Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-16047389-20140226184337/@comment-16047389-20140507155021

Nazeem proceeds to dance in front of Don't-Drop-the-Soap in a manner that involves several middle fingers, rump shakes, and rasberries. Don't-Drop-the-Soap does not look amused.

"Guards! Guards!" calls Nazeem. "Come join me in my dance of mockery!"

There is no response. Nazeem is rather disappointed. He was hoping that the Guards would be willing to join in his decidedly insulting dance.

Very well, time for step 2 of his ingenious plan. Nazeem strips himself down, beats himself, and lies on the cell floor. Then, in a frail voice, Nazeem once more calls for the Guards.

"G-Guards...help..." cries Nazeem.

But there is still no response. At this point, Nazeem is becoming rather miffed. Then, the sound of footsteps comes from down the hall. Don't-Drop-the-Soap takes a look at the source, and suddenly goes pale. He quickly leaps onto the mat in his cell and pretends to be sleeping. As the footsteps approach, Nazeem finally sees why the Argonian was so terrified. Outside Nazeem's cell stands three masked Thalmor Agents.

"Yes," mutters the Thalmor in the middle. "This is the one."

At that, the other two unlock Nazeem's cell and proceed to bound and gag Nazeem, before placing a bag over his head. After hours of being half-carried, half-dragged on a long journey, the bag is finally removed, and Nazeem is ungagged. He looks around to find himself in what appears to be an ancient Nordic ruin. The room is filled with Thalmor Agents. At the far side of the room, is a hooded figure sitting in a throne, looking down at Nazeem. He is clearly the one in charge.