After an hour spent meditating on the words she had learned in Dovahzul, Cura felt she needed to get some work done for the meantime. The rock was hard and would not so easily be broken. Cura feared her pickaxe would go first, as it was old and worn enough as is.

Could the infernal wardens at the very least have the decency to provide them with less brazen equipment? If they really wanted them to be productive, they should at the very least ensure the tools are up to the task.

When she had filled three buckets, Cura decided to call it in for the day. She placed the buckets over by the entry door, and decided to be cheeky and pocketed a little silver for herself.

She placed the ore in her bra and hoped nobody saw her. Perhaps if she could smuggle it out to Inigo somehow, he could sell it and use the gold to bail her out, or something. She hadn't many options at this point.

Though, perhaps that would be fruitless. She was the New Lifer, as Uraccen stayed. Then again, money mended more wounds than Restoration spells, so there was the possibility regardless.

None of this business in Markarth was working out like it was supposed to. She was supposed to help Tyrannus and then be on her way out of here.

Perhaps this was what she got for angering the Daedra. Who knows?

Turning her face, Cura noticed Grisvar looking around shiftily. She looked at the ore under her shirt, then at him from a distance.

Grisvar had connections with the Thieves' Guild. Perhaps Cura could persuade him...

...But he was a thief. There was no way she could trust him with this.

Cura sighed. Three days in and this was the best idea she could come up with.

Still, she had that inner voice urging her to kill the others and find a way out herself. No. It was not the way.

The Daedra want her to abandon her ethics. But if they were to attack her, she could justify it...

No. Don't even entertain the thought, Cura. Just try to get some rest.

Cura walked down the western tunnel and ducked into an enclave that was tight and airy. She slowly slunk onto the softrock and closed her eyes to rest up for the night. Or day. She wasn't certain.

What time had she been dropped in here? What day of the week was it? She hadn't a clue.

Cura caressed a smooth rock with the back of her hand. This was home now, for the time being.

It was hard to get comfortable and Cura shifted to one side and then back to the other, eventually settling down by lying on her left arm, facing the cavern wall.

Suddenly, she felt arms around her, clasping her from behind, and she quickly snapped her eyes awake.

A Breton man with dark gray hair and a tied beard was wrapped around her, gripping her like a stuffed animal, with his eyes closed and his face buried in her hair.

"Yikes!" Cura exclaimed in shock as she wrested herself away quickly, snapping him out of his daze, as well. "Get away from me, Cretin!"

The Breton man was stunned momentarily, as he was caught by surprise.

Cura quickly scrambled to her feet and ran around him. "Back off!" She held up her pickaxe.

"Hey, relax, sweetcheeks." the male Breton said mockingly. "Other prisoners get suspicious when we talk to each other, so keep it down."

"No! Why were you grabbing me?" Cura narrowed her eyes. "Er... nevermind; I know why, but it's unwanted!"

"Figures. Can't even get a bit of warmth down here." the Prisoner rubbed the back of his neck. "And you're my type, too... blonde, buxom... curvaceous... Breton..."

Cura docked the pickaxe on her shoulder. "Keep your distance, or this will get ugly. Even without the pickaxe, I could incinerate you."

The Prisoner clicked his tongue. "Just wanted a hug." He slunk back into the shadows and returned to mining ore.

Cura exhaled and headed over to another, darker corner to rest. After some time passed, the Breton Prisoner returned, but only to a nearby ore vein to chisel there.

"You don't mind, do you, your Highness?" he looked at Cura and spoke sarcastically. "There's some looser ore here. Wouldn't want to disturb your beauty nap, now, would I?"

Cura shook her head. "Go ahead." She couldn't sleep, regardless. The environment was too tense. Eventually after some time passed, Cura sat up to talk to the lonely Prisoner. "So, uh, what's your name?" She asked.

The Prisoner paused and turned to her. "Duach. You?"

"Cura." she finally decided to divulge. What difference did it make, ultimately? "How long have you been here?"

"Year seven, I think? Surprised I haven't cut my own throat out by now, but something keeps me going." Duach continued to swing at the ore, chipping piece by piece from the rough stone.

"What are you in for?" Cura sat up straight and massaged her left arm. It was still terribly sore from the beatings she'd gotten from the Guards.

"I'm a Forsworn. One of our raids went bad, and I got captured. Would've been fine dying for the Reach with my kinsmen, but the Silver-Bloods want their ore mined, so they threw me in here." Duach spoke with venom. "Whenever I get out of here, I'm going to go kill a Nord."

"Why do you kill the Nords?" Cura asked.

"For the same reason the Nords kill the Imperials." Duach told her. "Want our freedom and independence, is all."

"So, attacking innocent people will grant you freedom?" Cura poked holes in the theorem.

"No, but it does serve to prove a point to the Nord leaders. That we are not to be trifled with." Duach chipped a chunk of ore off the wall.

"Or lands you in a Mine, never to be seen again." Cura pointed out his current situation.

"The Reach will be ours again." Duach told her. "Madanach will see to it."

"Who is he, exactly?" Cura inquired, placing a hand under her chin.

"The King in Rags." Duach said. "Our hope and our inspirer."

"You know, the Bretons in the West don't look favourably upon you Forsworn." Cura stated. "How does that make you feel?"

"Let those snobs talk. I'd like to see them live here for a year and see if they wouldn't become just like us, under the Nords." Duach sneered. "I take it you're from the West, then? Wayrest, Daggerfall, Bhoriane, or Evermore?"

"Dawnstar, here in Skyrim." Cura corrected him.

"And here you are, in Cidhna Mine with us." Duach sneered. "Guess we ain't so different. Who'd you kill?"

"Nobody of note yet," Cura lied. "but Thonar Silver-Blood is right at the top of my list."

"Ha! I like your spirit. Go right for the top." Duach laughed with amusement.

Cura nodded. "I'm going to make him pay. This is personal." Her face darkened, black with hate.

Thonar ordered the Guards to torment the citizens and keep people in horrible conditions perpetually. He held the chains of both Nepos and Madanach, inflicting fear and inciting violence to keep order.

An ocean of blood is on his hands, inciting the Forsworn to action.

He had Cura beaten and healed repeatedly.

And to top it all off, he is responsible for the death of Lydia.

He must die.

"He must have really ruffled your feathers." Duach gathered ore into his bucket. "How'd a pretty little thing like you wind up down here, anyway?"

Cura quickly created a lie. "I was framed for the recent murders-Nepos the Nose, and the attack on the Markarth Treasury."

