The sun beat down on the calm and verdant town of Riverwood. It was a lovely contrast from the frozen wastelands Cura had become accustomed to. She watched the fauna and admired the flora, and even took some time to rinse the blood off her mace in the river while Hadvar patiently waited for her.
Imperials. Stormcloaks. Dragons. It was all so puzzling for her. Should she take Hadvar's advice and join the very Empire that was willing to execute her at the drop of a hat? Perhaps not, ideally, but if the Empire was protecting Skyrim, perhaps she could chalk it all up to a simple misunderstanding.
Simple, yet unfortunate.
The Stormcloaks seemed a fascinating entourage to her. Ulfric Stormcloak, the Roaring Giant. His influence was unmistakable, and his voice formidable. Cura's only regret was not being with him long enough to learn more about him, about his cause, and about his desires for the future of the Province. Perhaps she would meet him again someday, and have all of her questions answered.
Cura removed her robe.
"What are you doing?" Hadvar asked, quickly turning away from the abrupt action.
"I'm not going to see your Uncle and sleep in an Inn wearing bloody robes." Cura huffed as she began to scrub her robe by hand in the river water. Hadvar was becoming visibly annoyed. "Ysmir's beard, girl!" He crossed his veiny arms. "We're only thirty feet away from the village."
Cura rolled her eyes and scoffed. "I just want to be proper. Why is that such an issue?"
"It's an issue when you could just wash it at the Inn! Now, get up before the Wolves become attentive!" Hadvar demanded.
Cura clicked her tongue, and wrung out the robes. Using a tempered flame, she quickly dried them and put them back on. While most of the bloodstains were gone, some still remained, faint reminders of her horrific morning. She walked back towards Hadvar, and the two entered Riverwood.
It was a simple town, Riverwood. The houses were wooden, a Trader's Shop was to the East, a few houses strewn around, a cobblestone road leading the eye from the entryway to the Sleeping Giant Inn, and a Blacksmith shop and house masking a Lumber Mill behind it just a wharf away. Cura saw some children playing with their Dog, she saw a Wood Elf carrying lumber, and she saw a young Nord man speaking to who she assumed was his Elderly Mother.
"I tell you, it was a Dragon! It was as big as the mountain and as black as night. It flew right over the Barrow!" The old woman insisted, but her son was unhindered. "Dragons, now, is it? You keep on like this and everyone in town will think you're crazy. And I've got better things to do than listen to your fantasies." Cura had to rectify the situation. "She's right." the Breton informed him, "It was at Helgen."
"See! That's someone else! I told you!" the old woman leaned forward on her railing. "It was a Dragon, and they're coming to kill us all!"
"Another one." the Nord said snidely. "Don't play up my Mother's delusions, please." He squinted his eyes scornfully at Cura.
"Sorry," she shrugged. "but it's the truth. I was there."
"Okay, it's time to meet my Uncle." Hadvar grabbed Cura by the arm and pulled her towards the Blacksmith Shop.
A hardy older man was working the forge, clanking a sword with a blazing hammer over the flames, and pulling the chain that caused the air bellows to fan the flames every so often. He wore a red shirt and had brown hair and a warm complexion.
"Uncle Alvor! Hello!" Hadvar hailed the older man as he walked closer to his shop, up the stairs. The older man looked up from his craft, and quickly put down his tools, and hurried over to his Nephew, giving him a warm embrace. "Hadvar? What are you doing here? Are you on leave from..." He then noticed the bloodstains on Hadvar's uniform, as well as the cinders staining it, a scar left from his escape from Helgen a mere couple of hours ago. "Shor's bones, what happened to you, boy? Are you in some kind of trouble?"
Cura looked to Hadvar and smirked, hinting at her clean robes, causing the Nord Soldier to scoff in response. He then turned back to Alvor. "Shh. Uncle, please. Keep your voice down. I'm fine. But we should go inside to talk." This did not set the older man's mind at ease; rather, it only added to his distress, with the secrecy involvement. "What's going on? And who's this?" His attention finally turned to the meeker Cura.
