I Became a Side Character in the World Of Skyrim

Far to the north, near Solitude, there stood a fort by the coast. The fort served as an Altmer stronghold, filled with their kind. It was said that this place functioned as a prison for Talos worshippers, Stormcloaks, and anyone who dared to stand in the way of the Altmer.

An Altmer walked toward the fort, and as she approached, the two guards stationed at its entrance greeted him.

“Welcome, Lady Elenwen. What brings you here?”

Elenwen cast the two guards an arrogant glance. “Are you new?” she asked coldly, rolling her eyes in clear annoyance. “If I’ve come here, then you have no need to ask unnecessary questions. You should simply let me pass instead of wasting my time prying into my business. Do you understand?”

Hearing this, the guard hurriedly stepped aside and opened the way for her. “My apologies, Lady Elenwen. Please, go right in.”

Elenwen then walked into the fort, lifting her chin high as she shot the guard a disdainful look.

Elenwen stepped deeper into the fort, making her way toward the underground levels. The security grew tighter the further she descended, but the guards who recognized her did not dare question her presence again after all, Elenwen held a high position within the Thalmor.

She eventually reached the prison quarters deep beneath the fort. The air grew colder and heavier with each step, thick with the stench of blood, sweat, and decay. Torches flickered weakly along the damp stone walls, their dim light casting long, distorted shadows that seemed to twist and crawl across the corridor. The distant sound of dripping water echoed endlessly, blending with faint groans and rattling chains.

As Elenwen walked past the rows of iron-barred cells, prisoners of various races came into view Nords, Imperials, even a few khajit each one reduced to a pitiful state. Their bodies were bruised, starved, and broken, their eyes hollow with despair. Some weakly reached out through the bars, while others shrank back into the darkness of their cells, too afraid to even meet her gaze.

Elenwen didn’t spare them even a shred of sympathy. Her eyes swept over them with cold disdain, as if she were inspecting livestock no, something even lower than that.

The clinking of her footsteps echoed sharply against the stone floor commanding silence wherever she passed. Guards stationed along the corridor straightened immediately, lowering their heads as she walked by, not daring to speak.

Then, from behind a thick, reinforced door at the end of the hall, a sudden, piercing scream shattered the oppressive silence.

“AAAGH!! URRKGH!!!”

The sound was raw and filled with unbearable pain, echoing through the corridor and sending a few nearby prisoners into trembling fear.

It was quickly followed by a man’s gleeful, almost unhinged laughter.

“Gihahaha!!! Speak!!! Now!!!”

The laughter echoed louder than the screams, filling the underground with a chilling, sadistic energy that seemed to seep into the very walls.

Elenwen pushed the heavy door open, its rusted hinges letting out a long, grating creak as it gave way. The moment she stepped inside, a suffocating wave of heat and iron-scented air hit her thick with the overwhelming stench of fresh blood, sweat, and something far worse that lingered beneath it.

The room was dimly lit by several torches mounted haphazardly along the walls, their flames flickering violently as if disturbed by unseen drafts. The shifting light cast grotesque shadows that danced across the chamber, making the scene appear even more nightmarish.

Blood was everywhere splattered in chaotic patterns across the stone floor, smeared along the walls as if dragged by struggling hands, and even sprayed high onto the ceiling, where it had dried into dark, uneven stains. Some patches were still wet, slowly dripping down in thick, sluggish trails.

Scattered across the ground were fragments of bone, some cracked open, others still partially intact, all stained a deep crimson. A few pieces looked disturbingly fresh, as though they had only just been torn from their owner. In one corner, a pile of discarded remains lay carelessly tossed aside, barely distinguishable from one another.

Nearby, a crude wooden table stood under the torchlight, its surface cluttered with an array of torture instruments iron pincers, hooked blades, rusted knives, and other devices too twisted to easily name. Many of them were still slick with blood, some dripping slowly onto the floor below. The metallic scent was so strong it seemed to cling to the back of the throat.

Chains hung from the ceiling and walls, some swaying faintly with a soft clinking sound, as if recently disturbed. The entire room felt alive with suffering, as though the echoes of past screams still lingered within the stone itself.

The Altmer man inside hadn’t noticed her arrival he was far too consumed by his own grotesque amusement. His entire focus was fixed on the prisoner chained before him, who hung limply from iron shackles bolted into the wall. The man’s body was barely recognizable as human anymore covered in cuts, burns, and dried blood layered over fresh wounds that still seeped slowly.

The prisoner’s head drooped weakly, strands of sweat-soaked hair clinging to his face, his breathing ragged and uneven. Every shallow inhale sounded like it scraped against broken ribs.

