Cura's heart lay still in its bindings. Markarth. Nothing good ever came from this hive of Daedra worship. She would see what this man wanted, brush him off, and then be on her way to the Hall of the Vigilant. Then, perhaps she would return to the Sleeping Giant Inn and see that irritating Delphine again.

She grit her teeth at the thought of it. All Delphine had done was cast her life into doubt.

Who was she anymore, anyways? The young Breton could no longer recognize herself.

Everything was becoming so dark. The world; her mind; her soul. All so dark.

Were it not for Inigo, Mjoll and Lydia, she would have lost her mind, she was certain.

Even now, thinking of them granted her some solace in the face of what Molag Bal forced her to do.

Of that, she was still hesitant to face the Vigil.

Defying Hircine and aiding Meridia were one thing, but that Molag Bal was a whole other beast.

And indeed, where was Stendarr? Why did he not aid poor Tyrannus and herself?

She looked down at her Amulet of Stendarr and twirled it between her thumb and index, examining the Drinking Horn-the stand-in for the spilling chalice of mercy, or perhaps its origin.

She nearly tripped on a step due to her loss of spatial awareness, and caught herself before she could knock into a Guard.

"Hey! You watch yourself!" The Guard snapped at her, dragging her back into reality.

"Sorry." Cura excused herself as she continued walking into the precipice, eventually coming upon a door.

This must lead to the Shrine of Talos.

She opened the door and immediately found herself in a dimly lit corridor that sloped downwards on a stone ramp and led to an enclave with a Statue of Talos in the middle, lit by torches around.

The Breton man leaned against a pillar, as though waiting, and walked up to Cura as she approached. "Ah, you've come. Good. My name is Eltrys." He introduced himself.

"Cura." she introduced herself in kind. "What's this about?"

"I'm sorry to drag you into Markarth's problems, but after that attack in the market, I'm running out of time." Eltrys prefaced with an apology.

"Out of time?" Cura asked.

"You're an outsider. You're dangerous-looking. You'll do." Eltrys confirmed to himself.

"For what?" Cura asked, becoming flustered.

"You've got an air of investigation about you..." Eltrys continued to muse.

Cura snapped. "Can you just tell me what's going on?!" She did not enjoy the insistence on dancing around the issue at hand.

"You want answers?" Eltrys snapped back, jumping into a lightened rant. "Well so do I. So does everyone in this city. A man goes crazy in the market. Everyone knows he's a Forsworn agent. Guards do nothing. Nothing but clean up the mess."

"That happened more than a month ago." Cura raised her brow.

"But you were there! I saw you from the door to the SilverBlood Inn!" Eltrys pointed a finger at her. "You're the one who killed that Forsworn agent! You did that, and then you moved on."

"I had other things that needed attention." Cura told him.

"Markarth needs your help." Eltrys pleaded. "I think you might be strong enough to turn the tide while the rest of us are spun about on our boats."

Cura sighed. She had promised herself that she would do her part to make Skyrim a better place for all, especially in the midst of the war, and with the looming threat of the Dragons.

"This has been going on for years. And all I've been able to find is murder and blood. I need help. Please. You find out why that woman was attacked, who's behind Weylin and the Forsworn, and I'll pay you for any information you bring me." Eltrys pulled out his coin purse, and with trembling hands, held it up to Cura.

Cura held up a hand. "Put your coin away. I'll help, in any way I can." What's the worst thing that can happen? She's already lost her horses, killed an ally, and faced Molag Bal himself. If anything could terrify her, this would not be it. The numbness consumed all.

"Oh, thank you!" Eltrys beamed excitedly as he pocketed the coin purse. "Thank you so much!"

Cura nodded dismissively, bringing him back to the matter at hand. "You've looked into these murders?"

"Yes. It all started when I was a boy." Eltrys began. "My father owned one of the mines. Rare for anyone who isn't a Nord. He was killed. Guards said it was just a madman, but everyone knew the murderer was a member of the Forsworn. I've been trying to find out why ever since. Gotten nowhere so far, and then I got married. Have a child of my own on the way. I swore I was going to just give up, for my child's sake, but it's like my father's ghost is haunting me. Asking me 'Why?'"

