That night, Cura sat up in her bed with a small candle lit beside her. She cleverly placed her armour around it so as to block most of the light from disturbing the others around her as they rested. She found an interesting book on one of the drawers titled "The Physicalities of Werewolves." It was clear that she wasn't the only person here who had suspicions.
She remembered when Brother Adalvald read this same book to her when she was a child, as the wise man taught her about all manner of monsters that lurked in the frozen wastes. In fact, in her earliest years, she was outright terrified, and Keeper Carcette would often give flack to Adalvald for 'scaring the child', but he insisted that she needed to know what was out there.
Now, as she lived young adulthood, Cura understood the importance of the scary texts she heard. With fresh eyes, she peered over the old, weathered, yellow pages, and scanned the text jotted upon them.
"Far too many books such as this one begin with some sort of justification. Some reason for study is concocted, in the hopes that the writer's obsession will be seen in a more noble light. I make no such pretensions. No werewolf killed my family, none ever threatened me personally, nor even an acquaintance of mine. My obsession is borne out of simple curiosity, with a strong dose of hatred for the unnatural. Is it possible to hate something without having been done harm by it? I am no philosopher, and thus here ends my introduction. On with my studies.
I have endeavored, over the course of several decades, to perform a complete study of the physical nature of the creatures we call werewolves. I overlook entirely the origins of this plague, whether it is acquired voluntarily or inflicted, and how one might be cured. Such matters are filled with too much guesswork and rambling second-hand inanities from farmhands.
Subject A
Captured: in Morrowind, while in beast form
Makeup: Male, Breton in his true form
Notes: Subject shows an unusually high degree of control over his transformations.
Experiment 1 - Subject's bodily proportions were thoroughly measured before, during, and after the transformation. As expected, the proportions were identical while in true form, but some minor swelling of the head was observed immediately after the return. Changes observed during transformation:
23% increase in shoulder width
17% narrowing of hips
47% lengthening of arms
7% increase in finger length (not accounting for claws)
As for the legs - the lengthening of the foot to several times its normal length seems to account for the otherwise negligible changes in the thigh region.
Experiment 2- Subject was coerced into changing as rapidly and as frequently as possible, at various times and at various levels of duress. Transformation times and effects were not viewed to change notably. Subject expired, concluding tests.
Subject B
Captured: in Cyrodiil, already imprisoned by local authorities, in true form
Makeup: Female, Nord in her true form
Notes: Subject's large size in both true and transformed forms makes an excellent fit for vivisection
I believe I may have been the first to witness a werewolf transformation ply its effects on the internal workings of a creature. The heart is the first thing to swell, long before the lungs or bones shift to accommodate it. This may account for the intense chest pains that some of the afflicted report directly before their changes.
More interesting were the changes observed in the muscles of the legs. I had expected a strengthening, as the beasts are known for great power and speed, but they also seemed to change color into a dusky brown. This could also be attributed to blood loss from the procedures.
Before the subject expired, I worked applying some known "remedies" for the disease directly to internal organs. Wolfsbane petals applied to the bones seemed to render them brittle, and the ribcage nearly collapsed at the touch. The juice of ripened belladonna berries was pressed directly into the veins, and they could be seen to shrivel behind the flow as it moved through the system. Upon reaching the heart, the major vessels pulled away completely, and subject expired within minutes."
How morbid, Cura thought. surely there had to be a better way to cure such an affliction.
She ruminated on her conversation with Vilkas earlier in the day. She hoped he wasn't a werewolf, and that her suspicions were only just suspicions. A pain filled her chest the more she thought of the matter. The Breton clenched her chest as she closed the book. She headed back to the dresserwhere she found it and laid the book back on top of it, as if nobody had touched it.
What if Kodlak were also a Werewolf? Perhaps that was the "Rot" he was referring to?
And Aela? Well... in her case, Cura could believe it. Her fascination with blood and hunting spoke volumes, as far as the Breton was concerned.
Cura slowly drifted back under the covers of her bed. She hoped she could get a good night's rest, and be up early enough to continue preparations.
"Are you coming, Lydia?" Cura asked her Housecarl, who was sitting at the feast table.
"Are you ready for the trial, my Thane?" Lydia asked in earnest as she pulled her chair and stood up. "I hear Dustman's Cairn is a perilous place."
"I hear so, too." Cura admitted. "But I'm sure I'll survive it. Early this morning, I walked up to Dragonsreach and snuck a use of Farengar's Enchanter. I bought a Greater Soul Gem from him and placed a Fire enchantment on my Mace, to make shorter work of any Draugr."
"Smart move." Lydia admitted.
"Also, I believe it will make my life easier when dealing with Vampires." Cura admitted further.
