A couple of years ago in Dawnstar, an inconspicuous man had a dream - a simple dream, to honour his ancestors for the greatness that was later stripped from his name.
"Your ancestors wouldn't want this, Silus!" Madena stood outside the Museum of the Mythic Dawn in Dawnstar. She knew that nothing good would come of this. Evoking the spirit of an old organization like this could only serve to invite more chaos than already present.
Silus Vesuius stood at the top of his flight of stairs, overlooking the mage from a higher stance. He beamed with false pride, stemmed from generations of stigma. "Why should I hide from it? This is my family's legacy!"
He spoke to the only one who would listen. Madena herself was not one to judge a person based on the past, as her own life was stained with much blood already.
She had never blamed Silus for the misgivings of his ancestors, though she couldn't help but find this current fancy disturbing.
Madena seemed to scoff with annoyance and massaged her brow with her two fingers in a circular motion, deigning to ward away the growing headache she was experiencing. "It's the past! Dead oaths on dead lips. Let it stay there."
Silus Vesuius shook his head stubbornly. "The museum is opening, Madena."
The Breton mage looked sullen and defeated. She knew that there was no changing Silus' mind once he had it set on something. It was always his way. Though, with the Vigil of Stendarr a Stone's Throw away, this was an especially bad idea. She knew he could be captured and interrogated, and worse, slain for his childish fantasies. He was realty playing with fire.
A passerby just descended the wharf nearby after having taken the boat. He was a gaunt figure; a Dunmer, clad in black robes, but with eyes that could melt the paint off of walls. He overheard the conversation.
"Wrong or right, the Mythic Dawn changed Tamriel's history. They deserve study." Silus expressed. He wore the red robes, emblazoned with the golden sun. An old pair, to be sure, but it was unmistakable.
The mysterious stranger kept his distance, but watched the two converse.
"I had hoped life would be simpler here, but war seems to find a way of following me." Madena muttered to herself solemnly. Indeed, if it were not the Civil War, it would be whatever came from this foolishness. "You're just inviting trouble, Silus. Please listen to me; close this down now, while you still can! If not... I don't know what will happen. You realize the Vigil of Stendarr is just passed the Red Road Pass..."
"Do you think I'm afraid of the Vigil of Stendarr? Have you seen them? They have nothing to their name. Puny weapons; weak armour. They're a laughingstock." Silus mocked the organization openly.
"That museum is a mistake." Madena warned him. Her voice shook with fear of the consequences, and anger at her friend's stubbornness.
Silus was tired of arguing and waved her off. It fell to him to restore his family's name, as the last son of the Vesuius clan. He pushed open the door to his museum and entered.
Madena looked at the man in black who was watching them argue and blockaded him from the front stairs. "I beg you, don't go into Silus's museum."
The man feigned ignorance. "Who's Silus? What's this museum?"
Madena looked at him with roused suspicion, wondering how he could have missed what he just witnessed, but explained just the same. "Silus comes from one of the oldest families in Dawnstar. They have a complicated history. Several of his ancestors belonged to the Mythic Dawn, the cult that almost destroyed Tamriel. His family's involvement was only found out well after the crisis had died down, but it still ruined their reputation. They were outcasts. And now Silus is back and this museum to the Mythic Dawn is his way of trying to rebuild his family's pride. It's misguided."
The stranger tilted his head innocently. "The Mythic Dawn? Who are they?"
"Not a student of history I see. It's for the best. They're a group that should be forgotten. The only thing you need to know is that they almost destroyed the world, and they were stopped. A long time ago." Madena concluded. She looked up at the sun's position in the sky and realized that she needed to return to the Jarl's Longhouse. "I need to be going, now. What a fool he is..."
She continued to walk and the Dunmer watched her off before heading up the stairs and into the museum.
Silus sat on a seat near some displays when the Dark Elf entered. His face lit up and he stood up immediately. "And here comes my first visitor. The Museum of the Mythic Dawn is open, friend. Come in, browse the display, and let's talk."
He was hoping to repaint his clan's image.
The museum's interior was entirely of wood. It was a normal house, with half of its living space devoted to displaying Mythic Dawn memorabilia.
"Quite a space you have here." the mysterious figure looked around. He saw numerous display cases; one contained old, moth-bitten uniforms donned by the Mythic Dawn; their hoods, their robes, and even their gloves, lain apart in the glass. Pages from the blasphemous Mysterium Xarxes rested along the western wall, Mehrunes Dagon's own book, rivalling the Oghma Infinium in its ability to seduce the unsuspecting mind. What the man's eyes narrowed down upon were what appeared to be fragments of a very powerful dagger. "What was that argument about?"
"Never mind that. Madena is a good woman, but I have my own reasons for opening this museum, and I'm not changing my mind. I have a collection of artifacts from the group that toppled an Empire. Their importance to history cannot be forgotten." Silus clapped his hands together solidly. "My family were in the Mythic Dawn. My museum is our legacy."
The man stepped forward, and faced Silus directly, slightly intimidating the Imperial. "Why did you open this museum?" He searched the Imperial man's eyes for the truth.
"It's no secret that my family were once members of the Mythic Dawn. One of my forefathers was even chosen to assassinate Uriel Septim himself. We hid from our past for years, became tradesman, people of coin and influence. But I realized that the Mythic Dawn's importance - our importance - to history cannot be denied. I'll see everyone in Tamriel remember that for a moment, we held the fate of the world in our hands, for good or ill." Silus beamed proudly in his face, salvaging his own ego.
