Private Tower Of Tyranny [18+]

[ZPfor3]

"Finally! Some real fun!"

Fun? ,Estrid thought, How is fighting for your life fun? While Estrid was distracted by the thought, a Legionnaire charged at him. As the Legionnaire swung his sword down with such force, Estrid had no time to react. The sword collided with with his armor on his shoulder. Estrid grunted with pain, but with enraged with anger. Anger at himself for getting distracted and at the soldiers. He turned and faced the Legionnaire, who had staggered backwards from the collision. Estrid raised his hands, feeling the magical electricity flowing through him. He looked down to the ground in concentration, as the world faded away from him. He pulled his hands close to his chest, looked up to the soldier (who was preparing for another devastating blow), and shot his hands forward into the chest of the Legionnaire. The man shot back 5 yards, dead before he hit the ground.

After seeing what he did, Estrid quickly regained his wits. He looked and saw Cyn and Ri'Visah tag teaming a couple of soldiers and went to help.

 

[Delusional]

Cyn ran up beside Ri'Visah and started slashing at them with a rusty steel dagger. Ri'Visah glanced at the sorry blade in her hand, and unsheathed a backup dagger he had, an elven dagger, ironically, and tossed it to her. She caught it with her free hand, and jabbed the elvish blade into a lunging Legionnaire's stomach.

Ri'Visah turned and ran at a Legionnaire, and jumped and tackled the soldier to the ground. Before the soldier could gather his wits, he stabbed one of his blades in his stomach, the closest target, to distract him with pain, then soon after brought the other dagger up to cut the man's throat open, ending his life instantly.

Blood gushed from the open throat, and soaked Ri'Visah's gauntlets. He quickly sprung back up, to meet another Legionnaire. This time, the soldier got the first strike. He brought his steel sword down, but Ri'Visah blocked it at the last minute with both daggers. He shoved it off, and had just enough time to back up before he swung again, the tip of the sword grazing his armor.

Ri'Visah gathered his wits, readied his blades, and ran for his opponent. He sliced with both daggers, but both were blocked, and countered. This man is actually a decent swordsman, ha! Ri'Visah thought as he struck down again, this time landing one of his daggers in the man's collarbone, where it stuck. He tried to dislodge the blade, but the man staggered back, and he was unable to retrieve it.

Well, down to one dagger, th- Ri'Visah's thought process was interrupted by a second Legionnaire joining the fight, who struck before Ri'Visah had time to block, and tore a gash in his left arm, just above the elbow. Ri'Visah winced in pain, but threw his dagger into the other hand and spun over his left shoulder and sunk the blade into the man's side, twisted it, and tore it out, and kicked the man in the chest, pushing him to the ground.

He stepped back and saw dead Legionnaires littering the ground, Cyn and Estrid engaged in a fight with four other Legionnaires on Ri'Visah's right. Svengal was behind him, wrenching his battle axe from a Legionnaire crumpled on the ground, and Maquiavel was to his left, fighting off Legionnaire reinforcements. Reinforcements? These dogs must want us badly. He turned to his left, to help Maquiavel, when a soldier side tackled him onto the bloodstained cobblestone path.

The blade was still lodged in his collarbone.

 

[MagicBlade]

'Hahah! Love a challenge!' Svengal cried, reaching for his battleaxe on his back. After bringing the mighty axe forward, charging into the group, and beginning his wordless roar. He bought his axe down, a Legionnaires feeble attempts to block the large head resulting in it burying deep into his shoulder. After removing the axe, causing him to go fling a few metres, he turned and began barraging a Imperial with strong, heavy strikes with the massive axe, seemingly unencumbered by the heavy steel and wood. Any witness would say his battle prowess would be the equivalent of an armoured bear. After cleaving through more of the Legionnaires, he leaned on the axe, catching his breath after his initial rage. After letting the others finish the survivors, he moved over to them, wiping the axe head on a hanky. 'Why, that was fun!' Svengal laughed, gesturing to dead and maimed, testimony to his berserker cleaving.

 

[ZPfor3]

Estrid almost died because he let his mind drift off. You can't do that, Estrid. They told you that was your biggest weakness at the College. Stay focused! Estrid thought to himself.

"Hahah! Love a challenge!" cried Svengal.

Estrid couldn't fathom how these people thought almost dying was fun. He looked around and saw Maquiavel finishing off the last Legionnaire, making one of the others on the ground watch as he slowly cut his throat. Estrid quickly looked away and held back the vomit.