"Nepos was murdered?" Duach asked.

"The Guards went into his house and accused him of betraying their confidence." Cura fabricated. "They told me all about it when they created the charges, the filthy dogs."

She was becoming better at deception, it seemed, because Duach believed it. It sounded close enough to the truth and experiences of the others.

"All I did wrong was investigate the abandoned house on the lower level of the city with my ally." Cura clicked her tongue. "I suppose I looked Breton enough to scapegoat and throw in prison..."

"Nord bastards!" Duach sneered as he lifted the bucket and walked to the entrance to leave it by the door.

Cura hoped that she could finally get some rest, but she knew she had to be alert.

Then Duach returned. "Wait, you're a Vigilant of Stendarr, aren't you?" He demanded.

"..." Cura fell silent.

"How's it feel, being surrounded by Daedra worshippers, huh?" Duach mocked. "You're alone here."

"I've probably had more encounters with Daedra in the last few months than any of you have in your entire lives." Cura mocked him back. "You really have no clue what you're worshipping. Only do it by tradition."

"Don't be a smartass." Duach shook his head. "It's a bad look. Besides, you probably know more about the Daedra than you do about your Stendarr."

It was true; the God of Mercy was an enigma to her, versus Hircine, Meridia, Molag Bal, and Sheogorath, all whom she had spoken to directly.

"Stendarr started off a Nord God of Prisoners of War. You know that, right?" Duach laughed. "You're having his mercy right now. Bask in it, I guess."

Cura narrowed her eyes and stood up, content to leave him to his own devices. She knew she had to be careful down here enough as is, but if they were really hateful of the Vigil, she could have a real problem on her hands.

She went back to the eastern tunnel and picked up a pickaxe, a bucket, and began to take a few swings at the rock again.


"Yes, she's Elenwen's daughter! I'm telling you! You will know her when you see her!" Inigo exclaimed loudly in Understone Keep.

He was speaking to a few Thalmor who happened to be lurking about in there.

One of whom was Ondolemar, the conceited one Cura had met back in Elenwen's Party.

"Why should I believe you, Cat?" Ondolemar postured. "Your ilk are known for lying and sneaking around."

"If you save her, I am sure that Elenwen will reward you richly!" Inigo pleaded. "You must help her!"

Ondolemar dug dirt from under his nails as he began to think. "If I were to look into this, which I am not promising, what should I be expecting? What does your... friend... look like?"

"She looks like a Breton, kind of." Inigo began. "She is short, and with long, blonde hair, ears with a little point at the top, and has the most very noticeable green eyes you will ever see! They are like emeralds buried in her eye sockets!"

Ondolemar's eyes widened in recollection. He recalled a Breton at the Party who matched this description. He needed to pry further. "This... Half-Elf. She doesn't wear an Amulet of Stendarr, does she?"

"She does!" Inigo exclaimed with surprise. "How did you know that?"

"I believe I have met her before." Ondolemar confessed. "Very well. Run along, Cat. You've done your part. I will speak to the Jarl."

Inigo walked down the stairs. He promised Cura to keep her secret, but he was sure she wouldn't be angry knowing it saved her life, right?

Ondolemar scratched his chin. "First Emissary Elenwen's daughter, is she? Promotion, here I come!" He hurried towards the Throne room, intent on letting the Jarl know about a potential threat to their peace treaty.

Inigo reached the center of the city, and headed into the Shrine of Talos, as it seemed like a good place to think, alone.

When he entered, the strong odour of blood hit him, as well as a familiar scent. "Lydia?" he asked, as he stepped lower and lower within. "I like what you have done with the place! Red really looks good on these old stone walls..."

He noticed the many guard corpses, and among them, was Lydia, still pinned to the wall.

"Lydia?" Inigo saddened as he approached his unwilling partner. "Oh, no..." He then understood why he hadn't seen her since Cura's arrest.

Inigo lifted her face up and examined her. "Lydia... this is my fault... you left the Inn because I annoyed you... I am so sorry." the Khajiit was saddened.

He knew what he needed to do. "I will bring you to the Companions. They will honour your sacrifice." He gripped the hilt of the sword and slowly slid it out of her, and caught her in his other arm.

"'Inigo, you are a sentimental buffoon! I do not need to be put on a pyre! I would rather a monument be made in my name, because I am the best Housecarl in Skyrim!'" Inigo mimicked Lydia as he moved her. "Yes, Lydia. I will tell them, but whether it happens or not is up to them. Though, in my humble opinion, I haven't met many Housecarls, so I cannot agree just yet."

He stood there in silence, and he began to feel lonely, expecting a quip that would never come.

Silence.

The sounds of torch crackling filled the bloodsoaked air.

Inigo couldn't believe it.

At least she went down with a fight, like any good Nord. The Khajiit was at peace knowing that at least Lydia died an honourable death, in battle, guarding her Thane. "You will have your song in Sovngarde, at least. Lydia, Shield-Sister of the Last Dragonborn."

Due to bureaucracy, it would take at least a day for Cura's release, so he knew he had time to bring Lydia's body to Whiterun and return.

Now, how did Cura Fast Travel? Right. Focus your energy into the heavens, imagine the place you want to go, and warp. The blue Khajiit did just that and then after a few attempts, finally managed to move himself and Lydia.


Cura spent the evening chiseling more rock. She had been good at managing it, but her hunger was creeping up onto her.

She was careful to hide signs of weakness as much as possible around her thirsting inmates. The atmosphere in and of itself made Cura very uneasy.

Then, she decided she had enough of waiting around and decided that she wanted to see Madanach for herself. She had no intention on remaining here the rest of her days, and would wait no longer to be rescued in the traditional way.

Dropping the pickaxe, Cura stormed down the tunnel, past another shifty -looking Breton man, past Uraccen, and up to Borkul the Beast.

"Uh-oh. The big, scary Dragon is back." Borkul said with a laugh.

"Hello." Cura greeted him.

"Prison's not so bad. Less complaints when I kill people." Borkul laughed in thought of his last fight. "What do you want?"

"I need to see Madanach." Cura stated plainly.

"You want to talk to the King in Rags? Fine. But first you got to pay the toll." Borkul crossed his arms.

"Don't be a pig, now." Cura prefaced their agreement. "Anything but that."

Borkul smirked with amusement at her apprehension. "How about you get me a shiv? Not that I need one, but it's nice to have in case I need to do some "shaving." Ha ha."

Cura looked around. "I don't have a shiv."

