The Elder Scrolls: Dominion (BOOK 1: Legionnaire)

Chapter 19 - Such Influential Power

Mallus Sicarius grunted in his sleep. It was his stubborn dreams again. Always bothering him, most especially, at times when he needed to rest the most.

Another grunt later, and he woke up from his uncomfortable slumber. He was lying on a poor excuse for a bedroll, composed of hay and fur that made his face and nape itch. He tried sitting up, and stared at his accomodations.

The first adjective he could think of, when describing his cell, was filthy. The stone walls were covered with moss and mildew, which made the room stink. Luckily for him, there was a small window for the smell to ward out of. And, his only companions were the various yet harmless skeevers who felt the need to leave their droppings on his already dirty floor, the same floor where he slept on.

For most of the time, when he wasn't busy talking to himself about a plan to escape, Mallus resorted to beating himself up for his unexpected stupidity. How could I be so dumb to camp near a Dominion city?! And, in a damn Ayleid ruin, no less! He thought it would have been much better if he had just directly attacked Kvatch. That would've been less damaging, and plus, they had the element of surprise against the Dominion. But, no! He felt sympathy for his lazy men, his so-called mighty task force, whose knees and backs were aching from walking all the way from the City to here. That led to them stopping for the night, which led to the ambush, which led to the them wearing ragged clothing, which signified their new statuses as prisoners of the Aldmeri Dominion. Now, instead of aching, his men's backs were now scarred and profusely bleeding. He knew, because he could hear their haunting screams in the dead of night, every night, as they were brutally tortured, one by one, piece by piece by those cursed Thalmor justiciars, in exchange for valuable and inexpendable information.

He had been stuck in this dingy cell for almost seven days now. Or, was it eight? Or six? No matter. He wasn't getting out, anyway. That is, unless one golden oppurtunity slips in.

For six to eight days, Mallus has been waiting, ever so patiently, for that "golden oppurtunity" to arrive. So far, he was still waiting. Although, there had been a few moments over the past days, when he would finally take action and escape from this High Elf-infested hole.

The first time, he had just woken up from his very first night in this godsforsaken cell. He spent the entire morning hatching an escape plan. It was evening when he looked around in his unhealthy cell for a wedge or a space to crawl out of, when he heard approaching footsteps. He paused his work to face his warden.

He knew instantly he was facing a feared Thalmor justiciar, judging from the dark hooded robes she was wearing. If she was not a sadist, Mallus would've fallen in love with her stunning beauty.

"Before we begin, may I, at least, know my interrogator's name, before she cuts me open, if you know what I mean?" He asked, teasingly.

"Don't worry. I'm no interrogator, although I still specialize in that field." She answered.

"I'm sorry. What was your name, again?"

"I'm not here to socialize with you, Legionnaire. This meeting is strictly business." She crossed her arms.

"Why? What do you need, besides gold, magic, a strong and cooperative army, and an ounce of dignity?" Mallus grinned at his sarcasm.

"I do not need what I already have, fool. I want what I cannot, yet I really want to, get. I want..." The justiciar leaned in a little closer, her head almost through the metal bars. "...You."

Mallus was taken aback by this proposition. "I'm flattered, love. But, unless you get me out of this shit heap, you won't be getting all of this." He gestured towards his entire body. Oh, the fun of dangerous flirting. If there was something Mallus enjoyed, it was trading innuendoes.