"Heart's Day Mass Wedding

by Loremaster Lawrence Schick

(A special reading from a Heart's Day event)

Gather we now before the eyes and between the hands of Mara, loving mother goddess and goddess of loving another. For to love another is to honor the mother, exalting thereby both mother and mortal.

Gather we here before the loving gaze of loving Mara, to recognize the bond of love between mortals. For only in love is a mortal's life eternal, and only in the sacred bonds of love can a mortal live forever.

Repeat with me now:

As Mara is life, so life is love.

"As Mara is life, so life is love."

Acknowledge we now the oaths and vows of those who gather before Mara to pledge their love. For thus these vows become real, as the Divines, through their vows, made real the world around us.

Acknowledge we here the holy truth that love begets life, therefore for these Mara's love is truth. For those who love multiply the life of the world, and their vows create more life from love.

Repeat with me now:

As Mara gave life, so we give love.

"As Mara gave life, so we give love."

So respect we now these vows eternal, no matter the nature of those who do love. For the nature of one is the nature of all, and through every heart flows the blood of the Divines.

So respect we here the vows of those gathered, for Mara loves all who do love. For Mara gave life that all may love, and all vows of love we respect in her name.

Repeat with me now:

To respect all life, we respect all love.

"To respect all life, we respect all love.""

As Cura and her allies set foot in the forsaken sanctuary, the sight of the wreckage surrounding them dampened their spirits greatly. Even if this was in Coldharbour, the dilapidated state of things was terrible to behold; this was once a Temple devoted to Mara, and here it barely stood, collapsed upon itself, lost to time, the majority of its followers dead, strewn about the floor.

What killed them?

Many figures littered the floors, crushed under broken walls, and skeletal remains dotted the ground. Mirabelle spoke up first, "What happened in here? Hardly the kind of treatment I'd expect from a sanctuary."

Mary stood still for a moment, paralyzed by the sight before her. "I... I recognize this place. It is true to what it was." Korn rubbed against her side, sweeping by her in a circle with a friendly 'yip!' To the wolf, the scenery appeared familiar, as well. The white wolf began to smell the ground and walk along the rubble before returning to her with a gesture towards a door on the other side.

"Korn, do you think there could be living people down there?" Mary inquired of her wolf friend.

Savos shook his head. "Certainly not. It looks like the Ancestral Tombs of Morrowind in this place. Not a house of worship."

Gloriel closed her eyes, seemingly in a trance of sorts. Her hands were clasped together, and she silently nodded her head, as if understanding something.

The desolation was undeniable; the place looked more an open catacombs than a temple at this point, leaving little room for hope of there being survivors.

Mary stepped forward with Korn at her side, joined by Cura. She looked to her old ally for an explanation. "What happened, Maram? Did you do this?"

Maram stared blankly at the wreckage surrounding him in the winding halls. "I... I don't know. It is possible, I cannot deny the possibility. I remember nothing except for the Pilgrimage of Blood we tolled against the Alessian pigs and our untimely demise. Oh, how their bones snapped under the weight of my maul!" He clenched the shaft of his large hammer tightly as he savoured the satisfying memory.

"Maram, this is not our way. We aren't supposed to resort to violence, unless we have no other options." Mary told him sternly. "How can we teach people about love and then kill people in the same breadth? It is the greatest of hypocrisies."

"They blasphemed the Eight by killing you. It never should have been done. Lady Mara deserves greater respect than what she was dealt." Maram told her.

"And you diminish her, even as you claim her faith!" Mary snapped back at him in response. A profound anger welled up in the humble woman, surprising all around her. The group had grown used to the meek, gentle nature she often carried. In that fleeting moment, a vivid vision flashed before her: a throng of individuals - men, women, and children; humans, elves, Khajiit, and Argonians. They extended their hands towards her in jubilation, presenting offerings. Suddenly, the vision grew dim, and vanished. Overwhelmed, she placed a hand over her heart.

Maram flinched in response before a look of shame fell upon him. He looked at the weapon in his hands. "Then... were we wrong? Were we wrong to slay the Alessians?"

Cura was uncertain to where she would begin the investigation. "Are there any living among this place? Split up, everyone, in pairs. We will search every crevice if we must."

Sabrina looked to Sir Amiel. "I don't like you, but I can trust you. You'll be my partner." She demanded sternly, forcing his position.

Sir Amiel hesitated for a second. "Hmph. I do not trust you well enough, Sabrina. For all I know, you may stick a dagger in my back."

"Please, would little ol' me do a thing like that?" Sabrina tilted her head like an innocent child, feigning ignorance to her own sly nature.

Sir Amiel looked at her with a glare of disbelief. "Yes, I am sure you would." He turned to Cura. "If she returns alone, you will know why. If I return alone, you will know why."

Sabrina scoffed and crossed her arms in annoyance as she followed him into the next room over. "You can't be serious!"

Carcette looked at the others and swiftly joined Cura's side. "You wouldn't mind having me as an exploration partner, would you, Cura?"

Cura smiled and shook her head. "I would want no one else. Well, no, that isn't true. If Inigo were here I would choose him." Carcette gasped, feigning offense at Cura's statement, prompting her to redact it quickly. "Er, that isn't to say that I don't appreciate you, Keeper. Inigo has a good nose - he could detect people easier amidst these rotted corpses."

Carcette closed her eye and chuckled warmly. "I know, Cura. I wasn't insulted; don't worry about it."

They decided to pass through a wrecked doorway on the western side of the room next to toppled braziers and descend the stairs there. Maram followed them with Mary and Korn behind him.

Varla, standing close by, took in the scene around him. Amidst the debris of the western partition, a stray Amulet of Mara caught his eye, lying next to overturned benches and fallen candelabras. He picked up the amulet, inspecting the intricate design: a cross-shaped floral star cradling the visage of a woman at its heart, set upon a round base. The pendant was coated in a layer of ashen dust, a testament to its journey through Coldharbour. Gently blowing away the grime, he began to clean it, and as he gazed upon the Good Mother's carved countenance, a warmth started to spread within him.

He found it difficult to concede, yet he understood the allure that the Divine held for so many individuals. He clenched the Amulet in his hand and followed after Cura, Carcette, Maram, Mary, and Korn in their descent.

Mirabelle and Savos elected to stay with Sir Ralvas, as he was essentially helpless in his current state.

"I have heard Lady Meridia's voice again, as we walked the wastes. It is a relief beyond reliefs." Gloriel looked around with Bourlor, walking through one of the tight hallways eastward. She examined dry bloodstains upon the wall. "This is such a shame. I do not follow Mara myself, but I could never imagine doing this to one of her temples. Never."

Bourlor agreed as he began to follow the stains down the hallways. "I have no doubt the Followers may have finally lost themselves and turned upon one another when they became Soul-Shriven. It's a tragedy that so many died, only to wind up dead again."

"If they're in Coldharbour there must have been the influence of the Alessians upon them." Gloriel proposed the idea. "Whenever the Alessians killed anybody, they would be trapped in Coldharbour."

Gloriel moved with tension, casting glances over her shoulder as she followed Bourlor. It appeared she had been carrying a burden for quite some time and was in search of a secure place to express herself. She approached the group's outsider, who, to her observation, had the most distant relationship with Cura.

"I am still unclear as to why I am here," Bourlor ducked under some collapsed stone and continued onwards, walking over rubble and bones. "perhaps that blasted Vernaccus placed a curse upon me the very day he shamed me, in an effort to spite Kynareth."

Gloriel nodded in agreement. "It would not surprise me. The Daedra are chaotic, and yet, very calculated creatures."

"But you serve a Daedra." Bourlor pointed out the fact that she was one of Meridia's Valkyries.

"I do, but Lady Meridia was not always a Daedric Prince. She fell afoul of the Aedra, once, and left Aetherius. To my understanding, if Lady Cura is to be comprehended; Lady Meridia seeks to mend her relationship with the Aedra, beginning with Stendarr and Akatosh." Gloriel considered the idea.

Meridia aided Cura for the longest time, and was easily her most ardent patron of the gods she'd served under. Even now, in Oblivion, the Star Orphan watched her movements, and looked even upon her Champion of Old, Gloriel. Her presence was known to her follower, who had grown far more confident now.

Bourlor was puzzled. "But why? Why now?"

"Do you not feel it? You're in her presence, too. Cura." Gloriel admired the young Half-Elf. "She's changing everything! I believe that she can defeat him. She can defeat Molag Bal! A mortal will slay a Daedric Prince. Such a thing has never happened before."