Lydia adjusted her sword on her back. "All right, let's go and talk to the others."
Aela approached from the shadows. "Do you really think you've got what it takes?"
Cura and Lydia both quickly turned around to face the Member of the Circle. Aela was an excellent stalker; nobody would have seen her coming. It was quite impressive, really.
"I think I do." Cura responded. "I've made some necessary precautions, and Lydia will be accompanying me."
"No, she won't." Aela denied her.
A silence momentarily cut in on everybody. Cura was paused, dumbfounded. "Why not?" She asked.
"This is your trial, not hers." Aela sneered. "The only other person you can go with is Farkas, your assigned Shield-Brother. That's what makes this a trial."
Cura and Lydia exchanged mildly concerned glances. Cura had been separated from Lydia before, but to have it mandated felt a little different. It caused a moment of doubt to enter the Breton's mind. She quickly shrugged it off, because now was not the time to start doubting her own abilities; especially when it was her time to prove herself!
"I'm sorry, Lydia." Cura apologized to her Housecarl. "I wanted to bring you along."
Lydia's face fell to disappointment, and then worry. "But... I'm your Housecarl! I'm supposed to defend you with my life."
"You're also a Companion." Aela reminded her. "You can't have your Sweetroll and eat it, too."
Lydia crossed her arms and walked away, silently. Cura watched as she slunked back downstairs, and felt a twinge of sadness for her; after all, it must be stressful to be the Housecarl of someone as danger-prone as she. Though, she'd be all right. Cura was certain of that much. Besides, if anything were to go wrong, she'd have Farkas with her. He was big and strong. Cura felt safe around him.
"Hmph." Aela sneered as Lydia disappeared.
Vilkas entered the Hall at the moment, and walked around the tables. He approached Cura head-on. "Today's your big day; don't let us down." He demanded.
"I won't." Cura reassured him. "I'll have those fragments here in two shakes of a Skeever's Tail."
"And don't die, either. That's an order." Vilkas commanded her. Cura stared into his eyes in that instant, and could see a hint of worry in his eyes. Behind the worry, however, she could see something else, though she couldn't quite put her finger on it. All Cura could do in response was nod to his order. She wouldn't die. She's been through too many insane things at this point. Ruunvald was a wild ride of its own. The Swindler's Den. Bleak Falls Barrow. Three Dragon fights. Helgen.
Just as Cura was about to walk past him, Vailkas pulled her back. "Take this." He told her as he handed her a Potion of Extended Magicka. "I know you like your Magic." He muttered to her. "Might be helpful if you become Magicka-Drained or something."
"Oh! Er-thank you." Cura exclaimed as she placed the Potion into her Bag. It was unusually kind of Vilkas to go out of his way to get this to her. As a group, the Companions never worked with Magic, so he had to probably go to Arcadia's Cauldron for it. She took her leave of Vilkas and Aela, and headed outside by the entrance door, hopefully to find Farkas waiting for her.
Aela laughed. "I'm surprised you didn't give her an Amulet of Mara at this point!" She was amused by Vilkas' gesture.
"What? No! Nothing like that..." Vilkas became defensive. "I just don't want to hear about her dying out there because of a Poison Trap, or something pathetic like that." An Amulet of Mara seemed a bit much.
"Uh-huh." Aela responded in disbelief.
"Hey, you're with Skjor." Vilkas nudged his finger towards her, calling her out. "Maybe you ought to not project that onto others."
"Please, I can smell it on both of you." Aela laughed. "She likes you, icebrain. You're simply too dense to sense it."
Vilkas was taken back, and turned to face the door where Cura left, and crossed his arms, intrigued. "Really?"
Aela began to laugh. "You men are so clueless."
Vilkas turned back to her. "You women are so fickle."
"Can't argue with that." Aela shrugged as she took her bow off her back. "So, I'm going outside to practice my Archery. Want to come?"
"No..." Vilkas was lost in his thoughts. "I'll...be here," He walked over to the column near the entrance door, and leaned against it. Aela smirked at the gesture and shook her head as she exited the back door.
Outside, Cura noticed that Farkas was on the bench, watching Heimskr shout into the skies above, as he did always. When the brute saw her, he quickly pulled himself up off the bench. "Oh... hello, you." He spoke, keeping his words minimal.
"Hello, Farkas!" Cura greeted with a smile.
"Are you ready? For the trial, I mean?" Farkas asked.
"I am. So... why did they call this my trial?" Cura asked him, out of curiosity.
"I watch you to make sure you are honorable. If you are honorable and strong, then I can call you sister." Farkas explained with spared words.
"All right, I won't disappoint." Cura assured Farkas.
