After some thought, I decided that the original chapter for I wrote was not very good at covering Elisif's transition. I hope this is better!
It had always been a silent horror to her, knowing that Faren was not dead. She hadn't the strength to end his life when she escaped, and once that strength had been returned, the desire had long since fled. The folly of this relatively carefree stance was not lost on her now as she stared him down.
"My dear, dear Elisif." the dark elf murmured, his voice rich and sweet as honey. He looked the same, dark skinned and red-eyed, and his hair still cropped fairly short. Still so handsome of face and feature by anyone's standards, and that made the reality of it all the worse.
On either side of her stood a guard holding her in place no matter how she struggled. Her magicka was burned out during the chase, and they all knew it. She was, for the moment, defenseless. Still, she looked at Faren with nothing less than disgust as he walked closer, placing a hand on her sweaty cheek.
"Surely it hasn't been so long that you have forgotten me, hmm?" He leaned down a bit, nearly nose to nose with her. "We used to be so very close, after all." Any further joyful and sarcastic words were halted as Elisif spat in his face. With speed that was surprising of one who looked so pampered, Faren slapped her hard across the face, his signet ring laying open her cheek.
"I'd never forget you, dear." said Elisif, and for a moment her eyes betrayed a flicker of fear. Only the briefest second, but that was enough. "How could I forget the person who thought they owned me?"
"Thought? Thought? I DO own you, body and soul. Even the great Empire couldn't dispute that claim. Money exchanged hands, you know."
"Last I checked, the Empire doesn't support slavery." she ground out, earning a laugh from the mer. The guards on either side of her remained stony-faced.
"I might have the ear of a certain mer chancellor. He knows of your importance, of your potential. He is also no fool; left unchecked, you will lead that royal bastard to ruin. You are beautiful and charming, to be sure, but you are a wild thing, and Ocato knows it." he slid a hand over the unmarred side of her face, leering. "You need a strong hand to guide you, sweetling."
Try as she might, Elisif could not shake the fear that filled her. She was not an invincible mage in that moment. Shit, she couldn't even heal her own wounds. Being in his sight made her nothing but a scared, kidnapped girl once again. In truth he himself had beaten her very few times, though his beatings were always the ones that left scars. No, he liked others to do that, saying that his hands were for rewards and pleasure, not for pain and obedience training. Even when she gave him false predictions he was not moved to hurt her himself. His use of her body more than made up for his disuse of the whip or the back of his hand. In reality she would have preferred the beatings to his movements within her, and her barely clad form bound and at his mercy was no small reminder of those times.
"Such a pity, too! I thought we'd gotten past all this, you and I. Didn't I allow you certain freedoms? You were my most honored possession, and I made sure you shined. Influential and wealthy patrons from miles around came to beg your visions. A veritable legend in Morrowind and you threw it aside for what? So that you could hack off all your beautiful hair and whore yourself out to the emperor's bastard? And that mage at the University? My poor dear. If you had been lacking sexual sustenance, you need only have asked." A cool hand slid down and cupped her sex, pressing hard up against her and making her whimper in anger and fear, and when he glanced back up, her face was not nearly as free of emotion as she would have liked.
"Faren...you don't have to do this. Come now, what good am I to you? I've not kept up my talents. Surely it wouldn't be worth the effort! False predictions, misinterpretations, i-it all seems like a waste to me." Shame colored her cheeks the more she spoke, but what could she do? "How much have I cost you over the years? I amassed quite a lot of gold since last I was with you. Couldn't we come to some sort of understanding?"
As she spoke, the mer walked around the room, seemingly inspecting oddities at his disposal. Manacles, rope, chain, all manner of sharp and lethal looking objects lined the beautifully polished shelves and tables, and Elisif's eyes could not help following the path his lithe fingers took, caressing one piece or another. By the time Faren had reached a leather whip (supple, careworn, and so very familiar), the woman's breath was coming out in pathetic sobs. Years of steeling herself against such outbursts were for naught as she panicked, struggling against the guards at her sides, trying desperately to summon up magicka that wouldn't replenish fast enough.
