Castle Volkihar was grim, dimly lit, and the air permeated with the smell of unholy, stagnant rot. Though, what else could one expect from a den of vampires? Surely not a rose garden in all its beauty. No, indeed, it were as dark and unfit to life as one would expect of such an accursed dwelling.
All things living had no business being in a place like this; a living limbo with no end in sight that could possibly end in Aetherius.
Indeed, the place was devoid of all of the pleasures of life: love; tenderness and hope. There was, however, a macabre peace to be found through its ghastly halls, if one ignored the clamouring in the central dining hall and the weeping of the servant wenches as they reluctantly served those who would bleed them dry.
Carcette despised it all; the environment, and what she has become. She could only lean against the wall near the Alchemy lab and watch as the Vampires laughed and made merriment as they devoured the corpses of innocent people.
A wench reluctantly and gingerly approached the undead Breton with a serving tray, to which Carcette swiftly declined. "No, thank you. Unless it's a Sunlight Soufflé I'm not interested. I'd kill for one of those right now." Ironic, given its name. Memories of the sweet cake flooded her mind. How long had it been? Twenty-three years since she had one last?
"I'm sorry..." The servant lowered her head and cautiously shuffled back into the fold.
The former Paladin felt for the poor girl as she walked past with her head down, fearing for her life. The other Human servants that were forced to tend to their dark desires and later serve as food roamed their large, stone-walled cage with the looming threat of death above them constantly. The vampires seemed to derive some demented pleasure from witnessing the fear in the eyes of their hapless victims. In ordinary circumstances, she would help them escape such a place, but she had no right to do so any longer, as she forfeited Stendarr's graces when she was turned into a fiend herself. Though, even in spite of it, she could not bring herself to eat Human flesh or drink Human blood. The very notion horrified her, contrary to her warped instincts that tugged on her and begged her to indulge them.
She was determined to resist.
She would resist the call to blood until she could no longer.
Still, she could probably try to hunt animals to sate her hunger, at least somewhat. Then she could continue to exist in good conscience.
"Enjoying yourself?" A voice caught her by surprise.
"Excuse me?" Carcette whirled around to face Ronthil, the Bosmer Vampire, who held a chalice in his hand.
Ronthil gave her a friendly smile, sensing her tenseness. "I hope you find life in the castle to be to your liking." The wood elf spoke meekly.
"No. I don't." Carcette spoke flatly, turning her face from him as he leaned at the doorway beside her.
"Oh... well, I guess it takes some getting used to." Ronthil mused as Carcette seemed to be ignoring him. "It's an acquired taste for some of us, I suppose. Have you tried the blood yet? We recently got some Type-AB positive. It's by far the-"
"What do you do here?" Carcette raised an eyebrow. He seemed far too gentle to be a vampire, based on all interactions she's ever had with them.
"Whatever is required! I am happy to do whatever is asked of me. I only wish to be useful." Ronthil beamed proudly, surprised that someone actually cared to ask him about himself. "Often I take on tasks that Garan or Feran find distasteful, or... beneath them. If I can remain useful, those above me will see fit to keep me here."
Carcette nodded. "You remind me of my subordinate, in that regard. She always wanted to be useful, filling in tasks that we could not do... expanding our resources... though she is far more courageous than you."
"Are you talking about 'Cura'?" Ronthil asked out of curiosity.
"Yes, I am." Carcette admitted without hesitation. "If she finds out what you've all done, she's going to burn this castle to the ground."
"I doubt that." Ronthil laughed. "She'd have to go through Lord Harkon first. Nobody can defeat him. Heck, Vingalmo has been trying for years. Orthjolf too. Both of them are scheming for the throne."
"Ugh. This is beginning to feel like High Rock." Carcette rolled her eyes.
"Well, considering you Bretons are hybrids, you inherit the best and worst traits of man and merkind. It doesn't surprise me." Ronthil laughed lightheartedly.
"Spare me your japes." Carcette dismissed him. "What do you want?"
"I want to warn you that if you want to earn a better place in the court, you should side with Vingalmo." Ronthil told her.
"Right. The one who blames me for Minorne's death." Carcette crossed her arms. "He is the angry Altmer, right?"
