Stendarr's Dragon

by Midnight Coffee 64

I've decided to write a story based on my very first Dovahkiin, the Breton Paladin Cura! Raised in the Vigil of Stendarr, she goes on to save Skyrim in times of crisis in a Season Unending! Humble and meek by nature, Cura finds her values and general disposition challenged by the brutal world around her. *Decided to write this since Skyrim's 10th Anniversary! :)*

147. Blades, Once Drawn Part 7

Carcette discovered a well in the city and lowered the attached bucket into it by turning the lever. Could there be water in this realm? Potable water? She didn't need it while donned in the Armor of the Bastion - she just longed for it. A dryness lingered in her throat, a byproduct of the air, making the act of drinking appealing nonetheless. She attributed this urge to her innate instincts.

The bucket continued to descend, eventually striking not water, but the solid ground beneath. Following this, the bucket tipped over, and the rope started to unwind from the lever, stretching out further into the abyss below. Overcome with curiosity, Carcette gave the rope a few tugs, confirming its strength.

This was intentional. She had time to wait before Cura would find her, still, and so she decided to descend the rope and head into the well. As she slid lower and lower, the tight space grew darker and darker, until her feet touched the bottom. There was a carved ramp leading downwards, and from there, bright light shone in the small space, catching her attention. It was light akin to the sun itself.

"Light this far underground, in Coldharbour?" Carcette was captivated by the sight, and lowered her warhammer to her side as she carefully walked down the ramp, a deep shadow trailing behind her from exposure to the powerful light. Beside her as she walked, she could see the bucket and the rope which extended to the surface above, trailing down to the open stone archway.

Her eyes marveled at the unexpected sight below of a Statue to the Daedric Prince Meridia, donning her hood with massive wings behind her, raising up both hands with a ball of light between her palms. As Carcette looked at the statue, her mind wandered to Cura. "Are you protecting her?" she asked the Daedra sternly, though receiving no answer either way. She hadn't seen Cura in a long time now, it felt, and the world had grown much, much colder. She sincerely hoped that Meridia was taking care of Cura - though if Jyggalag's predictions reigned true again, she had nothing to worry about. And yet she persisted in doubt.

"Protecting who?" came a voice from around a stone column flanking the statue to the right, near an Armourer's Workbench. An Altmer woman donning a short crimson veil lined with gold trimmings in golden sleek armour, wielding a luminous spear slowly walked around the column and pointed the pike at Carcette. "Come to kill me? I warn you; I will not die so easily!" Her eyes, light amber as they were, shone with the brightness of the sun's reflection. Her white face paint highlighted this striking feature.

Carcette looked at her calmly and removed her helm, revealing her face, partially obscured in heavy shadow and blotted in intense light, as was the rest of her form. "No. I don't even know who you are." Was she to kill her for following the same Daedra her own student had for years, all the while donning armour given to her by Jyggalag? There could be no greater hypocrisy.

The Altmer paused for a moment and then raised her Spear, pressing its hilt into the ground with a sigh. "I suppose not, then. My apologies for the hostility." She laid the spear against the column courteously, and moved away from it, as a gesture of goodwill. "My name is Gloriel the Valkyrie. Champion of Meridia."

Carcette lowered Pendulum against the column behind her, and moved from it, as well, to show that she meant no harm. "I am Carcette the Survivor. Former Vigilant of Stendarr, Servant of Jyggalag."

"Stendarr? The Divine?" Gloriel asked for clarification.

Carcette nodded. "Yes; the God of Righteous Might and Rule by Merciful Forbearance."

Gloriel smiled, surprisingly enough. "I know him quite well. I had family members who devoted many days to him. They lived in Delodiil, before the war with man broke out."

"Delodiil?" Carcette asked, unfamiliar with the name. It sounded more like something Brother Adalvald would have knowledge of.

"It matters little. I perished in Mackamentain and have been trapped here ever since. I know not what became of my homeland." Gloriel sighed sadly. She gestured at the surroundings. Her voice was soft and smooth, though burdened heavy with sorrow. "This is the only Shrine left." she looked to the goddess of light. "After the largest temple in Delodiil vanished, Meridia's power began to decline. Meridia's Beacon is weakening with every passing day. Lately, I can't hear her voice anymore. I must brace myself for the inevitable."

Meridia's Beacon?

Carcette eyed the orb of light cradled in the Statue's palms, memories of Cura unveiling the Beacon she had found flooding back. She was desperate for more information. "You died in Mackamentain?" The name did not roll off her tongue naturally, but she managed to spit it out.

"Yes - the Alessians had come to slaughter the Ayleids who lived there and we were called to repel them." Gloriel recounted the tale. "I fought with all I had and cut down many Alessian Knights, but one in particular proved to be too much for me - a Half-Elf called Varla. He was a mighty adversary."

"I see. Gloriel, do enlighten me; are there any other followers of Meridia here?" Carcette elected to ask.

The Valkyrie shook her head sadly. Her voice was weary and her sentences choppy. Almost as if she were operating under great fatigue. "Not... anymore. Some were driven mad and wandered into the wasteland... and others committed suicide. Now I'm the only one who still serves Meridia." She looked to Carcette pleadingly. "But... if you stay with me, there will be two of us. What do you say?"

Carcette shook her head. "Sadly, Meridia desires nothing to do with me. However, my protégé has remained a fervent devotee of Meridia, despite my irritation." she said, laughing off the memory before refocusing on the present. "Do you feel lonely down here?"

"...I'd be lying if I said I'm not. It's been a long time since I talked to anyone. So please, humour me for a bit." Gloriel requested nervously. She trembled slightly as the cold from the shadows, born of centuries of isolation, seeped into her mind. "I've spent untold centuries here... praying... pleading... hoping... weeping... going mad... returning to sanity... crying out in futility... fighting enemies... it just... it never ends."

"What can you tell me about this place?" Carcette asked. She attempted to redirect her meandering thoughts before they could descend into the darkness.

"Since the Army of Order illuminated it from the west, this part of Oblivion changed. It's like a world in twilight, on the brink of death..." Gloriel trembled lightly as she said it. Clearly, seeing Carcette in Order-based armour had alarmed her at first for that reason. Her eyes flickered in the light, filled with dread, but also curiosity. "That light... also exposed the whole distorted past again. The shadows of this light are reaching back to the ancient past, digging up those long dead."

Carcette shook her head. "I don't think Jyggalag is doing that - it sounds more like the work of the Dragon Breaks." Which, of course, could be more attributed to Cura than anything. Perhaps the songs were true: the Dragonborn, by honour was sworn, to keep evil forever at bay - even if that entailed torturing the evil within the confines of its own dimension. She was proud to have called Cura her student.

"In the end, they may even reach Merethic Era and the origin of Molag Bal. What a sight that will be!" Gloriel said with a scoff. Molag Bal was responsible for a great deal of suffering on Nirn; even for some of the Ayleids, apparently.

"You mentioned someone named Varla." Carcette recalled seeing that name in the book of Cura's life back at Jyggalag's Great Library.

"He's the one who killed me. He's a good warrior, but I remember how hesitant he was with the sword." Gloriel recounted the final moments of her life. "I'm sure he didn't mean for that battle to happen..."

Carcette spoke with compassion. "Gods... have you been in Coldharbour all this time?" The very thought of residing in Coldharbour had always been a nightmare for Carcette, and now, being there, even from the perspective of an invader, she could feel the oppressive gloom of the realm enveloping her. Had Gloriel been here for all this time?

The Valkyrie gave a somber nod and made her way to the Armourer's workbench, perching herself upon it. "Indeed. It has been only me, solitary beneath the earth. I have ventured out at times, yet the armoured Giants barred my way. Belharza's Knights, known as the Alessian Dragon Riders. Now, my spectral days are spent here in wait of the end. True, I am a warrior, but now without purpose, and hopelessly outmatched at every turn."

Carcette could empathize; she had experienced the same feelings on the day the Vampires attacked the Hall of the Vigilant, certain she was facing her end. "So, your plan is to simply wait for the Graymarch to come in and take your life? Is that really what you want?"

Gloriel shook her head. "No. But whether I desire a second death or not, it will not stop them."

"I belong to the Graymarch," Carcette declared to the despondent Altmer, instilling a fleeting surge of fear as she scrutinized the Breton in front of her.

"Then... end my life now. Please," Gloriel surrendered. "I concede. You don't appear cruel; perhaps a death at your hands will be quick and merciful."

Carcette was in disbelief. Just moments before, this warrior stood ready for battle, poised to engage in combat with her. Yet now, she seemed to accept her fate without a fight. "Why would you choose such a path?" Carcette asked, her curiosity piqued by the sudden shift in the warrior's demeanor.

"I long for freedom. Freedom from this fear, this perpetual solitude. If someone is to end my life, then maybe it was Stendarr who guided you to me for this purpose," Gloriel suggested, a sense of surrender heavy in her heart.

Carcette, however, was not fond of the idea and rejected it immediately. "No, I am not here to end your life. I stumbled upon this well by accident. Maybe..." she paused, searching for words to dissuade her. "Maybe it was Meridia who led me to you, so I could offer my assistance in some manner. My apprentice is also a champion of hers."

Upon hearing that, Gloriel's face brightened. "Meridia's Champion?" Could it be? Could her goddess have sent somebody to save her, at last? Perhaps there was yet hope!

"Yes, she wields her flaming sword, Dawnbreaker," Carcette explained. "It has been used to vanquish numerous undead."

