Hello to readers old and new! Yes, I'm back again. I took some time away from the story to deal with personal issues, but I'm back and as you can see I've decided to start from the beginning, once again, and remaster. I wasn't very happy with both the quality of writing that I was producing for this story and the direction I was taking it overall. On re-reading a lot of the chapters, I felt like some of them were hastily done and missing some key things that I should have added the first time around. Therefore, I will be changing them. In fact, some of the stuff that has happened in the chapters you have read will be erased due to my dislike of what I have written. There were characters within the story that I added for a purpose which I no longer deem necessary and will therefore be removed in chapters, but the core story will remain the same.

So, this is Chapter One remastered for you all.

Enjoy.

PROLOGUE

The Disgraced Imperial

It is a time of tension and uncertainty across all of Tamriel.

The Imperial Empire is bursting open at the seams, threatening time and time again to unravel at any point in time. Provinces are growing more and more restless with the more time that passes, with revolutionary factions, both guerrilla and political, vying for the control of their governments and the independence that comes with it. The Thalmor have resurfaced from times long past, using the long-hidden feelings of xenophobia and Elven supremacy to try and gain support within the Altmer courts. Although they have been ignored by many as radical extremists, their rise has been unmistakable. Many more groups like this have emerged, each staking their own claims to territory within the Empire. The want for independence grows by the day, with nobody around to stop the increasing unrest.

The Imperial Legion is spread thin, outmanned and outnumbered as they try and deal with the various insurrections that dot the continent. Forces from the farthest reaches of the Empire, from Solstheim to Swampmoth, have been recalled inland to deal with the problems, leaving the Nords and Argonians to recover their lands and grow stronger. The world bleeds, torn apart by anger and war at all edges with nothing around to stop it.

The Emperor stands tall despite it all, him and his three sons providing the public with a comforting voice and presence in these trying times where the future is bleak. However, many whispers swirl in the shadows of his true role, of the very idea that he has become little more of a figurehead for the people with the Elder Council running the Empire in his stead, their own aspirations mixing with the blood tide.

But through it all, under the surface, more darker intentions boil, threatening to rise to the surface at any singular moment. The whole world is on the verge of collapse, with one spark ready to set it all off and plunge the realm into the darkness…

"Perhaps we should start again," the Imperial Jailor growled, pressing a damp, cold cloth against his bare knuckles. The pain in his face was evident, his yellowed teeth visible in the candlelight from the sconce on the grey, stone brick wall as he soothed his aching hand with both sides of the linen. The overexertion that he had been putting it was evident from the mere sight of his hand, his knuckles raw red and bruised from the amount of effort he had been putting into this particular prisoner. He meant every moment, every strike and every beat. He wanted this one to feel the pain that he was administering, no matter whether they were telling the truth or telling a lie. It meant nothing to him, for this one deserved the beating that was coming to him. Lifting the cloth after a few moments, the Jailor stretched his fingers out as far as he could, a short flash of pain wracking across his face as he tried to regain mobility in his hand, before returning to nursing them with the cloth. Even if it caused him considerable pain, he would get to the bottom of this. That was the one thing that he would promise himself before the day was over. This traitor would hang for his crimes, for his treason against their Empire. "From the beginning, this time."

Yells of pain and anguish had rung around the halls of the Imperial subterrane, the sounds of effort, exertion and pain heard from all around. No light shone into this part of the Imperial prison, not within the depths that they had reached. It was too far underground, too far down into the entire complex for any natural light to reach them. In fact, this particular prisoner didn't even know at the moment if it was night or day. He had been locked away, thrown into a cell without a key and subjected to continuous torture time and time again for as long as he could remember. The days had stretched into weeks, the weeks grown into months. All he clung to was his innocence, the one thing that they didn't believe he had. No, they believed him to be guilty, completely and definitively. There was no way for him to get out of this one, for it would only be a matter of time before he gave them what they needed to here and finally gave them the reason they needed to throw away the key…or relieve this particular 'traitor', as they called him, of the burden of his head from his shoulders.

"I've…already told you…everything. That's…all I know. I swear." The voice of the Imperial Quaestor that hung before him replied, his words quiet and wheezy as they escaped from his mouth. The words came out slowly and painfully, large intakes of breath between each one as the legionnaire tried to reply as best he could to the Jailor's questioning. He seemed in considerable pain, the candlelight bringing attention to how reddened each side of his abdomen had become. Blood looked to have been drawn multiple times throughout the countless sessions that he had been through, dried specks of the substance dotted here and there across the top layer of his skin. He had been through a lot during his imprisonment, probably more than what a normal prisoner would go through, but it mattered not to the Jailor that presided over his torture sessions. He would get the answers that his superiors had asked for, even if the pain had to be excruciating and long-winded.

"And yet, once again, I do not believe you." The Jailor was quick to reply, his words barbed with the coating of suspicion. Softly placing the cloth down upon the small, wooden table beside him, he took a step closer to his prisoner and grasped him by the long, black hair that had sprouted from his head. It was long and unkempt, greasy and matted with dirt, a side-effect of being imprisoned for such a long period of time…and this one had been imprisoned for such a long period of time, far longer than any normal prisoner. He was a special prisoner and would be treated as such for the rest of his days. "So, here is what we are going to do. We will start from the beginning, and you will tell me it all again."

Leaning over the table, the Jailor sighed heavily and looked around the dungeon that the two of them found themselves in. It was dreary and dark, with shadows all around them. It was almost suffocating to see, the two of them seemingly trapped within the darkness that existed all around them. Making sure that all the things in front of him were laid out correctly, visible only to him through the selective candlelight, he slowly rose from his leaning position and dragged his hand across the flat wood of the tabletop, scraping what sounded like parchment over the course material as he did so. For a few moments, he stood there and took in the object that he had taken up with his fingers, making sure to hold it gently in his palm, before slowly unravelling it in his left index finger, making sure to take incredible care with the what seemed like brittle, yellowed parchment that he held. Wandering over to the wall sconce in order to get a better look at what exactly he was about to read out from it. Whatever this document was, it seemed important to what was going on around him, judging by the way that the Jailor carefully handled it.