Bourlor spoke of past battles, his voice heavy with the weight of memory. "When a Daedra falls on Mundus, they merely retreat to Oblivion," he said. "But should they be vanquished within Oblivion - a feat never before achieved - their essence would be cast adrift, utterly annihilated, for there would be no sanctuary to which they could flee."

"Perhaps it's time for such a thing to occur. Lady Meridia... you... you know the truth behind it all." Gloriel prayed as she looked up to the ceiling. "Cura is more than meets the eye, and the forces driving her are more powerful than we could understand."

They reached a dead end, where a lone skeleton lay in a fetal position, wearing brown priest robes. Gloriel looked pitifully upon the victim and turned around, bagging a couple of stray potions laying about the ground. "There was a Daedric Prince who was forgotten, long ago, though a spark of her has returned to the collective minds of Nirn. She has long faded into memory because of Hermaeus Mora's meddling, but has shown her face briefly to me here. Ithelia. The White Star. The Queen of Fates Unknown. The Eldest of the Magna-Ge. I saw a glimpse of her realm: Mirrormoor, she called it; in a bout of lonely delusion a hundred years ago. She deemed Akatosh to be mad and sought to grasp the light which time has bound, to bring together the aspects lost of Auri-El."

Bourlor was confused. "What does this have to do with anything?"

Gloriel ducked under the collapsed rubble laying waste between the walls, forming a makeshift archway. "Ithelia lurks beyond the streams of time, and perhaps works against the Dragonborn. Or, perhaps the Prime Archon is orchestrating events behind Cura's life; pulling the strings - leading her in many directions. Lady Meridia has imparted this theory onto me."

Bourlor paused for a moment and stared at Gloriel sternly. "Have you told Cura about this?"

Gloriel shook her head. "No. I have not; it hadn't seemed very good an idea. She has so much weighing upon her shoulders - it would be best if she could proceed unburdened by this knowledge."

Bourlor fell silent, but closed his eyes and pulled his hat down slightly. "I understand. She has much to consider already. I will remain silent on what you have told me. If it proves to be true, I can only suppose it will be revealed at a future time."

Underground, Sabrina and Sir Amiel walked with torchlight cast upon the narrow stone stairway, lighting orange the stones surrounding them and casting a sheen upon the webs which extended along the length of the corridor and ceiling above them.

"Oof... I would kill for a Sweetroll right now." Sabrina groaned as she descended into the darkness, her pink eyes luminous beneath her ravenlike silver mask as she tread through the misery underground. "The things I'm doing for Cura and the others. I miss being a lone wolf sometimes. I would be in my hut, brewing a good Brandy right about now if I would have just stayed there. Instead I'm meandering out into these uglier places, surrounded by death, with people who smell like they haven't washed in decades. Nostalgic."

"You don't smell so great yourself, my lady. No offense. Though, I suppose dwelling near plague and rot-infested waters will do that to a person." Sir Amiel held the torch forward, observing the impressive mess of webs, unveiling a trail of bodies encased in silk, desiccated and suspended in place like meat hung upon hooks in a freezer, creating a wall to the right of them as they walked. "Hmph. Coldharbour really spared no mercy for poor Mara's followers."

"No mercy in the realm of Molag Bal? Say it isn't so!" Sabrina spouted sarcastically. They were both there long enough and familiar enough with the ardent sadistic cruelty of Coldharbour. They wouldn't pretend that their first encounter wasn't near a plague-infested slums.

Sir Amiel bit his lip and advanced with caution. He examined his rusted claymore, which was now split in half, its jagged edge resting over his shoulder as he walked. "I will need a new claymore, quickly."

Sabrina held her torch forward so as to get a better look at the damage, and realized that his sword was severed entirely. "Oh, wow... how did you manage to keep that thing for this long anyway?"

Sir Amiel ran his finger along the flat of the sundered blade. "Good fortune and careful navigation, I suppose."

"Well, your armour's rusted, too." Sabrina pointed out the browning steel. "I mean, I can give you an ointment that you could apply to it over a flame and we could try and salvage it, but I don't know..."

Sir Amiel was grateful for her generous offer, but declined. "No; I couldn't accept such a thing from you." He maneuvered cautiously around a stone pillar and stepped over a disembodied, shrivelled head.

"Why not?" Sabrina asked under the flickering torchlight as she shadowed his steps. "By Sithis - I'm a great Alchemist, you know. I can fix you up a good acid to burn the rust right off. It's no big deal."

"Sithis?" Sir Amiel realized what she said and quickly called her out on it.

"Oh..." Sabrina bit her lip underneath her mask. She realized that there was no redacting what she'd said. "Yes, I said 'Sithis.' So what?"

Sir Amiel pushed one of the desiccated corpses out of his way and cut through some of the webs. "Would you care to explain, friend? I could sense for a while that there was much you haven't told us." He blocked the makeshift door he'd created and turned to face her sternly.

Sabrina scoffed. "Let it go, Amiel." She tried to walk around him, but he shifted side-to-side to block her at every turn.

"I will move once you decide to be a little more forthcoming." Sir Amiel declared as he stared at her. "And remove your mask: I wish to see your face."

"If I do that, will you stop being a chump?" Sabrina asked.

Sir Amiel nodded. "Yes." He held out both arms to ensure she would not walk past him.

With a grunt of annoyance, Sabrina stripped off her mask and hat, revealing her stark white hair that gleamed in the torchlight. Her pink eyes sparkled mysteriously from the shadows, their luminescence enhanced by her tanned skin, casting an ominous look over her. Resting against a cobweb-draped pillar, she absentmindedly ran her fingers over its stony surface. Caught in a moment of accountability, she sighed softly. "I..." Her gaze flickered over her right shoulder before settling on Sir Amiel. "I belonged to the Dark Brotherhood."

Sir Amiel nodded. "So I assumed."

Sabrina raised her brow. "How would you ever assume that?"

"By the manner with which you fight: you stalk the shadows and strike with poison-laced throwing knives. You prefer to use a blunt weapon to strike at joints in your enemies, or in calculated spaces." Sir Amiel noted. "You are a professional killer. Of that, there is no doubt. I was quite impressed by you, to tell it true."

Sabrina considered that perhaps she'd revealed her hand long ago already. "Thanks. You're not bad yourself."

"So, the Dark Brotherhood in Hammerfell?" Sir Amiel asked. "Quite an influential group there, it was. From what I'd heard, they often were employed by Nobles there, correct?"

"Queen Arlimahera herself," Sabrina corrected him. "but those days were long gone. We were a shadow of our former selves by the time I joined. I left the organization when things got tough and moved to Pailune. I was either going to butcher a store owner and his family so a despot could buy out his property and make a vineyard of it, or turn my back and leave. I decided to live a clean life as a healer instead of a killer. Turns out, shirking one's duties is enough to earn the Wrath of Sithis. Violates the Third Tenet."

"Was this before the Great War which Cura had spoken of once?" Sir Amiel asked.

Sabrina shrugged. "Heck if I know. I've been here all this time. Over thirty years now, more or less. I don't really keep track. Some of us aren't as compulsive as you. I definitely was here for more than thirty years, though." She turned to the side and chuckled. "Heh. One of our Tenets was to "'Never betray the Dark Brotherhood or its secrets. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis.' What more can he do to me at this point, though?"

Sir Amiel looked a tad concerned. "What did Sithis do to you?"

"Came for me in the most literal sense." Sabrina explained. "I went to sleep one night in my Apothecary Shop. He was cloaked in darkness; a bearded, angry wraith. The air in my bedroom got so cold, I felt like all the blood in my body was frozen. The windowglass was coated in white fog, as well. I fought like my life depended on it: turns out, it did. I managed to evade the spirit, jumping out the window, and I ran into the damp woods. That was when I saw him: a High Elf, clad in fancy blue robes, strumming a lute. He told me that he knew how to evade the Wrath of Sithis."

Sir Amiel listened attentively, saying nothing.

"He told me that if I held this Red Stone, the wraith would not be able to touch me. I was panicking, okay? My mind was darting all over the place!" Sabrina tried to salvage her cunning image. "I panicked and grabbed the Stone, and held it up when the Wraith came for me, and then I was burned by it. When I dropped the flaming stone, the Wraith came straight at me, and everything went black. Then I found myself here, in Coldharbour. If I ever see that Bard again I'll strangle him."

"An Altmer Bard, you say? He sounds like the fellow who granted us the Red Diamond." Sir Amiel scratched his chin. "The Stone which damned our Order."

Sabrina nodded. "I guess it doesn't matter whether you're a reformed assassin or a valiant Knight. If Coldharbour has its sights set on you it'll find a way to get you." She gestured to the underground temple surrounding them. "Not even Priests of Mara could escape this fate. I guess we shouldn't feel too bad for ourselves, huh?"

