Now that Cura was free from her responsibility of initial training, the world was open to her again, She sat on one of the chairs at the back of the Vilemyr Inn, awaiting the awakening of her allies. The celebration last night was a lot of fun, but Mjoll had drunk too much. The Nord clumsily entered the main area with her hand pressed on her forehead, due to a hangover.
"Can I get you something?" Wilhelm asked, awake himself.
"Maybe a glass of water..." Mjoll spoke raspily. Her throat was dry from the alcohol consumption. Slowly, the Nord slogged herself over to Cura's side. "Good morning, Cura... t'was a fun celebration last night, eh?"
"It was." Cura smiled as she began to chew a Honey Nut Treat that she had stored in her satchel. "Thank you, Mjoll."
Mjoll nodded in recognition as she tried to keep her eyes away from the sconces or hearth fire. She held a hand up over her eyes to cast shadow over them, as it was less straining.
Inigo waltzed over from his room and plopped down in the seat beside Cura. "Hello, do you have a Sweetroll? I could really use my morning Sweetroll." He leaned his face towards Cura and held his hands out like a large kitten looking for treats.
Cura smirked. "Yes, yes, calm down." She opened her satchel and handed him a Golden Sweetroll.
"Where did you get that?" Inigo asked curiously. Sweetrolls were great, but a golden one? Magnificent, and not too common.
Cura gestured to a signpost near the back of the Inn with a sign that said "Sweetroll Randomization Act", with the image of one of the sweet delicacies on it. Below it was a shelf with a few others.
"How did I miss that?" Inigo wondered excitedly. His new target has been sighted.
"Don't become addicted." Cura warned him.
"Me, addicted? No, my friend. Sweetrolls are not Skooma." Inigo reassured her. "I have kicked that nightmare, and hope to never be a slave to desire again."
Cura nodded. "Good; I just want to keep you alive and well."
"You are too kind." Inigo stated. "I thank you."
"So, Inigo... I just met you..." Cura began. 'Tell me a bit about yourself."
"Are you seated comfortably?" Inigo asked. "It is a long story."
Cura nodded, and gestured for him to begin. "Shoot."
Mjoll accepted the tankard filled with water and began to drink from it, hoping to soothe her aching head.
Inigo began. "My brother and I never knew our parents. We were found abandoned in a smelly shack by a soldier on his way to battle."
Cura raised her eyebrows. "In a shack? That's... sad... who would abandon children in a shack?
Inigo could not answer that question. He instead continued. "We melted his heart with our fuzzy little faces and he carried us to the nearest town. He deposited us at an orphanage and that is where we spent most of our childhood."
"That must have been lonely," Cura began. "I hope the caretakers were kind." She had heard tales of unkind orphanage owners before, but at least Skyrim had Grelod the Kind. She was said to be a loving soul.
"They were nice, but soon enough my brother and I were adopted by a couple of retired assassins. I guess the orphanage did not do a family background check." Inigo stated with an amusing laugh.
"You must have had a very interesting childhood." Cura laughed.
"Mine was perhaps a little more unconventional than most, but I suppose all childhoods are interesting to some degree." Inigo proposed.
Cura nodded. "That's true."
"I bet yours as a Vigilant was quite interesting in and of itself." Inigo stated. "Slaying Atronachs on every street corner before the age of twelve!"
"Not really. It was more clumsily moving through the streets of Dawnstar while trying to carry supplies back to the Vigil for the ones who were slaying Atronachs on every street corner." Cura laughed. "Then training in Restoration and mace etiquette. Not much." She then turned back to Inigo. "Please, continue." She gestured with her hand for him to go on.
"My parents provided me with love and encouragement. Apart from the nightly training sessions we were a normal family." Inigo smiled as he fondly remembered his history.
Cura nodded. "That's good."
Inigo continued. "I was bullied by the other Khajiit children because of my unusual colour and markings."
Cura clicked her tongue. "There's nothing wrong with it." She spoke honestly. "I think your stripes add character."
Inigo smiled to the compliment. "Well, my mother taught me a handy trick with a rock and a glove. I was never bothered again." Inigo grinned maliciously when he stated this.
"That's a bit extreme. You could have killed someone!" Cura retroactively chastised.
"Childhood is extreme. It is a time of hard learning, but also teaching. Anyway, I never seriously hurt anyone until I was a lot older." Inigo shrugged it off. "My father showed my brother and I how to use a sword, my mother taught us the bow. Happy childhood memories."
"Where did you grow up?" Mjoll interjected out of curiosity.
Inigo turned to her. "I grew up in Riverhold, not far from Cyrodiil. My brother and I headed for the Imperial City to find our fortune when we came of age." He began to fall sheepish. "I found love, for a time at least. My brother found death."
"Death?" Cura asked.
"I will come to that soon. There is a little more to hear first." Inigo's reticence was understandable, and Cura simply nodded, allowing him to go at his own pace.
"How about the 'love', then?" Mjoll inquired.
"Well, now that I think about it, maybe it was not love. It was brief and as it turned out, one-sided. Anyway, all that happened later." Inigo brushed it off.
"And what about your parents?" Cura asked out of curiosity. "Do you keep in touch?"
"My mother and father are both gone." Inigo spoke sadly. "They died protecting a trading caravan a few years back. I guess I am an orphan again."
Cura rested a gentle hand on his shoulder empathetically. "I'm sorry for your loss, Inigo."
"That means a great deal. Thank you." Inigo place his furry blue hand over Cura's before they separated.
"What were they like?" Mjoll asked.
"I suppose they were a bit of an odd couple, being an Argonian and a Khajiit, but they adored each other, and us." Inigo stated. "Despite their previous profession, they were good people."
"An Argonian and a Khajiit?" Cura mused. "That's not something you hear about often. Very interesting."
"Your ancestry is interesting." Inigo pointed to the Half-Elf, another unlikely pairing. "In a certain light, you look quite Elven, then I blink and you almost look like a Nord. Maybe that is why you are twice as good-looking as almost everyone else."
Immediately, Cura's face flushed red and she turned her face away from him. Did Inigo just flirt with her?
"So, what did you and your brother do?" Mjoll circled the conversation back while Cura continued to blush off to the side.
"My brother and I found much work as sellswords. We never made it to the Imperial City but we made a lot of coin." Inigo stated matter-of-factly.
Cura finally began to catch herself.
Mjoll was intrigued. "What kind of jobs did you do? I've never been a sellsword; never traded my skills for pay. I've always adventured on my own terms.
"Well, we did a bit of giant-killing here, a bit of witch-slaying there. We took gold when it was offered but sometimes we worked for nothing." Inigo admitted. "It is hard to deny those in need, whether they have coin or not. We made more than enough from those who could pay anyways."
