[i]29th of Second Seed, Evening
Gilane, Hammerfell[/i]

 It was cold. Shakti shivered, even wrapped in her robes and tattered cloak. She leaned against the wall, next to the door to a small, out of the way watering hole. She had spent the better part of an hour trailing a man wearing the same type of cloak as hers, albeit in somewhat better shape. The type of cloak only a former Knight of the Moon would have. Or daughter of a Knight of the Moon in her case. Israhal's contact had been right. There [i]was[/i] a Knight here. She had seen him speak with some of the Dwemer and Redguard patrols as he snaked his way from bar to bar. Evidently he knew them or had some ties to the local government. She had finally decided that this place was small and out of the way enough for her to make her move. She did not plan for it to get violent, after all, she only wanted information. There's no telling what a drunken former knight might do though, so she kept her guard up. The door opened and a Redguard man, with his arm around an equally drunk Redguard woman wobbled out. Shakti caught the door as it swung back and slunk inside.

The smell was terrible. Like vomit and cheap but overly strong alcohol had mingled together for far too long. It was smoke filled as well, no doubt the result of several men in the corner puffing away on hookahs and pipes in the style of foreign lands. Shakti kept her cloak over her mouth as she slowly and methodically picked her way through the small but fairly crowded establishment, searching for her target. Finally she spotted him, and with one hand on her sword she did her best attempt at a swagger over to him. His back was towards her, too busy chatting with another man wearing the uniform of the city guard. Shakti took a deep breath and tapped the man on the shoulder. He turned his whole body to look at her. He was fairly average looking, not quite attractive but not ugly either. She guessed he was a Breton or Nord based on his pale skin, although pale skinned Redguards were not totally unheard of. Sentinel was on the Iliac Bay and a frequent destination for Bretons seeking knighthood outside of High Rock, which explains the high numbers of Bretons in the Knights of the Moon. 

"Huh? What do you want, girl?" The man's accent was definitely foreign, but Shakti could not place it, not through the slight slurring of words that came with the nice buzz the man was speaking through. 

"You are a Knight, correct?" She asked plainly. 

"Might be I am. Wait- That cloak!" His eyes flashed from suspicion to realisation in an instant. "Where did you get that, girl?" 

"I think you know exactly where I got it. Taren Nasaaj, what happened to him?" Her tone came out very accusatory, possibly a mistake. She did her best to contain her rising emotions. [i]Control, control, control![/i] She repeated in her head. She grimaced inwardly, hoping the man wouldn't totally shut her out.

His eyes narrowed. He got out of his seat. He was taller than Shakti, but she did her best to project her presence. "I suggest you scurry back to wherever you came from, girl. It's best you don't know what happened to him." His tone was dark, threatening. She did not like the implications. The room felt like a powderkeg. She saw in her periphery the man's companions eyeing her warily. Their hands were all below the table, no doubt clutched around weapons. Despite the tension in the small bubble, sounds of merriment and the clinking of glasses still radiated throughout. "Tell me what happened." Shakti insisted, as forcefully as she could. "Last warning, girl. Leave." She couldn't back down though, not now. Her pride wouldn't let her. "I've come too far to let you stop me. Tell me what happened to him and I will leave." The emotion in her voice had changed. Gone was the blunt force, replaced with deadly calm. 

"Don't stick your head where it doesn't belong!" The man roared as he lunged at her. Luckily, drink had slowed him, and Shakti had enough time to dive out of the way. She half-rolled-half-tumbled to the right, narrowly missing a man carrying a drink. The drunken knight (if he even was still a knight) crashed into a table, upending it and sending the occupants scattering. Unfortunately the man's companions were not so deep in the drink and were faster. One of them was already brandishing a scimitar and vaulting over the table after her. The other had gone around to try and cut off her escape from the door. She could not fight them here, not with all these people. She pushed her way through the rapidly panicking crowd to try and make it to the door before the man could cut her off. The small door was rapidly becoming clogged with people trying to escape the fight, Shakti among them. This did have the added effect of preventing the second man from cutting her off, he himself becoming entangled in the mob, reaching in vain for her. She could hear the curses and grunts of the knight as he got up and started hurling people out of the way. Desperately, Shakti pushed and pushed at the people in front of her, stealing a quick look back at the rapidly approaching threesome of trouble. 