As the pair began to walk through the city, he spoke a primer. "Ysgramor was the hero who started the Companions. Wuuthrad was his weapon. He came from the ancient homeland and killed all the elves. But not all of them, because some of them are still here."
"I believe it had something to do with what the Elves did to the early Human settlers during the Night of Tears." Cura pondered.
"You should talk to Vilkas. He knows more than me." Farkas kept his eyes forward. "Skjor says I have the strength of Ysgramor, and my brother has his smarts."
Cura smiled. "Vilkas is quite smart. A little fast-tempered, but a pretty learned man. I hope I can impress him."
"You like Vilkas, don't you?" Farkas asked her, as he opened the City Gate.
"Well... I do." Cura said, having difficulty articulating. "I mean, I like all of you, but..."
"Oh, you don't have to worry about me. I can keep quiet." Farkas assured her in his gruff manner. "I am very good at keeping a secret."
The Breton stifled herself. What was he thinking? What was she thinking? She ultimately decided to brush it off. "So, uh, where is the Cairn?"
"Over a few hills down the field. Can't miss it." Farkas pointed off East of the outer ramparts.
Cura walked on ahead, and the two traversed the open fields, warmed by the light of the Sun.
Immediately once they were out of range of the Hold, an Argonian wearing eerie black and red studded leather armour came rushing towards her with a couple of daggers in his hands. "Die, pathetic worm!" He shouted as he rushed her down.
Cura quickly dodged to the side from his first swing, and used her shield to parry the second, causing chips of Orcish steel to fly the air, mingling with Skyforge Steel.
When the assailant fumbled to the side, Cura could make out what looked like a black hand imprinted on the back of his armour.
It was unmistakable. The Dark Brotherhood. She had only heard tales of these clandestine assassins and their horrific exploits, as well as the grotesque means someone would use to contact them. This one must have been an amateur initiate, to attack her head-on like this with little regard to the surroundings around them.
Farkas roared and flew forward with his greatsword, effectively cleaving the killer in half from the side, causing his upper torso to slide off his hips like freshly sliced sight disturbed Cura; especially once the corpse's two halves began to twitch violently in the grass. Her eyes darted, and caught glimpse of something interesting. A bloodied letter slipped out of his sleeve. Cura picked it up and examined it.
"As instructed, you are to eliminate Cura by any means necessary.
The Black Sacrament has been performed - somebody wants this poor fool dead.
We've already received payment for the contract. Failure is not an option.
- Astrid"
A chill went down her spine. Someone hired a hit on her. Why?
Immediately, her thoughts dashed to the Battle-Borns. Of course! After all, Olfrid had told her that it was far from over between them. Cura grit her teeth in mild frustration as she pocketed the contract letter. She knew she would probably encounter the Brotherhood again later down the road. These assassins are known for their meticulous nature.
"Let's get going." Farkas concluded the encounter and began to walk ahead.
As far as her footsteps carried her, Cura could not get the thought off her mind that she was going to have to contend with the Dark Brotherhood on top of everything else. What was this world coming to?
The pair eventually arrived at a large gaping hole in the ground built up of stone with a descending staircase that looped down from the top into the crater, leading to an ornate metal door. A thumping sound could be heard when they stepped on the stairs, signifying the age of this bastion.
Cura turned to Farkas. "This is Dustman's Cairn?"
"Yep." Farkas spoke abruptly. "Now we go in." When he opened the door, a heavy vacuum wave nearly pulled them into the flying dust that fell out from the frame.
"Looks like someone's been digging here. And recently. Tread lightly." He pointed towards the rubble burroughed in a wall nearby. Farkas smelled the air. "Draugr. Dead, there." He pointed out that there were corpses of the undead strewn about the floor.
They headed through the main chamber, past a few crypts. "Be careful around the burial stones. I don't want to haul you back to Jorrvaskr on my back." Farkas scoffed. The dead Draugr rested all throughout the halls. Whoever came in here first at the very least spared them the trouble of dealing with the Draugr.
Cura nodded and tread lightly. Something was certainly amiss here. Shadows danced from the flames of torches laid in corners of the dusty catacombs.
The air contained the faint stench of stale death. It was almost enough to make the Breton girl hurl, but she managed to keep it contained as they walked among the deceased.
After some walking, they found an interesting room with a couple of rooms on the west side; one with an Alchemy Table and a Healing Potion laid on the counter beside a skull. Ironic.
"Be careful." Farkas warned her. "There could be a trap."
"And a locked door somewhere, too." Cura noticed a lever in the Alchemy room and approached it, remembering Bleak Falls Barrow. Instinctively, she pulled the lever, and heard shutters activate in the walls. Incredible that they still functioned after centuries of their date.
