A word of warning before reading the following text. This chapter includes torture and violence. I tried to remove the most explicit parts but you may still find it a tad upsetting. Still… I hope you're not going to hate me. This one definitely wrote itself, so I didn't really want to change much in the end. I even made more people read it and give me some feedback, but they all liked it, so I'm just going to leave it like this. With that, I wish you happy reading.

Chapter 37: Tormented Souls

It wasn't the fact that she could not see a thing that bothered her. It wasn't even because her hands and legs were tied together, forcing her to curl up in a strangely twisted position. But the considerable lack of shadows was maddening. She could not feel anything, she had no idea where she was and how she was supposed to escape from there. She felt helpless and desperate and she was not used to feeling that way. She cursed the Hunter in her mind.

"Sleep well?" a voice purred. It was her, the cursed Argonian who had pursued her across half of Skyrim. She clenched her fists, or tried to, realizing with horror how weak she had become. "Don't worry. I'm not going to kill you. Not yet, at least." The Hunter laughed and it sounded like fallen withered branches cracking under the steps of feet clad in steel boots. Farkhali shuddered.

Silent footsteps approached her, almost inaudible to any ordinary person. She felt a tug at her skin as her captor pulled her blindfold off of her head. A number of hairs were plucked mercilessly from the skin on her head and the Khajiit would have winced were it possible for her. A moment after, she realized that she was floating in midair, trapped in an orb of dim light. Nevertheless, it blinded her as it was the first thing she saw after opening her eyes. She blinked, trying to adapt to it, and finally she recognized the silhouette of an Argonian woman standing just outside the orb. The Hunter exhibited a mild smile, but there was no warmth in the way she twisted her lips.

"I must confess you were quite the challenge," she whispered. "But you got on my bad side and that was a mistake. The Hunter never lets the prey escape."

"Just spit it out," Farkhali snarled silently.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You didn't come here to boast about your single-mindedness. That's not your style."

"Straightforward, aren't you? I like it."

"So?"

"Isn't it obvious?" the Hunter said with a snort. "Tell me where General Tullius is."

"And what's in it for me?" Farkhali asked as innocently as she could.

The Argonian hesitated, unprepared for such a question, but then she looked into the Khajiit's eyes and smiled again. "I don't think you're in a position to ask such a question, dear Malkin."

"Well, I tried," Farkhali uttered casually, her eyes sparkling mischievously. She attempted to mentally create an illusion of herself, shrugging as she spoke. The Hunter's smile vanished.

"Don't tempt me, Malkin," she breathed in a threatening voice, narrowing her eyes.

"Or what? You gonna torture me, which you'll do anyway? Nope, sorry. Better have some fun before you do."

"I'll give you one more chance. Where is General Tullius?"

"Come to think of it," Farkhali remarked lightly, "since you don't know where he is, you clearly couldn't keep up with me all the time. I guess I overestimated the great Hunter."

The Argonian's face twisted into an enraged grimace and she reached for a nearby shelf, grabbing a whip. A very simple one, with several stripes of leather braided carefully into one resilient rod. The moment it touched her, the skin ripped under it and Farkhali felt as though a blade cut right through her, burning and freezing at the same time. She gasped and closed her eyes, but did not cry out. She knew this was just the beginning. A mere whip would not be enough to break her, and both she and her captor knew it. She decide to feign ignorance.

"Oh come on," she drawled, careful not to make her voice sound shaky. "Is the Thalmor really worth it? Did you really need to go this far just to catch some power hungry Imperial?"

"Funny you should put it this way," the Hunter replied silently. "But you need to learn that I am the one asking questions here." A swishing sound and another blow of the whip made Farkhali clench her fists. She cussed in her head. This had just become personal.

"Give up," she said, choosing an expression of a parent giving a friendly advice to a child. "Nothing's gonna come out of this. Besides, I don't think Tullius stays idle while we're talking. I wouldn't be able to tell you where he is anyway."

"Either you're trying to mock me, or you're giving in," the Argonian uttered with a slight smile. "I'd like to believe it's the latter, but just to make sure…"

More whipping. This time, three blows landed and three times Farkhali winced internally.

"Even this spell," she breathed, but her voice betrayed her this time. She could clearly hear it shaking, if only barely. "How much effort it must have taken you to find a spell that could keep me like this?"