"Then find one. That dung heap Grisvar's been known to make a few." Borkul pointed down the eastern tunnel.

"Fine." Cura shrugged as she walked down the tunnel.

Immediately, a brunette Breton man with his hair done in a Mohawk leaped on her back and pulled her to the ground, as if he were possessed.

Cura quickly squirmed away, after headbutting him.

"Come to me, beautiful!" The man exclaimed as his eyes flew wild with desire. "I want to sandwich my face between those luscious, beautiful pillows!" He made obscene squeezing gestures with his hands as he stared at Cura's chest, seeing as the two of them appeared to be alone in the cavern.

Cura held up her fists and took in a breath, ready to unleash her Unrelenting Force Shout.

"Odvan, back off or you're dead." a voice called out from around the corner of the cavernous wall.

Braig emerged with a pickaxe in hand and Odvan scurried away and ran after the threat was proposed.

Cura looked at Braig. Again, he defended her. Why?

Still, she felt she should thank him for his intercession. "Thank you." She gave him a courtly nod.

"Nah, he should be thanking me. You'd have killed him, I'm sure." Braig stated as he slunk back into his corner.

Cura raised an eyebrow, and then remembered her task. She continued onwards and found Grisvar.

"Hello again." Cura greeted him, leaning against the wall.

"I swear, if I ever get out of here, I'm giving up thieving. Really." Grisvar said exasperatedly as he too leaned against the wall. He was certainly fed up of the mine life. Cura could get behind that sentiment, as well.

"I hear you're the one to see about a Shiv." Cura cut to the chase.

"I hear you're a Vigilant of Stendarr. I hear Borkul beat a man to death with his own arm. I hear Odvan is Bothela's Grandson. We all hear lots of things. I also hear Duach has Skooma. I could use a bottle of that, if you're interested in a trade. Finest distilled Moon Sugar. I'm shaking just thinking about it." Grisvar negotiated. "If you want protection, young lady, I'd be happy to give it to you, and that's my price."

Now Cura was glad Inigo wasn't with her here; it would surely be a bad influence on him.

"Fine. I'll talk to that creep. This had better be worth the trouble." Cura hurried down the main tunnel into the western one, where Duach loved to hang out.

"Thank you, friend. Don't worry. I'll have that shiv ready for you." Grisvar lifted it from his tunic and ogled the sharp dagger-like weapon.

It took a little searching with the fact that the sinkhole looked the same, no matter what area Cura stood in. She began to silently curse herself for spending the last couple of days grieving alone in the corner and chipping ore sparingly, rather than learning the layout of the area.

Thoughts of home returned to her again.

The Hall of the Vigilant, an old shack it was, atop a snow-covered mountain range, below a shrine to Mehrunes Dagon atop a mountain spire with a crypt supposedly buried within. Pleasant memories.

Cura smiled recalling the memory Sheogorath showed her of her clumsy childish antics. She could certainly use a Boiled Creme Treat right about now, to be honest. That beautiful, sweet, succulent snowberry flavour just rolled off her tongue with joyous delight. The soft, delicate, spongelike dough crushing under her gnawing teeth. The beautiful cream filling rejuvenating her tastebuds as her soul jumped for joy in sheer, immaculate bliss.

A tear formed in the corner of her eye as she recalled these fond memories.

No matter how terrible the world was, the world, nor the Daedra could take those fond memories from her.

She then found Duach, who seemed to be facing the wall and partaking in some strange activity. She was hesitant to look over his shoulder as she crept closer, in the event that it was something obscene, but it turned out that he was shifting substances in bottles.

Skooma.

"Hello again." Cura greeted him, forcing herself to appear friendly. "I hear you have some Skooma."

"You give me one more look, and I cut you open. That Skooma's mine." Duach threatened right off the bat.

"It's quite important..." Cura tried to appeal.

"How important is it?" Duach asked her, turning around to face her.

"Quite." Cura said with a nod, deciding not to elaborate.

"Ah, getting the shakes, are you?" Duach asked. "I thought you'd be 'too good' for this stuff. Pfft. Guess it just goes to show, anyone can fall prey to the Moon Sugar, huh?"

Cura crossed her arms, and began to get antsy. She did not like where this was going. The creep was beginning to think her an addict. No doubt he was going to try and take advantage of that.

"I suppose I could part with the bottle, under one condition." Duach stated, as he began to look Cura up and down.

"What?" Cura asked dryly.

"You and me, in the corner." Duach pointed to a discreet enclave in the cavern wall west of him, and made a lewd gesture with one finger going into a hole made by his index finger and thumb.

"That's out of the question." Cura shook her head. "What do you think I am, a Harlot?"

"I think you're desperate and will do anything for this Skooma." Duach held up the bottle. "So, what do you say? Wanna... go spelunking with me?"

"You're right. I would do anything for that Skooma..." Cura picked up a pickaxe from the cavern floor. "...including murder. I'm in here for life anyways, so what does it matter?"

Duach looked at the weapon that she twirled in her two hands, then looked back at his bottle. Then he sneered and threw it to her. "Easy there. I didn't mean nothing. Take it." He spat.

Cura caught it and hung the pickaxe on her hip. "Thank you." She turned around to walk.

"The offer's still on the table, though." Duach raised his hand. "You ever feel... lonesome... I'm... here."

"I don't think so." Cura denied him and continued onwards. She was not about to sell herself to get a shiv. Of all the low things she's done in her life so far, that was not going on her résumé.

She returned to Grisvar and quietly slipped the bottle to him. "I have your Skooma. Getting it wasn't fun, but it's done now."

Grisvar's face lit up. It must be his lucky day. "Here's your shiv. Promise you won't ever use it on me, okay?" He handed the blade to Cura cautiously, and she simply nodded and took it.

Uraccen noticed Cura approaching with the shiv. "Wow, she's determined, I'll give her that." He was lazing about as usual, by the fire.

Borkul lay against the metal gate, and was picking his nose glamorously when the Breton returned to him with the shiv in her hand. "Heh. A bit of advice for you, cute stuff; never walk up to someone with a shiv pointed their way. Might give 'em the impression you're lookin' for a fight."

Cura rolled her eyes and flipped the weapon backwards, handing it to Borkul hilt-first. "Now, can I see Madanach?"

Borkul opened the metal gate, allowing Cura to be the first visitor in perhaps ages. "All right, head on in. But don't try anything in there. Madanach is smarter than you think."