"She's a friend. Saved my life, in fact. Come on, I'll explain everything, but we need to go inside." Hadvar took his Uncle by the shoulders and walked with him towards his house. Cura followed behind them as Alvor opened the door. The trio went inside, and Cura closed the door behind her as Alvor and Hadvar already took their seats at the dinner table. "Sigrid! We have company!" He called out for his wife, and Cura assumed her seat at the table.
Shortly, a redheaded woman in a white dress came up from the stairs behind Cura. "Hadvar! We've been so worried about you! Come, you must be hungry. I'll get you something to eat." She walked over to the Cooking Pot near the fireplace, and began to scoop some Beef Stew into bowls. Cura never thought she would be so excited for Stew in her life, but thankfully she was not expecting any, as Sigrid had only given to Hadvar and Alvor, overlooking her completely. "Sigrid," Alvor signaled towards Cura. "you forgot our gust."
"Oh, did I?" her tone dripped with false honey coating venom. "I'll get her some right away..." She scooped another portion, and then reluctantly handed it to Cura, with a dirty look, before leaning in close. "You're pretty, I'll give you that. Just stay away from my Husband, Alvor." She slapped the bowl on the table in front of the Breton, setting her place. Cura looked visibly offended at this notion. "Message received." The Viglant said defensively as she took a sip of her stew by the bowl. She felt asking for a spoon would be tiresome at this point.
Alvor quickly cut the tension, calling to attention what Hadvar promised to explain. "Now then, boy, what's the big mystery? What are you doing here looking like you lost an argument with a cave bear?" Hadvar took a sip from his stew, and looked up to the ceiling. "I don't know where to start. You know I was assigned to General Tullius's guard. We were stopped in Helgen when we were attacked by...a dragon."
Alvor scoffed loudly as he took a swig of Nord Mead. "A dragon? That's ridiculous. You aren't drunk, are you boy?" Sigrid whacked him lightly on the arm with the rag in her hand. "Husband. Let him tell his story." With a nudge of his shoulders, Hadvar spun the rest of the tale into a neat web. "Not much more to tell. The dragon flew over and just wrecked the whole place. Mass confusion. I don't know if anyone else got out alive. I doubt I'd have made it out if not for Cura and her amazing Healing abilities." Cura nodded, as she continued to sip on her stew. She then wiped her mouth and added in. "Actually, Hadvar saved me! He pulled me into the Keep when the Dragon attacked, after some running. We fought some Stormcloaks to escape, and came here."
"I need to get back to Solitude and let them know what's happened." Hadvar stood up from the table. "I thought you could help us out. Food, supplies, a place to stay." Sigrid did not look thrilled at the proposal, but Alvor was jovial. "Of course! Any friend of Hadvar's is a friend of mine. I'd be glad to help however I can, but I need your help. We need your help." As he finished his sentence, he looked to Cura directly. "The Jarl needs to know if there's a dragon on the loose. Riverwood is defenseless! You need to get word to Jarl Balgruuf to send whatever soldiers he can. If you do this for me, I'll be in your debt."
Cura nodded. "I'd be happy to help you, Alvor. But..." She noticed her neck was stiff, as well as her whole upper back. "I need some rest. it's been a non-stop ride through Oblivion these last few days..."
Alvor nodded. "I understand. Surviving Helgen must have taken quite the toll on you." He reached into his pockets, and pulled out a coin pouch. "Here is 100 gold. Should earn you a few stays at the Sleeping Giant's Inn. I'd house you here, but we haven't enough beds."
"It's all right, thank you!" Cura accepted the coin pouch. "You've been very kind." Truly, it was a welcome change from the rest of Skyrim. She headed to the door, when Hadvar approached her one last time. "Remember," he looked her in the eyes. "the Legion isn't all bad. Please again, consider joining us."