"Your name is Cassian Pinera. You are an Imperial, born and raised in Cyrodiil. Correct?" Reading from his brittle parchment, the Jailor seemed to smirk as he glanced his eyes over the document. This was the prisoner's file, clear and plain as day to see. A document that showed exactly who he was and what he had done throughout his life. Anything that he had ever done wrong or had accomplished was written down there, his entire life whittled down to a few scribbles of ink on a piece of old, yellowed parchment. It showed exactly what kind of institution that the Imperial Empire ran, the fact that they had every single person down on record and kept a track of them to the smallest detail. They watched carefully, without fail, and made sure they got their right man. No wonder the crime rate in the main Imperial City was so low, although the same couldn't be said for the Waterfront District. Too many refugees and illegal immigrants in the merchant boats made sure that entire District was a lawless place, undermanned by the Imperial Guard who left the occupants to do whatever they wanted and needed to do in order to survive.

"…Yes." Cassian nodded after a few moments, seemingly drawing upon himself the strength and will to even nod his head. He had no other choice, not if he wanted to survive this particular night, out of all of the others. He had beaten on and victimized for hours, far longer than he could even remember. He didn't know exactly how long he had been doing this, for his mental calendar had simply lost track of time. Had it been weeks? He didn't know, but he knew that this wouldn't end until he either died or just couldn't take it any longer. They wanted him to submit, to simply say that he had done it so that they could get it over with and simply sentence him to whatever fate they gave to so-called 'traitors'. He wasn't a traitor and he never would be, no matter what they would put him through. He was loyal to his Empire and to the Imperial Legion until his dying breath.

"You joined the Imperial Legion at age eighteen and served several tours across the Empire, including stations at Fort Frostmoth from rank Auxiliary to rank Quaestor. Correct?" Continuing to read aloud his past, the Jailor showed no emotion in his words. Pure, monotone speech came from his mouth as his words objectified Cassian, as if he was reading from a history book of days long past instead of recounting the history of a man who hung from the chains that dangled and jangled just in front of him. This was the emotional and mental trauma that he had dealt with for weeks, the mental degradation and objectification that he had begun to loathe. They didn't just beat him into suffering, they emotionally traumatized him and threatened him with what they would do to him and his memory. He had served his Empire with loyalty and pride since he had first become a man, for two decades he had served with distinction and honour for the colleagues and civilians that he had pledged to protect and serve. "You are imprisoned for treason and crimes against the Empire, including the murder of an Imperial diplomat during his journey to a diplomatic summit in Elsweyr. Correct?"

"…Correct." Spitting his words through gritted teeth, Cassian answered. He knew if he didn't, he would simply be beaten more until he did. This was it, the beginning of the cycle that had continued to spin and spin again and again for weeks. Watching as the Jailor rolled the document up carefully once more, placing it down on the table and rubbing his hands together with a certain eagerness that made Cassian's skin crawl. How this man could be so sadistic and cruel towards a man who, despite his accusations, had served and protected the men and women of Tamriel with his life for years?

Nevertheless, none of this mattered anymore. He could do whatever he wanted to do to him and no-one would think to stop him. It was all in the name of Emperor Uriel Septim, at the end of the day. If the Jailor 'got too rough', he would simply be reprimanded and no more would be done about it. Cassian was the one that was made to suffer here, the sadistic pleasure that this particular Jailor took in delivering punishment the true result of the so-called crimes that he had committed. Perhaps the death that would ultimately come from him giving up and saying that he did it would be a relief instead of an ending, for he didn't know when this would ultimately end. All he could feel was the burning and tingling of his skin, the throbbing of his ribs and head and the dehydration that made his mouth dry. The room smelled of nothing but blood and sweat, the torchlight coming from the sconce on the wall stopping his eyes from fully adjusting to the darkness, keeping him delirious and uncomfortable for as long as the Jailor wanted him to be.

"Did you kill the diplomat, Quaestor?" Slowly walking over towards Cassian once again, the Jailor looked him up and down and seemingly ran his tongue across his lips. Clasping his hands together, the Jailor looked to prepare himself for another round of intense attacks, cracking his knuckles with a wince of pain as he made sure he wouldn't cause himself too much pain as he inflicted it on his prisoner.

"No…It was a…a trap." Cassian wheezed, trying his best to squeeze the words out from his lungs. Every breath he took was painful, every noise he made causing his face to contort and twist into a pain-ridden grimace. He was in pain, more pain than he had felt in his entire life. Sure, he had spent time in infirmaries after short skirmishes, he had been stabbed and slashed by wayward blows, but none of it could compare to the pain that he was feeling now. He was walking dead, that was the only way that he could explain how he was feeling. At any moment, he knew he could close his eyes and simply not want to wake up again. He was sure he could let go at any point and drift off into the abyss, into the sweet embrace of death. But no, he was stronger than that. He would outlive this. He wanted to outlive this. "We were…beset upon by bandits. They killed…everyone."

"Bandits?" The Jailor scoffed, shaking his head in disappointment. Turning away for just a moment, the Jailor seemed to take in and think about what Cassian had said for a few moments, before spinning around on his heel and driving the back of his right hand across both of Cassian's cheeks. Feeling his head thrown to the side, the stinging feeling that followed the slap causing him to simply drop his head and breathe heavily, Cassian tried not to answer back to the attack. He was sure he had only himself to blame for a lot of the punishment that he had been through, his flippant attitude surely having been a prime factor in the Jailor's increasing need to hurt him. "You expect me to believe that?"

