I don't know why I keep coming back here. Layawin had literally nothing within its walls of interest, save for the occasional scrap with the local Orcish street gangs. The blackwood company once lent interest, but they were long since disbanded. All in all this city was boring. The only reason I even came here is to take advantage of cheap alchemical imports from morrowind.
Suddenly a high pitched squeal filled the air, then was cut off. My head snapped to the right, where I thought it had originated. It had sounded pained. Scared. I strained my ears, waiting for another squeal.
A loud crack came from afar, and I bolted towards it. It had sounded like bone snapping, which is never a good thing to hear after a pained squeal. Someone was in trouble.
As I bounded into an ally, a voice reached my ears.
"HA!" I swear I could hear the sneer "Look at it squirm!"
"You flea bitten feline!" another jeered, "Begging for scraps like the beast you are!" another THUMP, then a coughing squeal emanated from around a corner.
I stopped dead, and peered around the corner. Three tall, golden skinned figures stood around a person on the ground. The golden men were obviously high-elves; Altmyr. The figure which they surrounded was blocked from sight, both by the darkness and the abusers.
One of them turned and dramatically spoke.
"You see my breahteren" he said with a finality I loathed in his voice, "what happens to bestial races when they are denied the loving hand of their masters? They have never been good for working in our fields and in our beds. This is what happens when they are starved of the direction and dedication of their betters; they become nothing more than ferial savages!" he punctuated his lofty speech by turning, and viciously kicking the victim in its side, sending them flying.
As the Kajitt hit the wall of the adjacent building and crumpled to the ground, I got my first clear look at the victim.
She was a small, female Kajitt, wearing shabby beggar clothing. Her light gold fur was matted in blood and dirt from her beating, and her clothes, ragged as they were, were torn further.
I winced as she fell to the dirt and a weak whimper escaped her lips. My anger towards these elves flared as they laughed at her pain. The talkative one stepped towards her.
"And do you know what happens to ferial creatures?" he asked rhetorically, "They get put down." He and his followers conjured fire to their hands and stepped forth menacingly.
"no…" the poor beggar pleaded "please…" Rage to which I was unaccustomed welled within my chest. This had long since gone too far.
I stepped from behind my cover, calling magic to my fingertips. A moment later, three bodies hit the ground.