Chapter Seven
"Is she an agent of the vampires?"
"I'm not sure, there are no bites on her body."
"Doesn't mean she couldn't have been charmed by one, they're powerful like that."
"I heard the Thieves Guild in Riften was getting active again, maybe she's one of them?"
"What about Hol? If that was even her real name."
"Another thief? She seemed so... sure of what she was doing. Nothing like what a thrall of the vampires is like. They're more like lap dogs that are easily confused and eager to please their master than a clever and cunning criminal."
"Why are we bothering interrogating her? We should just kill her."
"We won't find Hol without information she could have."
"When I find her I'll-"
"She's waking up."
Yosa'Min blinked, her head swimming in pain and a foul taste at the back of her mouth. The voices she'd heard as she'd stirred back into consciousness grew silent, several sets of eyes on her, hate and confusion and betrayal in glinting orbs. Even with her dizziness, she knew the look well. Her whole body ached, from several bruising wounds, and there was a strange pressure on her shoulders. Something was ramming into her back, it felt spread out like wooden ribbing, making her body rest uncomfortably.
The world was still forming around her, all the blurry moving faces floating around as they slowly settled into a more solid form. She tried to wipe blood she felt on her cheek from some cut, but found her hands were restrained above her and apart. Instantly the redguard felt alarm shoot up through her dizzy state and she jerked violently forward, only to be held back by metal cuffs around her wrists and ankles. Instead, her hips and torso pitifully moved forward and struggled for a few moments before she fell back with a pained gasp.
Blue eyes dashed around the room of stone bricks, she was laying on something that was slanted, giving her a perfect view of one of the walls. It had two rows of shelves, and to her rising horror they were covered in bloodied and bruised skulls, some of which still had flesh clinging to them while others were bleached clean. She jerked her head to the sides, trying to get a better look at the place she was awakening in, relieved a bit to find she still had the ability to move her head as she wished. The room was small and decorated rather unnervingly with skulls of both animal and human kind. There was a small table with a set of tools resting on top of it, and Yosa'Min stared at it with a furrowed brow before she realized they were torture tools.
A thick musk of blood was in the air, and she turned to look around to find the source, only to realize it was splattered all around the floor and walls like some savage had torn several people apart. Is that mine? Wondered Yosa'Min with rising worry, so much pain coursing through her body she couldn't figure out if she was still bleeding or not.
Suddenly someone moved towards her, obviously deciding she'd spent enough time taking it all in. A tall bald and bearded redguard man, Yosa'Min taking a minute to realize it was Isran, scowled at her. "What's your real name Plim?" He questioned, holding a poker that looked hot on the end in one hand. The redguard thief looked from him to the watching eyes, every member of the Dawnguard excluding Agmaer in attendance with obvious disdain for the captive.
"What's your real name Plim?" Repeated Isran, taking a small but intimidating step closer to her.
Yosa'Min narrowed her eyes, lowering her head a bit to glare at him with as much hate as she could as she started to recall what had happened. "You killed my horse," she seethed between gritted teeth.
"Yes, and you attempted to steal nearly our entire crossbow arsenal," replied Isran, "Now what's your real name?"
"His name was Archer, not that you would care," Yosa'Min spat, fury boiling through her blood. She'd had that stallion for years, and suddenly the thought that he was dead because of these vampire hunters made her want to set all their arses on fire.
"You were an escaping thief, we put him out of his misery, now answer my question," responded Isran tightly, stepping close enough for Yosa'Min to feel the heat radiating from the hot metal by her leg. She stiffened instinctively, trying to move away from it but finding she had no where to run.
Still refusing however, Yosa'Min snapped back at him, trying not to show the fear she felt rising as she couldn't think of a way out of the situation. "Do you even know how I got him? A gift from the jarl for my services, and now you've gone and shot him! How am I supposed to explain that one to Balgruuf?" She shook her head sarcastically.