Cura normally would feel sorrowful for the man, but her empathy did not seem to come through at the moment; it was suppressed by all the muck in her heart. "Who was Weylin? Where did he live?" She went straight to the point.

Eltrys was surprised by her lack of emotion, but decided to keep on the immediate business. "He was one of the smelter workers. I used to have a job down there myself, casting silver ingots. I never knew much about Weylin, except he lives in the Warrens, like all the other workers."

"Then that's where I'll start." Cura resolved as she departed the Shrine, leaving Eltrys there to stand and wait. Then she headed down the stairs, down the pathways and onto the docks. She wasn't going to bring Inigo or Lydia into this. How could she?

She would have to explain to them what occurred at the House of Horrors, and that would only serve to break her heart all over again.

And again.

And again.

It seemed a pattern for Cura at this point, to begin on neutral standing, achieve something great, then to stumble downhill. She saved Windhelm from the Butcher and became Thane twice, then discovered her frankly terrifying heritage and the threat that knowledge could bring, and now what had transpired recently. There was no way it could get worse.

She found what appeared to be an abandoned tenements locked by a Dwarven door and carved into the cliffside at the foot of the docks.

At the height of the day, the water formed a light, yet eerie mist that climbed the walls of stone and seeped into the open mine across from her.

That must be the infamous Cidnha Mine. Nobody escapes it, supposedly.

Cura pushed open the door to the sleeping quarters of the workers, and was immediately hit by the foul smell of dilapidated stone, excrement and body odor. The poorest of the poor inhabited these parts, and it showed.

The Breton's nose curled with disgust, but she moved forward regardless. If smell was all it took to defeat her, she would be a useless Dragonborn.

Still, here she was, involving herself in yet another conspiracy. A Forsworn conspiracy. She never would have imagined it, but it was her duty as a Vigilant of Stendarr to fight Daedra Worshippers of all stripes.

A swarthy, filthy Breton man in beggar's rags leaned against the stone pillar to her right.

"Hmph." the impoverished man sneered as he looked Cura up and down. "The Warrens isn't a place for your type. What do you want?"

"My type?" Cura questioned what he meant by that.

"Yeah, high-class Breton." He sneered. "Not from the Reach, that's for damn sure. Where are you from? Daggerfall, Bhoriane, Wayrest, or Stormhaven?"

"I'm certainly not from Greater Bretony." Cura rolled her eyes, not seeing it necessary to divulge her personal information.

"Fine, keep it secret. I really don't care." the Reachman sulked. "Warrens ain't for you. Trust me."

"What are the Warrens, exactly?" Cura wanted to sap up as much information as she could so she could know what she was dealing with.

"It's where you go if you can't afford a room anywhere else." the Reachman looked at her cockeyed. Was it really not obvious? "About the time they opened the mines, someone got the idea to throw beds in here. Laborers. The sick. The lame. We're all here."

"So, only the poor or the sick live here? That's not right." Cura shook her head.

"That's right. Welcome to Markarth, traveler. Thank the Divines you can choose to live somewhere else." The Reachman snorted with condescension, or perhaps congestion. The state of the place could infer both.

"Did you know Weylin?" Cura asked, cutting down to the point.

"Oh yes. I know everyone who sleeps in the Warrens. Kind of the one who passes the keys around. I guess someone else will be taking his room, now." the Reachman shrugged nonchalantly.

"All right, well, I need the key to Weylin's room." Cura stated.

The Reachman smirked with amusement and shook his head. "Sorry, but you don't exactly belong here."

"Not to live here!" Cura leaned back. "Look, it's important. Trust me."

"No, it's not. Trust me." the Reachman snarked.

Cura's eyes darkened. She was not in the mood for this game. "I wasn't asking." She geipped her mace.

The Reachman's tune cganged immediately. He saw her hand on her weapon, and trailed his vision to the fresh bloodstains on her robes. Perhaps he went a little too far in his hostility. "N-now don't get all upset. Here. Take it." He gingerly handed Cura the key. "Last room to the right." He pointed to the far end of the cramped hall.

"Thank you." Cura took the key and removed her hand from the hilt of her weapon. She walked past him.

