"There you are, Whelp." Vilkas called out to Cura the moment he saw her arrive. "You delivered Saadia to the Alik'r. Bold move, that was."
"How did you-"
"I'm a Companion. We're friends with the City Guard, you know." Vilkas laughed. "I have my ways of figuring things out."
Cura shrugged. "Well, I suppose it would make sense. I wasn't exactly discreet."
"Still, the Alik'r are basically Hammerfell's Companions, so you made the right decision in helping them. They're not a group a Whelp like you should trifle with." He walked closer to Cura, closing the distance. "You could get hurt. Or worse, killed."
Cura slowly took a step backwards and her face reddened. "Well... I've survived Dragons. I had planned out an escape route in the Cavern, and..."
Vilkas held up a hand. "Say no more. You handled it well enough, for a Novice."
"Lydia helped me, too." Cura took a humble step backwards.
"No need for the humility here, lass! Boasting is half the joy of being a Companion! Ysgramor himself boasted of his great deeds upon slaying those terrible Elves." Vilkas spoke passionately with fire, as he was something of an expert on the History of their organization. ""With his mighty Wuuthrad, he cleaved them in half-as a hot knife cleaves into butter!" He made a swinging motion to the side, as if he were swiping with a battleaxe. "Ten thousand, they fell at his left! Ten thousand, they fell at his right!"
"You're beginning to sound like Heimskr." Lydia rolled her eyes, and Cura let a giggle escape.
"'Tis the power of passion." Vilkas snarked back. "You'd do good to learn a thing or two about that, Lydia."
"Why, you-" Lydia was cut off by Cura, who stood between them.
"I'll... have to read up on the History sometime." Cura excused. "I've known a little about Ysgramor, but not all that much."
"If you want to learn more, I'd be happy to oblige." Vilkas stated. "I know all there is to this Guild."
Cura nodded. "All right. If I have any questions, I'll come to you." She gave him a light smile and walked past him, over to Kodlak, who was speaking to Aela.
Vilkas watched as the Breton headed to the other side of the room with a smirk. She was interesting, to say the least. Definitely was not the Dragonborn he expected.
Lydia, on the other hand, went outside to train her sword arm.
"You wanted to see me?" Aela asked Kodlak.
Kodlak nodded grimly. "I worry that you've been spending too many nights out."
Aela took offense. "Where I go is my business. If you have a concern about my honor, bring it before the Circle."
The old Nord did not take kindly to the backtalk. "You forget yourself, young one."
Aela cringed and slunk backwards, remembering her place. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap. Just... these hunters. We're all on edge."
Kodlak grew calmer, himself. "That's why it's best to not mistake foolhardiness for bravery."
"Hello, Harbinger." Cura greeted the old man upon approach.
"Ah, Cura! How goes it?" Kodlak asked. "I heard about your escapades with the Redguards. Quite a mighty and fearsome people, aren't they?"
"They're quite honourable though." Cura added in. "It's most appreciated." She gestured to Kodlak. "The Companions are quite similar, I gather."
"Ah, yes... I remember my mercenary years in Hammerfell-years before Askar found me..." Kodlak reminisced. With a light chuckle, he continued. "The difference between a noble band of warriors and a ragged bunch of assassins is as thin as a blade's edge. I try to hold us to the right path."
"You do a good job, Harbinger." Aela stated. "You are the most honourable man I know."
"Thank you, Aela." Skjor made the motions. "At my age I have had years behind me, pushing me in this direction. I grow old and tired, and miss dearly the scent of blood, but feel contented, knowing that I can lead this band still. The only greater honour is Sovngarde."
"I've never been much for Sovngarde." Aela shrugged. "But I understand your sentiment, Harbinger."
"You've no intention of going to Sovngarde?" Cura asked. "Why else does a Nord Woman fight glorious battles?"
"There are... other reasons. Those of which are my own business." Aela's tone turned on Cura with hostility. "Not yours, Whelp."
"Aela, there is no need to be hostile." Kodlak intervened. "It was a simple question."
"I don't need to be questioned by the likes of these people." Aela was clearly referring to the Vigilants of Stendarr. Or Bretons. Judging by the prevailing attitude in Skyrim, neither would come as a surprise.
Cura spoke up with a near-taunt. "Are you fighting for Oblivion, then?" She raised an eyebrow, and Aela tightly gripped the bow on her back, as if ready to fight.
"Like I said, my life is my own damned business." Aela grit her teeth.