The interloper backed up a little and dusted off his shoulder. He seemed inquisitive. "So what is this Mythic Dawn cult?" He already knew. Silus could see the recognition in the man's eyes.
Still, he answered, "They were worshippers of Mehrunes Dagon, the Daedric Lord of Destruction and Change. The Mythic Dawn killed Uriel Septim VII and his heirs, triggering the events that lead to the Oblivion Crisis, when the Daedra invaded Tamriel.
All that remains of the infamous cult, I've gathered in my museum."
The odd figure inquired once more, paying close attention to his answer. "Who is Mehrunes Dagon?"
Silus played his part as guide, defining the beast himself in textbook terms. "Ah, an excellent question. Mehrunes Dagon is the Daedric Lord of Change, Destruction, and Ambition. Dagon's Mythic Dawn cult killed the Septim Dynasty and opened the Oblivion Gates into Tamriel. They called it the Oblivion Crisis."
"Who is Mehrunes Dragon to you?"
"He..." Silus nearly choked on his saliva. "He is the avatar of purposeful destruction. He paves the way for new rule. New order. We mortals merely answer his call to action." He could not deny that, deep down, he himself held a perverse desire to see Dawnstar pay for their decades of slander and harassment; to hold their fate in his hands like a puppetmaster.
He knew it was wrong. He knew. Though the Daedric Prince's Shrine atop the mountain to the Southwest beckoned to him, day and night.
Change.
He just wanted change. He wanted to be powerful.
Before the Oblivion Crisis began, Dawnstar was the Mythic Dawn's base of operations in Skyrim; not many people remember that. They settled there by boat from Cyrodiil, arriving discreetly one day, pretending to be immigrants from Anvil. They moved south and built that shrine to Dagon at the mountain's top, so that he may overlook the land from his seat.
The Vigilants of Stendarr noted that history when they established their wretched little shack at the mountain's base under Moric Sidrey's leadership. Their intended goal was to capture any Daedra-worshipper bold enough to ascend the mountain. Needless to say, worship at Dagon's shrine waned over the decades due to their interference.
If he ever met the Keeper, it would take all of his restraint to not spit in her face.
So what if he wanted power? He wasn't going to destroy the world with it! He would just put these dogs in their rightful place. He would throw Skald into the freezing waters. Everybody would agree with that, probably even Madena herself.
The sweet, undebated, projected power.
Silus licked his lips when the illusion ran through his mind, and then quickly descended back into reality and realized that the mysterious Dunmr was staring at him.
"Ahem! Oh, er, yes. So.." The tour began, and Silus showed off a broken dagger, laying in many pieces, the symbol of Oblivion emblazoned in the base of its steel where visible.
"After the Oblivion Crisis, a number of groups cropped up dedicated to wiping out the remnants of the Mythic Dawn. One of these groups found Mehrunes' Razor, the artifact of Dagon. They split it into three fragments and pledged to keep them apart forever. That was almost 150 years ago, and the pieces were being kept by the descendants of that group. And they're right here, in Skyrim." Silus pointed to the disassembled blade laying in his display case. "I paid a handsome sum to the Thieves Guild to have them retrieved."
The man stared at it while Silus droned on and on with words of reverence, bordering on latriac splendor. "The Razor is Mehrunes Dagon's personal artifact. It has always heralded bloody change and carnage.
It's held many names: Dagger of the Final Wounds, Bane of the Righteous, the Kingslayer. The Mythic Dawn worshipped Dagon as a god. Having his Razor would be invaluable to my collection."
But he had no idea how to reassemble them to their former glory.
The man in black smirked. "You're still missing a piece of the blade. A tiny sliver."
Silus sighed. "Yes, I'm aware. A thousand and one curses upon the fools who destroyed it. It's strange holding a hilt that isn't connected to a dagger. Oh well. I keep gazing into the pommel gem. Not a single flaw."
He was mesmerized by its gleaming darkness.
Silus opened the display case and lifted it out to show it off. "You know, I've had to be careful handling those blade shards. They're each sharp enough to sever a finger with no effort. Our master craftsmen are nothing compared to the perfection of the Daedra."
"Lord Dagon is absolute." the Dunmer said so nonchalantly that it caused a shiver to ride Silus' spine. Even more surprising, the man had what appeared to be a fragment of shining metal in his hand.
"Is that -"
"The final shard." the Dunmer stated smugly as he laid it down on the display and gently pushed the pieces back into their proper place.
Silus stared blankly at it and questions filled his mind. Who was this stranger? Why did he have that shard? How did he get it?
Was it finally his time?
The Dunmer laughed with amusement when he saw Silus' bewildered expression. "Excellent work assembling the pieces. How would you like to be a part of something greater than yourself?"
Silus was astonished. "You don't mean-"
"I am called Vonos; a high-ranking member of the Remnants of the Mythic Dawn." the Dark Elf finally introduced himself, shedding his sheepskin. "I have been laying low for these past many years, but I am now assembling a larger force, as the time is drawing nearer and nearer by the month. You are cordially invited to join us."
Silus stared at him blankly, processing what he'd just heard. "Join... you?"
"Yes. Lord Dagon desires vengeance upon the mortals of Tamriel!" Vonos proclaimed. "Our plans will come to be soon; the Dragons have returned. This will provide the perfect time, once the Dragonborn has triumphed."
"Do you know who the Dragonborn is?" Silus asked with wide eyes.