Sir Amiel raised his torch and cast light upon the corpses trapped in the webs. Their anguished expressions were plain to see, on the faces which still had flesh, that is. "It is a true shame. Poor Mary; I sincerely hope she doesn't see this."

"Poor woman's been through enough, honestly." Sabrina sympathized from the shadows. "But she has the love of Mara herself. I swear - I've never seen anyone like her before. When I first came to this dunghole of a dimension I spent days, months, who knows how long, wandering the sewers. I sat just behind the wall leading to her prison. We spoke for hours. She offered me kind advice in my darkest moments. That was why I wanted to help her out. Turns out it led to a Plague in the slums. But who cares? It's over and done with now. We've gotta keep moving forward, because we can."

"I agree with you, Sabrina. If we dwell on our pasts, we will stagnate in this realm, feeding its power with our misery. It is best to advance and not allow its tendrils to continue to bind us." Sir Amiel conceded. With his newfound purpose in life, he was more than willing to keep moving forward.

Sabrina was happy to hear it. She'd taken Sir Amiel for a stickler before, and was pleasantly surprised to see that he was willing to hear her out. "Good on you, Sir Amiel. It seems you're not such a Tobr'a after all."

"And you are not quite the despicable rogue I took you for, though you are nearly so," Sir Amiel retorted with a humorous spark.

Sharing a lighthearted chuckle, the two ventured further into the darkness. Sir Amiel's suspicions about the enigmatic Healer were confirmed, yet he was comforted by the knowledge that her assassin days were firmly in the past. They came upon a staircase descending to another ground level. Finding survivors there seemed improbable, but they welcomed the solitude nonetheless.

Cura, Carcette, Mary, Korn, and Varla followed Maram into the temple's shadowy undercroft. Moving through the arid stone structure, memories from the past started to flood Mary's mind again.

A vision unfolded before her: vast encampments of ailing, wounded, and tormented souls. Overhead, the skies bore a somber gray hue as snowflakes descended gently. Desperate for warmth, people clung to one another, while others were dying to the relentless grip of hunger. With a compassionate touch upon the earth, she beckoned life from the barren ground, summoning forth gourds and carrots from the frostbound earth. Astonishment and joy lit the faces of the onlookers. Then, as swiftly as it had arrived, the vision dissolved.

"I... I'm beginning to remember it more... the more we observe this place." the Priestess remarked as she touched the cold stone walls. Her fingers left a clean trail in the dust of the walls as the specks flaked off with each inch. "This was where..." Her attention was split; she found a doorway and headed into it, alarming Cura and the others by the sudden haste of her movement. She found herself in a chamber dotted with numerous beds. A skeleton, curled up in the fetal position, adorned one, while the rest lay empty. Shelves laden with medical paraphernalia lined the adjacent wall, under which stood cupboards with doors ajar and hanging off their hinges. Cobwebs draped over half the expanse of the room, with fragments of the crumbling ceiling scattered across the floor and atop the first two beds.

As Mary shut her eyes, another vivid memory flooded back to her: a half-elven child nestled in her embrace, while the expressions of her followers ranged from shock and revulsion to outright disapproval. Beside her, Korn remained vigilant, her gaze fixed on those who professed devotion to Mara and her edicts, yet she harbored a deep-seated mistrust for them. The wolf feared what they were capable of; and if the current stories she was hearing about the Followers' actions were to be believed, Korn was very much justified in her caution.

Mary motioned towards the room and tenderly grasped Varla's hand, leading him to the bed furthest from the door. "You were born right here in this room, Varla," she said, smiling fondly at her son as she reminisced about that day. "It was a challenging time, yet filled with joy. The other followers might not have been happy, but I ignored their harsh words."

Varla surveyed the room's condition and his mother. "I see," he stated, maintaining a stoic facade, yet a warmth blossomed within him. It was a sensation challenging to articulate and even more so to convey, thus he contained it.

Cura peeked into the room after hearing it, and felt a twinge of compassion in her heart. Surely the room must have been in better condition at the aforementioned time, but it was still a sad event. She remembered much from Pelinal's memory, and the terrors that Umaril had performed. Coldharbour seemed to be more than just a realm of suffering; it was a mirror into the hearts of mankind. It seemed to take on the shapes of things that were significant to its occupants, giving as much as it took away, only perverted. This was the room, no doubt, but distorted; destroyed. A shadow of its former self. As was this entire temple, with a bust created to mock Mara and her followers at its entrance.

The mere memory of that sacrilegious mural was enough to fuel Cura's rage. Molag Bal, the ancient serpent, had not only led them to devastation but also dared to craft such a mockery to further insult them. She maintained a record of all his misdeeds, vowing to return them sevenfold.

Cura observed Korn lingering in the doorway, half inside the room, attentively watching Mary and Varla. She affectionately scratched behind the wolf's ear, a gesture of fondness for the sacred animal. Korn's ear twitched and she turned her face upwards to Cura and began to pant happily.

Carcette stood by Maram, watching with approval as Cura bestowed gentle care upon Korn, content with the actions of her protégé. She thought back to the two branching prophecies in Jyggalag's book concerning Cura. Why was he uncertain about her future in regards to Coldharbour? Jyggalag seemed to be certain of all things. Why was the Dragonborn such an enigma to him?

Varla exited the room with Mary and Korn maneuvered around them both.

"Is everything all right, Mary?" Maram inquired after her.

The Priestess in emerald robes nodded. "Yes; I am just recounting memories I'd forgotten, Maram. I've been free for some time now thanks to wonderful Cura. My thoughts are slowly drifting back into place."

"I'm happy that you seem to be making a full recovery, Mary." Cura reciprocated her kindness. "You've been tormented for so long with one particular part of your past. It's good to see that you're finding yourself again."

As the group proceeded into the next sector beyond a closed door, the sight of horrifying spider webs and numerous bodies entangled within them, resembling beads on a loom, lined the corridors, forming a silk labyrinth that led deeper into the shadows.

As they walked, Cura's foot scuffed something on the floor, and she looked downwards to see what it was immediately. It appeared to be a small note laying tucked against a pillar under some webs. She was stepping on it, and quickly moved back her foot to reveal it.

Cura bent down and lifted the small note, loose, colour fading, and crumpled into itself. She unfurled it and read aloud:

"After the pilgrimage of blood, my legs are getting covered with strange sores and hard scales. Lady Mara, why is this happening to me? Have we not shown you our love with our bloody pilgrimage? Have we not done as you told us? That pilgrimage was too terrible to be called your love. Many innocents drowned in blood and the walls of the Imperial City were painted red with it. But that is what you wanted. Did you not tell us that even death is divine love?

Lady Mara, I don't understand. I understand nothing anymore. What do you want from us?

Aria "

Cura looked at the note with a light cringe upon her face. "Oh..." Now they had an idea about what was going on with Aria. The likelihood of her being trapped in Coldharbour was certain, but the state of mind she would be in was likely far worse than even that.

Maram looked concerned as well, when he'd heard this. "Aria... yes. It makes sense, now..."

"Death is divine love... it is the reclamation of one's soul to the Divines... but not like this." Mary covered her mouth and her eyes widened. "Oh, dear... Aria... you took part in the slaughter, as well? No... you would never! You were always so kind..."

Maram turned to face his old friend. "She did; she was furious with what they'd done to you, as was I. It could not go unpunished."

"I... I can't believe this..." Mary was horrified by what she was hearing. "Goodness... I never would have wanted this! The Alessians did an awful thing, but to kill them so callously in response... that was an utter betrayal of me, and of all we've ever believed in. Surely you realize that!"

Maram lowered his head in shame as her words cut deeply into him. He closed his eyes in the darkness and turned his face from her. "They left us little choice. They were coming for the rest of us. All because of your bleeding heart. You foolishly decided to heal that child of his plague in the Town Square, of all places."

"That boy was suffering! I had to help him!" Mary barked at him. "You wouldn't understand!"

"The Alessians were standing nearby. You couldn't have waited another few minutes?" Maram asked sternly. "Another two minutes or so? Look, I know you are... er..." he looked at the people around them, and elected to open his mouth anyways. "...Mara, but come on."

Mary stared at him for a few seconds, though a glimmer of recollection sparked in her eye. She held a finger to her mouth in thought, and began to look around them.

Cura turned to look at him. "Mara is in Aetherius."

"Yes, and no." Maram said plainly. "She is in Aetherius, and she is right here." he gestured towards Mary and Korn.

