"Vernaccus and Bourlor
Hallgerd walked into the King's Ham that Loredas evening, his face clouded with sadness. While he ordered a mug of greef, his mates Garaz and Xiomara joined him with moderately sincere concern.
"What's wrong with you, Hallgerd?" asked Xiomara. "You're later than usual, and there's a certain air of tragedy you've dragged in with you. Have you lost money, or a nearest and dearest?"
"I haven't lost any money," Hallgerd grimaced. "But I've just received word from my nephew that my cousin Allioch has died. Perfectly natural, he says, just old age. Allioch was ten years younger than me."
"Aw, that's terrible. But it goes to show that it's important to savor all of life's possibilities, 'cause you never know when your time is coming," said Garaz, who had been sitting at the same stool at the smoky cornerclub for the last several hours. He was not one cursed with self-awareness.
"Life's short all right," agreed Xiomara. "But if you'll pardon a sentimental thought, few of us are aware of the influence we'll have after our deaths. Perhaps there's comfort there. For example, have I told you the story about Vernaccus and Bourlor?"
"I don't believe so," said Hallgerd.
Vernaccus was a daedra (said Xiomara, throwing a few dribbles on flin on the hearth to cast the proper mood), and though our tale took place many, many years ago, it would be fair to say that Vernaccus still is one. For what after all is time to the immortal daedra?
"Actually," Garaz interrupted. "I understand that the notion of immortality-"
"I am trying to offer our friend an inspirational tale in his hour of need," Xiomara growled. "I don't have all bloody night to tell it, if you don't mind."
You wouldn't have heard of Vernaccus (said Xiomara, abandoning the theme of immortality for the time being) for even at the height of his power and fame, he was considered feeble by the admittedly high standards of the day. Of course, this lack of respect infuriated him, and his reaction was typical of lesser daedra. He went on a murderous rampage.
Soon word spread through all the villages in the Colovian West of the unholy terror. Whole families had been butchered, castles destroyed, orchards and fields torched and cursed so nothing would ever grow there again.
To make things even worse for the villagers, Vernaccus began getting visitations from an old rival of his from Oblivion. She was a daedra seducer named Horavatha, and she delighted in taunting him to see how angry she could make him become.
"You've flooded a village and that's supposed to be impressive?" she would sneer. "Try collapsing a continent, and maybe you'll get a little attention."
Vernaccus could become pretty angry. He didn't come very close to collapsing the continent of Tamriel, but it wasn't for lack of trying.
A hero was needed to face the mad daedra, and fortunately, one was available.
His name was Bourlor, and it was said that he had been blessed by the goddess Kynareth. That was the only explanation for his inhuman accuracy with his bow and arrow, for he never missed a target. As a child he had driven his marksmanship tutors wild with frustration. They would tell him how to plant his feet, how to nock a bolt, the proper grip for the cord, the best method of release. He ignored all the rules, and somehow, every time, the arrow would catch a breath of wind and sail directly to his target. It did not matter if the quarry was moving or still, at very close range or miles away. Whatever he wanted to strike with his arrow would be struck.
Bourlor answered the call when one of the village mayors begged him for help. Unfortunately, he was not as great a horseman as he was an archer. As he rode through the forest toward the mayor's town, a place called Evensacon, Vernaccus was already murdering everyone there. Horavatha watched, and stifled back a yawn.
"Murdering a small town mayor isn't going to put you in famous company, you know. What you need is a great champion to defeat. Someone like Ysgramor or Pelinal Whitestrake or-" she stared at the figure emerging from the forest. "That fellow!"
"Who's he?" growled Vernaccus between bites of the mayor's quivering body.
"The greatest archer in Tamriel. He's never missed."
Bourlor had his bow strung and was pointing it at the daedra. For a moment, Vernaccus felt like laughing—the fellow was not even aiming straight—but he had a well-honed sense of self-preservation. There was something about the man's look of confidence that convinced the daedra that Horavatha wasn't lying. As the bolt left the bow, Vernaccus vanished in a sheet of flame.
The arrow impaled a tree. Bourlor stood and stared. He had missed a target.
In Oblivion, Vernaccus raged. Fleeing before a mortal man like that—not even the basest scamp would have been so craven. He had exposed himself for the weak, cowardly creature he was. As he considered what steps to take to salvage the situation, he found himself face-to-knee with the most fearsome of the Daedra Princes, Molag Bal.
"I never thought anything much of you, Vernaccus," the giant boomed. "But you have more than proven your worth. You have shown the creatures of Mundus that the daedra are more powerful than the blessings of the Gods."
The other denizens of Oblivion quickly agreed (as they always did) with the view of Molag Bal. The daedra are, after all, always very sensitive about their various defeats at the hands of mortal champions. Vernaccus was proclaimed The Elusive Beast, The Unpursuable One, He Who Cannot Be Touched, The Bane of Kynareth. Shrines devoted to him began to be built in remote corners of Morrowind and Skyrim.
Bourlor meanwhile, now found flawed, was never again called to rescue a village. He was so heartbroken over his failure to strike his target that he became a hermit, and never restrung his bow again. Some months later, he died, unmourned and unremembered.
"Is this really the tale you thought would cheer me?" asked Hallgerd incredulously. "I've heard the King of Worms told more inspirational stories."