"No. Not yet. He has yet to reveal himself. It matters little. Time will reveal all." Vonos reassured him.
Silus looked down at the Daedric blade in its display. "I know how to put all the pieces together. We just need to take them to Dagon's shrine and contact the Lord of Change directly. His Razor will no doubt be of use to us."
"So you agree."
"Why settle for displaying History when you can make it?" Silus' pride jutted forth. "I've spent my whole life being ostracized for my heritage. The opportunity to rectify our failure will certainly improve things around here." He sneered balefully as he recalled years of hatred and scorn from the local Nords.
Perhaps change was coming. He could put the final nail in this putrid Empire's coffin. It was long overdue. And then Dawnstar would pay. They would pay for making his life miserable.
How many times was he overcharged at the Mortar & Pestle and by the Blacksmith? How many times did the fishermen spit on him? How long was he ostracized by the commonfolk, who sneered at his parents and him for years passing by his house? Children, now adults, hated him because their parents hated his parents and their grandparents hated his grandparents. How many times was he refused a ferrry because of his name? He was never even allowed to step into the Jarl's Longhouse; the Guards would beat him away if he'd even come within ten feet of the door.
His mother died of illness, because the alchemist refused to aid her. His father died for their nation in the Great War. How was he repaid for it? An unmarked grave outside of the city, with his parents and grandparents. No honour, no ceremony. It was almost as if the gods themselves wouldn't touch him.
Daily, his house was visited by Vigilants of Stendarr. Keeper Carcette was well aware of his heritage and kept a watchful eye in the city due to it. Vigilants frequented the main city and would sometimes accuse and bully him on sight. If they were so hellbent on accusing him of Daedra worship, then perhaps he may as well do it. Do it and be done with it.
Silus adjusted his red, emblazoned robes with defiant pride. "Where do I begin?"
Vonos placed a heavy hand on his left shoulder. "Welcome home, my brother. Paradise awaits us."
The Mythic Dawn was once a prevalent secret society that spanned the Empire long; from Cyrodiil, to Skyrim, to Morrowind, Valenwood, Black Marsh, Elsewyr, High Rock, Hammerfell, and even to the Summerset Isles. Now they were rreduced to Skyrim, as their group in Cyrodiil was rooted out.
If they were to come back from the brink of destruction, now was their time.
The prospect of the festival in Solitude next week was exciting to Cura. She'd tossed and turned all night, unable to rest it off. It was a short six days away, now, and each passing day rose her anxiety. What would it be like? Would she make a fool of herself before everyone if she went? How would she dress for the occasion? Should she maintain her Vigilant Robes, or should she wear a Fine Raiment of sorts?
Were people to be dressed extravagantly for a parade of sorts? She'd never attended one herself, so it was quite a nerve-wracking notion. Should she change her hairstyle? She had difficulty tying her wind braids now, so she would appear in shambles if she attempted it. She could always request a hair cut - or wear it loose. Perhaps she would look rather nice with her hair loose.
But her facial scars... were they very noticeable? Most of the time when she was in public she had her hood up, so it was rather hard for people to see them under the cast shade, she presumed.
Should she bring her weapons in case something went wrong, or leave them at the Hall or one of her houses?
There were so many unnecessary worries for what should be a simple event.
Well, it was a ways away, still.
To her gleeful surprise, a long-missed Lucien walked into her room with a plate of food: there was some cabbage, some venison, and a loaf of bread assorted on it. "Goooood morning, Candle! Did the Dragonslayer sleep well?"
Very much so.
And her spirits were very high this day. The busy murmurings outside her door were a soft reminder that she was back home, where she'd grown up. The atmosphere was familiar, but fundamentally different. It was less austere, and more bright and jovial. She could hear Vigilants talking and laughing together downstairs. The morning prayers and nightly sermons brought her peace.
Cura hadn't slept so soundly for a straight week since she began her journey. "Yes. What time is it?"
"Oh, just around 7 o'clock, I think. 7:12...?" Lucien looked at his Dwarven watch and deciphered the hands.
"Bright and early." Cura smiled as she sat upright and Lucien laid the tray on her lap. "And the date...?"
"Tirdas, the 20th of Rain's Hand, 4th era, 204." Lucien stated.
"Already?" Cura was surprised how quickly the time flew. She began her long journey in 201. Had three years really gone by? First with the Vigil, and the Companions, and the small things along the way... Cidhna Mine, the Dawnquard, the incident with the Dark Brotherhood, the College of Winterhold...
Wow.
It really took her three years. So much has changed since the start, but she would have it no other way.
"Keeper Carcette told me you love Apple Dumplings, so..." Lucien placed one on the plate beside the food. He figured that the hero of Skyrim deserved a little something nice to go with the meal. "Here. A little sweetness to start off the day."
The young Breton perked up as she received it. "Oooh! Wonderful! Thanks, Lucien."
"Just be sure to save it for last - sweets go down better at the end." Lucien laughed.
Inigo walked in with Vilja and grabbed Cura's attention immediately. "Cura, my friend! We have a surprise for you!"
This was the first time she'd seen them in a week; she wondered where they'd gone, but it was evident now that maybe they were at Fort Dawnguard.
She was both surprised, and intrigued by the sudden declaration. Behind Inigo and Vilja were Sorine, Gunmar, and Vigilant Tolan.
"Good morning, Cura! How's our little Dragonslayer doing?" Gunmar asked jokingly, causing Lucien to grunt in attempt to bring up the fact that he basically just said the same thing.
