Yes, you guessed it: She cut off his right hand. Since he was right-handed, of course he'd miss that.

He sat in the corner of his cell shrouded by an almost foggy darkness; he had been a resident in the imperial cities prison district for a few months now, but already he could feel this damp depressing hell slowly eating away at him, the walls oozed a thin trickle of moisture covering most of the cell in a sickish kind of slime, and there was the smell of faeces, fear and sweat constantly lingering in the air. The food was always maggot ridden, and even for a nord the constant chill had started working at him deep into his bones.

"What I wouldn't give for just one damned wool blanket and a flagon of mead right about now" he thought shivering at the thought of a sweet flagon filled with the finest mead money could buy.

Days passed and noting ever changed, the usual ratings from that lunatic Dreth in the cell across the way and to the right, always screaming and shouting about what he has done and what he will do when he gets out. At first he tried talking with Dreth when the guards where blessedly occupied with something other than beating the prisoners or spiting into (and the gods alone knows what else) their food, but was rewarded with nothing except a flood of abuse, barely coherent and full of hate.

This night it seemed for once that Dreth was quiet, probably another of his twelve hour sleeping stints, the old dunmer may have a tongue sharper than an Akaviri blade but prison life had worn him away to a husk of the man he once may have been.

He could hear the guards now but their voices where muffled and distant, they where close enough to hear anything big going on in the cells below, but far enough away so they could not hear the steady scraping sound of wood on stone as the man named Demia delicately crafted his escape.

Back when he was a free man Demia had been quiet talented, strong and fit but with amazing grace and nimbleness for a nord, he was by no mean the greatest acrobat in the world nor the greatest swordsman but he knew enough to keep his head on his shoulders, the one thing that had always fascinated him though was locks, all manner of locks, how they worked, how they were made, and most importantly... how to open them.

For as a child Demia had made a very basic discovery, that all of the best things you could ever want in life were behind a lock of some sort. Although it was partly due to this hobby shall we say that he was in the predicament of being behind thick steel bars, rotting away in the dark like a rat trapped in a hole. Well that and the murder, but there was nothing to be done now except focus on escape.

Luckily his bed, if that's what you could call it, was made of hay and twigs and other such mulch, one such twig though was rather longer and sturdier than the rest, and although he doubted it would ever amount to anything in the long run, when imprisoned a man has a lot of time to think and thinking can be bad news in such a place so it was usually best to keep your hands busy and your mind occupied on something other than the prospect of dying in this dung heap.

For the past week and a half now Demia had been gently and ever so carefully shaping the stick to resemble a rather crude and bulky spike, whether it would break or not he would have to wait and see, all he could do now was hope and wait for his opportunity, it certainly wasn't any master lock pick, but it was thin enough now to slide in and out of the lock easily enough.

"Please don't break, please don't break" his mind repeated like a mantra, a silent prayer almost, not that he was much of a praying man, not to the nine divines any way.

It was full dark when he woke, he could hear Dreth rattling at his bars, screeching 'there coming hehe there coming for yooouu' as his voice carried and rang back from the walls like the shriek of a cat in heat. He climbed to his feet slowly and silently, something was going on here, looking out of the tiny slit at the top of his cell, his only view to the outside world, all was black the stars shimmering in the sky.

The guards very rarely came down to the cells this late, and by the sounds of things upstairs there was definitely more than one of them clattering and smashing about, he thought he could hear the plea of another but it was muffled and soon drowned out by the sounds of clattering armour and a rather sickeningly wet thud, then nothing for awhile, he stayed motionless ears straining for any tell tale sign of what was going on.

The door leading down from the top of the prison offices to the lower level of the cells slammed open with a loud crack that Demia was sure must have ripped it from the hinges, the noise was so intense that even Dreth had silenced to observe the situation, he may have been mad but he wasn't stupid, that was always a very worrying mix.

Figuring that he was in no immediate danger Demia crept closer to the bars to catch a glimpse of the poor unfortunate the guards where quite obviously struggling loudly with to get locked up in one of the prisons many festering pens below. He stayed motionless in his cell close enough to see but not to close as to be seen by others, not unless they really concentrated and by the sounds of it concentrating on him seemed to be at the bottom of the guards list right now.