"Believe…what you want." Cassian coughed between his words, drops of blood coming from his mouth to coat his lips. The skin on his cheeks had already begun to redden just like his abdomen had, the feeling of his face being struck still lingering in a stinging sensation. Pressing his tongue against his left cheek, Cassian immediately winced from the pain and dropped his head down even more, his chin resting against his chest as he tried to summon some form of will or strength to continue with this interrogation. "It's…the truth."

"And what about the diplomat?" The Jailor snapped back. "Did you see the bandits kill him?"

Answering with a slow nod of his head, Cassian let his body hang limp within the cold, metal handcuffs that they had wrestled him into. They had been shackled awkwardly onto his wrists, presumably to keep him in an uncomfortable state. He could feel them digging into his wrists, his skin bulging on either side of the shackle in order to make sure they continued to feel foreign to his body. As he looked down at his body, Cassian could both feel and see the bruises starting to form, his traumas starting to swell all over him. The punishment was too much, even for him. However, the Jailor wasn't willing to let him rest for a single moment. He wanted his answer, his confession. He wouldn't stop until he got it. He was sadistic like that. Cassian was sure that he was even enjoying all of this.

"I want a proper answer." The Jailor surged forward and took hold of Cassian's face, bending his back and lowering himself to his prisoner's eye level. Staring deep into the delirious and bloodshot eyes of his captive, the black bags underneath them enough evidence of how sleep-deprived and malnourished Cassian had become, he could tell that the Quaestor's body could not take much more of all of this. Grasped by the chin, Cassian could do nothing to defend himself from the Jailor's forceful grip, himself powerless to stop the Jailor as his head rose unnaturally to meet his interrogator's eyes. "Quaestor Pinera. Did you see the diplomat die with your own eyes?"

"…Yes." Cassian spluttered out, struggling to speak due to the awkward angle that the Jailor was holding his head. His throat was at an incline, causing him to cough and splutter without stopping as the Jailor restricted his ability to breathe freely and without aid. Seeing this after a few moments, the Jailor released his grip and shoved Cassian's head back down, a large inhale and exhale of breath the result of this treatment. Eventually, Cassian found himself with enough strength to talk. "A dagger to the jugular. He was dead within seconds."

Finally able to let his head drop down once more, Cassian exhaled heavily again. He felt like dirt on the boot of the Imperial Legion. He couldn't believe how he was being treated. He had heard the stories of how the Imperial Legion treated those who they captured, how they managed to always get confessions from even the most sadistic and ruthless of enemies and criminals. However, he never expected that he would feel and witness that said treatment first-hand on his own flesh. Thinking back to it all, he remembered signing up, excited and ready to serve, and he had never looked back. But now, hanging in wrist irons within the very halls of the place where he used to put the criminals, he wondered if he had made the right choice after all. He wondered what his life would have been like if he hadn't signed on that dotted line. But here he was, branded a criminal and a traitor like those who he had fought to protect the realm against.

Looking at the one who was now stood before him, the Jailor who, like all the others within the Legion and its branches, he had once called brother, he felt nothing but contempt. Cassian could see the contained pleasure in his eyes, the suppressed smile he hid behind the furrowed brow and the tough demeanour. He had seen it all before, the glee that this one had of doing something that benefited his Empire. But there was something more, hidden within this young man. Cassian could sense it; the fear of failure hidden behind the leather hood that he wore to conceal his identity from the prisoners.

Cassian had felt that fear, once. Back when he was little more than a fresh-faced youth of eighteen. His father had been a guardsman, an honest and hard-working man who had served the Empire with loyalty and integrity until his dying breath. Cassian remembered the look on his father's face when he showed himself in his new armour, the look of pride for a son who had done his father proud. It hurt Cassian to think about what he would be thinking now, if the pox hadn't taken him to an early grave about five summers past. Even now, he thought back to those days where his father would look at him with pride, where they would write to one another continuously and share experiences and tips about how to excel and survive within the ranks of the finest military that Tamriel had ever seen. It was those days that gave Cassian hope that he could continue, that gave him the strength that he had continued to channel throughout these last few hours. Without those memories to keep him going, Cassian didn't know if he could have gone on as long as he had.

It was hard, incredibly hard, for Cassian to believe that he was taking orders and beating beaten senseless by a jailor who had as much experience as a deaf bard. But here he was, continually pressing his skinned knuckles against the wet cloth as he tried to soothe the redness that had begun to show upon them.

"These bandits," the Jailor called out after a few moments. Seemingly having left Cassian alone to deliberate on what he had been told, something that the Quaestor had not actually expected would ever happen, he returned after a few moments to continue what he had started what felt like millennia ago. Folding his arms, he waited for Cassian to rise his head to meet him, as if he was now willing to speak to his captive differently. Whether this was just another tactic of emotional trauma or whether the Jailor had seen the truth in what Cassian was saying was irrelevant, however, for Cassian wouldn't give him any other chances to hurt him more. He was done with all of this. He wanted it over. He would fight back, no matter how much more punishment he was given. "What did they look like? How many of them were there? Tell me everything you know. Leave nothing out, or I will be forced to hurt you again until you do."

Cassian thought back to the situation that had landed him here, in the bottom of the bottom of the most impregnable fortress in the entire Imperial Empire. No man had ever broken into or escaped from this prison, not since the Eternal Champion had escaped during the Imperial Simulacrum fifty-three years beforehand. They had all been told the legends of Tallin, of how he had escaped and disappeared into the wild, never to be seen until a decade later, when he would reappear and defeat the evil sorcerer Jagar Tharn and free the Emperor from the cruel trick that Tharn had devised for him. It was a tale that he had been told many times, especially by his mother when he was a child. Cassian wondered, now more than ever, if he would have to be the one to tie that record, to be the second man to ever escape this hole and be free into the wild. He hoped that this was all a misunderstanding and that he would soon be released with a pardon, but Cassian had a suspicion that it would never come. H would never be free.

