Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-12599067-20131223145721/@comment-12599067-20131225033329

(Also here.)

Somewhere in the Summerset Isles, Makoru stirred in his endless slumber, barely aware that his mortal form was chained to a wall deep in some shadowy dungeon. He had been like this for nearly five weeks, slowly wasting away while his soul was trapped in Oblivion. Although his metabolism had slowed greatly due to the fact his soul was in another plane, he was in desperate need of some food and a warm bed, because the Thalmor did little more than force some water down his throat every two days or so, occasionally giving him a piece of stale bread for good measure.

At first, he had struggled endlessly to escape, but even the immense strength he gained through lycanthropy could not break the steel chains that had held him. Although they were rusty and somewhat frail now, it didn't really matter. He wasn't going anywhere, they thought, so why bother keeping the chains in prime condition?

He felt lucky at first, that they had decided not to kill him. They decided to hang on to him, in belief that he could be useful in the future, maybe even tell them the location of the missing Elder Scroll. Unfortunately, he didn't think of the fact that there are things worse than bodily harm. Now, instead of the strain of torture that he had long trained to endure, he was suffering a fate far worse in these dungeons, without a single friend to protect him.