Why was she protecting the people of Skyrim? Cura had begun to wonder this, herself.

These people, all; those who had thrown her in the mines to languish in blood and bitterness. Wretched, despicable, selfish, horrible lot they all are. They should all rot in Oblivion, the sinful, sniveling cowards.

"Wake up, newcomer." a masculine voice called out to Cura, who sat upright in a near-fetal position with her head buried in her thighs. She was still a might disoriented from the beatdowns and tragedy that struck her recently, but she had the wherewithal to open her eyes and see.

A Reachman sat across from her in front of the fireplace. He was blonde with unkempt hair tied back in a ponytail, and by the looks of his face, he had been beaten diwn ruthlessly down here. He was filthy and covered with cavern dust, and his eyes were sunken, as well.

Cura wiped her swollen eyes and sniffled. "I'm awake..." She held her knees to comfort herself as a cold chill ran through the tunnels.

"What's your name?" the Reachman asked.

"My name..." She quickly stopped herself from jumping to the revelation. "No. You first. What's your name? Who are you?"

The Reachmen smirked. He knew she wouldn't be so forthcoming immediately. "Uraccen. I'm just another Forsworn sent to rot here in this mine."

"Forsworn..." Cura's mind wandered for a moment.

"What are you in for, new blood?" Uraccen asked her out of curiosity.

Cura continued to be reticent. "Nothing. I'm innocent."

Uraccen shook his head and scoffed. "Innocent? So was I, for the first one. The other murders were all me, though." He shifted in his sitting position. "My advice? Serve your time at the pickaxe and get out. You don't want to end up getting a shiv in the guts over a bottle of Skooma."

"Oh, so we have Skooma addicts down here too. Wonderful." Cura snarked. Then her mind wandered to Inigo.

Where was her Cat friend? Why was he not here to make her laugh, or to cheer her up, to tell her that everything was going to work out in the end. Would it?

Cura held onto her Amulet of Stendarr.

"You're a Vigilant, aren't you?" Uraccen asked, causing Cura to quickly hide the Amulet in her tunic on reflex. Other prisoners; a large orc with skull face paint and another Breton male seemed to glare at her when they heard this.

Then Cura realized yet another thing that should concern her greatly in her current predicament: she was a woman, and all of the other prisoners were men. Men who hadn't seen the light of day in years, and even less, a woman.

"If any of you come near me, I'm going to light you up like Saturnalia trees!" Cura threatened aloud. "I mean it!"

The Orc nodded sinisterly, and the other men went back to mining silver.

Cura gathered the strength to pull herself up to a standing position. "Where are the guards?" She asked.

Uraccen leaned back, stretching his legs dangerously close to the fire. "They come in here once a week to clean out the bodies, grab any ore we've mined, and beat down the troublemakers. That's the only time when we get food, too. And if there's not enough ore mined up, we don't get any."

"They really treat people like subhuman filth in this city." Cura noted.

"Yes, but when Madanach succeeds in his plan, we're going to be on top and they're going to suffer." Uraccen assured her.

"What are you in for?" Cura asked him. Turnabout is fair play, after all.

"A Nord nobleman I served was stabbed in the night. Wasn't me, but I knew I'd be blamed. So I ran. Joined the Forsworn. Started killing. Got caught. Now I'm here." Uraccen gave her a light summary.

"Why'd you join the Forsworn?" Cura crossed her arms. It seemed a bit drastic to murder to cover up a murder he didn't commit. Then again, the Nords would probably spare no quarter to a Reachman, even if found innocent.

After what those Guards did to Lydia...

Hatred began to bubble in Cura's chest.

If a Phoenix has to die and fall to ash, she would rise again, bearing flame. She was going to avenge Lydia.

"Because life was better under the old ways." Uraccen explained matter-of-factly. "No Nords and their laws. One day, the Forsworn will paint the walls of Markarth in their blood.." He scratched his cheek and looked to the side, somberly. "I left behind my daughter Uaile when I was taken. How old is she now, I wonder? In prison, you lose track of time."

Uaile?

Was that not the name of the...

No. Cura knew that it was perhaps not the best idea to bring up what happened to Nepos the Nose and his servants.

Cura pursed her lips and nodded. Her fury was palpable. She would bring Justice to Markarth, even if she had to form a temporary alliance with these Daedra worshippers. Thonar and his puppets were going to die. "Where's Madanach?" Cura demanded.