"Wait," smiled Xiomara. "I'm not finished yet."
For a year's time, Vernaccus was content to watch his legend grow and his fledging worship spread from his home in Oblivion. He was, in addition to being cowardly and inclined toward murderous rages, also a very lazy creature. His worshippers told tales of their Master avoiding the bolts of a thousand archers, of moving through oceans without getting wet, and other feats of avoidance that he would rather not have to demonstrate in person. The real story of his ignominious retreat from Bourlor was thankfully forgotten.
The bad news, when it came, was delivered to him with some relish by Horavatha. He had delighted in her jealousy at his growing reputation, so it was with a cruel smile she told him, "Your shrines are being assaulted."
"Who dares?" he roared.
"Everyone who passes them in the wilderness feels the need to throw a stone," Horavatha purred. "You can hardly blame them. After all, they represent He Who Cannot Be Touched. How could anyone be expected to resist such a target?"
Vernaccus peered through the veil into the world of Mundus and saw that it was true. One of his shrines in Colovian West country was surrounded by a large platoon of mercenary soldiers, who delighted in pelting it with rocks. His worshippers huddled inside, praying for a miracle.
In an instant, he appeared before the mercenaries and his rage was terrifying to behold. They fled into the woods before he even had a chance to murder one of them. His worshippers threw open the wooden door to the shrine and dropped to their knees in joy and fear. His anger melted. Then a stone struck him.
Then another. He turned to face his assailants, but the air was suddenly filled with rocks.
Vernaccus could not see them, but he heard mercenaries in the woods laugh, "It's not even trying to move out of the way!"
"It's impossible not to hit him!" guffawed another.
With a roar of humiliation, the daedra bounded into the shrine, chased by the onslaught. One of the stones knocked the door closed behind him, striking him in the back. His face broke, anger and embarrassment disappearing, replaced by pain. He turned, shaking, to his worshippers who huddled in the shadows of the shrine, their faith shattered.
"Where did you get the wood to build this shrine?" Vernaccus groaned.
"Mostly from a copse of trees near the village of Evensacon," his high-priest shrugged.
Vernaccus nodded. He dropped forward, revealing the deep wound in his back. A rusted arrowhead buried in a whorl in the wood of the door had jolted loose in the assault and impaled him. The daedra vanished in a whirlwind of dust.
The shrines were abandoned shortly thereafter, though Vernaccus did have a brief resurgence as the Patron Spirit of Limitations and Impotence before fading from memory altogether. The legend of Bourlor himself never became very well known either, but there are still some who tell the tale, like myself. And we have the advantage of knowing what the Great Archer himself didn't know on his deathbed—his final arrow found its target after all."
When they found an open, secluded location eastward of the Mathmalatu Priory, Cura had spent possibly hours practicing her Destructive Spells against Arch-Mage Savos Aren, with Mirabelle as the arbiter between them. They were measuring her skill with magic and her ability to improvise and adapt.
"You're quite good. I'm impressed." Savos Aren admitted as he cast a Greater Ward to absorb a pair of oncoming Firebolts. On impact, the ward shattered and he was staggered backwards. "Oof! You're quite magically gifted, I will say. Perhaps it's the better part of your Altmer heritage that grants you potent magicka."
"Hopefully it will be enough to touch Vernaccus." Cura hoped. After all, she'd heard of the One who could not be touched.
Savos continued. "Yes; consider me - "
Cura quickly charged up a lightning bolt and loosed it. Before he could react, Savos Aren took the hit and staggered backwards.
Mirabelle scoffed. "That wasn't really a fair shot, but I will let it slide due to the nature of the opponent you will be facing."
"Mirabelle, are you really encouraging foul play amongst our student body?" Savos gasped with great surprise at Mirabelle's untraditional reaction.
The Master Wizard shrugged her shoulders. "This is a measure of strength and of resilience in Coldharbour. I needn't worry about other students getting a false impression of College regulations here. Not that they apply, regardless."
"Fine. If you say so." Savos quickly hurled a large wave of Unbound Flames at Cura, who diligently raised Spellbreaker to guard it.
"Excellent reflexes. Tell me again how you lost your arm to Alduin?" Mirabelle was baffled by the notion. So far, as they practiced, Cura was evading and blocking most attacks.
"I was careless. I wanted to go in for a lunge, but was staggered backwards and the wyrm took the opportunity to take a piece of me." Cura recounted the horrific tale. "Oh, well. At least it's one piece of me Coldharbour can never touch."
She looked to the large Fortress some distance away, which framed the Waterfront District. To pass the gate and head into Coldharbour proper, she will have to fight the foul-tempered Daedra. His reputation was one of infamy; having destroyed many villages in his time.
All Cura had was Markarth to her name.
Though, only as the Dragonborn. Could she manage such a feat now? Not that she would want to - that was horrific.
A cloud of unease hung over the dark land. She could not explain it exactly, but Cura felt the gnawing sensation that she was overblowing her opponent. Perhaps Vernaccus wasn't quite what he was built up to be. Most legends often were blown out of proportion.