Cura sighed. "All right. I apologize for my inquisitive nature."
Aela simply walked away then and there, to go and cool off
"My apologies, Harbinger." Cura said to Kodlak. "I didn't mean to cause an uproar."
Kodlak laughed. "It's all right, Lass. Aela can be fickle at times. Don't take it personally."
"I'll try not to." Cura assured him. "I guess I will get back to training."
"That would be a good idea." Kodlak dismissed her.
For the next Month, Cura remained in Whiterun, training her technique in Jorrvaskr with Vilkas, Farkas, and even Aela a few times, when the timing permitted it. Skjor came outside on several occasions to see how she was progressing, and she would spar and impart some wisdom onto Ria, Athis and Torvar, as well. Njada would always snidely decline. Lydia and Cura would also spar together in the rolling fields of Whiterun and spend evenings in Jorrvaskr drinking and recounting their adventures together.
They had gone on a couple of rescue missions, as well-most of which were settling duels on behalf of others and collecting bounties on some criminals. Cura kept an eye open for the Bandits that killed her fellow Vigilant, but she hadn't seen them in the fields. They still remained at large.
Late at some nights, the Breton would speak with Kodlak frequently, seeking advice concerning hypothetical battle situations: what to do if cornered against a wall, how to use a precipice to one's advantage, ways to trip an opponent when guarding, things to watch out for in the foe's body language, and most importantly, how to maintain one's sound mind and reasoning under fire.
The old man could see promise in the new Companion, and gladly imparted his wisdom to the inquisitive Breton. "You have a thirst for knowledge, girl. I think you may even rival Vilkas in that department."
Cura laughed. "I don't know about that, but I do love to learn."
"Never lose that passion." Kodlak told her. "No matter the situation, life is filled with lessons to be learned for the observant soul." He slowly began to lightly gasp for air, but held his breath quickly so as to not cause alarm. A sniffle escaped him, though.
Cura took a drink of ale as she sat on the chair adjacent to him in his quarters. Uncertain if it were the lighting or not, Cura could see that Kodlak seemed paler than normal. "Kodlak, are you well?" She asked. "You're missing colour."
"Ah, yes... about that. My health has been ailing from the Rot. I've been taking potions to help fight the symptoms, but I suppose our talk has put me off schedule. Please, do excuse me." The old man tried to explain, but it was clear he held some information back. Cura was unsure as to what it was, though.
Cura felt a tinge of worry for the old man. What kind of Rot? Brain Rot? Blood Rot? Swamp Rot? Wound Rot? Stomach Rot? She hoped it wasn't any of those, but they weren't in High Rock, so it being four out of five that she mentally listed was incredibly unlikely. She watched as he went into his chambers and took a potion from his drawer and drank it. The old man wiped his mouth on his arm and returned the empty flask to his drawer ad rejoined Cura.
"Much better." Kodlak spoke in relief. "Truth be told, I'm not ready to perish yet. But, I do grow tired."
Cura took the cue. "I'll take my leave then." She nodded and pulled herself off the chair. "Get better, Harbinger." She spoke softly as the old man entered his bed chambers. A sinking feeling in her gut bothered Cura as she walked down the hall to enter her own chambers with the other Newbloods. She had grown fond of the old man, and watching him suffer and lose breath was a sad sight.
Once Cura had surely gone, Kodlak walked to his desk and opened the drawer, and unveiled an old journal. It was placed beneath a couple of paper rolls; it was clear that he hadn't written in it for at least a couple of weeks. He placed it on the tabletop and flipped it open to a fresh page. He slowly reached for a quill, his movement speed hindered in his condition. With a shaking grasp, he dipped the quill into the ink blot and pressed the tip onto the linen paper and began to scribe:
"This newcomer, it seems, is made of decent stock. She calls herself Cura of the Pale, and has already impressed some of the Circle with her mettle. I still keep my own counsel on her place in my dream, for now. Let us see what kind of destiny she is carving before hitching to her.
In the meanwhile, I look for ways of cleansing my blood. The writings and legends on the subject are sparse and contradictory. I don't wish to engage any wizardry on this matter, but I fear they may be the only ones who best know how to navigate these worlds of knowledge.
It's apparent to me now that Terrfyg's choice to turn us was indeed a mistake. Magics and their ilk are not in keeping with the spirit of the Companions. We face our problems directly, without the need of such trickery. I can only hope to guide us back to the true path of Ysgramor before the rot takes me.
