Winterhold is well named - it is colder than...I dunno, something really really cold. A better name, though, would be "DreamCrusherHold," because that is exactly what happened to me there. Rayya was - is - a pleasant elf woman who listened to my tale quietly then told me matter-of-factly that I was screwed. I was in this world because the Daedra (some sort of evil demigods) wanted me there. She did give my one last grasp of hope - a woman named Edith, in a place called Riverwood (which was, of course, miles and miles away) might - just might!- be able to help. She also gave me money, which was a help. I paid for a room (the "doors" were just flimsy curtains) and slept like the dead for sixteen hours.

The road to Riverwood was actually not too bad. I stopped at the mine, said hi as I warmed up, sprinted past the fort, stopped in at the inn...everything went smoothly until I took a wrong turn and ended up walking right into an old ruin that had been taken over by a group of bandits.

I ran again, but this time there were no wolves to fend off my pursuers. Fortunately there were just two of them, well spaced apart. I turned and blasted the nearest one with fire until he got closer, then pulled out my sword and dagger and lunged.

I think the move caught him by surprise - he probably expected me to try to defend. Too bad for him I had no idea how to do such a thing. My sword took him through the neck before he even raised his weapon, and he collapsed in a streaming fountain of blood. The other bandit stopped when he saw it, then turned and ran back the way he had come. I turned and started running too, then realized that the bandit I had killed might have money or other useful things. I went back and looted the body. The armor was metal - too heavy for me; it would just slow me down - but he had a little money and some food, and his sword looked better than mine. I took them and sprinted off before his friend could arrive with reinforcements.

It wasn't until a few minutes later that my adrenaline ran out and I sank unconsciously to my knees. I had killed a person. "Stuck a sword right through his head!" yelled a British voice in my head, a distant attempt at humor to block the oncoming wave of shock. Soon I was shivering, and not just from the bitter cold. I relived the moment over and over, the feel of the sword cutting through the thin flesh of the neck, the blood spurting, his gargling dead rattle, the weight of his body dragging the sword and my arm downward. I didn't feel guilty. I just felt...empty. Raw. The words, "that didn't happen, that didn't happen" kept ringing through my head, a staccato beat playing counterpoint to the images of carnage.

I don't know how long I sat there, but eventually my brain realized that if I didn't move I'd be just as dead as the bandit. I heaved myself to my feet and stumbled forward.

The snow and the bitter cold broke soon after as the downhill slope eased into a grassy valley. I barely noticed the signs of civilization as I passed them, hardly noticed even when I asked a soldier which path to take to Riverwood. The guard told me, then said, "But you don't want to go to Riverwood. It's not safe - they don't even have walls." I thanked him and kept on, not realizing that his innocent-seeming statement was a harbinger.

It was the middle of the night when I reached the tranquil town. A couple of dogs barked. One slave walked down the street, eyes on the ground. The rest of the town was dead asleep. Except for the four bandits who jumped me the moment I stepped under the frail wooden walkway that counted as the border of the town. One hit me in the head, another pounded a mace against my knee. I staggered forward as quickly as I could, shouting for help, but the slave just ducked her head lower and the rest of the town stayed dark.

The men tackled me. I kicked and screamed until one of them held a knife in front of my face. Point taken. Almost literally. I shut up and braced myself.

It didn't take them long to cut through the straps that tied Lysha's leather armor to my limbs. I instinctively tried to huddle from the exposure of the night air on my bare skin, but they just laughed. Rough hands with grips like steel pinned my arms and yanked my legs apart.

Words cannot describe the pain of a man entering your body without lubrication. I cried out involuntarily, only to have my voice muffled by a hand, as the first one stabbed into me. And "stabbed" is as apt a word as one could use in this situation. I felt fire rush through me, a saw cutting me open. Tears streaked down my cheeks. I bit down on the hand, eliciting a yelp, but it was soon replaced by a rag. That actually helped - I bit down on it as hard as I could as the torment continued.

I have no idea how long it lasted. The first finished, the second grabbed my by the hair and jerked me to my knees, then shoved his dirty dick down my throat. I'm actually pretty good at giving blow jobs, but even had I been willing, that wasn't really what he was after. Rape is not about sex - it's about power. And I was powerless. I did think about biting down, but I clung to the thin hope of going home and chose not to die. In between men they forced liquids down my throat, laughing as I coughed. The liquids, I soon discovered, held some form of drug - the world became a kaleidoscope of color, and strange energy ran through my body. They were not, alas, pain killers or sedatives. If anything, they heightened the pain

The third followed the lead of the first, except he did it from behind, turning me over and forcing my face into the ground as he held my arms at a painful angle behind my back. Blessings counted: one - he did not shove it up my ass. So that was something.

There was a faint pink glow in the sky as the third finished and the fourth started stripping. I laid on the cool ground and enjoyed the brief moment of peace, unaware of the commotion that had sprung up behind me until the fourth man abruptly pulled his pants back on and grabbed for his sword, only to die a moment later from an arrow embedded in his neck. He collapsed in front of me, close enough to make out details though my drugged haze, and I watched with detached interest as his eyes turned glassy.

Moments later, I heard mumbling voices. "No, it's okay. She's not a slave. You were right."

"Thank the Divines. I'd hate to face the Jarl's court for murder."

The first voice, a little closer: "Are you all right, miss?"

I forced myself to lift my head from the cool grass. I couldn't make out the features of my saviors - everything was multicolored and blurry - but I mumbled my thanks and assured him I'd be okay. Moments later I felt a soft warmth around my shoulders, and tender arms lifted me. I tried to protest, but I was so, so tired. I closed my eyes and let the world go black.

Don’t feed the bastards – they’ll just want more.

~ Sian

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