"Dawnbreaker?!" At the mention of the name, Gloriel's eyes flew wide open. The name held profound personal significance to her. So much so that her entire demeanour shifted from once forlorn to nostalgic and hopeful. "Indeed, Meridia would not bestow such a sword upon just anyone. Your apprentice must hold a special place in her esteem... or perhaps she has performed an extraordinary deed in her service."

Carcette strained to remember the exact details of what Cura had confided in her about her visit to Mount Kilkreath. However, the finer points slipped away from her grasp. At that time, her mind had been clouded with the shocking truths of Cura's wanting to assist a Daedric Prince, and she was too consumed by the surge of anger and frustration to fully absorb Cura's explanation.

Reflecting on the past, Carcette came to understand the extent of her unfairness towards Cura. Her stubbornness and inflexibility had clouded her judgment. With the wisdom of hindsight, she wished for the chance to be more accommodating, to offer the support her student deserved. Now, armed with this knowledge, she recognized the value of being a nurturing mentor.

The Valkyrie dropped to her knees in front of Meridia's statue, tears streaming down her face, glistening under the light of the Beacon. "Thank you, Meridia! Thank you in your radiant, shining splendor! Thank you for not abandoning your devoted servant!" Gloriel pressed her hands together, then swiftly rose to confront the benevolent Breton stranger before her. "Oh, do tell me, Carcette... where might I find her? Your apprentice? I must witness her myself! If... if she indeed commands the power of Dawnbreaker..."

Carcette grinned and motioned for her to come along. "Pick up your spear and join me. We'll be meeting her quite soon. However, we must first confront some foes outside."

Gloriel nodded, retrieving her spear from the column, while Carcette claimed Pendulum for herself. As they headed toward the exit, Gloriel at her side, Carcette glanced at the Ayleid and asked, "Have you ever seen Dawnbreaker before?"

Gloriel responded, "I wielded it."

---

"And that was how Sir Torolf, and I vanquished the Wyrm of Elynglenn. It marked the beginning. We took an oath to unite and vanquish evil under the banner of the Nine. We were to be paladins, a fellowship of holy knights upholding virtue." Sir Amiel reminisced warmly as they left the ancient shack. The banners were vivid in his mind's eye: the Red Diamond, bold against a white fabric, with intricate golden trims tracing the diamond's edges.

They once bore that emblem with pride: the Symbol of the Chim-El-Adabal. The sunrise seemed to persist in his gaze, as memories of Cyrodiil's scenic vistas unfolded before him. Those days were long gone, yet they remained indelible through the ages. Recalling their camaraderie and the extensive journeys through lush forests and along the expanse of the stunning Gold Coast only deepened the sense of loss from their downfall.

Varla was captivated by his stories of bravery. "A grand act indeed. I imagine the Knights of the Nine held quite an esteemed reputation in their time."

Sir Amiel nodded in agreement. "Indeed, we were once bold, steadfast, and honourable. Now, it appears as if those days are merely a memory, a fleeting dream. Yet, I question whether it is truly so. Am I dreaming now? Is our defeat simply a terrible nightmare? Alas, it is not. Our descent from grace was harsh. My only wish is to atone for my shortcomings. Once more, I express my gratitude to you, my lady, for your boundless kindness and magnanimity," he said, turning towards Cura and holding the door open for her.

"You're very welcome. I hope you'll stay by my side even once all is said and done here." Cura smiled to him and thanked him as she exited. Sir Amiel gently helped Mary descend after her, and Korn followed, happily panting. Sabrina peeked out and walked up to the Knight.

"You're not too bad, you know. For a Knight who 'fell from grace' I don't see any grace lacking in ya." Sabrina offered him reassurance with a friendly knuckle press on the arm. "Now, let's see what fresh nonsense is waitin' for us out here today."

Cura's laughter echoed at Sabrina's biting comment. "Oh, I can't wait until you meet Inigo." she snickered, picturing the inevitable clash of their sharp wits and humour.

Sabrina took a moment to register the statement. "Ah, I see. Fine. I guess I'd like to meet him in person too, if he has a sense of humour." she laughed awkwardly. Embarrassingly, she''d already forgotten who that was, even though Cura had mentioned him a while ago.

"Inigo?" Mary inquired from behind her, curiosity piqued.

As Cura shut the door, her expression softened into a fond smile. "Inigo's my best friend. He's a Blue Khajiit, and a masterful archer. His humor is a constant source of joy. I miss his company dearly."

As they looked around, the Priestess offered an encouraging word. "I'm certain you will see him again, Cura. With the waves you're making here in Coldharbour you'll be back home soon enough."

Sabrina chuckled on the side. "Waves? Seems more like tsunamis to me - you've shut down one of the barrier towers! Molag must be crapping himself by now!"

Cura nodded. "I hope so." her thoughts returned to home. "I miss Skyrim dearly."

Mary sympathized with her. "Skyrim is a beautiful place. I don't know if it looks the same in your time as it had in my own, but I will never forget the beautiful veil of many colours that hung underneath Masser and Secunda on the many nights I spent there in the Reach, the forests of Falkreath, and the Pale. It was mystifying."

Cura was surprised. "You went to the Pale?"

"Oh, certainly. I've traveled extensively throughout Skyrim, and those locations were particularly memorable. The grandeur of the large cities was breathtaking. And the aurora? Simply stunning," Mary shared with a warm smile. "Lake Ilinalta was a standout, its surface mirroring the aurora's beauty perfectly."

Cura was enveloped in nostalgia as she recalled Lucien and Inigo recounting their discovery of Azura's Star, shattered within a fort beside Lake Ilinalta. It appeared the conversation might once again revolve around Inigo. A warmth spread through her, making her heart flutter. Yet, her curiosity had been piqued by another matter. "Tell me, Mary, have you ever visited the Rift?"

"Rifton? Yes." the Breton priestess nodded. "Another pretty place, with its orange and golden trees."

Cura had to mention it. "In the present, there is a Temple of Mara there, in Riften. I'd thought about it since I met you - maybe you'd like to go there once we get to Skyrim? I also have a friend you may like to meet; his name is Erandur. He's a Priest of Mara. Maybe he could put in a good word for you with the priests there."

Mary smiled serenely at the idea. "I would like that very much, thank you. I hope to continue my work from the past, helping ease the suffering of those in need. I trust your word - and it sounds like Skyrim could certainly use more Healers. I would be happy to help if I can."

The group discovered a suitable path and proceeded into an expansive area with a bifurcated path encircling a central wall that divided the streets. In the shadowed core of Coldharbour, where despair flavored the air and the cobblestones murmured of bygone secrets, Cura's unlikely band gathered. The dusty thoroughfares quivered as the empty, sunless sky loomed, casting a pall over the abandoned city. Dust motes danced in the air, whisked from the withered limbs of dead shrubs that emerged from the soil in the corners of the ground.

Cura contemplated the wisdom of continuing along this route; a profound sense of suppression anchored her as she surveyed the surroundings. The city was vast, unlike any she knew from her homeland. Even the open spaces were hemmed in by walls. It was hard to discern where the houses started and ended.

Behind them, adjacent to the housing area was the door to the Prison Tower, led by stairs between two kneeling statues. A gaunt memory best left behind. To either side, left or right, there were two branching paths around another large building.

Cura, Vigilant of Stendarr, clad in Meridia's Champion armour stood resolute at the forefront. Her faith unwavering, she brandished her mace that crackled with its enchantment to turn the undead boldly as she crept along the hopeless pathway. Her eyes, like twin flames, scanned the horizon for signs of the unholy as she meandered clumsily.

Beside her, Sabrina, the enigmatic Pailune Healer, adjusted her ravenlike mask. Her cloak billowed, concealing her gaunt frame. In her gloved hands, she held a vial of poison, which she was whetting her Ebony Mace with. If anything should attack, she wanted to ensure maximum damage was dealt unto them. Her eyes, hidden behind glass lenses, glinted pink with a mix of curiosity and grim determination.

Sir Amiel, the rusted Knight, bore his corroded claymore, etched with ancient runes. His armor, dented and scarred from countless battles, bore witness to his unwavering loyalty. He had pledged his life to protect what mattered to him and Coldharbour would be no exception. His steely gaze swept the desolate streets, ready to cleave through any foe. "The city is no less dangerous than the wilds, my lady. Be alert at all times."

Cura agreed. She kept her eyes peeled sharply as she took cautious step after cautious step.

Varla, the Man-Hunter, was a study in contrasts. His armor was shining slick with bright steel, opposed to his blackened heart. His eyes, cold and calculating, missed nothing. He had no illusions about the darkness that surrounded them; he reveled in it.

Mary, the priestess of Mara, clutched her holy symbol - the Amulet which all were familiar with. Her verdant robes were simple, yet they radiated compassion. She had lived her life devoted to aiding those who'd suffered - she hoped that, if possible, she could leave Coldharbour to continue to do so again. Her healing magic hummed within her, ready to mend both body and spirit.

And then there was Korn, the mystic white wolf. Her sleek fur shimmered like moonlight, and her eyes held ancient wisdom. She was no ordinary beast; she had crossed realms and seen the tapestry of fate. Her loyalty to Mary and to this motley crew was unwavering, and her fangs were as sharp as her instincts.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the ground quaked. From the twisted alleys emerged the undead Alessian priests, their once-holy crimson vestments now tattered and stained. Their eyes glowed with malevolence, and their chants echoed through the empty streets. They wielded silver daggers, twisted symbols of their fallen faith.