He counted 11 Legionnaires. 11! What could they have done to make them wanted by these soldiers? He started scanning the bodies, looking for anyone that stood out as a Captain or leader. With luck, he located a soldier with a different headpiece than the others. Estrid turned the body over, realizing it was the man he killed first. His entire body was black, his chest glowing with embers from his clothes and skin. All hope of finding some orders were lost. However, when Estrid looked down, he saw a small satchel. He reached for the bag and opened it to reveal a journal. It was titled The Journal of Legionnaire Titus Groth. Estrid thumbed through the pages, hoping that he wrote orders down somewhere, but with no such luck. Then why did he have an different headpiece? It probably says in here. Estrid thought, turning the journal over in his hand as he did so. Estrid stood up and slid the charred book into his own satchel, which contained a Spell Tome for a master level Destruction spell called Lightning Storm, that he was still trying to learn. He got the tome from the ruins of the College, after the battle was over.

I will read it tonight, but I won't say anything about it unless asked. thought Estrid. Almost as if she could read his mind, Cyn asked him, "What's that? A book?"

Estrid looked behind him and was embarrassed right away. He struggled for words to explain himself and just managed to get out, "Yeah, well... Different headpiece... No orders... Going to read later." Estrid said, putting his hands on his hips, trying to show that what he said made complete sense.

"Okay? Well we found the orders, someone in the Bannered Mare heard you guys talking about killing the King and ratted you out. So now, we have to worry about Bandits AND more Legionnaires. No biggie." said Cyn calmly, as if she had to worry about them every day.

Dang. This girl is tough. Glad she's on my side. thought Estrid. He jogged over to the rest of the group, where they were talking about what to do next.

 

[Writes-Many-Posts]

Before Maquiavel could blink, the battle had started and everyone quickly took positions, as if their minds were bound by a mystical telekinesis. Maquiavel had no time for reacting as everyone slaughtered off most of the legionaires. "Nice... work..." He was speaking in a mesmerized tone, not knowing a man was about to strike him on the behind. His heart skipped a beat, the second one that was, and it was as if time slowed down, or if he was high. He looked behind quickly and drove his fist under his chin. The mn fell down to his knees in result of the uppercut. Maquiavel smirked as he grabbed a dying man by his hair and dragged him close to the man on his knees, then, he slowly cut his neck slowly while the screams silenced the birds. "Gods I missed this..." He wasn't wanting to stop at the moment. A Maquiavel with bloodlust is an unstopping Maquiavel. That was when he noticed it. There was no single animal for him to kill. Nothing! Estrid got embarrassed by... something. His bloodlust couldn't let him think rationally. "Brutus better have trained... I am gonna stretch him until I can throw one of his halfs down a mountain and get the other fed to bears..." He awaited Svengal's word on the alteration the plans would have to suffer after they had been discovered.

 

[Delusional]

Ri'Visah managed to throw the thrashing Legionnaire off of him and dislodge his dagger from his shoulder. He proceeded to cut the man's throat, and then there was silence. He staggered up, and slid his blades into his belt, at their rightful place.

He looked around at the dead bodies littering the ground, and the others of his group crowded around a piece of paper.

"Okay? Well we found the orders, someone in the Bannered Mare heard you guys talking about killing the King and ratted you out. So now, we have to worry about Bandits AND more Legionnaires. No biggie." Cyn said, holding this piece of paper.

"Ah, I am here. What does it say? Here, let me see it," Ri'Visah said as he walked up behind the others, wrapping a shred of leather, torn off of a Legionnaire's tunic, around the gash above his elbow after applying some healing tonic he had in his satchel.

Cyn turned and handed Ri'Visah the parchment, which was conveniently spattered with blood.

By the order of Legate Brutus, I, Curio Casius, Imperial Informant, warrant the capture of Svengal the Nord, Ri'Visah the Khajiit, Maquiavel the Breton, and Estrid the Altmer for conspiring against our High King Feyydon. Legate Brutus will NOT accept the death of these traitors. If you return with any of them dead, he will have your heads.
This is an order, and it shall be so.

Ri'Visah looked up from the bloody paper at the waiting faces of his group. He handed it back to Cyn and turned to look off into the distance.

"Well, it appears we have ourselves a crisis, friends," Ri'Visah broke the silence with a loud sigh. "These Imperial hounds will not stop pursuing us. They will send platoon after platoon from here until Solitude."

He gestured to the ground, and the cobblestone path splattered with blood, and the Legionnaire bodies discarded and crumpled everywhere.

"If we have Imperials on our tail up until we end the High King's life, this task will not be easy, by any means," Ri'Visah said, and crossed his arms across his chest. The pain from the cut in his arm made him wince when he bent his elbow.

"how do you know this? We could kill every last one of them... yes, kill all of them..." Maquiavel exclaimed, clearly thirsty for blood after that skirmish.