"I'm doing about as well as can be expected." Cura proposed the answer. "I could be better, but I could be worse."
"Well, after this, you're sure to peak again." Sorine said with a smile as she moved past Vilja and then past Lucien with a box between her hands.
Vigilant Tolan followed in behind her, and his expression beamed with a glow of confidence. Whatever it was, it was going to be good. "You're gonna be really excited once you see this, kiddo."
Vilja leaned against the nearby wall. "They have worked long and hard on it; let's see it!" she demanded.
Sorine placed the box on Cura's lap, and the Dragonborn excitedly pried it open with her right hand, knowing full well what it was.
They did not disappoint.
It was a prosthetic arm, golden and steel-laden in its fit; carved by Dwemer Metal. It resembled a Steel Plate Gauntlet, but was coloured gold. Cura held it up to the light. "By the gods... this looks incredible!"
"So, you see; there's a thick leather strap at the base. That ties around your elbow." Gunmar explained. "Clamp it into the metal ringer and see how it fits; should be symmetrical with your normal Steel Plate Gauntlet. We used it to make a mold for it."
Her friends and family watched eagerly as Cura held up her arm and fit it on. She kept her arm up straight so gravity would not disturb her attempt, and it seemed to slide right on like a glove. It took her a moment or two to locate the ringer that Gunmar mentioned, but she found it quickly enough and passed the strap through and bound it in place. Immediately, a small shock touched the stump, causing Cura's heart to flutter.
It felt different, to say the least. With a thought, she was able to move the fingers organically, as if they were her own. "Wow - how in the world...?"
She continued to watch as the finger joints curled inward and outward organically, and held up her right hand to compare and contrast. She touched her new left hand with her right. It was metal. But it could feel her flesh's touch. Or... she could feel her flesh's touch.
"Dwemer technology is eons ahead of what we have." Sorine explained. "They had a technique called "Gilding" where they could encase an entire body with Dwarven metal and trap their soul in it - and effectively escape mortality. The lesser form of this is Grafting - where a limb could be substituted by a cybernetic one, if it could receive the soul of the wearer."
"What does that mean, exactly?" Cura asked for clarification, appearing a tad concerned by the notion.
"Well, the way Calcelmo explained it; basically there's a Soul Gem harboured inside of the inner palm with an enchantment on it, and it will cause the arm to respond to your spiritual essence. Your soul is inside of it as if we're flesh and bone." Sorine reworded the explanation.
Calcelmo? The same Altmer who owned the excavation site of Nchuand-Zel? Who she bargained with to get Stendarr's Hammer?
Cura was shocked. "You know Calcelmo?"
Sorine nodded. "Not personally, but naturally we Dwemer enthusiasts often collaborate and share our research. I showed him our exploding bolt schematics and he agreed to help me with this." She placed a hand on her hip and leaned on it proudly. Her work was invaluable, and even Calcelmo realized it.
Cura ogled her new arm. "It... it feels... it feels so real." She laid her false palm against the stone wall beside her and she could even feel the coolness of the hard rock, and the ridges between the stones. "I - I can FEEL this. I can actually feel this! The coldness of the stones... it's... it's... magnificent!" She was near to excited panic. "I can feel the wall..." she touched the blanket and pulled it upwards. "And this! I can feel this!"
Sorine and Gunmar high-fived each other and smiled contently at the success.
Cura leapt up from her bed and quickly rushed over to Inigo. She ran her prosthetic hand over the tuft of fur on his left cheek. "And your fur is so smooth... so warm, soft... I can feel it!"
Vilja burst out laughing as Inigo's tufts of fur were moussed through.
Inigo chuckled. "I am glad it is. The bath house downstairs works wonders on my fur." He jokingly poofed the long, fine hairs forward like a maiden showing off her locks.
"Immediately, she goes to touch the cat." Lucien remarked humorously.
Vilja laughed. "A girl always likes something nice, warm and furry."
Cura hugged Sorine and then Gunmar. "Thank you so much! This is incredible!" She could feel their armour as well.
Gunmar shrugged. "There's no need to thank us; the Dawnguard takes care of its own."
"And you've done plenty for us." Sorine stated.
Vigilant Tolan came closer and looked at the new arm with piqued interest. "What the Dwarves didn't come up with... but hey, it works for you, kiddo? That's all that matters. Praise Stendarr!"
"It's an arm, but that's not all it is." Sorine winked. "Did you really think, the perfectionist I am, that I would just leave it at that?"
Cura wondered. "What did you add to it?"
Sorine smirked. "See the button underneath the palm?"
Cura held up the arm and Sorine pointed directly at it. "If you push down on that and will it, something interesting will happen; try it out."
"Is it safe for the Hall?" Tolan tried to put a halt immediately.
"Absolutely." Sorine proclaimed.
Cura immediately did as instructed. She clenched a fist and focused on it, and the forearm popped upwards and spread out into a crossbow. Tolan yelped and leapt backwards.
Inigo began to chuckle like a kid in a candy shop. "Oooh, hooo, nice!"
"Hold it!" Sorine waved her hands nervously. "Sorry, my mistake! Wrong button. It's the one above, then." She pointed to her own upper hand.
Cura looked at it anxiously and saw a circular groove in the top of her left hand and pointed to it. "This?"
"Yes. That's the one!" Sorine exclaimed. "Push it and focus a spell. Any spell."