The whipping continued. Farkhali kept her eyelids shut tightly, trying to forget she was even there. Her enemy was furious, which was both good and bad. Good, because she was losing control and people who lost control were easier to manipulate. Bad, because thanks to that, Farkhali was on the verge of losing her mind herself.

Do you know what it's like when they take your hand and break your fingers, slowly, painfully, one after another? Have you ever felt the burning of a whip on your bare skin? Have you ever gone for a week straight without any sleep, having the soles of your feet beaten until they turned deep blue and paralyzed your whole body? Have you ever hung head down for a single day, shaking violently and barely able to breathe as they stuck stuff in certain places of your body? Have you ever woken up as they poured ice-cold water on you, only to realize that the nightmare has not yet ended?

That was what she had told Tullius when he had so unscrupulously scolded her for being "weak". For being a thief without shame who could not stand "a bit of torture". And yet, here she was, suffering and fighting for that shameless bastard. Fighting so he could satiate his thirst for power and dominance. She hated him. Even more than the wicked Argonian who was currently enjoying watching her wildly shaking body, she despised the contemptuous general who respected no one.

She'd had enough torture for her life. She had spoken from experience and had made sure the man felt it at that time. Why do you think I became that blasted thief without shame? she snarled at him inwardly. He could not hear her, of course, and even if he could, he would not understand. Not a man like him who only saw his own path to the top of the social ladder.

Was stealing so bad in the end? She would never steal from a person in need. None of the Guild member would. They mostly received requests from nobles anyway, and who cared if a noble lost a septim… or a thousand of them. But the Guild was a warm place. A place where everyone would welcome her without questioning her past and her motives. A place where she felt useful and appreciated. In the end, she rescued that cold, uncaring person in the name of the Guild, and went as far as suffering for him in order to protect him. Just so he could take Skyrim again. Just so he would regain the respect that he so firmly refused to pay to others.

Aislinn, she thought hopelessly. What would you do in my place? I might have made the wrong choice… I don't know anymore.

She opened her eyes. The whipping had ceased and she realized that her mind had drifted into its own world, protecting her from the pain. The sudden change made her return to reality and she winced internally as she felt it again, pulsating throughout her body. She was shaking wildly and warm blood was dripping from her fur, falling through the orb onto the ground. The Argonian was speaking to her, but Farkhali could not make out what it was that she was saying. She did not care either and had to smile to herself slightly. Poor Hunter. All her effort would be wasted, just because she still did not know whom she was dealing with. In spite of all the pain and suffering, Farkhali had no intention of losing this fight.

A new type of pain flooded her and now she was forced to look at her captor. She felt her ear ripping and it cost her all her strength and determination not to cry out. The Argonian gave her a wicked grin, propping herself comfortably against a stone pillar and thus furthering Farkhali's feeling of despair.

"We can end this right now," she informed her.

Oh, thanks for telling me, Farkhali thought bitterly. No, it wasn't the fact that she wanted to protect Tullius that kept her going. If it wasn't for the planned invasion, she wouldn't care about the man. But she felt her pride was at stake here. She refused to lose like this. She replied to the Argonian with a grin of her own.

"By all means, please continue," she whispered hoarsely. "I am quite enjoying this."

"As you wish," the Hunter smiled and raised her hands. So now was the time for spells. Farkhali closed her eyes again. Hundreds of tiny needles of ice pierced her feet. The pain was unbearable, and yet she knew it would get worse. It never ended with ice.

She was right. The ice drained the energy from her body and soon she barely felt anything. Then, Oblivion broke out when fire hit her. The sudden difference in heat was agonizing. It spread from her limbs to her torso, claiming all of her at once. She failed to hold it in this time and her cry echoed through the room. Her tormentor laughed savagely. Farkhali felt her stomach knot as the smell of her singed fur reached her nostrils.

"One word, Malkin," she said. "One word."

"All right, I'll tell you," Farkhali exhaled. "In the afterlife."

More fire. Then a healing spell. Ice and fire again. Farkhali kept her eyes shut and fists clenched, wishing she had a spell to speed up time. The positive thing was that the Argonian was obviously forbidden from causing real harm. Not even once she touched her eyes or her vitals.