And then, striding forth, came a Giant Knight in Blue and Silver Armor. His footsteps shook the cobblestones, and his helm obscured his face. His sword, a colossal blade etched with forgotten runes, gleamed with an otherworldly light. His very presence seemed to drain hope from the air.

Sir Amiel's eyes widened upon seeing the goliath. "That is one of Emperor Gorieus' Dragon Rider Knights!" he stumbled over backwards in reaction to the fiend's thunderous steps. He'd fled from them for a time, himself. "They were the ancient warriors prevalent in the Alessian Order for hundreds of years. When Reman Cyrodiil came to power, he disbanded their host."

Cura was uncertain to what a Dragon Rider Knight was, as Dragons had not been on Nirn in this Gorieus' time - but she could surmise that this was no ordinary foe. And with Alessians ambushing them from the sidewalks, hidden atop stone platforms next to cages, it was sure to be a difficult encounter.

The battle erupted - a symphony of steel, magic, and primal fury. Cura swung her mace, its holy enchantment searing the undead.

Sabrina darted between enemies, her poisoned mace leaving trails of death in her wake. A fireball struck her in the back, causing her to lose her balance and slide into a wall.

Sir Amiel clashed with the Giant Knight, their swords ringing like thunder. His knees buckled as the fiend pushed him into the ground, inch by inch. His massive strength overcoming the gallant knight.

Varla danced with the priests, his dark blade slicing through their grotesque forms. It felt satisfying to him, now; especially knowing that it was the Alessians who had brought so much misery into his life. Each strike was a rush of catharsis.

Mary's healing spells mended her allies' wounds around her in the midst of the enemies' strikes, but she also wielded a dagger - a conduit for Mara's wrath. She'd never quite gotten the hang of it, but she managed to slip it out of its sheath and threatened an assaulting Alessian with it. And then Korn lunged at the Alessian's legs, snapping at the joints, buying her time to cast a Light Spell, which incinerated him.

The streets ran red with ichor. The air smelled of ozone and decay. Cura's mace shattered the unholy wards protecting the Giant Knight, which was cast by the priests, while Sabrina's vials containing an explosive substance were flung into the air and hit him, and exploded in green fire.

The Knight was stunned for a second, but remained on the offense. Sir Amiel staggered under the Dragon Rider Knight's blows, but he fought on, fueled by his honour to Akatosh and to the Dragonborn. One swift kick, however, sent him flying into the wall nearby. On impact he was reduced to one knee, struggling for breath. The near-mindless beast followed up with a stomp, but Sabrina shoved Sir Amiel away with a tackle. She landed over him, narrowly missing the large metal boot herself.

Cura gritted her teeth. She couldn't afford to doubt herself. She circled, eyes scanning for an opening. And then she saw it - a moment when he was about to raise his foot again. It was small, almost imperceptible, but it was there. "FUS RO DAH!" Cura invoked the shadow of her former Thu'um, which was enough to cause the Dragon Rider Knight to stumble, as his balance was already interrupted by his shift in posture.

With renewed determination, Cura lunged. Dawnbreaker found the crack in between the leather straps of armour, and sparks flew as metal met metal. The Giant Knight roared, staggering backward. But he didn't fall. Instead, he swung his sword in a wide arc, forcing Cura to leap back to avoid being cleaved in two.

They circled each other, sweat-soaked and breathless. Cura's muscles screamed, but she pressed on. She had to end this. She feinted left, then spun right, aiming for the Giant Knight's exposed ankle. But he was faster than she anticipated, and his gauntleted hand caught her arm.

Cura's mind raced. She couldn't break free. But maybe she didn't have to. With a desperate surge of energy, she twisted her wrist, and her sword slipped from her hand. It clattered to the ground, just out of reach.

"Cura!" Sir Amiel cried out, as he fired an arrow into the Giant Knight's shoulder. The arrow splintered off the pauldron and ricocheted onto the road.

Cura wrested herself free and rolled to the side, dodging the massive steel wall that was the Knight's Tower Shield that came crashing down flatly. She gathered Dawnbreaker back into her hands as she scrambled to avoid the brutal metallic object. "I am Vigilant Cura," she declared through gritted teeth. "And I will not yield."

She quickly raised a Stone Wall to block the next attack, which effortlessly tore through the stones and slammed into her, causing her to fly backwards and hit the hard stones, rolling along the ground in shock.

Sabrina threw her knives at the giant in attempt to distract him from Cura, and it worked. The fiend turned now to her and to Sir Amiel, who readied his claymore again. He and Sabrina stood side by side, and nodded to one another as they scattered before his lance could reach them, drawing the Giant's attention in two separate directions.

Varla formed an impenetrable barrier between the lingering Alessians and his mother while she commenced her cantation. No assailant would breach his steadfast guard. As clarity returned to her, Cura perceived the scene and hastened to aid in the protection of her, bolstering the defense as she called upon Mara.

Mary's voice rose in prayer, and the ground trembled. The Giant Knight stumbled, his armor cracking under the strain of the holy light. His helm cracked open, revealing a rotting face and hollow eyes. Cura and her allies nodded, and began to assault him as he was weakened. And then, with a final, desperate howl, Korn leaped, sinking her fangs into the knight's exposed neck. The Dragon Rider knight roared, collapsing into the nearby wall. His tower shield fell to his side, loosed from his arm as Cura and her allies continued to hack at and pummel him.

The undead priests dissipated, their malevolence fading like smoke as their undead bodies could no longer hold themselves together.

Varla was perpetually captivated by his mother's profound bond with the Divine. The marvel of it all never waned, despite the few times he'd seen her performance already. It was hardly surprising that people believed she was the embodiment of Mara herself.

The dusty streets of Coldharbour fell silent for the moment, a faint whisper on the wind recounting the duel.

Cura and her allies stood amidst the wreckage, bloodied but victorious. The Dragonborn wiped the sweat off her brow. At times like these, she was thankful to have allies. She wasn't expecting to have been attacked so soon, but here it was: a mere block into the city, and they were swarmed by foes.

They were within an open space now, with benches for seating and rotted gardens. Savos and Mirabelle stood up from their seat at the last bench closer to a portcullis and emerged to join Cura and the others.

"Ah, finally awake, I see." Savos expressed. "Good, good."

"Awake, but a little shaken." Cura admitted dryly. After all, she'd just encountered a behemoth and a small legion on the way here. When she looked at the surroundings beyond her old professors, she could see a platform with three guillotines lined up together, adjacent to the dividing wall of the city. "Wow... what a grim place."

"Oh, yes." Mirabelle laughed grimly. "And yet, it's likely the most mundane thing we've seen thus far."

---

In the shattered remnants of the western quarter of the Imperial city the air was thick with the scent of brimstone and ruin.

Carcette and Gloriel observed the broken down buildings and the corpses of the Alessians and Minotaur Vampires that Carcette had contended with.

"You slayed them all? Just what are you?" Gloriel's jaw nearly hit the floor as she walked around a ragged dead bush that reached out onto the pathway.

The Breton slung her warhammer over her right shoulder. "I am just an ordinary mortal woman. Without the armour gifted to me by Jyggalag, this would be impossible. But it does take its toll."

Gloriel was confused. "What do you mean?"

"It is slowly sapping away my vitality, with each battle fought. In exchange, I never lose stamina, nor do I fatigue or require nourishment. Or feel anything." Carcette donned her helmet for protection, with the foresight that more enemies would be lurking about. This was, after all, Coldharbour. It was to be expected.

"Gods... that sounds awful." Gloriel raised a brow. "Not feeling a thing, nor eating or drinking... you are in Coldharbour without being in Coldharbour. Truly."

Their attention was immediately grabbed by the sound of snarling from around the palisade. The gate, which had been opened prior to Carcette's arrival, made way for some foes, summoned to wreak vengeance upon the interloper.

The ground trembled as a troupe of Ogrim, grotesque and formidable, charged towards them. Their roars echoed off the crumbling walls, a cacophony of rage and bloodlust. The Ogrim were relentless, their massive forms barreling forward like a tide of flesh and fury.

Carcette stood resolute. Her warhammer, Pendulum, gleamed with the fervor of a thousand prayers. The Vigilants of Stendarr had faced Daedric horrors before, but this was different - a horde of Ogrim, their hulking purple forms lumbering toward her like nightmares given flesh.

"Oh, no! Here they come!" Gloriel trembled, her knees beginning to shake. She briefly glanced backwards at the well, but it was too late now. There was no retreating without being followed below and cornered, and ultimately, killed. She gripped the spear tightly in both hands, and was beginning to shake visibly. She closed her eyes as fear took hold of her; the memory of her death against Varla and the large, chaotic battlefield held her back. "I... I... I can't do it. I can't fight, Carcette... there... are too many of them."

There were twelve of the beasts, and only two of them.

"Where is your faith?" came Carcette's reprimand. "You say you serve Meridia, right? Trust her!"

Gloriel's breath was low and shaking, but she understood her point. "Lady Meridia..." she closed her eyes and slowly moved her spear downwards, readying for combat. She hadn't fought a horde like this head-on in a long time. Though, having an ally did offer some comfort. And how Carcette knew they would be beset by many foes did offer her some respite, knowing her ally held some sort of prescience. She focused on Meridia, as she had in the past, and hoped the goddess would see her through.

Carcette took a few steps over to her side, but kept her eyes on the encroaching horde. "Follow my instructions - I've lived through similar situations before." She raised her left hand and pointed at the Ogrim at the center of the horde. "We'll have to meet them head-on. Cut them right down the middle; I will ensure that they remain scattered."