She knew what she had to focus on was not herself - but him. She may have been the Dragonborn, but she was raised a Vigilant of Stendarr. Not many would relish such an upbringing, but it was a source of pride for the young Breton. She felt as though this was what she was meant to do. Alduin was for the Dragonborn, the Daedra for the Vigilant.
"To fight here, you may have to be a tad more creative with your spells." Mirabelle warned her honestly. "I cannot say with certainty that I know what awaits you, but you can be certain that this is not Skyrim."
"You seem to have some kind of prescience. Why can't you tell me more?" Cura wondered how it worked.
"There are some areas that we simply cannot go. Where the Dark Influence is at its strongest, we will be unable to follow you." Mirabelle moved her bangs behind her right ear as she explained it. This admission did not set Cura at ease in the slightest.
A dreadful silence hung in the air as the foreboding winds of desolation passed through them.
"So, I suppose I'll be on my own for the most part." Cura asked for confirmation.
"Yes. I am sorry." Mirabelle apologized.
Cura walked to the cliff's overlook and gazed upon the doomed landscape, narrowing her eyes onto the fortress. "Don't apologize; I understand. You're beholden to Aetherius now. Unlike me, who is consigned to Oblivion."
Savos Aren cringed lightly, turning his shoulders upwards. "When you put it that way... gosh. I wish there was more we could do for you, Cura. I really wish there was."
Cura shook her head, dismissing the regrets and giving them a soft smile. "Just being here for me is enough." Truly, their support in such a dark place meant more to her than they could ever realize. She pointed to the dark fortress off in the distance. "How will I get inside? I don't suppose Vernaccus leaves his key under the rug."
Mirabelle began to walk down the crags, beckoning Cura to follow. "You would be surprised, Cura. It was in a simple place, and the worshipper of Nocturnal beneath the bridge has it."
Cura was surprised to hear it. "Worshipper of Nocturnal?"
Was he a thief?
"A bandit named Balor." Savos Aren pulled the name out of the air. "Go inside and do business with him, and you will get the key to Fort Verin."
Cura descended the cliff and Mirabelle led her to the door of the Highwayman's Shop that she'd bypassed earlier shortly after attempting to help the blind woman Martha find her family's graves. Mirabelle nodded to her when she approached, and Cura pushed the door open.
Inside of the pitiful shop was a Statue to Nocturnal - the Daedric Prince of Shadows, Luck, and Thieves - cleavage nearly exposed, and cut dress around her sides. She was accompanied by two ravens around her hands. On the side adjacent were many crates, barrels, tools, and pots lain about in an orderly chaotic fashion. Sitting upon the slab of a desk was a man in black, studded armour with his head wrapped entirely in bandages. When he felt Cura's presence he spoke up. "Oh, no... you have that aura about you. You're one of those idiotic Vigilants of Stendarr, aren't you?"
Cura clutched the handle of her mace. "How could you tell?"
"I could feel it. That holier-than-thou bullshit you dragged into my shop on your boots. Ugh." Balor grunted. Judging by the state of him, and him being here, Cura could only surmise that a Vigilant may have ended his life. Was he a Vampire, perhaps?
Next to his counter she observed what looked like a charred corpse. It was merely consisted of bones and ash. More macabre imagery brought to this beautiful theme park of depression. She returned her attention to Balor.
The crude man began to laugh. "Ha ha ha. Did the mighty Vigilant also end up in Coldharbour? What an irony!" he pointed forward and mocked her.
Deadlands, not Coldharbour. Cura restrained herself from volunteering that information, as she was certain telling him she willingly came to Coldharbour would either make him feel worse, or give him ammunition against her.
He continued. "So what will it be? I hope you have enough gold for shopping, and please, refrain from this so-called 'mercy' of yours."
"Er... if I could ask; why is your face wrapped up like that?" Cura expressed a little bit of concern upon seeing them. It was unnerving.
Balor touched his covered face. "I got infected with a mutated Thrassian Plague. All thanks to you. Every day is full of pain because of you." the disappointed venom in his voice made it sound as if she were culpable, but Cura knew she'd never met him before. It was certain he was talking of the 'royal' you, blaming his misfortunes on her collective organization.
"I'm really grateful to Stendarr. Damn bastard!" Balor crudely snapped at the Divine.
Such a blasphemy was unforgivable to a follower of Stendarr.
The dark intonation caused Cura to flinch towards the end. She nearly brought her mace out on reflex, anticipating the start to a fight, but quickly restrained herself. No; he's gone through enough. She figured perhaps he needed someone to talk to about it. She may not be the best person, but so far, as it seemed, she and he were the only lucid ones around here, save for the two Knights and the snarky Inquisitor who obviously wouldn't care. "How did it happen?" she pulled up a chair and sat down before him.
"Are you joking?" Balor scoffed with disbelief. "How do you think? I came into contact with plague leeches, and -"
"Not the plague. The Vigilant who killed you." Cura cut down to it. "How did it happen?"
"Long story short, I lost a bet to some woman. She gouged out my eye and shoved this strange stone in its place. I'm still not exactly sure what it was, but it was red." Balor massaged his brow through the bandages as he recounted the horrible tale. "And since then everyone I so much looked at went mad. It was exhausting. Then this Vigilant guy - Altano - came along his merry way and drove a curved blade through my chest. Right there in the Inn at Kynesgrove. Called it Stendarr's Mercy." He scoffed. "Stendarr's Mercy. Pah! Stendarr's Mercy would be a boot shoved up that bastard's ass."