She looked into his eyes, and could see an earnestness within them. She looked away. "I'll think about it." Her response was ever the same, and she opened the door, rejoining the public of Riverwood.
The warm sun greeted her deceptively.
"Excuse me, Breton. Got a minute?" A voice called out to her from the side, and she turned around to see a Wood Elf.
"Yes?" Cura asked, expecting a quick answer.
"I saw you talking to Sven before." He began. "That Nord is a cheat and a swindler. You shouldn't trust him. He's not your sort of company, I would think." His venom seeped forth like freshly fallen sap from a dead tree.
"what's your problem with this Sven?" Cura paused to look at the venomous elf.
"He's been spending more and more time with Camilla Valerius." He sneered. "He knows I love her, but believes he can worm his way into her heart with Bardic Poems. What do you think?" Cura shrugged. "I think this isn't my problem to deal with." She began to walk away, when the Wood Elf rushed forward, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Can you... can you deliver this letter to Camilla Valerius? I'd really appreciate it." He slipped the envelope into her hand, not even giving her the option to refuse.
"Sigh..." Cura breathed out. "All right. Where is this 'Camilla Valerius?'"
"She lives in the Riverwood Trader with her Brother Lucan." He stated. "Please make sure she gets it!" He quickly dashed away, leaving Cura annoyed and a little confused.
She walked around the town for a while, taking in the sights, learning the layout before heading to the Trader. Inside, she saw a man and a woman arguing over something.
"...and no thief-chasing!" the man finished saying as Cura came in. The woman looked disheartened, and walked right past the Breton.
"Are you Camilla Valerius?" Cura asked, leaning towards her.
"Yes." the dark-haired woman replied, raising an eyebrow. "Why do you ask?" She walked over to the table and sat down, dusting it off first.
"Er, a Wood Elf asked me to deliver this message to you." She reached into her satchel and took out the letter, and handed it to her.
"A Wood Elf? Faendal?" Camilla took the letter and began to read it.
My Dearest Camilla,
I yearn to have you as my own,
Washing my linens,
And my fine blond hair,
To cook my dinner from my stove,
And tend to my house while I wander.
Yours Truly,
Sven
"Oh, my! He wants me to think Sven wrote this? Thought he could just manipulate me into never seeing Sven again? That jealous idiot." She clenched the letter in her hands, crumpling it. When she regained composure, she gave a little nod. "You should speak to Sven. I'm sure he'll want to thank you, too, for defending his name."
Cura shrugged, and turned her gaze to Lucan, who was holding his head in his hands, and facing the wall next to the wall shelves. He gave the shelf a stern kick in frustration.
Cura approached the counter cautiously. "What's wrong?" She laid her hands on the wood.
"Everything is wrong!" Lucan exclaimed vehemently. "Thieves, the lot of them! Broke in and stole my Golden Claw!"
"That's what we get for moving to a town without Guards." Camilla said dryly, as she cast the letter into the fire beside her.
"If only someone could do something!" Lucan bemoaned.
"I could try." Cura stated. "Maybe I could find a partner, and then I could track down the thieves."
"We already know where they went." Camilla stated. "Bleak Falls Barrow." She stood up. "It's really not that far from here. I could bring you there."
"No, no, no, no!" Lucan protested immediately. "It's too dangerous. I don't want you setting a single foot past that bridge!" His concern contested only by his Sister's scorn. The air was tense, and full of fret.
Cura nodded in agreement with Lucan. "It's a better idea to stay put." She stated. "There are many dangerous things outside the town. We have our strength in numbers. Her words echoed those of Keeper Carcette's own. The Breton was aware of it, and found mild amusement with it. Maybe she'd get a laugh out of it when Cura returns to the Hall. Perhaps Tolan, as well.
"So, this is your plan, Lucan?" Camilla turned to her brother, mildly peeved. She placed her hands on her hips and glared directly into his eyes, in utter disbelief. Seding a complete stranger, a weak-looking Breton girl, no less to do what a Hired Mercenary could instead? Foolish. With just a tone, she made her disdain for this scheme very apparent, leading Lucan to drop everything to his own defense. "Yes. So now you don't have to go, do you?"