Ri'Visah turned to look at Maquiavel, and with both anger and sorrow in his eyes, presiding dually, said coolly, in a low voice, "This is not my first time."

 

[ZPfor3]

"They will send platoon after platoon from here to Solitude."

Estrid's heart skipped a beat when he thought of the future that would hold. All the fighting and the constant paranoia that would accommodate such threat would surely break the group. Who would be able to help us? No one has ever experienced such adversity and lived to tell the tale. Estrid thought.

"This is not my first time." spoke Ri'Visah.

I must be thinking outloud... No way this was coincidence. thought Estrid. "Wait, what you mean not your first time?" Estrid asked Ri'Visah.

"I would rather not speak of it now. Let's just make a safe spot to camp. We need the rest." replied Ri'Visah.

"Good idea." said Estrid. He suggested that he would run ahead and scout for a camping spot or more soldiers. After receiving so suspicious looks, they agreed. He ran ahead, up the road, and looked over a rock face. The view was something only the Divines could create. The rolling green hills in the east, snow-capped mountains off to the west, a dense forest to the southeast, all held together by the cascading waterfalls of a roaring river. The birds flying from above, swooping down, and turning back up just in time before they hit the ground. All of the wildlife from the plains had flocked to the oasis below. The deer were drinking from the stream as the fox were catching fish with nothing but their teeth and instincts. All this came at Estrid with such force, he almost lost his balance. I never knew this place was so magnificent, he thought. As he looked more, he spotted a clearing just yards away from the river and the forest. He ran back to the others and said, "I have found a perfect spot. It provides water, animals for hunting, and a forest for protection in case more Legionnaires show up."

At the mention of the word "hunting", Cyn looked at Estrid and asked, "Animals? What kind?"

"I saw some deer and foxes, which means wolves are probably nearby, though." Estrid answered.

"Sounds like a good place to rest up and get some food." said Svengal.

"Agreed." said Ri'Visah.

"As long as I can go hunting, agreed." said Cyn.

"Same as Cyn." replied Maquiavel.

So the group set off for the oasis, hoping it would a peaceful night.

 

[Writes-Many-Posts]

Maquiavel felt no desire for eating that night. In fact, he had no hunger for even trying to shove some nourishment down his throat. Brutus? Legate?! How arrogant... He could only think about taking out every man of Feyydon by himself, letting the group slay the poor bastard and leave Brutus for Maquiavel. That would make his day. He got up from his bedroll in front of the fireplace. "Just a moment..." No, this time it was no animal, better. He sneaked to a bush and gladly found a posse of about ten men, all wearing the imperial armor, most of them armed with spears, scavenging for the conspirers against the highly highness. Unwise move if he chose to strike alone. They were searching every inch for them, hoping to put out the assassins' lives soon enough so they could go home to their families. But no. Brutus would want them alive, Feyydon would want them alive, a quick death would be too much of a reward for such a dire thought as murdering the High King. If they were found, they would be tortured to their last gasp. That was where they had the advantage. To capture any of them alive would take a lot of work, and time, enough for the rest to push a blade or an icy spear down their necks and save the skin of the captured ally. He had no urge in moving back to the group or the camp, so Maquiavel lingered, stayed there, staring at the legionnaires, fantasising on how it would feel to take them all down, not even remembering in warning the group.

 

[Delusional]

Ri'Visah laid awake in his bedroll, the stars suspended in the night sky above him. The others had already fallen asleep, but he was restless. He was so close... yet so far. So close to reaching him... but at the same time... so far...

-

Ri'Visah turned away from the wagon driver to face the soldiers that waited on the ground behind the wagon, torches held high. He drew his ebony sword, and pointed at the only figure not clad in a leather tunic, but rather steel armor with a steel helmet, who appeared to be the captain.

"If I were you, soldier, I would turn around and walk away," Ri'Visah threatened the officer. His friends around him began to stand up and draw their weapons, preparing for a fight.

"And you are? Who are you to tell me what to do?!" the officer shouted, voice raspy and deep. He drew his own weapon, a steel short sword that glistened in the torchlight.

"Who am I, you ask? You should rather ask who I can be. I can be your worst nightmare if you do not allow us passage. Or, I can be a simple immigrant on his way to make a new life in Skyrim. Your choice," Ri'Visah replied coldly, not moving his weapon from the soldier.

"Enough of this insolence! Men, seize these weaklings!" The officer barked, and the soldiers began to move forward, drawing their weapons slowly.

"Fine, have it your way." Ri'Visah's companions all drew their arms and leaped over the side of the wagon. Ri'Visah jumped out the back and sank his short sword into a soldier's chest, never lifting his cool stare from the officer. He pushed the man to the ground with his foot, freeing his blade, and sliced at an incoming soldier, ripping open his gut. Blood poured onto the cobblestone path as his body crumpled.

