Pain
Alden had killed the dragon without a second thought. Yes, the battle had been fierce, but it was well evident when he had driven his sword into the beast's neck in a weak place between its scales, that he was, in fact, the dominant predator.
After the battle, the small group of fighters had made their way into Windhelm. Before they even reached the gate, the sheer grandeur of the place impressed Sabrina. The massive stone bridge leading to the gate had walls that rose on either side, the pathways atop manned with dozens of Stormcloak soldiers. Large bins filled with oil were placed periodically along the walkway, and men and women with grim expressions held burning torches, ready to set the bridge ablaze at a moment's notice. Freezing wind howled around them, and Sabrina shivered under the blanket wrapped around her naked body.
The massive gates that guarded the passageway to the city were closed, stern reminders of the bloody war that behind them was planned. The guards at the gate recognized Alden, and hurriedly opened the hulking doors. Inside, the frozen city sprawled across its stony foundation. The Inn straight ahead was the only building that looked welcoming, as warm rays of light sprayed across the snow from its small windows.
All four of the adventurers had snow in their hair when they entered the Inn, which made them appear to sparkle. Nobody seemed to notice the men, with their hoods and helmets on, but Sabrina stood out like a sore thumb. Her silver hair, while wind-whipped, shone like newly polished silver, framing her finely molded face. Her deep purple eyes now held a power, and shifted colors ever so slightly, giving the illusion of a vast ocean made of naught but late-evening sky. Her soft lips parted as she shivered, the heat from the fire not having filled her body yet. Her pointed ears parted her hair ever so slightly on either side of her head. She had always been thankful that Faendal had gotten the large ears instead of her. It allowed her to blend in a little better, though her face still bore some distinct elvish features. Around her, the entire room became silent. At the bar, a large Nord whose name, she learned, was Rolfe, sat. He swayed a bit as he swung onto his feet, and approached her. His gaze drifted to her ears, and he harrumphed loudly before returning to his seat.
Alek'sir took Sabrina by the arm and led her to the bar, where he purchased a set of clothes for her, as well as a tankard of mead for each of his companions as well as himself. The barmaid gently led Sabrina to a room so she could get dressed, and once she was clothed again, Sabrina thanked her with a few of the gold pieces that she found in the pocket of the rough dress. They weren't the most comfortable or warm clothes that she could have acquired, but they would do until she could get a new set of underclothes and some new armor. When she returned, she found that the boys had finished their tankards, and were now several shots into a bottle of Dunmer whiskey.
She plopped down onto a stool next to Rolff, and started drinking her tankard down rather quickly. She noticed that the big drunk kept looking over at her with slanted eyes, but she chose not to notice. Stormcloak people had a tendency to be prejudiced against anybody not Nordic in origin. They even disliked Bretons, though not as much as they hated elves. A few hours later, the boys had passed out drunk, and she was getting close to her limit. Finally, Rolff slid a shot glass in front of her, and asked her to drink with him, to show that he accepted her. She accepted, and downed the drink in one gulp. It was then that her head started spinning. She remembered stumbling around the city on his arm, and the last thing she remembered, he raised his fist and muttered, "Thish'll teach you damn elvsh to shtay out of 'hic' Shkyrim."
When she awoke, her head felt like someone had slammed it against a rock repeatedly. Blood had dried in small streams from each of her nostrils, as well as a few cuts on her cheeks. She ran her fingers across her face and quickly retracted them, wincing in pain from the bruises she found. She groaned as she sat up, and a throbbing pain erupted from between her legs. Blood had soiled her now torn dress where it had lay beneath her body as she was violently used the night before. She'd had a few men before, and so was not unaccustomed to being sore in the morning, but this was far worse. Pain shot through her body every time she took a step. Moaning in pain, and blinded by tears, she stumbled towards the door of the nearest house. It was locked, but with a slight flick of her wrist, she managed to get the door to unlock and swing quietly open.
She collapsed against the wall for a few seconds before she heard the child chanting. "Sweet Mother, Sweet Mother, send your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear. Sweet Mother, Sweet…" Slightly worried for her own safety, she investigated, her orcish daggers, which for some unknown reason the drunk had not taken, firmly grasped in each hand. When she reached the small room on the second floor, she found a young boy, about ten years old, chanting the Black Sacrament over a skeleton adorned with a human heart, some unknown flesh, and a circle of candles around it. Sensing her presence, he whirled around and confronted her. "You're her! You're the Dark Brotherhood assassin sent to help me!" He proceeded to tell her a very sad tale of a woman who beat children for the fun of it, and then asked her to kill the old hag. She was shocked, to say the least, but the woman seemed evil to the core, so she agreed, with one stipulation: She would not accept any money from him, as he was already very poor. This made him very happy, and he jumped for joy for a bit before he noticed her condition.
Suddenly, a wave of sadness washed over him, and he hurriedly got her to a bed. She sent him to find Alek'sir, and then drifted into an uneasy sleep. Visions of the future invaded her mind, making her scream in her sleep.
Alden, the Dragonborn, trekked up a small road, Faendal in tow. They approached an evil looking shrine of the Daedric Prince Boethia. As they got closer, the shrine pulled Faendal closer to it, until he was trapped against the cold stone pillar. Fear shot into Faendal's eyes as Alden drew a thin black blade from one of the sheaths on his back. Alden smiled at Faendal, who struggled against his magical bonds frantically, and said, in a calculating tone, "You will grant the ebony blade more power, and you will speak for Boethia." With that, he plunged the blade deep into Faendal's chest, and the elf arched back in pain, his eyes screaming a thousand tales of betrayal, and then he went limp.
After the ritual, a cultist addressed Alden, and asked why he offered up his follower instead of some random civilian. To this, he replied that he could always just hire another follower. Sabrina tried to kick at him, to strangle him, to do anything to him, but she was trapped. She couldn't move. She could only scream. So she screamed, and she screamed until she was shaken awake by her trusted friend, Alek'sir. Faendal and Alden had left early that morning in search of a shrine of Boethia. She screamed again, her throat burning with pain and rage.