"I could at least point you in the right direction." Camilla looked defeated, and shrugged complacently.
Cura looked at Lucan expectantly, and the stern brother relented. "Wh...no...I...Oh, by the Eight, fine," he said. "but from within the village. You are not to cross that bridge, understood?"
"All right then." Camilla huffed back, going out the door. Before Cura walked out, Lucan added. "I have some coin coming in from my last shipment. It's yours if you can get the Claw back."
"I will," Cura assured with a nod. "after I've gotten a bit of rest." She closed the door behind her before Lucan could say anything.
Outside, she saw Faendal, the Wood Elf. "You're nothing but trouble." He sneered as he brushed shoulder with her confrontationally, staggering the unvigilant Vigilant as he continued on his path.
Cura whirled around to face him as he slunk past angrily, and she threw both her arms out. "What?" He ignored her and headed back to the Mill. The Breton scoffed, then continued down the path, where Camilla stood, waiting for her.
"There you are," Camilla began. "I was getting worried that you'd lost interest."
Cura shook her head. "No, I'm here to help. Once I'm well-rested, I'll journey over to the Barrow."
"You're not from around here. That makes two of us." Camilla said as she began to walk with Cura in tow. The Vigilant caught up. "Oh, I'm from Skyrim, just further North." Camilla nodded. "My Brother Lucan and I came here from Cyrodiil, because there was nothing left for us there. It got really bad, after the war with the Thalmor. They ruined everything." She looked down sadly.
The Thalmor.
Cura had nearly forgotten about them. She was caught up with the Imperials, Stormcloaks, and Dragons, and the Aldmeri Dominion slipped her mind for a while. The Great War happened before she was born, so she was unfamiliar with the darker details. She was so isolated growing up, that she never paid much attention to the political goings-on in Skyrim, let alone the other Provinces of the Empire. It couldn't be much better.
"They... did a lot of damage, huh?" Cura asked, trying to pry without prying.
"You know it." Camilla looked to the mountains nearby, and stopped in her tracks. They were not even at the bridge yet. "See it?" She asked.
Cura walked directly beside her, and her eyes rolled up her arm to her index finger, then eventually settled upon a large temple with strange arches jutting out of the ground in front of it, by the looks of it. The behemoth-sized cairn observed the town from above, like a menacing prison guard, looming; lurking.
Why would anybody want to hole up in a place like that? There could be all manner of horrors lurking within. Thankfully, Cura had training as a Vigilant, and would know how to handle any Draugr or Ghost within. She would just need to enchant her plain Iron Mace with a Turn Undead enchantment, and it would send the demons packing. But an iron Mace wouldn't cut it. It was weak, brittle. Waiting to be broken in an unfortunately-angled swing. She turned to Camilla. "That's Bleak Falls Barrow? Hmm... I can handle it, but I hope the coin your Brother promised me will cover it."
"Pfft." Camilla scoffed. "My Brother is as tight with coin as a Skeever is with Cheese. The only way you'd be getting paid at all is if the Claw is spotless."
She continued to walk. "Those thieves must be mad, hiding out there. Those old crypts are filled with nothing but traps, trolls, and who knows what else! I wonder why they only stole Lucan's Golden Claw. I mean, we have plenty of things in the shop that are worth just as much coin."
"How did you get the Claw, Camilla?" Curaasked out of curiosity.
Camilla rolled her eyes, but continued onwards. "Lucan found the claw about a year after he opened the store. He never quite explained where he got it. He's a tricky one."
Cura nodded. "Do you know what the Claw is for?"
