[hider=Writing Prompt] [b]Years of my Life, 190-220, by Pakseech Otuwei - Chapter 3, During the War of 203[/b] [hr] …It had been some time since the ambush, but despite the hostilities having been brought to a cease thanks to our hurtful bondage, our losses had not ceased. Xil-Aah and Tan-Shai had died to infection by then, and I feared that exhaustion could begin taking a toll on us if the marching did not stop. Already Jee-Teeus was lagging behind despite the extra whipping he’d been getting for it. The officers were discussing on whether to have us carry him, or just put him out of his misery. I myself would have preferred the latter, many of my kin also would, but, something just drove us on, through the pain and humiliation. One time, the one-armed one berated one of their men, for unnecessary whipping. It is not out of compassion that he did this, I know. He didn’t even look at us like cattle. It’s almost as if he didn’t have anything that came to mind when he did look. Maybe he wanted to isolate us from the mercy a shepherd would show to his herd. Maybe he thought we weren’t worthy of his attention. It wasn’t until later on that they realized I spoke their language. Only two groups of the three spoke Dunmeris – the third group mostly kept to the common tongue, and seemed to show contempt for the others who kept to their native language. It makes me think even now. Why even fight for your nation if you aren’t going to abide to its principles? Then again, it is not hard to expect such hypocrisy from a people who worship Boethiah. The fat one constantly talked about his home in Cheydinhal, about how easy life was there, despite the Empire’s situation. I wished to ask him why he had come here to fight us, then, but I was afraid of getting a whipping, or worse. Our leader, Sakeneen, had insulted the Redoran after he had spat on Sakeneen, and was nearly beaten to death for it. Had the redheaded one not interrupted, he would’ve likely not stopped with Sakeneen. The Redoran would have nearly attacked the redhead, too, but he was stopped by the one-armed one, who later had one of the tattooed women put Sakeneen out of his misery. - It was only towards the end of the journey that they found out that I spoke common. The fat one, whose name I would learn that day to be Fermal, noticed it when he shouted that one of the guars were running away and I reflexively looked at the guar pack despite not facing them. This would prove to be a big mistake. My bilinguality became the cause of many complications. Fermal, for some reason, gave me his name, and began trying to socialize with me, make jokes, despite the situation. Had the one-armed one not stopped and berated Fermal in a stoic and rare display of empathy, I would have likely attempted to bash Fermal’s brains out with a rock. The one-armed one then approached me and asked me if I really spoke the Common tongue. After giving him confirmation, I was repositioned to the front of the row, as some sort of spokesman. Immediately I felt regret, for I was afraid that my new position could put a distance between me and my kin, and I would be proven right. At nights I would be given the leftovers from their dinner, even though the rest of my kin were rarely fed, and despite either throwing it away or dividing it between all of my group, I could notice aside glances at me, hateful of my new, privileged station. There was still some positive parts of my situation – my position as middleman made me less likely to get beatings, and I could use their prejudice of us as ‘savages’ to indirectly insult them whenever possible. I would refer to Fermal as ‘Fat Fermal’ whenever I had to refer to him, as if I had learned his name as such, knowing that being called fat made him very angry, and he would get heavily irritated, but unable to do anything about it. - …Of course, by then, few of us were in any condition to walk long distances, but our captors were also heavily battered, and more importantly, heavily spiteful of each other. Thanks to the Redoran’s insistence on chasing the skirmishers who had killed Fermal, they had gotten most of their animals killed, while passing a bridge that was trapped. I noticed that the trap wasn’t sprung and was operated by one of our kinsmen, who quickly disappeared after a curt nod. To his precision and restraint I and many others owe our lives. With their pack animals gone, the Redoran quickly had his retinue put to work the idea of using us as pack animals, which made the tattooed sisters, and the redhead, very angry. They argued and exchanged insults on how it was the other one’s fault that they had lost the guars, and eventually the Redoran slapped the redhead to the ground and began kicking him, which caused the argument into escalate into a proper fight, and from there, a mutiny. We watched as the tattooed sister with grey hair punched the Redoran in the face for his treatment of the redhead. As retribution, the Redoran stabbed her in the gut with his ceremonial dagger. Seeing this, the Ashlanders amongst our captors pulled their arms and attacked the Redoran and all those affiliated with him. The fight was very bloody – I can say that the Dunmer fight most ferociously and ruthlessly against their own kin, which, even when I first saw it, did not come off as very surprising. After a couple of minutes of fighting, the two parties killed most of each other. The foreign born had chosen to stay out of the combat in a display of cautiousness and cowardice, although it was obvious that they supported the Ashlanders, given how they had fought for their sake. Again, we were forgotten as we, chained to each other and immobilized by shackles, watched the foreigners gather the goods of the dead, and gather up the surviving Ashlanders – the Redoran group, too damaged by the fight, were unwilling to risk an offensive on the unscathed foreigners and the surviving Ashlanders that circled them. The three that remained of them were gathered around the nobleman who had killed the grey-haired woman, who was pinned to the ground, his thigh pierced by a chitin spear. That was when the one-armed one approached me. He sighed, and said, ‘’Funny, don’t you think?’’ I did not answer him at first. He continued. ‘’I know you think it’s funny. I think it’s funny. It’s as sad as shit.’’ ‘’Why kill your own kin?’’ I asked. We Argonians also fought each other, but I had never seen a group that had shared meals that morning kill each other with such brutality. ‘’Oblivion if I know, pal,’’ he said, dejected. I looked at his face. He pulled out a key and approached the lock that kept our group together. We were no longer bound together – our arms were still cuffed, but the collars around our necks that held us together were now gone. I could feel newfound strength coursing through my veins. ‘’The Redoran have the key for your handcuffs,’’ he said, before he ran back to his group and they hurriedly left, leaving the fifteen of us face to face with the four Redoran. [/hider]