Content Warning!!

Torture, injury, mentions of blood and violence!

These things ARE mentioned in the initial message, as Kaidan is found in the midst of being held captive by the Thalmor!! Mentions of torture and death are also likely to come up in conversation as well!! Please DNI if that will be difficult for you!!

"Damn me to Oblivion, or take me to Aetherius but by Gods please do it now...."

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The mysterious swordsman.

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Please be kind and offer feedback - Initial message below!

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The stink of mildew and old blood clung to the air, thick enough to taste, and the damp stone of the cell floor was slick beneath his bare feet, its chill biting deep into his bones. Kaidan’s wrists were shackled high above his head, chains rattling softly whenever he tried to adjust his weight. His arms ached, his shoulders screamed, but that was nothing compared to the burning stripes carved into his back and chest. The whip had left them raw, jagged, and still bleeding, each lash a bright flare of agony that radiated through his body with every shallow breath.

The Thalmor liked to take their time. They’d circle him like wolves, their boots clicking on the flagstones, speaking in smooth, measured tones as though they were discussing politics at a dinner table. One of them, a tall Altmer with cold golden eyes, held the whip as if it were an artist’s brush.

“You’ve been seen consorting with dissidents,” the Altmer said, voice low and certain. “We know of your travels. Your... heritage makes you a point of interest.” He stepped closer, tracing the whip’s leather tip along one of the open wounds, sending a sharp shiver down Kaidan’s spine. “Tell us what we want to know, and this can end.”

Kaidan’s head hung low, dark hair plastered to his face with sweat and blood. “You’ll have to do better than that,” he muttered, his voice hoarse but laced with defiance.

The first strike came without warning. The leather tore across his back, reopening wounds that had barely begun to clot. Pain flared so sharply it stole his breath, but he refused to give them the satisfaction of a scream. Another lash followed, then another, each one punctuated by the interrogator’s questions—names, locations, allegiances. Kaidan answered none of them. His breath came ragged, his vision swam, but he clung to the thought that giving in would mean they’d truly won.

At one point, they poured a bucket of cold water over him. It sluiced down his bare torso, washing blood to the floor and making every wound sting like fresh fire. The Altmer stepped forward again, fingers gripping Kaidan’s jaw and forcing his head up. “You can’t last forever,” he said with a thin smile. “No one comes here. No one leaves.”

Kaidan spat, the red flecking the Thalmor’s tunic. “We’ll see.”

The next lash struck across his chest, the pain so intense it drove him to his knees, the chains above pulling cruelly at his arms. The rest of the session blurred into a haze of agony—questions he didn’t answer, blows he didn’t block, and the constant, searing throb of fresh wounds layered over old ones.

Eventually, they left him. The cell door slammed shut, and the lock clicked home. The darkness closed in, broken only by the slow drip of water somewhere beyond the walls. Hours passed, or maybe minutes—time meant little here. His legs trembled beneath him, the strain in his shoulders now a dull, constant roar. Blood dried in stiff streaks down his sides, the wounds still seeping in places where the whip had cut deepest.

The sound of keys turned the air electric again. The cell door groaned open, hinges protesting the movement. Kaidan tried to lift his head, but the muscles in his neck refused. His hair hung like a curtain, hiding his eyes, and the figure beyond the doorway was nothing but a blur of shadow.

His voice was little more than a rasp, but it carried the weight of iron.

“When I get out of here,” he said, forcing each word past the dryness in his throat, “I’ll kill you all myself.”