Ronthil shrugged. "Well, when you live forever, you learn to let things go easier. We as vampires have to take a longer approach to everything." He spoke with a soft laugh, as if it were a normal thing to consider; living for eternity with previous strangers-enemies, to be exact.
"Even revenge, I'm sure." Carcette had no doubts that Vingalmo held her in contempt. She would certainly watch her back around him.
"Well, if you prove to be useful he might just change his mind." Ronthil stated as he took a sip of blood from his decorated chalice.
"Yes, I'm sure. Until I stop being useful." Carcette shook her head dismissively as she left the wall, and Ronthil, behind her.
"Enjoying yourself talking to the damnable Breton, are you?" Vingalmo peered over the balcony in the Alchemy Lab and addressed Ronthil.
"Er, well, uh... I figured that if we're to spend eternity together, I might try to win her over to your side, Vingalmo, sir." Ronthil rubbed the back of his neck.
The irony of it all was not lost on the former Paladin. She was now in the same predicament as Vigilant Fenrik, though debatably worse; she was not just a Vampire, but a Vampire Lord. Inherited the blood of the oldest clan in Skyrim, to boot. It was a sick joke.
She walked by Orthjolf, who called out to her. "It's good to see a new face around here and that face isn't attached to an Elf."
Carcette looked at the Nord vampire with disdain. "You're half right. Now, can I be left alone?"
"I'm sure Vingalmo will be sizing you up as we speak, trying to figure if you're friend or foe. He'll tell you what a monster I am, that I can't be trusted... You mark my words, it's him you need to worry about. If it'll get him closer to being in charge, he'll slit your throat without a moment's thought." Orthjolf drove his finger across his neck.
"You don't trust Vingalmo." Carcette surmised the obvious. This must be Orthjolf then, she figured.
"No, and if you're smart, you won't either. I know he's probably related to one or more of your ancestors, but he's only looking out for himself. You'll think you're best of friends, until you find his fangs in your neck." Orthjolf warned her.
"He has plenty of motivation to. As do all of you." Carcette stated plainly.
"Just don't get in my way and I won't tear your arms off. Simple enough?" Orthjolf stated.
"Fine." Carcette continued onwards to the storage area. She had no intention of becoming involved with any of them. For now, she was content with wandering about and learning her surroundings. She would have to play her cards carefully if she were to survive this court. This disgusting Daedric court.
She saw that chapel dedicated to Molag Bal.
That bastard has caused her so much heartache, and now she belongs to him, in body and soul, until she can find a cure. A cure that does not involve Soul Trapping. She reached into her pocket and found the head of the Amulet of Stendarr and looked at it morosely. The life she left behind unwillingly. Like the necklace itself, she would need to pick up the pieces of her own life.
Tolan, Adalvald, Moric, Cura... I've failed all of you. The condemned Breton felt the weight of her shame. In one fell swoop, everything fell apart. It was undeniable, and yet, inconceivable. She spent hours of the day, laying awake in her coffin, replaying the events in her mind over and over again. She spent hours reciting the Mantras and Prayers she had practiced all her life, and kept her loved ones; family, friends, the Vigil; all close to her heart.
She had much motivation to keep herself stable. She would not give up on Stendarr like Fenrik had. The God of mercy was out there, and he would help her. Perhaps this was all a learning experience for her. An extremely unpleasant one, yes, but a learning experience just the same. She had to learn the value of life in order to understand its sanctity and worth.
When she entered the storage room, she saw the dead bodies of innocent people hung on meat hooks in enclaves, having been drained of blood into buckets and into barrels.
Pure barbarism.
Perhaps the fact she felt repulsed by it still was a good sign.
Though, by contrast, her new, blasphemed body desired it like a Skooma addict desires the moon sugar. It was succulent, red, and it only seemed to draw her closer and closer to it, but she only shook her head in refusal. She would not give in to temptation.
The more Carcette considered her dark predicament, the more she was beginning to feel alien in her own body. Her hands, legs, and all seemed to still belong to her, true, but there were inexplicable changes where her mind was concerned. She felt powerful, and yet dark. If she were to walk out to the world, she would be facing prey, not Humans. If they surmised her true nature they would spare her no quarter, and surely hunt her down, much in the way the Vigil does.