Cura smiled and nodded. She liked his mentality.
"So, where did your travels take you?" Mjoll wondered.
"All over Cyrodiil! From the Gold Coast to the Jerall Mountains. It is a wonderful land but quite tame compared to Skyrim." Inigo chuckled.
"I'd like to see Cyrodiil someday." Cura mused. "And High Rock, and maybe even Morrowind."
Inigo continued his thought. "Those were happy times-travelling or working during the day, camping out under the stars at night... life was good."
Cura was interested to hear more. "What changed?"
"I awoke one morning to a lot of noise outside our tent. My Brother staggered in bleeding and pushed our father's sword into my hand. He said that if I loved him I would run. He used the last of his strength to rip out the back of the tent and push me down the slope beyond." Inigo recollected the sad memory with trembling hands. "Some Khajiit-hating locals had blamed us for a spate of robberies in the area and had decided to take the matter into their own hands."
'That's terrible." Cura remarked.
"Twelve of them had snuck up on us in the night. My brother died but I live because of him." Inigo credited his sibling rightfully.
"I'm sorry. Losing your brother like that must have been terrible." Cura sympathized. His turn to Skooma was beginning to make more sense, after a string of such tragedies.
"Yes. That morning I lost all that was dear to me. Unfortunately I also uncovered a side of myself I never knew existed." Inigo pursed his lips as he revisited old regrets.
"What was your brother's name?" Cura placed her hands under her chin in thought.
"His name was Fergus. I miss him very much, but part of me is glad he did not witness what became of me after his passing." Inigo scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.
"If you had died instead of him he may have travelled a similar path." Mjoll tried to lighten things.
"I appreciate the sentiment, but I hit rock bottom and kept digging. He would have been stronger." Inigo corrected.
"Do you ever wish you'd have stayed and fought?" Mjoll questioned him, understanding well the pain of losing one's family while being powerless to stop it.
"Every day, my friend. Every day." Inigo responded, disheartened. He decided to continue. "Anyways, I was recruited by a group of bandits a few years ago. That is when I discovered Skooma. it was the beginning of a lot of nastiness." He cleared his throat. "I was with a bandit girl for a while. Turns out that she was using me. She wanted protection, not affection. As soon as she found someone more psychopathic, I was dropped like a sack of Troll dung."
"Did you love her?" Cura asked.
"I thought I did. We dulled each other's pain somewhat. She seemed like the only bright thing in a very dark place." Inigo reluctantly admitted. "Regrettably, she was a vicious, manipulative Harpy."
"Ooof." Cura grit her teeth. "What happened after that?"
"I left the bandits and took the only ally I had with me. He was also an addict, but we thought we had it under control." Inigo confessed. "His name was Felix. He was a big fellow, good in a scrap. We became mercenaries together."
Cura was beginning to wonder if it was Felix who he had murdered, and he was just using her as a coping mechanic mentally for the whole ordeal.
"After a few months Felix and I had made a little gold but our addiction to Skooma was getting in the way." Inigo stated. "No one trusts an addict, my friend, especially not another addict."
"Do you ever miss Skooma?" Cura asked.
"From time to time my body does, but my mind is made up. I am never touching the stuff again." Inigo clenched his fist in promise. "It helped me smother some painful memories, but it took my sense and reason as payment. It was not a fair trade."
Cura scratched her chin.
"One day Felix burst into my chamber, instinct took over and I reacted. His murder was my second last stop on the road of dishonour." Inigo sighed sadly. "Trying to kill you was mu last. My journal tells the rest. Read it if you want. I do not enjoy speaking of these things."
"Apologies." Mjoll said.
"That is my story. Not a happy one, but maybe the happy stuff is still to come." Inigo ended on a high note.
"Well... thank you for sharing." Cura expressed. "If we're going to be together, I want to know you."
"Of course, my friend. Now it is your turn." He gestured to Cura.
"Well, there really isn't much to say." Cura scoffed lightly. "I was born in the Pale to a mysterious Altmer woman. She left me on the front steps of the Hall of the Vigilant on her way out of Dawnstar. I was raised in the Vigil, and only a few months ago discovered I was Dragonborn."
"Did you have any friends?" Inigo asked her.
"Not really friends exactly, but I had a family growing up. It was unconventional as well. I had no Mother, Father, or Siblings, but Keeper Carcette was the closest thing to a Mother that I had, though she made it clear our relationship was Master and Student. Vigilant Tolan was always like a father to me, teaching me important tips and how to interact with the public. Brother Adalvald was always like a fun Uncle, you could say. Reading me interesting stories and bringing me fun gifts from outside. He gave me my Amulet."
She showed it off again. "...Which I am very relieved to have again." She looked to the side for a second. "Well... as for having friends prior to you all, Vigilant Hilde was an initiate-become-Vigilant, and my friend for a few years, but she perished on the mountain pass nearing Eastmarch, killed by an Ice Wraith, on our way to Darkwater Crossing."
"That's rough." Inigo stated sympathetically. "I hope you are doing well from it."
"I had a good cry over it, but I have to keep moving forward." Cura stated.
"Through the dark days, the sun always shines." Inigo reassured her with a smile. "We, your friends will never let the darkness consume you; I will not allow it! I will joke until you die of laughter! Hahaha!" He threw his head back comically, and Cura giggled lightly.
"You're a treasure, Inigo. Never forget that." She remarked earnestly. Even though they had just met, she was beginning to feel like she'd known Inigo for much longer.
Lydia crept out from her room and rubbed her eyes. "You're all so noisy!" She exclaimed. Lydia had also enjoyed her share of alcohol the past night and was now suffering the consequences from it. "What's on our itinerary?" She turned to Cura as she slogged into her seat slowly with a hard thump.
"I was wondering if maybe we could go to Windhelm..." Cura mused.
"Eugh, I hate Windhelm!" Inigo exclaimed. "he only good thing about it was meeting Mr. Dragonfly there."
"You found a Dragonfly in Windhelm?" Cura turned to look at him with a raised brow. "Where it's winter all year round? I don't believe you."
"Long story short, there was a family of idiots and a Witch mother, and they turned people into insects because she enjoyed eating them, and Mr. Dragonfly was one of her subjects. I too was a subject. But this is a story for another time.' Inigo was pooped out from his last tale already.
"I'm sober, right?" Lydia questioned. "I heard that right?"
"You are sober, I suppose." Inigo stated. "You are back to your angry self."
"Stop being ridiculous, and I will stop being angry!" Lydia snapped.
"The two of you are like oil and fire." Mjoll chuckled. "Always fighting."