Finally, she resorted to literally throwing her body at the stuck group of barflies, causing the doorframe to splinter and the six or seven people to spill out onto the stone of the streets. Shakti herself almost tripped and fell on the poor fools who had fallen as she stumbled out into the cool night air. As soon as she was free of the crowd she spun back towards the door., her hand on her sword. Sure enough, almost immediately the three men, all brandishing blades, made a beeline for her. The first man, the one with the scimitar advanced and swung at her in one motion. She drew her blade and slapped the scimitar away in a fluid motion of her own. She then riposted with a downward cut that the man counter-parried. She hopped backwards, anticipating a counter-riposte that never came. The Knight advanced on her, his Cyrad-style longsword drawn. This time she was the first to attack. Shakti dashed forwards, feinting to the left before swiping upwards at his heart. It would have been a killing blow had the man not blocked it and redirected her blade towards the stones of the road. Even drunk, the man was obviously well trained. 

The gale wind of emotions in her heart was slowly dying down and Shakti was beginning to realise she was a bit overmatched. The third man thrust at her with a wicked-looking-knife and she barely strafed left in time to avoid a jab in the ribs. She circled the three men, her sword held neutrally at her centre. Her eyes were rapidly scanning the area for an escape, but she didn't dare to move her head, lest she give them an opportunity to attack. The Knight roared and swung a terrible overhead blow that if it had landed would have bisected Shakti for sure. If it had landed. She sidestepped the blow and in return smote him across the back with a solid chop. Luckily for his spine, he was wearing chainmail and leather and thus the blow was mostly absorbed. It did however, have the force to send him sprawling against the ground. Before she could react and finish him, she heard the whistling of a sword and instinctively raised her bracer to block it. Sometimes acting on instinct was a good thing, especially if one has honed their instincts. This was not one of those times. The scimitar cut straight through the hardened leather of the bracer and bit deep into her arm. Shakti screamed in pain and lashed out with her foot, planting it firmly on the man's chest and sending him stumbling backwards. Despite the horrible, burning, searing pain in her left arm she seized the moment and took off running, slamming her sword back into its sheath as she sprinted down the path. 

She looked back and saw the three men desperately running to catch her, but she was too fast. They were rapidly fading into the darkness as the gap between them grew. Ignoring the pain and focusing only on putting one foot in front of the other, the young Redguard did not notice the Dwemer patrol until it was too late. She turned and made a last ditch attempt to turn and slide between them, but the two guardsmen were prepared. One of them merely stuck his arm out at head height and brutally clotheslined her. Nearly causing her to flip over as she slammed painfully into the ground. The fall combined with the cut on her forearm was too much. The last thing she remembered was the two helmeted heads of the Dwemer soldiers staring at her.  

[hr] 

When next Shakti awoke, the world was a grey fuzzy blob. She blinked twice and sat up rubbing her eyes. Her head ached and her left arm throbbed badly. She tentatively considered looking down, hoping maybe if she didn't look the wound would go away. It wouldn't of course, so she forced herself to inspect the damage. The bracer itself was split in the middle and dried blood coated it. She delicately unstrapped the bracer and pulled the torn sleeve of her robe back. She instinctively sucked her teeth. It was bad, but not crippling. It was sore when she moved her hand and arm but the fact she [i]could[/i] move it was a good thing. Idly scraping dried blood from her arm she next inspected her surroundings. Some sort of holding cell. It was made of stone and save for a high window that let light shine in, there was only one way out, a metal door with no visible windows. She stood up and stretched. Her body felt bruised all over. She wondered how long she had been out for. It had to have been at least a couple hours, because of the light. She felt for her sword, which of course, wasn't there. Shakti mumbled a curse and then quickly prayed to Satakal to forgive her foul language. She needed to get the sword back. It was her Father's after all! Luckily, the Dwemer hadn't taken much else from her, save her knife, her food, and her satchel it was all in. She hopped up and grabbed the edge of the window with her one good arm and hoisted herself up the rest of the way with both of her arms and peered out into the daylight. Squinting, she could make out some of the city landmarks and, from what she could see and couldn't see she guessed she was in the city dungeon. [i]A child could have figured that out![/i] She let go of the window and flopped back onto her straw mat. Her stomach grumbled. [i]Maybe just a few more minutes of sleep before escaping...[/i]