Cura pushed down on it and the crossbow closed. She considered the basic: Healing. A golden light emerged from her palm and enveloped her body. "WHOA!"
Lucien's jaw dropped. "She could cast spells with it?! Incredible!"
"Remember, it taps into her soul and substitutes her body; it's not that surprising." Vilja explained.
Cura was awestruck. She looked at her arm and studied the functionality of it once more. She has never seen anything like it, even in her Dwemer mechanism encounters. "This is amazing. You've outdone yourselves." She shifted to a fireball, which she suspended over her palm. And then an ice vapour. And then an electric ball. Then she cast a ward in front of her.
"It was expensive to make, but being the hero of Skyrim, I can't think of anybody more deserving of it." Gunmar stated.
"How much is it?" Cura grew a tad nervous.
"For you, it's free." Sorine reassured her. "For anyone else, it would probably be around 6000 gold."
"Now you are 'Cura of the Iron Fist!'" Inigo exclaimed as he thrust his fist upwards
Lucien was amused by the name, and gave Inigo a fist pump.
"Just be careful with that thing indoors, will you?" Tolan anxiously chastised her.
Cura nodded. "Of course."
Sorine and Gunmar exchanged a small talk and then turned to Cura. "We've got to take our leave back to Fort Dawnguard. If there's any issue, take it back to us for examination." Sorine stated.
"All right, thank you again." Cura agreed.
"You're welcome; farewell, Dragonborn." Gunmar winked as they exited her room and the two departed from the Hall.
"Hey, I was curious as to where the Keeper is? This is the Hall of the Vigilant, so I would expect her to be here." Vilja asked, surprised by the lack of her appearance thus far. Though, admittedly, she had just arrived at the Hall, after having spent most of her time at Fort Dawnguard.
"She's downstairs, dealing with a friend, apparently." Vigilant Tolan stated dryly before swirling his index finger at the side of his head. "Crazy Breton mage woman with brown hair. Runs her mouth like a Stallion-pulled wagon."
Cura furrowed her brows. Colette Marence? She came all the way here?
"Let me get suited up first. I'll go downstairs in a little bit." Cura requested a clear room to change in, and her friends walked out, and Tolan closed the door behind him.
Cura looked to the Armoured Mannequin in her room and removed the Spellknight armour from it. Her new arm was mobile, and able to grip things with ease, Cura found as she began to dress herself properly for the first time in a month. She was already beginning to feel more uplifted.
She could braid her hair properly again! She immediately began with that, binding her golden locks back with small bands, twisting them into curving rows on both sides.
The Dwarven arm was an incredible innovation! She would use it diligently, but she knew she would have to keep it on her person at all times; sleep on it, even, if she ever went back to Riften.
Thieves would not hesitate.
After adjusting her robes and wearing down her cowl, she fastened Spellbreaker onto her new arm. It fit just right. She grinned excitedly and fastened Dawnbreaker on her left hip and her mace on her right. Her signature weapons.
She jumped up and down. It was firmly set in place. She gripped Dawnbreaker's handle and slid it upwards off her belt, and thrust a few times in the air. It did not loosen.
It really felt like another arm! It was as if she were wearing a gauntlet. She could not get over how incredible it was. At the same time, she began to rethink her closed opinion on the Dwemer. Perhaps they weren't all bad if they made things like this, that could be used to help people.
She fastened Auriel's Bow and its respective Sunhallowed Quiver on her back and slung her satchel over her shoulder. She moved her Amulet of Stendarr back up over her robes for visibility's sake. She was ready to take on the day.
"I'm astounded that you lot managed to build this glorified old shack back up so quickly! When I'd heard about a vampire attack in the Hall, I'd assumed the place was a smoking pile of ruins, beyond saving. In less than a year's time, according to the stuck-up large bald man with the mutton chops, you all managed to restore it and improve it! Colour me impressed, Carcette." Colette Marence admitted her astonishment to their accomplishment.
The Keeper seemed to be looking through a list that was lifted from inside of her desk. It was a list detailing suspected members of the Remnants of the Mythic Dawn. Among the list, the names 'Silus Vesuius', 'Vonos', 'Enakain', and 'Skorvild' were named.
Silus was listed as "-captured, escaped" and Enakain was listed as "-captured, cooperative".
If only Cura's bedroom were still on the dungeon floor; then she could have heard the interrogation.
Oh, well. Knowing Keeper Carcette, she was probably more merciful than Isran. There was no loud screaming that she could recalll hearing.
Caarcette responded to her friend. "Yes, but we couldn't have done it without the support of Jarl Idgrod, Jarl Balgruuf, and Jarl Brina, and of course, the hired masons."
Never before had the stern Breton exhumed such pride. She donned her new Stendarr Paladin Armour set with luminous pride, and did away with her old bandages; instead, she now bore a white and gold eyepatch slung over her left eye, selected to match the extravagant shining armour. She finally looked the part of the Keeper of the Vigil. She bore a new Warhammer, matching her set of armour. The Blessed Paladin's Warhammer. A virgin cudgel, yet to spill blood.
Her old Apprentice Robes hung on a mannequin in her room; a relic of a bygone time, and a humble reminder of previous years.
Was it too late to rescind her resignation letter? She was human again, now, having been blessed by Stendarr himself. Surely that had to count for something. Maybe she would try to send a letter detailing as much and see what the High Vigil decides.