She headed down the stairs after proceeding through the gothic doorway on the west side of the small room and found a chamber filled with many cells, and within the cells were many helpless victims, entranced and kept in place. There were piles upon piles of bones littering the floors, and torture devices against the pillars and buckets beside them.
A voice called out from behind her, catching her by surprise. "You're new here, so I'll explain this once. You feed from the thralls as much as you like. You kill them, and I'll split you in half." It was Rargal Thrallmaster, the overseer of these poor Human beings.
"Where do the thralls come from?" Carcette asked as she waved a hand in front of the face of what was once one of her former subordinates. The Thrall she examined wore an Amulet of Stendarr, which alerted her to his vocation.
"All over Skyrim. It's my job to collect them. I try and keep something for everyone. For every taste, I mean. Sometimes you get one who comes willingly, but most have to be convinced to join us here." Rargal chuckled darkly as he motioned towards the Vigilant. "You were almost going to be standing right beside him, but because of Lord Harkon's grace, you stand before him instead. You should be grateful."
In truth, she was grateful to not be in that Vigilant's predicament. After all, how could she avenge them if she were a glorified Zombie? Or rather, a glorified Zombie with no thought process. Her heart may lay still, but it went out to these hopeless victims. There has to be something she could do.
Then she noticed, with the corner of her eye, an open grate, which was most likely used to dump the remains of their victims. Perhaps some use could come of that at some point.
Carcette walked away from the thralls and past Rargal, not so much as exchanging a glance with him.
"Sure, sure, I suppose I'm not worth your time. Naturally, even undead, you Bretons have to raise your noses about everything." Rargil threw his hands up in irritated defeat as he went back to check on the Thralls.
"Did you hear about what happened at Markarth earlier today?" A vampire servant spoke to another.
"Yes, the Forsworn are on the loose, and blood flowed through the streets. Salonia told me all about it." the second responded.
Carcette ducked around the corner, intent on hearing this. The Forsworn were nothing but bad news. A shame to her kind.
"A Vigilant of Stendarr was among them; a blonde female one." the first servant explained.
It couldn't be.
"They were seen escaping Cidhna Mine. The Vigilant shouted in the language of old, and the sky went dark and a cataclysm shook the city. Salonia said it was quite the spectacle." the first vampire continued. "Though, she saw the spectacle from the hideout. Must not have had the best angle view."
By Stendarr, it was Cura!
She could stir cataclysms with her voice? My, has she grown so much in mere weeks! The news set Carcette at ease, somewhat. If Cura could build her skill this quickly, perhaps her keeping her behind for that long was not as harmful as she had feared.
Carcette rounded the corner and looked at the servile Vampires sternly. "Did you learn anything else about this Breton Vigilant?" She needed to know. It was one thing to know that Cura was alive and well, but why was she in Cidhna Mine? Why was she helping those brutish savages? Had she learned yet what happened to the Hall? She had many questions, and though she was not expecting an answer this moment from the stooges, she still wanted to gleam as much information off them as she could.
"She slaughtered many of the Guards in Markarth. Apparently her friend was killed by them. Mostly underground hearsay. If you want to know more, ask Salonia." The Vampire snubbed her.
Carcette pushed a path between the pair of them and into the side hallway where Salonia seemed to be admiring a painting on the wall. "I have to ask you something." Carcette cut right to the point.
"About the Vigilant, I heard." Salonia turned to face her. "I am right around the corner you know." She made an obvious gesture to the construction of the castle halls, and how the passage itself was an echo chamber, "What do you want to know?"
"Everything you know about her. Let's start with the Cidhna Mine." Carcette demanded.
Salonia paced the floor and twiddled her fingers. "Well, from what others in the shadows have told me, she was imprisoned by the Guards on suspicion of murder of a man named Eltrys, Nepos the Nose, and the snobbish wife of Thonar Silver-Blood."
"Cura would never do such a thing!" Carcette denied.
"She also beat another Vigilant to death in the Abandoned House at the bottom level of the city." Salonia mimicked a smashing motion with her hands. "Wham, bam, good night."
"Don't play these games with me." Carcette threatened. "Be serious."
"I am being serious." Salonia stated. "I was in our little hideaway beneath the Warrens in the city. Cura was conducting an investigation there. That is her name, right? Cura? Or is it Cara? Or Cora?"
