"You fools. We are the true sons and daughters of Skyrim! We'll all fight 'till our last breath!"

"Hoorah! For Skyrim!"

Blood. Dead Nords and Imperials lying everywhere. My blade is covered in Imperial blood, my body completely drained of any energy I possessed. Few of us are left, it seems. I look down at my arm, a large gash is bleeding profusely. Sheathing my ebony sword, I sit on a rock and use what knowledge I have in the restoration arts to heal the wound as much as I can.

The only other thing I remember is a wild yell and a sharp pain in my back.

"Get up, you filthy Khajiit." I feel someone hit my side with something hard.

Fluttering my eyes, I realize I don't know where I am.

Oh, gods, the stench... Blood… Ugh, and my back… Damn, what's happened? Nines bless me… I'm covered in nothing but blood and vomit, my fur matted with the disgusting mess. The smell of death is all around me. Another stab of pain hits my leg.

"Are you deaf? Get up, cat."

Somehow I get to my feet and manage to clear my head enough to understand what's happened to me. I'm in a prison… Divines, how did I…?

A very muscular, dark-haired Imperial man grabs me by the arm, pulling me from my cell with a wicked grin. Raising his hand, he slaps me across the face.

"Damn Rebel. You'll get what you deserve, trust me. I'll make sure of that. Go cry to Ulfric, the 'True High King.'" Snickering, he drags me over to a wall where chains hang. A table is nearby, instruments of all sizes lay across the top and beside it. Instruments of torture.

I try to fight back. It's to no avail. He slaps me again and chains me up.

"Hm, you know, you aren't have bad looking for a Khajiit… And I just love to see a woman like yourself in pain, calling out to no one. No one can hear you scream. How does that make you feel, hm?"

"You won't get away with this. I'll kill you slowly. Painfully. I'll make you regret ever crossing paths with me." A look of pure satisfaction washes across his face.

"Ah, a feisty one, you are. I happen to adore those types." The man reaches down to grab at me.

"Don't you dare, pig."

"Oh, and how would you stop me? You're weak. You can't fight. Surrender."

"Alright, alright…" I smirk to myself, a plan brewing in my mind.

"Giving up that easily, hm? That's what I like to hear. Now…" He walks over to the table, looking at all of the whips and tools in front of him. Picking up a terribly painful looking whip, he turns back to me and smirks. "Scream for me, little Khajiit."

"Hm, I know you want me to shout for you, filthy Imperial," I say with a seductive tone.

"Finally catching on, are we? Good, good…"

Whips cracks. More blood.

"Come on, shout, I want to hear your cries. Suffer."

"Oh, I'll shout. But you'll be the one suffering, you poncy little milk-drinker."

"Excuse me, is that a threat?" he questions, stepping closer to me, our faces nearly touching.

"Of course. FUS RO DAH!" My Thu'um ricochets off all the walls, sending the Imperial guard flying and knocking him against the opposite wall.

He crawls around frantically. "You- You're the Dragonborn! Dovahkiin!"

"Yes. Now, am I going to have to blow you to Sauvonguard or are you going to let me go?"