He didn't know how long he had been imprisoned for, down in the depths of the prisons within the most detestable pieces of filth that he had ever laid eyes upon. It had been nothing but long, agonizing days of nonstop questioning and torture to see if he would break, to see if he would spill the imaginary secrets of what happened to the Imperial ambassador to Elsweyr. He had been there on that day, guarding the ambassador with his life just as he had guarded many other officials of the Empire with his life. He had watched these bandits attack the convoy and slaughter them all. The only reason he survived, he believed at least, was the fact that he had the wherewithal to act dead and wait for the bandits to leave. He was then discovered by a passing party of legionnaires, who mistook him for the attacker due to his bloodied and frenzied state and knocked him unconscious.

Cassian had been in the forward scout for the party that was escorting an Imperial ambassador, a likeable fellow named Dorian Gnaeus, to a meeting with a spokesperson of the notorious criminal organization known as the Renrijra Krin, who had begun a guerrilla war against the Empire under the pretence of freedom fighters trying to reclaim areas of Cyrodiil that rightfully belonged to Elsweyr, the land of the Khajiiti. Gnaeus had been working alongside Special Inquisitor Drels Theran to try and work for peace with the Renrijra, until they reached the point where the two sides were willing to come to peace talks. Cassian had spoken in-depth with the other members of his group about said peace talks, and about how they would never come to anything. The Krin didn't want peace, for everyone but the politicians seemingly knew that they had been using this 'freedom fighter' front for increasing their drug running and sales of skooma. War and conflict was a profitable business, one that Cassian was sure that the Renrijra Krin didn't want to end.

However, they never reached the site of the peace talks. Instead, Cassian and his group were ambushed by men on the Cyrodiil/Elsweyr border. He had never seen them coming, taking an arrow directly to the shoulder that caused him to drop down to the floor. He remembered the cries and screams, the sounds of clashing steel and the thuds of dropping corpses. He remembered it all…he remembered his fear. He had seen battle and conflict before, sure, but he never seen a massacre like the one he had been within then. He made sure that he stayed down on the floor, eyes shut and limbs limp as they killed and butchered everyone around him. He opened his eyes just in time to see them drag the diplomat straight from his carriage and out onto the dirt road, before driving a knife directly into his throat and leaving him where he fell. It was plain butchery, merciless and ruthless unlike anything that Cassian had seen in his entire military career.

"Did you hear anything suspicious?" The Jailor continued to prod him with question after question, trying to find any chink in Cassian's armour that he could stab through, any potential weakness in a 'lie' that he could manipulate into forcing him to reveal that he was, in fact, lying through his teeth and had committed the murders. Cassian saw through his game, however, and wouldn't even give him the chance to try his tactic out. "Any communications between the so-called assailants?"

"No." Cassius answered, fighting through the breathlessness and recurring pain that he had been feeling for so, so long. He was fighting an uphill battle unlike anything he had ever fought in his entire life, but that didn't seem to matter to anyone other than himself. He was the one in trouble here, the Jailor only wished to heap more of that trouble onto him. "I…did my best to…survive. I didn't think to…listen."

"Then why were you covered in blood when our soldiers found you?" The Jailor took one more step closer, almost as if he was sure that he had gotten through and had Cassian on the defensive. How wrong he was, but Cassian wouldn't for a moment let him think that. No, he had dealt with younger auxiliaries thinking that they were better than him, high-born lads from nobler families who believed that they deserved a higher station and better treatment that other men and women of their rank simply because of their 'birth right'. Sure, Cassian was born to a middle-class family, but that didn't mean that he hadn't earned his right to be named an Imperial Quaestor. He had probably killed more men than this particular Jailor had seen throughout his entire lifetime. If this was some form of superiority complex, then it further showed off just how much of a sadist that this Jailor was.

"I checked the bodies…of my comrades..." Cassian growled. He was becoming more and more impatient with how far this Jailor was digging. How much did he have to say before he would figure out he was telling the truth? He had no reason to lie, especially if he checked his service record and interviewed members of the battalion that he had served with. He was a loyal member of the Imperial Legion, why would he have anything to hide, or any reason to benefit from murdering an Imperial diplomat? "I checked for survivors. To see if any…survived the onslaught."

"Did you note the fact that your entire group of legionnaires were killed with arrows that is only supplied to Imperial legionnaires?" Smirking under his leather cowl, the Jailor side-stepped a little out of Cassian's field of view and further into the darkness of the cell that the two of them had been sharing together for quite a while. Not that it mattered to him, though. It didn't matter where the young man was, Cassian still knew he was there. He had felt enough punches and been delivered enough wounds from this particularly troublesome youth to realize exactly when he was in the room with him.

"Are you missing the fact that they also shot me with the same arrow?" Cassian jeered back, screwing his nose up, squinting his eyes and staring off into the darkness in hope that it had been directed at the Jailor. He had been going around in circles with this questions for too long to remain completely co-operative. This needed to end, somehow and someway. He was sick and tired of hanging here, especially since he was sure he was losing feeling in both his hands and his feet. Cassian was sure he was getting close to finally convincing this Jailor of his innocence, but he thought the same thing before he made them go all the way back to square on and tell him everything he knew all over again. It was just some sick game of cat and mouse, just another version of mental trauma designed to break him.