"Get to the damned point." Carcette sneered, growing impatient.
Salonia did. "Good Cairine told me quite a bit, and in exchange, I finally rewarded her with the Gift. She was there to see Cura dragged into Cidhna mine, beaten within an inch of her life. Those Guards are really merciless. We might learn a thing or two... heh, heh, heh. "
Carcette bared her fangs. "And you're telling me this all happened and she beat another Vigilant to death after slaughtering the Guards? I can only presume they got in the way accidentally, then."
"Oh, no. The slaughter happened much before. Three days before she engulfed the city in lightning and rain and blood." Salonia laughed. "You should be proud of her! You were her boss, right? Your lackey is so powerful! She should join us, too!"
With refusal to believe this inane news, Carcette grabbed Salonia by the face, and slammed her head through the solid stone wall with superhuman force. She then continued her walk into the shadows.
She knew Cura better than that.
Cura would never strike down an ally in cold blood. Pieces of context were clearly missing here. Perhaps it was attempt at deception, to demoralize her. After all, it was no secret that Cura was changing; if she could kill another Vigilant in cold blood... who's to say...
No.
She's known Cura since she was an infant. She raised her to be sensible and compassionate.
All she knew, however, was that she was hesitant to see Cura again, as there was no excuse for what happened to her. Not after Cura's Lycanthropy episode, and the matter of Fenrik and how she'd long chastised her.
Cura was duty-bound to slay her.
The thought made Carcette shiver. She only hoped Cura would extend the same mercy to her as she had during the instance of the Ring of Hircine.
It was deathly silent in Jorrvaskr that morning, and Cura lay still on her bed in the common room. Inigo had brought her here, her last place of warmth and home, after she had collapsed into the snow.
Her house in Hjerim was ready by now, surely, but she would be alone there. Here, at least, she was closer to Lydia, and to friendly faces. Inigo brought her here out of the Pale in the middle of the day, whisking her from the desolate tundra.
Vilkas sat nearby, and spoke to Inigo concerning her. "What happened, exactly?" The Nord asked, concerned by what he was seeing. He was angry at Cura for a time, but that anger and hurt was replaced with concern, especially given Lydia's fate when she arrived yesterday with Inigo.
"She was unjustly incarcerated in Cidhna Mine." Inigo stated. "She stormed the city in escape, and when she returned to the Hall of the Vigilant, it was completely obliterated!"
"Yes, t's been all over the news; Town Criers and Couriers everywhere speak of it." Vilkas dismayed. "Poor Cura." He gently reached forward and brushed some stray hairs away from her face. She had been put through the ringer, though perhaps it was unavoidable in the grand scheme of things.
"Is she awake yet?" Aela asked from the doorway as she approached.
"No, she's still unconscious." Vilkas informed the hot-blooded huntress.
"Perhaps she doesn't want to wake up. Can't say that I blame her." Aela did her best to sympathize. After all, Cura had lost everything; her Housecarl, her Family, her Home, and even her Dignity, as it were. Aela knew how horridly the feeling of loss stung. Ever since Skjor was taken from them, things just haven't been the same at Jorrvaskr.
It was this that Inigo himself was missing in his life when his brother died so long ago, and that led him down a Skooma-addled, suicidal path of despair and dishonour. He would rather rot in Oblivion than see that happen to a friend.
"First Dragons, and now Vampires? The world's gone mad." Ria spoke from the other side of the room, standing beside Njada.
Njada nodded in agreement. "If any of those horrors comes into Whiterun, we'd best be able to fight them!"
Kodlak Whitemane stood in the hallway and entered the room. "I want all of you to give her some space when she wakes up. The poor girl needs it."
"No. She needs a friend!" Inigo protested. He sat beside Cura and held his friend's hand. He did not want her to wake up alone in this time, doomed to remain inside her own mind, stirring in those dark thoughts. She needed to have friends around her, to remind her that there still were ones out there who care about her, who she can value, even in the blackest of moments. "The last thing she needs is to be stuck in this room alone! You do not know what kinds of thoughts will storm her brain! Bad thoughts! Thoughts of sadness and thoughts of dark deeds! Especially if she has nobody around!"
