waterfall. Her wounds no longer pained her. She was gone. Her soul escaped to another pane apart from this world.

The chamber door burst open and a flurry of armoured men filled the tiny room. She glanced over her shoulder as the captain charged forward, his gloved hand outstretched, fingertips grazing the fabric of her gown.

But he was too slow.

Gravity took her in its unrelenting arms as she tilted forward, sending herself falling from the balcony. The wind pushed past her body, the ground growing closer.

She closed her eyes as she tumbled through the sky.

There was no more pain. No more fear.

She was gone.

⚔

Surrounded by an impenetrable darkness, Dru Tabris lay on her back and waited for death.

Ninety-one days had passed since she was dragged into the dungeons, covered in someone else's blood with both legs broken. Since then, numerous prisoners had come and gone, filling up the cells around her like water before spilling out, completing their short journey to the executioner's block. Meanwhile, she remained in place, patiently awaiting her turn to embrace the sweet release of death.

Although her crime had been far greater than the petty thievery and drunken brawls that destined those men and women to the axe, Dru's execution had been delayed for as long as possible. Arl Urien wished to witness the death of his son's murderer in person.

Where the Arl had been for the last three months, Dru had no idea. That was information that prisoners were not privy to, and none that she could glean from the guards during her routine beatings.

Magical healing was rarely wasted on an elf, much less a condemned murderer, but the guard captain ensured that the luxury was extended to Dru. The estate's mage was assigned to visit each fortnight, during which he would cast spells that soothed her malnourished form, mending bones and sealing wounds. She understood that the Arl would be rather displeased if she was to die from the guard's torture before he'd had a chance to do the same.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to banish the memories of the horrors inflicted upon her. The Arl allowed his son, Vaughan, to do as he pleased, and he had taken a sadistic interest in the dungeons. As a result, it was well-stocked with a large collection of torture devices, ranging from racks that popped your bones to needles that pumped vile toxins beneath the skin. She had become well acquainted with the devices during her prolonged stay, and the memory of the cruel laughs harmonising with her screams was forever scorched within her memory.

A rattling of keys startled her. Two guards crowded the narrow aisle between the cells, a lantern gripped in one's hands while the other worked on the bolt.

Dru hissed, her teeth barred as she scurried to the back of the cell, shielding her eyes from the sudden intrusion of light. It had been days since her last beating and the healer's scheduled appointment had not yet been reached. The lacerations on her back and burns on her arms still stung. She had grown to enjoy the pain. If her wounds were open and her bones broken, then it meant that her next torture would not occur for another few days.

"What's going on?" she asked, her voice hoarse from dehydration.

As always, her eyes flicked between the guards, seeking an opportunity to escape. Hands on the hilt of swords warned her away.