"Oi! Scale breath! Get off me!" Shock-Palm blinked slowly, groggily moving his head off the shoulder of the Khajiit sitting next to him. The semi-conscious Argonian moved his hand to wipe the saliva off his cheek, but found that his hands had been tied up. He was riding in a carriage, most likely for prisoner transport, driven by Imperials in the snowy northern mountains. Another carriage followed closely behind the one he was presently in.
Shock-Palm groaned and murmured to himself. "How long have I been out?" His Argonian accent was unchanged from usual.
"You were caught with me of some of those damned Stormcloaks," the Khajiit next to him answered. "Curse them." He looked over the Argonian mage and noticed the mage's robes. "Under the mage sign, I see? I follow the thief path myself. My name is Zah'Niir." He nodded politely, since his hands were bound too.
"Shock-Palm," the Argonian replied. "My name is Shock-Palm. It is a pleasure to meet you Zah'Niir. Any idea where we're headed?"
"A fort in Eastmarch. Kastov is the name. Home to a prison. I am sure that's where we are heading. I made sure my . . . associates know this and are forming a plot to jailbreak me. I'll see if they can help you too." He looked southward where the carriage was heading. "I hate the cold . . ."
Shock-Palm nodded quietly and tried to focus on the events that led to his capture. Wrong place, wrong time would most accurately describe his predicament. Something about an Imperial ambush and alleged "illegal use" of magic. I suppose sending him flying with a bit or lightning didn't help . . . but that was enough daydreaming for the present. The carriages rolled into the arch of Fort Kastov, slowing their pace slightly before pausing completely.
Zah'Niir looked over at the other carriage and noticed it was almost completely filled with female Stormcloaks. He grinned devilishly and fixed his mane as best as he could. "Hey, Friend, look at the fellow carriage," he noted to Shock-Palm. He turned around his head to look at Zah'Niir and shook it sternly. When he turned around again, Zah'Niir made a face behind his back.
The Imperials began taking names and escorting the Stormcloaks, along with the Argonian and Khajiit, to a prisoner cell, two per cell. Zah'Niir was put into a cell near the corner of the prison room with a Stormcloak woman, while Shock-Palm was strangely put into his own cell next to Zah'Niir, due to fear of spell use on the others perhaps.
After a few hours and some giggling from the neighboring cell, Shock-Palm begins to hear something from above. Explosions, shouting, and screams of the dying. Shit. . . he thought to himself. He needed a plan to get out of here, because those don't sound like the professionals Zah'Niir previously mentioned. They sounded more like advanced mages, and he was in no mood to toil with more of his Sign ilk. He checked his palm as tiny sparks came out. Good. . .
"Hey!" Shock-Palm whispered to the next cell. "Skooma tongue! You hear me?"
Zah'Niir shushes the giggling Stormcloak sitting next to him on the bench in their cell and turns Shock-Palm, easily visible through the spacing between the cell wall links. "Sadly, yes," he retorted in a cynical tone. "What do you want, fish? You are interrupting my sexy time with this lovely lady." He gestured to his cell partner. Shock-Palm shook his head and leaned in as close as he could to the Khajiit, causing Zah'Niir to do the same.
"Mages are upstairs," he whispered. Zah'Niir was about to shout out to all the other prisoners, but Shock-Palm shushed him. "I have a plan. It's going to involve you and me. And maybe your Stormcloak friend's friends." As the Argonian whispered his plan to the Khajiit, the mages above ground drew closer and closer. . .