It was a tactic that Moric Sidrey had used, many years in the past, when they engaged the Forsworn in Skyrim in one of their camps. They had to ensure that the legion of enemies were unable to form coherent field synchronization.

"Go!" Carcette engaged the duel.

Gloriel, with a battle cry that cut through the chaos, soared into the fray. Her devotion to Meridia fueled her every move, and her armor shimmered with divine energy. Her Dawn Spear, a gift from Meridia herself, sang a song of death as it cleaved through the air. Each swing was precise, each strike a testament to her celestial patron's might. The Ogrim fell one by one, their bodies thudding heavily upon the broken stones.

Yet, the Ogrim were many, and the two warriors found themselves encircled by snarling maws and violent clutching hands. "Back-to-back!" Carcette shouted, and Gloriel obeyed. They formed a desperate circle, their weapons held firm and sizing up their foes.

The small army of Ogrim closed in, their stench suffocating. Carcette's warhammer Pendulum whirled in a blur, creating a barrier of light that repelled the beasts. It came to her intuitively - how this weapon could have turned the tides on Stalf and the Volkihar Vampires had she owned it back then!

"Stendarr, lend us strength!" Carcette prayed to the God of her lifetime, and her warhammer pulsed with divine energy. She swung, creating shockwaves that sent Ogrim sprawling. Gloriel spun, her spear a radiant blur. The Valkyrie's wings unfurled - a celestial shield against the darkness.

Gloriel moved with otherworldly grace, her every motion a tribute to the glory of Meridia.

But the Ogrim leader emerged - a towering brute with eyes like voids. Its flesh was black and rotted, and half of its face was skeletal in nature. It bore a thich ebony armour. Its tusks dripped venom, and its roar shook the broken city. Carcette met its gaze, defiance burning in her eye beneath her helm. Gloriel chanted, invoking Meridia's light as she ran a hand up the shaft of her Dawn Spear, sparking its radiance from the blade again. She looked at her new ally, who nodded and gripped her warhammer tightly.

Together, they charged.

Carcette's warhammer clashed with the Ogrim's spiked club. Sparks erupted, and the ground trembled. Gloriel's spear danced, weaving patterns of holy fire. The Valkyrie's wings blazed, shielding them from the Ogrim's swipes.

Carcette bellowed like a Nord, and her warhammer shattered the Ogrim's defenses. Gloriel's spear pierced its heart, and it crumbled - a monument to their defiance. Gloriel had to lean against the wall, and her wings of light faded. She gasped for air as she supported herself. "Goodness... it has been all too long since I've had such a fight... huff... hoof..." she turned to her new ally. "You fight well, Carcette. I had heard that Bretons were fragile. I suppose not all of them."

"The armour, Gloriel... I told you." Carcette tapped her helm. "Now, we must move south. Come with me. Our timing must be perfect, lest we miss Cura."

"Right, of course!" The Valkyrie gave a nod of acknowledgment, securing her spear upon her back once more before she proceeded to follow Carcette. Her curiosity was piqued by the enigmatic 'Cura'. Could it be that she bore the name of Curano the Brightblade? Or perhaps she was an Altmer? The thought that Meridia had dispatched an envoy to the Realm to assist her was indeed thrilling.

Author's Note: I just found out that in Elder Scrolls Online there's an Altmer NPC called "Curano" who was a servant of Meridia! :O There was no way in heck I would pass up the chance to reference her here. xD I wonder what year she was introduced in, in real-world time? Was it within the last 3 years? My eyes are on you Bethesda - or perhaps, could theirs be on ME? [This is what I get for looking deeper into Delodiil and Abagarlas for my story. lol, Feels amazing]

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Cura and her allies continued walking westward past the execution site and through a doorway through the palisade wall. Cura's reflexes moved her out of the way of an ebony sword brought upon her by an Alessian Knight in black armour. Sir Amiel thrust his blade forward and impaled the knight, and he slid him off with his foot.

Cura's back hit a column with a gargoyle statue on top of it, causing the sculpture to collapse to the ground. "Oops!" the Breton exclaimed her surprise as she heard the shatter. Her eyes darted around, and she could see a few dirty cliffs, a flight of stairs, and more gargoyle statues. Thankfully, none of them came alive.

The group ascended the stairs, where there waited a knight in dark silver armour with gold trimmings, similar to the Giant Dragon Rider Knight they'd contended with before, but he was a natural size.

"Excuse me -" as soon as Cura tried to address him, the knight drew his sword and struck her. Thankfully her reflexes kicked in and Spellbreaker blocked the hit. Varla dashed around and past her and severed the enemy's head with a clean strike. His sword sung through the air and made a clean horizontal strike.

"Don't be foolish and attempt to negotiate with them; it's impossible," Varla admonished her sternly. His glare foretold a future of violence befalling them all should they attempt to reason with Gorieus' knights. "Half of them lack any sense, and the rest are fiercely loyal to their liege in this region, as well as to Molag Bal."

Sabrina nodded, as well, concurring the fact. "Yeah - mercy's not really in their vocabulary. I know you're an idealist, but remember where you are." the Pailune Healer reminded Cura of where she stood.

A second Dragon Rider Knight leapt off the ledge behind them, above the doorway, and attempted to strike Varla. Cura fired an Exploding Bolt of Fire from her Dwemer Metal Hand instinctively, shocking Varla.

When the knight hit the wall and slid down to the floor, Sabrina clocked him over the head with her mace, finishing him off.

Cura led the group over the bridge that spanned ahead of them, drawing a walkway between two land masses separated by a disgusting river. She wasn't quite sure where it led, but she walked the breadth of it regardless.

At the trail's end, a headless knight clad in golden armor sat. A warhammer was mounted on his back, and he appeared intent on resting it upon himself, a position that would seem greatly uncomfortable to any onlooker.

As soon as Cura came in closer, he spoke, as a disembodied voice. Somehow he'd detected her presence. "Hey, you there, have you seen my head anywhere? I'd like to know what's going on around me."

Cura was shaken for a moment as it registered. She stared blankly at the stump. "W-where did you lose it?"

"It was already gone when I noticed it was missing. I probably lost it somewhere when I was separated from my friends and stumbled through the darkness without any light..."

That sounded about right, in this realm. Unfortunately, it painted the picture of Coldharbour itself. "That's not very helpful. Do you remember anything else?"

"Ah, yes! I remember I walked into a large bat along the way. My body got strangely light at that moment. I must have lost it then!" Ralvas presumed.

A large bat? It could have been a Vampire Lord, Cura thought to herself. After all, they had seen Vingalmo not too long ago, and apparently Castle Volkihar was to the east.

"Well... you seem to be doing just fine without your head." Cura said plainly. Clearly he could notice that she was there, and perhaps even hear what she was saying.

Ralvas corrected her. "Not really. I can't even leave this place. A few times I almost fell into the depths because I didn't see where I was going."

"How can you do this? Speak with me?" Cura inquired. Normally, it would be impossible, but in Coldharbour, the extraordinary is to be expected.

"I project my voice through my stomach instead of the throat. Like all of us Dunmer." the knight groaned.

"And I suppose your lungs allow you to hear me?" Cura crossed her arms and pursed her lips. She did not believe it for a second.

"By the gods... Sir Ralvas? Is that you?" Sir Amiel called out to the headless knight as he finally caught up with Cura. If nothing else, perhaps it was the unique armour that gave him away. His voice prompted the headless knight to turn upwards with great surprise and joy.

"Sir Amiel! Where have you been? You have been gone for far too long." Sir Ralvas chastised his former leader as soon as his presence registered.

"Aye, I have. When they locked the gates to the wastes and the city, I was in the Waterfront District. Many apologies, dear friend." Sir Amiel expressed his genuine sorrow at his separation from one of his former allies.

Sir Ralvas was silent for a second, and slowly stood upright. He placed a hand on Sir Amiel's shoulder, waving it away. "Forget about it - we're together again now. Let us regroup once more. We have our strength in numbers."

"The Knights of the Nine are finished, I am afraid." Sir Amiel gripped his friend's arm firmly. "Sir Henrik would rather be locked in a cage with his brandy, Sir Caius stole Sir Casimir's armour and Sir Juncan refuses to join us. Sir Torolf and Sir Gregory, on the other hand, I have not seen. Nor have I seen that traitor, Sir Berich."

"And I appear to have lost my head. Wondrous times, these are. It's good that you seem to be doing well. Who is she, your girlfriend? A secret lover perhaps?" Sir Ralvas ethereally chuckled as he pointed in Cura's direction.

Cura and Sir Amiel were both taken aback in that instant, but the Knight quickly corrected his ally. "No! She is my new liege; Cura Stormcloak, the Dragonborn and follower of Stendarr."

Sir Ralvas was awestruck. "Dragonborn? Ah, I see! A very important person, she must be. We once served a Dragonborn - long, long ago. Emperor Uriel Septim III." His voice sweetened as he recounted the old days long passed. A deep sense of nostalgia plucked his heartstrings. "Those glorious days... you intend to recapture the past by joining a Dragonborn, Sir Amiel?"

Sir Amiel rubbed the back of his neck. "Not exactly to reenact a lost era, but-"

"Count me in," declared Sir Ralvas, offering his former leader a thumbs up before pivoting to Cura. "My lady, I would be honoured if you would permit me to join your ranks. Serving under a Dragonborn again would be a privilege - and if we should find my head in the process, that would be swell!"

Cura nodded. "Certainly, welcome aboard. Just be mindful of where you swing your warhammer."