"If you're asking, that means you're the new lifer. Tough luck, friend. Those guards sold you out but good. No one talks to Madanach, I'm afraid." Uraccen's words did not dishearten her, but instead caused Cura to grow angrier.

The Guards sold her out, yes, and beat her and tortured her, and killed her friend!

Uraccen continued, and clicked his tongue. "Not without getting past Borkul the Beast. And you don't want to talk to Borkul the Beast."

"Who's this Borkul the Beast?" Cura had to speak to Madanach. She wanted to learn all about this 'plan' he had. The Vigil be damned. She can't just languish in this prison for the rest of her days. Skyrim needs her!

Lydia needs justice.

"Madanach's guard. Big, even for an Orc. Heard he ripped a man's arm off and beat him to death with it. He's old-fashioned like that." Uraccen pointed to the skull-painted Orc who stood guarding a gate near the wooden scaffolding on the Northern wall.

Cura walked around Uraccen and immediately headed straight for Borkul.

"She's going to get herself killed..." Uraccen hit himself in the forehead as Cura limped by.

Borkul saw Cura approach, and was unamused. "You're not going through here, even if you 'light me up like a Saturnalia Tree', so forget about it." He informed her.

Cura knew she was in no shape to fight at the current time, but she would try to talk to him regardless. "If there's a way out of here, I'd be more than happy to help find it."

"And leave us here, of course." Borkul shook his head disapprovingly. "Go mine some silver, woman."

"What are you in for?" Cura asked him. What Uraccen told her seemed like an exaggeration, if anything, but Borkul seemed only too happy to indulge her.

"Murder. Banditry. Assault. Theft. And lollygagging." The Orc's fiendish grin was unsettling to behold, but Cura felt nothing but sorrow and anger, fueled by the sting of injustice. He did not scare her in the slightest.

The Breton's stone cold glare ironically unnerved Borkul instead. He could see that the young woman had gone through many an ordeal, and it was certainly beginning to show. Cura's blonde hair had a light white streak forming on her locks going down her right shoulder, and her eyes were tired and filled with fire.

"What was it like killing your first one, huh?" Borkul decided to return the question.

Which first one? Cura's memories were confused in and of themselves. Perhaps she could reexamine Helgen. Who was the first?
Was it the Male Stormcloak, or was it the Female Stormcloak, in that first closed-in space, when she ran through with Hadvar. He told her it would get easier. He was right. Cura was numb to killing strangers at this point. Perhaps she could refer to her recent one, of Vigilant Tyrannus, though she hadn't done it, technically. "Horrible. My soul is heavy with guilt."

"Pah." Borkul dismissed her answer as if it were childish worry. "The gods have a place for killers. You can't carry the burden? You're weak."

Cura shook her head. "No. I'm Human. Complete with all the flaws."

"Never heard a Vigilant of Stendarr confess that before." Borkul laughed. "Usually it's all 'we will hunt you down!' and 'Stendarr's mercy does not extend to Daedra Worshippers!'"

Uraccen laughed as well, overhearing the mockery.

"Well, I'm an awful Vigilant." Cura leaned against the wall near Borkul. "I'm not cut out for that job, I suppose. On my first real mission I found myself at an executioner's blade, and lost my partners to an Ice Wraith. An Ice Wraith! Then, it gets better! It turns out, I can eat the souls of Dragons!" She waved her hands forward in faux enthusiasm.

"Mephala's blade! You're Cura, the Dragonborn!" a Nord exclaimed from the eastern tunnel as he came out. "I heard about that! A Breton woman's been goin' around, killing Dragons!"

"That's me." Cura raised her right hand.

"Grisvar, piss off." Uraccen snapped. "Go back to chiseling rock."

The Nord sneered and slunk back into the shadows.

"So, Dragonborn, huh?" Borkul asked her. "Never would have thought it by lookin' at you. Soft. Squealy. Not what anyone would imagine."

"That's probably why the gods picked me, I suppose." Cura shrugged. "So.. How long have you been here?" She quickly returned to the topic of Borkul.

"Guards brought me in about 12 years ago. Was running a good group of bandits up until then. But these Forsworn. They're nothing like the men I cobbled together. They're real killers." the large Orc gestured to the band of merry men in the caverns all around.