Faren's dark hand gripped the butt of the whip, wrapping the length of it around his knuckles before coming back to stand before his wayward property. How weak the simpering girl seemed now, trembling at the mere sight of his toys. Leaning in, the mer's plush lips brushed hers in a chaste kiss before he walked around behind her. He must have motioned to the guards, for the two men secured her wrists with manacles and chains, stretching her arms. There was a soft scuff of leather against the polished wood floors, and then-
CRACK! The bite of the whip was sharp and fast, pain radiating over old scars and whatever flesh had mercifully been undamaged before. Elisif's breath was ragged, her hands clenched, and she tried with all her might not to scream as- CRACK! But this stroke was harder, crueler, and it was all she could do not to beg.
CRACK! CRACK! She screamed as it hit her wounded shoulder.
CRACK! CRACK! Her knees began to shake, legs barely able to hold her weight during such an onslaught.
CRACK! CRACK! "Please," she whispered, "Please Faren. No more!" CRACK! "Oh gods, stop it! Stop!" CRACK! Then there were no more words, only sobs as she slumped limp in her chains, still conscious. Each blow was agony, and with the landing of each lash came one thought. A thought dark and sacred and old as time immemorial. Thoughts of killing.
Blessed oblivion couldn't come soon enough, but he didn't seem to desire her spent just yet. Bare knees hit polished hardwood, and she could hear Faren's quickened breath, the rustle of movement as he set the whip aside. Her master was squatting in front of her, sitting back on his heels and examining her tear streaked face with interest. There was a note of regret on his face. Gentle and slow, Faren touched her bloodied cheek, healing the wound until not even a scar remained.
"A shame to mar such a pretty face, hmm?" He murmured huskily, and she saw the desire in his eyes. Something about the whippings would always bring that out in him, especially if she had dared to scream or cry. Immediately she tried to smooth her expressions, not willing to add to her plight, but it was too late. He had seen the horror in her face, the utter terror that she was a slave once again.
"We will begin again, you and I." he spoke happily, running his hands on her arms and neck, much as one would feel a horse they thought to buy. He must have been pleased, for the next thing he ordered was for her release from the chains. As she was brought to her feet, the room began to sway and twist, and to her relief the abused woman fainted.
A slender dark elf woman lay stretched out on an altar, her dusky skin contrasted with the creamy dress she wore. Nightshade was strewn all about her, tucked into the crooks of her elbow, under her chin, nestled into her lovely auburn hair. She was at peace, would have been considered asleep were it not for the blood. The longer she stared at the still figure, the more blood seeped onto the altar, onto the ground. It stained her gown, even darkening her ebon skin. The wounds had appeared from nowhere; her throat bore the finest of lines while her chest seemed to bloom under the fabric. As descreet as they had seemed, the wounds flowed lifeblood like a river, creeping ever closer until finally the crimson puddle made contact with her own bare feet.
"A neccessary sacrifice. A worthy sacrifice. Praise be to Sithis, my child." A sweet voice cooed in her ear, yet when she turned to look, there was no one. The words had meaning, though. The young woman, barely more than a girl by dark elf standards, did seem a worthy sacrifice. A smile stretched her face as she squelched blood between her toes. So warm that it seemed to cleanse, washing over her entire body in ever growing waves.
Elisif groaned as she opened her eyes. She lay on her stomach, bare to all the world. Had someone removed her smallclothes? At first she thought to move, but she barely twitched a muscle before she was noticed.
"Milady, you're awake! The master will be so glad." A gentle voice exclaimed, and a Dunmer woman appeared at her side, washcloth in hand.
The room the two women occupied was rich, if a bit dark without any windows. Still, it was free of Faren, and that was enough. When the Dunmer rose to leave, Elisif reached out a hand and touched her, asked her to stay a while. The girl seemed shocked at the contact, but when Elisif made to move away, she made sure to apologize.
"I'm so sorry, my lady!" the elf explained, "I was just startled is all. It's not every day that one is touched by an oracle." Elisif wanted to scream at that, but instead she managed what she hoped was a very indulgent smile.
"You've heard of me?"