Another flood of pain took over her shaking body and Farkhali felt vomit go up her throat. The twisted Argonian let her suffocate for a good while before turning her in the air. The Khajiit knew she would soon lose consciousness, but she did not dare give in yet. She was sure that mental torture would be next, but the Argonian would not risk it unless she was absolutely certain that her prisoner was mentally broken. Darkness began to spread its soothing wings around her.

A splash of cold water made her open her eyes again, only to face more pain. Farkhali did not know how much time it had passed since she had been captured. Maybe hours, maybe days. It took more than physical pain to break the Khajiit master of shadows though and she was convinced that the Argonian was aware of it.

She held on. Her body was screaming and begging, every inch of it burned, and yet she felt cold inside, as though her inner fire was dying. Her energy had left her a long time ago and now the only thing keeping her alive and relatively sane were the healing spells meant to prolong her suffering. How ironic that the spells meant to heal were now used as the worst instrument of torture. It went on and on and on, the Hunter constantly finding new ways to inflict pain.

A thousand of crooked blades made their way from her crotch through the stomach and throat up to her mouth. She thought there was no energy left in her to scream, but she was wrong. This was new even to her. She knew it had to be an illusion, for there was no way she would be able to survive such a thing, but it felt so real that cold flooded her body like an avalanche. The time was now.

She screamed and let her body shake violently. She was terrified of her own voice, but forced herself to calm down internally. Enduring the pain while trying to sound convincingly broken and searching for the source of the illusion at the same time was extraordinarily difficult a task, but she knew there was no other choice. She needed to win this fight. Her mind scanned itself. For a moment, she did not even need to feign anything, the gasps and moans came out naturally as she faced an especially painful part of her past. She walked through her own world, sometimes strangely twisted as a result of her mind's protective measures. The Hunter was good at concealing her presence in the physical world, but she did not say behind in the mental one either. Nothing seemed out of order in Farkhali's mind. And yet, she felt pain that technically could not have been there. What was it? Where was it?

The agony seemed to overwhelm her. There was pain everywhere. So much pain… even her mind was starting to get filled with pain. More, and more…

Farkhali gasped, both with pain and sudden realization. The source of the pain… was the pain. What better way could there be to conceal something than just use it as a replacement of the same thing? Farkhali forced herself to enter the dark corners of her mind where memories of pain resided. There were so many it scared her. She usually kept this part sealed away, shut somewhere deep inside so she would not have to relive the cruelest moments of her life. She needed to face them now and remind herself that these were truly hers.

There was a screaming girl lying face down in the midst of a crowd of people. There were men and women, old and young, mostly beastfolk but some of them were Redguard or elven races. Very few of them were humans with pale skin. They were all covered in dirt, wearing simple linen tunics with plain leather belts around their waists, many of them lacking even the basic equipment such as shoes, with blisters covering their feet and hands. Some of them were holding pickaxes while the others carried shovels, spades or chisels. Their eyes were all the same, reddish and glassy, staring hungrily at the girl. One of them, a skeletal Redguard man with greasy hair whose color had long faded into indistinct greyish vagueness, turned to Farkhali.

"Look closely," he said, and the wrinkled crack that was his mouth gaped into a crooked malicious grin, "so you always remember how you don't wanna end up."

"No…" she whispered and turned away almost instantly. She was grabbed against her will, feeling the stretching of her skin as the man tugged at the fur on the back of her head ruthlessly. She fought him with all her might, and for a moment, it seemed as though she would win the brawl. Then, she was kicked in the stomach. She fell on the ground while coughing. Attempting to rise on her feet again, she was grabbed by her collar and tossed beside the crying girl. The man cackled and pointed a finger at her.

"Bad girls get punished," he shook his head and gave her a conspicuously feigned compassionate smile. "Hey guys," he said hoarsely. Then he looked around, studying the faces that looked up to him, and finally his gaze settled back on Farkhali. He snorted. "Do her too."

Everything that came after that was pain and humiliation. Farkhali cried and begged, and no one listened. No one cared and no one was on her side. No one would ever be…

No… she whispered inwardly and closed her eyes. No, this is not real. It's not real… anymore…

She gasped and her eyes snapped open again. The Hunter was staring at her maniacally, leaning to her with her hand clutching a wand pointed at her, and for a moment, the insufferable physical pain returned.

