#falmer oc

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“Spare me! I beg of you! I will not resist imprisonment!”

Celayane’s heel dug deeper into the brutish mans throat, her face set like stone and the tip of her sword pressed against his cheek. The man let out a pathetic whimper, eyes darting to the bodies of his fallen brethren, their blood seeping into the snow around them. The elf had been stronger, faster, better than any of them had anticipated. Two Atmorans lay dead in the snow before the others even had time to register what she’d done.

The mer’s brow furrowed and her stance faltered as the man continued to beg. She wished she was still clueless to the language of the strange invaders, she wished she could pretend his words were insults and taunts. Instead she picked up broken snippets of words like ‘surrender’ and ‘please’, and she was not so deluded as to believe he was saying anything but a surrender. She knew the man didn’t deserve her mercy. He wore the same face as the ones who killed her brother and strung him in front of Eculbal for all of Tamriel to see. He lived the same life as the ones who’d humiliated and enslaved her. The longtime peace her people had developed had been tarnished because of him. He did not deserve sympathy.

Her ice blue eyes fixed on him for a long moment, before she stepped away harshly spat out a word, “Auta.” The Atmoran didn’t understand her language, but the meaning was clear. Go, before I change my mind.

Celayane watched him stumble away as he disappeared into the wind and snow, and continued to stare where he had been long after he was no longer visible. The Lyrbor she knew would have been proud of her, though that gave her no comfort. Would he still have smiled at her weakness if he had seen the things she’d seen? If he had watched as their people were slaughtered by the thousands, if he had seen her bloodied and bruised dressed in a slave’s rags? He had been the kindest mer she’d ever known, but she doubted even he would have mercy on the man.

It had been weeks, quite possibly months, since she’d escaped the half-built city. The days were filled with nothing but snow and ice, her only source of warmth was her own magicka. Only the tears in Aetherius assured her she was travelling northwest, though she had no idea how far she needed to travel. She had left Atmoran territory, but every settlement she’d come across had been burned to the ground. Was the Prince even still alive, or had he too succumbed to the men? Nothing was clear anymore.

Some days she considered laying in the snow and allowing the frost to take her. It was not the worst death. It was custom for willing Falmer, sickly from illness or old age, to let the snow peacefully take their souls. Would that be so awful? To die in a traditional way, never allowing the men to take that from her? But every time the thought crossed her mind, she realized it would be. The intel she’d learned while being held captive was too important. Her people stood little chance, but with the information she held the chance increased greatly.

Besides, her death would never be peaceful. Not until her empire knew peace as well.