The Breton hurried through and Borkul shut the gate behind her, but left it unlocked. The tunnel was narrow and dark, but the dim torches allowed her to see a few feet in front of her. To Cura's right, she noticed another metal gate that seemed to lead to another path.

There was no way Madanach was building an escape from there.

Though, it certainly did seem like it.

Or perhaps that was how Skooma and other things were smuggled in?

Either way, the other side of that gate could be freedom, just within her grasp!

Cura could hear a mild chuckle from some distance away, as well as scribbling sounds on paper. When she followed the noises, she was floored by the sight of an exquisite prison cell; a bed, books, food, and other amenities were available there. On the desk next to the wall was an elderly-looking Breton man with a swarthy demeanour and graying hair, and an unkempt beard writing notes, it seemed.

"Madanach?" Cura asked as she leaned in closer.

"Well, well. Look at you." Madanach lit up by her presence. "It's been so long since I've seen such a lovely young lass like yourself. Perhaps the Old Gods have finally decided to reward me."

"Hardly." Cura rolled her eyes, and Madanach's expression fell.

He scoffed and began to address the common matter. "The Nords have turned you into an animal. A wild beast caged up and left to go mad. So, my fellow beast, what do you want? Answers about the Forsworn? Revenge for trying to have you killed?"

"To be honest, I didn't think I'd get this far." Cura admitted. "To speak directly with the King in Rags is an honour, even if I don't share your views, exactly."

Madanach nodded. "What do you want?"

"My freedom." Cura stated. "I have important things to do on the outside."

"Your freedom? Yes. But even if you were to escape Cidhna Mine, your name would still be stained with all that blood." Madanach assured her. "The Silver-Bloods no doubt have made sure of that."

"I want them to pay for all they've done!" Cura slapped her hand on his desk. "Their filthy Guards murdered my best friend. I want them to suffer!" She grit her teeth in rage as the words finally left her throat in a hoarse choke.

Madanach nodded, and then proceeded to stand up and lay a hand on her shoulder, seeing a familiar glint in her eyes. "You're one of us now, you see? A slave. The boot of the Nord stepping on your throat. Maybe if you understood that, I could help you."

"I don't need your help. I just need to escape." Cura refused. She was no Forsworn. Being a Half-Elf from Skyrim did not grant her kinship with these savages.

"So many say that, at first, until they realize the truth." Madanach shook his head disappointedly before returning to his desk. "If you change your mind, speak to Braig. Tell him I sent you. I want you to know how widespread the injustice of Markarth is."

Braig.

That was the man who seemed to guard Cura for most of the days in here.

"Okay, I'll talk to him." Cura agreed.

Perhaps she was too quick to judge the Forsworn. If Braig was one of them, then perhaps they weren't all bad. He had some humanity, at least.

It did not take long for her to find him, drinking water in a small makeshift room.

"Hello, Braig. May I sit down?" Cura asked the large Breton and gestured to the floor in front of him. "Madanach asked me to hear your story."

Braig nodded and Cura took her seat in front of him. Then he began to speak. "My story, huh? Everyone in Cidhna Mine has a tale. Let's hear yours first. When was the first time you felt chains around your wrists?"

"Helgen." Cura recalled the memory so vividly that it almost made her stomach churn. "I was being sent to the executioner for a crime I hadn't committed."

"So you know what it's like to have your life in someone else's hands." Braig nodded softly, and his eyes turned morose. "Why should they get to decide? Isn't judgment for the gods? He motioned towards Cura's Amulet of Stendarr that was poorly concealed.

She nodded in agreement. "While this is true, they have bestowed us with the will of justice to mete out just punishments and mercy in accordance to the Ten Commands."

"If you're a member of the Imperial Cult." Braig reminded her. "Justice worked out differently in the old days of the Reach, but you're not here to hear that." His body language changed, and he became a little softer, relenting his hard exterior briefly. "Do you have any family? Anyone waiting for you on the outside?"

"Besides the Vigil, not really." Cura stated. "I love them as my family, even if we're not related by blood. I have a friend waiting for me on the outside at the moment, and I hope he isn't wrought with worry."

Braig nodded and began to stiffen up. "I had a daughter, once. She'd be 23 this year. Married to some hot-headed silver worker or maybe on her own learning the herb trade." He began to get emotional as the memories returned to him like a dagger returning to his heart. "The Nords didn't care who was and who wasn't involved in the Forsworn Uprising. I had spoken to Madanach once, that was enough. But my little Aethra didn't want to see her papa leave her. She pleaded to the Jarl to take her instead. And after they made me watch as her head rolled off the block, they threw me in here anyway, to dig up their silver."

He hit the ground with his fist as old rage and pain surged through him.

The thought both disgusted and horrified Cura. How could they do such a thing to a child? It was no wonder the Reachmen were outraged; even if they were Savages. Then again, if the Nords were willing to execute native children, perhaps they were even more so.

Cura finally understood why Braig seemed to care for her; she must remind him of his daughter... or what she could have been. She laid a gentle hand on Braig's arm to comfort the grieving father. "I'm sorry to hear what happened to you." She sympathized. "Your daughter is with the Gods now, in Aetherius."

There just were no words that one could give that could soothe such pain. She could never imagine the horror a parent who has lost their child has gone through.

Braig shook it off, returning his tough exterior. "My daughter is the one who needs your pity. I'm just a poor Forsworn whose only regret is not killing more Nords before I was locked up."

"Not all of the Nords are like that." Cura told him. "I've known some who were quite caring and friendly... and one who was loyal to the bitter end." She was, of course, referring to Lydia. "In fact, both of my best friends were Nords. They weren't hateful or prejudiced."

Braig shook his head. "Everyone is prejudiced, my dear." He pointed to her Amulet again. "If it's not prejudism against one's race, it's prejudism against one's religion. Look no further than your own organization."

"You think your story justifies the murders the Forsworn committed?" Cura called out the stone-thrower.

"I'm not Madanach." Braig shook his head. "I was never a leader of the Forsworn. The only anger I can justify is my own. But every family in the Reach has a story like mine. There are no innocent onlookers in this struggle. Just the guilty, and the dead."

"I could say the same for the reason the Vigil exists." Cura told him. "Harm caused by the Daedric Princes and their worshippers led to the creation of my organization. It was the Oblivion crisis that made it known that we were needed. Too many innocent lives have been lost over millennia due to the Daedra, and having met a few firsthand, I can confirm their destructive nature. Though, not all of them seem so bad, I must admit."

"Well... now that you've heard my story, we can get back to our affairs." Braig stood up. "Ore's not gonna mine itself."

