sevrend / YOUR LIFE IS ON CONTRACT

[ASHIRA THE QUICK .]

FIRST ONE TO COMPLAIN

LEAVES WITH A BLOOD STAIN

tagged sevrend, with 467 words, wearing this.
s'kinda short. i hope that's okaay. i just didn't want to over-step anything c:

it was quite a long travel from solitude to whiterun, one that ashira luckily had the time to make. not in one go, however. because of her dislike of horses, she rarely purchased mares to carry her around, and generally did her own travelling. so walking from solitude to whiterun was rather.. dull, and tiring. and with no ounce of effort within herself to make a camp fire and hunt something down for dinner, ashira had stopped in at moorside to grab a bite and a room. it was supposed to be a quick visit, just a simple night and possibly a bite to eat whenever she woke, but then she'd be off again to delivery news of her latest completed bounty.

sometime after she'd curled up within her bed, two guards barged through her door, their weapons drawn, and motives obviously clear. ashira was seized in a matter of seconds, despite her struggling. even the dagger that she'd hidden underneath her pillow served as no use, her only strike with it being stopped before her arm could really catch momentum. the two men held her arms firmly and started to lead her from her room, telling her to hush up so she didn't disturb anyone else peacefully trying to get their rest. ashira obliged, but only for the simple fact that she didn't want a larger crowd than there might be already; her face was already tainted enough from her reputation. this wouldn't make it look any better.

they escorted her to what she presumed to be some sort of interrogation, torture room. before they shoved her inside, however, she was searched for anything on her person, and relieved of any items she still had on her when she had fallen asleep. unfortunately, her weapons were all back at the inn, her dagger having been the only weapon she'd kept close by when sleeping. they only relieved her of her gloves, boots, and necklace, allowing her to keep the rest of her armor secured when they were satisfied she wasn't packing anything else.

"why am i here?" she demanded, only getting a nasty shove as a response. it took her almost off her feet, and she fell backwards into the room. the door was slammed shut behind her, and the sound of a click to a lock echoed. a small growl filtered from the back of her throat in frustration, pulling herself to her feet. instead of inspecting the door, ashira turned to observe the rest of the room she'd had her back at, narrowing her eyes as they adjusted to the lighting. whatever she'd apparently done, she wasn't very interested in finding out the sorts of punishments they had planned. the room reeked of dried blood, an unsettling thing to breathe in.

.

[rig]

your life is on contract ---

[atrb=border, 0, true] 554 words | private – ashira the quick

[atrb=border,0,true] typically a prisoner was left for days. deprived of food and sleep for long enough, even the most resolute of wills crumbled. each time an inmate began to drift into slumber, the guards would douse them with ice water. with the pass of every meal time, they would be left wanting. slowly – though sometimes quickly – they would unhinge, their mind fraying beneath the weight of their exhaustion and hunger. they saw things that did not exist and heard voices from ghostly throats. before long the interrogation became obsolete as a prisoner either vented their darkest secrets in exchange for reprieve or became too delirious to resist questioning. only the thallmor were more efficient. luckily for the khajit, sevrend did not have the luxury of time enough to break her mind. a more direct approach was required. a shrill cling-clang sung out through the dungeons, its threatening rhythm echoing off the cavernous stone walls. sevrend approached her cell, his drawn sword rolling across every cell bar along the way. the sound was not only a means of intimidation, but also a statement. gone was the generous jarl who expected nothing of his people he did not expect from himself. gone was mercy and temperance. gone was his very humanity. in matters of daedra worship, sevrend was unforgiving. halting at the door to the nameless prisoner’s cell, sevrend regarded her pitiful form with the most vengeful contempt. in only one night she’d been reduced to this ragged mess he saw before him, further proof that daedra did nought but poison those who sold themselves into their service. it revolted the jarl, but you could not gleam that from his expression. his face was stone. with the tittering click of key and lock, the door swung wide, almost seeming to surrender to the jarl. blade held wide at his side in an arching, ominous stance, sevrend approached, his steps methodical. the door was left ajar behind him. if she wished to run such a foolish gauntlet, sevrend would gladly end her. “you wear the garb of a reach witch.” facts without emotion. “for whom do you curse yourself?” closer still came the jarl, looming over the creature with cold authority. “hircine? what an irony that would be, the cat bowing before the dog. or perhaps malacath? your vermin kind have every reason to bleed for the prince of outsiders.” in truth, sevrend bared no ill will for the catfolk of elsweyr. in his experience they were a resourceful, intelligent and affable kind and as an outsider himself, he could empathise with their plight. it was a shame that she made him say such things. “these lands belong to stendarr. did you truly expect such bold blasphemy would go unpunished here? did you actually believe morthal herself would not crush you where you stand? we covet dearly the blood of those who covet the affection of daedra. you will be made to regret.” sevrend knew her not to be a reach witch, the fur upon her body made that much self evident... but she wore their rags upon her back willing. that was enough to suspect her of loyalty to morthal’s enemies and of the crimes committed against hjaalmarch yesterday evening. unusual, indeed, that these crimes were committed at roughly the same time she arrived in the capital.