"I guess it must be some Ancient Nord decoration of sorts." Camilla shrugged. "It's really quite fascinating." After some walking past the Inn, they reached the bridge, and Camilla purposely walked onto the structure itself in defiance of Lucan. She pointed at the path ahead, and then arced her arm to the left. "This is the bridge out of town. The path up the mountain to the NorthWest leads to Bleak Falls Barrow. I guess I should get back to my brother. He'll throw a fit if I take too long. Such a child..."
Cura gave her a solemn nod. "Thank you. I promise on my honour as a Vigilant of Stendarr, I will return your Golden Claw."
"Good luck." Camilla gave her a simple nod, and walked back, leaving Cura there.
Since she was near the Sleeping Giant Inn, Cura decided to head on inside, walking past the little Boy and his Dog, who were playing on the balcony.
When she headed on inside, she was greeted with a warm fire, and a lovely flute solo. On one side, she saw the lovestruck Bard, Sven, and on the other side, she saw the Innkeeper and Bartender talking. A Breton woman with blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, wearing a light blue and brown dress was snapping at the Barkeep. "Orgnar. Orgnar! Are you listening?"
The Large Nord man with black hair and a filthy, dirt-clotted white uniform looked up from the mug he was washing. "Hard not to." He snorted, before looking back down at his mug, continuing to shine it with the cloth in his hand. The Breton was not having it. "The ale is going bad. We need to get a new batch. Did you hear me?"
Orgnar responded without facing her. "Yep. Ale's going bad."
The blonde sneered. "I guess you don't have potatoes in your ears after all. Just make sure we get a fresh batch in soon." Her eyes slowly deviated from Orgnar to Cura as she headed on over to the counter. She approached her directly. "You're that visitor, been pokin' around."
"I'll just be here for a short time," Cura said, growing increasingly lethargic, yet maintaining her image of boldness. "just for the rest of the day and night," Her confidence was met with an "I see." from the Innkeeper. "Well, if you're staying the night, I have a free room. Just 10 coins."
"I'll take it." Cura nodded, her tone desperate and tired. She took out her coin purse and removed 10 coins, and handed them over.
"Come with me." The Innkeeper told her as she led her to the room on her left of the counter. When Cura entered the room, she quickly made her way over to the bed. The Innkeeper spoke. "They say a Dragon attacked Helgen. Sounds like hogwash to me."
Cura shook her head. "It's the truth."
"Mm-hm." The Innkeeper sneered in feigned sarcastic disbelief. "And I'm Hakon One-eye. Don't be an idiot, believing the first thing you hear. You've been listening to that old woman down the road."
Cura did not appreciate the attitude this Innkeeper had towards her, but ultimately, was too tired to clap back at this given time. "Are you finished?" she asked, instead.
The Innkeeper crossed her arms. "'Am I finished?'"
"I just want to rest." Cura's voice was finally wearing thing as she pressed her cheek into the pillow, facing the wall. "Shove off."
"You've got an attitude, don't you?" The Innkeeper stood at the door, arms still crossed. "Who's the Nord? Your Mother? Or your Father?"
Cura turned back around. "What makes you assume... I'm half-Nord?"
"Because you're stubborn and dumb as a rock." the Innkeeper spat.
"Thank you..." Cura replied with sloth and sarcasm on the wind. "...now can I rest?"
"You're lucky you weren't one of my subordinates." The Innkeeper muttered beneath her breath as she stormed out of the room. Cura turned back around and slowly drifted off to sleep, now that only peace remained.
That night, Cura was hit with a nightmare. She was wandering a burning wasteland, filled with corpses.
"Keeper Carcette?" she called out. "Where are you?"
She was frantic, and looked through all the dead around her. Not a soul lived there-it was an unburdened cemetery lain out before her eyes, smoldering in the Fires of Oblivion. She walked around destroyed buildings, and found Isran, her old war mentor.
"Isran!" She called out, running towards the Redguard, who was sitting on a chair, in the middle of one of the ruined houses. "Isran, it's me, Cura!"
He looked at her, but his eyes were completely white, lacking irises and pupils. "What do you want?" He snapped. "Go away. I'm busy, here."