Cura walked off the wall and continued down the mine shaft that the Nord emerged from. If he knew about her, chances are he has some connections on the outside.

A sharp pain hit her lower abdomen. Cura lifted her shirt to see that she had an open wound; a gift from the city guards. It was turning green and swelling with a light infection. "Bastards..." Cura muttered to herself as she seethed.

"Stendarr's light purify me of my ills." Cura spoke the disease-healing mantra.

A moment of silence passed, and nothing happened.

Why?

Cura looked up at the cave ceiling hopelessly. "Stendarr, why won't you hear me?" She pleaded. "Is... is it because of what I did to Vigilant Tyrannus?" No. Even before then Stendarr lent her no aid. "Is... is Keeper Carcette not praying for us?"

Yes, that must be it! The Keepers of the Vigil were supposed to maintain the Shrine, and the power that connects the faithful's Amulets in their regions, by making it a central conduit for all. Maybe Keeper Carcette was busy?

Cura hoped it was the case, because otherwise that would mean that the Keeper was dead.

A shiver ran up Cura's spine.

No. Don't think like that.

But you've already lost so much... it could be the case.

No!

Cura, you have to have hope! Without it, there is nothing left.

Stendarr has abandoned you. There is no hope left.

Stop it!

Skyrim is going to be swallowed up by the black dragon, all because you're weak, and small, and childlike.

Shut up!

Kill. Kill them all, and escape.

I won't!

One Shout. One Shout is all it would take. Fire Breath will ignite the premises and fry them all like rats. Start with the Orc.

Get out of my head!

You are not like them. You are no Breton. Neither are you a Nord, or an Altmer. You are a Dragon. Show the world!

I'm going to show them that I'm not evil!

You are evil! Show them your inner Dragon!

Cura was wrestling with despairing and evil thoughts, but she continued to try and remain positive, even if she was crumbling within. The burning rage was gripping her heart like black, clawed fingers, slowly driving her mad.

She leaned a hand against the wall to support herself as she limped over to the working area, where a couple of men where chiseling silver ore from the rock. One of whom was the Nord who called her out.

"Gris-" before Cura could reach out to him, she blacked out, losing consciousness.

One of the other prisoners, a large, bearded and balding Breton man, was quick to catch her.

Grisvar turned around to see her unconscious. "Oh, no, no ,no... if she dies here, Skyrim is doomed!"

"Good. It would serve them right." The Breton man stated flatly as he gently laid Cura down on softrock.

"You don't mean that, Braig." Grisvar stated. "It would, of course, include you."

"Good. I've been waiting for death for years." Braig responded as he sat down nearby for a light rest.

Grisvar sighed anxiously, then returned to the ore vein.

Braig continued to watch Cura as she lay on the softrock, to ensure her wellbeing as she lay still. After some time had passed, he checked her pulse by touching her tender wrist. It was there, but fluttering. "Poor child." the older Breton remarked morosely. "This land... it takes its toll on everyone. It's suffocating." He muttered to himself as he continued to sit on guard.


Cura's eyes snapped awake and she gasped. Quickly, she pulled herself up on her feet, only to see a foggy world around her; labyrinthian in nature, and surrounded by trees and Dolmens.

It was unlike anything she'd experienced before.

Stranger still, she was wearing a floppy Fine Hat and a Blue set of Fine Robes. "What the..."

Cura began to frantically search around, but the world seemed vast, and she, tiny. "Where am I...?" Cura asked as she continued to surveille the area. She walked through the pathways that led to tall cliff walls, and through Dolmens that led her to only more misty forest. After some more aimless wandering, she only found herself back from whence she started, marked by her specific shape drawn on the dirt, much like a crime scene.

"Is this some kind of joke?" Cura asked, feeling irritated and unamused both.

"Oh, no. No joke, my friend!" A jovial man's voice emerged from behind the tall bushes. "Ye've just gone stark-ravin' mad! Whooo-hee!"

Cura turned around to face the person who spoke, and he revealed himself to be a white-haired man in a two-coloured tuxedo filled red on one side and violet on the other, walking with a mysterious cane of some kind. The man looked human enough, but his yellow, catlike eyes were a dead giveaway to his true nature.

The man grinned like a child in a candy store. "Welcome to Dementia! If we had greeting cards, I'd make one special for ye, with the blood o' trolls and toe fungus! A fine work of art, it'd be! ...But we don't. So too bad for you."