The hall contained six rooms for the inhabitants, all with owned hay piles and very few belongings, she cod tell from the opened rooms.

A Breton woman sat in the middle of the hall, talking to herself openly while trying to comfort herself through her suffering.

Cura reached in her satchel and took out a Potion of Cure Disease.

"You don't want to be here. No one wants to." the woman told Cura.

"I don't blame you. It's terrible..." Cura stated as she handed her the potion. "Here, I hope this can help you."

"Thank you, kind stranger." the woman said as she drank it. It seemed to work well, as she stopped gripping her ribcage in agony. The pain quickly subsided. "Don't know anyone here doesn't have Rattles or Ataxia..."

Cura cringed. She had Rattles once, when she was younger. She spent a week in her bedroom, having bowls of cabbage soup every day, and the Keeper checked in on her periodically.

The less complicated days.

Cura continued on to the small room and unlocked the door. Pushing it open, the first thing she noticed was a locked chest.

She rolled her eyes, and, without a moment's hesitation, brought down her mace and smashed the lock. She was not having any of this nonsense today.

She opened the chest and found a discrete note within. Unfolding it, she began to read:

"Weylin,

You've been chosen to strike fear in the heart of the Nords. Go to the market tomorrow. You will know what to do.

-N"

Who was this 'N', and why would he direct this man to carnage?

When Cura walked past the Reachman and exited the Warrens, a violent-looking Breton approached her, and cut right to the chase. "You've been digging around where you don't belong. It's time you learned a lesson."

"I don't listen to threats." Cura sneered. "Who sent you?"

"You'll listen to this." the brute cracked his knuckles and dropped his sword to the floor, shaking it off his waist.

A brawl.

Cura shook her head, unamused. "You want to fist-fight with me? Please, I have more important things to deal with right now."

Quickly, the mercenary punched her straight in the nose.

Cura staggered backwards and took a couple more hits before pouring her rage and barrelling him straight in the stomach, causing the frail mortal to double over in pain before the Dragonborn.

"Ugh. You mangy piece of pit-bait!" the brute pulled himself up. "You have steel gauntlets... unfair advantage."

"Talk, or I send you to the Gods." Cura pulled him up by the collar.

"I was sent by Nepos the Nose. The old man hands out the orders. He told me to make sure you didn't get in the way. That's all I know, I swear!" He spoke in a panic.

Cura gestured her face to his frame. "Empty your pockets."

The Breton man looked at her dumbfounded begore complying and handing her a note from within.

"Friend,

Got to deal with a certain nosy visitor in the city. Nepos the Nose wants her roughed up in the usual way, but I can grab a pint at the Silver-Blood Inn afterwards.

Should be easy.

-Dryston"

"And who in Oblivion is Dryston?" Cura asked as she pocketed the note.

"Me." the brute confessed. "Just a note for a friend... nothing to do with them, I swear!"

"Come near me, or even speak of me, and you've signed your death warrant. Are we clear?" Cura intimidated him.

"Crystal." Dryston held up his hands reassuringly before fleeing.

Cura really hated this city. Now she was directed to find out about this 'Nepos the Nose.' Perhaps Eltrys would know about him.

"My Thane, there you are!" Lydia exclaimed, coming up the pathway and nearly catching Cura off-guard.

"Where's Inigo?" Cura asked, curious as to why it was only her Housecarl.

"Really? That's all you have to say?" Lydia was unimpressed. "He's having a drinking contest with some idiot called Cosnach. Anyway, I saw you knock that snowback onto the ground! Good punch."

Cura smiled lightly, though very shortly. "Thanks."

It was clear that something was wrong.

"How did the Vigilant mission go?" Lydia asked.

There it was. The question Cura was hoping to avoid for the time being. She dreaded it.

"Not very well. Not well at all." Cura shook her head. "I... don't want to talk about it."

Lydia stared at her. "The Daedra or whatever escaped? Is that why you're running around?"

Cura pushed past her. "I don't want to talk about it." She repeated as the pain began to well up within.

Lydia noticed the bloodstains on her robe. "You... did he die?"

"NO!" Cura grabbed Lydia by the shoulders and pushed her against the stone wall, as she began to sweat and shiver profusely.