Cura took all of it in. "By the gods... maybe it was the dark power of your false eye? Maybe it drove the Vigilant mad, too?"
"No. That's the thing; the son of a bitch was completely lucid." Balor admitted. "His eyes were cold as ice. Maybe that's just a Vigilant thing?"
Cura shook her head. "No. I assure you it isn't. We're not perfect, but we wouldn't just kill someone like that."
"You're sure about that?" Balor laughed. "Maybe you should pull your head out of the dirt and take a good look at your own organization. Clearly they couldn't do much for you anyways."
Cura pulled her chair back, and the legs made a loud, wooden screech. She took a deep breath and calmed herself down before continuing. "Do you have the key to Fort Verin?"
The man had no face to tell, but he glared in her direction. "Fort Verin? What are you going in there for? Don't tell me you actually think you can kill Vernaccus." he chuckled there towards the end.
"I will, and I will head North, past the gate." Cura informed him. "You're welcome to join me. I intend to break this realm open."
The deafening silence spoke volumes.
And then Balor broke it. "Gods. You're serious. You must have some sorta death wish. Can't say I blame you. Your gods have given up on you." He almost sounded as if he'd put his pettiness aside for a shot of pity upon hearing Cura's declaration of war.
The Breton was serious. She'd come all this way for two things: the return of the fullness of her power, and justice upon Molag Bal. "The key. How much are you selling it for?"
Balor was in shock. "You're really committed to this whole kill-the-Daedra thing, huh? Fine - if it gets you out of my hair... whatever's left of it... 100 gold. That's all."
Without so much as another word, Cura immediately tossed a coin purse onto the counter beside him and he began to loosen the string, pouring out the coins to check them, sliding them one-by-one with his finger into a pile as he counted them in his head. "Yeah. All right. Talk to the statue. She'll give it to ya." He nudged his head in the direction of the Shrine to Nocturnal.
Cura approached the Daedric Shrine. "Nocturnal; I've paid my dues. I request the Key to Fort Verin."
Immediately, a feminine voice responded to her from beyond the room and the statue began to glow with a violet light. "You wish, Cura, for power. With it you can thrash at shadows and have a hope. If I brought you this hope, what would you bring me? Would you destroy one who brings me pain?"
Cura pondered the request for a moment, to Balor's disbelief. He witnessed the entire spectacle within the very same room, though his sight was severely hampered by the bandages surrounding his face.
Cura looked to the graven image. "Who causes you pain? What are they doing? Are they within reach of me currently?" If they were in Coldharbour it would be simple enough. After a few moments of silence passed, Cura nodded. "...I understand. Fine. I suppose it would be merciful in the end. I will do it."
"Very well. May my fortunes guide you. Accept them, for you will need them if you are to see the fall of Molag Bal." A rusted old key materialized in the small basin at the feet of the statue.
"Thank you, Nocturnal." Cura respectfully lowered her head as she pocketed the key. This wasn't the first time she'd heard the voice of a Daedra. And it certainly will not be the last.
Balor stared in Cura's direction in disbelief. "No... no freaking way. Are you serious?"
Cura turned around to look at him. "What?"
Balor jumped up from his seat and pointed at the Statue. "I was kidding! She wasn't supposed to... just who in Oblivion ARE you?"
Cura crossed her arms. "The woman you made a bet with was a woman named Bal. A Necromancess. You were doing business with someone who served the Lord of Domination."
Balor froze for a moment as a cold sweat ran down his back. "Huh? Well... uh..."
"You tried to worm your way out of debt with Nocturnal after your last few heists had gone awry. You originally worked with the Blood Horkers, weren't you?" Cura asked.
"Well, that was a long time ago... two years ago. I quit after our heist was stopped by this Erik kid and his mage friend." Balor scoffed. "What the hell is it to you?"
Cura placed a hand on the hilt of her mace. "You were supposed to bring two coffers of gold to Nocturnal's shrine in the mountains, but you gave up on your task. You instead spent it on ale and mead, and when the Daedric Prince sent one of her Nightingales to collect, you ran and hid. Then you decided to gamble your very soul to Molag Bal for profit. Fool."
"I was desperate, you self-righteous hypocrite!" the brigand shouted at her. "What would you know about it? Huh? You're cushioned by that pansy, Stendarr! You can guzzle on his long, gilded horn and choke on it for all I care."
Without a moment's hesitation, Cura brought her mace across his head, tearing it off his shoulders. Blood sprayed against the wall as his corpse fell limp and his head began to roll. The shadows of Nocturnal seeped out from the statue and enveloped his body. The Daedric Prince claimed her dues at last, and justice was served.
At least, that was what Cura would tell herself for the time being. She was in Coldharbour now. It didn't matter anyways.
She pushed open the door and reemerged outside, where Mirabelle and Savos were waiting for her.
"Oh... I take it things didn't go well?" Savos wondered upon noticing the fresh blood sprayed on Cura's robes.
"I freed a jerk from this nightmare." Cura tried to wipe some of the unclean blood from her robes. Considering that this man apparently had the Thrassian Plague, perhaps wearing his blood on her person wasn't the best of ideas. She hurried to the sands and rolled the fabric around in the dirt itself, causing most of the blood to soak into it.