Ri'Visah pulled a second ebony short sword from its sheath, and slowly walked towards the officer, who started stepping back, clearly afraid of Ri'Visah. His companions slashed and stabbed around him, but it seemed like the number of soldiers just grew. Ri'Visah stabbed a charging soldier in the stomach, and decapitated him with his other blade.

A man ran at him from behind, trying to disarm him, but Ri'Visah spun around smoothly and lodged his free sword in the man's neck. He stopped dead in his tracks and reached up for the gash in his neck when Ri'Visah wrenched the other sword from the dead man's chest and shoved it into the man's stomach with so much force it lifted him into the air. He pulled both swords from the corpse.

"Halt and lay down your arms!" It was the officer. He has lost his focus from him as he was fighting the soldiers. God damnit, why?! Ri'Visah shouted at himself. "Why should I do as you say? I can cut through your men like warm butter," Ri'Visah replied, his bloodstained blades thirsty for more blood as they hung from Ri'Visah's hands.

"We have your friends."

Ri'Visah snapped back to reality when he heard the sharp sound of twigs snapping. He looked over to his left to see Maquiavel disappearing into the woods.

Probably going to decapitate some poor rabbits and force their families to watch, Ri'Visah thought grimly as he turned onto his back again and closed his eyes.

Sleep found him quickly, surprisingly.

 

[Artemis Shadows]

Cyn sat with her back towards the rest of group, near the edge of the small camp everyone had set up. A few angry mumbles could be heard from the elf who was crouched over something. Cyn had been using her pitiful dagger to wittle down a stick she planned to make into an arrow. Being out in the woods left her with few supplies and she was in desperate need of arrows. Her only option seemed to be sticks and rocks. Even then she needed feathers or else each of her attacks would fail. The woman sighed and threw the stick on the ground, frustrated with how unsuccessful the arrow-making was going.
She ran her hands through her hair and groaned, perhaps her best option was just to go to sleep. Maybe when she woke up Y'ffre would have bestowed upon her glorious arrows.
The thought made Cyn chuckle slightly and she laid on the ground. Cyn had no bedroll and honestly wouldn't have been able to sleep on one even if she did. She was used to the hard ground by now anyway.
As she laid down, she found herself looking up at the beautiful night sky. Skyrim never failed to impress Cyn with the land's wonderful, natural beauty. A small smile tugged at the corner of Cyn's lips as she rolled over onto her side and closed her eyes.

Sleep overcame her quickly.

 

[ZPfor3]

Estrid was surprisingly comfortable on his worn down bedroll. He couldn't lay on his left side because of the blow he took from the Legionnaire earlier that day. The wound was far less severe than the other's, so he didn't complain. As he lay there, sleep came over him like a warm blanket on a snowy night. What he dreamt, however, wasn't so inviting.

-----

"I warned you, Anaril! I warned you that if even one person was killed because of your archers, you would pay! And guess what? The ENTIRE SQUAD WAS KILLED BECAUSE YOUR ARCHER MISSED THE SHOT ON THE OTHER GENERAL!" shouted Estrid.

"Sir! I swear! It wasn't my archer! I swea-" Anaril said, cut off by Estrid slicing his throat with his dagger.

I warned him, I warned him. He failed in his mission, and I lost some of my best men. I warned him. He deserved it. I warned him. thought Estrid, almost trying to reason with himself, it seemed.

-----

Estrid bolted awake in a cold sweat. His heart was pounding as turned around, looking for this 'Anaril'. He had never killed anyone in his flashbacks. He decided be better get up and walk around a bit, maybe get some fresh-er air.

Estrid walked down to the river near the campsite, and looked out across the water. Are these real memories? Am I a murderer? He looked down into the water, and saw himself staring back at him. That man is not a killer, he is a defender. He defends himself, and the people of Skyrim. That man is on a mission. For Brelyna and the College. With that, he headed back to camp. Noticing Maquiavel was missing, he quickly scanned the area and saw some bushes split open, a trail no doubt taken by Maquiavel to who know's where. He will return in the morning.

Estrid laid his head down, praying he could fall asleep.

