The Daedra have overwhelmed the Prison. They run it now, led by a massive creature made from darkness, and carried on great wings.
But it is about his lieutenant that I write. The "Flesh Sculptor" they call him, a powerful necromancer. It is at his behest that citizens are taken here, and harvested. The Sculptor has mastered devilry that allows him to turn mortal organs into carriers for plague and disease—flesh devices that spew noxious clouds to contaminate the earth around them. Their plan is to deploy a thousand of these slaughter engines, dispersed throughout the City.
It would end the war quite quickly.
There has been no sign of a coming rescue, so I can only assume the generals have given up. But the Prison must return to Imperial hands.
No one has ever made it far beyond the front gate, and even then it's a fatal journey. I take it gladly, in service of the Empire, for this news to reach someone above.