"Yes, yes, that's all well and good, but you should have come knocking at the College door! Our Alteration Wizard Nirya could have helped, and Phinis. And me. Why didn't you ask me? Come to think of it, why do you never ask me for anything? Hmm? You are insufferably stubborn when you want to be, I swear." Colette snapped.
Keeper Carcette released a low, laboured sigh. "Colette, have you ever stopped to consider why I hardly ask you for anything?"
"No. Why?"
"Because you have a desire to dramatize everything." Carcette scoffed. "It's not personal. In fact, I was caged up for almost the last year or so."
"Ahh, yes, the Dawnguard business. Cura told me allllll about it when I was doing a better job teaching her Restoration than you ever did." Colette crossed her arms and leaned against the wall smugly.
Carcette rolled her eye and shook her head. This was beginning to get under her skin. When Colette came over, she knew that she would be talkative, but never this disruptive.
As if on cue, the prospective Student entered the Keeper's chambers at that exact moment, grabbing both of their attention. "Told you about what?" she only caught the last half of the statement. Instinctively, she touched her new arm, adjusting it in its place. Time would make it fully natural to her.
Carcette rolled up the paper and turned to face her protégé. "Cura, you're awake. How do you feel? Are you well?" Her eye was caught and trailed to the obvious and noticed the new arm and smiled. It looked very good on Cura; almost like she were wearing another gauntlet, but of a golden hue.
"Obviously she's awake! If she were sleepwalking, we'd notice." Colette laughed.
Cura disregarded the Master Restoration Wizard and answered the Keeper. "I'm doing well; how are you this morning, Keeper?"
Carcette clicked her tongue and seethed lightly as she thought of a proper response. She elected to saturate it with humour in Colette's presence. "Well... I'm doing well. Being alive again is a wonderful feeling. And I'm enjoying the ephemeral time I have left as the Keeper of the Vigil." she commonly nudged her head in Colette's direction. "You know Colette, of course."
Colette smiled and waved at Cura. "How do you do, dearie? Using my lessons in Restoration to their fullest, I hope." she made a short, happy sound and clasped her hands together. "I hope after your influence, people in this snow-shorn wasteland will learn to appreciate it."
"I am. Of course!" Cura responded with a smile. She's said it before, and she will always say it: Restoration is the greatest of the Schools, and has saved her life many, many, many times. "In fact, I destroyed a swarm of Draugr Deathlords using Bane of the Undead on my way to fight Alduin. Can you pass my thank-you message to the Augur too?"
Colette pumped her fist triumphantly. "Yesss!" then she caught the statement. "Oh, er, of course! I will when I see him next." then she remembered what she first wanted to say. "But by Nulfaga's gnarled teeth! How were you so careless? You could have died to the wretched black snake!" Colette lurched forward and hit Cura's left arm. "You can't fool me with that Dwemer Steel! You were reckless! I heard all about it! I thought I warned you -"
Cura was a little bewildered by her presence and annoyed by her comment. "What are you doing here?"
Colette seemed taken aback by the question. "What? My favourite student, who was injured, is here, and my old friend. Am I not allowed to visit?"
"I think 'friend' may be stretching it a tad. I'd place us in the 'acquaintance' or 'former coworker' category, truthfully." Carcette muttered under her breath as she returned to sorting out paperwork.
"Don't be like that, Carcey! We go all the way back! Don't try to deny your roots - we were both at the same temple. We shared the same room in the abbey. I never forgot." Colette chastised her attitude.
"Call me 'Carcey' again and I'll have you thrown out right this moment." Carcette threatened as she noticed Cura chuckling at the nickname.
Colette was unmoved by the threat. She snorted through her mouth. "Oh, please. Do you think I'm not used getting that kind of response? I'm used to those sort of threats."
"Really? I can't imagine why." Carcette responded dryly as she moved past Cura and exited her chambers with a set of plans. Colette and Cura followed her out and down the stairs into the main Hall. The Keeper laid the plans down on a desk beneath a map that was plastered on the wall, showing the region of Skyrim. She cross-referenced something written on the map to her paper and then crossed an "X" over an area northeast of Riften.
Carcette and Colette's argument became a muffled blur in Cura's mind as she stared intently at the paper. The Keeper's handwriting was messy, hasty, and difficult to decipher.
Cura looked on the map and noticed that it was written 'Red Scar Cavern'. She took a peek at the paper as Carcette continued to converse with her old acquaintance. What Cura could make out were the words: 'Suspected Mythic Dawn resurgence activity?'
As the words registered, Cura's memory of Martin Septim holding out the Amulet of Kings faded into her sight before vanishing. When she snapped out of it, she continued to try and discern what this was about.
Then she saw the words: 'Escaped to South of Whiterun' before Carcette rolled the paper up again.
One month back and there was some excitement!
"I've had enough of arguing with you, Colette. I'm sorry, but I have business to attend to." Carcette grew visibly frustrated and she turned to her map once more and muttered to herself. "That foul priestess Enakain has given up enough information that we can act on and we must..."
"The Vampires are all gone. The Dragons are tranquil, it seems. What could possibly be tying the Vigil down?" Colette asked.
"The Mythic Dawn?" Cura proposed as she stood expectantly with her arms behind her back.
The Keeper furrowed her brows. "Were you looking at my paper?" Admittedly, she had ample time while Colette distracted her just before.
Cura nodded. "If there's anything I can do to help, I'm ready. And willing. I need to get back out there." A month largely spent in bed was enough. She was more eager to test out her new arm, and what better target practice could there be for the crossbow feature than dark cultists?