"Until I regain my head I will swing it not - but I will follow for now." Sir Ralvas proposed. "Just consider me a fancy amenity for now. I know quite a bit about the secrets of the foes in this land - even if I cannot see them. Ogrims, Scamps, Bone Demons, Shambles, Skeleton Wheels, Bone Crawlers, Soul-Shriven..."

"That could be useful. Can you give me an example right now?" Cura asked. "Preferably of someone high-profile?"

"Sir Varla, Knight of Belharza, the Man-Hunter, is a cruel piece of shit. He has many dogs that roam the wastes, and he has two in particular that never leave his side." Sir Ralvas sneered. "If you plan to enter his Fort - Fort Welkynd - know that he has a trap door in his throne room."

Cura snickered. "Oh, yes. I know all about that trap door. I became well-acquainted with it. Anyone else?"

Sir Ralvas halted, his thoughts gathering like storm clouds. With a spark in his voice, he resumed, "Ah, the winds carry tales of a nascent Knight in the west. Her name remains a mystery, yet she brandishes a warhammer - a woman after my own heart. For the moment, she pledges allegiance to Jyggalag, and under his banner, she has been beating Alessians into submission."

"In the west, you say? Serving under Jyggalag and wielding a Warhammer?" Cura inquired, her voice tinged with a rising excitement. "Please, go on! Could she possibly be a Breton?"

Sir Ralvas paced to and fro. "I can't be certain - I only heard about her when some Alessian Priests rushed past me in a frenzy a while back. It seems she's killed a number of them across the western city, in and outside of the gate. She might be a Breton, given that their spells seemed futile against her. Why do you ask? Does this mean something to you?"

Cura placed a hand on her heart. "It means more to me than you can imagine." She needed to know how to go west. She walked backwards over the bridge, where Sabrina, Mirabelle, Savos, Mary, Varla, and Korn were waiting. She whistled to Korn, and the white wolf trodded over to her. "Korn, you're Mary's guardian, but perhaps you could help Sir Ralvas navigate, as well?"

Korn emitted a soft trill and peered around Cura to observe the approaching figure.

As soon as the others saw Sir Ralvas approaching, they had mixed reactions. Varla couldn't help but be amused upon noticing the stump where his shoulders met. "Nice cut," he mocked, addressing the headless figure.

"Like a chicken walkin' around without its head." Sabrina muttered. She was not quite as disturbed as one would expect.

Mary's hands flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock at the sight before her.

Mirabelle and Savos exchanged glances of mild concern before the Master Wizard opened her mouth to speak. "Cura... that knight... unless he is secretly Ragnar the Red, I don't expect him to be of much help in your mission."

"Now, Mirabelle, you and I both know that Ragnar the Red was as useless as breasts on a bull." Savos stated ironically.

"He will be of use to us, and he'll need his head for combat. But for now, I want to go west." Cura reminded them of the original plan. "The Barrier tower is in the Northwest, remember? And apparently, there's somebody who may be waiting for me in the west. I must go there! Right now!"

Sabrina was surprised at Cura's impatience. "Eh? Well... fine, if you say so. Not like we weren't headed there, regardless."

Mirabelle felt compelled to question Cura's motives. "Is someone waiting for you? Did he say that?" she asked, leveling an accusatory finger at Sir Ralvas.

"Not in those precise terms," Cura started to guide the group back from where they originated. "However, he possesses considerable knowledge about the individuals in this realm. The description he provided of someone there... it... it must be her." Declining to provide more details, Cura proceeded to the primary dusty thoroughfare, where the bodies of Alessians and the Dragon Rider Knight lay scattered across the road like discarded waste. Ignoring the many Charnels and gates, Cura cast Telepathy to locate the western Barrier Tower to draw a clear line in the air to follow through unhindered.

The city was filled with obstacles and various Alessians, Scamps, Minor Vampires, and Ogrim, all of which took issue with Cura and her allies. Though the Dragonborn could care less. She had something she needed to investigate, and they were cracks in the road. She and her allies hurried through, until their progress was halted by a locked door with a symbol depicting a hand of flame above it.

Cura neglected to look up above the door, and directed her allies to search the immediate premises for a lever or pull chain, though there was no such thing to be found. She was growing restless and impatient as she kicked over a dried corpse to lean over a railing on a platform beside what appeared to be a small statuette of Dibella.

Mirabelle Ervine recognized the sigil above the door immediately. "The Destruction School. That is the symbol written upon every tome."

Savos Aren chuckled. "There is no way that all one must do to open the door is to cast a Destruction Spell on the symbol. That would be far too simple. There is no way that the Daedric Prince of Domination and Enslavement is that simple."

Mirabelle conjured up a Fireball and cast it onto the sigil. With a loud chiming noise, the symbol glowed with turquoise light and the door slowly crept open, leaving everybody dumbstruck.

"Wow. It really was that simple." Sabrina remarked, almost disappointedly.

Cura looked up at what Mirabelle had struck and noted the symbol. She mentally cursed herself for not taking a moment to pause and look at it for herself.

"After you, Cura." Mirabelle moved aside, allowing her to pass through.

Past the door, there was a small intersection with a statue of Molag Bal at the center, where a Knight clad in black armour stood above two deceased Vigilants of Stendarr. To the left, a door leading out of the city, to the right, an extensive flight of stairs leading three stories high on an incline, and directly ahead past the statue was a door with the sigil of Alteration above it - the tree transforming into a puff of smoke, as it were.

As soon as Cura's eyes fell upon the dead Vigilants, her blood began to boil.

The knight was a figure she hadn't met, but he quickly recognized her. He was Taranis, the cursed swordsman from Wayrest, husband of Carene and father of Lilian. The Vigilants, Cedric and Stefan, who he had mercilessly slaughtered before at Stendarr's Beacon.

Sir Ralvas spoke up. "That smells like Taranis - a knight with powerlust, drawn to the Cursed Sword of Molag Bal. He was supposed to slay his wife and daughter... I really hope he failed."

Unable to direct his fury where he intended, he unleashed it upon the unfortunate Vigilants. Meanwhile, Cura was seething, her disgust too profound for words.

Taranis had no mind left to call his own; he was Soul-Shriven before he ever set foot in this realm. Brandishing his sword, he charged at Cura in a desperate attempt to decapitate her; to complete the task Molag Bal had commanded him to accomplish in life.

Varla charged ahead with the swift grace of a fierce hound, flanked by Sir Amiel, while Cura didn't need to raise her shield because they had created an impenetrable bulwark before her. Sabrina and Korn joined the fray, leaping toward the adversary. Mirabelle and Savos aimed their spells with precision at the enemy, and Taranis was vanquished before he could come within two feet of the Dragonborn.

Cura advanced toward Taranis, her gaze lowering to meet his cold, dead form. The disquieting sword he clutched in his right hand bore the unmistakable mark of Molag Bal's influence. With a heavy heart, she drew nearer to her fallen comrades, the Vigilants, and knelt in solemn reverence. A mournful prayer escaped her lips for the two lost souls she had never known, yet the sorrow of their grim destiny weighed heavily upon her.

She regarded it as additional ammunition against Molag Bal. It further justified the necessity for the Daedric Prince's demise. The question of whether a Daedric Prince could be slain was indeed a hypothesis worth considering.

"Cura?" Mirabelle touched her on the shoulder to get her attention. "There is nothing more to be done for them; it would perhaps be best for you to carry onwards."

Mary scowled at Mirabelle, and lowered herself to Cura's side. She could see the hurt on Cura's face, and surmised that the victims meant something to her. "I'm sorry, Cura. Were they friends of yours?"

Cura shook her head. "No; I never knew them. But..." seeing their bloodstained uniforms called to mind many macabre scenes she'd witnessed in the past. "...the life of a Vigilant is not an easy one. It is filled with much trepidation, grief, tribulation, and sacrifice." She knew this from her youth; many Vigilants would come and go; some she would only see once, others she'd known for a long time, only to find them dead.

Celann.

She remembered Celann, laying there, in Castle Volkihar. Bled to death next to the head dining table in the aftermath of the war. It broke her heart seeing him like that.

She remembered seeing Moric Sidrey's body. Seeing the dead Vigilants after the Hall was destroyed. She remembered Ruunvald, and how Minorne saw them as mere playthings to be exploited for her benefactor. No regard for their humanity.

Fenrik, who had them lain in coffins, sacrificed.

And now this.

One can scarcely comprehend the anguish and revulsion that Stendarr, the God of Righteous Might and Merciful Forbearance, must endure whenever his devotees suffer such fates. As the patron of justice and mercy, the desecration of his followers' sanctity is a grievous affront to all he stands for.

"Let's keep moving." Cura said, dismissing her feelings and standing up, firing a Magelight into the sigil above the door, prompting it to open. That gate would lead to the western quarter of the city: where Sir Ralvas had heard about a warrior with a warhammer serving Jyggalag. Cura hoped in her heart that it was true.

She passed through the gate and was immediately assaulted by a few minor Dragon Rider Knights, though these ones donned a deep Crimson colour, like the guard that Varla had ordered to move from the Eastern gate.

"Stand down!" Varla stepped forward and barked at the crimson knight, but was thoroughly ignored.

The Knight obeyed none but Molag Bal. He called on reinforcements from the barracks nearby, and several more began to pour in.

"It never ends." Cura sighed as she drew her weapons.

Mirabelle opened the battle with a Firestorm, engulfing several of the Knights, and Savos catered to the western branch of the horde with a mighty Chain Lightning strike.