"And I am always winning, because Lydia lacks the wit or the charm to keep up with me." Inigo strutted like a peacock.
"I don't bother because you're not worth my time." Lydia scoffed. "Wit and charm don't matter if the person is indifferent."
"...Or indignant." Inigo snarked back.
"Okay, wiseass." Lydia stood up. "Let's go! You and me! Right here, right now!" She stamped her foot down.
Inigo stood up, and began. "To try and best me, you'd have to be insane."
"Lucky for me, then, you have mud on your brain!" Lydia spoke back.
"Rhyming against you is nothing short of a pain." Inigo stated.
"Being with you could make life inane!" Lydia plastered back.
Cura and Mjoll looked at one another, and Mjoll explained. "It's a game Inigo played with us while you were out with Delphine. He has rhyming competitions."
"Ah." Cura acknowledged as she continued to watch the spectacle.
"What is it about you that makes you think you're so hot?" Lydia changed it up.
"Because I am better than you, whether you like it or not." Inigo said with a laugh.
"That was good, though not a fair shot." Lydia retorted.
"Whatever you think, it's better than you've got!" Inigo began to dance mockingly in place.
"Oh. yeah? Well-" Lydia broke. "-oh, damn."
"Victory goes to Inigo the Rhyming Master!" the blue cat jumped up and down enthusiastically as Lydia hung her head in defeat.
Cura sighed and stood up from her chair. "So... I'm going to Windhelm. I think having Nords accompany us will help keep the prejudiced sort off our tails." she gestured towards Mjoll and Lydia.
"Okay, my friend." Inigo stated. "I will accompany you there, too... but let us not stay there for days. Promise?"
"Promise." Cura reassured him.
"All right, then." Inigo stood up. "Lead the way!"
The group left the Inn and retrieved their Horses, and made off for the city of Windhelm.
The voyage was longer than expected, die to cliffs and bluffs, and river and Brook, but they slowly approached the cold white city.
Inigo was a little bit hesitant, but felt safer with Cura by his side. He hated racism and prejudice, and Windhelm was full to bursting with it.
Immediately when they approached the city gate, a Guard looked them up and down. "What do we have here? Servants of yours?" he asked Mjoll as he gestured towards Cura and Inigo. He clearly assumed Lydia must have been her Housecarl.
"My friends." Mjoll corrected him quickly, unimpressed. She would never take servants, as she always relied on herself to perform her own tasks, alone. The implication was unappreciated, as well.
"Oh. My mistake. Go on inside." the Guard readjusted his blue Stormcloak tabard and cape. "But be careful; there have been a series of murders lately."
"What a surprise..." Inigo muttered under his breath as the group entered the grey city.
The main square seemed to surround a large stone Inn; the Candlehearth Hall. A beggar warmed her hands near a large torch, and people walked sheepishly around the large labyrinthine walls of the stone city.
"This is where dreams go to die." Inigo huffed.
Nearby, two Nord men were harassing a Dunmer woman.
The first was up in her face. "You come here where you're not wanted, you eat our food, you pollute our city with your stink and you refuse to help the Stormcloaks."
The woman took a step back. "But we haven't taken a side because it's not our fight."
A homeless-looking one pointed at her directly, as if to threaten. "Hey, maybe the reason these gray-skins don't help in the war is because they're Imperial spies!"
The Dark Elf succumbed to fear and immediately jumped in defense. "Imperial spies? You can't be serious!"
The bully scoffed. "Maybe we'll pay you a visit tonight, little spy. We got ways of finding out what you really are." He turned to walk away, as did his accomplice.
The Elven woman knew only trouble could arise from here. "Sigh..."
Cura approached the disheartened and paled Elf, and was greeted with a serious question. "Do you hate the dark elves? Are you here to bully us and tell us to leave?"
"No, I don't hate your people." Cura shook her head.
"You've come to the wrong city, then. Windhelm's a haven of prejudice and narrow thinking, unworthy of one such as you."
"Looked like those Nords were giving you trouble. Are you all right?" Cura asked genuinely.
"Nothing new there. Most of the Nords living in Windhelm don't care much for us, but Rolff is the worst by far.
He likes to get drunk and walk around the Gray Quarter yelling insults at us in the small hours of the morning. A real charmer, that one."
Cura's eyes followed the Nord in question as he seemed to laugh and drink in front of the Inn. "Why would anyone think you're a spy?" she asked genuinely.
"Some of these Nords will come up with any excuse to despise us. And it isn't just the dark elves they hate - they make a target of the Argonians as well.
In fact, just about anyone who isn't a Nord is fair game for their bullying." The Dunmer seemed to be extending a warning to the Half-Elf.
A short distance away, the drunken lout grabbed Inigo by the shoulder. "Get out of our city you filthy piece of trash!" He spat out sheer venomous malice at the cat-man.
"Try to make me leave, I dare you." Inigo leaned forward, furrowing his brows.
"Get out of my face." Rolff, the angered racist sneered.
"You are nothing more than a frightened fool. Maybe I should put you out of your misery." Inigo suggested eagerly. Cura was beginning to grow concerned that a fight was about to break out and Inigo would end up arrested for real this time.
"Didn't mean anythin' by it..." The racist slunk down, and began to walk away with his tail between his legs. "Just leave me alone."
"Moron." Inigo growled in irritation. Poor thing never had a positive interaction in this city, and it was evident.
"Are you all right, Inigo?" Cura asked him concernedly.
"The cold usually does not bother me, but here it cuts like an ugly knife." Inigo remarked.
"I apologize on our behalf." Mjoll told the Dunmer woman. "We don't all hate the Dunmer, I assure you."
"I suppose you're not a group of Stormcloaks, then." the Dunmer scratched her chin. Her gaze fixed on Cura, and then Inigo. "I'm glad to have met you. Be careful in this city; especially at night. We have a murderer on the loose."
"We will, thank you." Cura nodded. "Take care of yourself, now."
The Dunmer nodded. "My name is Suvaris Atheron, by the way. I invite you to come and drink over at the New Gnisis Cornerclub anytime. I'll put in a good word for you."
Cura smiled. "Thank you, that would be nice. My name is Cura, and this is Inigo, Lydia, and Mjoll." She gestured towards her friends, so as they would be recognized by name should they take her up on that offer.
"All right." Suvaris said as she continued to walk through the back alleys towards the Gray Quarter.
"I'm going to the Court." Cura headed around the Inn towards what looked like a large castle behind the stone walls decorated with plaquards. "If there's a killer on the loose, I'll volunteer to the Jarl to help put a stop to them."
"My Thane-why would you deliberately throw yourself into danger like this?" Lydia wanted to understand the sense of it all.