Cura hurried over, and hopped over some burning rubble, landing before Isran. "Busy? With what?"
"What's it look like?" He gestured to the ruined building all around him; it was the Helgen watchtower. "I'm rebuilding this old Fort."
Cura looked puzzled, but chuckled in response. "Haven't gotten much work done yet, have you?" she scoffed.
Isran then casually took out a crossbow and shot a bolt into her chest, causing her to fly backwards with the momentum and emit a loud "gasp!"
She kept on her two feet, then looked down at the bloody wound in her chest. She touched it with her hand, and saw blood coating it. "Wh-why...?"
"Because you're no better than the Daedra, that's why!" Isran got up from his seat, and held the crossbow upwards, towards the ceiling. He took another bolt from the pouch on his leg, and loaded it in with a loud "ker-clunk!"
"B-but... what... why..." As Cura muttered, Isran aimed the crossbow down to her again.
"You killed people." He said coldly, and fired again, the bolt hitting her leg when she tried to dodge. "And then you killed some more. And more, and more, and more. You never stopped. You're no better than a Vampire. When will you have your fill of blood?"
Cura was weeping, trying to scramble away. "No, you're wrong!" She clung to the rubble, pulling herself along the floor, smearing her own blood, leaving a snail trail in the dirt.
"Those people had families, you know." Isran shot a bolt near her, making her jump. "But you wouldn't know about Family, would you? You never had one." He fired another, and Cura shoved herself backwards, away from it. Isran loaded another bolt as a figure lurked behind Cura.
Before Cura could protest, she felt a harsh smash to her skull drag her down to the floor. The world shook, her ears rung, and the warm blood in her mouth and nose began to leak like a broken bucket. Dazed and confused, and filled with immeasurable guilt, she pulled herself back up, whimpering. Tears mixed with the salty blood running down the top of her head, down her face.
She looked up, and saw the figure who attacked her.
Keeper Carcette.
The evidence was there; her Steel Warhammer's head was coated in blood on the blunt end.
"K-Keeper..." Cura's heart broke. "...how could you...?"
The Keeper and isran both stood there, demons in the red glow of ember, obscured by cast shadows over their bodies and surrounded by waves of emitted heat from the continuous immolation around them, and lit ever so slightly by the smaller embers that consumed the air.
Carcette spat on the floor. "You disappoint me." She shoved her hammer's head down on the floor, and held onto the handle the way a suit of armour would hold a greatsword. "We raised you to be better than that. You've become the enemy, and now we have to vanquish you."
"I-I'm not the enemy!" Cura wailed. "Please, I swear it! I love you! I love all of you! Please, don't do this!"
"A Dragon." Carcette took up her Warhammer. "You are a Dragon. You lie, burn, kill, and dominate all those before you. You don't know love. You never will."
She rushed forward to attack Cura again, and Isran fired another bolt at her.
"STOP!" Cura shouted at the top of her lungs, creating a massive torrent of air, which blew Isran and Carcette away. Bits of rubble launched through the open sky, and the doorway was torn open like an arrow piercing a linen cloth. The two of them smashed into the roof structures in the watchtower, and landed to the ground, killed on impact. Their necks broken, and bodies mangled. Cura gasped loudly, and trembled, holding onto herself as the large black dragon from Helgen rode the skies and came down before her and swallowed her in one fell swoop, jaws clamping shut like visceral vice grips.
"NO!" Cura wailed, snapping awake in the bed.
She was drenched in a cold sweat, and immediately began to examine her chest and head for signs of injury, only to quickly come to the realization that it was simply an awful dream.
The Innkeeper came in at that moment. "What's going on in here?" She demanded.
Cura finally stopped heaving for breath, and got up from her bed. "I... I apologize."
"You should drown whatever it is in some Ale." The Innkeeper said snidely. 'Everyone else does. It's better for business than scaring off my customers."
"Be a little compassionate, Delphine." Orgnar called from behind the bar counter. "The lass came from Helgen. Give her a break."