Sir Ralvas stepped back, taking in the battle blindly, gauging both allies and foes with heightened curiosity. His judgments were formed solely from the cacophony of clashing steel and the roar of spells. He anticipated the return of his sight with eagerness, to witness the grandeur of the true conflict for himself, as the sounds promised a formidable spectacle.

Cura pushed Sir Amiel away as he tried to get in front of her, and maneuvered around Varla. She'd felt cheated out of vengeance against Taranis before, for what he had done to those Vigilants, as she was unable to land a hit on him.

That was going to be different now. She was enraged; seeing red. Most literally. She drew Dawnbreaker out of its sheath and the blade screamed into the air, its holy fire engulfing the blade with anticipation.

The undead crimson knights, remnants of a once-proud legion now twisted by necromancy, advanced with eerie silence. Their armor, stained with the blood of their countless victims, seemed to absorb the weak light around them.

As the first knight lunged forward, its enchanted fire blade aiming for Cura's heart, she raised Spellbreaker and a barrier of pure energy sprung forth, deflecting the attack with ease. With a swift counter, Dawnbreaker's fiery edge met the knight's neck, severing bone and sinew, and a burst of sacred flame consumed the unholy creature, leaving nothing but ash.

The other knights, undeterred by the fate of their comrade, pressed on. They surrounded Cura, their swords clashing against Spellbreaker's barrier in a cacophony of sparks and shadow. But Cura was a whirlwind of divine retribution; for every strike blocked, Dawnbreaker sang through the air, its blazing trail cutting down her foes one by one.

Varla watched Cura dance like death itself as she reaped the wheat field comprised of her foes. "She is a beast!" the vicious Man-Hunter found himself proclaiming with awe. He, and the rest of Cura's allies took the hint and sat this fight out, spectating instead as the Dragonborn unleashed her fury upon Belharza's former knights.

Every ounce of despair, sorrow, and anguish that had seeped into Cura over the years was unleashed through Dawnbreaker, a consuming fire that scorched the flesh of the foolish. Cura had closed off her mind, concentrating solely on the precision and fluidity of her movements. Molag Bal's face materialized briefly before her again, and his voice spoke to her:

"Yes... let the anger fill you... fall to your bitterness... feel the depths of your hatred and strike. With each blow, crack, crush, maim, and destroy your enemies. I know who you are... what you will become... I await our final encounter."

"GRAAAAH!" Cura roared as she impaled a Knight through the chest and kicked him to the side.

The battle raged, the streets of Coldharbour echoing with the clash of steel and the roar of holy fire. Yet, with every fallen knight, the darkness seemed to grow thicker, as if fed by their defeat. But Cura's resolve never wavered. She fought not just with weapons but with an indomitable spirit, ignoring the tauntings of the Daedric Prince. He knew his time was coming - however long it would take. She was here, now. Vengeance was soon hers.

As the last of the crimson knights fell, the street fell silent but for the crackling of Dawnbreaker's flame. Cura stood alone, victorious, her breaths forming misty clouds in the dust-tinged air. The battle was won, but she knew this was but one skirmish in the eternal war against the darkness. With Spellbreaker and Dawnbreaker in hand, she stepped forward, ready to bring light to the darkest corners of Coldharbour. She gestured for her allies to follow her through the gate, which seemed to be opened on the other side already, with a pulled lever on the side.

As Cura passed through the western gate through casting a Fireball upon the Destruction class symbol, what appeared to be antoher Giant Knight with a massive shield, though this one donned crimson armour lined with golden embellishments. It immediately took notice of her entry and sprinted towards her.

The artificial sun hung low in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the blood-soaked streets. The giant's armour gleamed like molten lava, and its golden lance was as long as a ship's mast. The ground trembled with each step it took, and its eyes burned with malevolence.

"One of Belharza's Giant Dragon rider Knights. This is not going to be simple." Varla announced. "I once fought alongside them - they were very fierce. But this one is mindless, just like all the others." He gestured backwards at the carnage behind them. It was hardly a surprise that they would ignore his commands; after all, he abandoned his post. He was a fugitive now; a traitor to Molag Bal.

Cura raised her shield high. She massaged her left arm. "Like Gorieus' Knight. I understand. It's probably the predecessor to it." Her armor clanked as she stepped forward, determination etched on her face.

Sir Ralvas spoke up. "Belharza's Dragon Rider Giants have a unique weakness compared to those of Gorieus, however: their helmet actually obscure some of their field of vision. Perhaps you could use that to your advantage."

"I will keep that in mind." Cura nodded.

"Gorieus' Knights were a joke next to Belharza's." Varla warned her over the clamping boots. His mind wandered to an old friend of his, Ritho the Giant. A prime example of the ferocity of the sentinels who helped destroy the Ayleid empire.

"A joke is fighting with only half your vision, if you can help it. Poor helmet design is what this is." Sir Ralvas laughed heartily.

Varla shook his head. "Maybe, but that did not stop us from conquering Cyrod." He held his sword and parrying dagger in both hands, and gave them a twirl of his wrists as he looked the giant up and down.

Sabrina, the nimble plague doctor, darted between the giant's legs. Her poison-laced daggers glinted in the false light as she sliced at its ankles. She was a shadow, elusive and deadly. The crimson knight roared in frustration, trying to stomp on her, but she danced away with grace. "Whoa! Calm down!" it swung its leg backwards and smacked her at last, sending her rolling across the dusty stone road.

Mary, the healer, positioned herself behind the front lines. Her hands radiated with a healing aura, mending wounds and strengthening her comrades. She murmured words of encouragement, her gaze fixed on the towering enemy. Korn, her faithful wolf, pounced at the knight's throat. His teeth clamped onto the red armor, yet the knight scarcely reacted. With a casual flick, the knight sent Korn flying into a stone bench nearby.

Mary hurried to Korn's aid, but the wolf swiftly rose with a ferocious roar. Fuming, the beast hunched its back, readying itself for another attack.

Sir Amiel, the seasoned knight, charged headlong. His claymore aimed for the giant's heart. The impact shook the ground, but the crimson knight deflected the blow effortlessly. Sir Amiel gritted his teeth, determined to find a weakness. He attempted another swing after dodging a lance strike, but was swept back when the Giant drove his shield down, crashing the stone floor with it.

Varla, the dark knight, cut around the collapsed Sir Amiel and studied his foe. His sword dripped with malice. He circled the giant, waiting for an opening. His eyes locked onto the crimson knight's helm, seeking vulnerability. Once he found it, he tackled the giant with his shoulder, causing him to stumble, and attempted to slash the bindings under the helm. The giant raised his shield to block his attack and created a steel wall between them.

Mirabelle Ervine, the enigmatic sorceress, chanted incantations. Fire erupted from her fingertips, scorching the giant's armor. But the flames merely sizzled against its heat-resistant plating. Mirabelle's frustration grew, but she didn't give up.

Savos Aren, the scholarly mage, stood beside Mirabelle. His hands crackled with arcane energy. He muttered ancient words, summoning a storm of lightning bolts. They struck the crimson knight, leaving smoking craters, but it still stood. "This thing is sturdier than I thought..."

The giant crimson knight swung its lance, creating shockwaves that sent our heroes sprawling. Cura shielded the others, Sabrina rolled away, and Korn limped back to her feet. Sir Amiel and Varla exchanged glances, realizing they needed a coordinated attack.

The Dragonborn studied the beast's shield form. It relied heavily on it, so they would have to use that hesitance to their advantage. If Cura could get it to raise its shield at her, perhaps the others could flank the foe on either side. If Sabrina, nimble as she was, could distract it, they could intimidate it into doing so.

With a tilting head motion, she instructed her allies to get into place. "Together!" Cura shouted. The heroes converged, each playing their part. Sabrina distracted the giant, darting in and out, while Mary charged a Sun Fire attack to blind the giant. With obscured vision, the Giant began to panic at the shade cast by Cura darting forward, prompting it to block her advance instinctively. Korn lunged at its legs, and Sir Amiel ran to the left. Varla found an opening - a gap in the crimson armor - and drove his sword deep.

The knight staggered, its fiery eyes dimming. Mirabelle and Savos unleashed their combined magic, creating a blinding explosion. The giant absorbed the hit and fell backwards against the stone ramparts. Cura wiped her nose with the back of her hand and ran with her mace in hand.

All of a sudden, a figure dressed in gray armor and a dark gray cape sprang forth from afar, swinging their unusual maul to the side and smashing the Giant's kneecap, which sent it tumbling down like a chopped oak. Cura had to quickly dodge the falling form of the Giant Dragon Rider Knight, yet she immediately spotted another opportunity.

Seizing the opportunity, Cura leapt forward, aiming to strike. However, the enigmatic figure deftly used the Giant's right shin as a foothold, vaulting into the air and bringing down their warhammer in a swift act of retribution.

The creature's neck snapped from behind, leading to its lifeless collapse on the ground. Cura and her companions regarded the fallen beast with a mix of astonishment and wariness, mindful of the enigmatic stranger.

The armored figure in gray leapt from the Giant's back, executing a flawless landing upon the cobblestones. Sir Amiel and Varla promptly positioned themselves before Cura, shielding her from the potential threat; in this Realm, vigilance was paramount.

Cura gripped the handle of her mace tightly and exhaled sharply through her nose. She attempted to decipher the body language of the Gray Knight, who seemed to be assessing her in return, their gaze traveling from head to toe. Despite the scrutiny, there was no apparent hostility in their demeanor.

"Who are you? Friend or foe?" Cura inquired, her voice tinged with anxiety. Adrenaline surged through her veins, and her heart thudded against her ribs like a relentless drum, its percussions resounding even within her ears. Cold sweat was running down her face and her arms were shaking.