Varla was taken aback, hearing this. His first instinct was to lash out at this man for heresy, but he elected instead to calm himself and retain his composure. He was, after all, trying to distance himself from the Alessian Order and its teachings now, as well as Molag Bal and his corruption.

Mary shrugged, as well. "I don't..."

"We are in Coldharbour; you can stop denying it, now." Maram told her. "You are the Avatar of Mara. Just admit it. We're among friends, I would assume." He looked at the present company who she arrived with.

Cura looked down at Korn, who seemed to be staring at Maram with a look of exasperation on her canine face.

"I've heard of such a thing before," Carcette pondered the idea. "Divines taking on our likeness and dwelling among us. It was said that in the First Era, and even before it, they did this frequently. As well, the Imperial Cult in Morrowind had spoken of similar events in the Third Era."

And here stood Cura, who was technically a vessel for Akatosh, herself, being the Dragonborn.

"That is completely ridiculous." Varla sneered at him. "My mother is a mortal woman. She was slain by the Alessians."

"Your mother...?" Maram's confusion lingered but for a moment before realization dawned upon him. A sneer of contempt twisted his features. "Ah, of course; the wretched spawn of Umaril."

"Don't call him that." Mary admonished him sternly.

Maram shook his head. "We cannot overlook the events of that year - when the minions of the Ayleid King took many of our priestesses captive. It was a dark time. Many lost faith because you were taken. No one anticipated Umaril's return. We had believed the gods vanquished him during Pelinal's initial crusade." He gazed at Varla with a baleful stare. "You embody something dreadful; the desecration of our goddess."

Mary massaged her forehead and looked away. "Maram, you are out of line." It was a sore topic, and she recounted the cultists' initial reaction upon her return in the past. She wound up relocating to the forest with Varla, as being in the sanctuary no longer brought her peace in those days. Maram had often expressed his hatred for Umaril for what the fiend had done, and the others had lost heart following those matters. One would think the return of the Whitestrake at that time would have been cause to rejoice for followers of the Eight.

The memories were returning to Mary, now. The Followers of Mara were horrified by what had occurred. Though, their connections never severed until the hour of her death on the pyre. What came after, she was only discovering now.

Korn barked angrily at the follower of Mara, as well, standing nearby as usual.

Varla strode up to Maram and grabbed him by the collar. "Are you sure it wasn't your big mouth that brought doom upon your organization instead?" He grasped him tightly, and removed his helmet, showing him his half-elven face under the torchlight. "Say it to my face directly, then. Go on. I will rip out your tongue."

"Filthy spawn; you are a vile creature who should never have come to be! Hrrk!" Maram spat and Varla began to tighten his grip around his neck, choking the man furiously.

Cura brandished her mace, pointing it directly at Varla. "Hey! Don't do it! Release him!"

"Varla, no! Stop! Let him go!" Mary pleaded with him to release her old ally.

Her pleas touched his ears, and Varla hesitated for a moment. He felt the rage tighten in his chest as the disgust settled in. He reluctantly loosened his grip around Maram's throat, and the self-righteous Paladin began to cough as his lungs readjusted. He opted instead to shove Maram backwards into the thick wall of webs nearby.

After looking at what he had done, Varla realized that he was slipping back into his old ways already. He sneered in defiance. "You can say what you want, but it is all nonsense regardless. The Eight are a myth. Do you hear me? Your Mara," he looked at Cura. "your precious Stendarr. All false. Pretenders. Surely you've realized it by now!" Korn barked at Varla and approached him directly. He looked down a the wolf with scorn. "What do you want, you stupid dog?"

Cura was about to lash out verbally, proclaiming her direct experience with Stendarr and Mara both, but Carcette placed a hand on her arm and shook her head. "Don't, Cura. It's not worth it. He will understand eventually."

Korn continued to bark at Varla, as if trying to tell him something. Mary walked up beside her wolf and caressed her head. "Calm, now, Korn. He doesn't truly mean it; he's just upset." She looked up at Varla with gentle eyes. "There are things in this world that will surprise you, Varla. I... I'm still learning, myself."

"But, mother - surely even you could see how absurd it is! Why would Mara want to dwell with mortals? In our filthy world, where there is naught but strife and horror?" Varla asked, trying to get her perspective in the hopes that her reasoning would lean on his side of the discussion.

"Because Mara loves the world." Cura interjected, ignoring Carcette's advice. "It makes a lot of sense that she would want to dwell among us - because of all the strife and horror. It's who she is; she is the embodiment of love. I... I wouldn't doubt that she would take on a Human form and walk with us through this sorrow."

Varla let out a groan and turned away from Cura, his voice firm. "Enough! I will not listen to this!" The truth, if it were to be believed, bore terrible implications for his existence, just as Maram had declared. His gaze fell upon the Amulet of Mara, salvaged from the debris, and he traced the emblem at its heart. "It can't be... it is impossible." Even further, the thought was unbearable - that a fragment of Mara might have been languishing in Coldharbour for millennia. Should this be true, it would certainly shed light on the darkness that had befallen Nirn; or perhaps it was telling of its condition already.

Cura tried to be kind. She extended a comforting hand to his arm. "It could be much worse, Varla. If you'd seen what happened at that time, what Umaril's true intentions were... this was likely the better alternative. Be thankful for your life."

Varla snorted through his nose. He had remained silent, keeping his thoughts largely to himself. Yet, he found himself reflecting on his past more frequently. His place in the grand scheme was uncertain; he belonged neither to the Ayleid nor to Humanity. Belharza had taught him to despise any belief that did not align with the One or Saint Alessia. The Shezarr's teachings were clear: the Elven gods were impostors, envious spirits seeking to take Akatosh's throne, and the Elves, along with their followers, deserved eradication. This included all who worshipped any Daedra.

These were the same Alessians who had once attempted to drown him in Lake Rumare for being a half-elf, the offspring of a Priestess of Mara - believed by many to be Mara incarnate.

Now, what was he to hold true?

Was he merely a vile creature, spoon-fed falsehoods since birth, or was he that, and worse still, the product of a grave transgression against Mara? Both prospects were equally dreadful. How could this be the better alternative? He shook his head in disbelief. "You are a fool. An imbecile. What do you know, anyway?"

Carcette stepped forward. "She is not an imbecile. She has obviously seen something you haven't. Now, cool it! We can't keep fighting amongst ourselves like this, or we're all going to die in this realm."

"Well said, Keeper!" Cura cheered on her mentor.

Varla glared at the Breton furiously, but kept in his corner. He scoffed and withdrew.

Carcette wondered something, herself, however. "I am curious about one thing, though: if you truly are an aspect of Mara - how can it be that you were trapped in Coldharbour?"

Cura answered it before Mary could even speak. "The same way my Dragon Soul is trapped here. Molag Bal marked her." She took a step backwards and heard something crunch under her boot. She looked down to see a skeletal hand there. "I suppose he must have marked all of the priests of Mara. What happened to you all, exactly?" she turned to Maram directly for answers.

Maram recounted the black days as he dusted the webs off his armour. "We were defeated by the Alessian Legion. They found our Temple and stormed it with fury for what we did in the Pilgrimage of Blood. Aria and I managed to escape the first wave, and fled to the forests. Aria ran to Mary's cottage near the center-lands - she insisted on saving him," he pointed at Varla when he said it, to the Man-Hunter's surprise. "which was how we were caught. I warned her to stay away; they would obviously expect us to go near Mary's cottage, but she insisted on saving the babe. She couldn't. They knew. They set a trap for any of us who would be dumb enough to go there. We got to the door only to find out they tossed him in Lake Rumare, and we were beaten down and slaughtered by the Alessian Paladins. And then we wound up here. I've felt nothing but rage and hatred since..."

Varla crossed his arms. At least this Aria person sounded more reasonable than this zealot, to him.

Cura nodded upon hearing it. "That sounds about right. From what I've seen of the Alessians so far, I can only assume they were probably Soul-Trapping people into their Red Stone."

Mary closed her eyes and breathed through her nose. "The Stone. Of course - Inquisitor Pepe beheld it to me when I was imprisoned." She interlaced her fingers together as she recounted his words: "'If you truly are Mara, then swallow this stone. Then its fires will fade and this abominable tragedy will end.'" She looked at Maram, at Varla, and at the corpses littering the area around them. "Should... should I have swallowed it? I alone could have been trapped here, and the rest of the people could have been spared... the Order would not have been able to subjugate people to it. But I was afraid... afraid of what that Stone was... what it could do. What it would do to me. I was selfish..."

Cura shook her head. "No; it wasn't selfish. You couldn't possibly know what was going to happen."