Immediately, Cassian recoiled as he felt the knuckles of the Jailor crack against his cheek, his face following the direction of the blow as to absorb the impact. This was the Imperial legion's method of torture. Beat them into submission. Cassian knew it well, he knew far too well for his own liking. In fact, he was sick and tired of it. He wanted it to end, the degradation and the worthlessness. The moment he got out of the shackles that bound him to the chains on the roof, he was sure he was ready to throttle the Jailor and anyone else that got in his way. The torture had been far too excessive for it to be worthwhile, it felt like he had simply beaten for the sake of some sadist's whims and pleasure. The fact that the Legion had even deigned to conscript people like this showed how far the Legion had fallen. There had been rumours that the Legion was failing, that the entire military's organization was lacking, that they were undermanned and underutilised across the provinces. Cassian didn't want to believe it, but now he was beginning to believe it. There was no way that a Jailor like the one he had been dealing with would be given his case unless all the others were occupied or relocated to deal with other problems.

"Who would you say killed your comrades, Quaestor?" Moving on, the Jailor folded his arms, impatiently waiting for his subject's answer. Beginning to tap his foot against the cold stone floor that was below them both, the Jailor looked Cassian up and down. The taps echoed around the room, the only thing audible to both the Jailor and his prisoner. The more taps there were, the more anxious Cassian became. He likened it to dripping water, a common technique that somehow hadn't been used on him yet. Doing his best to drop his head and try to ignore it, Cassian could do nothing but try and struggle to get his words out.

"It was…Renrijra Krin…or perhaps even a group…posing as them." Cassian wheezed once again, his entire body aching and sore beyond belief. He couldn't remember how long this session had been going, but it felt like an age had passed since he was first locked within these chains. "It was a secure ambush, completely out in the open. They hit us at the right time, in the right place with more organization and unity than I would expect from regular bandits. Whoever did this was working with a group, they had a plan in mind."

"An interesting view of things for sure, Quaestor Pinera." The Jailor observed, pacing in the middle of the dungeon. The sarcasm was obvious in the voice of his interrogator, but Cassian would let not of that rattle him. He had been far too much to let a little bit of sarcasm bother him now. No, he was far too thick-skinned for that to get on his nerves. Simply looking up to meet the Jailor's gaze, Cassian furrowed his brow and tried to get a reaction from the Jailor, who simply scoffed and crouched down to his prisoner's level. Folding his arms, the Jailor continued his question. "But why would the Renrijra Krin disrupt a diplomatic summit they had orchestrated themselves with the Empire?"

Cassian thought back to the ambush, when everything had gone sour. He remembered the club to the back of the head, the swift pain that brought him down to his knees within moments. He winced as he did, the pain of it still fresh in his mind. He remembered landing within the autumn grass and leaves, his vision blurry and his ears ringing as he tried to crawl back towards the ambassador's escort. He heard the clashes of steel and the cries of men, shortly before he dropped off into unconsciousness between the trees. But that's also when he heard it, that's when he remembered. A voice, calling out between the clanging of steel. It sounded like a battle cry, but it was one that Cassian had never heard of in all his years.

'The dawn is breaking.'

"There was…something. A…voice." Cassian answered after a few moments of thinking, spitting the bloody saliva building up in his mouth down onto the stone floor. The voice…it was abnormal, to say the least. He had fought bandits before throughout his career in the Legion, but none of them had even remotely said anything suspicious and cult-like such as that. Normally, bandits fought for glory and for gold, to simply survive by robbing innocent men and women instead of doing honest work. To think that now they were now organized in such a fashion, as well as sporting cries that sounded cryptic and quite eerie in fashion baffled him completely. He didn't understand it.

"A voice?" The Jailor's eyebrow rose in curiosity. His entire body language seemed to shift into something far more inquisitive than he had been before in his entire time during the interrogation. Now, since it seemed like they were finally getting somewhere, he was willing to listen to what Cassian had to say about the incident. Perhaps now, more than ever, he was willing to believe the theory of Cassian's innocence. "And what did this voice say?"

Taking a deep breath, Cassian pushed the words out of his bruised chest. It, once again, took the strength that he had been pulling from for the entire interrogation session. However, he knew he had to do it. His entire innocence, or as far as he knew it, was relying on his ability to breathe out these few words that only he had heard. "Dawn…is…breaking."

The Jailor pulled back from his prisoner and moved to the table once again, leaning over it in the darkness of the room. Although he could near see what was going on, Cassian listened intently as he heard the scratchings of a quill echo out within the room. Of course, the Jailor had been taking notes on everything that he had said, of course it was all being recorded and written down for other eyes to deliberate on. He hadn't expected anything less from the Legion. Just like his own personal and service records, everything about his life was documented, everything would be discussed and then everything would be archived and forgotten about before long. He was, at the end of the day, just another number.

"What does that mean?" The Jailor asked as he continued to scribble down notes amidst the darkness of the room. Cassian couldn't see him, but he knew he didn't need to. He had seen enough of that Jailor's hooded face for a lifetime. He looked just like every other Legionnaire that had ever existed in the history of the organization, equipped with a full suit of grey steel armour, albeit a black leather hood instead of a grey steel helmet. That's what made every punch and every beat so much more painful. The cold grating of chainmail on his bare skin, scratching and clawing like an animal's razor claws against his flesh. It rended him, it marked him, it made him remember every single last attack upon his body. He wouldn't forget this treatment for as long as he lived, he was sure of that. "Do you recognize the comment in any way?"

"You…tell me." Cassian sighed in response, becoming increasingly tired from the strenuous ordeal that he had been through for what felt like an age. He wanted it to end. He wanted to simply be taken back to his cell, to be able to crawl up in a fetal position and soothe his injured body on the cold stone below him. He was being treated like an animal in a cage, but none of that mattered to him now. He just needed to rest and recuperate before they brought him in to do more and more of the same thing that they had always done to him. This was his routine now, the daily schedule that he had felt himself go through multiple times.