A soft chuckle resonated from within the depths of the enigmatic knight's helmet. Cura's gaze shifted between the helm that veiled the figure's visage and the Amulet of Stendarr that adorned their neck, which bore an uncanny resemblance to something from her past.

"I was certain you could conquer the Giant, but I believed it would serve as a grand welcome," the Knight confessed. The enigmatic warrior extended both hands towards the sides of the helmet and gradually raised it. "Hello... Cura."

As the metal slowly uncovered the visage below, Cura's bewilderment gave way to unadulterated delight. Indeed, it was Carcette, with her hair grown longer and streaked with gray, looking weary and aged more than the time that had passed since their last meeting.

Cura's hand shot to her mouth, her eyes trembling and her sight growing hazy as a sob welled up in her throat. She could not believe her eyes.

Sir Amiel wheeled around to confront Cura, eyeing the gray-clad stranger warily with his claymore held firmly in his grasp. "What shall we do with this one? Are you acquainted with her, my lady?"

Cura's face was a canvas of shock and wonder. Her hand quivered, causing the mace to clatter to the ground. A sob broke free, and she cried out, "K-Keeper...!" With haste, she ran into her mentor's embrace, shedding tears of solace. Carcette mirrored her emotions with equal intensity.

The sight of Cura brought a tranquility to her heart that surpassed her own understanding.

"Cura, it's so wonderful to see you again!" Carcette exclaimed, stroking the back of her protégé's head tenderly. As she gently pulled away from the embrace, she asked, "Are you well? After everything you've endured... I'm deeply sorry for failing you. I should have remained at the Hall! Then, that impostor would never have been able to assume my guise! You wouldn't have been led to the slaughter by her... I..."

Cura shook her head. "I don't blame you, Keeper. There was no way you could have known it would happen."

Carcette found no solace in Cura's gentle words. She shook her head slowly, burdening herself with guilt. "I should have known better. As the Keeper of the Vigil, I dedicated years to pursuing Daedra worshippers, sending men to chase down every whisper of their presence... and yet, it has come to this. Cura, I have let you down. It seems I've always let you down."

Cura clasped her hands and peered into her eye, filled with regret. "No, you raised me, took care of me, and taught me everything you knew!" she asserted. "I wouldn't be the person I am today if it weren't for you, Brother Adalvald, or Vigilant Tolan."

Savos Aren advanced, Mirabelle accompanying him. "Keeper Carcette, I presume? You ought to take pride," he said. "Raising such an exceptional Mage and warrior is no small feat. Her achievements are both significant and numerous - rare are those who can claim to have accomplished even half of what she has in their entire lives."

"I am proud of her, and very happy to see that she is doing well, all things considered." Carcette stated as she looked upon her student with joy.

Mirabelle agreed with the Arch-Mage. "Indeed; just from what we've seen her do, she has both recovered and secured the Eye of Magnus. I was initially suspicious of her, I will admit; but ultimately Cura had proven herself a true friend to Winterhold. I am proud to have been in office while she attended us."

Carcette's eyes widened in recognition. "You're Savos Aren and Mirabelle Ervine," she said, recalling the words from her letters. "Cura wrote me a great deal about her time at Winterhold."

Savos responded with a playful chuckle, "I trust she only penned the finest things about us."

Carcette nodded. "Indeed, she cherished her studies in Winterhold. It's delightful to finally put faces to the names I've seen on paper. The pleasure is mine." She offered her hand for a formal handshake, which was reciprocated.

Sir Amiel elected to speak on Cura's behalf, as well. "Greetings; I am Sir Amiel, former Leader of the Knights of the Nine. I am accompanied by Sir Ralvas, as well - " he gestured towards the headless knight, who waved to her before continuing. " - Cura, the Dragonborn, has elected to grant us a chance to reclaim our honour."

Carcette was amazed at what she was hearing. "The Knights of the Nine... a remarkable host. I hope you find the redemption you seek - Cura will surely help you in this regard."

Mary stepped forward with Korn at her side. "You're the leader of the Vigil Cura spoke of? It's a pleasure to meet you." the green-clad Breton spoke meekly with a hand over her heart. "I am a Priestess of Mara. Cura is wonderful - she's given us all another chance at life."

Korn's tail flicked with joy as she panted next to her, and as Carcette finished her observation, recognition dawned upon her.

"Saint Moura, the Martyr of Cyrod? Victim of the Alessian Inquisition in the First Era?" Carcette asked, appraising her and the white wolf at her side. Cura turned to her with a look of astonishment, prompting her mentor to continue. "She is revered at the Benevolence of Mara in Evermore, celebrated to this day. The Healer clad in green robes, accompanied by the wolf of Mara, is venerated alongside Saint Olava the Fair, both honored as martyrs."

Mary was taken aback to hear it said, yet she was delightfully surprised to learn that the Temple had honored her in such a manner.

"How do you know that?" Cura was dumbstruck.

"Cura, it is known that the Temple of Stendarr and the Benevolence of Mara have always shared a close alliance," Carcette explained. "It saddens me to learn that one of their saints was condemned to Coldharbour. Should our Saint Pelin be here as well, it would shatter my heart."

Varla crossed his arms and sneered. "If the Alessian Order got their hands on him, who knows? Aren't we all here, aside from Cura and her mentors, because of them?" He looked around at the utter slaughter lining the streets and remembered the old days, except he would have been on their side and the corpses would have been Ayleids.

Carcette easily deduced that he was the notorious Man-Hunter Varla, not only by the coarse nature of his character but also by his predominantly Elven features.

Sabrina shook her head in response to the statement. "Actually, I'm here because of some Daedric shenanigans. I won't speak of it. Best left in the past."

Cura positioned herself next to Carcette, resting her head against the shoulder of her mentor and shutting her eyes. A sense of tranquility enveloped her, a feeling she hadn't experienced in some time. It was as if she had returned to her days as a novice Vigilant, mastering the art of channeling her magicka into a radiant golden light. Carcette responded with a tender embrace, draping an arm around Cura and resting her head atop hers. They were reunited, at last.

"Oh - I had almost forgotten." Carcette reached her hands around the back of her neck and loosened the fastenings of the Amulet of Stendarr, and gently draped it around Cura's neck. "You sent this Amulet with Rynkyus to Windhelm. I have kept it for this very moment." Once she finished fastening it, the Drinking horn of Stendarr dangled down over Cura's collarbone.

Cura smiled with joyful nostalgia as she ogled it between her index finger and thumb, and read the familiar inscription within it aloud:

"Cura 4E 188 - May the light of Stendarr guide your path."

"Carcette! There you are! Why did you dash off so quickly?" Gloriel called out, hurrying through the gate to greet her new ally. To Cura and her companions, it seemed Carcette had been eager to come this way - almost as if she had foreknowledge of Cura's arrival at the western front. Upon sighting Cura clad in her Meridian Champion Armor, the Valkyrie was taken aback. She knelt down, humbled in her presence. "It's... it's you! You're Cura, the Champion of Meridia! It is truly an honour!"

Cura was puzzled by her reaction; however, the golden armor she wore made it easy to deduce her allegiance. "Do you serve the Lady of Light?"

Gloriel scrutinized the Dawnbreaker at Cura's waist. "It's true! It really is her sword! Lady Meridia..." Overwhelmed with gratitude at the sight of the weapon, Gloriel continued, "You have indeed come to free me! Bearing her Artifact... My sword, Dawnbreaker - I wielded it in the distant past, during the First Era. I was its first bearer." Rising to her full height, she loomed over the diminutive Cura. "I do not wish for it back," she declared quickly as she noticed Cura's suspicious glare. "I relinquish it to you; that is to say, you are far more deserving of it than I."

"State your name," Cura commanded, her voice echoing with authority.

"I... am Gloriel the Valkyrie."

The moment she uttered her name, a change came over Varla's demeanor. He circled Mary and Sir Ralvas, fixing his gaze on the Ayleid, eliciting a look of great surprise from her. Yet, his manner was not one of hostility; it was tinged with regret. "Gloriel? The commander of Meridia's Valkyries who led the attack on our forces at Mackamentain?"

As Gloriel nodded grimly, a knot tightened in Varla's heart. He recalled that dreadful day with stark clarity. That morning, he had discovered the truth about his origins, the Alessians' early attempts to kill him as an infant, and Belharza's plans to use him as a weapon against the Ayleids. He learned of his true lineage and the tainted blood that granted him immense power, for good or ill. Realizing he had been betrayed by humans and would be shunned by the elves, he commenced his assault on the Elven city.

As he confronted Gloriel on the battlefield, her sword glowing in her grasp, she initially tried to dissuade him through dialogue, emphasizing his agency in the situation: he could abandon the Alessian Empire. He wasn't obliged to besiege the city - the Ayleids within were prepared to negotiate peace with the Order to spare their lives.

Meridia sent Gloriel to persuade the knight to desist, and if that failed, to eliminate him and his allies. Gloriel herself was reluctant to engage in battle, recognizing the knight's aversion to harming her, yet acknowledging his coerced circumstances.

He and his Giant Knight friend Ritho, who also had qualms with this pointless invasion, cut down every life in that Ayleid city without mercy. And the little girl Enola, who could have been the sole survivor... Belharza demanded her head.

"I recognize you. Y-you're Varla." Gloriel shuddered for a second as she recounted the fierce, yet sullen eyes that struck her down amidst the fire and rubble. She was back on the ground, laying in a pool of her own blood as embers rose around her. The light dimming from her eyes as the black fingers of Molag Bal clenched around her soul.