 

[Writes-Many-Posts]

Maquiavel opened his eyes, and found himself in a dark, cold grey room. How? One moment he was spying legionnaires, the other he was uncounscious. They surely had found him and knocked him down. "Finally you are awake, Maquiavel..." A bald man, with a menacing arrogant grin, came out of the shadows, wearing the imperial officer's armor, as well as the shield and sword of the Legion. "Brutus!" The man got closer to him while he tried to attack him and, at the same time, found out that he was tied with chains on his legs and hands. "The only reason why I haven't just executed you is because I need something from you." He looked the breton in the eyes. "Where are your friends?" Maquiavel smirked. "Legate, I thought you knew me better. I have no friends." The imperial, Brutus, made an angry look, but immediatly smirked afterwards. "Good" He dragged Maquiavel by the neck across the room. "If they aren't your friends it won't take much torture for you to speak about someone you don't care about!" Two torturers brought a bucket of boiling water, and Maquiavel was forced to kneel before it. Out of nowhere, Brutus dived the breton's head in the steaming, simmering painful water for a long time, until he was barely alive. After he pulled Maquiavel out, he turned his head to face him. "Ready to tell? I can do this all day!" "Good... you will... leave Feyydon unprotected..." Maquiavel coughed. He could not care about the khajiit, the nord, the altmer or the bosmer, but he wanted Brutus' faction to lose. Brutus drove his fist against the breton's face. "It won't take that long to break you." The legate picked up the bucket and threw all the water against his prisoner, who screamed in pain. "I want you to know... Brutus, that I will get to Markarth... I will find your family. I will rape your wife, and I will make you see me torturing your kids. Then... I will crucify your wife, and I will let you try to save her. That will be. If you save her, you her and your kids can all ho home, if not, which will mean that I made you surrender in a one on one fight, they all die and I will torture you. So painfully you will rue the name Maquiavel!" It could be the steam, but it appeared after that horrible speech, Brutus' eyes were welling tears. "It will be an amazing thing, if you actually could defeat me, or get out of here." Those words made the breton think. Brutus got even bigger than when he was a child. "Don't sound so sure... I am a Briar Heart you fool! How many can share my strength?" Brutus picked up a wooden sword and a shield, and threw two wooden axes to the front of Maquiavel. "Let's see if you can fight me, fool! Untie him!" The two assistants did as commanded and Maquiavel picked up the axes with a smile. "I will enjoy this..." Brutus didn't even reply and striked at Maquiavel with his sword, easily dodged. Maquiavel spinned and hit him in the stomach, then in the chest. "How... easy!" But the imperial wasn't damaged at all, for he had an armor, while Maquiavel was unprotected. Brutus kicked the breton away and hit him with the knuckle, brusting Maquiavel's lip. After regaining balance, he proceeded with a furious onslaught with his two axes against the legate. Brutus was easily blocking every attempt of his to make damage. "You can't defeat a highly trained soldier, forsworn!" "Kiss... my..." Before he could finish the sentence, Brutus bashed his shield and sent Maquiavel to the ground. "The truth hurts, doesn't it breton? I bested you." Brutus took out a dagger and stabbed Maquiavel repeatedly in the belly. Non-stop, unitl a third legionnaire entered the torture room. "Legate, our scouts arrived." Brutus got up and kicked Maquiavel before leaving. "Heal his wounds, enough so that he doesn't die, but not enough for him not to feel pain..."

 

[Delusional]

Ri'Visah's eyes snapped open, starting straight into the eyes of an Imperial Legionnaire. He felt the cold, sharp steel chafing at his neck as he sat up. He looked around, and saw the camp in shambles, and Legionnaires everywhere. Cyn, Estrid and Svengal were all woken up as well, swords and spears to their throats.

"Get up."

The Legionnaire holding him at sword point had a gruff voice. He gestured with his sword for Ri'Visah to stand up. The Khajiit complied.

They snapped him into shackles, same as the others in his group. Cyn was giving the poor legionnaire trying to shackle her a hard time. Must be a rookie. Poor boy, Ri'Visah chuckled to himself as the soldiers relieved him of his daggers sheathed in his belt.

I will obey, and they will let their guard down. Then will I strike, Ri'Visah thought, observing the Legionnaires. There were 7 of them in the camp now, and most likely a few others on the perimeters. Most likely a scouting patrol, nothing more. No veterans, by the looks of it.

"Walk, traitors!" a Legionnaire barked, clearly the leader of the party. No glistening, shiny armor, interesting... Ri'Visah stumbled forward, pushed from behind by an impatient Legionnaire. He fell in line with his companions, and mouthed 'Just go with it' to them, and they nodded in confirmation. they followed the scouting party through the dense forest, to where ever they were taking them.

-

It was a long hike. It must've taken near two hours to travel from their campsite to the fort. Fort Greymoor. It was an imposing stone monolith, resting atop a larger hill, looking down on the path. They were marched in through the open gate, and taken straight to the dungeons. The group was thrown in separate, but adjacent, cells, and left there.