"Because if I'm going to save Skyrim, I want to begin with the small people while I have the time to do so." Cura confessed. "If someone is hurting innocents, I want to put an end to that." She continued on her way towards the Castle, and Inigo stopped at the stairs.
"Er...my friend? You go in there without me. I get the feeling that I am not wanted in such a place." Inigo shrugged and lightly shook his head.
Cura felt bad for Inigo, but she would not press him. Instead, she turned to Mjoll the Lioness. "Mjoll, maybe you could accompany Inigo to the... er... what was it called? Candle Hall. The Inn."
"Candlehearth." Mjoll corrected her.
"Yes!" Cura snapped her fingers in recollection. "Accompany Inigo to Candlehearth. If you're with him, I'm sure people will be less likely to make trouble for him, aside from some drunken idiots."
"All right." Mjoll nodded. "And if we hear anything about a killer, we will let you know."
"Thank you." Cura continued up the stairs.
"Good luck!" Inigo wished Cura well.
After passing a couple of flaming torchstands, Cura passed a few Stormcloak Soldiers, who didn't even seem to notice her. Perhaps her blonde hair threw them off. Or like Inigo said, if they blink she looks almost like a Nord. She counted her blessings and pushed open a large decorated door on the stone castle's front. It reminded her quite a bit of High Hrothgar.
As Cura entered she saw a large banquet hall with four doors. two on each side of the hall, lining the stonecarved walls that embraced the throne that sat upon the stairs between the two blue banners depicting a roaring bear hanging from the walls. Immediately, she saw a very familiar face.
Ulfric Stormcloak, the renegade Jarl of Windhelm, himself.
Helgen.
Cura swallowed nervously. Ulfric had an intense, commanding presence. She would not want to rub him the wrong way.
It was really him! The Nord warrior who slew the High King of Skyrim. Who used the Voice to blow the man to pieces. That did seem dishonourable, the more she considered it. Her voice could obliterate most things. If he was also practiced in the Thu'um, he clearly had an advantage over Torygg.
Right now, the Stormcloak superior was speaking to his right-hand man; a Berserker with gray hair and a thick hide armour and Bear coat over his head that ran down his back like a cape.
The Berserker looked at the Jarl sternly. "Balgruuf won't give us a straight answer."
Ulfric dismissed the assertion. "He's a true Nord. He'll come around."
"Don't be so sure of that." his cohort warned him. "We've intercepted couriers from Solitude. The Empire's putting a great deal of pressure on Whiterun."
Ulfric leaned back in his seat and moved his hands up from the armrests. "And what would you have me do?"
The response was quick, and extreme. "If he's not with us, he's against us."
Ulfric grumbled like a Grizzly with wounded pride. "He knows that. They all know that."
His general grew impatient, slapping a fist onto his hand in emphasis. "How long are you going to wait?"
Ulfric sighed. It was clear that this war was taking its toll on his mental health. "You think I need to send Balgruuf a stronger message."
The fierce warrior general laughed. "If by message you mean shoving a sword through his gullet."
Ulfric proposed an alternative. "Taking his city and leaving him in disgrace would make a more powerful statement, don't you think?"
"So we're ready to start this war in earnest then?" The Berserker was champing at the bit in eager anticipation for bloodshed.
Ulfric calmed him down. "Soon."
"I still say you should take them all out like you did Deadking Torygg." The berserker remarked snidely, basking in an ill-gotten victory. Cura watched from the side of the table, waiting for their conversation to cease.
Ulfric waved a dismissive hand. "Torygg was merely a message to the other Jarls. Whoever we replace them with will need the support of our armies."
His steadfast killer nodded. "We're ready when you are."
Ulfric crossed his arms. "Things hinge on Whiterun. If we can take the city without bloodshed all the better. But if not..."
His ally reminded him of his position. "The people are behind you."
Ulfric shook his head in denial. "Many I fear still need convincing."
His general waved a hand off to the side, not caring one way or another. "Then let them die with their false kings."
"We've been soldiers a long time. We know the price of freedom. The people are still weighing things in their hearts." Ulfric explained on their behalfs.
His ally was unconvinced. "What's left of Skyrim to wager?"
Ulfric reminded him of something he valued as important. "They have families to think of."
The cold-hearted berserker shrugged it off. "How many of their sons and daughters follow your banner? We are their families."
Cura rolled her eyes. She agreed with Ulfric's hesitance on this. War would only dishearten and cripple the province. Especially at this point in time with Dragons and Thalmor on the loose.
Ulfric took it, regardless. He was easily swayed, it would seem. "Well put, friend. Tell me, Galmar, why do you fight for me?"
Galmar, the harsh warrior raised a fist to his chest. "I'd follow you into the depths of Oblivion, you know that."
Ulfric nodded, but wanted more. "Yes, but why do you fight? If not for me, what then?"
Galmar laughed smugly. "I'll die before elves dictate the fates of men. Are we not one in this?"
Ulfric coyly nodded, but Cura could notice he was holding something back. Then he stood up from his throne to give an enthusiasticspeech. "I fight for the men I've held in my arms, dying on foreign soil. I fight for their wives and children, who's names I heard whispered in their last breaths. I fight for we few who did come home, only to find our country full of strangers wearing familiar faces. I fight for my people impoverished to pay the debts of an Empire too weak to rule them, yet brands them criminals for wanting to rule themselves! I fight so that all the fighting I've already done hasn't been for nothing. I fight... because I must."
Cura was enthralled. It seemed like such a noble cause; to fight for peoples' right to worship freely and to be self-reliant. It would be wholesome if it weren't soaked in innocent blood. How were the Stormcloaks any different than the Forsworn, in this regard? Well, perhaps because they worship Talos, not Daedra.
Galmar clapped his hands together in applause. "Your words give voice to what we all feel, Ulfric. And that's why you will be High King. But the day words are enough, will be the day when soldiers like us are no longer needed."
Was he meaning to keep the war going? Was he implying that he wanted bloodshed to keep purpose? A little disturbing, to be sure. But how would Ulfric feel about this?
Ulfric shook his head in response. "I would gladly retire from the world were such a day to dawn."
Galmar scoffed, and headed over to the room on the west side of the hall. "Aye. But in the meantime, we have a war to plan."
Cura slowly approached the Jarl's throne, and took a polite bow on one knee. "Greetings, Jarl of Windhelm."
"Only the foolish or the courageous approach a Jarl without summons..." The abrasive older Nord remarked. "Do I know you?"
"Well... not really, but we have met before." Cura clarified. "We were both on the cart to, and at Helgen when the black Dragon attacked."
"Ahhh. Yes..." Ulfric raised his face, now recognizing the Breton before him. "Destined for the chopping block if I'm not mistaken."