NO! This… this isn't real either! Snap out of it, Farkhali!

The images before her changed at lightning speed, driving her into madness.

NO! she cried again in her mind. It's going to be okay, it's going to be okay, it's going to be okay…

She forced the darkness of her mind onto herself again. The search continued. She carefully inspected her memories, keeping safe distance from them, avoiding direct confrontation. And yet, she failed again.

"This is your new home," a rough voice told her. It was a government official, clad in expensive velvet robes with golden leaf patterns on the rims. He wore a number of golden rings with rubies and diamonds and a piece of rich white fur sprinkled with dark dots around his neck. The only thing she remembered clearly of his face was his nose which looked like a falcon's beak.

She looked up to him timidly. "But isn't this…"

"Right, it's a mine."

"But you said home…"

"Of course. It's a home. For filth like you."

He grabbed her skinny hand and pulled her toward a cavern whose walls and ceiling were strengthened by a number of wooden pillars and brackets. A number of men were helping themselves to some kind of drink which she strongly suspected to be skooma. Upon their arrival, they turned to the newcomers and immediately, their eyes rested on Farkhali.

"Oh, a cute little kitty," one of them drawled and smacked his mouth. "Brought us a new toy, Azhad?"

"Caught her thieving downtown," the official replied, squeezing her hand painfully. She averted her eyes, pinning them to the ground.

"So about the papers…"

"There's no need for that. She's a homeless filth, she ain't got no papers."

"Neat," the miner snickered and took Farkhali's hand which was handed to him roughly. The little Khajiit was forced to look at him and smell his foul breath. "Welcome home, kitty," the man said with a sneer. "Before you settle down, we have a small gift for you."

"Well, I'll be excusing myself," the man in the velvet robes waved to the miners.

"Wait!" Farkhali cried. "Don't leave me here! Please!"

The man gave her one last look full of contempt before exiting the mine. Farkhali felt her other hand being grabbed by another man. She looked up in dismay.

The memory faded before her eyes as she forced herself to take a deep breath and set it aside. Slowly, her determination was leaving her. She wanted to just curl up in a corner and cry, but she gritted her teeth and went on. Inadvertently, she called forth another memory.

Another Redguard man was sitting on a bench, crunching on a stale slice of bread. A broken pickaxe was resting on his lap and he scrutinized it with a sigh. He then lifted his gaze and his eyes pierced Farkhali. His deep blue eyes were the only thing that set the man apart from the rest of the miners. There was no malice in them, only years of struggles and pain, and also a kind of hardness which she failed to describe. He watched her thoughtfully for a moment.

"Get out," he said.

The Khajiit girl did not move.

"I said get out," he repeated.

She gave him a pleading look full of sadness and despair. He sighed.

"I'm really not good with kids," he shook his head. Then he pulled out a plain steel dagger and pointed it at her face. She took a step backwards.

"Don't go asking me for help," he grunted. "I cannot help you. In this world, you can only help yourself." He put the dagger back in its sheath, removed it from his belt and threw it in her direction. She caught it shakily.

"Now get out," he told her again. "There's only so much you need to survive."

She clutched the dagger and staggered backwards, out of the cave and into the heat of the dry, Hammerfell summer. With the blade hidden behind her back, she looked around. A man was examining a pile of ore loaded onto a wagon there. It was the same skeletal man who had encouraged his associates to entertain themselves with her body some time ago. The same man who kept putting her through the mill from the first moment he had laid his eyes on her. She despised him. The roots of her hatred for him ran so deep they had become a part of herself. She decided to turn around and walk away, but he raised his head and their eyes met. He grinned at her, as he often did, and suddenly she felt all the strength retreating from her legs. She watched as he approached her, shivering as cold flooded her despite the hot weather which made the air around them flicker.

"Come to have some fun?" he snorted. She watched rooted to the spot. He stretched out his hand and–

"Don't touch me," she snarled suddenly.

"Sorry, what was that?" he asked her derisively.

She looked straight into his eyes, gaining confidence from who knew where. "Don't touch me," she repeated.

He let out a dry laugh like the grinding sound of a saw. "Are you trying to oppose me, filth? Are you sure? You know how it goes… bad girls get punished." He leaned to her and she cringed.