Ri'Visah's eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness within his dank cell, and he scanned his conditions.

fluffing disgusting, Ri'Visah noted as he looked around his cell, water dripping from the cobblestone ceiling and forming a small pool of murky, mossy liquid in the corner, right next to a pile of straw that appears to have been lazily strewn across the rough, uneven floor.

The Khajiit turned to the barred entrance of his cell. Cyn was dumped in the cell directly across the dim hallway, and she was searching around her cell, most likely trying to find a way to escape as soon as possible.

Suddenly, light poured into the hallway, and sharp footsteps rattled through the dungeons. Ri'Visah drew back from the cell door, and reached up to feel his concealed iron dagger the guards did not find, strapped along his side, just below his elbow. If only they were moronic enough to take our shackles off...

A large man, his head void of hair, appeared in view. He wore the typical Imperial Officer armor, and looked polished to a T. I hope dark crimson compliments that shiny steel... Ri'Visah thought as the officer stopped in front of his cell, looking left to right, observing his captives.

"WHICH ONE OF YOU TRAITORS IS THE LEADER?!"

 

[Artemis Shadows]

Cyn had not expected to be woken up from a wonderful dream with a blade at her throat and a man yelling orders.
She searched around her cell, on all fours, counting and muttering to herself. But that was soon interrupted by a tall officer who seemed higher up than the rookies that had hauled the group here. The officer demanded to know who the leader was, and no one spoke. Cyn walked to the bars of her cell and looked at the officer, who was oddly familiar. "Well well well...if it isn't Ol' Longshot. Got yourself caught again have you? Oh yes...I remember you and your little friend, what was his name...Bornar? Orginar? Rignar?" The officer smirked and walked to Cyn's cell, Cyn crossed her arms, "His name isn't worthy to come out of your pig mouth" she said cooly. Ah, yes she remembered him now. He was the one who assisted with the execution orders two years ago. The officer spit at Cyn's feet, "Watch your tongue Longshot...or would you like to become friends with the Inquisitor?". Cyn sneered but remained silent, she didnt wish to go through that process again. The officer seemed satisfied and walked to bother the others.

 

[Writes-Many-Posts]

Maquiavel was healed, partially that was. A man with a torturer hood dragged him. "Your fellow conspirers have been captured, you have no use for us, but a quick death would be too much of a reward for traitors of Skyrim... But don't worry, after some interrogating, your friends will join you..." Maquiavel looked angrily at his dragger while going across the hall, where he saw the rest of the group. "I have no friends!" He raised his elbow and hit the torturer's crotch, to look tough to the his fellow prisoners. Brutus, who was annoying Cyn, walked to the man who was moaning from the painful hit and put his boot on Maquiavel's back, bending it in such a painful way that only Molag Bal would be able to cause more suffering. "Sorry breton, your life has no meaning now... I bet they will want to help the legion and me more than you. But your promises of crucifying my family were useful... They helped me kicking your ass!" Maquiavel squirmed to free himself, uselessly, and when the torturer recovered, he dragged Maquiavel to a large balcony, away from the other conspirers. Four wooden stocks were there, obviously due to the army not expecting the bosmer to join and only counting four enemies. Maquiavel was put in the one at the right, next to a basket full of taproots, which the punisher picked up. "I don't see the use of this, but the Legate said it would fit you well." Said that, he began throwing the glowing taproots against Maquiavel. "Stop throwing that gods-forsaken ingredient at me, or else spriggans will be swarming here soon enough!" The man actually stopped. "I would be more worried about crows taking off your eyes instead of spriggans climbing the walls... Are you sure you don't want to tell who the bosmer is? Brutus might be merciful..." The breton smirked nad looked up. "After I promised him I would rape his wife? I am sure my childhood's bully is really a better person now..." The torturer shrugged his shoulders and went back to the prisoner row exclaiming, probably to Brutus: "The breton said nothing about the bosmer..." And then, in reply was heard. "It's the crows for Maquiavel then... but you can..." Maquiavel failed to hear the rest, so he just laid down his head and closed his eyes, trying to get away from his aching spine.

 

[Delusional]

Maquiavel was dragged into the room by who appeared to be the fort's torturer. Gods, does he look awful, Ri'Visah thought while taking in Maquiavel's abysmal shape.

The officer was busy fooling around with Cyn, whom he called 'Ol' Longshot'... There has to be some history there... the Khajiit thought, while fumbling around, trying to loose his spare dagger.

The officer turned, done with Cyn, and focused his attention on Maquiavel. He placed his boot on the breton's back and stepped down with such force that Ri'Visah cringed. The man was soon dragged away by the torturer, through a different door. They disappeared from view when the door slammed shut.

The officer turned his attention back to the group that was imprisoned in the cells. He looked around, most likely still trying to single out a leader of their party.