"Well, that brings up more questions than answers, Quaestor." The Jailor growled with frustration, placing his quill back into the inkwell it came from, adjusting the light of the nearby lantern to make sure it was properly resting within. They had not made any ground since Cassian had been brought in for questioning, which, to him, did nothing but confirm his innocence. The atmosphere in the room had become far more tense than it ever had been before, the hatred between the prisoner and his torturer had definitely become a mutual thing. "It looks like we'll have to repeat our session until you can give me worthwhile information. Until then, you will be-"

"I've told you…everything I know." Cassian spat back, his tired words mixing with his saliva as he cut the Jailor's words short and sneered at him with a venomous stare. His pain had started to numb all across his body, his bruises now beginning to set in under his skin and make permanent, greenish marks under his skin. He knew he was going to feel them hard in a few hours, painful and aching all over. He was hungry, dehydrated and tired from the constant interrogation, so much so that he had begun to feel himself beginning to fade to black multiple times throughout the 'session', as the Jailor had called it. "It's not my fault that…that I can't give you a definitive…answer."

Dropping his head once again, Cassian felt himself becoming more and more drowsy and weak. He'd kept this fight up for as long as he could, but he couldn't do it much more. He did not have the answers that this Jailor wanted him to have, no constant beatings could change that, nor would him being stretched out on the rack or having his fingernails pulled out from their rightful places upon his fingers. He was done, but Cassian knew it wouldn't be enough for this Jailor. It was never enough for him. It never had been, and it never would be. He would continue to wail on him and beat him until he got what he was after, whether it meant moving to more extreme measures of torture to get what he wanted or simply going through more and more mental techniques in order for him to break. That's what they wanted, for him to simply break and submit until there was nothing left for him to hold onto. No more strength and will for him to clutch and hold onto in order to continue.

"I…am innocent." Cassian growled, clenching both of his fists as tight as he could as he tried to stand as tall as he could. Even though his feet hadn't touched the floor in what felt like days, he still tried his best to stretch himself out and make himself as tall as possible, trying to create a larger figure and bigger body posture to seem more dominant. He knew it wouldn't work, but he wanted to at least show this damned Jailor that he was far from broken and that it wouldn't work on him. He was Cassian Pinera, and he was an innocent man. "I did not…kill the diplomat…I have no reason to want to…kill him. Please…"

"You don't get to speak back to me, scum. You're nothing more than a traitor now, just a degenerate who thought they would could betray their brothers in arms and get away with it with consequences." The Jailor grabbed Cassian by the chin once more with force, digging his fingernails into the skin on Cassian's chin as he lifted his face to stare him into the eyes once more. Cassian hated that word. Traitor. He had been called it so much within the past few weeks, even though it wasn't true. None of it was true. He was a patriot, he loved his Empire and all of the races and provinces within it. "Now, you'll be taken back to your cell and left until I deem it fit to do this again. But, until then-"

Readying himself for what was to come, Cassian looked at the Jailor and spat right into his face, the blood-mixed saliva connecting with the interrogator's face immediately, cutting him off mid-sentence. He recoiled and stumbled back, wiping the human waste from his face with his leather glove-clad hand, stopping talking whilst making a spluttering noise. He then glared at Cassian, his face flushed red with anger. His features told the entire story. He looked disrespected, like he couldn't believe that Cassian had done what he had just done. To spit in his face was the ultimate disrespect, and the Jailor looked virtually livid that it had just been done to it, his body pulsing with rage. Cassian could both see it and feel it within him. They shared their rage, their disgust for each other evident as they stared into each other's eyes and looked to want to literally one another.

Grasping the nearby torch from its sconce on the wall, the Jailor pulled it close to Cassian's face. He could feel the heat radiating from it, scorching the bottom of his now-thick brown beard as the Jailor illuminated their faces. Cassian could see him now, clearer than ever. Jet black hair that ran shaggily down to his shoulders, hazel-eyed and as fresh-faced as a youth of twenty. This boy had no patience, and he did not like to be insulted. But he could see Cassian too, his eyes narrow as he squinted upon his prisoner's own long, brown hair that coupled with his now-bushy brown beard, with grey eyes and a thin scar that ran down the edge of his left eye. They seemed alike, but Cassian had just a few more years upon the man that had laid in countless bruises upon his chest.

"You should not have done that." The Jailor jeered, pressing the torch back into a nearby, also empty, sconce on the wall, the only one in the room that he had used again and again to read and scribble notes down about the 'session'. As he moved the torch around, however, it lit up the rest of the room for Cassian to see. All around the cold, grey stone room were multiple, empty wall sconces. It was confusing for Cassian to see, but he soon realized that someone had taken said torches from the walls to make the chamber dimmer and darker, presumably to add to the atmosphere. The jailors here were a sick bunch.

"Make me…smile." Cassian jeered back. He was in no mood for the games that this Jailor was presumably wanting to play to intimidate and torture him even more. No more of this was going to happen, he was going to stop this no matter what he had to do. If he had to die to stop this, then he was going to take that Jailor down with him. He certainly knew how, for he was presumably trained far better and far more in battle tactics and had much more combat experience than every Jailor that could come into this room to beat him combined. He was ready for them all. "I've already…said this, you're going to get…no more from me."

"Then perhaps another round of beatings will refresh your memory." The Jailor grinned, baring his typically sadistic smile that Cassian had come to know so well and stepping back to allow himself room to swing once more, not wanting to miss the one punch that he evidently wanted to hurt Cassian with so much . The more power he got behind his swing, the more it would hurt and the longer it would last. Basic unarmed combat techniques that everyone got trained in thoroughly during their own Imperial Legion training. Cassian knew it well, far more than this pathetic Jailor that he had been burdened with probably knew or had been trained throughout his own life.