"Of course! Who hasn't? It was a great honor to be chosen by the master to serve you. Please, I'll bring you whatever you need. Don't hesitate to ask. I'm Rosalyn, by the way." The girl was blushing! It was as though she had met a dignitary or famous artist, not a beaten slave.
Elisif watched the Dunmer carefully. She seemed nice enough, if a little simple. Then, perhaps simple was what she needed, so long as she proved valuable. The girl continued to chatter, on and on and on until the mage thought she'd choke the woman until finally silence fell. The girl looked expectantly at her.
"I'm sorry, I was confused for a moment there." Elisif replied as kindly as possible.
"Oh it's quite alright!" she said with a smile, "To be honest, I should be ashamed to even dare ask, but...where you, umm, dreaming just before?"
"Why?" Elisif asked, genuinely curious.
"It's just- well, I thought I heard you say my name. Am I vain to even ask? Oh please! Did you dream of me?" Rosalyn looked entirely too excited, and her dark skin was flush with what could only be embarrassment. Still, she looked hopefully at her.
Tentatively, Elisif reached out, taking Rosalyn's thin, graceful hand in her own. She brought it to her face, rubbing her cheek against the surprisingly soft flesh. The Dunmer's pulse increased at this, but not nearly as much as it did when the mage turned and pressed a kiss to the young woman's open palm, murmuring that of course she dreamed of her.
"I do hope to see more of you, and not just in visions. The gods have sent you to my side, Rosalyn. It is my hope we will become friends." The girl seemed unable to form a coherent word after that, much to Elisif's surprise. Finally she fled to room, leaving the beaten oracle to her thoughts.
Days passed, and Elisif would see Faren on each of them. Always she was obedient, never talking out of turn, even going so far as to seem grateful for his presence, but even as he stood beside her, she thought of ways to kill him. The man was not fooled, laughing as he left, but Rosalyn was. The mage would weep after Faren moved from earshot, complaining to her serving girl that the male mer did not desire her because of the marks on her back. She was more or less incapacitated until they healed, after all. Such was her grief that Rosalyn soon started using her own meager magicka to heal the lashes, and it did hasten her recovery by weeks. By Sundas Elisif was able to stand and dress herself, and by the Middas after, she was more or less back to normal. The scars would never go away, but that was Faren's intention from the start anyways.
A bracelet had taken up residence on Elisif's wrist the first night of her capture, yet it wasn't until a few days later that she knew its intent. Usually after a few days without using her magicka, the mage thought she was practically overflowing with it, brimming with primal power, yet with the bracelet, she felt as though her mana pool would never be fully restored. It was an uncomfortable ache, closest in comparison to a terrible hunger, and the worst of it was that it could not be removed, more resembling a shackle than anything else.
Her magicka being effectively shackled put Elisif at a disadvantage, but she had not become head of the Thieves Guild by casting spells and was more determined than ever to do...what? What exactly was she going to do. The opportunity to escape had presented itself more than once, but she did not. And even though she tried justifying her continued presence with the desire to recover her things, she knew that wasn't entirely true either. Something dark and sensuous whispered in her ear. Bide your time.
It only took Faren a week to start asking for her foresight. What to invest in, how best to approach one matter or the other. She did as asked, focusing on whatever he wanted to know before falling asleep. After a day or two of this, the Dunmer seemed to grow impatient, and it was then that he produced the potions. Dread filled her as Elisif looked at it, remembering the delirium that followed a dosing. In the past he had used the draughts to acquire her submission to his physical desires, though he had used it simply to induce sleep from time to time. Calmly, Calmly, the voice in her ear seemed to coo, and Elisif was calm.
It was only when the potion was pressed to her lips that she thought to panic, but there was no helping it. There were guards all around, and Faren himself possessed a fair skill in magick. Her hands trembled with fear and rage as Faren eased her back into the pillows of his own bed, murmuring things she could barely understand. Even if she were to lift a hand in protest, her arms were lead weights at her side. Before sleep claimed her, Elisif found herself a prisoner of her own mind and body, completely aware of the Dunmer at her side. His hands were touching her ripe curves, lifting layers of cloth from her body, unlacing her bodice. His cool fingers were seeking her out. Her skin crawled wherever Faren touched, and as the artificial sleep mercifully claimed her, a different voice, a decidedly male, sing-song voice, was laughing, cheering her on, Soon, my dear mortal! Soon, you mad little thing.