Kodlak saw his point, and then calmly relented. He nodded graciously. "I understand. I know the feeling of loss quite well, myself, from a young age. Yes, do let her know she has her Shield-Siblings." He gave a light, yet glum smile. "And I, too, will be here if she needs me." He slowly turned around and returned to his duties as Harbinger, and Aela followed him out.
Njada eventually decided to go outside, and all who remained were Ria, Vilkas, and Inigo.
Vilkas leaned on the dresser behind Cura's bed, awaiting her awakening, while Inigo sat on a chair beside her. Ria leaned against the wall.
"Cidhna Mine... I've heard that nobody escapes it. She's pretty tough, I'll give her that." Ria mused.
"You'd never tell just by lookin' at her." Vilkas chuckled. "Looks as posh, soft and prim as most Breton girls do. Heh." He softly came closer and went down on one knee and watched her tranquil form. "But don't let her looks deceive you. In her chest beats the heart of a fierce warrior. I can see what Kodlak saw in her, now. Maybe I can see even a little more."
Vilkas came dangerously close to openly confessing his feelings, but decided to keep it discreet for the others. Inigo saw right through it.
"Why do you not just admit you are enamoured by her, wolf boy?" Inigo asked him with a lighthearted laugh. "I am sure she will not blush too hard."
"'Wolf boy'?" Ria raised an eyebrow at Vilkas, who waved a dismissive hand.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Cat. But if you cherish your tongue, you'd do well to watch it." Vilkas warned Inigo.
Inigo only laughed. "Ha, ha! Very well, then. I will surely not be going around and telling other people in Whiterun about your and Cura's love."
Vilkas bit his lower lip and shot Inigo a warning glare. He had an image to maintain. He was not going to appear soft to anybody.
Slowly, but surely, Cura began to stir with a soft groan. She moved side-to-side for a while before stretching her arm backwards over the end table and hitting Vilkas in the nose. This shot her awake and she turned to see him there, holding his sore nose.
"Hello, Cura." Vilkas waved with his free hand.
"Vilkas? Sorry about that..." Cura rubbed her eyes. "How long... have I been here...?"
"You slept for a day, my friend!" Inigo exclaimed. "I brought you here out of the snow of the Pale!"
Memories flooded back like a ravine; the burned Hall of the Vigilant, Moric's dead body, the Vampire, the Death Hounds, the artifacts, then the bloodstained, corpse-addled landscape. Then the fade to black. Cura clenched her arms and looked down sadly. "I... remember."
"That must be really tough for you..." Ria tried to sympathize. "...but if it makes you feel better, I've seen Vigilants around Whiterun. Your organization still lives!"
Vilkas looked at Ria with a sneer and shook his head at her ignorance. "They're not only in Skyrim! They exist all over Tamriel, save for the Aldmeri Dominion. I think their headquarters is in the Imperial City."
"Chorrol, actually." Cura corrected. "The city of Stendarr. Though, all of their external operations are done through consulting the Elder Council in the Imperial City." She slowly stood up, and her numbness was apparent. Her heart was sorrowful, and no matter how she tried to conceal it or run from it, it was plain to see. "That's... how they came to Skyrim to begin with..."
"Cura, are you well?" Inigo asked concernedly as he saw the change in her movement.
"I have to be." Cura said as she collected her weapons amd headed to the door.
Vilkas stood up and approached her, and rested a gentle hand around her shoulder. "Take this time to mourn, and then when you're ready, go out and join the fight again. You don't need to jump to it now!"
"The Dragons..." Cura began, to which Vilkas shook his head.
"They're not going anywhere." Vilkas informed her. "And you can't face 'em like this. They need to see a proud, unyielding Dragonborn! That'll put the real fear into 'em!"
Cura sighed, and relented, nearly dropping her shield in the process. "Okay, okay. I get it."
Inigo approached again and looked at Vilkas, who then decided to finally talk about another pressing issue with Cura.
"Meet us at the Skyforge tonight, Cura. We're going to bid farewell to Lydia, together." Vilkas informed her. "I know she was a good friend to you. You were nearly inseparable. You'll want to attend this one."
Cura held no response. All she could do was stare at the floor. Vilkas slowly released her and gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder, as if to tell her it was going to be all right.
It was not going to be all right.
It could never be all right.
She watched her friend die, a second time.
