The chains rubbed Varulv's wrists raw. His back ached from being hunched in the tiny cell, unable to communicate with anyone spare the bastard guard who threw in a piece of stale bread and a bowl of brown water once a day, if he even remembered. The cell where he was kept was unkempt, the sack where he slept was infested with lice and bugs that bit him in the night. But it's not like he slept. All night Varulv heard nothing but the sound of rats scurrying in and out of his jail, eager to snatch up the crumbs that he could no longer bare to eat.
"You hungry in there, dog?" the jailor taunted him constantly, never allowing Varulv to get too comfortable in his cell before he would insult him again. "You really need to shave dog, I'm sure you could sharpen some bones off your little friend there for a razor."
The "friend" he was referring to was a skeleton, tan in color, disfigured, and... small. Child size. Varulv had moved the skull to face the corner on the first night of his stay after he could no longer endure the deafening stares from the dead child's skeletal grin.
"More like I'll sharpen his bones to gut you with," Valruv said, with a gruff voice that gave away the fact that he had caught some sort of cold in the jail.
"Careful now, dog. Threatening a watchmen is an offense that could get you locked up. Oh wait a minute..." the guard flashed a set of broken, yellow teeth as he snickered and coughed.
Varulv ignored his comments. He was determined not to let this milk-drinker get into his head, or under his skin. His mind was preoccupied anyhow. He needed to find a way to escape his doomed cellar. He needed to get back on the hunt again.
He needed to find Octimus.
Varulv scanned the bars in front of him, and searched with his eyes every inch of the blood and waste laden walls that surrounded him. He felt along the edges and corners of the room for hollow spots to push on, and he could see the grating and some sort of sewers lit dimly underneath.
"If only I had a way to get down." he thought, picking his brain for some way to loosen the grate and steal his safety. Varulv was efficient in combat, but he lacked the finer skills of lockpicking and stealth. He had broken his only lockpick on the first day, to much laughter from the jailor, who saluted him and gave him an extra half-piece of bread for "honorable effort".
Varulv would have to rely on his own pure strength, which was waning day by day in his rotting hellhole. Whatever the cost, he knew he could not stay there any longer.
Feeling the edges of the grating, Varulv gave it a few quick tugs to see if it was any loose. It was firm, and didn't budge an inch. Upon closer inspection, Varulv could see that the grate was held in place because it was built into the prison, and he would need a wedge to pry it open. He would need a lever. He would need a bone.
The thought sent a chill down his spine. Whatever poor hapless soul that landed in the prison before him surely was not resting in peace, and if it was Varulv dared not disturb it any more by using its leg to pry open a gate for his own safety. But these were desperate times.
Crawling over to the skeletal being, Varulv analyzed it to see which bones would work best. The feet and fingers were much too small and fragile for him to used effectively. The thigh bones were too thick and would take too long sharpen down. The arm bones by this time were too frail and would snap if he applied any force to them. Varulv picked a bone at the bottom of the leg, a calf bone.
"Talos bless you, child." he whispered, and snapped the bone from the leg with a sickening crack. He then slid it under his straw bed and waited for nighttime, when the jailor would be too drunk and passed out to notice his escape. Varulv would be a free man.
As he patted the bone one more time, and shook off an insult from the guard as he went to piss, Varulv laid his head down on his dirty, bug-ridden pillow and decided to rest before he made his move.
"Oh for the love of Talos get your hands off of me you ape!"
The dark elf screamed as he was dragged by the guards into the prison. His scarlet eyes were ablaze as he did his best to fight his way free.
"I will castrate you bastards with a spoon when I get free, you take my word for it!" the elf screamed irately, before kneeing one of the guards in the stomach. The guard doubled over with an "ooph" before regaining his composure and striking the Dunmer across the face.
"Get your filthy Dunmer carcass into that cell, or I swear by the Nine I will execute you myself." the other guard yelled and shoved the Dunmer into the first cell he could open, right onto a startled Varulv.
Varulv watched as the injured guard gave the elf one last kick, spat on him, and left the jail. The other guard laughed at the pair before returning to his drink, leaving his keys hanging on the wall adjacent to their cell, as if to mock them. The Dunmer dusted himself off and coughed, afterwards wiping the blood that leaked from his mouth.
"I'm Athis," he grinned. "I like to have a little too much fun with the guards sometimes. If there's one thing Skyrim does better than Vvardenfell, it's the prisons. It's OK though, Kodlak will bail me out of this sewer." he scoffed.
Varulv stared at the Dunmer, taking in all that he had just witnessed. Athis was a small statured elf, pale blue in color with huge red eyes that glared back at Varulv. His hair was pent up, and he looked relatively clean for someone who had traveled from, wherever he had come from.
"I;m from Whiterun," the elf continued, seemingly reading Varulv's thoughts. "I come from Jorrvaskr, I'm a companion."
With those words Athis buffened up his chest, obviously taken with some sense of pride. He had every right to it as well, Varulv knew well the prowess of the Companions and the honor they held. He remembered playing as a child and acting out the great battles of Ysgramor with his village friends. So long ago.
"That's honorable enough. Greetings, Companion, my name is Varulv," he tried his best to offer a smile. "I've been in here for three days now, and I'll likely be here many more unless I find a way..."
Varulv stopped, unsure if he could trust the elf.
"Find a way out," Athis finished for him, and grinned. "Perhaps I may be of some assistance?"
Varulv, happily accepted Athis' help and moved over to his sleeping sack. He hesitated once more before pulling the snapped bone out from underneath. He hoped that Athis could help him unhinge the grate so they could escaped in the sewers underneath.
"I've got this bone here that we can use to undo this grate," Varulv said, testing the strength of the bone and glancing at the grate, his way of escape. "Maybe you can help me by..."
When he looked up he met with surprise the sight of Athis, smiling from ear to ear, holding the keys that the guard had placed on the wall. Varulv looked on in amazement, not sure whether to believe what he was seeing or to chalk it up to hallucinations from his lack of food and sleep.
"How did you?" Varulv stared, seaching for an answer.
"Telekinesis," Athis laughed, "One does not spend a childhood in Morrowind without learning his share of magic."
"A useful elf," Varulv thought, "Maybe fortune is favoring me after all."
The dark elf peeked as best he could though the bars to see the guard slumped over in his chair, no doubt passed out from uncountable pints of mead. He took his chance and slid the key silently into its place, unlocking the cell and making them home free. Both man and elf could hardly contain the joy of seeing the open cell door. As Athis stood up and made way for the door, Varulv turned and took one last glance at the child's skeleton, old and aged, left there to haunt the cell for eternity.
"You comin' or not?" Athis quipped, oviously eager to get on the road and out of Falkreath before anyone noticed their escaped.
Varulv turned from the child's grin and followed Athis out of the prison, and into the cold night air again.
"It's good to be free." he thought.