What Cura did was abominable. She slaughtered a brother-in-arms with the brutality of Molag Bal himself. How could she live with herself?

Lydia was stunned and pinned in place by her Thane. Cura lowered her eyes and turned her face from Lydia.

"I..." Cura couldn't bring herself to explain. Not that she had to, Lydia could surmise that it must have been terrible.

"Okay, you don't have to talk about it." Lydia attempted to distract from the matter, sensing it could only get worse if she continued to pry.

Cura continued to struggle between breaths as images of the broken and bloodied Tyrannus filled her head. With a panicked wheeze she released Lydia at last, and quickly turned away from her, the weight of the world crashing down on her. "I... k-killed him."

"You killed him?" Lydia asked.

"I killed Tyrannus!" Cura confessed with a wail. "We were forced to fight by Molag Bal, and... and... I just kept bashing him... and bashing him..." Visions of the accursed weapon gathering blood swept her.

Cura covered her eyes. "M-make it stop! Why won't it stop?!"

The visions wrought her with disgust, but try as she might to forget, they continued to haunt her.

Lydia tried to comfort her, placing a hand on the mortified teenager's shoulder. "You'll be all right; you've killed many foes already. What's the difference?"

"He wasn't my foe!" Cura snapped at her. "I... I didn't know him as much as Vigilant Tolan, Brother Adalvald or Keeper Carcette, but I did know him growing up. He would come and go, but that's not the point."

"Then try to look at it this way, Cura: it could have been Brother Adalvald, Vigilant Tolan, or Keeper Carcette." Lydia tried to find the silver lining.

Cura thought about it for a moment, diverting her thoughts onto something else besides the carnage. "I... suppose that's true."

"And as much of a cow she can be, I'm sure Carcette isn't going to punish you for this. Heck, even if she wanted to she couldn't. You're the Dragonborn!" Lydia laughed, making light of the scenario.

"It's not about whether or not I am punished." Cura explained gingerly. "It's about how I can make amends for this... the Keeper could help me with that."

Nobody said that this life would be easy.

"I think saving Skyrim more than makes up for it." Lydia assured her. "Now, do you need any help?"

"That talk was a lot of help. Thank you, Lydia." Cura wiped her nose with her gauntlet.

"I mean with whatever it is you're doing. I can't spend one more minute alone with that cat. I just can't." Lydia practically clasped her hands together, pleading.

"Sure." Cura agreed. "I'll explain along the way. There's someone I must see at the Shrine of Talos."

"They have a Shrine of Talos in this city?" Lydia was surprised. "After the debacle with Ulfric?"

"Oh, right. The Markarth incident." Cura recalled the infamous history of the Civil War's origin, beginning in Markarth. Why was that not surprising?

Still, Cura explained about Weylin, the Breton who tried to kill that Imperial Noblewoman sometime ago, when they came for Stendarr's Hammer, and how he had Forsworn connections, and Eltrys asked her to look into it.

"You sucker." Lydia laughed. "If I told you my feet were sore, would you massage them?"

"Ew, no." Cura recoiled with disgust. "Not for all the gold in Skyrim."

"You have a knack for finding trouble." Lydia was amazed by the fact. "It's kind of incredible, really."

"It finds me." Cura corrected her.

They entered the Shrine, and Eltrys was pacing the floor. Cura approached him. "Okay, I've got a lead of sorts. Can you tell me about a 'Nepos the Nose'?"

"Nepos the Nose? He's been in Markarth forever. And he's well-respected among the natives of the Reach." Eltrys gave her a primer. "I have a feeling Nepos gets his own orders, though.

"There's always a ladder." Cura stated. "Do you have any clues to who it could be?"

"I am thinking it could be Thonar Silver-Blood, but I don't have evidence on that." Eltrys scratched his chin. "Thanks again, for helping me."

Cura smiled for the first time in their encounter. "Don't worry; I'll get to the bottom of this."

"When all is done, I'll have the gold for you. I insist." Eltrys promised. He gave a light smile back to Cura, though it seemed quite shy.

She and Lydia walked out of the shrine and stood on the walkway.