"But I was aware," Mary stated with a heavy heart. "I truly was. My deepest desire was to alleviate the anguish of Nirn's denizens, and yet... fear overtook me then. I recognized the malevolence of the Stone. It was within my grasp to seize it, to consume it. The strength was mine, but... fear held me back."

Carcette crossed her arms. "What are you trying to say?"

"I-"

As Mary's thoughts were about to coalesce, an eerie noise began to swell from the dark eastern shadows. Korn, with instinctive alertness, swiftly positioned herself in front of the group, her growls deepening, back arching, and fur bristling in anticipation.

Carcette brandished her Warhammer, mirrored by Maram with his. Varla positioned himself protectively before Mary, unsheathing his sword and parrying dagger. Cura extended Spellbreaker and her mace, conjuring a Magelight against the shadowed walls beside them to unveil the approaching threat.

Author's Note: for this battle, "Enchanted Banquet - Castlevania Symphony of the Night OST" thanks for reading :)

Before them stood a grotesque figure: a woman with long, silver hair tied back in a ponytail, her upper body bare, merged with the lower half of a spider. She modestly covered her chest with her right arm, while her left hand wielded a slender rapier. Shadows obscured her eyes, which probably couldn't discern the group before her. As she moved, her spider half produced a soft, rattling hiss that made Cura shudder.

"Oh, gosh..." Cura shuddered as she observed what was coming. It faintly reminded her of Bleak Falls Barrow, when she'd travelled with Sven at the start of her journey; when she'd contended with the Giant Frostbite Spider; when she'd agreed to help Arvel the Swift be freed of the webs in the doorway. This, however, was far more disturbing.

"A-Aria!" Mary shuddered as she recognized the figure looming in the distance. "Oh, no... Aria. This can't be!"

Maram was horrified to see what became of his friend as well. Her grotesque form was burning itself into his mind; a testament to their failure; to their foolish endeavours; a punishment from the betrayal of all they'd stood for. He nearly lost the grip of his hammer as he stood there, with shaking knees. "N-no... she too is corrupted by Coldharbour!"

Aria did not speak; she immediately fired a ball of webs at Cura and her allies, who dodged to either side, causing it to hit a wall further off and droop to the floor. She hissed and began to quickly jolt towards them.

Cura swung her mace, its ridged head crashing into Aria's chitinous armor. The spider woman staggered, but her legs danced, avoiding a direct hit. Varla lunged, blades slashing. Cura parried, sparks flying as steel met steel. Maram swung his warhammer, aiming for Cura's head, but she ducked, rolling away. The desiccated bodies crunched beneath her boots.

Carcette closed in, her warhammer humming with power. Aria blocked the blow, the impact jarring her bones. She retaliated, her spiked leg unfurling in the air, but Carcette sidestepped, her armor absorbing the force. Mary chanted incantations, healing her allies and bolstering their strength. Korn, the White Wolf, lunged at the arachnid woman, teeth bared. Aria leapt to the side, nimbly dodging the wolf. She then circled, venom dripping from her fangs. She spat a web, ensnaring Varla's swords. The Man-Hunter struggled, trapped. Aria lunged, her legs stabbing at him. The half-elven warrior twisted, narrowly avoiding the strikes.

Cura lunged forward and swung her mace, but Aria leaped, clinging to the ceiling.

Cura's eyes adjusted to the darkness. She spotted a red glow coming from beneath the temple undercroft's altar which was guarded by the arachnid woman - a stone slab where monks once prayed, but no longer: it was corrupt by Coldharbour, like everything else. It bore ancient Daedric runes, their meaning lost to time. With a battle cry, Cura charged. Aria dropped from the ceiling, legs slashing. Cura sidestepped, mace crashing into the altar.

The stone shattered, revealing a hidden chamber below. Aria's eyes widened. Cura seized the opportunity, slamming her mace into the spider woman's abdomen. Aria screeched, collapsing. Varla broke free from the web, swords flashing. Maram and Carcette closed in, and Mary chanted a prayer of light.

The temple trembled. The runes glowed, cursed ancient magic awakening. Cura stepped back, realizing the truth - the undercroft was more than a battleground. It was a prison, and Molag Bal's power flowed below the altar.

As the chamber's walls cracked, Cura made her choice. She lunged at Aria, mace raised. She struck true and leapt down the opening she'd created into the chamber below.

Maram rushed at Aria and slammed her into the wall, and Carcette dashed past them to follow Cura. Varla stood between his Mother and her former allies, who were wrestling with each other now.

"Snap out of it, Aria! It's me, Maram! Remember me! Remember us!" Maram begged his old friend as he tried to hold her back. She struggled in his grip, brought up two of her spider legs, and grabbed him by the shoulders. She raised her long, thin spider-themed rapier, and turned it downwards to impale him.

Korn barked loudly and sped across the floor, and leapt onto Aria, biting down on her forearm, forcing her hand back.

Cura followed the ominous red glow, as it called to her. Carcette trailed behind her with haste. "Cura, hold on! Don't do anything rash!"

As they crawled through a hole in a nearby wall, they saw it: there was a piece of a red stone, emanating light through the entire chamber. It rested upon a pedestal, in the hands of two skeletal statues wearing hooded robes beside a statue of Mara, who appeared to be turning away from the stone. Spiders crawled along the walls, coming from cracks behind the sculptures.

The body of a child lay on the floor beneath the shrine, though now it was simply dried remains. Carcette closed her eyes and looked away sadly. It was a horrid thing to look at.

Cura walked over the small body and approached the stone, unfazed by its machinations. She reached a hand towards it, to grab it, but Carcette quickly grabbed her wrist. When Cura looked at her, she shook her head.

"Don't touch that, Cura; it's dangerous." Carcette warned her.

"It's a Piece of Bal." Cura informed her. "The Red Stone. A piece of his power." She turned her gaze back to it, and her eyes burned with hatred and determination. "If I take it, he will lose more of his strength. And I will gain it." As she did upon slaying Vernaccus, and Menta-Na.

"Cura, no." Carcette warned her. "It's not a good idea."

Cura closed her eyes and exhaled her frustrations. She shoved Carcette backwards and grabbed the stone fragment with both of her hands. Her eyes were fixed on it. "If I want to stand a chance against Molag Bal, I need all the power I can get."

Carcette caught herself and hurried back to Cura. She tried to grab her arms again. "Let it go, Cura! Please! Don't do this to yourself."

"Don't do what to myself?" Cura asked her coldly. "I am Stendarr's Dragon; I'm just exerting justice on Molag Bal. You know he deserves it, Keeper. You of all people should understand."

"How do you intend to defeat evil by taking it unto yourself?" Carcette took Cura's hands into her own, holding the backs of her hands, which beheld the piece of the red stone. "Please, Cura; don't be influenced by him."

Cura's breathing grew heavy and she began to seethe as she looked at the stone in her gauntleted hand and Dwarven Metal Hand. A sudden anger took over her as she stared into the flames which danced in the stone. "You don't understand. You never will." she spat as she clenched the stone tighter. She looked to the hole in the wall and made a hasty dash for it.

"No! Cura!" Carcette shouted after her as she pursued her through the hole in the wall.

The pair of them ran through the stone hallways underground. Cura's thoughts grew darker and darker, still.

"She will not allow you. She seeks to hold you back."

"She seeks your failure. Your victory will no profit her."

"She serves Jyggalag now; he desires Coldharbour for himself."

"You have to kill her."

"Kill her."

"Kill her."

Cura stamped her foot down. "SHUT UP!" she shouted to the aether.

"Kill her."

"No!" Cura wailed back at the dark, whispering voice.

"Kill her."

"No!" Cura protested as her thoughts began to slowly drain, and the world grew darker around her.

"Cura?" Carcette reached out to her.

"KILL HER!"

Cura clenched her head in her hands as she struggled against the unseen force. After a moment of calmness, Cura's struggle vanished and she slowly looked up at Carcette again. She tilted her head in an almost trancelike state.

The flickering torches cast eerie shadows on the rough-hewn walls, and the air hung heavy with anticipation. They stood apart from one another in the tight tunnels, a dim green light cast upon the earthy walls. There was no way back, no way forward.

Carcette, clad in her dark gray armor, stood resolute. Her eye, harsh as her warhammer, bore the weight of her duty—to protect Cura's future. She had faced countless foes, but none like Cura. Thankfully, she did not have her Dragonborn abilities, though there was small chance that this would go well regardless.

Vigilant Cura, once a loyal companion, now stood transformed. The Red Stone, a malevolent artifact, pulsed in her clenched fist. Its crimson glow tainted her once-pure soul, twisting her purpose. Her gold armor was marred with a red outer glow, and her eyes glowed with an unholy fire.