Just then, Ri'Visah felt the knife loosen. He had succeeded in releasing it from it's sheath, and he maneuvered it down his arm, underneath his clothing, until it was right at his wrist, yet still concealed by his armor.

I doubt any of the others keep concealed daggers on them... And they wouldn't have any reason to. A mage, a warrior, and a hunter... no, I must do this. Ri'Visah was reluctant, but he stepped up to the cell door. Here we go...

"I am the leader."

He spoke boldly, his voice unwavering. The menacing officer slowly turned his gaze to the Khajiit, and a grin grew across his face. Ri'Visah looked to his other companions, who appeared to be very confused by his bold moves, but he gave them reassuring looks and mouthed 'I know what I am doing'.

"Finally, I knew you WEAK-MINDED TRAITORS would break eventually!" He walked closer, trying to catch a better glimpse of the leader of the group.

"A KHAJIIT?! A poor old pussy cat, trying to kill the HIGH KING?! HAHAHAHA!" the officer bellowed as he called for the torturer to unlock his cell. The man scurried in, and searched through his keys to locate the correct one. He found it finally, and the rusty iron door creaked open, and the torturer walked in and shoved him out of the cell.

"GET UP, and WALK! We are going to have some FUN!" the officer shouted at Ri'Visah, and he staggered up off the ground, and followed the man into the room Maquiavel came from.

Oh gods... Ri'Visah thought, afraid, and he reached up and felt the iron dagger for comfort.

 

[Writes-Many-Posts]

Maquiavel grunted and once again tried to free himself from the stocks. No success. Even the crows were already gathering around, found out he wasn't actually posing a threat. A black bird landed on the wooden prison examining Maquiavel, trying to predict his next move. The breton attempted to shoo the crow, but his strength wasn't enough to even move, the sun didn't help either. Brutus began speaking about a pussy cat, Ri'Visah for sure. "Good, another meal for the crows..." He pushed with his legs, trying to get close to the edge of the balcony made of quarried granite. Inch after inch, he got closer to a new spot. If he were to die, he'd rather committing suicide than dying at the hand of Brutus.

 

[Artemis Shadows]

Damn. Down two good men.

No! No Cyn! You can't think like that! Both of them are strong...capable...they'll be fine.

"Y'ffre bless you my friends" she muttered so no one could hear. Cyn was not religious but faith provided a sort of...comfort. Perhaps it was wrong to only use religion in such a way. But at the moment, there were more important things at hand other than the 'rights and wrongs'.
The Bosmer glanced around her cell with quick, observant, eyes. Searching for something. Anything really.
She hated to stand by idly while her companions were forced to undergo such treatment.
Cyn knew all to well the feel of hot iron burning her flesh, the sting of a whip, the cutting of flesh as a blade tore through her flesh.
The screams for mercy, the begging, the crying.
Just thinking about it made Cyn seethe with rage and she refrained from punching the stone wall. It would be careless to injure herself.

Instead, she simply leaned against the wall...and plotted and occasionally prayed.
A few seconds passed and luck finally seemed to be delivered back to the elf.
A guard walked in, new, obviously a recruit, young...innocent. An idea popped into Cyn's head.
I don't normally stoop to such tactics. But I make exceptions. Let's just hope he likes his women, exotic.

Cyn took a deep breath and walked to her cell door. Her heart was pounding nervously and doubtful thoughts swarmed her mind. But her face showed a different side. Longshot had returned...for the moment.
"Well well...Arn't I the lucky gal; placed in a cell guarded by such a handsome young man" she said, a faintly husky tone to her voice.

The guard glanced at her but quickly looked away. Cyn stopped herself from cursing the boy.
Damn the ones that play hard to get!
Cyn loosened the straps of her leather armor and tossed it aside, leaving Cyn in a rather...revealing undershirt. The sudden view caught the attention of the young man.
OH SO NOW YOU LOOK! IGNORANT SWINE!

"It's awfully lonely in my cell" she sighed rather convincingly, "I'd kill for some company" Cyn batted her eyelashes at the man who seemed to be getting rather sweaty and anxious. His eyes glanced nervously around before he walked to the cell door. Cyn smirked up at him as he asked her a rather foolish question, "If I unlock the door...Y-You promise not to do anything funny..?"
Oh the insolence of men.
Cyn nodded, "I'll be a good girl. I swear!" The guard reached for the key that opened the prisoner cells, which hung by a chain around his waist. Once the key was in the lock and the click signaling the door was unlocked sounded, Cyn grabbed the man by the front of the armor and bashed his head into the bars of her cell three good times.
The guard slumped to the floor and Cyn pushed open her cell, grabbed the keys and her armor, and began hurrying to release the others.
Once that task was complete she slid back into her armor and tightened the straps. Now, to find the other two and their possessions and get the hell out of this place!

