3E 429- Cyrodiil

Name of Offender:

Fetchin' Dunmer is a crap liar- she's godsdamn stubborn- continu-osly (not quit' sure how it's spelt) says her name is Mhezsura Sonnerset, from Khuluu. I think it's bullshit personally, but this job aint's no democracy, issit?

Age of Offender:

I dun't know, but I'm gonna guess about twennie. With elfs, you jus' dun't know, do ya?

Race of Offender:

Issit necess'ry? Fine- she's a Dunmer wench from Morrow- frickin' wind.

Crime:

Theese questions are annoyin'- she was foun' in the back of them- uh, seller-traveller-tradar caravan thingies. Had no pass, so's we nicked her there and then for getting 'cross the border without one. Duh!

Sentence:

I'd say, mayb' a few weeks in the Big Jail- godsdamn rat'ole- righ' across from Dreth. That oughtta make that littl' bastard 'appy... fo' a while.

The Imperial Prison, 3E 429- 29. Evening Star

"Le' me go, you Imperial fe'chers! Your going to go to the darkes' dep'hs of Oblivion!" screamed a young Dunmer woman, desperately kicking her bare, muddied feet around as two Legion soldiers held down her arms. Her small fists were clenched tight, as she was forced down the dingy, cold corridor. "You Imperial bas'ards!" she screeched, as a rusty gate was rushed open by a heavily gloved hand.
"Here you go, princess. Enjoy," said a gruff voice, which leered gruesomely into her face. His hand, cloaked in steel, clutched her ponytail painfully and shoved her onto the floor. She scrambled, like a feral animal with pent-up rage, up onto the worn soles of her small feet- and tried to run at them, her nails bared. Instead, she got a brutal kick to her stomach, making her keel over on the bitter, concrete floor. The rusted swing of the gate and the turning of a key rang clear in her clouding mind.

A few small hours later into a bright dawn, small flecks of orange and pink shone along the rough, cold walls- she sat, with her knees to her large chest, her hands curled in the dark, ebony tresses of her long hair.
"Hey! Yeah, you! Over here!" hissed a small voice, from across the silent corridor- her eyes perked up slightly, before running over to the bars. She put her small hands around the steel bars, her dirty face being greeted by torchlight as she peered through. "Who is it?" she whispered harshly across the small chasm.
"It's someone who wants to get inside your pants," said a horribly husky voice- the gaunt face of a Dunmer appeared from the darkness of his cell. Clothed in rags, no shoes on dainty feet, with a sneer wrapped across his face.

"Yeah, not happening mis'er" she replies, with the bitter taste of anger running on her tongue.

"You should have fun before... well, you die", he said with a faux-sweetness coming across his sharp face.

"Urgh! Go find some slapper, you s'wit!" she cried, turning her back to him.

"Aw, the little girl is frigid. It's okay, I won't be that rough!" he leered, his voice running through her head loudly. Something clicked inside her, as she stood still, staring coldly down into the floor.

Meanwhile, up above, some Legion soldiers sat at a small table- their helmets were down, as they chucked back a few meads. Silver swords were strung to their hips, clanging ever so slightly against their iron thighs. They were enjoying the pleasant silence for a change.
"God, did you see that Dunmer wench?" a Redguard said, his voice hushed slightly.
"Yeah- my ears still hurt, from that" chuckled an Imperial, who lifted a mead bottle to his skinny lips. The burst of laughter echoed around the room, the Redguard held his sides. Until, loud rants could be heard.

"Shit!"

Guards rushed down the steps, each behind the other, as they withdrew their swords. Rushed breaths tumbled out of their mouths, as they came across the scene.

"You mo'herfucking sonofabe'ch! Someone's goin' to cut your fuckin' 'ed off! Nuh! Bet'er- I will ge' ya and string ya up by ya en'rails!" Mhezsura screamed her voice a roar in their ears.

Opening the gate, they hurried her, kicking and screaming down the corridor into another block of the jail. Her screams pierced the darkness around them, as two guards restrained her into an old, rickety chair. Tying her arms down, on fragile wood handles, as her sight became more blurry and dashed. She barely saw a scrawny man coming through, the whiteness of his armour blaring proudly- too proudly- into her closing eyes. She saw the Uniforms go away, with fear scrunched across their small, pinched faces. Her jaw clenched, as a dirty hand grabbed her jaw- long nails ripped into her delicate skin.
"So, you're the bitch causing trouble?" asked a voice, fuzzy in her ears.
"Yeh," she defiantly replied to the shape in front of her- a hooked nose peered out slightly away from his square head.

His big, fat head.

His face stretched into an ugly scowl, and then thinking better of it, Audens Avidius slapped her. Hard. Across her cheek. And again, and again and again. Her biting tears pattered the floor, furiously, whilst Auden's tiny forehead began to sweat a lot. He wrenched her small face ruthlessly back up from the floor, and proceeded to scuff his large nails across her face. She screamed. He laughed, his hearty laughs echoing across the cavernous walls.

Another day- another change to the routine of pain he put her through. At first, there was only slapping. Hard slapping, that nearly made the ancient chair topple over. Then, the grazing- sometimes he did it slightly lighter than the vicious slaps, sometimes he drew blood. Now, he began to punch her. In the stomach. By evening, dribbles of blood and congealed vomit were hanging tightly around her sharp chin. All night, she wailed like a little girl- trying to rock herself to sleep.

Next day, He came back. And He did bad things to Mhezsura- nobody heard her screams.