"Carcette," Cura hissed, her voice echoing off the walls. "You stand in my way. The Stone demands your blood."

Carcette tightened her grip on Pendulum. "I won't let you unleash that darkness upon the world, not through my student. Not while I draw breath." She stared at the stone fragment as she said this, fully aware of who the culprit was.

The duel began. Their cudgels clashed, sparks flying in the confined space. Cura's strikes were wild, fueled by the Stone's corrupt energy. Carcette parried, her movements precise and calculated. Each clash reverberated through the tunnel, shaking loose bits of stone from the ceiling. She was more thankful than ever to Jyggalag now, for this armour.

Cura's eyes glinted with madness. "You're a fool, Carcette!" she spat. "The Stone grants power beyond imagination!"

But Carcette knew the cost - the Stone consumed its wielder, turning them into a vessel for chaos. She sidestepped Cura's next attack, then lunged, aiming for Cura's shoulder The warhammer met resistance - Cura's Spellbreaker - but Carcette pressed on.

Cura lunged forward, cracking her in the chest with her mace, causing Carcette to stumble. Due to the narrow space, she could only drive her warhammer forward or on small angles, as she was flanked by wall on either side.

"I will kill everyone here - starting with you!" two voices spoke; Cura's and a Dark entity's, the dark one distinctly stronger. However, Cura fought against her own body desperately.

Cura, wielding a cudgel and sword, had the advantage in these conditions. Carcette was just thankful she did not use the Thu'um against her here. Cura clashed with her again, her mace pushing down on the shaft of the warhammer. The hooked head of the mace gripped the warhammer as Cura continued to push down upon it.

"I won't let you destroy everything we've sworn to protect," Carcette grunted, her muscles straining. "Not even for the power to best a Daedric Prince." She thrust forward, unlocking the mace's head from the shaft and knocking Cura back.

Cura's laughter echoed, maddening. She twisted her wrist, and tendrils of red energy shot from the Stone, wrapping around Carcette's warhammer. The metal crackled, threatening to shatter. "I- I can't stop myself!" Cura cried out amidst her forceful laughter.

Carcette struggled against the dark energy. She called upon Stendarr in prayer, casting his Aura and lighting up the hall with golden light. The tendrils writhed under its force and disappeared into shadows.

"You can't win," Cura whispered, her eyes glowing brighter. Her voice was darkened, tainted by the voice of the other. "The Stone will consume you too. Join me."

Carcette's resolve hardened. She channeled her inner strength, breaking free from the energy tendrils. With a primal scream, she drove her warhammer into Cura's side. The corrupted Vigilant staggered, blood staining her armor.

"I'll save you, Cura," Carcette said, her voice raw. "Even if it costs me my soul."

Cura's eyes widened, and for a moment, the madness wavered. "Why?" she gasped. She began to struggle against the force which grabbed her. "S-stop! Stop! No!" She lunged forward, and crushed Carcette's collarbone under her mace. Cura felt her heart splinter as she pulled back immediately, realizing what she had done.

"She must be the first." the evil voice resounded in her mind.

"I... I can't!" Cura protested with all her strength.

"Because some things are worth dying for," Carcette replied, taking a step back. "And you are one of them."

"And then, Sir Amiel. And then, Sabrina. And Mary. And Korn. And Varla, Gloriel, Sir Ralvas, Savos, Mirabelle. Bourlor. And then Inigo, Lucien, Mjoll, Vilja... I want them all." the demonic voice commanded. As Cura lunged forward with a well-placed crushing blow to Carcette's head, the former Keeper of the Vigil removed her helmet to grant Cura the killing blow.

She closed her working eye, accepting either death, or what Jyggalag said would happen.

"EEEEEEEEEYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGH!" the mace halted within inches of her head. Cura screamed to the heavens and launched the stone against the nearby wall. The tunnel seemed to hold its breath as it crumpled to the ground. Cura fell to her knees and wept. Carcette knelt beside her, her heart heavy.

"Rest now, Cura," Carcette whispered, cradling the weeping Half-Elf in her embrace. "You're okay... you're okay."

"Whoa, what's going on here?" came Sabrina and Sir Amiel down the hallway, torches in hand. The plague doctor stepped forward, noticing the blood on Cura's side and her intense weeping.

Sir Amiel hurried to the Dragonborn's side, and helped her stand chivalrously. "My lady..."

Carcette addressed the two of them immediately. "That stone fragment must be destroyed." She pointed at the red stone fragment, now split in half from its impact with the wall.

Their focus shifted to it, and immediately, the Knight and the Doctor shared a glance. "Son of a mother." Sabrina stifled her profanity, recognizing the fragment for what it was. She placed her hands on her hips and shook her head with displeasure.

At that time, Maram continued to wrestle with the corrupted Aria, and managed to toss her to the ground. She lay on the ground, too weak to continue the battle. "Aria, I'm sorry..." He raised his warhammer, prepared to deliver the killing blow.

Varla feinted to the right, and tackled him away from her before he could. Maram was knocked several steps away, landing into one of the web walls. He managed to thrust himself out of it and glared at Varla hatefully. "What are you doing, you mongrel?"

Varla stood tall, and faced the Slaughterer. "She is defeated. That's enough." Mary and Korn approached the scene, and Varla turned to his mother. "You can purify her, can you not? Like you did for Maram? Do it."

Mary looked at the dying Aria and then she turned to Korn. "Yes." They made haste, approaching the corrupted faithful. She laid her hands on Aria's head gently. "Aria... please, remember who you are. Remember me, as well."

Sir Amiel, Sabrina, Cura, and Carcette managed to reenter their room through the hole Cura had made in the floor, hoisting one another up. They witnessed the scene from a distance.

Cura looked at Varla. "You... you protected her!" She was honestly surprised to see such charity coming from the Man-Hunter.

"I suppose you could call it my first act of kindness." Varla said dryly, crossing his arms and watching as his Mother and her Wolf began to purify Aria.

A blue light consumed the room and Aria's body began to change. Her spiderlike limbs began to recede in the light and she began to shrink to a natural human size. When the light receded, she was a young woman with silver hair, as before, but of the Nedic race. She was unclothed, and Carcette quickly reached into her bag and threw a change of Clothes; a Belted Tunic; towards them.

"I'm willing to lend these to her for the meantime." Carcette explained.

"Stendarr's charity; the willingness of one to give the clothes off their back to another in need." Sir Amiel admired her compassion. "I see where Lady Cura learned it."

Carcette blushed at his praise, though true as it were.

Cura looked at her mentor, and then turned away shamefully. She walked a few feet away with her back to Carcette and the others. She'd just tried to kill her. She was possessed by the mere fragment of that evil stone. A crevice in her heart was opened and evil surged into it like running water. The shame that she felt was palpable.

Carcette noticed Cura's apprehension and approached her student. "Cura, what happened was beyond your control." she tried to console her.

"I almost killed you." Cura looked at her with wet eyes. "If... if I hadn't pulled back in that last second..."

Carcette gently touched her cheek. "I knew you would, Cura. I knew it was going to happen. It's your trial. That's why I'm here."

Cura was awestruck by this information, though it wasn't a surprise, given her new link to Jyggalag. "You... you knew..."

"I've come to help you through this." Carcette informed her. "I want to help you stay on the correct path. There are many chances for you to derail; I want to ensure you succeed. Just trust me." She held Cura's hands in her own tenderly.

Cura sniffled lightly and conceded. "I will, Keeper."

Aria's eyes slowly began to open and her vision grew clearer and more precise. "Ooh... what... what have I been doing?" she asked as she slowly sat upright. She spoke softly, her voice a gentle whisper. When she noticed Maram, Mary, and Varla, she immediately covered herself with the unfolded clothes and gasped. The others turned away to allow her the chance to change into her clothes.

Once she was dressed in the golden brown tunic, she recognized the faces next to her. "Lady Mara? Maram?" When she heard the bark of a wolf, she looked down to see Korn standing nearby. "Korn! Oh, my! It's you! Hello!" she gently moussed the wolf's neck scruff affectionately. Korn responded happily to the affection of a loyal follower of Mara.

As soon as Aria approached Mary, she lowered her face. "You... you're here! In Coldharbour. Lady Mara, I don't know what to say. You've come to free us! Thank you."

"Actually, she was trapped here, just as you were." Varla informed her sternly. He despised hearing them refer to his mother as 'Mara.' It served these fools right that they would end up here. What were they thinking, slaughtering the Alessians? How did they think that was going to end up?

