One Last Brawl
Sod it all. Faren Brosca thought to himself, scuffing his feet against the stone which served as the floor of his home and prison. It all began with the Provings, of sodding course it would end with them.
He ran his meaty, callused hands over his age-withered face with a hefty sigh. He'd been hearing the call of the darkspawn for a year now. He'd spent far too many hours at Tapsters with Oghren knocking back ales and reminiscing on the good old days to ignore it. But it would no longer be ignored. The time had come to fight or die. And Faren Brosca was not a man who backed down from a fight.
It was supposed to be just one final round in the Provings, for old time's sake, then off to the Deep Roads like a Legionaire to die in glorious battle against the darkspawn. But he wasn't minding his daggers all that well. One of them slipped. Slipped and accidentally chopped off some poor duster's head. At least, that was the excuse he was giving.
Bloody nug-humpers don't have a sense of humor anymore. he grumbled to himself. Now I'm stuck in this sodding dustbin until I rot or Bhelen decides to put me to death.
He stroked the matted salt-and-pepper braids in his beard as he thought over his options. Don't have my weapons, my armor, or anything useful on me. Could pick the lock, try a prison break, but I wouldn't get far. Sit here and wait, I'll go crazy listening to the calling. If the Taint doesn't kill me first. Or I get dishonored even more than I already have and get publicly executed by the 'merciful' King Bhelen, who's serving as judge, jury, and executioner around here. Though how I can fall any farther from being a Paragon to being a sodding criminal is beyond me.
Heavy footsteps heralded the prison guard's return to his post outside Faren's cell.
Sod it. Even if it gets my ass killed, I'm busting out of here.
"Hey! Hey you! Guard!" Faren taunted. "Whatcha been bathing in? Piss and ale? Or didja come out stinking like a sodding-!"
That did it. The guard was at his throat. "Now listen, you-!"
Faren smirked. Sneaky he may have been, but he was a brawler if ever there was one. Oh, this is gonna bring back some good times...
He grabbed the prison guard's armor, and used it to heft him towards the cell, bashing his skull open against the bars. Sliding a hand into the guard's pouch, he found the key to his cell door. Opening it from within, he stepped out, cracking his knuckles.
"All right! Which one of you sodding dusters is man enough to take me on?" he challenged, gruff voice echoing throughout the prison complex.
Like taking candy from a baby.
The guards, alerted to a prisoner on the loose, flooded the area, surrounding the escapee. Despite the insurmountable odds, the only thing the criminal did as he was encircled was smirk.
He was back in the world he was born in. A world of crumbling stone and stinking sweat. Of blood and bruises and toxins. Of fighting with every fiber of his being just to stay alive. He lost count of the number of guards he was brawling against after a while. How many times did he need to keep track of the heads he cracked?
Just like the Provings every time he'd competed there, there was no one who could stand against him. But damned if the blighters didn't leave him more wounded than he wanted to consider.
Bhelen... Needs to get... Better guards... Could've taken... Fifty more of those dusters...
Faren's clothes were ripped open. Gashes painted his body the ruddy crimson of his hair. Age and his injuries combined slowed his movements as he walked for the exit. He could feel the burn of Deathroot Extract in his veins. He wouldn't be able to move much longer.
The exit was right in front of him now. He allowed his weight to fall against the door, pushing it open and sending him toppling out into the streets.
Free... at last...