Unfortunately, the shutters she was hearing only grew louder and louder, until the gate in front of the small room collapsed, revealing it's true nature as a cell and effectively trapping her inside. "Oh, blast it!" Cura exclaimed.
Upon hearing this, Farkas hurried over, and stood on the other side of the bars. "Now look what you've gotten yourself into. No worries. Just sit tight. I'll find the release."
"All right. I'll just sit tight." Cura took a step to the side and leaned against the wall in anticipation. How embarrassing. Her trial, and she locked herself in a cage. Cura looked to the floor and sighed. This wouldn't make a good note on her rap sheet.
Suddenly, a small clicking sound could be heard off in the distance, which alerted Farkas. "What was that?" the large man turned around to face what appeared to be five bandits wielding silver swords. They looked mildly amused at the situation before them. They had a sigil carved into their barbaric fur armours depicting a white hand-or rather, a Silver Hand. Cura immediately recognized the group of brigands from Carcette's description.
"Is that a Vigilant of Stendarr?" One of the quintet asked, gesturing towards Cura in the locked room. "Didn't think we'd be helping those morons this day."
"Nah, she doesn't matter. Krev wouldn't care." the second member responded, as he adjusted the sword in his wrist, shifting it around to find a good angle. "One less competition for the hunt."
"We could always take her in for questioning... maybe grub some coin out of that Breton Prude..." the second member proposed. "What was her name again? Keeper Something-or-other? Dumb High Rock name?"
"Yeah, we could probably ransom some good gold out of her." the third member agreed.
Cura's mouth swung open. What nerve! They really were deplorable. But what were they doing here to begin with? Cura's eyes shifted over to Farkas, who looked at her with the corner of his eye.
The Silver Hand leader laughed and stepped forward, pointing his sword at Farkas while the other four covered the flanks. "It's time to die, dog."
"We knew you'd be coming here." the second Silver Hand member admitted. "Shards of Wuuthrad were the perfect lure."
The third member laughed maliciously as she caressed her sword in her fingers. "Your mistake, Companion."
"Which one is that?" the fourth member asked out of curiosity.
The fifth member cared not for trivialities. "It doesn't matter. He wears that armor, he dies."
The fourth member scratched his chin and pointed his blade forward, allowing the light to glisten off the sheer silver. "Killing you will make for an excellent story."
Farkas snarled. "None of you will be alive to tell it."
He shifted lightly, and then gripped his chest with a painful grunt. Immediately, he began to increase in size, his muscles bulging and reshaping themselves beneath his armour, and sinews pulling apart at the seams. Quickly his spine bent at a 45 degree angle, causing him to lean toward to make room for his expanding neck. His entire skeletal structure shifted, and his jaw and nasal bone extended forward, as if being pulled into a snout. A long tail sprouted from his lower back and lengthened fast and gnarly.
The grotesque transformation was complete, and a large beast stood before the Silver Hand and the Vigilant. He roared ferociously, standing two feet over the lot of them, shedding his sheepskin and revealing the wolf beneath.
The Werewolf extended his claws and lunged in for the massacre. The Silver Hand members were bold, but that boldness could not spare them from their flesh being rended by the beast's mighty daggers.
One by one, they fell like bricks of a collapsed wall, messing the floor beneath them in thick, red liquid. Cura turned away from the macabre spectacle as death danced through the air about.
Silver swords shone on the crimson puddles, gathering the light of the deceased souls of their owners as the predator tread over their limp carcasses into the next room.
Cura opened her eyes and dared see the carnage before her, which left a sickening nausea in her stomach. It reminded her of the mangled corpses in Helgen, though most of the Silver Hand were still intact. Though, a few had open cavities in their chests, marking the absence of their hearts.
This was why they and the Vigil existed.
A clanking sound was heard again, and the bars slowly crept back up into their sheathed above, allowing Cura to get a closer look at the dead.
She approached one who still had a head, and knelt before him on one knee, and using two of her fingers, she closed his blank eyes so that they could rest, and not gaze into nothing.
Farkas returned. "I hope I didn't scare you." He stated regretfully.
"Y-you're a..." Cura was lost for words.
"It's a blessing given to some of us. We can be like wild beasts. Fearsome." Farkas explained.
"So, the Companions are Werewolves..." Cura pieced it together. "You're going to make me one, too, I presume?" A clear distrust sat on her tongue. If Farkas was a Werewolf, did that mean that Aela, Vilkas, Skjor, and Kodlak were, as well? Even Ria, Njada, Torvar, and Athis?
"Oh, no. Only the Circle have the beastblood. Prove your honor to be a Companion. 'Eyes on the prey, not the horizon.' We should keep moving. Still the Draugr to worry about." Farkas deflected, taking a few steps forward.