They came falling down the stairs guards and prisoner in one massive jumble, it seems that whoever it was underneath the tangle of armour platted bodies had been fighting his inevitable fate with some force, but with the sudden impact and sheer weight that landed on top of him, the prisoners breathe left his body in a raspy wheeze as did all his fighting spirit in one full swoop.

He was a tall fair looking youngster, not the type you would expect to be fighting with the law, no this type was more suited to the nobler classes, courting young maidens, drinking rich wines and writing sonnets, the guards collected themselves with an impressive speed for men fully armoured and obviously tired of the nights events, just wanting to get it over with so they could get back to whatever the game of the night was, sometimes it was cards, others it was dice. They were not the smartest souls so the games where never that complex and always involved money.

They seized the boy before he could recover, picking him up by his hair and the seat of his pants, the two burliest guards hurled him into the first cell they came to with all their might, and once again Demia heard the sickening wet thud of meat hitting stone.

They closed the cell door and not a single person, prisoner or guard said a word, the guards where to out of breathe from the young upstart, who was now quite unconscious in his cell. And the two conscious prisoners, not wanting to draw the attention of the guard's anger stayed deathly still, and waited for the men to regain their breath and leave for the upper offices.

Things quieted down pretty quick after that, the new fish was undoubtedly knocked out for the night in the cell next door, the guards had gone back upstairs muttering and cursing the young fools attempt to get away.

Dreth stood at the bars of his cell, eyes glittering, nearly salivating in joy at the spectacle that had just gone on and the prospect of a young and bound to be dazed, fool to taunt when he awoke. Demia left him to it, sliding quietly from the bars back into the darker corner of his cell, where his bed and wooden pick lay.

'Soon' he thought 'maybe tomorrow even if I'm lucky and quick.' For now he needed sleep though, he wanted to be in a deep slumber before the young fool next door woke and Dreth started his ranting and taunting of the poor fellow.

Almost as an afterthought as he was lying down on his straw bed Demia envisioned ripping out Dreth's windpipe out and using it as a flute to play a distorted tune he could not quite remember now, around an open fire while dancing in a frenzied blood lust. He chuckled lightly to himself as he lay down, a huge grin spread across his usually stone like mask for once he thought he may even sleep well, or at least deeply enough.

Demia awoke to the distant rasping sound of Dreth's cackling, he looked up to see it was still nearly full dark out, maybe an hour had passed but no more than that surely.

Stiff and groggy Demia pulled himself up from the mulch beneath him catching the end of what Dreth was saying.

'Haha an Imperial pig eh, not much love from your kinsmen up there heh, look at me pig, look at me.' His voice cracked off the walls, getting an ever more increasing madness to it.

'No they don't love you do they, probably hang you, you know, can't have an imperial whelp like you running about causing trouble haha' Dreth said in air of superiority.

'Ugggggggh...' A heavy grunting moan escaped from the cell next to Demia's. 'W-w-where... ugh my head... where am I?' The boy stammered croaking every word from his dry mouth, and swollen face.

Demia was fully awake now, he strode over to the bars and casually propped himself up on them, dangling his arms just outside his cell, an act that would have earned him a swift whack across the hands with the 'beating' pole as that fat turd of a guard called it. But the guard was not here, and Demia knew he would not be able to sleep while Dreth had his fun.

'Oh I imagine they will torture you first of course, have to set an example and all hehehe' He was in full swing now, his tone almost pitying, if it was not for the obvious glee and the way his voice would shriek up an octave or two when he got to excited, you would almost think the spiteful elf was sincere.

'W-who are you? Where am I? Damn it answer me!'

The young prisoner next door was regaining some composure at least, Demia thought although he could not see him, his voice was sounding a little steadier.

'Who am I boy, I am your worst nightmare, I am Valen Dreth remember that name scum' he growled the last words with a hate and bile that was almost comical to Demia.

'Give it a rest Dreth, no one wants to hear your cursed mouth, you couldn't even give a mudcrab a nightmare, why don't you just shut up so we can all sleep, and before you bring the guards down again with your howling!' Demia said.

