Edit: I know it looks huge, but it's just the weird spacing..
Svengarde
There he sat, in the corner of his cell, face in palms, brooding as usual.
Four hundred days. . . he thought to himself grimly. Four hundred days I've been suffering in this private hell.
"You're looking pretty down for someone who's getting released today, Nord." cried the Dunmer in the cell diagonal to his. "You going to miss me?" he teased, cackling maniacally.
"Shut it." the Nord demanded through gritted teeth, and the Dunmer turned his attention instead to the prisoner in the cell opposite his own.
Atleast he's not bothering me anymore. he sighed. I swear, if he said one more word I would put a price on his damned head.
Hours passed, as the Nord contemplated what he would do once he was out.
I don't know anyone out there. Where will I go? No one would give work to a smuggler. he continued pondering, a thousand questions entering his mind, none of which he had the answers for.
Finally, a sharp creak was heard, and the sound of descending footsteps came from the staircase. The sharp clangs of the guards' metal boots sounded like thunder in contrast to the eerie silence of the Imperial Dungeon. The foot steps drew closer and closer to the Nords cell.
"Galen Svengarde?" the burly jailer called.
The Nord didn't reply to the sound of his name, but his ears perked up and turned his head in the direction of the voice. His deep set, black eyes piercing through the man who spoke.
"You've served your sentence well. Let us hope you've learned your lesson." the guard declared, pulling out the keys from his belt to open the door, eyeing Galen warily.
He merely snorted in response and raised himself to his full height; head and shoulders above the plump Imperial guard.
The jailer moved forward, one hand on the hilt of his sheathed blade, while the other held the key to open Galens shackles.
"Easy now, I won't open them until you're out of here." he warned, tilting his head towards the exit, motioning the Nord to follow him. Walking towards the door, the guard constantly kept one eye on the prisoner who followed closely behind him.
It's been so long since I've done this. Galen realized, referring to the fact that he had not climbed a flight of stairs in more than a full year. He almost slipped on the first few steps, causing the guard to unsheathe his sword, thinking that the prisoner was about to attempt some sort of dangerous stunt.
Why would I try to escape when my sentence is over? he rolled his eyes, as the jailer put his sword back into its scabbard. The guard had reason to be cautious though. The prisoner was no ordinary petty thief or drunkard involved in a squabble . It was a young Nordic man who had led a harsh life on the sea. Galen may not have been as strong as he was prior to his capture, but he maintained a general level of fitness that was on par with Cyrodiils finest athletes.
"Now, you're allowed a free bath." the jailer informed. "Courtesy of the Crown Prince. He frowns upon dirty folk. Which begs the question; why not turn his attention to Bravil?" he continued more to himself than the prisoner. "But you wouldn't know much about that, now would you?" he guffawed.
Galen merely grunted back. It was true that he had spent very little time on mainland Cyrodiil. He had visited the Imperial City a couple times while his crew members unloaded and distributed crates of Skooma across the province. It was not an honorable living; smuggling Skooma, and certainly not Galens own choice of profession, but he was a sailor in need of a situation. Only a smuggling ship would allow such a young an inexperienced crew member on board.
"I hear you're of noble blood. How did you end up in the smuggling business anyway?" the guard asked curiously, now at the door of the chamber in which prisoners are allowed to wash.
Galen groaned. "My father was killed in battle, I needed money to support my mother and brother. I learned to sail with my father as a child-" he was answering reluctantly when he was cut short.
"Killed in battle? What was he, a soldier?" the guard gasped.
"Captain in the Skyrim naval forces. His galleon was plundered by pirates. No one survived." he answered, clearly agitated for having to tell the same story numerous times.
How ironic? he thought to himself. You join the side of the people who killed your father. Is that how it is? His self loathing reaching to new heights.
"Well, here's the bath chamber. Make it quick." the jailer nodded, opening the door for the Nord. "Oh yes, and you shan't be needing these anymore." he added, eying the shackles on the Nords wrists and ankles. He swiftly unlocked them, and picked the chains up. Galens perpetual frown curled into a weak smile, but only for an instant, as he rubbed the parts of his body that had been restrained. Heaving a sigh or relief he entered the damp and dark chamber made of stone blocks. One steady stream of water flowing onto the ground from a gape in the wall. His excitement of having been unchained was short lived, as he was greeted by this unwelcoming sight.
Well isn't this sophisticated? he sniggered, tearing open his brittle prison garments, and throwing them aside.
"You're not getting new ones you know!" the guard shouted from the outside. Scrunching his face, he decided to leave the scraps of clothing be and place his naked, hard body under the jet of ice cold water. To any one else, it would have been unbearably cold, but his Nordic blood allowed him to stand without so much as twitching under the freezing stream.
He ran his hands all over himself, his strong jaw, his chiseled chest, the contours of his abdomen, all the way down to the underside of his broad feet, wiping off the thick layer of grime on his skin. Before he had been imprisoned he boasted a bronze glow due to the time he spent under the sun. However, one year without direct sunlight reverted his skin to its original, fair color, and pale complexion. Stroking his short, closely cropped hair, he began rubbing vigorously, so as to make sure no dirt remained. This was not only a cleansing of his body, but a cleaning of his soul. He vowed never to take upon such a dishonorable opportunity ever again. If he was to do something, it would be noble and valiant.
***