The old man wanted to write more, but the exhaustion was creeping on him. He closed the journal and slowly placed it back in the drawer, then slowly lifted himself off his chair and walked over to his bed. He removed his armour and lifted the blanket, and took cover beneath and drifted slowly off to sleep.
Cura headed to her dormitory, where she saw Lydia, Torvar, and Ria all laughing.
"Oh? What's going on here?" Cura asked with a silly grin, herself. A good laugh was something she could use right about now.
"Did you hear about what happened to Njada?" Torvar asked her.
"No." Cura responded.
"The fool thought she could take on a Giant near Secunda's Kiss." Ria explained. "Needless to say, she nearly took a trip to Secunda and Masser themselves."
Lydia snorted and began to chuckle, but Cura remained still. "Is she all right?" The Breton asked, concernedly.
"About as all right as can be expected." Torvar stated. "Nice that something could finally knock the wind out of her big mouth."
"She's lying in her bed over there, unconscious." Ria gestured to a mound underneath a blanket on the far end of the dorm. "She was lucky that Athis was with her. He managed to carry her all the way back here."
"She bit off more than she could chew." Lydia stated spitefully. "Serves her right."
Cura agreed, but said nothing. Sometimes it was better to keep it to yourself. She walked over to her own bed, and crawled underneath the covers, where she modestly removed her robes and armour, and set them aside on the floor beside her. She did not want to be seen by the others there, but needed rest all the same.
Shortly thereafter, the others stopped laughing and eventually decided to sleep, as well, as the night was short.
After some time, Cura was awoken by a loud howling sound from down the hallway, as well as the sound of running paws and clicking claws on the stone floors. She quickly sat up, startled. Her eyes darted back and forth. A Werewolf? No. It couldn't be. Could it?
She quickly donned her armour and threw her robe on top of it, and fastened her hood. She grabbed her shield and mace. Iron and Steel would not do much against such a creature, but she would do what she could if her intuition was correct. The Breton hurried out of the dorm and there, in the Hall, she saw it; standing at a staggering 7-feet tall, the beast towered over her even from the 12-foot distance between them. She knew the beast could quickly close that distance if she wasn't careful.
She held her weapon at the ready, and the Werewolf turned around, noticing her. Its eyes were yellow, and illuminated, even in the shadow of the darkened hall. A fear shook the Breton as she gazed into its monstrous glare. The Werewolf began to growl, saliva and blood dripping from its teeth, almost warning, or daring the Vigilant to attack.
Cura's grip on her mace was tight and her hand was trembling uncontrollably.
She was Dragonborn, but staring down this demon was another matter entirely.
What would Vigilant Tolan do?
No... he would rush at it blindly with a Warhammer, which she did not have.
What would Vilkas or Kodlak do?
Vilkas would surveille the immediate area, and find a way to exploit the beast's physique in such a small space. Kodlak would out-maneuver the field, and use its weight against it, as he had explained to her for battling Giants.
The Werewolf skid to the side, and then began to rush towards Cura. Instinctively, the Vigilant leaped to her right, and narrowly hit the corner angle between the Lycan and the masonry, and rebounded off the wall.
To her surprise, the Werewolf had leapt over her and raced down the hall and exited by the door, violently twisting the handle.
Scrambling to her feet, Cura could not in good conscience allow the beast to harm the others. She raced after the monstrosity, who outran her on all fours, possibly rivalling the speed of some of the finest Stallions in Skyrim, in her perspective.
Cura saw it leap over the training ground's stone wall, and continued to give chase, heading up the Skyforge stairs and leaping down onto the wall itself.
She was about to leap after the fiend, but upon looking down, she realized that it was an incredibly steep drop from the top of the wall to the earth below. A broken ankle would be the least of her problems if she were to attempt it.
The Breton clicked her tongue in frustration, and ultimately decided that, since the Werewolf was not threatening the city, she could sit this fight out.
She headed back inside, disappointed with herself, and took a seat at the dining table. It was a useless endeavour to try and return to slumber, as her heart only continued to race.
It was strangely silent in Jorrvaskr. Normally, the Companions would party into the early morning at times.
Cura began to silently pray and meditate on Stendarr's words for guidance. She hoped that the Werewolf would not hurt anybody.
Several hours of waiting passed, and Vilkas came inside, clutching his left set of ribs, and covered in blood. He was wheezing and coughing in agony, and leaned against a pillar to hold himself up. It proved to be a struggle on its own, to stand up.