"Y-you're... Sheogorath! The Daedric Prince of Insanity!" Cura realized who he was immediately.

"And you're some frumpy character from a book series I've been readin'! Look!" Sheogorath pulled a book from his pocket and presented it to Cura.

"...What book is this?" Cura asked him, as the book had no title, nor any ink within it. Her previous anger was slowly fading away, instead substituted by confusion and curiosity.

"Why, it's the Tale of Cura of the Pale, o' course!" Sheogorath laughed jovially. "A bestseller down here, I assure ye! All my Dark Seducers envy you, ye know! And me Golden Saints are just dyin' to see what comes next! I can't disappoint them, now."

"I'm not playing your game!" Cura retorted. "I serve Stendarr, the God of Mercy! I.."

"Do not believe madness to be a curse, mortal." The Dedric Prince placed a hand on her shoulder, as if to comfort her. "For some, it is the greatest of blessings. A bitter mercy perhaps, but mercy nonetheless."

Maybe he was right. If she were to give in to the guiles of insanity, she would never feel grief again. She could just... block out the world. Never acknowledge the pain, never feel the misery, never try to understand the hurt, or why it hurts.

She looked up into his golden eyes. "Why have you come for me?"

"I am a part of you, little mortal." Sheogorath poked her nose, then progressed up to her forehead. "I am a shadow in your subconscious, a blemish on your fragile little psyche. You know me. You just don't know it."

"How long have you been there?" Cura asked.

"Since you first met Alduin in that lovely town of fire and screaming people!" Sheogorath exclaimed jovially, swaying in a light dance and waving his hands in the air. "Join me!"

Of course Helgen would be the trigger. The start of her descent into madness.

Next thing Cura knew, she began to dance along with the Daedric Prince. Sheogorath laughed lightheartedly, and then took Cura by the hands, transforming the mad dance into a more orderly waltz.

As they danced, Cura began to find herself drawn into the book of The Tale of Cura of the Pale. As the pair danced, they saw Cura's childhood.

"That's me!" Cura realized when she saw the tiny half-Elf trying to climb the Bookshelf. "I... wanted to read Herbane's Bestiary, I think." She tried to recall as she continued to go step-by-step with madness.

"Aye, but no!" Sheogorath told her. "You were looking for the Jar o' Boiled Creme Treats Carcette hid! An' ye thought, in yer wee mind, they'd be atop the highest shelf!"

The five-year-old Cura made it to the second shelf before losing her balance and falling off, causing the shelf to collapse on top of her. Keeper Carcette came running up the stairs with Brother Adalvald upon hearing the ruckus.

Sheogorath began to laugh. "Little kids just tickle me! There are no greater agents of chaos in all the realms! Hahaha!"

Cura began to feel saddened again as she saw how tenderly Keeper Carcette treated her wounds after Brother Adalvald heaved the shelf off of her. They truly cared about her. Even though she had destructive tendencies, they were always sincere.

Keeper Carcette gently stroked the top of young Cura's head as she gave a light chastisement for the danger she'd put herself in. Brother Adalvald seemed to try and excuse it, but the Keeper had none of that. She turned to rebuking Adalvald, as well, and a small argument broke out.

"And the orderly bitch barks at her kennel again." Sheogorath snorted. "She thinks she's so sane, but I've peered into her soul once or twice, oh, yes..."

"Wait... you have?" Cura asked.

"She can be quite... fascinating. Especially now." Sheogorath laughed.

"What do you mean, 'especially now'?" Cura asked, and Sheogorath spun her around and released her from his hands, sending her through a portal, only to meet himself on the other side. He caught her before she could land in a river, and pulled her onto his Gondola. He sat on the front and steered with an oar.

"In Cyrodiil, they love these kind o' boats! I can see why; they're oddly-shaped an' easy to fall out of!" Sheogorath laughed vicariously.

Cura gripped onto the boat tightly as she saw the world within the water. She saw more of her life in it, and cringed when the image of recent events occurred, She saw Lydia getting impaled again. And again. And again.

The image was replayed on loop.

"Stop showing me this!" Cura demanded. "I don't want to see it!"

"Don't want to see it?" Sheogorath asked. "Why not? It's kind of funny! I can even add some sound effects. Watch!"

