Racial Variations in Torture and Interrogation: Dunmer

As the hooded figure walked down the dimly lit hallway, he paused. He could feel the temperature rising steadily, erasing the feeling of the cool autumn air that was emanating from the stairwell behind him. A single, infuriating bead of sweat perspired onto his forehead, displaying a weakness he knew was unacceptable for a Dunmer of his station. Grimacing, the figure reached into his embroidered House robes and produced a silken kerchief from within its folds. He quickly swabbed his head and neck, then returned the dampened fabric to its pocket. Suitably presentable, the figure continued on his way, stoically ignoring the rising heat as he drew nearer to the doorway at the far end of the hall.

He paused once more, this time directly before the rotting wooden planks that served as a door to this dingy compartment. He took a deep breath, composing himself for the onerous task ahead. This is for prosperity, both for yourself and your House, he reminded himself. Drawing back his cowl, he fixed his face into a mask of apathetic neutrality, deeming it necessary to reinforce just how beneath him this entire affair was to the room’s chief occupant. A small part of him wished it weren’t quite so hot, but he quickly forced the thought out of his mind as he threw the door open and strode into the dank little room beyond.

“Ah, greetings Master Straven. You grace us with your presence.” The voice of the Dark Seducer was sultry and full of hidden meaning as it washed over him. For a small moment, the heat the dark elf felt wasn’t quite so unpleasant. Turning to regard her, he noticed (not for the first time) how generous her curves were, and just how little her armor did to hide them. And her smile was tantalizing in its suggested invitation, as though all he had to do was walk up and...

But he quickly regained control of his libido and scowled at his thrall.

“I don’t recall addressing you, Mika,” he said acidly. “And I certainly don’t believe I ever gave you permission to use my name.”

“A thousand pardons, Master,” was her response. Straven knew she didn’t mean a word of it, and would probably try to butcher him on the spot if she could. Her smile became predatory, seemingly viewing him as her next potential plaything. But for the time being she was his, and they both knew it. So any fantasies of hers were irrelevant.

“Has he said anything?” he asked, getting back to the true matter at hand.

Mika didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she turned to glare at the battered and abused Argonian strapped to the far wall of the chamber who had been given her undivided attention over the past seven days. Straven noticed more than a hint of frustration in her features. “He’s proven to be quite the stubborn one,” she admitted, the playful qualities now absent from her voice. “Still, it’s been awhile since I’ve had one such as him. To be able to leverage my… considerable talents so fully against him, it is something of a treat. It’s unfortunate he cannot last… most mortals never do.” The seducer glanced at her dunmeri guest sidelong, running her tongue along her upper lip in what Straven thought was a vulgar display of her daedric inclinations.

“And has my gift to you proven useful?” he asked, his serious tone a warning for her to remain on task.

“Oh my yes!” Mika’s face lit up at the mention the room’s only other occupant; a particularly powerful fire atronach Straven had summoned to aid her in breaking the lizard. “At first I just had her hold my tools, since heated blades and tongs can do wonders for mortal skin, you understand. But we’ve started experimenting as the traditional methods wore themselves out. The results have been... most pleasing.” The fiery daedra was quiet, leaning against the wall to one side, though she inclined her head towards Straven when he glanced at her.

“The only thing I will find pleasing is hearing that he’s ready to give me the information I need,” the elf informed the two of them impatiently. “Whatever pleasures you are deriving from these… exchanges are irrelevant.”

A hoarse wheezing noise cut off any further conversation. Confused, Straven cast about for its source before a rattling of chains caught his attention. It was the prisoner; the cursed lizard was laughing! Laughing at him! His brutalized chest was positively heaving with the effort.

“Shut him up,” the elf commanded the atronach, carefully controlling his voice to hide how very annoyed he was by this interruption. The daedra nodded, then stepped forward and thrust out her arm, gripping their captive’s shoulder tightly. Straven gasped involuntarily as the room’s temperature shot up, going from stuffy to positively intolerable. It was like he was standing in a volcanic heating vent in Stonefalls.

But thankfully, his small slip was covered by the Argonian’s blessedly crude shrieking. The pathetic lizard was writhing under his tormentor’s vice-like grip, trying desperately to wrench his tormented shoulder away from her. His agonized vocalizations rose and fell in pitch, sounding to Straven almost like attempted speech. He wondered idly if the pain was simply so intense that it was blocking out his coherent thought. Beast-folk are just so fragile, I suppose.

“Enough,” the elf declared firmly, motioning with his head for the atronach to back away. The fiery construct released her victim and moved to recline against the wall once more. The Argonian, free of his torment, sagged against the chains, his seared left shoulder oozing black smoke and smelling of badly burnt meat. His breathing was shallow and unsteady, like each inhalation was almost more effort than he could muster. He’s close. I can feel it. Straven fought to keep his face from twisting into a triumphant grin with the knowledge that his victory was close at hand.

“Was something funny, Stones?” he asked mildly, as though the two of them were simply conversing about the weather.

The lizard didn’t respond immediately. He took a few more shuddering breaths before trying to speak, only to fall into a coughing fit that lasted several moments. The Dunmer had to step to one side to avoid the bloody phlegm he spat up. Honestly, why do we even deal with these creatures. Such barbaric habits. “I’m sorry,” he taunted petulantly, “I didn’t quite get that.”

Stones’ voice, when it came, was wheezy and hoarse. It sounded like someone had shoved a hot iron straight down his throat. Which, when considering who had been tending to him this past week, was probably a good guess. “You… think I’m ready to spill everything… don’t you, Straven?” he asked, daring to use the dark elf’s given name like they were equals.

“You-!” Straven began, before another of the lizard’s coughing fits interrupted him.

“Well, sorry to disappoint you…” he finally managed, pulling himself up enough to look the elf in the eyes and give him a toothy grin. “And that’s ‘Water-Over-Stones’ to you.”

Furious, Straven stormed forward and punched the lizard right in his jaw, hard enough to knock out a couple teeth. “House Dres has grown tired of waiting for you to reveal the location of the slaves you helped escape. And I’m sick of wasting my time wallowing in this pit while you’re cut to pieces. So I’m here to make you talk.” As he spoke, he folded his hands into his robes, trying to appear impassive as he massaged his aching fist.

“Good luck, s’wit,” Stones replied, spitting another bloody tooth onto the elf’s House robes.

All pretense now gone, Straven grasped his head and wrenched it upwards, forcing eye contact. He was rewarded with a satisfying grunt of pain as the Argonian’s traumatized shoulder strained against his chains. “Now you listen to me you disgusting muck-raker, you’re going to tell me where those slaves are, even if I have to wrench the information straight from your corpse.”

“Good luck,” the lizard replied haughtily. “You’ll never get me to talk. I would die for them.”

Finally remembering himself, the elf stepped back from his prisoner and tried to take deep, cleansing breaths. He produced his kerchief once more and wiped his hands of the Argonian’s filth, then snapped his fingers to get his daedric thralls’ attention. “Back to it,” he ordered curtly. “As long as it takes. We’ll be here all night if we have to.” Mika nodded, a disgustingly lecherous smile crossing her lips as she no doubt pictured new torments to try on her plaything. She motioned wordlessly to the atronach, who nodded in return and roused herself from the wall once more.

“So, you’ll die for them?” the Dunmer asked rhetorically as he regarded his captive, taking another step back to make room for the approaching daedra. “Yes, Stones. You will.” He waved his hand casually behind him, and a gust of magical force slammed the flimsy door shut once more.

And then the screaming started again.