Cura stared at him for a moment and their pairs of eyes locked together. For a brief time, Cura could see the pain welding within the brown orbs, and she quickly rushed out of her seat and around the fire. Vilkas slid off the pillar and collapsed to the floor, sliding out of consciousness.
"Vilkas!" Cura exclaimed as she quickly made it to his side. She moved his arm out of the way, where she noticed that his armour had been caved into, as if a mace head had penetrated the steel.
Did a Vigilant do this?
It doesn't matter. Cura knew what she had to do. She held her hands on his stomach and cast a healing spell. The warm, golden light surrounded the man and closed the wounds on his body; on his side, his face, his arms, and his legs.
She knew the Companions frowned upon Magic, but she was certain that he would appreciate it now.
"There you are..." Cura spoke softly as she neared the end of her Healing Hands spell. Vilkas grabbed her wrist.
"No... magic..." he muttered weakly. "We don't... do that here... Breton."
Cura was taken aback. Caught off her guard, she stopped healing him. "But you need it!" She protested.
"Bandages... rest." Vilkas slowly attempted to raise himself from the wooden planks. "All I need."
Cura was annoyed by his stubbornness. "No-you're hemorrhaging!" She snapped at him. "Don't be a fool!"
She finished her job, healing the groaning Companion. "See? That wasn't so bad after all. Want a Sweetroll?" She remarked sarcastically.
"... I'd rather a cold Ale." Vilkas finally gained the strength to lift himself, and headed to the table near the backdoor. He searched through the bottles on the table, and grabbed an Ale to fill his tankard.
"You really shouldn't have wasted your Magicka on me, Whelp." Vilkas stated. "I would have survived."
"Somehow I doubt that." Cura said dryly. "And, it's very difficult for a Breton to 'waste' Magicka. We regenerate fairly quickly."
"Unless you're born under the Sign of the Atronach, eh?" Vilkas laughed.
"I suppose one could simply reach a Standing Stone to change that." Cura examined the blood on her gauntlets from treating Vilkas. There was something odd about the blood, but the Vigilant couldn't exactly put her finger on it. Just as well, its scent was ghastly; and not in the natural way where it would contain the overbearing waft of iron.
"Mm." Vilkas agreed, and finished his drink. "Well, my bed won't warm itself." he headed towards the stairs.
"Vilkas?" Cura called to him, causing the Nord to turn his head to her.
There was a pause.
"Er, nevermind." Cura dismissed it. "Rest easy."
Vilkas continued onwards down the stairs, forever an enigma.
Shortly, Aela, Skjor, Farkas, and Kodlak reentered.
"That was glorious!" Aela laughed triumphantly. "It's been ages since I've had a hunt quite like that!"
"They were dead before my claws even touched 'em." Farkas gloated.
"It was exhilarating, but I think that may be my last hunt with you all." Kodlak lamented.
"Yes, old man. We know. You seek cleansing." Skjor spoke lacerously.
"Vilkas took quite the beating." Aela laughed. "I wonder if he made it back?"
"He did." Cura's voice caught them all off-guard. "I just tended to his injuries."
"Good on you, girl." Kodlak praised. "You show compassion; a trait undersold in these recent days."
"...So... you were all out hunting?" Cura raised an eyebrow. "Did a Criminal escape Dragonsreach?"
"None of your business, Whelp." Skjor snapped. "What the circle does is not your concern."
"My apologies," Cura began. "but when I see someone covered in blood, I tend to become concerned."
"Don't." Skjor rebuked. "It's all too common around here."
Kodlak walked over to Cura. "You show spirit, lass. Perhaps one day you would make a fine Harbinger yourself."
Cura blushed. "Thank you, Harbinger."
"Now, you should get some rest. It will be a busy day." Kodlak informed her.
Cura agreed, and headed down the stairs, and to the sleeping quarters.
"Kodlak, you have got to be kidding." Aela cringed in disbelief. "A Vigilant as a Harbinger! Ha! Jorrvaskr would be dead in a month."
"She is different from the others." Kodlak mused. "She is more reasonable than them."
"She's better than the Silver Hand at least." Skjor scoffed. "Or dumber. I am surprised that she hasn't figured it out yet."
"The Vigilants probably don't do much research." Farkas concluded.
"I am uncertain to how she will react when she discovers the truth of our condition," Kodlak pondered. "but I am certain that she may be willing to help."
"Help you, maybe." Aela sneered. "And once she does, Skjor and I will kill her."
