A/N: This is a test chapter for my new fan fiction. If anyone is interested, a beta reader spot is open. I also welcome any ideas for following chapter themes. Please also keep in mind that I'll be updating only as inspiration hits. I find that my writing is better when I feel invested in it rather than rushing to meet deadlines.

Thank you for dropping by and I hope you enjoy. ^^

CH. 1 TESTING FATE

What has the world come to? Time is a haze, woven together, the days indistinguishable from one another aside from the sun's rise and set. I've lost all concept of time. Sleep doesn't come as often anymore. I'm restless and easy to wake. Sometimes it feels like minutes pass before I'm back on my feet, pacing back and forth until I can settle back in my chair and let my mind wander. My refuge is now a communal fire and I've taken the liberty to feed it while others sleep on most nights. On the other nights, I'm out with my established group of mercenaries, doing what the boss says without question – without remorse. My feelings, where have they gone? It's dull. The world is dull. Pointless. Meaningless. So, why… Why am I still here? What am I clinging to?

Bruce drained his mug of ale in one swig then proceeded to people watch the occupants of the Hanged Man. Though the hall was loud (the occupants either merry or just excited) he couldn't empathize with their joy. It felt almost unfathomable. What were they talking about that was so amusing? What had they done and seen to warrant such rapture?

He straightened up in his chair and decided then and there to test fate. There was nothing left in the world for him. There was no higher calling, just cause, or unfulfilled dreams to guide him. He was a lingering virus waiting for an uncertain opportunity to grow – for an unknown future he didn't even know he deserved. So, it was time. There was nothing preventing him from testing his theory and he had nothing to lose.

The young man rose from his seat and set aside his coins before exiting the bar. He dragged his feet as he walked and averted his gaze from everyone. His hands were kept tucked in his trouser pockets. Onward he staggered down the steps of Low Town into Dark Town where the air of dirt, death, and chaos seemed to permanently linger. Eventually he found the wall that overlooked the infamous deep quarry. The moon shone brightly that night. Its light provided the perfect spotlight.

He hoisted himself onto the stone and dirt wall then looked down over the quarry. The bottom was covered in shadow, but the way was lit for him to proceed. It was as if hell itself was crying out "Come to me, Bruce," over and over. The echoes of the souls lost in the quarry resounded off its walls.

The wind shifted ominously then. The air chilled and the breeze pushed him forward a little. Even nature seemed to encourage his experiment. Despite how calm he was externally, his innards churned and his heart raced. Every inch of his body hesitated, retracted, and begged to reconsider. His primal instincts were crying, "No!" Why not? What part of his pathetic existence warranted such an urge to survive? There was nothing – just the mere reptilian impulse to shy from danger; to live, without even a reason.

So, he welcomed the wind, nipping at his bare neck and gently encouraging him forward. "Jump," it whispered. "Jump," her children echoed from the abyss. The darkness of the quarry snaked up the walls, reaching for him, its vastness spreading its arms in welcome. He spread his arms wide to embrace the night, the wind, the dark, the cold quarry floor.

"There is no mercy in life," he whispered and looked up to the smiling moon. "Nor does the Maker or Lady Andraste give a rat's ass about my salvation. So, darkness, come." He looked down and edged to the lip of the wall. "Grant me the damnation that always awaited me. I am ready to accept my fate."

He leaned forward, closing his eyes, and braced himself for the impact he wouldn't feel.

There were murmurs from every direction. His head pounded something fierce. At first it was difficult to make out the conversation. All he could distinguish was the differences between a terrified woman with a heavy accent and a man calmly responding. Eventually the rest of his senses caught up to him and he could feel a warm tingling sensation hovering over his head.

"Are you sure he is alright? I really didn't mean to knock him out," cried the frightened woman.

"Yes, Merrill, for the hundredth time, he'll be alright," replied the man.

Finally Bruce got the strength to open his eyes.

"Oh! He's awake!" The petite woman with dark hair and tattooed skin gasped and bounced a little in place. It took a few more seconds to realize she was an elf.

"See? You were worried for nothing," the man said. Bruce noticed his small smile as he side-eyed the woman named Merrill. "How are you feeling," he asked, directing his question at Bruce.

"Like I got rammed in the face by a fucking bull," Bruce muttered irritably and shut his eyes again.

"I am so sorry!" Merrill squealed, covering her mouth in shame. "I panicked! I saw you fall and I had to do something!"

"So you rammed me against a wall? How is that even possible," Bruce retorted while pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Well, my vines –"

"Merrill!" Anders cut her off before she could finish her sentence. "She's just stronger than she looks," he interjected. The warm sensation on Bruce's forehead was then quickly replaced by a damp rag.

"Mage, then," Bruce concluded out loud, causing Merrill to gasp again.

"Oh no! Anders! I'm sorry! I messed up again, didn't I," she started to whine, panicking.

"Maker, will you shut up, woman? I won't say anything; unless you keep blubbering like that. I've got a fucking headache," Bruce snapped. He turned his head to glare at her.

"Hey, this woman just saved your life!" Anders defended.

Bruce sighed angrily and looked back at Anders. "What makes you think I wanted to be saved? What makes you think I want to be healed?"

Anders looked at him, taken aback by his questions. "You mean…" he started to say, but Bruce didn't want to hear it.

"Yeah," he grumbled and waved Anders away as he sat up on the cot. He pinched his nose again to brace himself for the truck back home and then continued to get onto his feet. Without looking back or uttering another word, he left the clinic. Anders looked on dumbfounded, momentarily oblivious to Merrill's concerned inquiries.