With each replay of the sword impaling Lydia's heart, a new sound was added to replace the sword entering the armour and flesh. First, the sound of a pot crashing on the floor, of a rubber duck being squeezed, then a Cow moo'ing.

As angry as Cura was, a smile was beginning to form on her face, as it was ridiculous.

Then a Dog barking overshadowed the sword thrust, then a Goat bleating, then a Horse whinnying, and then Lydia herself changed into a Markarth City Guard wailing in pain as blood spilled out from under his helmet.

Cura grinned with her teeth exposed in satisfaction at the sight of it.

"Ah, wonderful, wonderful! Why waste all that hatred on yourself when it can so easily be directed at others!" Sheogorath remarked. "Astounding! You're a natural at this! Perhaps that was why you were so ferocious as a Werewolf!"

A White Werewolf emerged from the water and snarled at Cura. The background warped into what looked like the Windhelm Pit Arena. Cura was now armed with a weird-looking staff that seemed to have disgruntled faces adorning it.

"What is this, now?" Cura examined it briefly.

A light shone down on Cura, spotlighting her, and Sheogorath's voice rung loudly. "The Wabbajack! Huh? Huh? Didn't see that coming, did you?"

Cura instinctively knew what she had to do. She aimed it at the Werewolf and blasted it, transforming the fearsome furry beast into...

..Inigo.

When the red mist cleared, there stood her loveable fool, also wearing Party clothing. He was scratching his head. "How did I get here?"

"Inigo?" Cura asked him.

"Cura! Thank the gods! It is you, yes? This is not the alcohol speaking to me?" Inigo placed a finger on his forehead.

"I-Inigo?" Cura slowly inched towards him, shaking lightly as emotion welled up within her.

"Yes?" Inigo was a little confused.

Cura rushed to him and embraced him tightly. "I...I'm so happy to see you... I need you here..."

Inigo reciprocated, holding Cura in his arms. "Do not worry, my friend. I will find a way to get you out of there!"

His fur felt nice, even if this was all inside Cura's deranged mind.

"You are speaking with Sheogorath, yes?" Inigo began. "Fun fellow, he is! Just try to stay on his good side. Even if it does not last long." He slowly began to fade away, back into reality.

"No, Inigo! Wait!" Cura held out her hand, but to no avail. He disappeared, leaving her alone in the fog again.

Cura sighed sadly, and Sheogorath came up from the ground. "Why the long face? Our quality time isn't over yet! There is much more to sing to, dance to, and run around like Chickens without heads! It will be fun!" He grabbed her by the arm and transported her to what looked like the throne room of Dragonsreach.

"I should make you fight Narwhals on the open ocean. I should make you run a gauntlet of angry Argonian concubines! But I won't." Sheogorath shrugged. "Or I might. We'll see. For now, see what they have to say!"

Keeper Carcette sat on the throne, wearing Jarl Balgruuf's garb, and Delphine was in Irileth's position, wearing her normal outfit. Instead of Proventus Avenici, it was Fenrik.

Carcette pulled off the act well; even leaning over to one side in the chair like the Jarls did. She locked eyes with Cura. "Cura, Thane of Bhoriane, stand forward."

Cura immediately assumed her own role in this. "Yes, my Jarl? I deign to please." She asked. She glanced over to see Sheogorath giving her the "A-OK" gesture with his fingers as he leaned against a column in the supporting role. It was oddly comforting for Cura to see him there.

"You've slain the Giant, killed the school of Mudcrabs, destroyed the Dragons, filed my toenails, worshipped at my feet, and helped rebuild half of Dragonsreach." Jarl Carcette stated. "For that, I give you my thanks!"

Fenrik and Delphine both applauded Cura.

"Job well done, Dragonborn!" Delphine clapped. "Now, if you could only fight those pesky Trolls. Then you'd actually be useful."

Fenrik and Carcette both began to laugh at Delphine's remark, but Cura was annoyed. "Excuse me?"

"Delphine is right." Fenrik agreed. "Your deeds only merit 348 coins."

"And you were supposed to come back to us with 1000." Jarl Carcette shook her head disapprovingly. "I always have to keep track of you, don't I? Tsk."

"What!?" Cura became outraged.

"Ooh, here it comes!" Sheoforath clenched his fists with excitement, like a schoolboy getting a new video game.