All she wanted was to have Lydia beside her right now, to make a snide remark about how they're already planning to replace her over a dangerous mission, or something, but reality was so much crueler than that.
Inigo gently embraced Cura and she leaned into it as grief overtook her once more.
As the day passed, Cura spent most of it wandering the city and selling old Dragon Bones for a decent amount of coin, and even repairing her equipment from the brutal battery in Markarth. Inigo spent the day with her, trying to cheer her up, with very little success.
Inigo himself was a tad saddened by Lydia's demise, as well. He liked fighting with her. Who was going to be his easy target now?
Though the more he considered it, this was all a massive loss in Cura's life. Lydia's death wasn't the only thing tearing her apart right now. The prospect of her family's fate concerned her as well.
Kodlak Gray-Mane spent some time with Cura, as well, and allowed her to pour her concerns and sorrows onto him.
"This life can be a challenging one," Kodlak stated. "but that challenge is what gives it meaning. Sorrow gives way to happiness. You may not see it now, but you will come to understand with age, that sometimes it is these events that make us stronger. Don't allow it to hinder you. Accept it as a blaze to keep your love for the world kindled. Never let that flame die out."
Cura nodded.
"And, if it's no trouble, I am curious as to how the burning of the Witch's head works to cure us of Lycanthropy." Kodlak scratched his beard. "Fire does not seem to affect it." He gestured to the Glenmoril Witch's head, which was now mounted on his wall.
Cura had low energy, and only managed a shrug in response. "I guess... ask Andurs about it. Or Danica... I don't know how the Vigil made it work."
Kodlak thought about it. "I suppose Danica could figure it out, with her dealings of Kynareth."
Cura was distracted, and her mind continued to wander.
With a nice supper that evening, the compassionate Fralia Gray-Mane managed to give Cura some hope.
"If Thorald could survive those rotten elves, I'm sure your family survived those Vampires!" Fralia tried to be reassuring. "You just need to have faith, dear! Never let sadness be the deciding factor in your life."
Cura nodded. "Yes, you're right. Thank you, Fralia."
Inigo nodded actively as he stuffed his cheeks with Venison. "Mm-hmm!"
"You take care of yourself, now." Fralia placed a gentle hand on Cura's forearm. "And if there's anythin' you need, don't hesitate to ask."
Cura nodded again, but her moroseness was still very apparent by her reticence this day. Her lack of focus was also very noticeable. "I'm sorry, Fralia... it's just... I've been having a string of very bad days."
Fralia leaned back in her seat and pursed her lips, saddened for the young Breton. "It's a damn shame. Good girls like you shouldn't have bad days."
Eventually, the sun set and the chill of night crept in to the city. It was time.
Cura made sure her outfit was in order, and Inigo groomed his fur for the service.
The pair ascended the stone stairs to the Skyforge behind Jorrvaskr, where all of the Companions were present; Newbloods, Journeymen, and even the Circle themselves. Eorlund Gray-Mane stood before the unlit forge, a torch in his hand.
Vilkas beckoned for Cura to stand beside him, and she did so, standing between the twin Brothers, as Farkas stood to her left.
Inigo was told to stand near the steps, as he was not a member of the Companions.
Cura looked up at the forge, where she could see Lydia laying atop a wooden canopy, flowers surrounding her, as well as her sword gripped in her lifeless hands. She was wearing her worn out steel armour, still.
She looked strangely peaceful from this angle.
Cura could feel her heart sinking, and she wanted to call out to Lydia to wake her friend up, but knew it was not going to happen, and so refrained with a sad plea to Stendarr for strength to see this through.
Vilkas took Cura's right hand into his own when he seemed to sense her condition, and she remembered that he was a Werewolf. The Vigil was wrong about a lot of things, declaring Werewolves as creatures with no empathy, nor hope of redemption.
Kodlak Whitemane approached from the side, with a speech prepared. "Lydia. Who was she to us? A fine friend, and a capable warrior. Her deeds were plentiful, and sure to earn her a place in Shor's great Hall, true. But what does she mean to us? To each and every man and woman here, present at this funeral?"
"She was a fun Shield-Sister." Ria stated.
"A good ear to talk to." Athis remarked.
"Good at chugging ale!" Torvar raised his tankard/
"A worthy opponent." Njada nodded.
"A headstrong lass." Vilkas stated.