A new outfit could wait for the meantime. She had work to do.
When the moisture was taken from the blood, all that remained was a damp stain on the front. It sort of blended in with all the others at this point. The fabric was so crusted she was certain it would tear at a light touch.
Colette Marence gave her these robes as a parting gift and she'd utterly destroyed them. How inconsiderate of her. Cura fastened them back on over her armour and tied the belt and sashed her satchel over her right shoulder. Ready for business.
After some trekking, she, Mirabelle and Savos stood before the daunting double doors to Fort Verin. Two Scamps stood as security, but the three of them dispatched them easily with Welling Blood.
"Cura, be warned; we cannot enter this accursed place. Once you push open those doors, you will be on your own." Savos informed her.
The Breton understood as much. She'd been alone before; this was just another of those instances. Hopefully she would keep her limbs this time. "All right. If I'm not back in a day's time, I suppose there's nothing that you could do anyways. Just... wish me luck, please?"
Mirabelle promised. "Of course. Take care of yourself. Vernaccus is hot-headed and quite stupid. Keep that in mind when you face him."
"I will." Cura said as she twisted the key in the lock and pushed open the doors. To get that key, she killed an unarmed man. She felt that at this point, she could not judge the Daedra - she was beginning to fit right in with them.
With a creaking noise, Cura entered the dark fortress while Mirabelle and Savos engaged some Daedroths and Ogrim that were alerted by the noise. Sir Juncan looked over from his position at the gate with his mouth hung open upon seeing the spectacle.
"Hot damn. She really is doing it." he muttered to himself as he watched the battle ensue.
"Welcome to Fort Verin, Cura..." the Vigilant muttered to herself as she set foot in the eclectic stone tower. She was greeted with a dismal, dimly-lit environment reeking of dust and decay. She looked at the door behind her. It was a shame Mirabelle and Savos were prevented from entering this place, but that simply meant she had to be a little more creative in her attempts here.
One step, two steps, three steps. Each time her boots touched the ground the metal clank reverberated off the dense, high ceilings. Her chainmail tingled, as well, chiming faintly with each movement.
Click, clack, tack, clunk. Tink.
Silence surrounded her otherwise.
Long, cubic rectangular columns of foreign design held up the roof. A mahogany-coloured carpet stretched down the main hall.
The crackling of torchfire as she passed some stone braziers.
It seemed desolate; a little too desolate. Cura kept her senses sharp and her wits about her, looking around in search of traps.
She went down a narrow corridor with an imposing statue of Molag Bal and was immediately greeted with a fast-flung fireball, hurled at her by a Scamp Warlord in Daedric Armour. He snarled as he began to launch more as he closed the distance between them.
Easy enough.
Cura held up Spellbreaker and met the fiend halfway before engaging in combat. With a few parries and her trusty mace in hand, Cura disarmed and then struck down the Scamp and hurried onwards.
When she headed past the imposing statue she found herself engaged with lesser Scamps who were seated at an oval-shaped table of stone with four stone beds lined up against the back wall. She backed out of the room to grant some distance and cast a Frenzy spell on one of them, turning them against each other and picking off the nearest one first. The frenzied one was struck down and she ended the fight with the last one, splitting his skull inwards.
Cura yanked her mace back out of the oozing flesh and continued onwards, sprinting down the hall to the other side, where she ascended a flight of stairs. After all, these towers only went in one direction: up. And if Vernaccus was half the egotist the legend made him out to be, the only floor she would ever find him on would be the top one.
When she turned around a corner, she found herself in a pit where the bones of mortals were discarded. They were strewn about everywhere disgustingly, piled along the walls. However, the worst sight was by far the skeletal quadrupedal creature that glared at her from the shadows, bearing the skull of a human and a body contorted and mixed with several bones incorrectly to nearly resemble what she would think of as a Chaurus. It chattered, its jaws smacking together and gnashing teeth as it scuttled across the bones and rushed towards her.
With a frightened movement, Cura plunged Dawnbreaker into its distorted head, causing blue flames to erupt and consume more bones, lighting up the darkness and revealing more of these abominations.
Cura hurried up the stairs to gain the high ground and cast a Fire Rune, which the others clumsily burst into and fell into ashes upon the floor. No more chattering could be heard and Cura blew a sigh of relief. Even with all the terrors she'd encountered, those grotesque Bone Crawlers were disturbing.
Immediately, an arrow struck her in the left shoulder as a Scamp Shadow Warrior fired another, and then another, from a platform above. Cura hurried up the stairs, holding her shield nearly like an umbrella to guard against more falling arrows. When she made it to the top she smashed him in the head with her mace and kicked his frail body off the platform about seventy feet downwards into the bone pit. No sight was seen; just the sound of a crash and lots of hollow clattering.
Cura yanked the arrow out of her shoulder and cast a Healing Spell. With a shudder, she ventured into the dusty old halls, numb to the pain.
When she reached the midpoint, she noticed a room to her left, and opened the barred door. She saw a figure wearing Alessian Priest robes, and she tried to get his attention, thinking that perhaps he could be spoken to; reasoned with.