"You will do nothing of the sort!" Kodlak shouted.
"She's already brought her Organization to our doorstep, Harbinger." Skjor informed. "She may inform them."
"And she, too, is a member of the Companions." Kodlak explained. "I know that she is bright enough to realize that if she were to inform them of our disposition as Werewolves, that she too will become a suspect."
That silenced the hall. It was true; she herself would be under suspicion of it were discovered that they were Lycanthropes.
Aela's expression darkened. "So, they are so fanatical that they would reject their own?"
"It's quite possible." Kodlak stated. "When Cura discovers the truth, I will pose that matter."
Farkas nodded. "Smart, Harbinger. You do think of everything."
"Someone has to." Skjor remarked snidely at Farkas. Though it seemed to have flown over his head.
"I must." Kodlak stated. "If I can persuade Cura to help me on this experiment, we can retake our future."
"Speak for yourself." Aela walked away from the group, and headed downstairs.
Kodlak's eyes stalked the huntress as she disappeared from view. "Indeed. I look forward to my future eternity in Shor's honourable hall in Sovngarde."
Farkas silently ruminated to himself on the idea of Sovngarde. It seemed the better alternative, and he did like to crack open skulls-moreso than tear limbs apart by tooth and claw like an animal.
Skjor followed after Aela, leaving the two alone.
Kodlak dismissed Farkas. "You should get some sleep, son. After that battle against the Silver Hand, you've earned it."
Farkas nodded. "Okey-dokey." and he lumbered down the stairs as well.
As Cura slept, she encountered another of her strange dreams.
This time, she was soaring high above the fields of Whiterun with her arms outstretched, basking in the glory of the Sun above.
Valleys surrounded her, and a Dragon joined her. This Dragon was the Gray one she had seen in another dream before.
"Dovahkiin." it addressed her. "Hi most ait un lein."
"Help the world..." Cura translated to herself.
"Darkness grows." the Dragon continued to speak. "Krosis. You must come to us... nau fin strunmah!"
Before she could focus on the words, Cura was pulled out of the dream.
"My Thane, are you awake?" Lydia, who was leaning over her asked.
"I am now..." Cura groaned as she began to rub her eyes.
"There's a mission for us." Lydia told her. "I know you'll be perfect for this-in Rorikstead, there's an Atronach in someone's house, and they requested you by name!"
"An Atronach? ..All right." Cura slowly pulled herself upright and stretched, clasping her hands together over her head with a grunt of release. "Rorikstead is to the... West, right?"
Lydia nodded. "That it is, my Thane."
"Let's get going, then." Cura took up her arms and the two hurried out the door and headed up the stairs and out the back door, unnoticed.
"There seems to be a lot of Daedric Activity around here lately." Cura called attention. "Last night I had a run-in with a Werewolf... and now an Atronach? It's a good thing the Vigil is here."
"Wait... a Werewolf? Here in Whiterun?" Lydia's eyes widened. "You're joking... right?"
"Why would I joke about that?" Cura became irritated. "It ran from me, but had no fear in its eyes. It was... strange."
"Where did this happen?" Lydia inquired. "Was it here in the hold? Outside the walls?"
"In the Dorms." Cura stated. As the two exited the city gate and headed out into the open field, the Breton confided in her Housecarl. "Between the two of us, I think it was one of the Companions-maybe the Circle themselves."
"Are you sure?" Lydia was floored.
"Vilkas came in early this morning horribly wounded. I treated him, but he vehemently refused it." She leaped over a large, flat stone and stuck the landing, albeit with a slight stagger. Lydia vaulted after her around the side of it and the two continued trekking through the tall grass.
"Well, he could be wounded for many reasons." Lydia excused.
"He was inside all day. He came back early in the morning." Cura explained. "He had grooves in his armour that matched a mace's." She held up her blunt weapon and supported the ridged head beneath her hand, giving it a light spin to emphasize what she meant. "Maces are shaped like this with the purpose of penetrating armour."
"I know." Lydia rolled her eyes.
"It must have been a strong Mace to penetrate Skyforge Steel armour, right?" Cura lead on.
"I suppose." Lydia mused, as she followed.
"I'm going to ask some of the Vigilants in the area if they fought against a member of the Companions." Cura slid her mace back into its sheath.