Cura walked down the mine, feeling empty. She returned to Madanach and made known her disgust.

"Braig told me his story. That's awful..." Cura emoted softly.

"Imagine hearing a story like that, over and over. Each time a different family. Each time a different injustice." Madanach stated. "Your meddling above ground reminded me of how removed I've been from the struggle. My men and I should be in the hills, fighting."

"So, how did you come to work for Thonar?" Cura asked him.

Bitterness fell upon Madanach's tongue as he recalled a spiteful history. "I had Markarth. My men and I drove the Nords out. We had won, or so we thought. Retribution was swift. I was captured, quickly tried, and sentenced to death. But my execution never came. Thonar Silver-Blood stopped it. He wanted the Forsworn at his call, that I would point their rage at his enemies and spare his allies." He then elaborated further. "And I have. Humiliating at first, but I knew he would let his guard down eventually. That he would come to trust I was under control."

Cura watched the old man as he seemed to entrance himself.

He paced the floor captivatingly as he gained passion. "This was our land. We were here first. Then the Nords came and put chains on us. Forbid us from worshipping our gods. The wisest of us refused to bow. We knew the old ways would lead us back to having a kingdom of our own. That is who we are. The Forsworn. Criminals in our own lands. And we will cut a bloody hole into the Reach until we are free."

Cura was a silent onlooker, but the emboldened Madanach kept going. "What say you? Are you going to come out of these mines with us, or do you intend on wasting away here?"

"No, I want out!" Cura exclaimed valiantly. "I don't care what it takes-I'm going to get out, and gut those Guards. Give them a taste of the Justice they've so fervently escaped."

Had she really just said that?

The sour taste it left behind assured her the she indeed had.

And she meant every word of it. She owed it to her friend, and to the suffering citizens of the Reach.

"Ha, ha! I think I might like you." Madanach remarked. "You've got that fire burning in you; fire I haven't seen in a very long time." He stood up again. "You're going to escape with us."

Cura smiled. That went easier than she expected.

"But first, I need a show of loyalty from you. I don't need a shiv in the back while we break out." Madanach told her. He had the key on his person, and the knowledge of the escape route. "After what happened to Nepos, which was self-defense on your part, I understand, but I can't fully trust you to not turn on me. You being a Vigilant only adds to this."

Cura was too tired and too hungry to argue. "All right. What is it I can do to prove myself?"

"Have you met Grisvar the Unlucky? He's rightly named, and he's also a thief and a snitch." Madanach's eyes darkened. "He's outlived his minor usefulness. Take care of him, and then we can leave Cidhna Mine for good."

"Grisvar is a snitch?" Cura asked, hesitant to kill one of the only friendly faces around.

"Yes, he's been trying to tip off the Guards about our escape plans, in exchange for a redacted sentence." Madanach snarled. "Bastard thinks my men haven't intercepted his letters on the outside. He'd have the tunnel buried and us trapped here 'til the stars expire to save himself."

It made sense, given his open admission to having outside contacts. But still, Cura didn't feel right killing Grisvar, even if he was a snake.

"Need a shiv?" Madanach asked her, as he took one from under his desk. "Does the job good, and clean. Go to it." He placed the sharp weapon in Cura's hands.

This had to happen quickly. Cura couldn't dwell on it too much, for her own sake. She clenched her fingers around the hilt and lumbered down the halls, her head spinning. Was it the lack of sufficient oxygen, or perhaps a sign that she was making a bad decision?

What other choice did she have, though?

She could kill everyone, but that would include Braig, who was kinder to her than anyone.

She resolved herself to it. Skyrim would be better off with the Dragonborn out in it to defend it against the Dragons and other threats.

Some things had to be sacrificed for the greater good, and surely an unrepentant thief would not be missed.

Perhaps when the accounting was done, Stendarr would show her mercy.

She slowly crept up behind Grisvar. "I'm sorry." She muttered as she grabbed him from behind and drove the blade across his throat, causing blood to splatter on the wall in front of him before he even realized what was happening.

Cura stood there for a moment, looming over the fresh corpse, and felt the air escape her.

That was it. That was all it took.

The tired Breton dropped the Shiv to the floor and fell against the cavern wall as she saw the blood seeping out in a puddle underneath Grisvar's lightly twitching body.

Some of his blood was on her hands, and she wiped it on the side of her tunic as she hurried back straight to Madanach, catching the attention of the nearby inmates, who looked to see what occurred in the eastern tunnel.

"Grisvar is dead. I... I slit his throat." Cura informed him.

"You've finally become one of us. Come with me. I think it's time I announced my plans to you and your new brothers." Madanach placed a soft hand on her shoulder as he led her outside to the others, who were gathered before them, as if on cue.

She was one of them now? Boy, did she have a lot to explain to Keeper Carcette when she returns to the Hall. Dealings with the Thieves' Guild was madness enough, but the Forsworn now? That would be impossible to justify in any way without her coming off rotten. But then again, who cares? What does the Keeper know about the horrors of Markarth, anyways? Besides her Aunt becoming a Hagraven, anyways.

Uraccen was the first to address the leader. "What's going on, Madanach? You wouldn't have old Grisvar killed unless you weren't planning on needing him."

Cura realized then that she was their signal. So they were all plotting against Grisvar the whole time.

Madanach kept his hand on Cura's shoulder as he addressed the others. "My brothers, we have been here long enough. It's time to leave Cidhna Mine and continue our fight against the Nords. Through this gate, just beside my quarters, is a tunnel. A tunnel that leads right through the old Dwarven ruins of Markarth, into the city. Well, what do you say, my brothers?"

Duach shouted. "The Reach belongs to the Forsworn!"

Borkul slapped a fist onto his hand. "The Reach belongs to the Forsworn!"

Braig exclaimed. "The Reach belongs to the Forsworn!"

Uraccen chimed in. "The Reach belongs to the Forsworn!"

Odvan jumped with joy. "The Reach belongs to the Forsworn!"

"I say you've earned an early pardon. Let's go." Madanach nodded to Cura as he let go of her and headed back through the door.

Cura followed Madanach closely and the others trailed behind in a clamorous charge.

"Where did this tunnel come from?" Cura asked as Madanach loosed the gate door, leading to freedom.

"It's a little gift from the dwarves. Who knew they would end up helping our cause?" Madanach chuckled. "We have to move. We'll talk more once we see the sky."

"I'm ready." Cura stated.

"Into the tunnel. Let's go." Madanach pried the gate open, and all followed the King in Rags through a Dwarven metal door.