Her only response was a guttural grunt and a flagrant assault with his Steel sword. Cura was swift to parry it and took him down with a firm mace drop to the forehead. She turned back and closed the door behind her, ascending the stairs once more.
She didn't feel like herself. She felt ugly; dubious. She sighed as she relived her days in Cidhna Mine as the darkness filled her heart. Where was the light? Where was her hope?
Cura angrily smashed the knees of one of the Molag Bal statues, letting him know exactly what she thought and what to expect the next time they should meet.
Her thoughts returned to Serana.
What Molag Bal did to Serana.
Cura growled angrily and tipped the statue over by fiercely yanking on it, tearing it down from its pedestal and causing it to smash against the floor. She continued on her way.
She cleaved through a few more Scamps, and ascended more stairs.
More stairs.
And more stairs.
Was there no end to these blasted stairs?
After one final turn, she came upon a large doorway. She could see a throne room ahead. Wiping the sweat off her brow, Cura collected herself.
When Cura was certain she had reached the top of the fortress, she bounded into the large throne room with six rectangular columns lined neatly, forming adjacent rows. They stretched further and further, leading to a throne underneath a statue of Molag Bal framed in a gothic enclave. The long, mahogany-coloured carpet ran the length of the floor from the door to the forum before the throne which rested between two flags depicting Molag Bal's face and two large plates of fire underneath them.
Seated upon the throne was a blonde-haired Dremora with red skin and a face crossed with black tattoos and horns jutting long out of his forehead, wearing sharp Daedric Armour. He leaned his face on his fist as his elbow rested upon the chair. His eyes, lit with the fires of Coldharbour itself focused upon the approaching challenger. From the moment he saw her he realized what she was.
"Welcome, Vigilant of Stendarr. My name is Vernaccus. I am the Bane of Kyne!" the Daedra announced proudly. "Your ilk humiliated me before, but now I will repay you a hundredfold!"
"You don't even know me, you delusional fiend." Cura scoffed.
"Oh, but I do! You wish to defy Lord Molag Bal!" Vernaccus hissed. "You mortals and your arrogance. Death comes for you now!"
He quickly stood up from his throne and Cura raised her shield and readied her mace. "Here we go."
Author's Note: "Dragon's Dogma OST - A Rude Awakening (Hydra Battle theme)" for Vernaccus
Fire collected itself around the Daedra as he drew his longsword and he dashed forward at blinding speed, leaving a great trail of flame in his wake as he collided with Cura, clashing against Spellbreaker.
When the blade made contact, fire swarmed around the Breton, engulfing her around her shield and causing her to leap over to the side in a desperate attempt to dodge the embers. Normally, this would be the part where she'd knock him off-kilter with Unrelenting Force, but she could not find it in her to do so.
Instead, she rolled around a pillar to create distance between them and summoned a ghostly wolf familiar out of the air and commanded it to attack him.
The canine lunged for the Daedra and snapped its jaws down around his leg before he could move again, and Vernaccus was forced to pry the wolf off. "Hah! Do you think your cheap parlour tricks are going to deter me, Breton?" He kicked the wolf away, causing it to dissipate into the flames. It was then that he realized that Cura was nowhere to be seen. "Huh?"
She'd casted an Invisibility spell on herself and laid a Frost Rune beside the pillar. She dashed around behind him and shoved him directly into it using Spellbreaker and Longstride to propel herself forward.
"I just needed to slow you down!" Cura scoffed as his foot made contact with the Frost Rune and his lower half, stomach, and arms, became frozen solid as a result. Cura was under no illusion that it would last: she knew he would melt the ice fast enough, but not before she could stick Dawnbreaker down his annoying gullet. She lunged forward to do exactly that, when the Daedra erupted with flame once again and smashed her forward, driving his sword through her armour and carrying her on the edge of it through the air and into a wall.
Cura hit the hard, brown stone and slid off the sword and plummeted to the ground on a harsh angle and slid across the floor. Thankfully the armour was not penetrated.
Vernaccus granted her no quarter; he immediately rushed towards her and drove his sword down, surrounded in snaking flames. When Cura rolled to dodge it, the explosion of fire emitted by the impact caught her. With a painful grunt, she clenched her teeth and scrambled quickly to her feet, only to be caught again in a quick burst of sword and flame as the Daedra lunged for her. Cura cast a Frost Cloak in the hopes of drowning out some of the fire that threatened her from all around. The icy mist provided brief respite, pushing back against some of the embers and granting her a break in the wall of fire to jump out.
Gods, she wished she had the Shout to Whirlwind Sprint right about now.
Vernaccus was relentless. He came for her again and again and again. She blocked one hit, then two, then three, then four. It was a contest of endurance. A deceased mortal, or a Daedra. Cura slid backwards a couple of inches with each impending blow, until eventually her back was to the wall, and she could see him charging up for a flaming lunge again.
Thinking quickly, Cura grew a cocky grin, which angered the Daedra. She put her sword away and gestured with two fingers for him to come and attack her.
"YOU DARE MOCK ME, MORTAL?" Vernaccus roared as he blasted forward, ready to cut her head off.