"Yes, unfortunately." Cura stated plainly.
"Cura of the Pale." Ulfric stated her name factually.
"Oh... you remembered my name! I'm honoured." Cura blushed, and then converted to a smile.
"I have a good memory when it comes to matching names with faces." Ulfric confessed. "It's kept me alive this long."
Cura nodded. "A very useful skill to have."
Ulfric nodded. "Yes, especially since I've no shortage of foes who wish me dead."
"I've heard plenty talk of people saying you shouted the King to death." Cura questioned. "Is that true?"
"Not entirely true, though not entirely false either." Ulfric began to explain in context. "Any Nord can learn the Way of the Voice by studying with the Greybeards, given enough ambition and dedication. My shouting Torygg to the ground proved he had neither. However, it was my sword piercing his heart that killed him."
Any Nord could study with the Greybeards? Then why was her visit considered exclusive? That didn't make much sense, but still, Cura nodded. "I suppose when looked at in that way, it adds some clarity."
"Naturally." Ulfric leaned back in his seat.
"Why did you kill the High King?" Cura asked with a raised eyebrow.
"I killed Torygg to prove our wretched condition. How is the High King supposed to be the defender of Skyrim, if he can't even defend himself?" Ulfric slapped a hand down on his armrest.
Cura pursed her lips. "I suppose the High King should have put in time learning the Ancient Nord Art."
"Exactly." Ulfric stated, almost seeming elated.
"And what of his widow? Doesn't she claim the throne?" Cura posed an honest question.
"Indeed, Elisif has become Jarl of Solitude, historically and conveniently home of the High King, backed by Imperial interests. But the Moot has not yet met to name her High Queen. And they won't. Not as long as I have any say in it." Ulfric sneered in protest.
"Do you desire to be the High King?" Cura tilted her head and crossed her arms. She was testing the Stormcloak's sincerity for herself. She wanted to know the war from both sides, even if she was not to be involved.
"There hasn't been a true High King in Skyrim for generations." Ulfric condemned history. "For too long he's been hand-picked by the Emperor, and given emphatic nods by milk-drinking Jarls addicted to Imperial coin. It's time we had a real king. One of our own making." He cracked his knuckles to provide emphasis.
"That aside, my Jarl, I am a lover of History. I was curious as to how you became the Jarl of Eastmarch." Cura wanted to know. It would be interesting to hear the words come from the Jarl himself.
Ulfric was willing to entertain her. In fact, he seemed almost proud to bring up his family lineage, if not a little somber at the same time. "My father, the Great Bear of Eastmarch, died during my imprisonment after the Markarth Incident. I, his only son, forced to deliver his eulogy via a letter I had smuggled out of prison. Such is the love of Titus Mede for his subjects. When finally set free, I returned to Windhelm, and was greeted by a city in mourning, at one with my own grief and anger. Clamoring in angry voices, calling out for justice, for war, they sat me on the throne. The Throne of Ysgramor! The throne of my father... I only hope I can prove worthy of the honor."
Ysgramor!
"So this is the throne of Ysgramor?" Cura nearly gasped from excitement.
"Yes." Ulfric confirmed. "The Palace of the Kings."
"Amazing!" Cura's eyes lit up. "I learned quite a bit about Ysgramor during my time with the Companions in Jorrvaskr." she explained. "I may never get to see the full Wuuthrad, but this is incredible in and of itself. This entire city is steeped in history."
"You're with the Companions?" Ulfric grew fascinated. "That's an honourable path you're on."
Cura nodded. "The Companions, and the Vigil of Stendarr."
"Yes, I could surmise that from your garb." Ulfric gestured towards her ensemble. "Now, aside from reminiscing about history and gawking about the... admittedly interesting lineage of my own, have you a reason for approaching me? As you can see, I have much that requires my attention. If you're inclined to gab, there are some nice prison guards you may like to meet..."
Cura could understand a threat, so she decided to cut to the chase. "Actually, yes, I would like to meet some of the Guards, if possible." She went on to explain. "I've been hearing that a killer has been roaming the streets as of late."
"Yes, Jorleif has told me about that a fortnight ago." Ulfric confirmed. "You want to help my city to be rid of this menace?"
Cura nodded. "Yes; I imagine you're all preoccupied with the war, and I would like to help the suffering citizens if possible."
"Truly noble of you." Ulfric smiled. "If you were my daughter, I would be proud that you would take such consideration."
Cura blushed. "You're too kind, my Jarl."
Ulfric lightly scoffed. "If you want to start, you can speak with my Steward, Jorleif. He should be in the kitchen, over there." He gestured towards the door to his left, and to Cura's right. "He will fill you in on the details."
Cura took a light bow. "I will take my leave, then."
"Good luck." Ulfric wished her. "Talos, and Stendarr, guide you."
That went surprisingly well. Cura walked to the kitchen with her head held high.
"The Stormcloaks are finding victory across the land." an older man with a fur-rimmed hat beamed proudly as Cura entered the room. Did he overhear their conversation?
"Okay, uh..." Cura decided to get to her point. "I've heard about the murders. Are you Jorleif?"
The man nodded. "These are difficult times indeed, when men stalk their brethren like beasts. My men are stretched thin as it is. If you offer your aid, I gladly accept. The guards will be told to assist you as necessary. I'm happy to lend a hand as much as I can, as well."
Cura smiled. "All right. Thank you."
"No, thank you." Jorleif corrected. "You're doing us a great service, Vigilant."
"What is the current situation?" Cura asked.
"Three victims. The most recent one was Susanna the Wicked of Candlehearth Hall." Jorleif stated. "You may want to start there."
Cura hurried to meet her friends at the Candlehearth Hall. Upon entry, she saw Lydia leaning against the building. "You're not arrested? That's a good start." she mused dryly.
"I have permission to help the investigation." Cura stated. "I'm going to talk to the owner and learn more of the most recent murder."
She headed on inside, where she was greeted by the Innkeeper by the counter on the west side of the establishment's bottom floor, across from the stairs.
"This here's Candlehearth Hall. Great room's upstairs, an' there's a bed for rent on the ground floor." the owner, Elda Early-Dawn greeted. "Got some fresh-baked bread an' good cheese, if you're after a bite to eat"
Cura approached her, looking a tad grim. The Innkeeper decided to route the conversation. "Did you see that candle above the fire upstairs? It was lit one hundred and sixty-three years ago, back when this building was the home of a grand warrior named Vundheim. When word came that he'd fallen, his son Deroct lit the candle in his honor. Nobody knows why it still burns."
"I'm actually here to talk about the murder..." Cura spoke somberly.