"Where to, my Thane? Nepos or Thonar?" Lydia asked.

"Nepos. He made this personal by sending that thug to rough me up." Cura stated. "I want to see the face behind 'N'."

Lydia nodded. "As you wish. I'll check the city map and find his house. If he's that Influential, it should be listed on it." She opened the map and followed Cura.

The two only reached the main road when a Guard coming down from the Keep approached them.

"We've seen you slithering about the town, Vigilant. Keep your nose clean." the Guard told Cura. "If you keep poking it into matters that you don't belong in, you'll be in for a world of trouble. Do you understand?"

Cura tilted her head. "It's a crime to walk around?"

"Funny." the Guard was unamused. "Mark my words, you don't want to cross us." He turned around and walked back up the stone stairs and headed to the Keep.

Cura and Lydia exchanged glances.

"Are you sure you want to keep doing this?" Lydia asked.

"There's definitely something going on in this city." Cura told her. "People live in fear of the Forsworn, but I think the danger runs deeper than that. The Silver-Blood family must be involved."

"Yeah, exactly why I think it would be best to move on." Lydia warned her.

"And allow the people of Markarth to continue living in fear?" Cura stated.

"You're handling the Dragons, remember?" Lydia reminded her. "Let someone else do something about this."

"Nobody will." Cura stated. "It's been this way for quite a long time. I'm going to solve this problem, one way or another."

Lydia sighed and placed her hand on her forehead. "Very well. I think this is a bad idea, but go ahead."

After some meandering about, they settled upon the East side of the city and climbed the stairs, eventually finding themselves at Nepos' house.

Without reservation, Cura grabbed the knob and opened the door.

The pair strutted inside, to be greeted by a Breton woman in an apron; presumably his wife, or housekeeper.

"Excuse me. What's your business here?" the woman asked Cura, after a sudden shift in posture.

"I've come to speak with Nepos." Cura fired point-blank honesty. There was no room for deception.

"We haven't been expecting you, and the old man needs his rest. Come back some other time." the Breton maid explained with hostility. Something was off about her, Cura noticed, but was in no mood to be brushed off at the height of her investigation.

These were the people who dealt with the Forsworn. The unsavoury Bretons that the Keeper always dismissed as witches and beasts, distinguished from the more elegant of her people from High Rock. Their attitudes, however, seemed to match, at least from what Cura could tell.

"Who are you to Nepos?" Cura asked, probing for something she could potentially exploit if the situation called for it.

"If you must know, I'm the maid. And the master of the house is old and needs his rest. So if you don't have any business. Leave." the Maid pointed to the door.

"It's all right, Uaile. Let her in." an old man's voice called from the other room.

"Hmph. Yes, Nepos. You heard him. Go on in." The Maid begrudgingly stepped aside and continued to stare at Cura and Lydia like a cat.

Nepos' house was a large stone property that was very lavishly furnished. There were numerous food barrels and sacks throughout the main dining area along with plenty of fancy cookware. A far cry from the Warrens, to be sure. No wonder they wanted the society to remain stagnant. Greed.

"I'm sorry about my housekeeper. She's a little protective of me. Now, what is it you want?" A bald old Breton in green fine robes lined with brown fur, fitted with all manner of jewelry asked as he sat in his chair, reading a book before the fireplace.

"You've been doing quite well for yourself, Nepos. Must be from all the muscling around you've done to the populace." Cura spoke with a false sweetness. "Your thug spat your name out through his teeth. You know... Dryston?"

"Ah, yes. You've proven to be a real bloodhound. Well, you've sniffed me out." Nepos continued to flip through the pages of his book. "I've been playing this game for almost 20 years. Sending the young to their deaths. All in the name of the Forsworn. And I'm tired. So tired."

"So, you admit that you've been responsible for the subjugation and murders of the innocents in this City. Why?" Cura demanded an answer.

"Because my king told me to. Madanach." Nepos stated nonchalantly, avoiding eye contact. His composure was nearly robotic.

"You're a monster." Cura's eyes flashed with anger.

"A monster? No. I'm just a servant. To my king." Nepos began. "When the uprising fell at the hands of the Nords, they threw him in the mines. I don't know how, but he lives. I get his messages, and I hand out his orders without question."