Dreth fell silent, he had forgotten about that dumb nord, and his sudden break in silence startled him just enough to skip a beat. He was about to answer with a full barge of insults as his anger rose in his throat, little dots skittered across his eyes as the rage grew ready to poor forth like a great tidal wave, when the door to the upper offices creaked and jingled as someone unlocked the large wooden door, it screeched open slowly and hurried voices where whispering to each other.

Demia stepped back from the bars in an instant, he hadn't heard anything from up above because all he could hear was Dreth's raving, but now he tuned all his senses to hear what was going on.

Dreth tittered lightly.

'Coming... coming for you imperial pig' Dreth mumbled a little shakily, because even he knew it was more likely one of the guards had heard him and was ready to help Dreth go to sleep for the night. But Demia knew better this was not the guards, or at least not prison guards; they barely made a sound.

And one thing Demia had learnt no matter what was going on a guard could just never be that silent; they always came blustering down the steps usually joking quiet loudly with each other regardless of the time, and if they were alone usually singing some funny little rhyme, or at least attempting to sing it any way, in that kind of broken monotone that guards across all time and worlds sang in.

Demia listened intently he could just about make out what they were saying now.

'They are dead... I know it.' Said a humble and saddened voice as it approached the bottom of the stairs.

'Please sire we have got to keep moving...' A young voice, firm, strong, and educated by the sounds of it.

Demia crept forward, slowly, not making a sound, he didn't realise it but he was holding his breath and sweat had broken out all over his body despite how cold it was down here.

"Surely not here, how could they find me here?" His panicked mind began to race. "No one knew I was alive, except a few, hell most of those that had found him afterwards thought he was dead now as well. Had they found him, did they somehow know he still lived, and hunted him to this place where they would finish him off once and for all?"

Images flashed before his eyes, blood, fire and steel, the image of a man in dark golden armour, his face missing from memory, and then the cliff, snow, ice and then black. That's all he could remember, and most of what he could remember was due to the friends that had found him afterwards and nursed him back into fit enough shape so he could disappear from sight forever.

'Yeah and look how well that turned out six weeks away and then penned up in here like a common cut purse.' His thoughts turned bitter, his fear was slowly cresting. If this was the end then he would at least go with some dignity.

He was at the bars again; careful not to draw any attention to himself this time and looked out at the dim passage way. Dreth was not to be seen, he had retreated into the safe dark of his cell upon hearing the unfamiliar voices. Demia turned slowly straining to see who was standing at the bottom of the stairs. But could see no one, he looked around and realised they had just approached the cell next to his.

There were four of them, three heavily armoured and one in fine regalia, but Demia could only concentrate on the three wearing the armour, it looked so similar to the golden armour he kept seeing in his memory flashes, so similar it could not have been coincidence. It was darker and more metallic, but it bore the same marks and makings. The fear swept him away; he fell back thudding soundlessly into the wall sliding down it as images once again flooded his vision and crippled him, blood, steel and fire, screaming, pleading women, the smell of burnt timber…

And all the time the golden armoured faceless man. He shook his head, vaguely aware that no one had come near his cell, they seemed only interested in the cell next to his, he heard voices speaking, but it was like listening to it through water, he shook his head again trying to clear the disorientation.

The voices where clearer now, they must be right in the next cell, they were not looking for him, he was growing more certain of that now. But why had they come, these Knights for that is what they must have been, where obviously connected with the golden armour he kept seeing in his mind's eye, and why did that armour cause him such fear? He tried desperately to clutch at memories that seemed to be slick with grease and always just out of reach.

A low rumbling sound started, a grinding of stone on stone, a loud click and the sound and smell of a lot of old dust and rubble falling to the ground, it finished as abruptly as it started, Demia could see a small plume of dust creeping out of the cell next to his.

"We better not close this one, there's no way to open it from the other side...looks like this is your lucky day." That same strong firm voice said, one of the knights, he must have been talking with that young whelp that was thrown in there earlier tonight. Demia was not stupid despite what people said about nords, he knew the knights must have opened a secret passage in the cell next to his and its current occupier now had a shot for freedom.