Instantly she was punished with a sharp jab of the heated metal against her right leg, the end flat and flaring out in a way that reminded her of a blank branding iron. Isran held it there for a few agonizing moments, Yosa'Min's head jerking back as she took the pain, teeth gritted and face contorted in agony but refusing to give him the satisfaction of a scream. When he pulled it back, she let out a small gasp of relief, sucking in deep breaths of air in an attempt to calm herself. Just before she'd recovered, a second and hotter brand was pressed against her leg once more. Yosa'Min twisted once more, hands clenching and unclenching above her as her back arched, but still refused to make a sound beyond a sharp gasp of initial shock and pain.
"Who are you?" Isran demanded, not taking it back.
"Plim!" Shouted Yosa'Min hatefully.
"Who are you?" Repeated Isran, pressing it closer to her body and making her tense with pain. Every bit of her leg was screaming in agony at the hot metal, burning like dry grass struck by lightning.
"Go to Oblivion milk-drinker," replied Yosa'Min, glaring out at him through squinted eyes.
Isran pulled the poker back, and Yosa'Min took in a gasping breath, sweat dripping down her body that was dressed still in the clothes she'd been wearing during her failed escape. She watched him walk casually to the table of torture tools, placing the poker aside for now, and selected a long and particularly painful looking knife. "Leave us," he ordered over his shoulder, Yosa'Min catching movement in the corner of her eye and the sound of grumbles and shifting feet drifted over to her. She glared at him, as if daring him to try using it.
The Dawnguard leader shook his head, "This could be simple and easy," he said with his gravely voice, "Just tell me who you really are and why you wanted our weaponry, and there could be a lot less pain. Don't, and you'll soon find out what it's like to be roasted by a dragon."
Shaking her head, Yosa'Min shrugged the best she could in the position she was in. "I'm certain you'd never be able to recreate the magnitude of ancient fire." She was rather familiar with the burn of dragonflame, a searing hot that couldn't be compared to any other, magical and violent.
Pale blue eyes belonging to the man narrowed. "Care to find out with me?" The threat loomed in the air, Yosa'Min glaring at him with as much hate as she dared to.
"Let's."
He placed the poker in a nearby fire, letting it heat up as he took the knife and held it to her left arm. "Who are you?" He demanded, the edge of it pressing against her dark skin, face looming towards her menacingly. Yosa'Min puffed out her chest indigently.
"I've told you already, Plim!"
He cut a long line down her arm, blood rising quickly before trickling down her arm. Yosa'Min's head grew light for a moment, daring to swoon at the sensation, but then she noticed just how close his face was. Just enough for her to bite something. Jerking her head forward, the redguard woman bit down hard on Isran's nose, instantly he tried to shove her off with a small startled noise but just like her he refused to please the other with a scream or anything of the sort. The Dragonborn refused to let him go until he pulled back further than her body could go, but she tasted a decent amount of blood in her mouth and he was holding his nose with anger growing across his face.
Isran nabbed the poker from the fire violently, and as Yosa'Min reveled in her small blow to the mighty leader, he stabbed it right against her side, beneath her ribs. Yosa'Min gave a half shout of alarm, eyes bulging for a moment as the pain was worse on her side, toes and fingers wriggling as if by some form of magic there would be something to hold onto even while she was restrained. Pain was burning across her body as the hot end was pressed harder and harder against her skin, Yosa'Min's breathing pitching into strained gasps, swirls in her vision.
"Who are you!" He demanded, twisting the handle so it burned her in a new way, rubbing the seared skin.
"Plim!" She screamed in pain.
"Who are you!" Isran twisted once more.
"Plim!" Her body was spasming at the heat, pain arching up in waves to consume her entire captive form. Vulnerable at at the mercy of the furious Isran, she wanted to shout him to pieces and probably could at this range, but then everyone would know who she was and still Yosa'Min refused that. "My name is Plim!" She screamed, throat aching and tight.
Unsatisfied, Isran demanded once more. "Who are you!"
"A thief!" She gave in a bit, gasping in pain and closing her eyes tight.
Isran pulled it back slightly, still close enough for her to feel the heat but no longer touching her skin. The clothing was burned away in a gaping hole, the skin burned so terrible that Yosa'Min was starting to not be able to feel it, numbing and cold while everything else screamed in pain. Sweat ran down her body, her lungs aching for breath as the world swam around her. Her mind was crying out in anguish while her throat tightened to the point she could barely get in air.