"I knew you were." Elda's expression fell. "Aye, poor Susanna was killed two days ago..."
"What happened?" Cura asked for details.
"She was killed in the cemetery, just west of here, on her way home." Elsa explained. "I hope you catch the bastard who did it. She was a good waitress."
"All right, thank you." Cura nodded. "I'll bring them to justice."
She headed up the stairs as an Imperial man came down to speak to Elda. She overheard them a little.
Elda greeted him. "Calixto, someone left an interesting ring in here a few weeks ago. Would you like a look?"
Calixto readied to see it. "Of course, my dear. It may prove to be quite the curiosity! One must always be alert."
Elda rubbed her chin. "Well, I seem to have misplaced it at the moment. But it was white, like alabaster, with three bright rubies set in it."
Calixto grit his teeth. "Be very careful with that. It sounds as if it may be the Death Ring of Dro'farahn. A ring of the most dangerous sort."
Elda shook lightly in her spot. "Oh dear. What should I do?"
Calixto waved a hand reassuringly. "Bring it to me straight away when you find it. Don't dally. I can keep it safe."
Elda sighed in relief. "Oh, thank the gods you're in Windhelm, Calixto!"
Calixto traded her a smile. "Think nothing of it."
Cura wondered how he could know of such a thing. Perhaps he was an Imperial scholar? Fascinating to find an Imperial in Windhelm. Very risky for them, these days. She shrugged it off and continued upstairs.
The top floor consisted of one large room with scattered tables and chairs and a Dunmer Bard in the west corner singing Stormcloak rally songs, ironically. In front of her was the namesake hearth and the eternally burning candle.
Inigo and Mjoll were seated before the Candlehearth, and Cura approached them.
"Okay, so, I met with Jarl Ulfric..." she began.
"And you're still alive? Impressive. You must certainly have a gift for gab. You could talk a Dragon into setting itself on fire!" Inigo said enthusiastically. "Maybe try that next time."
Cura chuckled. "Well... at any case, it went well. He recognized me from Helgen, and we spoke a bit before I volunteered to help solve the murders."
"We could check Friga Shatter-Shield's old house." Mjoll proposed. "Hjerim, last house on the Northeast side of the city. That was the second most recent murder."
Cura nodded. "I'll have to speak with her parents first, I think."
"We could pick the lock and sneak inside with nobody knowing." Inigo proposed, to which Cura shook her head.
"No, I will respect the deceased." Cura insisted. "I will ask for permission before doing such a thing. Her family members are suffering enough, not having to know that people are trying to steal away into their daughter's home."
"Softie." Inigo muttered.
"Torbjorn, Nilsine, and Tova are all sitting on the other side of the hearth." Mjoll pointed around the stone counter to reveal a family of three having a meal together.
Cura walked around the hearth and approached the family softly. "Hello, you're the Shatter-Shields?" she asked to verify.
The family was silent, creating an awkward atmosphere. Cura cleared her throat. "I'm going to bring the killer to justice."
"I'm sorry..." the mother, Tova drooped. "I've been out of sorts since... since our daughter was taken from us."
Cura nodded empathetically. "It's understandable."
"What in Oblivion do you want from us?" Torbjorn snapped.
"Father! I think we should hear her out." the daughter, Nilsine proposed, calming her agitated parent down.
"Please forgive my mood. I'm still coming to terms with my daughter's death." Torbjorn said to Cura.
"It's all right." Cura forgave. "I wanted to ask your permission to investigate the house... maybe there could be some clue that could point me to your daughter's murderer."
"I've been shouldering my days with strong mead, but nothing gives my Tova peace. I've been looking for an Amulet of Arkay to remind my wife that our child is with the gods now, but I can't find one." Torbjorn placed his arm around his grieving wife. "If you can find her one, I'll give you the key to Hjerim."
"That could take days!" Mjoll exclaimed from behind. "Another person could be killed by then!"
"It won't take days." Cura assured her. "I know a couple of sources where I can get one." She nodded to the family. "I'll be back with the Amulet."
"Thank you, Vigilant." Torbjorn said. "It's very nice of you to volunteer to help our city. Someone had to care sooner or later."
Cura nodded and headed outside.
"We could still just break in..." Inigo kept the offer on the table.
Cura shook her head. "We're going to the Hall of the Vigilant. A Priest of Arkay was with us a while back; maybe they know where he left to. I'm sure he'd sell me one cheap. He was fond of me, after all."
"And what's your second option?" Lydia asked.
"The Priest of Arkay in Falkreath." Cura stated. "They always have consecrated Amulets to spare, but at a cost."
"You always have to do everything the hard way." Lydia sighed, and picked up her inner pieces. "All right, let's go to the Vigil first, then."
Truly, stealing their way inside the building would have been the far easier option, but it did not sit right with Cura, especially now that she's seen the mourning family. Once again her compassion got the better of her,
Cura nodded, and once they stepped outside, Lydia braced herself for the whiplash of Fast Travel.
The group immediately found themselves in front of the Hall of the Vigilant.
Lydia had to lean against the wall. "I hate that so much..." she bemoaned.
Mjoll was readjusting, but was silent. She dusted a small bit of powdered snow off her right shoulder and readjusted her belt.
"I love it! It is exhilarating!" Inigo cheered as bewildered Vigilants stared at them.
"Ah, Vigilant Cura!" one of them exclaimed. "You've returned!"
Cura nodded. "Only for a small matter, though."
The Vigilant stepped aside, allowing entry. "It'sstill nice to see you."
As soon as Cura walked in, she saw Keeper Carcette sitting at a bench, enjoying some soup, near other Vigilants, who were talking about Daedra Worshippers and the threat they pose.
"Keeper!" Cura called out, startling the older Breton.
"Cura!?" She turned around to face her Protege. "Back already?" Not that she was opposed to it, exactly. It was always good to see Cura alive and well.
Cura nodded with a light smile. "Yes, but not for long. I just need help with something." She prepared herself to explain.
"That didn't take long." Keeper Carcette rolled her eyes. She knew something would arise, sooner or later. She only hoped it wouldn't cost the Vigil too much. "...And who are they?" She gestured towards Mjoll, and to Inigo, who was about to steal a Salmon steak from the hearth.
"I am Mjoll the Lioness." Mjoll proudly introduced herself. "Protector of Riften and well-seasoned Explorer."
Cura explained. "I met her in Riften. It's a... long story."
"The Thieves Guild had her arrested for allegedly stealing a ring, and then stole her Amulet." Mjoll ratted her out in her stead. "It was a wild time."
"Excuse me, what?" Carcette looked concerned as she turned to Cura for explanation.
"Err, nothing." Cura tried to salvage it. "You know..."
