20th Hearthfire, 4E201
A small beam of light filtered down through the dusty window, brightening the face of a man, crouching on the floor, his knees flush with the icy stone. His shoulders continually rose and fell with his breathing, heavy and ragged as he tried to fill his lungs with as much sweet, precious air as could be found in the grimy recesses of the dungeon. His hands clenched and unclenched behind his back, as if trying to purge a sensation from them, while his wrists futilely ground against the rough knots of a rope. A few slow footsteps clacked against the smooth floor, and he involuntarily twisted his neck away from them, trying in vain to escape the pain his brain had associated with the sound.

“I grow weary of this lack of cooperation. What do you hope to gain by resisting?” came the voice of a stately Altmer, dressed in the ornate robes of his station. His brow was furrowed, almost in curiosity. The human creature was… puzzling. So few had the will to resist the torment he had been subjected to. The man’s conviction was steel, tougher than any armor the elf had ever cut through with spell or blade.

Still heaving, the man, a Nord, raised his head and stared the Altmer dead in the eyes. His glare held such an intensity that fear flickered in the elf’s heart, though only for a brief moment. “I am a man of honor, elf. I swore an oath to protect my friends and kinsmen, whether by axe or word. It is not what I gain, but what I keep, when my soul passes from this world into Sovngarde. But I wouldn’t expect an elf like you to understand honor.”

Furious, the Altmer flung out his arm. Sparks arced across the Nord’s flesh, searing it to a crisp in the places it touched, as he collapsed to the floor. The cool stone provided a brief respite to his burnt flesh, though it faded as he was assaulted by the shock again, again, and again. After minutes of grinding his teeth together in pain, the torture let up, and the smooth fingers of the Altmer’s hand clenched around his throat and yanked him to his knees once more.

“This is your last chance. Tell me what the Stormcloaks were looking for in Korvanjund, or there won’t be a Sovngarde for you to escape to.”

Too broken for words, the Nord mustered the last of his strength, lifted his chin, and spat the pooled blood in his mouth at the Altmer, spraying him in the face.

The Altmer reeled in disgust and dragged a sleeve of his robe across his face, wiping away the human’s filthy blood. “So be it,” he said, his words ringing with a grim finality. In a flash, he pulled a dark purple gem from his robe while energy swirled around his hand, coalescing into a deep blue, ethereal blade. All color was drawn from the room as he swung his arm, cleaving the Nord’s head from his body.

The gem pulsed with light as the Nord’s atrophied body slumped to the floor one last time.