"Oh, the Alessians were the culprits. I presume they've cursed you too... My deepest apologies, Lady Mara. You are the least deserving of this fate. Your intentions were pure, merely to alleviate the suffering of mortals. It was us who perpetrated heinous acts. We took so many lives in your name, not sparing the innocent nor the guilty. We are unworthy of your grace." Aria's voice was heavy with sorrow, her gaze lowered in regret for their deeds and their destined consequences. "We failed in all regards. I couldn't even shield your child from those beasts."

Sabrina whispered to Sir Amiel from the sidelines. "Ironic, isn't it? The followers of the goddess of love went on a slaughtering rampage, and I, an assassin, turned instead to a life of healing. Huh."

Sir Amiel concurred with her, remarking, "I must admit, it is quite peculiar."

"What you did was abhorrent; however, I believe you have suffered sufficiently for it. I will not scold you further. Regarding my child," Mary said reassuringly to her former ally, "he survived thanks to a man named Abbot Silorn." She gestured towards Varla. "This is he."

Aria's eyes widened and she turned to look at Varla, who'd removed his helmet. "W-wow! That's your... wow. He's grown. A lot! And he's here, too. How... how terribly tragic." her tone, which appeared happy at first, slowly declined once the implications of his being in the room with them set in.

"The story does not end here, Aria." Maram reassured his friend and pointed towards Cura and her allies. "The Dragonborn comes to rescue us from this pit of torment."

"D-Dragonborn?" Aria asked. "Like Saint Alessia? Hmph. Not something I am thrilled to hear, frankly."

Cura walked up to Mary and laid the shards of the Red Stone at her feet. "If you are indeed Mara, then cleanse these fragments. Doing so will extinguish their flames and put an end to this dreadful tragedy," she echoed the sentiment of Inquisitor Pepe's words, offering the malevolent stones to her. Her purpose was not mockery, but to test the realm of possibility.

"Absurd," Varla sneered from the sidelines, dismissing the notion outright. Yet, his rigid posture revealed a fear that it might indeed be true.

Aria shuddered when she beheld the crimson pieces on the floor. "That... that stone - the Alessians had it when they killed us."

Sabrina crossed her arms as she leaned on the wall nearby. "Huh. First time?"

Mary and Korn gazed at the malevolent stone shards. "I know what must be done," she declared to the wolf. Kneeling before the fragments, she cradled one in her hands, then brought it to her lips and ingested it, much to Sabrina, Sir Amiel, Varla, and Cura's dismay. Korn followed suit, swallowing the second shard.

Suddenly, the priestess was seized by a sharp pain, clutching her lower ribs. She staggered sideways, bent over in agony, and grasped the wall for support. Korn squeaked and fell against Maram's side.

"Lady Mara!" Aria cried out in concern, rushing to her aid.

Cura rushed to Mary's side, accompanied by Varla, who was petrified by the unfolding events.

"Mother! Hold on!" Varla tried to support her in those moments, but the pain was so great that she felt as though she were going to die.

Cura cast a continuous Healing Spell upon her. With magicks blessed by Mara herself, Cura figured that her healing hands could service her if she truly were related to the goddess of love.

As it happened, Cura's golden light intertwined with the light enveloping Mary, astonishing all those around them. Varla snapped at her, "What are you doing?! What's happening?"

"M-my healing spell is mingling with her power! It's - it's meshing together!" Cura exclaimed with great awe.

"What does that mean?" Varla demanded to know.

In that brief span of time, as Cura reflected on the unfolding events, she arrived at the long-deliberated conclusion that had teased her for so long, now.

"She is Mara." Cura spoke with a voice that echoed her astonishment. Although she was taken aback, she had harbored a certainty about it from the start.

Varla gazed in disbelief, unable to deny the reality unfolding before him. With a heavy heart, he continued to watch the astonishing scene.

The pain subsided and Mary slowly managed to pull herself back up. She was heaving for air.

"L-Lady Mara, why did you do that?" Aria demanded to know. "That Stone is Padomaic!"

"That piece of the stone... is gone now. For good and all." Mary responded, her voice strained and weary. Korn squeaked and licked her lips a few times, shrugging off the pain for the greater good.

Varla's jaw hung open and his eyes were wider than saucers. He stood there, frozen for a few moments and it felt as though his own heart had seized. He was enveloped in a cold sweat and his hands could not stop shivering. His helmet dropped from his hands to the floor and he took a few steps backwards with shaking legs. After a few steps he stumbled and dashed out of the room in a moment of fright, his face paled to near-white.

"Varla..." Mary's voice trailed off weakly as she called out to her son. The effort had taken its toll, and his reaction filled her with deep concern.

Aria helped her stand. "So, Dragonborn - your power - your healing - it is of Lady Mara?"

"And Stendarr." Cura confirmed. "I am Vigilant Cura, Vigilant of Stendarr and Dragonborn... and a friend to Mara, as well. I've helped her before, to destroy the Skull of Corruption, and I've restored one of her shrines before."

Aria and Maram were both surprised to hear it, but Carcette corroborated her story with a nod. "She is an ally to all the Divines."

"This is good." Maram proclaimed. "Then we would be happy to aid you, as well. If you have Lady Mara's blessing, you are a friend to us."

"I intend to destroy Molag Bal." Cura informed them. "But first, I will have to go through quite a lot to regain my power to do so. I will begin by challenging the Vampires in the East first."

"Vampires?" Aria asked with a smirk growing on her face. "With Lady Mara on your side you've nothing to fear concerning them." she gestured towards Mary. "In one night she cleansed Lake Ilinalta of their kind. It was her first miracle walking among us on Nirn. It should be no trouble. But if you insist, I will be happy to lend you a hand as well."

Maram nodded. "I, as well."

Cura accepted their offer. "Excellent. Welcome to the party."

She was counting her squad: there was now Herself, Carcette Sir Amiel, Sabrina, Mirabelle, Savos, Bourlor, Gloriel, Mary, Korn, Varla, Sir Ralvas, and now with the addition of Maram and Aria, that made a total of Fourteen people. If Molag Bal wasn't afraid before, he was a fool. If he isn't afraid now, he is hopeless.

Initially, she had no intention of raising an army. Yet, as circumstances evolved, the notion began to appear increasingly appealing.

"Let us return to the surface, then." Cura invited her new allies to join her as they headed upwards.

Gently lifting Varla's helmet from the ground, Mary held it close, feeling a rush of forgotten memories flood back to her. Insights she never had before dawned on her as she gazed upon the tarnished helm, her heart heavy with grief for him. With the helmet nestled in her arms, she proceeded, Korn at her side, Aria and Maram trailing. Her thoughts were awash with images of a world unlike any other, not even Nirn; a realm bursting with vivid colors and perpetual light, spanning over lush golden wheat fields and majestic mountains, under boundless skies and beside celestial springs. This was Aetherius.

She looked at the ceiling above and wondered how long it was since she'd felt its comfort. She remembered the adoration of crowds, their eyes set upwards to the heavens. The supplications of the people who suffered from great burdens and anguish, for many decades; many centuries. New faces, coming and going. New voices, heard, and leaving. Some remained, some vanished. She looked down at Korn, who felt it, as well.

When the group reached the main area, Savos and Mirabelle were waiting with Sir Ralvas, Gloriel, and Bourlor.

"What kept you? Did you find any survivors? Are we able to proceed now?" Mirabelle asked Cura sternly.

"We found Aria, but the rest are long gone," Cura replied bittersweetly. "where is Varla?" She looked around, certain that he'd returned to the entrance.

"The jerk pushed past me and ran outside." Sir Ralvas stated.

"Indeed," Savos Aren replied. "I don't know what his problem was, but he looked pale as a ghost. Just what did you all do down there? I haven't seen a man with such fright since the time when Phinis summoned a Mammoth by mistake in the Arcaneum."

Cura scratched her brow. "It's a long story. I'll explain as we go." She was concerned for Varla, based on his earlier reactions. It was unpredictable what he might do; at best, he was like a wild dog. She hoped to find him soon, or that their paths would cross again before the Graymarch commenced.

Mary appeared downcast as she held his helmet in her hands, presenting it to the group. "He dropped this and ran... poor Varla."

Sir Ralvas had a lack of care. "Serves him right, the cruel fiend."

Maram scoffed at the melodrama surrounding his reaction. "I suppose he could not handle the truth. Poor mongrel."

Cura turned around and slapped Maram in the face, much to everyone's surprise. "If you say that word one more time, so help me."

Carcette was taken aback by Cura's response, yet she empathized, considering Cura's background. She was aware of Cura's sensitivity to terms such as 'mongrel.' To those familiar with Cura, it was common knowledge that such words were the most offensive in her company.

Mirabelle and Savos were surprised to see the normally kind Cura react so bluntly, given how well-adjusted she often was.