His maid and a couple other servants began to approach, leaving their activities.

Lydia noticed the sudden shift in behaviour and it concerned her.

"Even if those orders are for an innocent maiden buying jewelry to be impaled through the back, or for a little boy's father to be killed for no reason." Cura stated. The rage was beginning to boil.

"Fat lot you know. That 'innocent maiden' was an Imperial spy, here to see whether or not the Empire's additional presence would be needed her to push us further and further into the Divide." Nepos laughed. "And as for the boy's father, whoever he was, have you any idea how many boys of our own lose their fathers and have lost their fathers to the Nords? Or to your organization, Vigilant?"

Cura was silent. She hadn't a retort for that. But if the evil abandoned house was any indication, and if what Molag Bal said was true about them sacrificing people there in his name was true, then they deserved their fate by the Vigil.

Nepos closed his book, then turned to face Cura directly, venom dripping off his old tongue. "Markarth and the Reach are our lands. That is why we are the Forsworn. We cannot claim the home that is rightly ours. But then during their war with the elves, we had our moment. We drove the Nords out of the Reach in a great uprising. Then Ulfric and his men came. Those of us who didn't run were executed, except for myself, my king, and a handful of others." Nepos held himself back from gesturing towards his servants, but Lydia began to infer that.

"Who is this Madanach?" Cura asked, not noticing the maids hiding daggers in their sleeves behind herself and Lydia.

"He is the King in Rags." Nepos explained. "A man who once held all the Reach within his grip. He stokes the passions of the downtrodden in this city. Directs them to kill the enemies of the Forsworn in our name. All from inside Cidhna Mine. A Nord prison. The irony is quite thick."

"Why are you so open with telling me this?" Cura's suspicions were aroused. It was too easy. There had to be something sinister at work.

"My dear girl, what makes you think you're getting out of here alive? You were seen coming in. The girl at the door is a Forsworn agent masquerading as a maid. You aren't the first one to have gotten this far. You won't be the last." Nepos continued reading his book as if the world was still.

"My Thane!" Lydia alerted Cura as she defended against a pair of barbed daggers.

Quickly, Nepos leaped out of his chair and tried to stab Cura with his own concealed dagger while she was surprised, but she quickly raised her shield to block it and pushed back, knocking him into the fireplace.

"The only one of us dying in here is you, fiend!" Cura exclaimed.

The old wretch quickly enkindled within the fire and tried to run out, scrambling as the embers engulfed him.

Cura kicked him across the head, knocking him unconscious and left him in the fire to tend to his deranged servants.

The Forsworn agents were nimble and fierce, but Lydia managed to dispatch a few of them by prying them from their mortal coil by sword thrust.

Spellbreaker protected Cura from a couple of lightning blasts from the final witchblade Forsworn Agent across the room.

"You are never going to stop the Forsworn!" the last agent shouted as he lunged at Cura over the table with a sword on-hand, prompting her to party him with her shield. She kicked the table from below, knocking him over, and Lydia performed a diving plunge with her blade, burying it in his stomach and killing him.

Cura and Lydia found themselves standing in a destroyed house belonging to an influential person in Markarth, with the homeowner's head in his fireplace and his help slaughtered.

It was not a good look.

They knew they had to get out of there as soon as possible, but Cura needed a written testimony, or something concrete of that nature to present to Eltrys. It was as if Stendarr finally heard her prayers, because she immediately spotted an old Journal slipped out of Nepos' pocket.

Lydia noticed it first, and quickly yanked it out, and presented it to Cura, who began to read.

"I grow guilt-ridden in my old age. So many of the young sent to their deaths. All in the name of Forsworn. All in the name of Madanach.

My king. Who watches us from behind the iron bars of Cidhna Mine. How long have I served you? Since the uprising of the Nords? Was there ever a time when all that violence hasn't over-shadowed our destinies?

What choice do I have but to do as I am instructed?"

Lydia silently stared at Cura, and vice-versa.

"You had a chance to make it right, Nepos." Cura spoke to the corpse. "I want to help end this cycle of violence and grief in Markarth, just as I helped the citizens of Windhelm. Had you prompted to talk this over, I might have counted you among them."