"No!" she cried out. His hand found her cheek but she suddenly charged forward, knocking him down in the process. He landed square on the hard ground and groaned in pain and anger. Farkhali felt a kick in the stomach and for a moment, she was breathless. She quickly rolled away and unsheathed the dagger, pointing it at her opponent.

"So, the little beast bared its teeth," the man spat. "But it's okay, I'll make sure you remember your pla—"

Farkhali darted forward, clutching the dagger with both hands. The man's eyes widened and he tried to dodge the attack. He underestimated the slight Khajiit girl who put everything into this small speck of hope. She was fast and light on her feet. The dagger buried itself deep into the man's stomach. He gasped and let out a gurgling sound. She stared at her hands, pulling the dagger out forcefully. Then, her hand shakily reached his pocket and took whatever gold it found.

Staggering away, she did not dare look back. Soon, her totter turned into uncertain trot, and the trot into gallop as she kept speeding up. She would escape this place. After all those horrible years, she would be free. She would find a carriage, bribe the driver and leave this cursed land for good. She had no family or friends, no one was waiting for her return. She would go wherever she pleased, with no one to stop her anymore. She could do anything.

And with that, Farkhali left the sunny world of Hammerfell and sent it back to the swirling sea of memories, a touch calmer than before.

The blackness that surrounded her did not last long. Suddenly, she found herself in another place at another time. She looked around. This was definitely Skyrim, with its grey, grim weather and harsh winds. A lone farm was standing in the middle of the tundra, and she suspected it was somewhere close to Windhelm. Maybe somewhere between Windhelm and Dawnstar. Strangely enough, she could not recall having lived such a moment. An Argonian man was tending to a couple of horses stabled under a frail roof while a woman of the same race was harvesting whatever grew at the small field behind the low house with thatch roof. A feeling of anxiety filled Farkhali, and a number of thoughts crossed her mind and made her feel nauseous. She winced internally. This was not her memory, nor were those her thoughts.

She was now in an Argonian body, holding a basket filled with mountain flowers. While the little girl in the memory skipped merrily, Farkhali felt the owner of the memory fret in apprehension. It clashed with her thoughts and in a way, it was painful. She had no idea what was happening, but the prospect of entering someone else's mind seemed too valuable for her to pass on it. Never mind the dangers, it could prove advantageous to know more about her enemy. And so she braced herself, letting herself be absorbed by the memory. She felt alien thoughts taking over her mind.

A cloud of dust and snow had risen on the horizon and a number of riders on horses appeared, quickly approaching the farm. At a closer look, Farkhali could see they were all clad in Imperial armors, one of them even holding a standard. A mid-aged man whose armor was shinier than the others went ahead and tugged at his horse's reins upon reaching the field. He dismounted and greeted the Argonian woman with a slight bow. The man who had been tending to the horses joined her quickly, welcoming the Imperial with a reserved, apprehensive look in his face.

"Good day," the newcomer said with a wide smile. "It is my pleasure to announce that your family is one of the few lucky winners who are to provide space, accommodation and supplies for the Imperial army. As a compensation, the Legion is sworn to protect you and your family from any harm that may come to you in this war."

"I haven't heard anything about this," the Argonian man murmured gruffly. "Go away."

"You have no right to refuse the liberators of Skyrim," the soldier objected. "You are, by the Imperial law, obliged to provide us with everything we need and serve the country if the necessity arises."

"No Imperial law is valid in this territory, soldier. Leave this land at once."

"Are you, Argonians, siding with the Stormcloaks who would put your kind in the front line to be slaughtered like pigs without a second thought?" the Imperial asked incredulously.

"We are not siding with anyone. We bought a land in the middle of nothing so we could work every single day from dawn to dusk just to survive. This farm is like our child. I won't allow anyone to trample it. Not even the liberators of Skyrim."

"You will…"

"I said no and that is final."

The soldier pressed his lips tightly together and narrowed his eyes, giving the Argonian couple a look full of contempt. "We will be back," he said and returned to his horse. His companions joined him, riding back to the approaching cloud of dust.

The Argonian man turned to the girl standing aloof through whose eyes Farkhali was watching the scene. "Taveera, get in the barn," he ordered.