"My apologies." Maram rubbed his cheek. The slap was well-placed, and well-earned.

Gloriel crossed her arms. "I think he shouldn't be too far. I'll look for him."

Cura shook her head. "I don't think so. I don't think you can be trusted alone with him, given your history."

"What do you think I intend to do? Kill him?" Gloriel inquired, mildly amused and yet insulted by her insinuation. "I doubt I could if I wanted to. Though... I suppose you have a point about not going alone regardless; this realm is perilous."

"And Varla has made many enemies, now that he's turned his back on Molag Bal." Sabrina bore the reminder of bad news.

"Then it isn't the greatest idea to allow him to run off without warning." Bourlor asserted. "The Daedric Prince no doubt will have his head."

Korn barked loudly in attempt to get everyone's attention, and she approached Varla's helmet. The wolf began to smell it, and quickly sprinted out the door. Cura looked at Savos and Mirabelle, and shrugged before following the noble White wolf.

"Oh, right. The dog." Sabrina slapped herself on the forehead, remembering that wolves were excellent at tracking scents.

Ultimately, Cura was determined to not leave any member of her group behind. As they left the main temple area and went down the stairs, she turned to look at the blasphemous mural showing Mara encircled by praying skeletons. To her astonishment, it had vanished. The skeletons and the statue of Mara were no longer there; instead, they were replaced by a statue of Mary and Korn, the same one Cura had seen on the path to Fort Welkynd above ground. The one Varla had erected in her honour, she supposed.

She worried for Varla himself. She hoped he wasn't planning to do anything drastic. Thankfully, Varla hadn't gone far. He was across the bridge, leaning against the stone doorframe which decorated it at the end.

Korn dashed down the bridge, hopping towards him. He looked to the ground, crestfallen. The wolf approached him and barked lightly to get his attention. He looked at Korn, who continued to bark at him. His grief was so great that he couldn't even articulate his words. He crossed his arms and stared at the wolf.

"Oh, there he is!" Cura and her companions caught up with Korn, who was brushing up against Varla's legs affectionately.

Mary quickly made her way to Varla. "Son... please, speak to me."

Varla turned away, his gaze falling to the water-filled abyss below. Disheartened, his silence conveyed more than words ever could. As he paced the border's edge, he finally shattered the quiet. "It's too much. I can't do this anymore," he confessed. Facing Mary, Maram, and Aria, he admitted, "You're right; I am the worst entity that could exist on Nirn. Not only am I born of Umaril's tainted lineage, but..." Overwhelmed by horror, he continued, "I am a living sacrilege. I have slain Mara's disciples... the elves... the humans... and..." His gaze intensified upon Mary, and turned to the abyss below. "I... I'm sorry, mother. So deeply sorry."

Varla leaned against the railing and inhaled deeply as he contemplated the worst. His foot kicked a small stone, which plummeted below, bouncing off a stray edge and making a small splash that was barely audible. Who knew even what was in that water?

"Varla, please come to me - stay away from the railing!" she implored. Korn surged forward, her fangs clamping onto the belt of his armor, yanking him backward. The canine was unyielding, seizing him with intense ferocity.

Cura advanced a few steps, ready to apprehend him should he attempt anything. "Don't do it, Varla - whatever pain you're enduring, it's not worth ending your life."

Varla fought to free Korn from his belt, yet he succeeded in repelling her. "My life holds no value! Can't you see? It has never yielded anything good. Nor will it ever. Go on without me; go to Aetherius. I belong here, with all the damned." he exclaimed with a sense of finality.

Gloriel spoke up, planting her spear firmly in the ground. "So, that's it, then? You're going to just give up? Like that? I can't believe this. What is wrong with you, Varla?"

Varla glared at the Valkyrie harshly. "Why do you care, of all people? You're one of the many whose blood is upon my hands. I can do no good. I am a creation of evil."

Mary stepped forward, with an expression of anger in her eyes. "No; you are my son. You are not inherently evil." She spoke with a conviction and authority the others had previously not seen. "Don't be ashamed of what you are, Varla. It is not your fault. You are not to blame for Umaril's blasphemy. He bore that transgression, and he alone. And it has been avenged."

"It changes nothing... I represent the fact. And all that I have done against you..." Varla could not come to terms with it. "How I have profaned you, and the other seven... all in the name of Akatosh, Marukh, Alessia, Belharza and Shezarr..." he was awash with heavy remorse. "I can never take that back. Many Maran priests have rusted upon this sword." he trembled as he unsheathed the sword from his side. "I... I h-hated all that-that they stood for. I slaughtered them whenever I found them. If... if I would have known, I..."

Cura spoke up, understanding where he was going with this. "You would have chosen differently. You would have spared them." She proposed the idea to grant him an opportunity to speak in defense for himself. In a way, the Alessians and the Vigil of Stendarr were not entirely different in their mentality: both are Theocratic Organizations who abhor beings declared anathema by figures of authority and carry out punishment without hearing other explanations.

"Yes!" exclaimed Varla with conviction. "They would never have been my foes. I had been led to believe they were the sworn adversaries of the Empire," he said, his eyes settling on the disheartened figures of Maram and Aria close by. "Now, however, I understand the reasons behind that belief."

Mary reached out to Varla, gently stroking his cheek and brushing away his tears. "The past is unchangeable, yet you strive to amend your errors. Oh, Varla, do not give up on yourself so readily."

Her compassion was warm; calming the chamber around them all like a soft blanket. A few minutes of silence went by, and Varla took her hand into his own. "You speak with such love. You truly could be nobody else." he collected himself. "How could you love a filthy dog like me?"

Mary smiled, and gave him a gentle embrace, wrapping her arms around him and laying against his chest. "A mother wolf loves all of her cubs." After a few moments had passed, she withdrew from the embrace and reached into her bag, and handed him back his silver helm.

Varla accepted his helmet back, and looked at the group, who were watching them. "You've seen nothing. You've heard nothing. Do you understand?" he barked at them as embarrassment from his wounded pride replaced his sorrow.

"Speak for yourself." Sir Ralvas sulked, causing Sabrina to snort beside him in an attempt to stifle her laughter.

Mirabelle shook it off. "It's fine by me, honestly. Can we proceed to Nenyond's Priory, now?" she turned to Cura with a frustrated expression.

Cura nodded. "Yes; I think so." she turned to look back at the temple. "Gosh... so much happened in such a short time, but I think we're unravelling Coldharbour. When we left, the entrance changed. I think you were right, Keeper; when the shards were destroyed, the place became purified."

Varla began to look at the rusted Amulet of Mara in his hand. He sighed briefly and gently began to tie it around the back of his neck, allowing it to hang over his armour when the others began to walk.

Mary noticed this, however, and she took his hand. "You're going to be all right, Varla. Don't lose heart. We are going to get through this, and Cura is going to defeat Molag Bal. And then..."

"And then?"

"...the future awaits. Your future." Mary assured him. "The Blood of the Ada is powerful; you are capable of many wondrous things, in equal measure to the horrible. You must seek out what is good, and align yourself with it."

As they followed the group, Varla pondered what she was saying, and his eyes were drawn towards Cura. "I understand."

The subterranean temple, a sanctuary of ancient recollections, was fated to join them. As the travelers ventured into the desolate wasteland beyond, the reverberations of history faded, and the cavern crumbled, sealing itself with debris as they departed. Glancing back, they saw only the cliff's stones, denying any return.

Yet, this was for the better.

The past would retreat to its rightful place: untouched and immutable.

Though, a new feeling of confidence was imparted upon Cura, knowing for certain that her party was not just comprised of mortals, but of gods, as well; for she walked under the watchful eyes of Stendarr, Meridia, Kynareth, and Mara - though the last one far more literal than she'd known.

Though carrying a fraction of her power, Mary was an aspect of Mara, taken human form. A memory that had been suppressed from millennia of torment in Coldharbour, but incredible just the same.

But why would Molag Bal target Mara?

Perhaps it was because he saw her as a threat.

Cura remembered fondly the fear Vaermina had in Erandur's presence at Nightcaller Temple, when she tried to manipulate Lydia into killing him so that he could not complete Mara's ritual to destroy the Daedric Artifact. And she remembered the haste with which the Good Mother annihilated the scourge.

She now understood that they were not ensnared by Coldharbour; instead, it was Coldharbour that found itself ensnared by them. She held her head up high as she observed the wretched valley which spanned before them, and she laughed triumphantly; for victory was already hers.

Author's Note: Gosh, I'm really starting to consider naming the Coldharbour/Mehrunes Dagon Arc the "Depression Arc" X'O