[i] ”Wh-where am I?”[/i]

Enathrae’s thoughts were slow to form even without the difficulty of passing to his lips. On the cold stone floor he awoke, his clothes moist and his skin irritated and discolored. Despite how he tried, the contorted position of Enathrae’s ragged body failed to assist him. Struggling the dunmer pulled his weight against the chains, tugging his arms beneath his chest. He pushed his hands firmly against the ground, rising to the level of a dog. 

A sharp gasp of air clenched his heart as it skipped a beat with surprise. While the cell was dark, void of any magical or mundane source of light, the spaces between the bars of his iron door were plenty enough to safely illuminate his predicament. His demeanor turned cold. His eyes narrowed as he tried to dilate his pupils at will. A chromatic sheen danced across the stone floor with the rhythm of the dancing torch resting in its sconce upon the wall opposite his cell door. 

Enathrae had to alter his position once again, carefully running his open palm across the lubricated floor. In the most simplistic terms, it was oily but not so dark as to be pitch. Rubbing his thumb and forefinger together he noted the ease at which the friction has dissipated. With a few gentle taps, the mer tested the substance and examined it for taste. Whale oil! They had doused him in a combustible liquid. 

Slowly, Enathrae stood up contemplating his next move. His belongings had been taken. His flesh covered by a set of ragged tunic and trousers. Both of course coated with dry whale oil. Any fire based destruction spell would certainly be out of the question. Lightning, of course not. It lacked the required procession and in essence may very well ignite the oil as well with a stray spark or ember. Ice was certainly a viable option. But in what manner, in what direction? Where his chains unique? Not only had he been bound to the wall at the wrists but between those two wrists was an iron bar separating his hands and preventing them from benefitting the other. 

Perhaps they deserved his service - this group was rather clever. Enathrae slowly moved to the small pile of hay that was to be his bed. This too was lightly soaked in whale oil. The sheen was apparent across the ground. While the top was dry he knew by the feel of the resistance when he sat that the bottom was quite engrossed with that flammable substance. Enathrae crossed his legs, rested his hands in his lap and closed his eyes. Perhaps his mind’s eye could make sense of it all. 

[b]“Put those on. Then we’ll talk.”[/b]

These words were not foreign to him. While the voice he heard was little known to him, Enathrae understood the implication that was only amplified by the chitter chatter of metal bouncing across his floor. It stopped when it bounced against the back wall, spiraling to a slow halt amongst the oil doused floor. 

His eyes were drawn to it. His thoughts were jumbled because of it. What options did he have? Ignore the ring or perhaps remove it from his cell? Sit in waiting until the day came where his only freedom came in the form of a rotting corpse resting on a pyre along with countless others? Or put on the ring. Live to eat another meal, spend another septim, or perhaps a time to escape? 

So there it was, put on the ring. It was merely sitting on his floor near the joint where the floor met the back wall, until he scooped it up in one hand. He was not able to maneuver his limbs close enough to slide the ring on his finger. Enathrae grimaced from the taste as he took it in his mouth, positioned it with his tongue and slide the ring down over the finger on his left hand. Reluctant as he was, it happened to be his only option.