She vowed to use her gifts to help others, and she would; starting at home.
The Keeper scratched her chin and gave it a moment's thought. Certainly she could handle it. "Very well. I have something to show you." Carcette brought Cura back to her room and opened her dresser drawer. She pulled out what appeared to be a handwritten letter. "I received this earlier this morning."
Cura took the paper swiftly and poured over it:
"Keeper Carcette
I come to you with an urgent plea. I have done unspeakable things which I have come to regret, and the consequences are imminent. If you know of the Oblivion Crisis, then you know I make no jest when I say the fate of Tamriel is at stake.
It would be safer for us to speak further in person. Please meet me at the Shrine to Stendarr, located between Fort Greymoor and Rorikstead. I will lay bare my sins in Stendarr's presence. Perhaps he will grant me forgiveness.
-Skorvild"
Cura's eyes widened. "Oh."
"Skorvild is a member of their resurgence. the Agents of Righteous Might have been attempting to locate him for some time, I have learned. I can only guess that he wanted to come to me directly with the potential hope of avoiding bloodshed... or lure me into a trap." Carcette wondered. "But it's just as well. I would have had him imprisoned until the others were caught and lain down."
Cura crossed her arms. "This is reminding me an awful lot of the Fenrik situation. Come with me, Keeper. I'll keep an eye on you."
She was not going to allow her to fall into a trap. Not after what she sacrificed to restore her humanity.
Carcette held in a soft laugh. "Very well. I'll trust your judgment, Cura. Let me make my preparations and I'll accompany you there."
"If the Mythic Dawn is involved, I'm certainly going to call upon my friends. Lucien, Vilja, and Inigo could assist with this." Cura just about began to dash around Colette and out into the main area of the Hall before Carcette stopped her.
"Oh, Cura, I have something special for you. A thank-you, for all that you've done. Not just for slaying Alduin, but for saving me. And for your years of loyalty and service." Carcette informed her as she drew a key from her own satchel and handed it to her protégé.
"A key? What for...?" Cura asked. Was it for the Hall? That wasn't much of a reward.
"Stendarr's Retreat. A house in the Rift, built over a centuries-old shrine. Brother Adalvald and Vigilant Tolan are overseeing the finishing touches to its construction." Carcette explained. "I'll mark its location on your map. It could be a nice place to stop by when you're out in the field. And you can do whatever you please with it." She took Cura's map out and circled a small area of land approximately North of Ivarstead.
A location that did, in fact hold some significance to Cura. At the foot of High Hrothgar. The Dragonborn clenched the key in her new hand and walked back to Carcette and hugged her. "Thank you - I can't wait to see it!"
Colette watched as Cura headed downstairs to search for her friends. "She always seemed to be the type to jump over a bridge and swim downstream. How you're so calm with that I'll never understand. I adore her anyway. It's always great to have a student who is willing to put in their full hundred percent. Tolfdir appreciated that of her, too... and the Arch-Mage. Even the Augur of Dunlain saw potential for greatness in her. You must be proud of her, Carcette."
"I am." Keeper Carcette responded enthusiastically. "We truly were blessed to have her among our ranks. The Dragonborn... who would ever have considered it?"
"Not Alduin, I'd wager." Colette walked over to the Shrine of Stendarr and examined it thoroughly, to the chagrin of the nearby Vigilants who were trying to pray in peace. "Huh... it really is different in Skyrim. Just substitute the horn for a chalice. I can't believe they would portray Stendarr as a drunk. Only drunks use Drinking Horns!"
One of the Vigilants put up his index finger in front of his lips. "SHH!"
"You 'Shh!'" Colette snapped back.
Carcette grabbed Colette by the arm and pulled her into the room to the side, which would have been her bedroom before the remodel, but was now an alchemy chamber.
"How rude! Did you see that? Keeper, I want that man reprimanded! How dare he! What nerve! I get enough of this treatment in Winterhold!" Colette took offense.
"They're praying. Keep your voice down. That's all I ask." Carcette requested.
Cura looked at the Restoration Professor dumbfoundedly. Did she really think that it was okay to shout and disrupt a chapel service? Maybe her leaving the Temple of Stendarr was for more than just an accident.
"If you don't mind me asking, Carcette, why did the Temple see fit to substitute the Crusaders for the Vigilants?" Colette had sometimes wondered about it.
"We aren't a substitute for the Crusaders; we're their militant branch." Carcette explained. "While Crusaders guard shrines and temples, we bring the fight to the wicked. And then there are also the Dawnguard, the Agents of Righteous Might -"
"Who are the Agents of Righteous Might, Keeper?" Cura looked a little confused. That was a name she hadn't heard before, save for a few moments ago relating to Skorvild.
"Oh, yes." Carcette readjusted her new eyepatch. "They're a like-minded associate group of ours; they perform the more... underhanded tasks for the Temple. Didn't I mention them to you?"
"No." Cura said flatly.
"I suppose I didn't want to give you the idea of splintering from the group, yourself." Carcette laughed. "But it's just as well. The less people know about them, the better. It's better for their mission."
Cura understood. Sometimes inconspicuity was for the best. She recalled as much from her time infiltrating the Thalmor Embassy. Then she remembered Elenwen. She did say she would visit her at some point after her duel with Alduin, but she wondered if she should follow-up on that. The Altmer was very untrustworthy from everything common sense warned her about, even if she was her biological mother. The woman was a serpent hidden in the bushes. She wore a friendly mask, but underneath, who knew what lay? A friendly face, or a wrathful witch? Who could really say?