 

[Delusional]

The door slammed shut, and Ri'Visah was shoved onto the musty floor. Before he could even look around, a whip cracked, and a swath of pain sliced across his back. He winced, and braced himself for more stinging lashes.

However, to his surprise, they never came. He opened his eyes, and glanced up. The Legate stood before him, whip in hand.

"Ah, so now I have your attention?" The man knelt down, staring straight into the Khajiit's eyes. "Now, if you would be so kind to divulge the information of you and your fellow traitors all across Skyrim plot to revolt against the Empire for a second time?" His voice was low, almost quiet. He is trying to intimidate. It won't work. Ri'Visah thought, and spit into the Legate's face.

"Burn in hell." Ri'Visah's voice dripped with contempt as he waiting to be lifted up, most likely into a basin of hot coals, or a chair where they could slowly cut his fingers off.

The Legate wiped his face, and his eyes burned with anger. He stood up, wordless, and gestured to the torturer.

"You have made a grave mistake, cat." The Legate said, before receding into the shadows to watch the onslaught of pain.

The torturer stepped forward, and dragged Ri'Visah off the ground. He pushed him into a chair, and turned around to face a basin of hot coals. I figured. The Legion never strays from their methods. Ri'Visah slid his dagger so low it nearly protruded from his armor, and sat up, ready.

The man turned around with a brand him his hand, tip red hot. Ri'Visah could feel the heat just by looking at the evil iron rod. He approached the chair where Ri'Visah sat.

Here we go... Ri'Visah clenched his teeth as he leaped from his chair, simultaneously shoving the dagger from his clothing, and plunged it into the torturer's stomach. The man dropped the brand, and reached for his wound, gushing blood.

Ri'Visah twisted and pulled, wrenching the knife free from the man's body. He dropped to his knees, crying in pain, but not before Ri'Visah could snatch the keys off his belt. He ripped them off, and began fumbling though the multiple keys, attempting to unlock his shackles.

He found the correct key, and the iron bindings fell to the ground, the ring of iron hitting cobblestone resonating through the wretched room.

Suddenly, a colossal force hit him in his right side, and he was flung to the wall. He felt a rib snap, and pain envelop his torso. He gripped his dagger tightly, and staggered up to face his adversary.

The Legate stood before him, a rusty, bloody steel mace in hand.

"I have had enough of you. YOU DIE NOW!" The officer yelled, and lunged for Ri'Visah. He spun over his right shoulder, and watched as the armored Legate crashed into the wall with a clank, not anticipating a dodge. As the Legate was recovering from the impact with the stone, Ri'Visah spun around him and jammed his dagger underneath his armor, parting his flesh and digging itself into his side.

The Legate cried out in pain, and Ri'Visah drew him close, his mouth adjacent to the man's ear.

"No, I have had enough of YOU." Ri'Visah whispered, voice full of anger, as he shoved the dagger further into the man's side, and gave it a sharp twist.

 

[Writes-Many-Posts]

Maquiavel finally reached the edge of the balcony. The only thought that gave him strength was the picture of Brutus kneeling to him bleeding out. He put his left foot on the handrail made of rock and his right one followed. After a sigh, he paused. Was suicide better than dying at Brutus' hands? "Yeah, of course." He was torn apart. Maquiavel was defeated in a fight against Brutus! What else to live for? The group was captured, the forsworn would soon be extinct, and Feyydon's name would cause fear for the rest of his damnable life. Plus, Maquiavel would die anyway by the hands of the stubborn crows that could not give up the countless tries of eating his eyes out. He slipped both of his legs to the other side of the rail, leaving all the gravitational power against the counterweight of the stocks. The wooden structure cracked in a warning about the snap it was about to have. Maquiavel could do nothing but smile at the end that couldn't be seen as unavoidable. Suddenly, a sound of iron being repeatedly bashed with something tough echoed through the creeping lonely halls to the balcony where he thought his end would descend. In instinct, he thought the group would have managed to get out. The khajiit was surely being punished by Brutus, so the one who saved their skin would be either Svengal, Estrid or Cyn. His knees relied on the handrail quickly and he put himself once again on the balcony, hoping friendly faces would come out of the cells. "Damn it... Now I will owe my life to one of them..." He pushed back the tears he felt like shedding after eight cryingless years from the defeat in the fight and awaited to see the causer of the trouble in the cell row. "I hope that whoever did this is aware of the hungry crows that don't give up in circling me!" He shook his head again, as if he regained some strength upon knowledge that it could possibly not all be lost.