Standing before him, the Altmer tilted his head slightly, his lips curling into a delighted grin that didn’t reach his cold, gleaming eyes.

In his hand, he held a pair of large iron pincers darkened from repeated use, their edges stained with old, crusted blood.

Clap! Clap!

The sharp metallic sound echoed through the room as he snapped the tool open and shut, almost playfully, as if savoring the anticipation.

“Why is that mouth of yours still so tightly shut, hmm?” he asked, his voice low and dripping with cruel amusement.

The prisoner forced his head up, his lips trembling as he struggled to speak. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth as he gasped, each word costing him what little strength he had left.

“No… for my Jarl… and for the Stormcloaks… I won’t reveal the secre ”

He never finished.

In a sudden, brutal motion, the Altmer lunged forward and seized the prisoner’s hand. Without hesitation, he clamped the pincers onto one of the man’s fingernails.

For a brief, horrifying second, there was silence

Then he pulled.

A wet, sickening rip tore through the air as the nail was violently ripped free.

The prisoner’s body convulsed violently, every muscle locking as unbearable pain shot through him like fire.

“AGH!!! MMMPHHH!! GRRG!!!”

His scream was muffled into a broken animalistic cry, his voice cracking under the sheer intensity of it. Veins bulged along his neck his jaw clenched so hard it trembled, as if he were trying to bite back the agony itself.

His entire body shook uncontrollably, chains rattling loudly as he struggled against them on instinct alone. Tears mixed with blood on his face, his vision blurring, yet somehow somehow he still refused to break completely.

His breathing turned heavy and ragged as he fought to contain the agony, his eyes filled with the suffering inflicted by the mad Altmer.

Then, in a cruel tone, the Altmer man continued, “Why do Stormcloak dogs value loyalty so highly, hmm? If you had just spoken, I might have even let you go.”

The prisoner suddenly glanced past him, toward Elenwen. Noticing the shift in the prisoner’s gaze, the Altmer turned around.

At once, his demeanor changed completely, his voice dripping with flattery. “Ahh, none other than the beautiful and highly respected Lady Elenwen.”

Elenwen looked at him with clear disgust, her eyes sweeping over his blood-covered figure. As the Altmer man stepped forward, attempting to greet her with a handshake, she fixed him with a sharp glare her eyes wide with anger and arrogance.

“Are you joking? Huh?”

The Altmer man immediately realized his mistake and pulled his hand back. “Whoops… heh, you really never change so arrogant and full of anger.”

Hearing that only made Elenwen’s expression grow colder with irritation. The man quickly added, “Ah, but of course… those traits suit a Thalmor ambassador perfectly, don’t they? Hehe.”

Elenwen let out a slow breath, her face showing clear annoyance. “Enough. Stop wasting my time with your flattering nonsense. Now, give me the information you’ve obtained from these prisoners.”

The torturer let out a sigh. “They’re all the same ‘for my Jarl, for the Stormcloaks,’ blah blah blah… more or less like that.”

Elenwen stared at him, her gaze filled with disappointment. “Ugh… are you truly worthy of that title of yours Breaker of Will, Varkhos?”

Varkhos felt anger flare within him at her mockery, but he forced it down. As a Thalmor ambassador, Elenwen was not someone he could act against. Holding back his irritation, he replied, “Please my lady, be patient. This time, this prisoner will surely reveal valuable information.”

Then, with a sinister smile, Varkhos turned his gaze back to the prisoner. “Because this time… I’m holding something precious from him. Heh… heh.”

The prisoner’s eyes flickered with a hint of realization as he looked at Varkhos. “What do you mean? Something valuable?”

Varkhos’ face twisted into a wide, sinister grin. “I heard you have a beloved, don’t you?”

Panic and fear instantly filled the prisoner’s face. “DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH HER!!! OR I’LL KGGHH!!”

He struggled violently against his restraints, but all his efforts were in vain.

Varkhos’ delight only grew. “Seems the dog is finally barking… so eager, aren’t you? I wonder how you’ll react when you see your beloved as a corpse. Heh… heh.”

The prisoner hesitated, torn and uncertain, not knowing what to do. In desperation, he tried to lie. “Fine… fine, I surrender. If I give you valuable information, you’ll let her go, right?”

Varkhos smiled again, his tone dripping with malice. “Ooh, of course… you can trust my word. Heh… heh…”

The prisoner swallowed hard before speaking. “Alright… I heard that the Dragonborn died during the battle against Alduin. Until now… we still haven’t heard any further news.”

Varkhos stared at him for a moment, studying his expression, quickly noticing the signs of deceit on the prisoner’s face. His smile faded, replaced by anger. Without warning, he drove a blade into the prisoner’s thigh.

“You think I’m a fool, huh? Tell the truth.”

