The chains jangled as the big Nord walked, wearing ragged breeks and shirt, the noise emanated from his hands clasped before him. His height matched the slimmer, armoured soldiers around him in golden bronze armour forged in an eagled style. Their large eyes, height and slim, strong figures defined them as Altmer. A race known for their arrogance but the iron straight back and raised head of the Nord suggested a similar pride. The crowd gathered outside of the roadside Inn looking at him with a mix of curiosity, pity and in a few embarrassed sympathy as if they wanted to do something about his situation but could not.
Beorning shook the memory away, took a large glug of wine and returned to his audience.
"My memory fails for much of the next few years. The day after capture I was handed over to the Thalmor, I was surprised not to be summarily executed but they just shackled me and marched south through the Nibenay valley. The days and events of my confinement blur into one. I do remember using the memory of my mother to march proudly down through Cyrodill, I held onto the view that the Thalmor were just my honour guard and despite their bullying, beatings and berating I managed to hold onto that. Especially through the villages with their mix of people. How many days does it take to walk from the Jerall Mountains down to Bravil?
Just south of Bravil I was led onto one of the Aldmeri Dominion ships and handed over to a Thalmor Justiciar, I can't remember his name even though I swore I'd take revenge on him. Every day on that ship was a day when he could think up some new, degrading punishment for the 'Talos heretic'. Clothes were taken from me, I was forced to scrub the decks in the heat of the sun until my skin was so burnt and cracked I could barely move. My skin wept in a way that I could not. Once my skin was cracked the crew would dangle me into the sea to see if the salt could force another pained groan from me, they'd take bets on what things would force a scream from my lips. Bastinadoes one day, acid dropped into open wounds on another, those days of pain were interminable.
Soon enough the heart was taken from me once aboard that ship, the uncomfortable constant beating of the ship on the sea was too alien for a mountain man like myself. I couldn't eat from sea sickness and I couldn't sleep either, without food or rest I quickly became a shell, my hair was ragged and salt laden. The isolation of being something hated and despised by the crew whilst utterly under their control snapped any vestige of pride I'd maintained through Cyrodiil. I shut down, my spirit crept inside some dark hollow of myself and I became more like a tortured beast than a man. The only slight respite was the vituperation that Justicier received when we tied up in the dock. The Aldmeri he handed me over to gave a very harsh criticism of the state I'd been pushed to. I had brief fantasies that my tortures were over, particularly when I received a good meal on dry land.
Then I was in the back of a cart, shackled hand and foot. I gathered that I'd been taken to Summerset Isle and handed over to a Sorceror high in the councils of the Thalmor. Started off nice with food and a decent bed, trying to get my trust I assumed. The daily petty torture stopped and an interrogation began. It started after a great meal with wine, was followed by friendly queries around other Talos worshippers, particularly of any important Imperial ones. I didn't have any answers so those questions soon stopped. They kept returning to a word, Do-vak-in or something, which I'd never heard of before. They spent hours on that word and other similar to it, it always sounded like they shouted them. Suddently the softly approach stopped and they tried various angry verbal arguments. When those produced no answers it moved onto physical tortures, nothing to maim or destroy me but the pain... indescribably incandescent is my best description. A wand would touch me and the pain would move like a lagging lightning up the limb touched, until it would burst into my brain like an exploding ball and I'd pass out. They'd tell me they could stop the pain at any time if I'd just tell them about this Dovakin thing. I couldn't, they wouldn't and I'd wake up in my cell covered in my own waste.
Some time later, a day maybe, they'd sluice my filth from me with buckets of water and start again. This went on for weeks. It appears they couldn't stand the smell of me either. I had sores by then from uncleanliness and the chafing of the chains, I don't think I cared and I think I'd stopped eating and drinking. I was just hoping to die. The questions changed, there was a lot more about my family: my mother, my father and my sisters. I answered, they seemed very interested in my father and knew that he was not my biological father. This was important to them I think, I didn't know why though. They still wouldn't let me die. Whenever I got close they'd wash me, heal me and feed me up. Despite my weak protestations. Then I'd go back to my cell deep in the bowels of these strange Altmer buildings that seemed almost to have been grown rather than built. Beorning looked around, not like this place. Give me solid stone and wood any day.
I don't know if this period lasted months or more. Eventually they gave up on the torture but still didn't kill me. They just shackled me in the cell and every once in a while the Sorceror would come and take blood from me. I guess for some potions or experiments but never knew why they wanted my blood or what for, as a Man I think they considered me some sort of beast and never spoke to me. I became resigned to this life, I ate the rough rations and drank the water and existed somehow down in this cell.
I think I lost my mind or myself somewhere during this time, at some point they infected me with something, a disease or a poison, and the guards laughed that now I'd never get to Sovngarde. That was when the nightmares began, always about vague and violent hunts where I'd savour the taste of raw meat. These seemed to come regularly but I couldn't tell if there was a pattern or not. In the constant dark you lose track of day and night, winter and summer, Masser and Secunda.
I also remember there were recurring dreams where a beautiful dark haired woman in light blue robes would come, lay hands on my forehead and tell me to just stay alive. Never anything more than that and I don't know when they started, but they'd been around much longer than the nightmares. Maybe they'd started soon after I arrived. I couldn't tell you but I know when they ended. It was a few nights before I met you Timo.
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