So it was true. The Breton felt her heart sink lowly within her chest. She was a fool. That morning when Vilkas came back wounded and she tended to him... it was because he most likely fought the Silver Hand. Her suspicions were right all along. But what could she do? Could she kill Farkas here and now, and then round up the Vigilants in the area and turn them against the others?
Against Kodlak?
A deep sorrow filled her. She had grown to really like the old man in the Month she spent in his company. And Vilkas...
Why did it have to be so complicated?
"But they've slain the Draugr already!" Cura exclaimed, pushing her insecurities to the side, as she was instructed by Kodlak to do. She would see her trial through to the end, and then move forward from there.
"Oh... then we worry about them." Farkas concluded. "Let's keep moving."
How could he be so nonchalant about this? Cura felt a great unease, but she could not back out now. She hesitated momentarily before acquiescing. Taking a glance at her Amulet of Stendarr, Cura decided that it would be best to hide it; she did not want to bring the Vigil into this conflict. The last thing she needed would be for Carcette, Tolan, or Adalvald to learn about her working with a Werewolf and fighting against the Silver Hand while representing their organization.
It was dishonest, but it was better than drawing enmity between the Silver Hand and the Vigil of Stendarr. Though, they were going to do it themselves, by holding her for ransom, according to their own admission. As if she'd allow such a thing to begin with.
Cura walked over to one of the dead bodies and removed the steel helmet one of them was wearing, and placed it atop her head, obscuring some of her face and offering better protection than her normal hood. The chainmail hanging from it was enough to hide most of her neck and the back of her head. Not being accustomed to helmets, Cura felt her neck being pushed forward, and it was regrettably uncomfortable.
Next, she walked to the opposite side of the room, where she removed her robe and tucked it in her bag, only keeping the Skyforge Steel armour she had hidden beneath it. For all intents and purposes, she was not a Vigilant of Stendarr; she was a Companion.
"I'm ready." Cura informed Farkas as she took a Silver Sword from one of the deceased and bagged her Mace. She wanted to distance herself as far as possible from Vigilant Cura of the Pale. She needed to be unrecognizable.
Catching up to Farkas, the pair then headed down a small nook in the wall, into a wider corridor where she saw a jammed lever, similar to the one in the cell. This was Farkas' doing, naturally.
They then came upon two members of the Silver Hand conversing on the other side of a raised section of the tunnel, sloped above. Cura was quick on her feet and ran towards them with a wild charge. The pair stopped talking and quickly went on the offense, one knocking an arrow and the other rushing towards Cura with his Silver war axe. He got a decent hit on her, but she was fast to roll to the side and caused the arrow of his ally to pin him in the lower shin instead, causing the warrior to yowl in pain. Cura followed-up by impaling him through the chest and tossing him off the blade to the ground with a shocking 'thud!'
She then turned her sights to the archer, and with Farkas beside her, the pair sidelined him into the wall, and Farkas drove his greatsword through his stomach, punning the man against the wall where he cried out his last gasp before slumping forward on the blade.
Cura drowned out her disgust and continued onwards to the first alcove on the right, where she saw a leather helmet on a stone plinth, practically begging the undiscerning adventurer to grab it. It was obviously a trap waiting to be activated, so she scoffed at it and moved on, gaining a nod of approval from Farkas.
On the pedestal in the second alcove was a flawless amethyst and some loose septims, which she did not hesitate to bag. There was an imp stool fungus beside the pedestal, and a bowl of bone meal on some shelves beside where the Silver Hand members stood. She had to remind herself to focus on the task at hand.
Through the next door were more catacombs with more dead Draugr. The Silver Hand were certainly busy in these parts. They must have been waiting for the opportunity to catch a Companion for some time.
To her right, Cura noticed an urn with two dead Draugr planted in it. Humourous, she thought as she continued onwards, relatively unfazed.
In the next room to the east, Cura observed a member of the Silver Hand standing over an incapacitated, bloodstained Draugr, and another member patrolling the halls, unawares of their presence. She made short work of the triumphant warrior, impaling him through the chest before he could raise his blade to her.
Farkas rushed towards the second one, who stabbed him through the stomach, causing Farkas to fall back as his blood coated the blade.
"Farkas!" Cura exclaimed in horror as the big man fell to his knees. He was worn out from his transformation before, and was heaving from exhaustion and sheer agony, though he managed to use his sword to resteady himself.
Cura was quick to the draw, and engaged with fervor. She wanted to Shout, but she remembered that she could not leave clues to her identity, in case a Silver Hand member manages to escape.
Swords danced and clashed, and Cura revealed her hand as a Novice with a blade. The warrior, with the bloodied sword in hand, managed to deflect Cura's next blow and stabbed her in the side with it.