That was when Cura quickly raised a large stone wall in front of her from the ground, and Vernaccus collided with it head-on at high speeds, tearing through it. Cura leapt out of the way and used the crumbling stones as momentary shelter from the bellowing flames that kissed the air. Vernaccus' upper body became buried in the fortress wall.
His second most humiliating defeat, Cura presumed. "Goodness, Vernaccus. Doors with arrowheads on them, stone walls... architecture really doesn't seem to be your friend. Perhaps if I were to let you live the stairs would finish the job for me."
In that instant, a massive explosion of fire blasted through the wall and caused Cura to fly backwards as Vernaccus' inhuman screams of humiliation and relentless fury filled the air. "GGGRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGH! YOU DARE! YOU DARE! YOU'RE FINISHED, MORTAL! FINISHED!"
The Daedra jumped up and down like a frustrated, teething toddler refused his favourite treat, and with each stomp a ring of fire blasted outwards.
Cura was not even frightened; she was more amused than anything. She remembered the legends; of his failures and his temperament and his foolish nature. She had the Daedra right where she needed him, and took her own advice from before. She slowly began to walk to her left, angling herself between Vernaccus and the door leading to the stairway, glancing briefly periodically as she sidled along, keeping her back to the doorframe. "Give it your best shot, Patron Spirit of Impotence." she taunted as she squeezed her toes, readying to leap.
Vernaccus took the bait, hook, line, and sinker. He blasted forward with the greatest of his fury and Cura simply leapt over to the left. With her out of the way, Vernaccus had mere seconds to realize his mistake before he went tumbling down the staircase, shattering his spine below the skull when his head made contact with the wall. Then his body continued to toss and flip its way down, his sword flying from his hand and bouncing off the wall.
He was dead long before he made contact with the bottom. Killed by his own momentum. Fascinatingly enough, what appeared to be an old bow forged of ancient wood, surrounded by a light breeze slid from his person and knocked into the wall beside him.
Cura slowly descended the stairs and looked upon his body. She leaned down and searched his belt, removing what looked to be the Key to the Waterfront District Gate. "In the end, you couldn't dodge your own foolishness." She took the discarded bow into her hands and examined it. She wondered if, by it's mystical nature, it was Bourlor's Bow.
The thought amused her; this Daedra who was so proud of himself that once his pride was scorned, he went out of his way to search for the one symbol of his single victory. A one-time fluke. She decided that she would keep the bow for the time being. She had Auriel's Bow, which was more than adequate, but perhaps, should she find him, Inigo would like to hold the legendary Bourlor's Bow. No doubt Lucien would be frothing at the mouth to touch it, himself.
She began to miss her friends again.
She found an interesting ring on Vernaccus' finger. It was the legendary Orkey's Fire Clutch Ring. She looted that quickly. She wondered what else she could find on him.
Suddenly, Cura began to feel a strange sensation as Vernaccus' blood began to pool out of him and made contact with her boots. The blood became absorbed through her clothing and armour in a black mist, and swirled around her, and flowed into her body. It felt like fire itself was being pulled into her.
Cura clutched her chest and staggered backwards as the energy overcame her with great anguish. She cried out as she was lifted into the air and engulfed in flames. A brief vision of Molag Bal flashed before her eyes.
The cold, dark eyes of the Daedric Prince pierced Cura's very soul, unnerving her greatly as fire spread around them both in a white halo of red and blue ignited sulfur. The flames burned hot, and it felt as if the ground beneath her were melting, and freezing, in some peculiar twist of fashion.
The beast's voice was gravelly and twisted; a reflection of Molag Bal himself. "How fragile you mortals are."
Cura clapped back in defiance. "You despicable roach! Why do you play with people as if we are just your puppets?"
The Daedric Prince's voice dampened, growing more and more hostile with each gnawing word. "Because you disgust me. It infuriates me when I see the Aetherius inside you. I despise all of creation, all of Mundus. And I despise you insignificant mortals most of all, so brilliant in your goodness, your... innocence." Flames surrounded the demon, bridging a gap between himself and Cura. "I will devour you and all the Aetherius. I will never stop until everything... is... mine."
Cura shook her head in stark defiance. "You and your kind do not belong in our world. If you hate us so much, why do you waste so much time bothering with us?"
"For the very same reason why you insist on bothering me as of late; you too have a great deal of hatred in your heart. You play the part of the martyr, the hero, the saint, the saviour... but deep down within, you are as dark and broken and mangled as I am. Your heart is filled with darkness and your white robes clad in the gore of innocents and guilty alike." Molag Bal touched his chest, just over his heart as he stated this. He pointed a long, clawed finger at the concerned Cura, who began to rethink herself on his words. "You are corrupt, Dragonborn. That is why your gods refused to save you from the Mythic Dawn. From me. They preserved you because of your role in Alduin's defeat, but you no longer matter in the grand scheme of things. You're... a nobody."
"Shut up! That's enough out of you!" Cura snapped.
"Your pride and your arrogance are why you fit in here. Your anger, your bitterness, your insecurity... it's delicious to witness. You may hide it with a kind exterior, but I have always seen the monster underneath. Getting you to kill your little friend did not take much nudging on my part; you had the violence in you. You always have. You savoured it like sweet honey. The carnage dripping onto your tongue like sweet nectar. Like a child clinging to its mother's bosom you drink from the teats of barbarity." Molag Bal laughed.