"And she met Inigo in prison, for supposedly trying to kill her or something." Lydia spitefully gestured towards the cat, who had a mouthful of pilfered Salmon. It was only sounding worse.
"Lydia, why?" Cura snapped at her Housecarl as she noted Carcette's worried and angered expression in its descent.
"You took Inigo's side, my Thane." Lydia crossed her arms and pouted. "Maybe you'll get a taste of the feeling."
Cura scowled silently as Inigo approached and stood beside her, facing the Keeper.
"Hmm... let's see..." Inigo scratched his chin as he soaked in the view. "A Breton... angry, furrowed brow... miserably stern expression, cold demeanour, bossy attitude... you must be Keeper Carcette!"
The Keeper immediately turned to glare at Cura, her lips pursed disapprovingly.
"He made that up on his own, I swear!" Cura held up her hands defensively. "I never said anything like that!"
Were they intent on embarassing her? What next? Would they rat her out for losing Joile for a time? Tell her about Delphine and the Thalmor Embassy?
"Cura." the Keeper's tone became severe, causing Cura to grow anxious. "Is this what you intend to do with your freedom? Traipse along merrily with a degenerate and do dealings with criminals? I expected better of you." The older Breton shook her head, disappointed. This cut Cura deeply.
"That's not it at all!" Cura protested defensively. "I've been doing my Dragonborn duties, but they've taken me strange places, is all. And I fought against the Thieves Guild!"
"She went to High Hrothgar." Mjoll the loudmouth stated, trying to salvage what she unintentionally sabotaged. "She's mastered the Thu'um, and is allying herself with the Blades. She's going to take down that Dragon; there are just steps between now and then."
No! Mjoll!
"I understand." Keeper Carcette stated. "But, the Blades? You have no idea of what you're getting yourself into. I pray you regain your common sense and refrain from association with dead political organizations. The Thalmor are hunting them down. Keep your distance." She lightened up post-condescension. "Now, what do you need?"
"Florentius Baenius. Do you know where he went?" Cura asked.
"Ask Moric Sidrey. He keeps in touch." Keeper Carcette informed.
"Where is he?" Cura asked.
"In the basement, tending the vault." Carcette pointed down the stairs.
"Thanks." Cura said as she headed towards the stairs.
The Keeper grabbed her by the left arm. "I hope you know what you're doing." Carcette stated.
A moment paused as the two glared at one another. Cura pulled her arm back. "Yes, I'm fully aware." She continued down the stairs as her partner's made themselves comfortable.
"Do you always act so serious around here? No wonder Cura was in such a hurry to leave." Inigo remarked with a scoff.
"You had better not be influencing her bad decisions, cat." Keeper Carcette pointed at Inigo.
"No, it seems she is putting me in dangerous situations instead." Inigo laughed.
Lydia shook her head at Inigo and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Don't argue with her. It won't end well."
Keeper Carcette snorted pridefully and turned to Mjoll. "You seem the reasonable sort. Keep Cura out of trouble, all right?" She motioned towards Cura's direction, down the stairs.
"I'll do my best, but no promises, Ma'am." Mjoll shrugged with a slight laugh as she sat down in the back. "The girl finds trouble like some lucky sods find septims on the ground."
Cura reached the basement, where Moric was looking at the tactician's map plastered on the western wall, directly across from the hall that led to their cells, the vault, and Cura's bedroom.
"Vigilant Moric!" Cura caught his attention.
"Ah Cura! Back already?" Moric turned to face her. "Congratulations, by the way."
"Congrat..." Cura quickly realized that he was referring to her being fully recognized as Dovahkiin at the monastery. "Ah, yes! Thanks! I guess you heard the Greybeards speak?"
"I think all of Skyrim heard the Greybeards speak." Moric stated. "Though few know why. I'm honoured to be one of those few."
"I wonder if Kodlak heard it too..." Cura mused, thinking about the kind old man. She missed him already.
"No doubt." Moric assured her. "Oh, and, I delivered the Glenmoril Crone's head to Jorrvaskr, as you asked."
"Oh, thank you!" Cura exclaimed.
"Anytime." Moric smiled.
"Er...well, I had a question to ask you." Cura stated. "That's actually why I'm here."
"Sure." Moric was receptive. "What can I help you with?"
"Florentius Baenius." Cura stated. "Do you know where he went? He kind of up and left with no explanation one day, and I'd like to buy an Amulet of Arkay from him."
"Oh, he's in Whiterun right now, assisting another Priest of Arkay there, named Andurs." Moric stated plainly. "Apparently there's some mischief going on in those catacombs."
"All right, thank you." Cura smiled. "I'll be there to assist."
"Good, and after that, if you want, Vigilant Tyrannus is in Markarth, still. Maybe if you're not too busy, you could lend him a hand." Moric suggested. "I think he's in over his head. He's told me about a Cult of Cannibals in the region, and now he's told me of a Cursed house in the city. It's insane down there. Nothing compared to what's Beyond Reach at the Divide, but it's pretty bad."
Cura's eyes widened. "I'll keep that in mind. Of course I'll help him." After the Thalmor and murder mystery business, naturally.
"Good girl." Moric said. "The other Vigilants in the area have been having troubles with the Reachmen, and couldn't make it into the city. You're strong enough to do it."
Cura nodded. "I'll get around to it, I promise."
Moric nodded. "Best of luck on your journey, Cura. Give it your all, for all of us."
Cura smiled widely, her vigor renewed. "Absolutely!" She exclaimed as she headed back up the stairs.
"He's in Whiterun." she walked past Carcette and spoke directly to Lydia. "I guess we're heading back to Whiterun."
"Fine by me." Lydia stated. "Whiterun's a much nicer place than Riften or Windhelm."
Keeper Carcette stepped forward and laid a hand on Cura's arm. "Stay on the path of light, and for the love of Stendarr, don't have anymore run-ins with the law."
Cura held her hand. "Keeper, stop worrying. I'm going to be fine. Sheesh!" She slowly released her as she headed to the door.
Mjoll, Lydia and Inigo followed after her, and they left the Keeper standing in the Hall before Cura quickly Fast Travelled to the inner gates of Whiterun.
Lydia stumbled over as she felt her heart race, but there was no nauseous response, so that was a plus.
"Wow, you hurried out of there like a bat out of Oblivion!" Inigo exclaimed with a laugh. "I suppose the Keeper is more your Keeper than the Hall's, heh heh."
Cura shook her head. "I was expecting a lecture over the horizon, so I left as fast as I could." She then turned to Lydia and Mjoll. "No thanks to you mutineers!"
"I apologize," Mjoll stated. "I thought you didn't feel like explaining the story, so I did."