"My Thane, did it not seem like he wanted to die?" Lydia proposed. "What if... what if he wanted you to meet Madanach in person."

"What are you saying? That I was baited into killing him so that I could be imprisoned?" Cura raised a brow.

"They really didn't put up much of a fight." Lydia gestured to the limp bodies all over. "Maybe Nepos wanted to end his forced servitude, and end the cycle, himself-but he had to make it known that he served to the bitter end."

"Maybe there's a way we can destroy the Mine?" Cura proposed, to which Lydia fervently shook her head.

"No!" Lydia protested. "Destroying that mine would cripple Skyrim's Silver trade!"

Cura's eyes widened. Yes, it was a foolish suggestion. "Well... we've got to take this information to Eltrys. Let's try to keep out of view."

"Whatever you say." Lydia's tone droned.

Cura and Lydia kept a low profile and slunk out of the house, scanning the area, which seemed to be empty. As they headed further down the road, they heard screaming, clashing, and shouting coming from the nearby Treasury House and saw a couple of bloodstained Forsworn in servants' garb, but made obvious by their style of weaponry, exiting in a hurry. Cura ignored the lunatics and ducked underneath a bridge to avoid detection, and Lydia followed suit.

The pair hurried up the stairs to the Shrine of Talos, ready to inform Eltrys of the current developments.

However, when they entered the hidden temple, a gruesome sight lay before them: Eltrys lay dead at the feet of Talos, and blood matted his clothes. Blood leaked out from his throat as he rested limp. Eltrys was slain by a group of guards, who were lying in wait and alerted by Cura's entry.

Cura gasped, caught off-guard by this display.

One of the Guards stepped forward. "We warned you, but you just had to go and cause trouble. Now we have to pin all these recent murders on you. Silence witnesses. Work. Work. Work."

Cura looked disheartened when she saw the corpse at a distance. "W-what did you do to Eltrys?"

The guard spoke up angrily. "Same thing we do with all the other natives who want to change things around here." He slashed his finger across his neck in a very obvious gesture. "We had a nice little deal going between Thonar and Madanach until you and Eltrys started snooping around. Well, you wanted to find the man responsible for those killings? You'll have plenty of time with the King in Rags when you're in Cidhna mine."

"I'm not going to Cidhna Mine." Cura readied her weapon. "You're all corrupt! Every last weasel among you!"

Lydia readied her sword as well.

Cura was about to Shout them, but she would not risk destroying the Shrine of Talos, or poor Eltrys' remains. Instead, she turned around to flee from the entrance door behind her, only for more Guards to close in on her and Lydia, sandwiching them in the narrow hallway.

Cura clubbed one in the cranium and continued to run around, while Lydia was engaged in combat.

"Run, my Thane! Run!" Lydia shouted loudly as she was hacked at.

Before Cura could reach the door, her heart throbbed in her chest. She turned her face to Lydia, who was surrounded by the Guards, attacking her on all sides, while more chased Cura, weapons in hand.

Cura began to swing and crush the Shields held up to protect the Guards; those green wood-and-steel plates with a Ram's head designed on them. Ugly, just like the rest of this Aetherius-forsaken city.

Cura was stabbed in her right arm, causing her to shake and drop her mace. There were too many for her to focus.

And that was when she saw it.

A Guard ran towards Lydia.

"Lydia, look out!" Cura attempted to yell while she parried sword strikes of her own.

Lydia turned around to slash the Guard, but was immediately impaled through her open chest. The Nord's eyes widened in that instant as she looked down to see the blade between her armoured breasts. The world grew dizzy and blurred, and red liquid began to seep out of the crater in the armour.

Lydia's lip trembled.

"NOOOO!" Cura wailed from afar, as she tried to push through the unwavering group of Guards to reach her. "LYYYYYYDIAAAAAAAA!" Cura smashed through Guard after Guard in front of her with her shield while her right arm was limp.

Lydia could not speak; she could only stare blankly as her breath began to escape her.

How long had it been? Almost five months, now, since she first met Cura in Dragonsreach.