"A great swordswoman!" Farkas exclaimed.
"A good archer under my study." Aela nodded.
It was Cura's turn, and she dreaded having to speak. She was crippled with sorrow, wiping the tears away. "She... she was... m-my first... Housecarl. And m-my best friend... Oh, Lydia! Why?! Why didn't you run?!" She choked down a few painful sobs and placed her face in her hands.
"Because she was a true Nord." Inigo pointed out, as an outsider in both vocation and race. The Nords that surrounded all nodded in solemn agreement with the Khajiit.
Kodlak looked at Cura sympathetically, and then turned to the group. "Who will start?"
Aela raised her hand, quickly. "I'll do it. Before the ancient flame... We grieve."
Kodlak lowered his head. "We grieve."
Farkas lowered his head. "We grieve."
Vilkas lowered his head. "We grieve."
Cura lowered her head. "We g-grieve."
Kodlak placed a hand to his chest. "At this loss... We weep."
Aela placed a hand to her chest. "We weep."
Farkas placed a hand to his chest. "We weep."
Vilkas placed a hand to his chest. "We weep."
Cura placed a hand to her chest. "We weep."
Vilkas looked up to the sky. "For the fallen... We shout."
Aela looked up to the sky. "We shout."
Kodlak looked up to the sky. "We shout."
Farkas looked up to the sky. "We shout."
Cura looked up to the sky. "We shout!"
Farkas took a bow. "And for ourselves... We take our leave."
Kodlak took a bow. "We take our leave."
Aela took a bow. "We take our leave."
Vilkas took a bow. "We take our leave."
Cura took a bow. "We take... our leave..." The words caused an ache in her chest.
Eorlund then walked with his torch over to the forge. "Kynareth guide your soul." He placed the torch into the forge, and fire immediately caught the coals, and then the wood, which engulfed Lydia. Cura looked on with sorrow as her friend's remains disappeared into the bounding energy.
Aela announced to the group. "Her spirit is departed."
Vilkas turned to Cura. "Do not feel sad for her; she is in Sovngarde, now. Celebrate!"
Kodlak approached Cura as the others began to return to their affairs. "Vilkas is right, girl. She's died a heroic death. Nothing is more honourable for a Housecarl than to die in service to their Lord, or Thane. This was what she lived for."
"Indeed; and why I thought her to be a good companion for you." A familiar voice called from the stairs below. Jarl Balgruuf himself came down from Dragonsreach to attend.
"Jarl Balgruuf.." Cura could only find herself able to say his name.
The Jarl nodded. "Lydia was a good warrior. I could find you a replacement, if you'd like, but it will be difficult. I know they will never be the same as Lydia, but as a Thane in my court..."
Cura shook her head. "No. I could never replace Lydia. I have another Housecarl, but... I don't want another Whiterun Housecarl."
Balgruuf nodded. "Very well, then. I understand." He gave Cura a comforting tap on her shoulder. "May the gods watch over your battles, friend." He had to return to his duties, and he did not want to risk making Cura feel worse than she already did.
Cura looked over to the Skyforge, where she continued to watch the immolation. Inigo took her hand and moved her out of its sight. "Let us go, my friend. We should have a drink at the Bannered Mare."
Cura agreed and wiped residual tears from the corners of her eyes. A drink sounded excellent right about now.
As they walked down the stone steps, immediately, they heard a loud ruckus from around the city gate. Cura quickly withdrew her weapon on instinct, and Inigo followed suit. There were many Vigilants of Stendarr stockpiling against a foe, aiding the City Guards against shadowed assailants.
"Burn it! Burn the Vampire!" Ysolda shouted as she hid behind the well in the center of the market.
A Vampire?
Cura ran down the stone road. "EVERYONE GET OUT OF THE WAY!" She yelled as rage filled her heart.
The Vigilants quickly rushed to the sides, and the City Guard jumped away in time, knowing what was to come.
"FUS RO DAH!" Cura's voice shattered the realm with a violent wind tunnel, which decimated the Vampire and his minions there at the gate, and even tore the gate off its hinges, sending it and pieces of the very palisade wall itself off into the verdant hills. Trees bent backwards by the sheer force and water under the bridge created a rainfall over that part of the city.