"Who hired you?" Isran asked, stepping around and letting her feel the heat of the prod on the other side, just a few inches from her body. Yosa'Min tensed, trying to scoot herself on the wooden ribbing away but it was in vain. "Who hired you thief? Who wanted our crossbows stolen? The vampires or someone else?"
"No one," she hissed with pain, "I wanted them, to sell them, they're rare, worth a lot."
"So you're just a greedy thief who did it on her own?" Isran skeptically asked. "Why don't I believe you?"
"Because you're a stupid bastard!" Threw Yosa'Min, glaring at him fiercely. The redguard man gave her a half amused smirk, and placed the poker back in the fire. She watched them cross back over to the table with the torture tools on it. A bowl rested besides it, a mixture that in her pained state Yosa'Min couldn't recognize sitting within. He picked it up, and then walked over with a small spoon in his other hand.
Isran stirred the slightly purple mix and then rubbed it against her burns. It was like a cold fire, Yosa'Min gasping in shock before it settled to a cool burning sensation. Isran pressed it into the burns everywhere, and then dabbed it on her other wounds. "What are you doing?" She asked, her head suddenly swaying with fogginess. She could hardly keep it up, and after struggling to for a few minutes she gave up and leaned it back against the wooden ribbing.
"Who are you?" Isran repeated, standing to the side. She tried to look at him, but the whole world was moving and blurring. Yosa'Min blinked her eyes, trying to get everything to come back in focus but it refused to.
"What?" She asked, a numbing sensation running up her body.
Isran moved but remained nearby best she could tell. Everything was muddle though, and Yosa'Min struggled to keep her mind clear, a fog blanketing every thought she had. "Who are you, what's your real name?"
"Pli-Yosa'Min," she confessed, horror filling her as the words escaped her. She didn't mean to say it, what was happening to her?
"Yosa'Min?" Isran repeated with confusion, "The Dragonborn?"
"Yes," she answered honestly, a part of herself refusing to disobey what he wanted any longer. She wanted to scream at him and hurl profanities and denials, but she just... couldn't.
"What is the Dragonborn doing stealing our crossbows?" Isran asked with a harder voice.
"My Guildmaster thought it'd be a good score," Yosa'Min slurred.
The Dawnguard leader moved closer, a hand grasping her face forcefully. She jerked in alarm, having not seen the movement until it was too late, her breathing came fast in fear. "You're a thief, in a Guild? The great and honorable Dragonborn that slew Alduin?"
"I is Yosa'Min, Dragonborn, and thief." She was terrified he'd strike her, and she couldn't tell why. Everything was blurry and she couldn't even make out his face, Isran nothing more than a dark blob in the way of the light.
Grunting, Isran let go of her and did something she couldn't figure out. "Who was Hol?"
"My friend," Yosa'Min replied.
"Another thief?" Pressed Isran.
Shaking her head with confusion, Yosa'Min tilted her head at him. "Yes," she nodded heavily.
"What was her name?"
Yosa'Min blinked at him blearily, trying so very hard not to tell him. It was like he'd cast a spell on her or something, taking control of her body and forcing her to answer him. Her heart was racing in her chest as she opened her mouth, trying not to tell the truth but knowing she'd have to answer him somehow. "I don't know," she managed. "I'm not sure she has a real name."
"What is she called?"
"Snake."
"By who?"
"My ex-lover, my friends, a man we killed," she trailed off, brow furrowed as a thought escaped her. "He deserved it too," she muttered.
"So this, 'Snake' is in the Guild with you, and you were both on a job to steal and then fence our weapons?" Isran summarized.
"Yes."
Shaking his head, or at least Yosa'Min thought he was, Isran picked something up and then held it against her face. Yosa'Min thrashed violently in response, thinking he was attempting to smother her to death, until she noticed a faint crisp smell. The fog in her mind lifted and Yosa'Min took a pained gasp as her senses sharply returned. Shame washed up her body as she realized she'd put many people in danger with those admissions. She didn't know if these people were the kind that would punish everyone associated with a criminal, or just the one, and that unknowing was making guilt eat its way up her faster and faster.