The prisoner cried out in pain, panic overtaking him as his lie was exposed. “F-forgive me! I’ll tell the truth!”

Varkhos grabbed him roughly and struck his head. “Then speak NOW!!!”

Before things could escalate further, Elenwen intervened. “Wait, Varkhos. You said he was lying… about the Dragonborn being dead. That means…” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “The Dragonborn is still alive, isn’t he?”

The prisoner’s face turned even more panicked, while Varkhos’ grin slowly returned, darker than before.

“Ahh… so that’s how it is… heh… heh…”

The prisoner suddenly shouted, “No! You’re wrong!!! He’s already dead!!!”

Varkhos let out a low chuckle. “If you’re denying it that desperately… then that means he’s still alive, doesn’t it?”

Elenwen smiled faintly before turning her gaze to Varkhos. “Varkhos, where did you capture this prisoner?”

“In Whiterun, my lady,” Varkhos replied.

“I see…” Elenwen murmured. “Then all we need to do is gather information in Whiterun, correct?” She paused, her expression turning thoughtful. “Hmm… with the Dragonborn’s return, the course of the war between both sides becomes unpredictable. That makes him a variable we cannot ignore.”

Her eyes hardened slightly. “We must recruit the Dragonborn but the chance are very low. And if that is not possible… then he must be eliminated.”

She folded her arms calmly. “After successfully manipulating Ulfric into rebelling against the Empire, we cannot allow this plan to fail now.”

Hearing that, the prisoner looked confused and asked, “What do you mean… Lord Ulfric was manipulated?”

Elenwen and Varkhos turned toward him then burst into laughter.

“Ahh… well, since you’ll be a corpse soon, I suppose telling you won’t matter,” Varkhos said with a cruel grin.

“Everything went according to our plan,” Elenwen continued calmly. “From Ulfric killing High King Torygg to the Thu’um he learned… of course, if he had only done that, suspicion would have fallen on him as a Thalmor agent. Hmm… perhaps not an agent more like our puppet.”

Varkhos smirked, clearly enjoying himself. “So, we conducted experiments on his mind… and planted a deep hatred toward the Thalmor. And that experiment… was a complete success. Fufufufu…”

The prisoner froze, his breath hitching as their words sank into him like a blade driven straight through his chest. For a moment, he couldn’t even react his mind refusing to accept what he had just heard.

Then it came rushing in all at once.

Disappointment. Panic. Rage.

Betrayal.

“N-no… no, no…” His voice trembled, weak and broken, as his head shook uncontrollably. “You’re lying… right…?”

His eyes darted desperately between Varkhos and Elenwen, searching begging for even the smallest sign that this was nothing more than cruel mockery.

But they only smiled.

No denial. No explanation.

Just silence… and those cold, knowing smiles.

Something inside him cracked.

His breathing grew uneven, turning into short, erratic bursts as his pupils trembled. The chains rattled softly as his body shook not from pain this time, but from something far deeper.

“...Heh…”

A faint, hollow chuckle escaped his lips.

“Heheh…”

It grew louder, more unstable like something unraveling from within.

“HEHEAHAHAHAHA!!!”

The laughter erupted violently, echoing through the chamber in a way that felt wrong twisted, broken, empty. It wasn’t the laughter of someone amused… but of someone who had just lost the last thing holding them together.

Memories flooded his mind Ulfric’s voice, his words of pride, of freedom, of fighting for Skyrim… all those speeches that once filled his heart with fire and purpose.

Now they felt distant. Fragile.

Meaningless.

All of it… all of it…

Nothing but lies.

His laughter continued, but tears streamed down his face, mixing with blood and grime. His expression twisted into something unrecognizable caught between anguish and madness, as if he no longer knew whether to scream… or keep laughing forever.

After that, Elenwen turned to leave the torture chamber, but she paused at the doorway and spoke to Varkhos. “Ah, Varkhos… don’t kill that prisoner. Put him back in a cell. Perhaps our ‘monster’ friends across the sea will take an interest in these prisoners. They mentioned holding a celebration apparently, some good news has just arrived.”

Varkhos lowered his head respectfully. “As you wish, my lady.”

With that, Elenwen stepped out of the room.

Varkhos then turned back toward the prisoner and spoke with a cruel tone.

“What a shame… I was hoping to hear your screams just one more time. Though, now that you’ve gone mad… ah, well.”

He smirked coldly. “You don’t need to worry about your family anymore they’re already dead. Yes… truly tragic, isn’t it?”

His grin widened, filled with twisted amusement. “But don’t worry… our friends at the palace are just as entertaining as this place. You’ll end up dry and shriveled there… drained of your blood. Heh… heh… heh…”