Cura staggered to the side and nearly dropped her sword then and there. A blur overcame her vision.
Something wasn't right.
A strange, hollow feeling entered her bloodstream.
Now was not the time to fret. She had a foe to kill if she would survive this.
She parried the next blow with her shield and lunged forward, stabbing the barbarian in the throat, spilling his life force.
"Nice work." Farkas stated as he finished drinking a Healing Potion.
Cura cast a self-healing spell, hoping the hollow feeling would go away, but only the blood and sharp pains receded. After a moment to catch her breath, Cura lead the way forward.
Still, she could not shake the feeling from within.
They ascended the stairs and turned around to the left and found a pile of destroyed architecture and a chain hanging from the wall beyond the rubble. Cura pulled it voluntarily, and it lowered the wall, revealing a secret area to the left of the stairs where the first thing they saw, and Farkas gravitated towards was a chest. Beyond it were a few Sarcophagi.
Nearby, a dead Silver Hand warrior lay on one of the sarcophagi and a Draugr loomed above her, bloodied black Battleaxe in hand.
Not all of them were so lucky.
Cura immediately used her Flames to weaken the sullied undead and ran it through with the Silver Sword, which she knew would come in handy against them.
Silver, after all, was the Holiest of metals.
She removed the blade from the gummy flesh of the mummified assailant and hurried into the next section of the Cairn.
There were more Draugr in the next section. The first was lying in wait to the right of the door, and swung her waraxe in attempt to lop off Cura's head on entry, and nearly succeeded. She clipped Cura's shoulder instead, which proved a fatal mistake, as the Breton responded with a quick thrust of silver in her face.
There was another one around the corner to their right hiding behind a large urn, and another to the left of some rubble further along the path. Stress was building up.
There is a Silver Hand battling against another behind them. Cura blasted them all with her flames, causing the Draugr to perish and the warrior to flee the magickal onslaught. Farkas traded blows with another Draugr who came up from behind them, finishing him off with a wide swing of his greatsword, dividing the undead.
Down the slope was a dead Draugr by another enticing chest, with two burial urns to the left in an upper alcove. To the south was a flight of stairs with a decrepit wooden door at the bottom.
On the right was an urn and burial urn. Cura could smell the rotten flesh and her nose curled. Her sense of smell seemed a little keener in this tomb. Odd. Though she had a sinking feeling as she laid a hand upon where she was cut in her side earlier.
The next room was another onslaught by more Silver Hands. Cura and Farkas struggled through the lot of them, sustaining many violent gashes along the way, but thanks to Cura's healing power, they made it through alive.
Through the next door, behind the door to the left was a generous coin purse along with two silver rings, which Cura presumed were of the deceased Silver Hand members as she pocketed the loot.
Partway down in the middle of the stairs, Farkas accidentally triggered a pressure plate that activated a poison dart trap from the right-hand wall. A few of these darts landed into their armour, but thankfully not their flesh.
Two Silver Hands were at the bottom, hiding behind the pillars one on both sides.
"You'll pay for what you've done, you disgusting Dogs!" one of them cried as he took Farkas on.
Farkas spun around and beheaded the man before he could come in reach.
Cura took out the second one with a sword in his back, and the two continued onwards.
Farkas was silent and Cura was uncomfortable through the entire escapade.
The hollow pain in her bloodstream began to feel like a hollow burn, which slowly intensified with each passing moment. She grit her teeth, which felt a little sharper than she noticed prior.
Madness. That's all it was.
They wandered through a few more rooms and eventually located a chest with a key in it. Cura knew it had to belong to something important. Perhaps where the fragments were kept
"Maybe the key is needed for the door over there." Cura mused at the large iron door on the other side of the room. It would be sensible.
She approached it, and with a shaking hand, managed to fit the key in the lock and turned it in, releasing the shutters and prying it open.
Beyond the locked door was yet another wide passage guarded by several Skeevers. It ended with a door leading to a room that contained an alchemy lab and a table with three dead Draugr lying on top. There was no use for that, Cura figured as she and Farkas cut their way through the Skeevers.
To their left was a cave-in with another burial urn among the rubble and a door opposite to the right side.
Through the door there were two Frostbite Spiders as well as an egg sac to the right and a couple of desiccated corpses that littered the web-covered ground.
Farkas ran towards the spiders like a maniac, and was bitten on the side by the second one, and venom slowly crept into him. The first clamped down on him with its jaws and flailed him around.
"Weargh!" Farkas yelped as he was thrown to the side like a chew toy. Before he could react further, the pair of arachnids crept upon him, ready to kill, when Cura quickly stuck her sword through the abdomen of one to distract them from her Shield-Brother. The arachnids were unyielding, delivering many attempts to breach Cura's shield.