It was with some surprise that Elisif woke later to find Faren beside her in the bed. He was sleeping, and she was not chained or clothed. She lay still for as long as she could, looking around the room for anything of use. Nothing caught her eye until she shifted slightly, noticing a flash of silver. A table stood on Faren's side of the bed, and the drawer was cracked open just enough so the meager light of the room caught it.
A blade. Her blade.
With increasing caution and bated breath, Elisif started to move, shifting her weight as evenly as possible on the feather mattress. When he moved it was barely noticeable, but still
she stopped. On impulse she crawled on top of the elf, who she noticed with dread was as naked as she was. Choking back the bile that threatened to rise, the mage leaned down, pressing her lips to his neck and jawline. Her hands hesitantly trailed to his chest, and when she dared to look, she noticed that he was awake, peering at her with red eyed lust. His cool hands snaked to her hips.
"What a pleasant surprise." He murmured, and Elisif smirked at him, pressing her mouth to his. It had always been strange to her that, though he was a vile man, he did not seem it. Handsome features, clean, hells, he even tasted good, and his lips moved with a kind of skill that would have made other women weak-kneed. It was unfair that a cruel man could be so lovely.
As his hands traversed her chest, sliding down to her waist, he shoved his hips against hers, a thin sheet the only thing that separated them. Quickly he thrust the sheet away, bringing his sex flush with hers, but before he was able to thrust home, Elisif slipped her hand into the drawer.
Dagger in hand -a blade so familiar it could only be her own, she made to stab at his chest, but Faren was too fast, gripping her wrists like a vice. He laughed at her efforts, murmured mocking things, but she was not dissuaded, maneuvering her knee until she could slam it into his groin. The elf was furious, howling with pain as he released her hands and attempted to shove her off. Angrily she slashed at him, cutting his arms and chest as he struggled, punching and finally tossing her from the bed.
Elisif slammed to the floor, air whooshing out of her, and Faren struggled to his feet, staggering to her as blood splattered the floor. Some of the cuts were deep. The house was silent; no guards had been roused by their scuffle. As Faren started to cast, Elisif rose quickly to her feet, grinned at the elf, and threw the dagger. For one timeless moment it seemed to hang in the air, a gleaming teasing thing, and the next it was buried in his chest.
To his credit, Faren did not seem so terribly scared, more surprised that anything else. A few missteps, a slew of curses and growls, and he fell face forward into a rapidly growing pool of blood, grunting and gurgling until he was dead as dust.
For a while, all Elisif could do was stare. This man had ruined her life, or very nearly. Eight years in his service, a slave with no control in any aspect of her life, when to sleep or wake, when to bathe or eat, not even who to share her body with. It was done.
Rummaging through the room as fast as she could, Elisif eventually found the key, unlocking the shackles and releasing her magicka. Her personal effects were there as well, and she slipped into her armor as quickly as possible. After finally sliding the last accessory in place, she turned the corpse of Faren onto his back and pulled the blade delicately from his chest. Strange to know she'd never see his handsome face animated with cruelty again. She cleaned the dagger on the bedsheets but kept it handy as she heard movement in the hall.
Heavy footsteps that could only belong to a guard were sounding closer and closer. They called out to Faren, and when there was no answer the guards, for surely there was more than one with all the racket they made, hastened to the door, slamming into it until the wood shattered and the two were able to stagger through. Their eyes fell immediately on the body, then on Elisif, whose face was splattered with his blood.
