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Sanguine Tabris stared down the goblet of darkspawn blood with a cold pit in her chest. Daveth’s body lay at her feet and not far from it lay Ser Jory’s in a pool of his own blood. It seemed she didn’t have a lot of options: Die on the shem Duncan’s sword or probably die drinking this poison. She knew which account she’d prefer her family in Denerim to hear.
Steeling herself, Sanguine lifted the goblet to her mouth and drank without letting the foul liquid linger too long on her tongue. She felt its effect even before she set the goblet down and found herself stumbling and choking as she dropped to the cobbles on her hands and knees. The crumbled ruins of the temple slipped in and our of her vision for a moment before she plunged into darkness so oppressive with the stench of rot and corruption that even though Sanguine could no longer feel her body she knew it was gagging.
Images flickered in the dark, spinning past her so quickly that she must have been falling through them. She saw the blighted hordes marching on Ferelden, the destruction against a backdrop of flame and blood and blackened skies; saw the fields of dead and dying and the rising crown of a terrible and awesome dragon. She saw into all the nightmares that she didn’t yet realize would follow her the rest of her days and even saw into her own veins where her blood curdled black.
Each revelation seared itself across her vision in such quick succession that by the time the next appeared she had forgotten the last. When the visions finally faded Sanguine found herself drenched with sweat and tears on the stone floor of the temple and she swung at the man knelt beside her in a panic. She probably would have blackened Duncan’s eye had he not caught her fist and clasped it warmly. His expression was stony, equal parts solemn and somber as he helped Sanguine to her feet and intoned “Welcome, Sanguine Tabris, to the order of the Grey Wardens.”