Cura ran over to examine the ash pile, and she found an Amethyst, an Ebony Dagger, and a strange armour buried in the ashes.
"They say that if a vampire so much as scratches you... that you'll turn into one. Gods, I hope that isn't true." The City Guard stared in horror at the cut on his left arm. A Vigilant quickly tended to him, and in the process she imparted Stendarr's Blessing.
"Those are Volkihar robes!" One of the other Vigilants exclaimed as he tended to one of his wounded allies.
"Volkihar..." Cura muttered, when from the nearby shadows another Vampire leapt out, ready to attack, only to be shot in the head by a mysterious silver object from the opposite direction.
Cura whirled around and saw the Vampire there, with a silver bolt sticking out of his right temple. He was hiding behind the Smelter at Warmaiden's, and picked now to attack. What a cowardly beast.
From the shadows next to the Drunken Huntsman came an Orc with a crossbow and a fur cape, wearing a thick armour. He approached Cura directly. "You there. The Dawnguard is looking for anyone willing to fight against the growing Vampire menace. What do you say?"
Cura slowly stood up, still disoriented, and searched the crowd around her before noticing the Orc Ranger approach. "What's the Dawnguard?"
"We're vampire hunters. We search out and destroy those bloodsucking scum wherever we find them." The Orc stated. "I'm Durak. A recruiter, as of now."
"I'm already with the Vigil of Stendarr." Cura informed him.
"The Vigilants mostly hunt down daedra worshippers, which is why they got torn to pieces when they went up against vampires." Durak had little to no care about the fact that he was surrounded by Vigilants of Stendarr, for her knew he was right, and they knew it as well. "That's why our leader Isran is reestablishing the Dawnguard. Real, serious vampire hunters."
"Isran?" Cura's eyes widened, recalling the name immediately. "No way! Really?"
"You know this Isran fellow?" Inigo asked Cura as he approached.
"Know him?! He was my first fighting teacher!" Cura said with a nod, recalling memories of her early training years in the snowy courtyard with the strict Redguard instructor who kept insisting she refine her techniques. Cura quickly turned to Durak. "Er-we are thinking of the same Isran, right? He's a very stern Redguard man? Is he using the old fortress east of Riften, in the Dayspring Canyon?"
"I'm sure he'll be glad to see you again." Durak said with a smile. "Go see him in the Fort. He'll decide if you're Dawnguard material. And get moving if you're serious about it. The vampires aren't going to wait around to make their next move."
Cura turned to face the other Vigilants around her, and a few of them gave her nods. If Cura couldn't have been there to protect the Hall, the least she could do was avenge them.
Cura then turned to Inigo. "If I can't beat Vampires, I can't beat Alduin. Let this be my test."
Inigo nodded. "Wherever you go, so too will I! Let's go knock out some pointy teeth!" He high-fived Cura, who was now feeling a sense of purpose again.
"FOR SKYRIM!" Cura pumped her fist in the air, and everyone around cheered and applauded as she and Inigo hurried out of the city.
Vigilant Tolan and Erandur wandered the fields of the Rift.
"Friend, I do implore you to remain calm!" Erandur pleaded. "Your wounds are healed, but they can have residual effects."
Tolan shook his head. "Isran's fort is around here somewhere. I'm going to find him. If anyone will know what to do, it'll be him." The stubborn Nord cut ahead to the Dunmer's chagrin.
"Lady Mara preserve us." Erandur said with a sigh as the pair of them wandered the darkness with only a Travel Lantern fastened to Tolan's belt to give them sight. After tussling with some Bears and Frostbite Spiders, Erandur noticed a tower with smoke rising from it. "What is that?! A battle?"
"No, Stendarr's Beacon." Tolan informed him as he pointed to the stone tower atop the precipice. "Vigilant Moric had it built a while ago as another rest stop for us in the fields. That's where I'm going to stay for the meantime, once I've spoken with Isran."
The Nord then turned around to face Erandur. "You should return to your Tower, friend. This isn't a safe job."
Erandur laughed. "No, I'm not going to do that. You need my help. Lady Mara has shown me this, my son. It would take an earthquake beneath my feet to be rid of me."
"Fine, just don't get in my way." Tolan warned him as he walked over a bridge and found a cave entrance with a signpost that read "Dayspring Canyon".