This is a writing exercise, to see what I can do with words and to test the effectiveness of my imagination. The story came about from two years of playing Oblivion with a lot of strange mods added on to augment the game's features and since I was able to form a story out of those two years' worth of gameplay, it suffices to say that the mods did their job. Nonetheless, this is a disclaimer and as such exempts me from being obliged to cater to anyone's expectations. If you read this, you understand and accept that the effort put into the writing and composing of this story will not guarantee a quality tale.

ACT I: PRELUDE

Luxurious. That was how she would have described her cell if she were ever asked. It was a small room, 10 steps across and 14 steps in length. Her feet were small so perhaps the actual measure was smaller but that was of no consequence- she had plenty of space in the room. On a bright day, she could even sit and bask in the sunlight that came from a window four heads above her. Food was delivered to her on time, her chamber pot was emptied every day. Her clothes had no holes besides the ones it was supposed to have.

Before she was confined to these walls, she slept under hedges if she was fortunate, her clothes had more holes than cloth, and she could perhaps hope to eat once or twice a week. That was a lifetime ago and she no longer remembered how she had lived long enough to be imprisoned, nor why she was in prison. When she first arrived, she had been sick because the dry bread they served was too rich for her stomach to digest, the clothes too heavy on her bony body and the closed room from where she could not see the stars terrified her. However, over time she had become adjusted to the food and clothing, and had forgotten what the stars looked like. Her stomach was no longer empty and that was enough. She adjusted herself in the dark corner of the room as the first rays of the morning sun shone into the room. Another morning had come.

She stood up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, paced about the length of her room until her body had warmed. When she was first brought to the cell, there was another prisoner in it. An old Bosmer that was too sprightly for his age. Every morning the elf would wake up with the sun, pace around the room briskly and then proceed to exercise until he worked up a sweat and smelled. Over time, she began to join him in his morning practice. The guards laughed at the Wood Elf and the Breton that were jumping around in that small prison cell in the beginning but when they showed no signs of stopping, they got bored and left the two to their own devices. So it was that the unlikely pair of criminal scum who were incarcerated for reasons unknown to each other and themselves spent their days in each other's company. Until the time came for the Bosmer to leave.

"Aha! You cannibal, today you lose your head!" Valen Dreth screamed from the cell across the hall. He was a 'regular' in the Imperial Prison, it seemed, and had seen many a prisoner make that walk. She had not understood what was happening until the Bosmer looked at her and smiled. "Don't stop your morning routine," he said as they closed the gate, "You will need strength in your legs to walk until the end without disgracing your forebears." Her legs gave way under her and she never saw the old Bosmer ever again. She could hear Dreth's taunts from across the hall today too. It was something she had not heard since that day and that was how she knew.

Today was her turn to make the walk.