Delphine narrowed her eyes at him. "I told you already, Orgnar. That Dragon business is nothing but hogwash. An old wives' tale brought to life? Please."
Cura huffed and quickly stormed out of her room, where she was accosted by Sven, the Bard.
"Hey, Korra, right?" He asked.
"Cura." She corrected him, her eyes glazed and voice exasperated.
"I wanted to thank you," Sven began. "for exposing that elf for the fraud that he is! Now Camilla Valerius will certainly marry me!"
"That's nice." Cura said with a shrug. Of all the things on her plate at the moment, his Love Triangle was not of paramount importance. She had very little patience yesterday, but today it was nonexistent. "Look, I'm sorry, but I have errands to run. Can we talk about your burning passion for the Imperial Woman some other time?"
"What sort of errands?" Sven asked.
Cura raised an eyebrow. "Why do you want to know?" She swayed to the side a little bit, wondering if he was about to offer something, judging by his immediate concern.
"Well, maybe I can do it for you, or help." Sven offered. "My Mother always said a good Nord always repays his debts."
"And your Mother also said she saw a Dragon." Cura threw a veiled shot at him.
"Yes, but you corroborated it." Sven reminded her. "So.. are you gonna tell me what it is, your errand?"
Cura was in no mood to play games, so she told it to him point-blankly. "I'm going to retrieve Lucan's Golden Claw from some Bandits in Bleak Falls Barrow." She scanned his now-surprised face for semblances of fear or doubt. "Still want to come along?"
Sven stared at her like a Deer caught in a Saber Cat's vision for a brief moment before a wide and very arrogant grin slipped across his face, from one ear to the other. "By the Eight, I thought you'd never ask!"
Cura scowled her eyebrows in mild confusion, but then it donned on her.
But of course.
This would certainly help him impress Camilla.
"A daring young Nord Bard accompanies a Vigilant of Stendarr on a spelunking tour of a dangerous, Ancient Nord Tomb, filled to the brim with Draugr and other unsightly horrors, and with as much bravado as he could muster, retrieves the Golden Claw that was looted by Brigands, and returns it to the Love of his life." Sven practically sung. "I do like the sound of that!"
Cura shrugged. "Get your best weapons from your house, and I'm going to see Alvor about a new one. Meet me at the bridge, and we'll go up the mountain together."
Sven nodded enthusiastically. "Very well! Kara, you won't regret having me by your side! I will sing our way to victory!" He dashed out the door before she could even react. "It's... 'Cura'..."
Soon enough, she headed over to Alvor's smithy. "Hello again, Alvor."
"Ahh, Hadvar's friend!" He clearly had forgotten her name. "Enjoyed your first night in Riverwood?"
"The Inn is nice, but I'm not entirely sure." Cura said frankly. "I'm here for a Steel Mace. My Iron Mace simply won't do."
"Aye, Iron is outdated. A very simple metal, but not the best for the long-term." Alvor stood up from his workbench and walked over to the small worktable he had, where he had made a Steel Mace a while back. "I'm giving this to you for free, only to help on your Journey, because you're my Nephew's friend."
Cura smiled as she accepted the blunt weapon. "It's greatly appreciated, Alvor. I can't find the words to describe just how, but I suppose 'greatly' will do."
Alvor nodded. "Be sure to get that message to the Jarl of Whiterun. Riverwood depends on it."
Cura nodded. "I will, soon. On my honour as a Vigilant of Stendarr."
Alvor nodded back, then went back to his work. "All right, then."
Cura was halfway down the road when it dawned on her that she hadn't seen an Enchanting Table anywhere. She looked at her mace, which was a simple weapon. She could not enchant it with the Turn Undead enchantment. The Vigilant cringed, but resolved to keep moving forward, regardless. "Stendarr be with me." she muttered, holding onto her Amulet efore meeting with Sven at the bridge and beginning their journey to the Barrow.