She leapt backwards and bursted the vile insects with a torrent of flame. One died on the spot, and the other went in to attack, but its mouth was met with her sword, which penetrated through the top of the Spider's skull, ending its existence.
Farkas looked pale as a ghost as he sat in place, mesmerized by the occurrence.
"Are you all right, Farkas?" Cura asked him with care.
"I...I will be." he said as he pulled himself up. "Let's just-"
"-Keep moving. Yes." Cura finished his sentence, causing the dazed and confused man to simply nod and follow, still affected by it all. He quickly dashed around one of the spider carcasses and stared at it warily.
"Those things have too many eyes..." he muttered.
The pair reached an impasse. There were two directions they could take; an upper path with two Draugr seen off in the distance fighting more Silver Hand members, or the lower path with nowhere to go. It would seem as if the choice were already made for them.
"We will need to take the higher path." Farkas instructed. "Dead end below."
Cura sighed. She was becoming battle-weary. Was there no end to this confounded crypt? A horrible fatigue was overtaking her body itself from the inside-out. What on Nirn could be causing this?
They stayed behind to see who would win the fight; the Silver Hand or the Draugr pair?
The Silver Hand emerged victorious, but barely so.
Cura and Farkas rushed in to clean up the rest, overpowering the exhausted warriors and rushing past, where they eventually came upon a large Iron Door. Cura hoped this would be the end. She really needed to lie down.
Through the iron door was a larger room with a word wall, some sarcophagi congregating in every corner, and a large treasure chest in the East corner. As Cura and Farkas inched closer, they saw that there was a table before the word wall, and on the table there were black shards.
"Those are the fragments!" Farkas exclaimed. "Go get them, already!"
Cura nodded. Thank Stendarr! Now, she could just go lie in the field somewhere, perhaps. A twinge of pain shot through her entire body, causing her to clutch her chest. "Hnng!" She winced as she was forced to lean forward as she yanked herself up the stone stairs step by step.
When she approached the word wall, she took the Fragments of Wuuthrad off the table and sectioned them off into her bag. She went beneath the table and changed back into her Vigilant uniform, now that the Silver Hand were gone. She came back up and looked at the Dragon Script on the wall. She cleared her throat and read it aloud.
"QETHSEGOL VahRUKIV KiiR
JUN JAFNHAR WO LOS AG
NahLaaS NAAL YOL DO
LOT DOVAH LODUNOST"
She took a moment to ponder it as Farkas stared at her in amazement. "I didn't know you studied things. You and Vilkas would make a good team."
Cura smirked and finally found the comprehension. The words came naturally to her. "This stone commemorates the child king Jafnhar who was burned alive by the fire of great Dragon Lodunost."
Cura and Farkas were silent in the moment, when suddenly, the sarcophagi dropped their lids and Draugr began to step out.
"Daanik Kendov!" One of them shouted as he rushed forward and swung his sword at Farkas, who was quick to parry the blade with his own, leaving it to Cura to bash his skull in with her mace from the side. The fire enchantment on it reared its baneful head as the Draugr caught fire in addition to being clubbed.
The other Draugr pulled back slightly, wary of the Fire Weapon in the Breton's hand. "Draugr and all manner of Undead are weak to fire. Zombies. Vampires. Liches." Cura explained, reminiscing on her Vigilant Training. "I'll take the lead here."
Farkas nodded and pulled back to attack the Draugr who were coming from behind the pair as Cura faced the ones coming out of their sarcophagi on the East end of the room.
"Kah!" Cura grunted in pain. The sensations she had felt earlier were worsening. What was going on? She staggered backwards slightly, and a couple of Draugr lunged forward and slashed her several times, causing her to fall to the ground in a feeble attempt to draw distance as her suffering worsened.
The world grew dark, and cold around the Breton, as she could faintly hear Farkas calling out to her amidst the clashing blades. As she fell limp, visions flew through her mind; a dark, grassy field beneath a full moon overcome with a blood-red sky. Cura herself was naked in the middle of the grass, and a strange figure approached her; the figure had the skeletal head of an Elk, and was shirtless, wielding a Hunting Spear.
"Who-" before Cura could fully pose her question, the figure knelt before her in the grass, on one knee. He cut himself on the wrist with a hunter's knife and, with his right hand, he took the blood onto his index and middle finger, and then pressed the blood onto Cura's collarbone.
"You are mine now." The figure hissed. "Arise, my child, and draw first blood for my feral glory."
Hircine!
"No!" Cura protested. "I don't belong to you, you rotten, evil-"
She noticed that her hands were beginning to grow larger, and her fingers extended, the nails forming long, dire claws. "No!" Cura yelped upon notice. "Please, no! Not me! No!" She attempted to resist the transformation, though her will was growing weak. An intense hunger began to overtake her from within; a desire for blood; for carnage. Cura thrashed about violently in the dark grass as her body began to slowly reshape itself before the Daedric Prince.