"How dare you!" Cura shouted at them all. "I've done all I could for you, and you still look down on me like a child?!"

Jarl Carcette leaned forward. "Maybe if you didn't act like one, we'd take you seriously."

"Yeah, slaying a few Dragons doesn't make you mature." Delphine stated. "Any one of us could slay a Dragon if we tried. It doesn't make you special."

"But you said it does. Being able to put them down is what distinguishes me from all of you!" Cura yelled. "I AM A DRAGON!"

She held up the Wabbajack and blasted herself with it, and transformed into a White Dragon with Green eyes.

"Ooh, this reminds me of Martin!" Sheogorath exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "Good times, good times! Finish them all!"

He waved a hand, and Jarl Carcette, Delphine, and Fenrik all swirled into one another like liquid, and began to take the form of Mehrunes Dagon.

A violent clash ensued, and when the White Dragon hit the Mehrunes Dagon clone, the world burst into flames, which then extinguished themselves, leaving Cura alone again, sitting in the grass, in the middle of a misty forest with Dolmens strewn about. She stood up, looked down, and saw her outline drawn in the ground.

She looked around. "What...?" She recognized the environment. It was exactly where this whole fiasco began. "Is this some kind of joke?"

"Oh, no. No joke, my friend!" A jovial Sheogorath's voice emerged from behind the tall bushes. "Ye've just gone stark-ravin' mad! Whooo-hee!"

"Déja-vu..." Cura placed a hand on her forehead.

"No; Dementia!" Sheogorath exclaimed with a laugh. "If we had greeting cards, I'd make one special for ye, with the blood o' trolls and toe fungus! A fine work of art, it'd be! ...But we don't. So too bad for you."

"Why am I back here?" Cura asked.

"Ye know what they say about insanity, my Dear..." Sheogorath twisted his index finger on his left temple. "...repeat the same thing over and over..."

"No." Cura shook her head. "I'm not going on that quest again!"

Sheogorath began to dance, and strung Cura along once again, up to the part where she had to face the Werewolf.

"Why do ye hate this poor creature?" Sheogorath asked. "She's done ye no wrong!"

"Because she's-no-it's an abomination!" Cura yelled.

"Says who?" Sheogorath asked.

"Says Stendarr!" Cura stated.

"So, how does he tell ye that? Does he take ye on little excursions like this? Or... ooh, ooh! Courier! O' course!" The demented Daedric Prince snapped his fingers and a Courier appeared off in the distance, and came running up to Cura, dressed in Mythic Dawn robes.

"I've been looking for you. Got something I'm supposed to deliver. Your hands only. Let's see here..." He reached into his pocket. "A note. Not sure who from, just said that he was a friend of yours." He handed Cura the note. "Looks like that's it. Got to go!" The courier ran a few feet, then turned into a Cheese Wheel.

Cura opened the letter.

"Lighten up and take that stick out yer arse!

love, Sheogorath"

She closed the letter, and a small smirk found its way upon her face. "Okay,I get the point." Cura confessed.

"Ye do?" Sheogorath asked.

"Yes." Cura stated with a sure nod.

"That's strange..." Sheogorath scratched his chin. "I haven't a clue to what the point is! Can ye give me a hint?"

"I need to gather myself. I need to be more flexible with my understanding of the world." Cura began to deconstruct it all. "I shouldn't let others dictate what I should do with my life! That's how I ended up in this predicament-I listened to Eltrys because my mind was already clouded by grief... but, how can I escape that?" She looked to the Mad Prince, who was picking his nose.

He flicked the snot away into the grass, and a weird golden insect-like creature sprouted up from it, "I haven't the faintest clue on that, my dear, but if ye ever find yerself needin' a break from all the insanity o' the world, just come crawlin' back to Papa Sheogorath, an' this Mad Daedra will either welcome ye with open arms, or toss ye to the Wollywogs!"

Cura nodded and smiled. "Thank you, Sheogorath. You've helped me a lot. I'm grateful."

"Don't mention it! Especially not to yer Coworkers! ...They scare me sometimes with their monotony." Sheogorath laughed.

Cura took a couple of steps forward and embraced the insane spirit. "I won't tell the Vigil. I promise."

"Good, good." Sheogorath said as he patted her on the back. "Good-bye!" He then dropped Cura down a black hole, where she screamed as she fell through the floor. As she descended she could see the Daedra getting smaller and smaller as the light began to consume her from within the dark.