"But da…"

"I said get in the barn. Now."

She shuffled away unwillingly, heading for a taller wooden building located next to the house. She entered the dark interior and shut the door behind her, but stayed close to it, finding a crevice through which she could watch her parents. They seemed to have a heated discussion about something, but stopped abruptly when more soldiers from the Legion approached them. Standing out among them was a tall man with short grey hair and sharp features wearing a gilded version of the Imperial armor with the Imperial dragon proudly exhibited on his chest. He bowed to the couple and smiled slightly, but there was no warmth in his eyes and in the firm stance that he took.

"Greetings," he said. Farkhali felt a flood of negative emotions taking over her momentarily, anger swirling wildly together with hatred, despair and anguish. "My name is Tullius and I have been assigned to lead the Imperial Legion in Skyrim. With all due respect, I would like to ask of you in the name of the Legion to kindly provide us with all the commodities necessary to enable our further advance on the Stormcloak holds. It is in your own interest to do so, as you will gain protection and special privileges, as well as glory worthy of war heroes. Should you, however, refuse to support us, then, by the Imperial law under the authority of Emperor Titus Mede II., the Legion will be forced to take legal action to prevent any further disobedience of this kind."

"In other words, you're threatening us," the Argonian man stated dryly.

"You must understand we do this for the good of the people of Skyrim. And that also includes you."

"We do not share the same opinion, General," the father said. "Leave. You are not welcome here."

"You will let us stay," Tullius breathed, and a threat hung in the air, clear as the day.

"We will most certainly not. We do not support this war."

"Then you are blind fools who do not deserve to live in this land. The Legion will be taking it for its own."

"You don't have the right to do this!" the woman spoke for the first time, her sharp, crispy voice carrying to distance. "We bought it to live a peaceful life here!"

"And yet you refuse to let the liberators help you keep your peace?"

"Are you telling me you're fighting for peace?" the man grumbled. "What nonsense. Get out. Now."

"If you're not willing to host us, you will give us your farm."

"Not in your dreams. This is our land and you are trespassing. Get. Out. Now."

The man in the shiny polished armor who had first spoken to the couple stepped up, his fists clenched and an irate scowl on his face. "You dare call the Imperials trespassers?" he whispered dangerously.

"Yes, you are nothing but foul trespassers and deserve nothing more than to rot in Oblivion!" the woman snarled. The man grabbed her wrist in an instant and twisted it, tossing her to the ground. She cried out and so did her husband who tried to press himself in between the two antagonists. Another soldier pulled him away and pinned him to the ground.

"No!" the girl in the barn yelled. The eyes of the legionnaires turned her way.

"What was that?" Tullius asked, setting for the barn.

"A… a pig," the woman stammered.

"That was no pig," he drawled. "Let's see…"

The girl staggered backwards the moment the door slammed open, staring at the tall man before her in horror. He snorted and grabbed her by the collar, dragging her ruthlessly toward the group of people on the field. Aside from an avalanche of raging emotions, Farkhali now felt physical pain as well, as the tightened collar prevented the girl from breathing freely and the ground below tore her skin, creating innumerable tiny wounds.

"No, please! Not my daughter!" the woman pleaded.

"Ma…" the girl moaned in a thin voice and Farkhali could feel hot tears sliding down her cheeks.

"General, what shall we do with them?" the soldier who was holding down the father asked, his eyes fixated on his captive.

"Teach them respect," Tullius uttered coolly. "But… preserve them."

A hand rose above the girl but Farkhali suddenly felt herself being pulled out of the memory, darkness spreading before her eyes. She gasped as she felt countless emotions burst inside her head, but then the alien presence left her and she was in the room again, squinting as the light around her blinded her. Her captor was gripping a pillar, panting and staring at her with a savage look in her eyes.

"You…" she hissed. "How dare you…"

Farkhali's expression hardened despite shaking heavily herself. "Release me," she said quietly. "You have no chance of winning a mental fight against me."

"You'll pay…"

"You're weak," the Khajiit continued. "A weak, blind, hatred driven cretin who would do anything to exact her revenge, even if it meant associating herself with exactly the same kind of people as the one you despise so much. You are so weak that you will never find what you seek."