"I didn't want to get into it to begin with. Arrested and dealing with the Thieves Guild..." Cura spoke rashly. "Last thing I need is for Keeper Carcette to backpeddle on her decision to allow my freedom."
"Why does she get to allow your freedom?" Inigo asked. "You are Dragonborn. The world is your freedom!"
"Because..." Cura stammered as she tried to find a way to explain it. "...she's the Keeper. She controls the operations. I...I'm just another Vigilant. I'm below her on the ladder."
"A Jarl, a Priest, and a Black-Briar each find themselves before an Assassin's blade." Inigo began. "Each man tells the assassin to slay the other two. Who does the assassin kill?"
Cura thought about it for a second. "I... I don't know. I guess it would depend on their own personal convictions. If they're irreligious, they could slay the Priest, but if they're an anarchist they could slay the Jarl, and if they hate the Thieves Guild they may slay the Black-Briar."
"That's the point. If Delphine says Carcette is with the Thalmor, would you kill her?" Inigo asked.
"Of course not!" Cura exclaimed defensively.
"If Carcette says Delphine is a Daedra worshipper, will you kill her?" Inigo asked.
Cura pondered for a second. "Well... I would need evidence."
"So you would question your superior?" Inigo asked.
Cura fell silent.
"You are the one with the real power. You choose to kill Carcette, Delphine, or neither." Inigo stated. "You believe it resides with the other two, and allow them to control you. You are the assassin who will pick a side for fear of Arrest, Damnation, or Assassination, because to you the Jarl, Priest and Black-Briar are superior."
Cura had no retort. She continued onwards through to the marketplace, and waved to Fralia, who was overjoyed to see her after all this time.
As she headed up the stairs, she saw a crime scene. City Guards were deterring people from stepping near.
Upon closer inspection, there was a dead Dark Brotherhood Assassin, and Olfrid Battle-Born.
Serves him right, Cura thought, believing that they turned on him.
There was a note nearby, unnoticed by the guards, but speckled with blood and open, revealing it's contents. It must have fallen out of the Assassin's pocket. Very unprofessional of him.
Inigo picked up the note. "Hmm... the Thieves Guild, eh? Interesting..." He tossed the note aside and continued to follow the group.
Cura entered the Hall of the Dead, following Lydia's guidance.
When they entered they immediately noticed Florentius Baenius praying before a Shrine to Arkay off in the right enclave in the main hall. On the other side was an old man in Priest robes as well, eating a loaf of bread. Presumably Brother Andurs. He greeted them with a cordial nod before returning to his food.
"Brother Florentius?" Cura called out to the dark-skinned Imperial to get his attention. She pulled her hood down in the hopes he would recognize her.
Sure enough, he did. "Ah, Vigilant Cura, my hero. How fare you?"
"Pretty well." Cura assured him. "I was wondering if you would be willing to sell me an Amulet of Arkay?"
"For the Shatter-Shields?" Florentius asked as he seemingly stared into nothing. "Hmm. Yes, yes, I suppose I can part with one to comfort a grieving family."
Cura, Mjoll, Inigo, and Lydia all exchanged confused glances.
"How did he know...?" Mjoll's tone wavered, showing she was almost concerned.
"Arkay told me." Florentius stated as he reached into his pocket. "Catch the killer, him?" He handed Cura the Amulet.
"You're... just giving this to me?" Cura was surprised. She was expecting to pay for it.
"Yes. This is a work of charity." Florentius stated. "May Arkay bring comfort to that family at this time of darkness. And may the murderer be brought to justice."
"He didn't tell you who it was, did he?" Cura placed a finger on her chin.
"No. That's your job." Florentius said sternly.
Cura clicked her tongue. It was worth a shot.
"Lazybones." Inigo called Cura playfully.
"I saw an opportunity and went for it." Cura said dryly. "Don't judge me."
The group exited the Hall of the Dead, and Cura was surprised by a familiar face that quickly approached.
It was Vilkas.
"Vilkas!" Cura exclaimed with a blushing face.
"So, you've finally decided to return to us?" Vilkas asked. "After missing Skjor's funeral and leaving us all wondering what happened?"
"I know. I'm sorry." Cura tilted her head shamefully. "I was bed-ridden at that time, and so many things have happened since... this is my first time in Whiterun in ages."
"Maybe you oughta visit the old man." Vilkas stated. "He hasn't been able to burn the Witch head you sent."
"I will visit him, but not now." Cura stated sadly. "I have an important task at hand in Windhelm."
"I see." Vilkas smarmed. "Fine, then. I suppose I'll see you around, great and powerful Dragonborn." He waved a hand as he turned his back and walked back to Jorrvaskr.
"Vilkas..." Cura sighed sadly.
"Is there something between you two?" Lydia asked with a mischievous giggle.
Cura had no response to that.
"He smells like wet dog. Eugh." Inigo's nose curled. "What do you see in him?"
"Excuse --" Cura was about to retort when Mjoll cut in, at last.
"Your boyfriend, perhaps?" Mjoll playfully teased.
"No!" Cura denied. "Well... not exactly."
"That's cute." Mjoll teased further.
Cura's face was flustered and she pulled her hood down over it to hide her redness.
"I'm just playing!" Mjoll tapped her on the shoulder. "Don't be so self-conscious."
Cura slowly relented, but her face remained flush. "Can we just get back to Windhelm now, please?"
She felt guilty towards her perceived indignation towards the Companions, and towards how she brushed Vilkas off.
Why was life so complicated?
Cura, without further thought, Fast Travelled to Windhelm with her crew in tow.
It was still daylight out, though the sun was nearing dusk. It took a walk in the western market, but Cura quickly spotted Torbjorn Shatter-Shield among the faces in the small crowd.
She hurried over to the mourning man. "I have it!" She exclaimed.
"Ale or Mead?" Torbjorn asked, most likely not immediately recognizing the Half-Elf.
For a moment, Cura was dumbfounded, but quickly regained her composure. She took out the Amulet. "The Amulet of Arkay." Cura confirmed as she handed it to him.
"Ah, right." Torbjorn took it into his hands and gently grazed the surface of the idol with his thumb. "I hope Arkay grants my wife some comfort. Thank you. Here. I always pay my debts." He reached into his pocket and handed Cura the key to the locked house.
"Thank you." Cura gently took the key. "Will you be all right?"
"In time..." Torbjorn sighed sadly. "I don't know how long exactly, but in time."
Cura nodded. "May you find peace."
With a nod, Torbjorn continued browsing the market stalls, and Cura returned to her allies. "It's time to do some investigating." She held up the key in her hand and motioned towards the alley, and her friends followed.