It must have been some one important with them a noble or even a member of the elder council, could it even be the Emperor himself Demia wondered, either way it did not matter, this was it, he had a shot at freedom himself! Now the only obstacle he had if he was successful in picking the lock with his home made wooden pick, was the large oak door that lead to the string of guards upstairs and freedom.

But now these knights had opened a secret passage he could use that. Surely it leads outside somewhere, all these secret escape tunnels that nobility used lead to safety.

He waited for the sounds of the others shambling down into the new found exit till they dwindled to nothing, he was listening for a long time, listening and waiting, a half hour must have passed at least and no other guards came. Dreth was as silent as the grave, although this bothered Demia he knew he had to act fast, the main thing that bothered him was that a fair amount of time had passed and no new guards had come down to investigate or close up the secret passage.

He scrambled over to his bed and found his crude pick, he clasped it tight in his hands, brought it to his lips kissed the lumpy cold stick and whispered for it to work. Once at the bars Demia gave a quick glance to his right and then to his left, he could see nothing and no one, he slid the lumpy pick slowly in to the lock, fumbled with it for awhile until he got a good feel for the tumblers inside, invigorated with the prospect of escape, his fingers worked with a memory of their own.

He felt the first tumbler slide home with a short satisfying click, followed by the second, he readjusted the pick to start working on the third tumbler when the pick caught on some interior part of the lock, and it wedged itself in tight. Demia was suddenly aware he was once again holding his breath; he let it out in a slow frustrated hissing sound, he knew one wrong move here and he would never get out, the guards would more than likely notice he had tampered with the lock and besides the beating he would receive, he knew Dreth would never shut up about it either. Already he could hear the high pitched mocking tones of Dreth floating in his ears.

He clenched his jaw tight grinding his teeth down on each other and focused, no matter what he did the pick would not budge, there was only one thing for it, he pulled with all his might knowing he could quite easily snap it in two but there was no other way.

It came out with a small cracking sound he could see the wood folding over itself and splintering, he fell away from the lock with one piece of the pick in his hand and the other twisted and stuck in the lock. He felt sick he knew he had failed he was doomed to stay here and rot, and eventually no doubt turn as mad as Dreth.

'No I will not let this happen, not like this!' His resolve hardened for an instant he grabbed what was left of the pick and held it tight, he had to try, there was no way he could get this far and fail. He went back to the lock, the wooden splinter clearly protruding out of it in a twisted mess, although on close examination it was not as bad as he thought.

The wooden pick had sheared off completely down one side, and snapped slightly at the tip, this left him with a precariously thin and shortened tool than what it once was but not all hope was lost, he slid the sliver of wood back in, readjusted his feel again and miraculously found that none of the tumblers had snapped back into place.

The twisted piece of wood that had broken off was holding them in place, his luck was starting to turn. He started to feel his way around carefully inside the lock again and released the next tumbler. Gently he manoeuvred the pick again to the last tumbler jiggled it about with the tip of the pick till he was certain it would hold, and slowly ever so slowly he pushed the last tumbler into place, a satisfying and simple click echoing in his ears.

Demia grinned to himself, a horrible and malicious grin of triumph, he wedged the last of the pick into the lock and twisted, the lock turned and the bars moved away in a slow creaky squeal. Now he had to be fast and silent, there was no way he could see where Dreth was in his cell, he had to trust he had fallen back to sleep or was focused on something else.

He made his move, he slid quietly and quickly from his cell, whipping round in a heartbeat to cover the short distance to the cell next door, he dived in to the centre of the now empty cell, and there it was; a huge stone door cut into the wall, already slid back to reveal a large and musty tunnel.

He glanced around for a second, no noise from Dreth that was good, he could hear no guards and it must have been a good hour now since the last people to use this door had gone through, it was time, he went through the opening in the wall and started down into the blackness of the tunnel ahead, he crept along silently making sure he could hear anyone ahead or behind him.

He had to find out who those knights where, he knew he had to kill them, but he did not know why, he knew his head hurt too often and the gaps in his memory where too much to ignore any more, he needed answers, but above all, first he needed his freedom, he needed to escape, so he followed the dark tunnels deeper and slowly but surely he made his way to the outside world, and to all the things he had missed so much, thieving, murder, and causing pain...