The Man-Hunter sulked and turned away from her. "You're here, too... why are you here?" His voice was filled with poorly-obscured sadness.

Gloriel had no real explanation for him - all she knew was that her death brought her here, with no recourse or reason. Perhaps Molag Bal had done so in attempt to spite Meridia. He seemed to follow that accursed Order wherever it went, after all.

Mary reached out and touched Varla's arm softly. "The past is unchangeable, but if it burdens you, my son, pursue redemption. Rectify the misdeeds of your past."

Varla took a short, sharp breath and gradually shifted his gaze towards Gloriel. Meanwhile, Cura observed both of them intently, filled with anticipation about the unfolding events.

Varla approached Gloriel, extending his parrying dagger and presenting it horizontally on his palm to the Ayleid woman. "I offer you a chance for vengeance. Strike me down, as I once did to you, long ago."

The onlookers were taken aback by this abrupt declaration, and Mary tried to intervene out of concern for her son. "Varla, no!" But Sir Amiel stopped her, shaking his head to signal the potential peril that loomed.

Gloriel's gaze drifted from the dagger in Varla's hand to his exposed neck. Then, her eyes roamed to Cura, Carcette, and finally, the dimming twilight sky. Refocusing on the dagger, she grasped it and examined it for a moment. She had the opportunity to strike, yet it would be dishonourable to slay an unarmed man. Her eyes locked with his, reading the challenge, the yearning within. He sought redemption for his past misdeeds, appearing to have discovered something to cling to at last.

Gloriel gave the blade one final glance before flipping it and sliding it back into his grasp. "No. Enough blood has been spilled for the Alessians. The woman in green speaks the truth; the past is behind us. There's no benefit in ending your life here, or losing mine." Turning to face Carcette and then returning to his gaze, she added, "A Breton woman once suggested there might be another way, one that doesn't involve begging for death."

Varla was taken aback, yet a sense of relief washed over him. "I see," he murmured, sliding his parrying dagger back into its sheath. "The day I killed you marked the beginning of my disgrace. You had valid arguments then. I could have defied Emperor Belharza; he might have permitted me to depart for the Summerset Isles with the girl. But my desire to gain his favor was stronger. Thus, I executed his commands, regardless of their brutality. I forged a path of carnage across the realm, culminating in the massacre at Malada."

The shadows of the past hung heavily over them, casting a palpable gloom upon Varla. "I am indeed the monster you witnessed on the battlefield that day, and worse. I have slain men, women, and children without distinction. I once ordered a Khajiit child to be ripped apart by my hounds for the mere accident of striking one. I was deranged."

Mary's gaze was filled with revulsion, intensifying his own sense of shame. The disapproving glances from those around him deepened his embarrassment. Voicing his thoughts had seemed harmless at first, but now, the words hung heavily in the air, and he was overwhelmed by self-disgust. Gloriel's head shake was a silent testament to his wretched lifestyle.

"I deserve that dagger, and more." Varla said plainly, gesturing towards the blade, now sheathed on his belt. "But, for now, to be honest, I'd rather not die. At least until after I've gotten my mother out of Coldharbour." he gestured towards Mary, which shocked Gloriel greatly.

Gloriel looked at Mary, and something seemed to click with her. "A Human? But you are half-Ayleid... does that mean your father... and a slave..."

"Yes, I am the wretched spawn of Umaril the Unfeathered," Varla stated plainly. Mary gave him a slap on the arm, seemingly to reprimand him for his self-deprecating remark.

Sir Ralvas had no face to express himself, but he spoke aloud. "Well! I certainly did not see that coming." he muttered aside to Sabrina, plain for all to hear regardless, "I now understand why he was such a bastard. It was far more literal than we realized!"

Carcette recoiled in shock at the revelation, stepping back almost instinctively. Gloriel, caught off guard as well, merely closed her eyes and let out a soft chuckle, resigning herself to her destiny. "So it is," she mused, "slain by the progeny of Umaril, the formidable and fearsome king of the Ayleids, and yet another Champion of Meridia." She gave a wry shake of her head, her smile tinged with the irony of her demise. "The idea of a devotee of Meridia meeting her end at the hands of something caused by another devotee is absurd."

Cura laughed, herself as she recounted stepping into Pelinal's shoes. "Ha, ha... yes. It is quite ridiculous."

"And in the end, it was Umaril's promiscuity that led to our downfall, and your part in our demise was far from insignificant," Gloriel said, bursting into loud laughter as if it were all merely a grand jest to her now. "Lady Meridia must have been livid with him!"

Carcette turned to her student. "Cura; I wish to accompany you through this journey - you have much to do before you can reach Molag Bal. And more before you can approach the Barrier Tower in the Northwest." she tried to recount some of the details from Jyggalag's Library, and all that she could fluidly recall was that before reaching Morihaus, Cura would need to regain her Dragon Soul, and fight the Vampires of the Volkihar Castle in the East: a feat she was much looking forward to being a part of, herself. Whatever would happen in between was necessary to cutting Molag Bal's influence over the realm, as she had done with Vernaccus, Menta-Na, Mary, Varla, and Pelinal.

Mirabelle spoke up immediately, before Cura could respond. "Pardon me, Carcette - how do you know that Cura is dismantling the Barrier Towers?"

Savos added in, "And moreso, how did you know that we would be here when we were? Do you have some sort of prescience, or perhaps an advanced Telepathy spell?"

All eyes were fixed onto her, with the exception of Sir Ralvas, though he faced her direction. Cura took a step back from her, as well. "And what happened to you, Keeper? I know that grief can age people, but..." she noted the graying dullness of her dark blonde hair and the sunkenness of her visible eye. Her wrinkles were more pronounced on her forehead, as well.

"You're aware that I've turned to Jyggalag for aid." Carcette began, "I have... read some things in his Library. Of what, it would be irresponsible of me to say, but I know about certain things; which I am forbidden from telling you. All I can say is that this is meant to happen. You will not understand, and you cannot understand, but trust me, Cura."

"I do trust you, Keeper. And you're right, I have no idea what you're talking about, or what you're insinuating... but I know you want what's best for me. You always have." Cura conceded.

"And, Cura, it's not 'Keeper' anymore. It's 'Carcette' now." the older Breton corrected her.

"Oh, so that's what you meant!" Sabrina slapped herself in the forehead as she recounted their battle against the Prison Keeper, Warden Uighool. "Yeah, I wouldn't wanna be compared to that hideous thing either, honestly."

Gloriel faced Cura, gently taking her esteemed hand in both of hers. "It would be my honor to be accepted into your circle, esteemed Champion of Meridia, bearer of the Dawnbreaker," she said. "You beam brightly with her radiance; I can feel her presence illuminating you with every footstep! It is beautiful to behold."

Cura offered a warm smile to the Ayleid. "Of course, Gloriel. I am pleased to welcome you into our fold."

Gloriel trembled as the words reached her ears, sinking to the ground, she bowed deeply before her. Her prayers, however, soared past Cura, reaching for Meridia above. "Oh, Lady Meridia, my gratitude knows no bounds for the assistance you've bestowed upon me! I was on the brink of despair, fearing the Graymarch would be my end... that I would be abandoned to perish once more... my heart swells with thanks for not abandoning your devoted follower!"

Now anchored to a host, Gloriel basked in the glow of certainty. She was no longer an isolated sheep destined for slaughter but a member of a collective stirring the waters of Coldharbour. Gazing upon Cura bolstered her confidence, particularly knowing they were both devoted to Meridia. To her, the presence of Dawnbreaker at Cura's side was the ultimate sign that she was chosen to guide her safely back to Nirn.

Cura took a step backwards and observed her following: Mirabelle Ervine and Savos Aren; her mentors and supporters from the College of Winterhold, Sir Amiel and Sir Ralvas; two forlorn Knights of the Nine now given new purpose, Sabrina the Pailune Healer; an enigmatic Redguard who was cautious and trouble-prone at the same time, Varla the Man-Hunter; a disgraced and foul Knight who spent his life inflicting pain onto others and now seeking amends for his terrible past, Mary the Healer; a Priestess of Mara and Martyr to her cause and her White wolf Korn; a highly intelligent, steadfast and nimble divine canine, and now Carcette; her mentor, her mother figure who had always done what she believed was right, even if it was not always the case, and Gloriel the Valkyrie; a follower of Meridia, enamoured with Cura due to her potential to be the one to deliver her from Coldharbour, which she certainly would, especially knowing that she was a follower of Meridia.

With a total of ten followers, Cura was starting to feel as if she were assembling an army, whether by design or accident. Ironically, Delphine had always insinuated that Cura would be incapable of such a feat. Maybe this was yet another instance where she was mistaken.

The Dragonborn lifted her spirits with the thought of her achievements and began to strengthen her allies. "To defeat Molag Bal, we must first dismantle what remains of his realm - ensure that the Graymarch has clear access without opposition. We will strip away as much of Bal's control over the city as possible, and then-" she gestured decisively to the side, pointing at the Tower in the city's heart that soared into the skies, a monument of mockery, encased in its forcefield, "-I will lead the assault on the Tower with you at my side, and we will vanquish the fiend. Into the serpent, I will drive a sword."

"Are you going to do it yourself?" Sir Ralvas inquired, incredulous. "Such an idea seems reckless."

Cura's face darkened as she recalled the evil that Molag Bal had done unto Nirn, unto Serana, unto Tyranus, unto the Vigilants, and unto her. She fixed her gaze upon the very top of the tower. "That bastard is mine."