"What did you do to me?" She demanded, shaking clear the lingering mist in her mind away. Isran looked at her, his features coming in sharply now, and then turned away. "How did you get me to say that?" Yosa'Min demanded louder, straining against the metal cuffs that had her limbs spread. "Answer me Isran, what did you press into my wounds!"
"You're healed," he remarked, gathering things together as if he could actually tidy the torture room.
Slowly the wheels turned in the awakening woman's mind, and then she snapped towards him once more. "You drugged me!"
"Only for a short while," he replied, looking at her with his hardened expression. "And I healed you too, something that I usually wouldn't do. But if what you say is true, and you're the Dragonborn, then I might have a way for you to repent for your crimes." Isran's words came out gravely, every sound falling with a seriousness that drew Yosa'Min's attention. "Or we could just get on with an execution."
Yosa'Min glared at him, brewing with fury and bloodlust. She wanted to break free from the shackles and wrap her hands around his throat and strangle him. There was nothing honorable about getting information with the use of herbs and magic, the hope she'd had of protecting Vex, Lydia, Iona and Mjoll being stolen with a few carefully concocted mixtures. And if he's been able to drug her into talking, the fact that he had tormented her with the heated rod made it very personal too.
"I'll give you the choice, as small as it is of one," Isran said, "You can either do a task and repent, or you die a thief's death, strung up in a noose for all to see."
"What would you want me to do?" She gritted, still imagining watching life leave his eyes.
Isran snapped his fingers and the orc Durak came marching in a moment later. At first, he didn't address the new arrival in the room, still speaking and looking at Yosa'Min. "A Vigilant of Stendarr came to us two days ago, asking for help. Durak here is going to take you to Dimhallow Crypt, and you're not going to come out of there alive until you find out why there are vampires all over the place. You try to run, you refuse along the way, you do anything other than complete this task, and Durak will have the authority to kill you without any hesitation. One instance of insubordination and he will slay you where you stand."
"So, if I'm anything but a sheep," grunted Yosa'Min.
"Look at it however you like, it matters not so long as you listen. When you have found and taken care of what the vampires are after, prove it to Durak, and you'll be free and clean of this crime. All your other crimes, are beyond our hands to wash away," Isran said.
Glaring at him with confusion, Yosa'Min shook her head. "Why would you even let me live, after I lied, tricked, and stole from you?"
A half smile crossed Isran's face. "Because we have so few men, I won't turn away a chance to get work done, no matter who it comes from. I know you can fight, and if you're the Dragonborn I'd like to imagine that you've just gone down a bad path. But, if you were to happen to die in there, it wouldn't be of any consequence to the Dawnguard, unlike if one of our own had."
"What if they turn me into one of them?"
"I'm doubtful they would try," Isran replied lowly, "but if they do, then we'll hunt you down like the scum you'd be and slay you like every other bloodsucker we've come across."
Yosa'Min looked at him, trying to see if this was all some elaborate lie or the truth. He certainly wouldn't be losing anything if she died in that crypt, but if he was being serious about letting her go afterwards she couldn't really tell. "How will Durak know if I've died or not, I could just find another way out or wait until he'd think I was dead couldn't I?" She was probing for holes in his logic, trying to see where he hadn't thought of a lie to speak to convince her.
"You'd be underestimating Durak if you think he can be easily tricked," simply replied Isran.
Giving the orc a long look, Yosa'Min blinked. "He's an orc," she looked back to the redguard man, Durak snorting angrily in response. "But fine, I'll do it. You better keep your end of the deal up too. I won't hold back next time we cross blades," she warned.
"If all goes well, we won't need to worry about that now will we?" Isran replied, obviously undaunted by her threat.
Yosa'Min looked him dead in the eye, trying to see the liar behind pale blue orbs, but unlike herself, she found no such thing. "I guess not," she replied with a hateful tone.