Cura could already see the Guards wailing in her mind's eye. She was ready.

Through the door and into the ruins, they immediately saw Dwemer architecture all around; Elven faces carved out of metal, stonework, grates, and large pipes blowing steam.

Following the tunnel, Cura passed a couple of empty Dwemer shelving units, chairs, and benches. A Healing potion rested stop the table, and she was quick to snatch it.

Eventually, after some maneuvering, the tunnel opened into a cavern, with stairs to their right leading up to a higher level.

"Damn Spiders. See the cobwebs ahead?" Braig pointed at a large net enveloping the walls. "That's bad news."

"I've got this. Everybody stand back!" Cura rushed ahead, going before Madanach, and she turned to the webbing. "YOL TOOR!"

She released a great wave of fire, which engulfed the webs and whatever was on them.

The Forsworn looked at her in shock. Madanach was incredibly impressed.

Braig nodded. "Guess Grisvar was right about her after all."

Borkul nodded. "That'll come in handy against the city."

Odvan was shaking, and Duach grit his teeth.

Cura noticed burnt Frostbite Spider corpses ahead. "All clear." She surmised as Madanach resumed leadership.

The corridor soon opened into another cavern, with a stone pillar standing the ground up on an angle. Behind it on a higher levelled ramp was another Frostbite spider.

Braig made short work of it with a rusted greatsword he picked up from the ground.

The group continued to bellow through the cavernous area and through the door before them. The exit tunnel was in the northern corner. Following the sloped tunnel upwards led them to some stairs to a raised platform.

From two ejection sites on both corners of the room came out two Dwarven Spheres, armed and ready to kill.

The Forsworn engaged them quickly, fist and greatsword, and Odvan's throat was slit by the robot's blade.

Cura found an opening where the second Sphere was concerned and quickly Shouted it over the ledge. "FUS RO DAH!"

"Just what the world needed; a woman whose voice can tear down buildings!" Duach exclaimed as he dodged a crossbow bolt fired by the first Dwarven Sphere.

Madanach blasted the terror with a lightning bolt, and Cura came back with her Flames, and eventually the machine exploded from the force of magic, its parts flying in all directions, cutting some of the fleeing prisoners.

Cura casted a Healing spell over the group as they continued through the large chamber. At the end of the platform was a docking station for a large Dwarven Centurion. Cura remembered that horror from Nchuand-Zel.

She noticed stairs that led to the lower level on the eastern side of the platform, and decided to descend them so as not to wake the harsh machination. Madanach caught on to what she was doing and followed suit, crouching and leading the men behind him.

After some success, they ascended more stairs into the final area, which was adorned with another large ceiling-high stone pillar in the center, and an earthen ramp to the right. Cura and the others followed Madanach up, and immediately found the exit door carved into the stone.

In front of it, a Breton girl with brown hair wearing an odd fur armour adorned with skulls stood with five men in the same set of armour, awaiting Madanach with a large bundle of chests.

The woman spoke and stepped forward. "Madanach. I've brought what you asked for."

Madanach nodded to her. "Good work, Kaie. Get ready while I have a word with our favourite outsider." He gestured to the other prisoners, and they began to suit up in armour from within the chests, and Madanach ushered Cura over to the last chest on the left. "I had Kaie recover all the things the Nords stole from you. You better get ready before we break out into the city."

Cura nodded as she retrieved her Vigil Enforcer Armour, and her Apprentice Robes, steel plated Gauntlets, Boots, her Elven Mace, and Spellbreaker, as well as her bag full of important things. She fastened her Hood on well, and then Madanach handed her what looked like a ring with a Hawk's skull engraved on it with small decorative feathers."And take this. It's blessed with the old magicks. Something to remember me by."

"Thank you." Cura said with a nod as she ogled the macabre accessory. "What happens next?"

"Now? I announce to all of Markarth that I have returned. Don't worry about your name. They'll know who to blame and fear after today." He laughed sinisterly. "It'll take years, but I'll organize the Forsworn again. We'll reclaim our land, and then, when power is ours, we'll have peace. A kingdom. Until then, let me offer you a warning. Beware the Forsworn. No place in the Reach is safe from us now."

"I'd sooner forget all of this." Cura scoffed. She would much rather return to her own affairs once all was said and done.

"That ring I gave you," Madanach began. "if you ever find yourself near the Forsworn, show it to them. I'll be sure they know that the one who wears the Ring of the Black Hawk is a friend of mine."

Cura nodded. "I'll keep it in mind."

"Time to finally see the sky, and make it rain red." Madanach stated as he exited the door first. The Prisoners followed after him, and Cura shared a brief glance with Kaie and the others, then nodded and headed outside.

She wanted to rain a Storm upon all of Markarth. A storm to cleanse the filth from that decrepit city. To wash away Lydia's blood, and to cleanse Tyrannus', as well.

Storm.

"Strun"

A bellowing gale.

Strun.

A wrathful gale.

"Bah." Wrath.

Anger, built up over time, welling up underneath the surface. The foundation of all Dragons.

Bah.

Strun Bah.

Storm Wrath.

A wrathful lightning storm, to smite her foes.

"Qo." Lightning.

Lightning. The raw power of the Gods given physical form; sailing the skies and scorching the earth below, burning trees away in flame, energy dispersing in heat and fury. Sudden; powerful. Wrathful.

Storm Wrath Lightning.

Strun Bah Qo.

Cura pushed the door open and stepped outside, into the beautiful sunlight. Before her was Madanach and his group, facing someone up ahead of them. When she moved in closer and walked around Braig, she noticed an angry balding Nord man in Fine Clothes. That had to be Thonar Silver-Blood.

"Madanach! Think you can escape my prison do you? You'll pay for what you've done to my family!" Thonar was seeing red.

Madanach scoffed. "Your family? You've poisoned the Reach with your tainted silver for long enough, Thonar!"

"Damn you, Madanach! You killed my wife!" Thonar roared angrily.

"You deserved this." Cura sneered at him, stepping forward and standing beside Madanach. "After all you've wrought..."

"Shut up. Only the gods can judge me. You want to know what the Forsworn really are?" Thonar snapped back at Cura. "They're bloodthirsty animals, the lot of them! You, as well! My family controls every piece of this city. The people should be calling us kings. You are a fool to cross me!"

Before Madanach could talk Cura cut ahead of him, facing Thonar directly, and very sternly. "You ordered those Guards to capture me and frame me for Eltrys' murder. And killed my friend."