Thanks to Cura, she joined the Legendary Ranks of the Companions. She never properly thanked her for that, though, didn't she?

Lydia trembled as the Guard pushed her up against the stone wall, ramming the sword through her and pinning her there.

Do not cry for me, my Thane... it was an honour to serve you... to the end... Lydia thought as her vision blurred.

Cura reached out her left hand to the impaled Lydia. "No, please! No! Not you, Lydia! Please! Don't leave me!"

You've grown so much since we first met... I hope one day... we can meet again in Sovngarde... and you can tell me all about your adventures... Lydia slowly tilted her head downwards as sounds of swords and Cura's cried became less and less audible.

My Thane...

Lydia went limp.

Cura's eyes widened and a painful gasp escaped her. She wept then and there, distracted from the fight. "WAHHH-HAAA!" Cura wailed aloud as a Guard grabbed her from behind and forced her down to the ground, on her stomach. Immediately, he began to tie her arms together behind her back after another stripped her of her shield.

Cura pressed her face into the stone floor and wept; the tears forever staining the rock as she lay only a few feet from her dead companion. Her Shield-Sister.

The Breton lost her will to fight, even though she had killed six of the Guards on the stairs above. It would have been simple to break free of the bonds and crack their helmets and skulls underneath, but it didn't seem worth it.

All she could do was grieve; nothing else entered her mind.

Hilde... Lydia...

Why were her friends always being killed, and she herself being useless to prevent it?

The sea of Guards swept her away, lifting her off the ground and out the door, and through the city to the barracks, where they humiliated her further, stripping her of her armour and robes and forcing a Roughspun Tunic and prisoner's wear onto her.

The Guards would also beat her profusely; in vengeance for the Guards she killed.

A blow to her ribs, a blow to her face.

One broke her nose, and another her leg. And another her left arm, and another gave her a swollen black eye.

Then they forced her to drink a Healing Potion and repeated the brutality six more times; five for the remaining Guard body total, and one more for good luck, or so they said. Good luck for whom, exactly?

After they had gotten their satisfaction from beating the broken half-Elf senselessly, they escorted her down to Cidhna Mine. Out in the open, the denizens of the city stared on in horror as the kindhearted Vigilant of Stendarr who they had seen around was led to the perilous pit.

Inigo himself came running out of the Silver-Blood Inn, half-drunken when he heard the terrible news of a 'blonde Breton Vigilant being thrown in the Mine'. He looked on in horror as it was confirmed before his eyes. What did he miss?

"You'll never see the sun again, you hear me? No one escapes Cidhna Mine. No one." the Guard leaned forward and spoke directly into Cura's left ear from behind as he cruelly shoved her along the walk of shame.

Some of the Bretons who worked in the area hurled tomatoes at her. "Serves you right, 'Daedra-hunter'!" One shouted. The Guards cruelly allowed her to keep her Amulet of Stendarr; so as to let the Forsworn know that she was opposed to their Religious Practices.

Eventually she was brought deeper into the mines, where she was placed in a vestibular section, where she would meet the warden: a stern-looking Orc woman. "You do something out of line, I'll put you down." the brute warned Cura.

Cura did not respond vocally. She barely made eye contact with the large woman. She simply shook her head.

"What, cat got your tongue?" the Orc asked her.

Cura's heart was too heavy for her throat. Again, she only shook her head.

"Look at me while I'm speaking to you and respond appropriately, worm!" The orc woman slapped Cura across the face.

Cura slowly raised her eyes to her. "I'm sorry..."

"All right, prisoner. Eyes front. You're in Cidhna Mine, now. And we expect you to earn your keep. There's no resting your hide in a cell in this prison. Here, you work. You'll mine ore until you start throwing up silver bars. You got it?" the Orc crossed her arms, now pacified.

Cura nodded. "Yes."

"Good." The orc responded. "Work hard, and eventually you'll earn your freedom." She then looked up and shouted. "All right. Open her up. Now, you. Get down there."

The door opened automatically, and Cura, with shaking knees walked through, and the door shut her in from behind.

The world had been dark before, but now all was void.

It was just her, and her enemies now.

She was emotionally spent; feeling nothing.

Nothing but a hollow despair.