[ASHIRA THE QUICK .]

FIRST ONE TO COMPLAIN

LEAVES WITH A BLOOD STAIN

tagged sevrend, with 724 words, wearing this.
sorry for the wait. hope this is alright c:

for a khajiit, especially a travelling one, this kind of treatment was always normally expected at one point or another in that feline's life- but that didn't rid the shock and complete frustration of the way she was being manhandled and forcefully placed in an uncomfortable situation. there'd been days where she'd been thrown out of markarth's gates for the simple fact that she was wearing the type of armor she was; although she looked the part to want revenged and drive nords from skyrim, she wasn't into slaying men for the sake of power and accomplishment. the fact that she was khajiit just made the gawks and glares even worse. she'd expected to find a lot of problems in morthal, but none that were so direct towards her; she'd only every really heard stories of dark elves having major problems within its borders.

her question was given no answer, and the guards quickly vanished from sight and earshot. just when she'd been about to give up her hope, and make herself comfortable in one of the cell's nooks, the echoing sound of steel on metal made her jaw clenched. narrowing her eyes, she listened as the bone-chilling sound grew closer without hesitation, and something within her gut instantly told her that whoever was wielding that weapon was headed straight for her location. moments passed that felt like hours, and when the dark figure loomed in front of her cell's door, ashira couldn't make out all of the man's face, important details like his eyes being hidden from the gloomy shadow. but when the door was unlocked, and it swung open, ashira caught a good glimpse of him, almost second-guessing herself when she realized who was standing before her.

immediately, the first thing he spoke of was her armor. a sneer pulled at her lips, and her ears bent back with distaste for his tone of voice, but she knew that wearing such garb was going to get her misunderstood attention. at his second question, ashira thought he was asking for her name; lips parted to spit it at him, not having anything to hide with her title, but then he continued. confusion washed over her glare, and for a moment, her eyes faltered in their bent back position. he started to name off daedric names, and after a moment, some of began to make sense. if she wasn't so ticked off about having been dragged from her paid-in-full bed, and tossed into a filthy cold room to presumably rot, ashira might have had it in her to laugh at his ridiculous accusations. she tried to imagine herself, stooping so low to take on the alliance of a daedric idol. she barely had enough faith for the divines- lending any loyalty to a daedra was completely out of the question.

"i'm well aware as to who owns this land," ashira responded after taking a moment to cool herself down, and to re-think her words in a less fiery manner. "one of the eight divines that forgives those who've done favours for daedra, so long as they commit the rest of their lives to righteousness. i'm not sure how many times i've heard the saying 'may stendarr have mercy on you, for vigil has none to spare'." crossing her arms over her chest, she shifted her weight onto her right leg, popping it out a bit with some attitude. "why would i travel to a city ruled by a jarl who's a vigilant of stendarr if i was involved with daedra? i don't have a death wish." arching an eyebrow with curiosity, ashira tried her best to keep her golden eyes from fluttering to his sword's blade. the longer their altercation longed, the more fur started to stick up on the back of her neck, each second causing a flash of some horrific way he could slice her life away.

"now, i'll ask again," she started, giving him a hard look as her voice grew more demanding. "why am i here? just for your suspicions?" if she'd known that the man standing before her actually was morthal's jarl, she probably would've toned her aggression down quite a bit. but, seeing as how she was in the dark, literally and figuratively, the only thoughts racing through her mind were ones of survival.

.