Swords were drawn in a flash, and a strange thrill flooded her chest. Usually fighting was just for survival, a necessary chore, but now it felt invigorating. She wanted more. More red to decorate the place. As the larger one charged, she met him, ducking under his sword arm and slashing him in the underarm, cutting deep enough to leave it useless. The smaller guard brought his short sword up as well, ready to defend against the fast little hellcat, but she did not seem to pay him any mind, focused as she was on his partner. That man had a shield in his off hand and was swinging it at her, trying to crush her with its weight, but she was too swift, dodging his attacks and making quick cuts and gashes into that arm as well. Too quickly he tired, and too quickly it was over. Just as his partner decided to try something besides defense, the large man fell to his knees, victim to a powerful electrocution spell. His hair and skin were smoking, his eyes barely able to see, and his mouth so terribly dry. Everything tasted and smelled of blood. And then her dagger found his throat, and it was all over. The second one followed just as quickly, and it left her feeling, on the whole, a bit unsatisfied.
In the sudden stillness of the room she listened, but there was no more stirring in the house. Some part of her mind was screaming, LEAVE, LEAVE, and so she complied, ducking through the ruined door and slinking down the hall cautiously. It was so simple, like she had simply been resting up for the moment at hand. The few remaining guards were sleeping, and she tiptoed by them easily enough. That only left Rosalyn.
A painful clenching of desire filled Elisif at that thought. Sweet, simple-minded Rosalyn. It seemed that no sooner had she considered the girl than she appeared. The elf woman rushed up to her, took in her bloody face and form, and went into hysterics.
"Why, mistress?!" she wailed, clutching at Elisif's arms, "I thought perhaps you had been stolen away, and it was you who had killed Lord Faren? And those guards as well? I found them. You-you witch!" she opened her mouth wide, about to scream for the guards, and Elisif seized the Dunmer by the back of the head, using her other hand to slice open her throat. Blood spurted all around them, getting in her own mouth and nose, and it was an unholy baptism, so warm and wet and right, watching the light fade from her eyes. The woman's hands were clenching at her killer's armor, not quite believing this was happening to her, and then Elisif let her go, the body falling to the floor with a sickening thud. The elf lay gurgling on the hardwood, and with an alien glee Elisif brought the dagger down, stabbing her chest repeatedly until it resembled ground meat.
It was only then that she felt satisfaction. Poor, pretty Rosalyn, bloody and broken, but Elisif did not care. The girl had willingly worked for a man who owned slaves. She had not seen anything wrong with Elisif's own imprisonment. It was done, and there was no remorse in the mage's heart.
Securing her things, Elisif once more scurried to the end of the house wherein Faren stayed, summoning flames into her palm and catching anything she could on fire. All throughout the sprawling structure she went, igniting drapes and woodens walls, doors, everything. The guards' quarters went up especially fast, the flame eating away at the inferior materials.
Once satisfied, Elisif fled through the front door, bursting into the cool morning air and making her way as fast as she could towards the stables that lay beyond. No one attended them, and she quickly chose a steed, following the faint path of hooves back onto the main road and heading east once more.
She rode hard through mist and drizzling rain, stopping only once to wash the blood from her skin in a stream, until she reached Cheydinhal. It was automatic, the way she moved, gliding past the guards even though they eyed her strangely, the cool courtesy she gave to the innkeeper, ordering food, a bath, and a room. Her hands moved over her own body reflexively, washing off the blood, rinsing it from her hair. She buffed it from her armor,scrubbed it from under her fingernails, washing and polishing until the water was cold and filthy. She ate because her body demanded it, moved and dressed because of necessity. All these things, all this time since leaving Faren's burning home, she did not bother with. Her mind was far away, dark, waking dreams of bright red pouring from torn skin, horrified crimson eyes staring up in disbelief.
It was only when she went before the Count that she was forced into the present, though she shouldn't have been surprised that he wanted the same thing as everyone else. Still, it was late by the time she was finished, and her mind had replayed the glory of the day too many times. Sleep overtook her, a sweet embrace of sanguine dreams. Dreams of dark hair under a black hood, a face and form she had once loved so well. A deep sensual voice that praised her work. It was all very good, so satisfying, and when she opened her eyes again, he was there. He was watching, and he seemed so very pleased. His full lips stretched into a smile. His words were a sacrilegious psalm.
"You sleep rather soundly, for a murderer."