Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-29461586-20140331114510/@comment-2.31.114.131-20150515185114

Don't-Drop-the-Soap led him across the sea of ghosts and into Septimus Signus' outpost and then dropped the soap onto the dwarven door, rendering it impossible to open. Septimus then started to stab Don't-Drop-the-Soap because, in his words, "The heart is now deeper than the mirth of the snow mer!". Nazeem snook out of the shack and left Don't-Drop-the-Soap to his death. With shaking, terror-stricken eyes, he watched Septimus leave his outpost, shouting inane languages into the air.

As he strode across the ice leagues towards the sanctity of Winterhold, some distant guardsmen closed in on him. Uneasy, Nazeem started to walk back, but a group of annoyed-looking horkers blocked the path back to Septimus' outpost. The guards began to run attentively and unsheathed their weapons.

Tremoring with fear, Nazeem stripped off his fine clothes and leapt into the freezing water, beside a platform of ice. Immediately, his body froze over and his muscles stiffened like rope tethering a man from a noose. With his head bobbing in and out of the water, he half-heard the guardsmen crowing above him. They took firm grip of his naked collar bone and ragged his writhing body out of the water. The leader of the guard plunged his blade straight into Nazeem's loins and he squealed with despair. Another fur-coated hand brayed his head and he fell unconscious.

Upon waking up the next day, Nazeem found himself laying in a threadbare, gelid chamber. The ice underneath his bare thigh bit at his skin and he wriggled onto a patch of hay. He saw a cell door, and outside of that, two frost atronachs stomping around the icy place. He looked below his loincloth and all he saw was...