"My Thane, if your suspicions are correct, it may be wise to not ask them." Lydia stated. "There's no telling what these fanat-"
Cura shot her a dirty look, which made Lydia reroute her sentence. "-Paladins-might think." Lydia almost tripped on a stray mammoth bone in the field, but quickly caught her footing. "Oof!" She turned to look and noticed that it was a tusk.
Cura was quick to grab the Mammoth's tusk and shoved it straight into her bag for safekeeping. It was, after all, a difficult commodity to come by.
"They might think you're a secret Werewolf, too, if your suspicions are correct." Lydia stated.
"Well... I don't have any conclusive evidence. It's all circumstantial at best. Farkas remarked about sinking his claws into their enemy, and Aela called it a hunt. Though, these could have been metaphorical just the same." Cura reminded her. "Hm. We'll take care of the Atronach in Rorikstead first. Then I'll collect my thoughts from there."
"Do you think it's possible that the Silver Hand could have fought him?" Lydia mused as the town of Rorikstead began to show in the distance.
"Oh, yes... the Silver Hand..." Cura's tone dropped to that of condescension. "Keeper Carcette warned me about those Barbarians."
"Aren't they a group like the Vigil of Stendarr?" Lydia asked. "I mean, you both hunt werewolves, and both are a little... eccentric? Eccentric." She danced her vocabulary to avoid stepping on her Thane's toes.
"Don't compare us to those Heathens." Cura was visibly insulted. "We hunt any manner of Daedra, not just werewolves, for starters. As well, we offer healing to the sick and comfort to the weary. We also do what everyone else is too afraid to; we take the battle to Oblivion! Not just to a specific sort of Daedra-but all Daedra, in all their forms, and in all their trickery!" She held up a fist in enthusiasm.
Lydia stared at her.
"...And most of us want to see the world in better shape." Cura finished. "The Silver Hand simply want to watch it burn. They have also been known to attack passersby; Werewolves or no."
"Ah, I see." Lydia leaned back slightly. "You're Religious Zealots, and they are Werewolf-hating Zealots."
"We prefer the term 'Subordinates to Stendarr'." Cura narrowed her eyes. "But, at the end of the day, everybody is a Zealot for one thing or another; be it a god, money, a favourite book, a favourite song, a favourite war hero, or a cultural image."
She was clearly referring to the Civil War on that one.
"I guess you're right." Lydia mused.
"But I realize that I hadn't considered the Silver Hand." Cura waved a finger back and forth as she pondered. "Should I chance a meeting with those berserkers?"
"Do they have any baggage against your Order?" Lydia asked.
"I don't think so..." Cura mused. "Keeper Carcette never mentioned any deliberate ill will towards the Vigil from them-she simply had no respect for Krev the Skinner. He's a barbarian."
"I'm sure that they won't want to parlay with you, if they know you're associated with Vilkas." Lydia reminded her.
Rorikstead came into view, and the City Guards were shooting arrow after arrow at a Storm Atronach. A few Vigilants of Stendarr were there as well, fighting the freak of nature in the flying debris and dirt.
Cura did not hesitate, and leaped into the fray, shield raised and mace held tight.
Lydia followed with caution, ready to pounce if need be.
The gyrating mass of stone and lightning hovered in place, firing bolts at all who would fight it, and a man in a black hood and robe set attacked the Guards on the side.
"Lord Boethia demands a life, and so a life I shall give!" the figure shouted as he used his Staff to blast an old Breton man with purple energy, which seemed to settle on him, clinging onto him like a dark armour, boring into his flesh and spirit.
Cura's jaw dropped.
Soul Trap!
She had heard of it before, but seeing it about to occur...
Then she supposed that it wasn't much different than what she had done to those Dragons.
But still, she would not allow this Cultist to take the poor man's soul.
A Nord man cut ahead and brought down his sword, causing the Cultist to fall back on his attack, and jump to his right.
The Cultist's Atronach kept the town Guards at bay, as he would steal the spirits of innocents.
Cura rushed past the Atronach and slid beneath its rolling thunder, and with a brief somersault, propelled herself through the air and stuck the landing. She hurried at her highest speed and cut in front of the Breton man and between the Nord man and the Cultist with a sacrificial dagger.
With a flick of her wrist, Cura used her mace to disarm the dagger and followed up with a swift shield bash to his face, knocking him over backwards, killing the Cultist.
The Atronach disappeared into thin air, leaving behind dust and shadow.
Cura caught her breath. It was fast, and it was over. Lydia caught up quickly.
"Nice work, my Thane!" She exclaimed.