Then Cura remembered Delphine, Esbern and the Skyguard. Perhaps she ought to pay them a visit, as well. Discuss how she defeated Alduin. Then the thought of them bringing Paarthurnax back up made her stomach churn. She did not want to have to discuss that matter again. Perhaps she could wait before talking to them. She didn't want to sour her relationship with them, but she would never turn against her Dragon mentor either.
Then Cura wondered if there were other Dragons like Paarthurnax; old, wise, and isolated in other areas of their continent. After all, he remained on High Hrothgar for generations undisturbed. Historically, there was Nafaalilargus, who defended a Treasury in Stros M'Kai and helped the heroes of Elsewyr defeat the horrible Dragons Laatvulon and Kaalgrontiid, Inigo had told her one night during their studies at the College of Winterhold.
Nafaalilargus' fate was unknown, but rumours say he was slain by Cyrus the Redguard during the 2nd Era. Though, unless Cyrus was a Dragonborn, perhaps he could have been revived.
Cura snapped out of her momentary ponderance and returned to the matter at hand. "Of course; it makes a lot of sense. I should have figured."
Colette seemed to recall something. "Ah, yes! Silly me; I just remembered. Cura, did you hear about the quaint news? They're throwing a festival in your honour next Morndas in Solituda! The word has reached Winterhold's tavern. I'm so excited for you! It really is quite amazing, and you definitely deserve it. I will see to it to be there - I won't embarrass you... too much."
Cura cringed lightly. "Please don't."
"Hahaha, you're the hero of Skyrim, love. Expect a lot of this." Colette laughed lightheartedly as she clasped her hands together. "Right. Well, it's been nice catching up, Carcette, but I have to spread the word around campus. With me telling it, not a soul will miss the news. And I'll be sure that Serana, Onmund, Brelyna and J'zargo know. I know you're all friends."
Cura was happy to hear it. "Thank you, Colette."
"Keep on practicing your Restoration spells, dearie." Colette told her. "That's a muscle that need not ever atrophy. Keep it strong and it will continue to serve you well!" she headed to the door, and turned around one last time. "And take care of yourself too, Carcette. Don't you dare go another year without writing, hear me?"
"Yes, yes, I hear you."
"I want you to swear it on Stendarr!" Colette pointed a sharp finger at her as a Vigilant bumped into her on his way out, causing her to stumble lightly. "Hey! Watch where you're going, you hairy brute!"
Carcette scoffed and massaged her brow. Her headache was now at its peak. "Yes, yes, fine. I swear upon the Shrine of Stendarr that I will write to you."
"Good." Colette confirmed as she exited the Hall.
Cura looked to the Keeper. "Well, I can say I wasn't expecting to see her here."
"I don't know. Perhaps the treaty you put in place has emboldened her." Carcette proposed before changing the subject. "Anyways, that Shrine near Whiterun.. what is that man thinking? It seems an obvious choice for the Mythic Dawn to search him out there."
"Then we have to move quickly!" Cura declared as she rushed downstairs to meet and explain the situation to her allies.
The Keeper entered the Alchemy lab and found Vigiant Tolan mixing a potion. "Vigilant Tolan, I'm putting you in charge for a time. I'm following up on that letter I received."
"Go with Stendarr, Keeper." Vigiant Tolan said kindly as he finished mixing the potion in its chambers. "Be careful out there. I have no doubts the Mythic Dawn isn't setting a trap."
"I'll have Cura."
Vigilant Tolan realized the fact and calmed almost immediately. "Oh, okay. Good. But still, she may be Dagonborn, but you're Human. Remember that."
Keeper Carcette laughed. "Oh, I remember it every time I feel a stiff pain in my knees. Don't you worry."
Age was not exactly on her side, either. She was no twenty-year-old anymore, that was certain. The one perk that came from being a Vampire was the lack of aging. Though, it did not outweigh the horrors attached.
Vigilant Tolan snorted with amusement. "I can sympathize with you there. With me it's the neck, but let's keep that between us, eh?"
"Of course, old friend." Carcette smiled as she left him to his matters.
Cura ascended the stairs with Inigo, Lucien and Vilja, and approached Carcette at the front door. "All right. Whatever's going on here; trap or no trap; we'll be ready for it."
Inigo agreed. "I will claw their eyes out with my bare hands if need be!"
Lucien rubbed the back of his neck. "Er... so, the Mythic Dawn. Are you serious? I haven't heard worse news since Alduin. And do I even have to explain why?"
Vilja shuddered. "Then it's a good thing that we know, isn't it? We can't let those creeps return to power. Even on Solstheim we knew what they did. They should all be put to the sword!"
"My friend, I am sorry that this is happening right before you can have your cool festival." Inigo passed his regret.
"It's all right, Inigo. I'd rather know about this." Cura stated truthfully. "Besides, I wouldn't mind being able to test out this new arm."
"That's the spirit, Candle!" Lucien laughed. "I saw that you have a built-in Crossbow; maybe put a few bolts in their foreheads. Spare everyone the trouble."
Keeper Carcette pushed the door open a crack. "Let's get to it. I want to know what's going on here." She left the Hall, and Cura followed with her friends.
Author's Note: If Silus Vesuius and his museum's mentioning seems familiar in this story, that's because he was first captured allll the way back in "Chapter 13:Building Bridges Part 2" by Carcette and the other Vigilants. The prelude we see here takes place a while before that ;)