She was a Dragon; abominable enough. Now, becoming a Manbeast to top it all off? Unacceptable. The Breton cursed her life to this point.
'Your Stendarr has abandoned you." Hircine sneered at her. "He cannot save you. You cannot resist my will."
"NO!" Cura shouted in protest as tears rolled down her cheeks. "I... will... deny you!" Her body began to slowly shift back to a more human shape, her shoulders receding in width and her skin losing the onset of gray hue.
Hircine smirked. "You have spirit; like a struggling vermin caught in a fowler's snare. You cannot evade the God of Hunters." He extended a hand forward, blasting Cura with his dark energy.
"St-Stendarr! Help me!" Cura cried out as she clung onto the grass in full-scale panic. "PLEASE! I BEG OF YOU! DON'T LET HIM DO THIS TO ME!"
"You made your choice." Hircine informed her. "You decided to hunt with the wolves. Now you can join them. In spirit."
"STENDARR!" Cura cried out to her god. "HAVE MERCY! I BEG OF YOU!"
Her body was beginning to morph against her will; her elbows breaking as her arms began to stretch out and widen in thickness. Her knees, envious of the attention her arms were receiving, too began to give out, causing her to fall flat momentarily as her femur bone extended forwards and her Achilles' tendon stretched downwards on a 45 degree angle. White fur began to grow on her arms and snake its way up her back, complimenting the new tail that pushed out of her lower back, settling into the grass.
"NOOO!" Cura wailed in protest one last time as the shadows consumed her and all that remained was a monster. The lumbering werewolf thrust her head upwards and bayed at the blood moon; an eerie and equally terrifying sound that resounded in the vast, blood-soaked field.
"Let carnage rain." Hircine said softly and surely. With one final gleeful snicker, the Daedric Hunter disappeared back into the bushes.
Farkas was stunned by the sight before him; a white Werewolf with green eyes ravaged and tore the Draugr apart in the room, rushing about like a frenzied demon. A Steel Mace lay on the floor, leaning against the steps and an Amulet of Stendarr lay on the rubble, glistening beside the Steel Shield; detached from the neck of its owner. Vigilant Apprentice Robes barely clung to the monster as she violently throttled the Undead around with her bare claws and fangs.
Rage consumed the Lycanthrope as she grabbed a Draugr in two hands, by the head and by the ankles, and tore him in half, causing rotten meat to spill out all over the floor.
Never had she felt so alive!
Farkas had the foresight to run and hide behind the large chest in the corner of the room. He was not going to be caught up in this Berserker Frenzy.
The Draugr fought hard, but with every wound they inflicted on the werewolf, they only dulled their weapons further, as the fiend's flesh would only regenerate. The she-wolf caught the swing of a battleaxe, and the Draugr Overlord who brought it down struggled to pull it back from her mighty grip.
With a violent roar, the new werewolf took the Overlord's head off effortlessly with a swipe of her claws, which caused other Draugrs to flee in horror. This proved to be futile, as they could not outrun the large white beast. One by one, she ripped and tore and snared the lot of them in a flurry of intense rage and violence, strewing body parts high into the air and into the walls around.
When the final Draugr lost his head, the Beast huffed and heaved, her rage slowly beginning to subside.
Farkas peeked out from behind the chest, recalling his own first transformation and how difficult it was for the others to calm him. Thankfully, though, the rampage left Cura exhausted, and she slowly began to revert to her Human form, revealing the beauty beneath the beast once again.
The Breton laid against the cold stone floor, worn out and frazzled. Farkas stepped out from behind the chest and slowly made his way over to the mace, shield, and Amulet. He picked them up off the floor and slowly approached the lethargic Cura. "Wow... you... I didn't know you were already of the wolf blood." Farkas pondered. "Big surprise, I think."
Cura was too exhausted to respond, but she simply looked up at him with tears budding the corners of her eyes.
How did this happen?
She closed her eyes, hoping it was an awful dream, and she would awake back in the dorms. It had to be. She wasn't a Werewolf! It was impossible! She would never become such a disgusting affront to nature.
The denial was almost maddening.
"I'll bring you back." Farkas told her as he lifted her up onto his shoulder. "You fought well. Very well. And now you need rest. We can talk once you've rested. Though it won't be easy, because none of us really get a good night's sleep." Farkas turned back and headed back the way they came in, missing the loose sarcophagus on the west side of the room, up the stairs.
Cura simply closed her eyes, wanting to forget everything that transpired as the disgust and regret gnawed away at her soul.