"What did you expect? That no one was going to notice you butting into business that wasn't yours? The guards know who holds the purse strings in this city, and I don't like snoops. Markarth is my city. You have no right looking into my business." Thonar sneered smugly.

That was what did it.

It was over.

"HRRRRGRRRRRRAHHHHHH!" Cura roared like a monster. With a brutal swing of her mace, Cura cleaved his head right off his shoulders, batting it across the stairway and into the ravine below. His body fell limp to the ground.

"Nice shot!" Borkul laughed with amusement.

Immediately, the green-clad Guards began to pour out of various parts of the city.

"CHARGE! KILL EVERY LAST ONE OF 'EM!" Madanach ordered, thrusting his sword into the air.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: for maximum effect, play the "Blood and Steel" Skyrim battle theme here, and thanks again for reading my story! :)**

Cura outstretched her arms and looked up to the sunlit sky. She bit her lip in frustration. She was ready.

Lydia, this is for you!

"STRUN BAH QO!"

Immediately, the warmer air took a sudden chill as dark clouds began to swirl and block out the sun. Howling, angry gales swept the city, horrifying its denizens. Thunder roared like a Dragon as lightning bursted forth from the sky in arcs, blasting stone and mortar alike. The weather was unholy; disturbed.

Lightning reduced several Guards to ash upon impact.

The Forsworn ran through the heavy downpour, and Cura followed suit, massacring every Guard within her reach.

It was a frenzy of lightning, flying blood, and panic. The entire city was in a frenzy, with distraught citizens fleeing the marketplace into their houses while Guards were cut down one by one by the Prisoners, and the Smelter workers from the Docks, as well as obvious Forsworn.

Cura was stabbed in the side by one of the Guards, and she quickly turned to face him and tore his helmet off, wanting to see his face. She then uppercut him in the jaw with her mace, pushing it up into his lower skull. The jaw hung one last time, and like the Guard, dropped.

Inigo returned to the city by Fast Travel. He gripped his head, as he was dizzy. "Oooh... now I see why she was complai..." he was silenced when he noticed the carnage spreading throughout the city. "What the..."

Inigo leaped for cover when a lightning bolt strayed into the wall nearby.

In one afternoon, the Silver-Bloods' control over Markarth was severed, blood filling the streets, flooding the waterways by the rainfall. The scene was far worse than anything Cura had ever witnessed, when her violent rage subsided. Even Helgen didn't seem this brutal.

What has she done?

"Druadach Redoubt." Braig laid a hand on her shoulder to regain her attention as the storm continued to rage around them. "If you want to see us again, we're going to be quartered in Druadach Redoubt. Thanks for the help, kid." He released her and continued running after Madanach and the others as they exited the city gate.

The storm slowly began to subside, one droplet at a time as the downpour cleared up and the lightning finally ceased, to Inigo's relief.

Cura stood on the steps, drenched from head to toe in blood and water, and she only stared up into the sky. Inigo cautiously approached his friend after seeing her in this state.

"Cura...?" Inigo softly spoke to get her attention.

A smile stretched upon the Breton's face, and she began to laugh as the tingling sensation from the stab in her side kicked in and all that occurred registered. Inigo was a little concerned when he realized that it wasn't Cura's Elven Mace in her hand, but the Mace of Molag Bal.

"Cu...ra...?" Inigo hesitantly came closer, unable to take his eyes off the horrifying weapon.

"Ha... ah... ahha... ha..." Cura slowly began to return to her senses, when she looked down to her hand and saw the Daedric Weapon soaked in blood. "Huh?"

"When your enemies lie broken and bloody before you, know that I will be watching."

Cura dropped the dark weapon to the floor. "No... No, no! Stop it!" She shouted.

"Cura, it is me, Inigo! Just me!" Inigo held up both of his hands in a calming gesture. "Take a deep breath!"

Cura did as she was asked, and as soon as she returned to stability, she clutched Inigo in her arms, and buried her face in his furry neck. "Inigoooo...!"

"Yes, it is me, Inigo!" Inigo sparkled enthusiastically. "I... am impressed with the new paint job. I suppose your new friends worked on it with you? I am not criticizing, mind you, but I think that there is a bit too much red in your corner."

"I'm losing my mind..." Cura laughed sadly, mixing tears of sorrow with ones from laughing together. "Inigo, I really am losing my mind...I met the Daedric Prince Sheogorath, and you were there, too, and..."

"Yes, I remember!" Inigo exclaimed. "That was yesterday."

Cura had no words.

So they really did link their minds together, somehow.

Cura grit her teeth. "I... barely can remember my name. Does that mean something?" She was horribly disheveled and covered in dirt from the mines in addition to everything else. "You were calling me... but I didn't feel like Cura. I... can't really explain it. It was like... for the last day or so... I was someone else. But myself. I was me, but not me."

"You need some Mead, or a good Ale, I think." Inigo gently pat her head.

"Y-you aren't with the Forsworn, are you? People say they saw you when the prisoners escaped. So many dead." Kerah asked Cura with a trembling voice as she slowly returned to the Marketplace with the other merchants, unbelievably shaken by the attack.

"I...no... not... not exactly..." Cura had no concrete answer to give as she looked at the slaughter around them. Quickly, she retrieved the Mace of Molag Bal. She turned to Inigo. "I'm bringing this to the Hall of the Vigilant. It needs to be locked away for good."

"Good idea!" Inigo agreed, and the pair exchanged a nod. "But do you think you are ready to face Keeper Carcette after all... this...?"

"I have to." Cura sighed.

"There she is!" Ondolemar exclaimed from a distance, with two Altmer behind him and a Redguard woman in steel armour with the Jarl approached from a distance.

"It appears she'd broken out already." The Redguard woman stated. "That's a crime in and of itself. Jarl Igmund, she should go back to the Mines."

"Look around you, Faleen." The Jarl pointed to the blood-soaked surroundings filled with the corpses of corrupt Guards. "Who can arrest her?"

"That elf!" Cura exclaimed with apprehension, as she recognized Ondolemar from the Thalmor Embassy.

Ondolemar turned to the Jarl. "Arresting the daughter of our First Emissary could be treated as a war crime, and a violation of our peace treaty. It is as brazen as arresting Madam Ambassador herself."

Cura's eyes widened with horror as this information was callously leaked before her very eyes. How could he have learned that?

Her eyes slowly shifted over to Inigo, who only shrugged in response.