The metal door swung open with a crash, startling Shakti's eyes open. She sat up like lightning as her eyes focused on the two figures standing over her. "You. Get up." The voice was harsh and grating, almost inhuman. Well, it wasn't human. It was Dwemer. The figure in its burnished armour brandished a spear at her, forcing her shakily to her feet. On her way out of the cell, she noted it was dark again. [i]A few more minutes indeed.[/i] She thought grimly. [i]Stupid stupid stupid![/i] The two Dwemer led her down a corridor and into a holding cell with a few other prisoners. When she dragged her feet getting into the other cell, the spear-wielding guard gave her a shove that sent her stumbling fully into the area. Shakti cradled her injury and surveyed the other prisoners. No one she recognised. Mostly fellow Redguards, though. Local resistance or just petty thieves and troublemakers? Turning back to look out of the bars, her eyes searched for her things amongst the pile of items on the other side of the room. It was impossible to know for sure, but she thought she spied the hilt of her Father's sword. She imagined herself as a powerful mage and tried to will her imaginary telekinetic powers into bringing her the sword. [i]Worth a try.[/i] She thought, giggling inwardly. Her nonexistent magicka reserves depleted she turned back around and resigned herself to sitting back against the bars, rubbing more blood and dirt from her wounded arm with her cloak. 

Hours had passed. Prisoners had come, prisoners had gone. Seemingly at random, although Shakti had a few theories on patterns amongst the prisoners. One, the ones that had been taken were all healthy. No one with an obvious wound (Shakti included) had been taken. Secondly, they seemed to take the biggest and fiercest-looking prisoners only. Perhaps they thought they couldn't handle feeding the big ones? Seemed unlikely. She settled on the theory that they were probably being separated between prisoners who could fight in the arena. It would explain why they were only taking healthy prisoners. After all, no one wanted to bet on a wounded fighter. It would also explain why the bigger ones were being taken. Shakti counted herself lucky that she had sustained a wound. [i]If I had not been injured, I might be dead or fighting for my life right now.[/i] She silently thanked the nameless Desert Spirit and Diagna and rested her head against the cool metal of bars. 

Eventually they stopped taking prisoners out, and even the influx slowed to a trickle. In total there were perhaps six of them, counting Shakti. She was getting bored and began to trace the motions of sword-forms in the air when the Dwemer guards returned and ordered everyone up and into a line. Shakti was second-to-last in line and thus couldn't see where they were going very well, but eventually they were bombarded with the late afternoon sun, still as hot as she remembered from all of two-ish days ago. Much to all of the prisoner's lament, they had to stand in said hot afternoon sun for the better part of an hour, slowly watching the sun set as the Dwemer guards argued with the local Redguard officer about something. Shakti couldn't make out exactly what they were arguing about, but it seemed like something to do with a delayed wagon. She supposed they did not wish to travel at night for fear of ambushes, but the delay was causing them to consider it. The Redguard officer was telling them to wait out the night, because they were sure to be attacked if they attempted travel, but the Dwemer counterpart was insisting on sticking to the schedule and that they would travel through the night. It seemed that the Dwemer won out and the prisoners were herded onto the wagon once it arrived and chained together so that they could not run, at least not easily. 

As the wagon began to move, Shakti attempted one last telekinetic summon of her sword, which to her dismay, failed like the first. Temporarily defeated, she slumped down and settled in for the ride.