"Silence," the Hunter snapped, pressing her fingers to the stone convulsively. "You will not tell me…"

Farkhali could sense her uncertainty. Without the feeling of triumph, without the slightest feeling of satisfaction, she used the last bit of her energy to activate her spell and tug at her opponent's weakness.

"Release me," she said calmly. The Hunter looked up and their eyes met. Farkhali locked her in her gaze and forced all her will onto her, not bothering with restraining herself. "The elves won't help you achieve anything. They won't even let you."

"I…"

"You must…" Farkhali took a deep breath. Maintaining the spell was difficult and she felt her mind drifting away slowly. She clenched her fists and her nails dug into the skin on her palms, causing her to wince again. "You must let go…"

The Hunter stood up shakily. Hesitantly, she pressed two invisible buttons on the pillar. The light faded and Farkhali found herself falling to the ground. She let out a shriek as she hit the ground, but did not let herself rest upon it. Shakily, she rose on her elbows and tripped the Argonian, making her sink beside her. The Hunter snarled and bared her teeth like a beast. Farkhali quickly grabbed the whip lying just a few feet from her and smashed its handle against her head. Her opponent lost consciousness almost immediately.

Breathing heavily, the Khajiit searched through her pockets. Not able to find anything, she took the wand the Argonian had been gripping and crept out of the room. A pair of footsteps was clapping silently through the corridor she found herself in. She crawled in the shadows, using them to explore the area. Not too far from her was a trapdoor and she hurried towards it. She had a difficult time opening it with her trembling fingers, but at last, she squeezed herself into the gap which opened before her. As she shut the door again, her hand slipped and she fell down from the metal ladder, hitting the cold stone floor underneath.

Her senses registered the sound of dripping water echoing through the sewer before her body finally gave in and darkness spread around her.

*prepares for a shower of rotten eggs and insults aimed at her direction*

Well… this was originally supposed to be only a half of the chapter, but since my hand just kept writing and the words almost materialized before me, it ended up like this. I was thinking of writing a separate fanfic featuring Farkhali's childhood and her path to the Thieves Guild (probably M rated), but I'm not sure if I'm going to find the time to do that. Anyway, if you're still wondering – as strange as it might seem, Farkhali comes indeed from Hammerfell.

As for Tullius… you might have noticed I don't like the guy. In my opinion, he's no different from Ulfric and I honestly hated him in the game, so this is a little manifestation of my approach. I think he might be even worse, since Ulfric seemed kind of straightforward while Tullius adopted the modern politician style with all the scheming and sly deceit. Well, but Aislinn definitely didn't choose to fight for Tullius himself. And, after reading more of my fanfic, you might come to not like him either. :D

I'll try to write the next chapter as soon as possible since I know exactly what I want to put in there but I'm not sure how fast I'm going to manage it with all the school stuff going on. That said, many thanks to everyone who reviewed or PMed me and supported me. I finally got over some stuff and got on my feet again, so hopefully I'm going to stay that way. Also, many thanks to dart for being always there for me, not only when it comes to beta reading my stories.

I would also like to apologize for my previous outbursts concerning your reviews. I think I might have taken my own story too seriously. Now that I have so much stuff to do and only write when I have time and when I'm not too tired to, I'm starting to appreciate the mere process of writing and putting my ideas "on the paper". I'm sorry I was so depressed for not getting reviews. However, I'm still very happy for every review I get and I'd be thrilled to chat with you about (not only) my story if you're ever interested.

Pietersielie:Wow, you find Bryn and Ardy sleazy and distasteful? :o Now that's slightly disturbing, it seems I wrote them differently than I thought. Well then… what shall I do with that? :D

Twillin:We all like dragons. And cats. :D
I daresay Ardur is interesting, yeah. And essential, although Aislinn doesn't know that yet. I kinda thought him and Tye up one day, fantasizing about something in my story, without the real intention to actually put them there and publish it. But before I knew it, I was developing their characters further and thinking up stories from their past and soon I considered them a proper part of the story. And so they ended up meeting Aislinn for real. :D
Many thanks for your wishes! I think I'm better now. Dunno how long it's going to last but I'll try to take better care of myself. Hope you're faring well yourself. ^^

Thanks to everyone for supporting me, reviewing, favoriting and following the story! Stay tuned!

Mirwen