Cura nodded in acknowledgment before turning to the Breton and the Nord. "Are you well?"
The old Nord stepped forward and extended a hand for a shake. "If you hadn't come when you did, there's no telling what that fiend would have done to my town."
Cura took his hand and shook it. "This is your town?" She asked.
"Yes, that's right. Look around you. Most of the lands you see are mine. Most of this I purchased while my comrades were fighting in the south, helping the Empire against the Aldmeri Dominion." He motioned a sweeping gesture with his hand around. "Back then, nothing would grow here and so the land was worthless. Now, thanks to hard work and the gods' blessings, our farms prosper."
"That's good." Cura responded positively.
"Thank you for your prudence." The older Breton stated with a half-bow. "I knew the Companions could be of assistance." He walked over to Lydia. "So.. Cura, I presume?"
Lydia locked in place, confused.
"It was quite wise of you to bring a Vigilant here. They pride themselves for their ability to slay a Daedra." The elder Breton continued.
Lydia realized that he assumed she was the Companion called Cura. She noticed her Thane's unimpressed glare, and immediately sought to correct the error. "Err-actually, I'm Lydia. She's Cura. We're both affiliated with the Companions."
The old Breton looked Cura up and down. "A thin, wiry thing like you... and yet you fight so fiercely."
Cura looked momentarily insulted, but Rorik held up a hand in assurance. "Don't be upset with Jouane. You took us both by surprise."
"Of course!" Jouane dispelled the notions. "It was not an insult-I'm grateful for what you've done; that Cultist surely would have taken my soul... we aren't the warriors we used to be."
Lydia stepped forward, her interest piqued. "Were you one of those Battlemages I've heard about?" She addressed Jouane.
"Hm? No, no. Nothing of that sort." He dismissed. "Rorik fought for the Empire in the Great War. He was gravely wounded, and so was brought before me. I was a healer then, you see. We were as close as kinsmen, and when Rorik returned home I came with him. I am happy to spend my twilight years here with my good friend."
"You're a healer?" Cura asked Jouane, ecstatically.
"Was." Jouane corrected her. "Do I suspect that you may be interested in the arts of Restoration, yourself?"
"I am!" Cura responded quickly, with no room for breath. "I'm an Expert Student of Restoration.. but I could always learn some more."
"You've studied at the College of Winterhold?" Rorik asked her. "Be careful talking about that in these parts."
"No... I've studied under Keeper Carcette, in the Hall of the Vigilant. Nothing so grand as the College of Winterhold." Cura admitted bashfully. She then turned to Jouane. "Would it be all right if I could ask you to impart some knowledge onto me?"
Jouane and Rorik exchanged glances, and then he turned to Cura. "Sure, why not. A reward, for your speedy intervention."
Cura's face lit up. She was eager to improve her skills.
"It pleases me to know that I can still be of use even in the twilight of my life." Jouane chuckled as he signaled for Cura to follow him to an open area outside of the town.
Lydia watched from afar, and then turned to Rorik. "So.. you fought in the Great War? Between the Empire and the Dominion?"
"Aye, that I did. I commanded a force of several dozen men, most of them levies from villages in this part of the hold. I damn near met my end in that war. An Aldmeri soldier ran me through with his blade and left me for dead. Jouane saved my life. He's been my closest friend ever since. I tell you, that man is a miracle worker." Rorik spoke as he watched Jouane and Cura training off in the distance.
"Cura saved my life, too, once." Lydia contributed to the topic. "Although, I'm supposed to protect her, as her Housecarl. Were it not for her, I'd have bled out in an old Nord Ruin."
"The two of you seem good friends." Rorik remarked.
"Hardly. I've only known her for a Month and a half." Lydia confessed. "To be honest, I feel as though she's on another level. The enemies she fights... can I even measure up?"
"A Housecarl? A sacred duty you have there." Rorik informed her. "Whether you can measure up or not, well... that's up to you."
Lydia decided to change the direction of the conversation. "Has the war taken a toll on your settlement and its people?"
"Not yet, anyway, though it certainly could. With most of the hold's fighting men committed to the war, there are fewer swords to keep the roads safe from brigands and wild beasts. And of course, as the war drags on and supplies run low, our ample fields and stores of food will make a tempting target for desperate men. The best we can hope for a swift end to the conflict. The longer the war goes on, the worse it will be for all for us, I'm afraid." Rorik sounded grave with little to no attempt to keep a stoic visage.
