Hey guys! Ohyt here. A few of you might remember me from a year before, when I posted a thread with this same name, excluding the 'Part II' section. I've returned with (Hopefully) some improvement on my part. I'm still sticking with the Vectus Coldwind theory, but this time, I've added a lot more detail and also a look inside the Argonian's mind. Rocky is also nowhere in sight, as well. Vectus is a lot worse looking than he was in the original pilot. I've read some suggestions and I hoped I could put those into the story. This is just a pilot, just to see how well I do, and if it looks good to some of you veteran roleplayers and writers, I guess I will continue. Enjoy, and leave comments, please!

The cracked stone walls surrounded the Argonian in every direction. He had lost track of how many days he had spent in the prison. Off the top of his head, he thought it was around two years. He had come to love the architecture before him. He often found himself admiring the grimy stone frame, observing every aspect of the rocks in front of him. The swirls, the smooth texture… they were all parts that he knew all too well. He had almost grown mad in the small cell, the bones of previous prisoners on the dusty, worn floor of the chamber and dried, crusty blood was smeared across the walls of the cell. He had thought of the cell as his home, comfortable and warm. The harsh reality was that there was nothing to love.

The walls were overgrown with moss and mildew, insects skittering around every now and then. The Argonian had found more than enough hornet’s nests built under his bed. There wasn’t a window or a torch around his cell, for reasons that he didn’t know. He overheard snippets of the Imperials saying he was a lot more dangerous than the others, and due to that, they tended to stray from his cell, underfeeding him and leaving the madness to fester inside him. He insisted he wasn’t mentally ill, but his words suggested otherwise. He commonly spoke of tearing out his own lungs and making curry out of them.

His form was even worse than his mind. Scars were every which way, marring his once beautiful, scale hide. His complexion was pale from being left in the dark so long, and his eyes seemed clouded with insanity. His teeth were cracked and yellow, rotting in his mouth. He had sometimes felt his own teeth fall out, hitting the ground and disintegrating. His claws were sharpened beyond belief, due to him scratching the walls of the cell. He used to chart his progress of days in the cell, but around 487, he stopped. He wore dirty, torn linens, barely covering him. His shoes and shirt were gone; he ate them when the guards neglected his needs. His once muscular figure was reduced to skin and bones. Anyone could see all of his ribs poking out of his chest.

“We’re gonna get out of here. We will, we will, we will… We will go back to the former glory we once had! Vectus Coldwind, killer of people and defiler of daughters! Vectus Coldwind, also known as Shadowstep! The reigning champion of the arena!” He rambled giddily to himself. “We will get out of here, and when we do, we’re going to regain our name! Our honor! Our fame!” Unbeknownst to him, however, he was never going to get out. He was going to rot in the Imperial Dungeon for eternity, his flesh falling off and his bones joining those on the ground in front of him, until he was reduced to nothing but ash.

“Hey, Lizard. Dinner’s here.” By happen chance, an Imperial Guard had appeared in front of him, holding a bowl filled with slop. It was an unexplainable brown, with green spots in its mottled texture. Vectus called it bisque. The guards called it ‘pig slop.’ The guard, an old, weary man, set the bowl down in the cell, leaving the Argonian to his dinner. “Finally,” Vectus licked his lips ravenously. “Finally, we have our dinner! It’s here!” He picked up the bowl and swung it around, dancing wildly. Some of it flew onto the ground, smearing and making grotesque shapes. Vectus lifted his head and drank from the bowl greedily. Slurping and munching could be heard through his cell as the other inmates spent their time. They hated Vectus. The other inmates said he was disgusting. Vectus said he was quite refined. When he finished gulping down the slop, he put the bowl down and went back into a corner in his cell, thinking to himself… letting the madness fester further.