"STOP IT!" Cura barked like an enraged hound as she desperately tried to cover her ears. "Be silent! Stop!" She didn't want to hear any more of this.
Demonic laughter filled the air around her for thirty seconds, though it seemed hours in her state of mind. "The truth hurts, doesn't it? You don't like that very much. As a hypocrite myself, I find it unsurprising. I wonder how Balor feels about you punishing him on Nocturnal's behalf for the key to this fort? You justified it as his betrayal of her in favour of me being grounds to kill him. What, then, about how many times you've been unfaithful to your Stendarr? Hmm? Meridia, Azura, and now Nocturnal. You really seem to desire to worship us Daedra, because you understand us better. Deep down, you are more like us than like the Aedra."
"I said ENOUGH!" Cura roared back at him. Her shout tore through his words and blew back the ethereal fire that surrounded them. All was still between herself and the Daedric Prince.
"You can coat your intentions with as much honey and sugar as you want, but when meat is rotten, those things will only add to the... distaste."
With those words, the Daedric Prince disappeared, leaving Cura alone in the darkness for a moment. She was lowered to the ground, unscathed, but very, very confused. "Wh...what just happened?"
A cold wind blew around her as a familiar face cut through the dry darkness. "You absorbed a Piece of Bal's power." came the voice of Martin Septim, who reappeared to her after so long.
Fear.
That was the one emotion Cura could recognize amidst the flood of them pushing her along. She looked down at her chest, and at her hands. "I... I did what?"
"Don't let the Daedra's words shake you. Remember who you are, Cura. That you have a will of your own." Martin placed his caring hands upon her shoulders. "Never lose yourself, and you will be able to tame the Stone-Fire."
Cura shivered as the thoughts of what Molag Bal had said convicted her. "But he wasn't wrong, Martin. Everything... everything he said is true."
"Molag Bal has a tendency to use the truth to propel his falsehoods; to deceive." Martin warned. "He fears you. He fears your great power, and the last thing he, Mehrunes Dagon, and the other Princes who wish to tear Tamriel apart want is for you to reclaim your aspect of Akatosh."
Of course. That was the first thought Cura had when Molag began to speak. She walked back through the fortress, looking at her handiwork ridden throughout the halls: it was a slaughter. There was no question about it. The silence of the halls were genuine now; the stillness of the dead and the sounds of Cura and Martin were all there was.
"So I take it the Amulet of Kings is within the heart of the supposed pseudo Imperial City?" Cura asked the former Dragonborn.
Martin Septim nodded. "Yes. It will pain me greatly to see such a mockery of the Imperial City, but I will see you through this." As soon as they stepped out of the fortress, Martin vanished once again, to Cura's annoyance. She muttured to herself. "That's... not seeing me through at all."
Though, perhaps he was beholden to limitations like Mirabelle and Savos Aren were.
As soon as she stepped outside she saw the two of them, Sir Juncan, and a large number of slain Daedra strewn about. "Oh."
Mirabelle fixed her hair and turned to see the doors open. "Ah, there she is now."
Savos Aren came over to look at his former student. "I'll take it you've achieved victory over the Daedra, then?"
Cura held up the key to the Waterfront District Gate and twirled it between her index and middle fingers. "Yes. He was tough, but I have faced worse, to be honest."
"And you're about to now. Beyond that Gate is Menta-Na, the flying worm. But you're stronger than you look, so we'll see how you fare." Sir Juncan approached her, accompanying her to the gate.
Sir Amiel waited at the portcullis itself, and waved to the Dragonborn. "You... you actually did it. You defeated Vernaccus. Colour me impressed, my lady. I didn't think..."
Cura placed the key in the lock. "Do you want to join my party now?" she asked him.
Sir Amiel and Sir Juncan looked at one another, and pondered what it would mean. "To fight alongside other knights with a cause again..." Sir Amiel thought about it.
Sir Juncan agreed. "To serve a Dragonborn again... if what these two wizards say is true." He gestured to Mirabelle and Savos when he said this.
"I assure you; it is." Mirabelle proclaimed. "She defeated the one who wielded the Eye of Magnus and Alduin himself. I suppose Vernaccus was a mere warm-up for her."
Sir Amiel's eyes grew wide. "Truly?"
Cura nodded. "Yes. Now, my offer stands. What do you say? Will you join me?"
Sir Juncan leaned against the Portcullis and watched as the bars slid upwards into the mechanism, leading the way forward. "Not yet. I want to see just how strong you really are before offering my services to you."
Sir Amiel scoffed. "I'll join you. Can't be worse than just wasting away near the tower."
Cura was elated to hear it, though not as excited as her child self would have been. She was being accompanied by Sir Amiel - former leader of the Knights of the Nine! It was a very exciting prospect.
"All right, let's carry on." Cura led the way through the palisade, Mirabelle Ervine, Savos Aren and Sir Amiel following her closely.
Whatever came next, Cura had important tasks ahead - some self-imposed.
The Vigilants of Stendarr who perished over the years and ended up here. She wanted to find and free them. If Vigilant Tyrannus could be saved; Fenrik too, she wanted to help them.
With confidence renewed, Cura stomped forward into the next area of the cold abyss.