Rorik handed Lydia a coin purse containing 200 gold. "Split it with your Thane." He stated. "I've nothing more to talk about. I wish to be alone. Sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but Jouane's the one who deals with people. I'm afraid I lost my charm years ago." He headed towards the Inn.
Cura and Jouane finished their session some time later, and Cura headed back to Lydia. "He's very insightful." She was impressed.
At that time, a few people came outside of their houses to begin their daily routines. Farmers began to till the fields, and the children ran outside to play. Immediately, one of the girls ran over to Jouane before he could enter the Inn.
Cura and Lydia watched the encounter as Lydia split the coin purse with her.
"Jouane?" the girl asked.
"Yes, Sissel?" The old Breton asked.
Sissel spoke up loudly. "I was just wondering. The next time we meet, do you think maybe you could teach me some fire magic? Nothing dangerous! Maybe a candle lighting spell?"
Jouane grew cautious. "By the Eight, keep your voice down! Do you want the entire village to learn our secrets?"
The girl quickly cupped her mouth in her hands. "Oh! I'm... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."
The old man reassured her after looking around. "Shh shh. It's fine, child. It's fine. But we must be cautious, hmm? What we do, the things I teach you. The others wouldn't understand."
Sissel nodded. "I understand. I'm sorry. I just get so excited thinking about it. So... can we. Do some fire magic?"
Jouane placed his hands on his hips. "Hmph. Most certainly not. But perhaps I can teach you how to put some candles out. We'll start there."
Sissel jumped up excitedly. "Oooh, wonderful! I can't wait!" She quickly dashed away, and ran smack right into Cura, who was counting her coin, causing them to spill into the grass.
"Hey!" Cura exclaimed.
"Oh! Oh, no! I'm sorry..." Sissel shrunk. "Here, I can help you pick them up!"
Cura's face softened. "It's all right; accidents happen." She bent down and began to recollect the fumbled commerce.
"Oh... wait..." Sissel got a closer look at Cura now that the Breton was at her eye level. "You're the Dragonborn, right? I heard about you!"
"I am. You have?" Cura grew curious. Her reputation seemed to be growing.
"Yeah! Everyone in Whiterun knows about you!" The girl said. "But the Dragon showed me you in the Dream!"
"...The Dream?" Cura raised an eyebrow as she pulled her hood down to hear more clearly.
Sissel nodded. "Yes! I had a dream that there was a good dragon. He was old and gray, but he wasn't scary." She explained.
An old and gray Dragon. Cura nearly lost her footing.
There was no way that it was the same one as in her own dream.
"...And he showed you me?" Cura asked.
"You were talking to him." Sissel explained. "And you were high up on a snowy mountaintop. You were reading a weird paper, too."
Cura heard enough. "Okay. That's quite the imagination you have there." She chuckled lightheatedly.
Sissel fell silent, and then her sister came running over to the two of them. "You're going to get it, Sissel!"
Sissel quickly jumped on the defense. "Why? What did I do?"
The girl pointed to a patch of overgrown weeds off in the distance. "I told you to weed the garden by sunset, and you didn't do it. Now you're in big trouble!"
Sissel got angry. "Papa told you to do that, not me! Now leave me alone!"
The girl snubbed Sissel, and looked at Cura, who was hiving her a face of sheer disgust. "I'm the older sister, by nearly five minutes. Sissel's barely worthy to walk in my shadow. If you beat her up, I won't tell."
"Get lost." Cura told the little cretin, which earned her a small tantrum.
"I'm going to tell my Dad!" She shouted as she marched off.
Cura and Sissel watched the wretch disappear. "Most days, I do all I can to stay away from my sister and my father. The beating's the same from either one."
"Oh, no..." Cura's tone dropped in sympathy.
"Don't feel bad for me. Some day soon I'll stop being afraid. Jouane is teaching me magic. He says I'm real good." Sissel laughed.
"Be careful." Cura informed her.
Indeed, giving into vengeful thoughts could lead down a dangerous road. Especially if Magicks are involved.
"I will." Sissel informed her as she handed Cura the last coin. The girl then ran off after her sister.
Lydia approached. "Lovely little town."
"It is." Cura noted. "And even in this cool environment, they grow crops on abundance, it seems. The ground must be hallowed. I'm happy we stopped that Cultist. Just for the sake of peace."
"Want to go for a drink before we head back?" Lydia suggested, pointing to the Inn.
Cura nodded. "Certainly."
She lead the way inside the tavern.