"That's enough!" A voice called out from the end of the chamber, stopping the Jailor mid-swing. It was deep and gruff, holding a stern authoritative tone. He reminded Cassian of his commanding officer, back when he had served a short tour on the Skyrim border. Gods, he missed those days. Days when he was free, days where he and his comrades served the Empire and did their duties, days where he lived freely to laugh and sing over the campfire when the nights grew close and cold. He missed his battalion, his comrades, all those that he had served and fought with. He was sure that they had disowned him now, but he missed them nonetheless. If there was ever a chance that he could go back to them, stationed out in the depths of Solstheim, then he would. The day that he found that he had been moved and stationed back in the Imperial City was the worst day of his life, only beaten by the day he found out that his father had left the world for good.

Looking up to see the man that had just arrived, the light from the corridor connected to the room shining in to blind them both. His shadow cut through the yellowish light that beamed in from the corridor, standing a strong and firm figure that diminished that of the Jailor's quite severely. In Cassian's eyes, even though he could not see this other man, he could see how inferior the Jailor was in front of him. He shrunk down visibly in size, almost cowering in the wake of this other man. It was the one thing that made Cassian smile, despite everything that he had been through. In fact, Cassian didn't even know he was able to smile in the situation until he had broken it out in that moment. "Step away from the prisoner."

Reluctantly, the Jailor did exactly as he was instructed and stepped aside as the man who owned the voice approached them both, a lantern in his hand to guide his way through the dark, dank corridors. Cassian winced and turned his head away from the lantern as the light shone on him and the rest of the room. The light, in fact, burned his eyes and cause him to shut them tighter than he had before. His eyes weren't used to it, not since they had been stuck in the darkness since as long as he could remember. Now, faced with the light of a candle beaming brighter than any other torch he had seen, it burned and caused him gasp and growl audibly, like a wild dog in a trap. "The prisoner has had enough. It's time to return him to his cell."

"But I was making significant progress-" The Jailor tried to argue, but was immediately cut-off by a stern gaze from the man, who cut the Jailor down in size and strength immediately. His gaze seemed to turn the boy into a recluse, cowering and backing off into the shadows as the other man in the room stepped closer towards Cassian and his shackled, malnourished form. He seemingly looked Cassian up and down out of the corner of his eye and sighed, before making sure the Jailor was nowhere near him as he stepped forwards once more. It looked like he treated the Jailor as more of a wild animal than Cassian, even though one of them was an accused traitor and the other was a legionnaire. It proved to Cassian that this particular Jailor was just a sadistic one, and that other legionnaires had some shred of respect for even the most disrespected of their comrades. He may have been accused of treason, but he had been a legionnaire and had served honourably for many years. He was worthy of some form of respect. Not much, but some.

"Captain Montrose wants the prisoner returned to his cell. Immediately. This chamber is to be used on other prisoners. You've had a hold of this one for far too long, by the looks of it." Looking Cassian up and down whilst shaking his head, presumably taking in all of the injuries that he had been dealt whilst he had been down in the depths, before looking the Jailor up and down, the man grunted and furrowed his brow hard, his bushy eyebrows turning into caterpillar shapes underneath his grey steel helmet. There was a look of judging in his eyes, Cassian could see it as soon as the man turned. He seemingly hated this Jailor, far more than anyone else he had seen hate one another in the Legion. "You'll have another one in to sate yourself with before long, mutt. Find some rat to torture whilst you wait."

Turning to the nearby table, the guardsman grasped hold of the parchment on which the Jailor had been writing and rolled it up, holding it in one hand as to try and make sure it did not unravel. Whatever was held within the confines of that parchment was no longer confidential, nor was it ever going to be once the Jailor handed it over to his superiors. Carefully taking a hold of the other, more brittle parchment that contained Cassian's past history and service record, he closed his fingers over them both carefully and turned to look at the Jailor for a third time, which seemed like a third time too many to every other person in the room that had to look at him. Cassian hoped that, deep down, he had been able to help with whatever investigation would come from his interrogation, although he was sure that no investigation was going to come and they would simply continue with what they were already doing to him on what seemed now to be like a daily basis.

"Release him." The guardsman ordered, pointing a firm finger towards one of the wrist irons that held Cassian in place, the ones keeping him connected to the iron link chains that hung from the roof. He couldn't wait to be released from them. He could feel them every time he moved, everything he jolted from a punch, they dug into his skin and his flesh, tighter than anything that he had felt before. "I won't ask a second time."

With a grumble that drew the guardsman's ire and soon turned into a nod, the Jailor scuttled forwards as quickly as possible, did as he was ordered and removed the key from the ring on his belt, creating a clattering of noise that echoed around the chamber and felt sharp to Cassian's ears, causing him to wince at the sound. Plunging the small key into the lock, he twisted it until the chains came loose and Cassian could drop his arm down, before repeating the same with the second iron. Within moments, Cassian felt himself collapse down to the floor, landing on his hands and knees as he began to cough and splutter upon the blood. He needed fresh air, he needed water and he needed food. He also knew he would get none of it for a while longer. He wanted to just collapse, to fall onto his chest and simply give up directly where he was, but he knew he couldn't do that just yet. They still wanted him to be taken elsewhere before they left him alone.

It wasn't long before Cassian was manhandled once again, however, as the guardsman grasped him by the back of the collar of his cloth shirt and threw him to his feet. With no room or energy to disobey, Cassian simply nodded and start to walk, sluggish and delirious as he tried to find the best footing that he could on the stones that made up the floor of the prison's corridors. He walked in front, closely shadowed by the guardsman as he was escorted towards his new destination.