Cura gasped aloud as she swung upwards into a sitting position. She broke out into a cold sweat, and Braig quickly handed her a tankard which he filled with dirty water from one of the buckets nearby.

"Here you go, girl. Drink it." He offered it to her. "Easy, there, easy." He rested a gentle hand on her shoulder to keep her stable.

After Cura finished drinking the water she began to look around. "Wha... where...? Oh. Cidhna Mine. Right."

"Braig here watched over you." Grisvar told her. "You should be thanking him."

Cura looked to the large Breton man and nodded. "Th-thank you."

Braig looked away. "Can you stand up?" He asked.

Cura slowly began to attempt it, pulling herself up. She strained a little, and her knees wobbled, but she managed it. "Yes... I think so..."

"Good. Then get back to digging. The ore ain't gonna mine itself." Braig said as he stood up and walked away.

Cura was a little confused by his change in attitude, but still, she was grateful that he looked after her while she was in the Shivering Isles.

She picked up a pickaxe that was on the ground beside Grisvar and she began to whack the Silver Ore vein on the wall, with the ideation in mind that it was a Reach Guard's face. Maybe she was projecting her hatred, like Sheogorath said, or perhaps this was just the truth.

It was funny, however, that with all the years of praying to Stendarr, she'd never once seen what he looked like, and yet, Daedric Princes were all too happy to openly socialize with her. It was odd, that her supposed enemies seemed to show more deference to her than the Divines she'd served.

The rock splintered, and a silver shine fell off of it.

"Oh, yeah! Put those in the bucket. That's what they use to make the Ingots." Grisvar told her.

"Yes, I know what ore is." Cura furrowed her brows.

"Just checking. Sheesh." Grisvar moved over to the other wall. "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bedrock. Heh, heh. Get it? Bedrock? Because the expression is that you got off on the wrong... side..."

Cura slowly walked away, not having it.

"...Figures. First woman I meet in ages has no sense of humour." Grisvar rolled his eyes as he continued to chisel away.

Cura retrieved a bucket, and then returned.

"So, Dragonborn, why are you here?" Grisvar asked out of curiosity.

"You first." Cura told him as she set the bucket in place.

"The first time? Thieving. The second time? Thieving. The third time? Thieving. It kind of keeps going like that." Grisvar admitted with slight shame tainting his voice. "First it was 6 months, then a year, then 2 years. Now I'm in for life."

"You must be a terrible thief." Cura told him.

"The worst in the Guild." Grisvar clicked his tongue.

"Wait, you're with the Thieves Guild?" Cura asked him, intrigued.

"Yeah, I was a Padfoot, mind you, but I was a member." Grisvar admitted. "Not anymore, though. I tried to hit the Markarth Treasury House, last week and Thonar really did not appreciate that, to say the least."

"So I suppose that's how you heard of me." Cura stated. "Through the Guild."

"Yes. Your Amulet was stolen by Vex, I think, and recently I was told by my friend's letter that Thalmor were after the Dragonborn, who rescued him from their Embassy." Grisvar said. "I was always fascinated with ancient legends, so I asked him to keep me posted."

"Etienne?" Cura asked him.

"By Shor, it was true, then! Wow!" Grisvar was practically gushing. "Hey, can you get me out of here like you got him out of there?"

"I hope to get us all out of here-and get even with those rotten Silver-Bloods and their Guards." Cura rammed her pickaxe into the rock angrily. "I will make them pay in blood for their silver. That's what it's all about, isn't it? Blood and silver?" She rammed the pickaxe in again. "Silber paid for my friend's blood... and their blood will pay in kind, for their silver."

She may be going insane, but perhaps she must be, for the long road ahead.

The long road leading to Oblivion, perhaps. Or, as she hoped, Sovngarde, so she could tell Lydia about all that transpired.

Lydia... I hope you're there in Sovngarde. Cura thought to herself. You've more than earned it. You were the best Housecarl I could ever have hoped for... and I'm never going to replace you. Ever.

She continued to chisel the silver as a lone tear ran down her cheek.


AUTHOR"S NOTE: I was hit by the power of Sheogorath, too, because I decided to do 2 updates in one day! XD Time to go eat some nice cottage cheese, methinks ~