"The elf is right." Jarl Igmund shrugged. "Then, by my right as Jarl, I declare the Prisoner Cura of the Pale freed from all charges, and her name cleansed of wrongdoing in my Hold. Madanach has been found to be the true murderer of Markarth. On behalf of the city, I apologize for your wrongful imprisonment."

Cura felt some relief wash over her from this. But she knew that there had to be strings attached. There was no way that Ondolemar wanted to help her out of the 'kindness in his heart'. He had none to speak of.

When the Jarl returned with his soldier to the Keep, discussing the matters of city cleanup, Ondolemar approached Cura head-on. "Well, I take it you weren't given a luxurious cell down there. You're welcome, by the way."

Cura narrowed her eyes. "How did you know of my relation to Elenwen?"

"A little bird told me." Ondolemar scoffed. "Or more precisely, a little Cat told me. A blue Cat."

"Yes, yes, we get it already, you blowhard!" Inigo snapped. He turned to Cura. "It was to save you from the Prison, and to have your name cleared!"

"I'm not... mad at this, Inigo." Cura informed him. In truth, she didn't feel much at the moment. "Thank you."

"The Cat wins again! It is my amazing charm!" Inigo beamed proudly.

"Be silent, Khajiit." Ondolemar dismissed him as he moved closer to Cura. "Let the real people speak." He looked to Cura snobbishly. "First Emissary Elenwen wants to see you again, in private. You were rude to decline the search party in Riften."

"I had important things to deal with, and still do." Cura stated.

"More important than your Mother wanting to speak to you directly? Tsk. Tsk." Ondolemar shook his head disapprovingly.

"Actually, I plan to see my Mother. The actual woman who raised me. And the rest of my family." Cura tried to walk around him. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go to the Hall of the Vigilant."

Ondolemar fell silent for a second, and then he and the other Thalmor with him exchanged glances before he turned back to Cura. "Oh. You really don't know, do you? ...I suppose it makes sense, given you were imprisoned..."

"Know what?" Cura raised an eyebrow.

What was he clamouring about now?

"A few days ago, the Hall of the Vigilant was destroyed." Ondolemar said simply, waving the event off as if it were a normal occurrence.

The words seemed to go right through Cura.

Destroyed?

A few days ago, the Hall of the Vigilant was destroyed.

The sentence echoed, but did not seem to register. It played on and on as a loop in her mind for those precious, accursed few moments.

A few days ago, the Hall of the Vigilant was destroyed.

What?

A few days ago, the Hall of the Vigilant was destroyed.

No.

The Hall of the Vigilant.

It can't be.

Destroyed.

The world stood still around Cura in that instant, and Inigo looked at her, worried.

"Cura...?" Inigo tried to pull her back to reality, touching her arm to grab her attention. In that instant, Cura Fast Travelled the two of them out of Markarth.

"HEY!" Ondolemar reached out for her, but was not fast enough.

Cura and Inigo materialized in front of the Hall. What they saw was grotesque.

The building was obliterated; the ceiling collapsed onto the floor, embers from the hearth's flame still caught in them, and smoke still blowing up into the sky, as flames were kept alive by the cold winter's air. There were dead Vigilants and Death Hounds littering the premises, and dead Vampires, as well. The new horses were dead, as well.

Cura's heart was frozen, and she ran inside the collapsed interior, praying not to find a familiar face as tears flooded her own. "Th-this can't be happening... it can't be!"

"Cura..." Inigo called after her.

"Who did this...?" Cura began to feel unquenchable rage and sadness welling up. "WHO?!" Her voice shook the remaining architecture, causing snow to fall off what was left of the roof and collapse on herself and Inigo in a small avalanche.

"Keeper?" Cure began to lift some of the wood. "Keeper?" She called out frantically as she tossed frames aside.

She saw a dead Vampire on the floor and kicked his corpse out of her way. "Move it, you bastard!"

She saw many dead Vigilants, but no Carcette, Moric, Tolan, or Adalvald among them. This gave her solace until she saw the rubble burying the stairway.

No bedroom to return to any longer.

She hoped to Stendarr, Shor, Mara, and Arkay that those she thought of were not down there.

Still, Cura began to heave the rubble, her adrenaline surging in panic as cold sweat overtook her body. She tossed rock after rock, after rock, until she saw some stairs underneath.

Inigo searched through the wooden collapse on the west side, and saw Stendarr's Hammer sticking out from under it.

Cura was not thinking rationally. She was in pure panic.

Eventually, Cura created a small, but large enough opening in the stones that she could squeeze through and head down the stairs.

The first thing she was greeted with was Moric Sidrey's corpse, laying on his back, looking up at the ceiling. He was long gone, and his flesh was pale as the snow and cold to the touch. "Moric... I can't believe it..." She crept closer to him and closed his eyes, giving rest to the dead. "I'm sorry I wasn't here... I... I would have... I would have saved you..."

Guilt settled in.

"You would have died with them, fool." A dark, feminine voice spoke to her from her bedroom.

When Cura turned the corner, a being faster than she could track rushed out at her, clawing at her face, drawing blood. "Gah?!"

The Vampiress who had pursued Moric survived the collapse. "Thanks for finding an opening. I thought I was going to be stuck down here forever." She began to lick Cura's blood off her claws.

"You're going to be stuck in Coldharbour forever, demon!" Cura yelled angrily. "YOL TOOR!"

Immediately, the Vampire was consumed in the flames, and with a lot of screaming and flailing, was quickly reduced to ashes. Cura threw her rage into that Shout.

The Greybeards were right about the Shouting ability; when one projects their thoughts, or their feelings into it, it can vary in its power. With the amount of despair and hate burning within Cura over the last week or so, it was only natural that the fire would decimate half the room as well as the Vampire.

Cura resumed her frantic search and found no trace of anybody, save for a couple of dead Vigilants in the small hallway leading to the Cells and the Vault. Cura opened the Vault, and retrieved the Artifacts held within. She would have to find another place to hide these.

Cura felt utterly miser5able; defeated. Wherever the others were, she could only pray they were alive.

Slowly, Cura crept back into the main Hall, where Inigo lifted Stendarr's Hammer, with some struggle. "Ah, Cura, I heard you Shouting down there! Is everything all right?"

Cura looked down sadly, off to the side. "Vigilant Moric is dead. I... need to leave. I can't stay here..." She walked past Inigo like a Zombie.

Inigo followed his broken friend, who continued on into the white fields, which were still littered with the bloodstains and remains of some dead Vigilants. Cura only made it to about halfway towards the forest before fainting into the snow.