The entire prison was dank and dark, filled with criminals and layabouts of all races. Cassian could see them as he walked, nestled within their cages like wild animals. Like he soon would be once again. He wasn't one of them; he never would be one of them. He wasn't a common street rat, or a master thief, nor was he a mass murderer. He was a faithful servant of the Empire who had been imprisoned under false accusations, but nobody but he knew that. Cassian knew, deep down, that he wasn't going to get out. Nobody ever got out, not unless your name was Tallin. People had wondered for years which cell it had been that Tallin had been put in, the same cell that was rumoured to connect to a secret underground ruin through a passage that many prisoners before him had start to dig. Tallin had, according to the myths and rumours from the event, finished the job and been guided out into the Cyrodiil wilds by the sorceress and once-apprentice to Jagar Tharn before he had assassinated her to conceal his crimes, Ria Silmane. Cassian didn't want to hope, but he wished that he had been the lucky one to get Tallin's cell. It was a fool's hope, but it was a hope nonetheless. One that kept him going in this cruel hell he found himself in.

As they walked, Cassian could hear the guardsman behind him speaking to himself, his comments drawing a small smirk on Cassian's face. "Bloody Jailor. I'm sick to death of him…he's gone too far this time…" It showed and confirmed the sadistic nature that Cassian had wondered about ever since he had been introduced to that particular waste of human flesh. It seemed like he had joined the Legion simply because he wanted to hurt people. If he wasn't a member of the prison staff, Cassian was sure that he would be an inmate himself. People like him weren't for normal society, presumably the reason why they had tossed down in the depths and left him to jab and mutilate the prisoners that the guards let him get his hands on, simply in the name of 'getting some answers'.

Walking through countless corridors, up what felt like thousands of stairs, Cassian was led to one particular corridor that he knew far too well for his own liking. The stone looked brittle and ancient, the floor cold and unforgiving. This was his cell block, filled with the worst of the worst. He had heard them, the other prisoners, every time he had tried to sleep. Their insane calls for freedom, their manic laughter that burrowed its way down into his very soul. He too would no doubt become one of them before long; an animal in a cage no longer fit for society. The society that millions thought he had betrayed.

Cassian felt himself being led to the same place where he had existed for three weeks, so much so that he knew the journey by muscle memory. Entering inside, he simply turned around and watched with a blank expression as the guardsman locked his cell door and left him to rot like all the others, like the criminals who's house he now shared. He was one of them now, despite how much he wanted to believe differently.

Now alone and to himself, Cassian simply grabbed the stool that they had given him to be able to sit at the small table in his cell and pushed it against the back wall, before quickly mounting it and hoisting himself up to the window at the top of the wall. As the fresh wind brushed against his face, Cassian sighed heavily and looked out into the night sky that he longed to be under once again. The stars shone bright in the sky above him. Gripping the iron bars that separated him from civilization, Cassian simply stared at the sky above him. Twilight had set in above Tamriel, the twin moons making themselves known. Masser and Secunda, sitting high above them in all their glory, coupled with the stars that, together, gave the world their midnight light. Cassian smiled as he remembered what his mother used to say about that. The old wives' tale that the stars were holes between Nirn and Aetherius, where the everlasting light shone through. But, here he was, a rat in a cage with the outside world just beyond his grasp. He didn't deserve it. He wished he was somewhere else, wished he was someone else. But he couldn't, for this was who he was.

With a sigh, Cassian gently released the bars and stepped down from the stool, kicking it into the corner of the room as he slumped down, his body finally letting go and giving up from all of the pain and anguish he had been through. He felt incredibly sore, the adrenaline finally wearing off as he was left alone to his own devices. As he stretched his legs out and let his arms drop, Cassian gently rested his head against the stones of the wall behind him and sighed heavily. He was weak, weak and cold from his ordeals. He looked as the bumps on his bare arms rose in the cold of the night, the chill wind sending a shiver down his spine as he looked around the room. Looking down at his body and the clothes that hung from them, he was amazed that they still roughly fit his malnourished body. He was sure he had begun to lose weight, despite the meagre meals that they had fed him. He still got a tray of ration-like meals at a quarterly intake, as well as a tan pitcher of water and a tan cup to drink it from to boot. They fed him and made sure he was hydrated, albeit not well.

Lifting his shirt, he looked down at the wounds he had sustained and let out a stifled cry of pain. His entire chest was reddened and sore to the touch, with greenish-coloured bruises popping up all across his abdomen as he tried to understand why he was in this kind of state. He didn't deserve this kind of treatment, nobody did. It was inhumane and probably against every known law. However, nobody cared about him now. He was a ghost, a forgotten man living out the rest of his days in solitary where nobody would care about him. He was down here with the lowest of the low, and that's where he would stay.

Cold stone. Grey, bleak walls. Nothing around him cried out anything remotely warm. There was a single bedroll in the corner of the room, but to Cassian it looked like nothing but a small mercy to him in the grand scheme of things. Closing his eyes, Cassian felt his teeth chatter and stamp against one another as his body tried to find a way to survive. The world around him seemed to have gone quiet, nothing but the whispers of the wind there to comfort him. He wanted to leave, to be freed from this purgatory and go back to way things had been. He wished he had never agreed to that assignment, he wished he had simply stayed in Solstheim with the rest of his comrades and that all of this was simply a bad dream that he was simply waiting to wake up from.

Eventually, with nothing else left inside him, Cassian lamented and crawled over to the bedroll, shaking life into his extremities in order to make sure they restarted and started to work actively once again. Pulling the light cover off and pushing himself inside, making sure to dust it down for any critters or dust that had gathered on it whilst he had been awy, Cassian pushed his fists together and closed his eyes tight. Breathing heavily, he then pulled the cover over him and tried to forget everything had happened to him, everything that was happening to him. It did not take long for his strength to wane and his eyes to relax, before he eventually fell into the warm embrace of sleep.

This was now where he lived. This is now where he would die...and he couldn't do anything about it but wish things were different.