It had been a few days since Cura was relieved of her curse. She lay in her bed as other Vigilants would bring her soup periodically, to help the Breton recover from her ordeal. All that transpired left a mental and physical strain on her, surmounting the ordeal of her starting quest as the Dragonborn of legend. More and more she was beginning to doubt herself, though her willpower proved true in the face of Oblivion this time around; a good sign, all things considered. Perhaps there was hope for the mismarked Vigilant after all.
Though, her legs felt stiff as tree trunks, weighing her down. She pulled her muscles but good, and they responded in kind by punishing her, it would seem.
"My Thane?'' a familiar voice called out to her. Cura turned to see Lydia enter her room.
"Lydia!" Cura exclaimed joyfully. "It feels as if it had been so long since I'd seen you!" It was a short period of absence, but with all the madness, it seemed like so much longer. She was happy to see her Housecarl once again; a friendly and somewhat condescending face to match the others around her at this time.
"It's been a while... almost a week." Lydia measured. "I heard from Aela about Skjor... and that something awful had happened to you..." She lowered herself to Cura's bedside and went down on one knee, bowing her head. "I... I'm so sorry that I failed you..."
Cura was stunned. How did she fail her? She asked Lydia to take care of business in Whiterun. "You didn't fail me, Lydia..." Cura spoke softly. "I asked you to stay in Whiterun. It was my own fault that got me into that mess, as per usual."
"I'm supposed to guard you! To shadow your steps!" Lydia exclaimed, consumed by guilt. "I allowed my thirst for glory distract me from my job, and you've suffered for it."
"I wanted some time to do things for myself, Lydia... it's on me." Cura assured her.
"But I'll be all right; I manage, with Stendarr's mercy... even if undeservedly so."
She laid a gentle hand on her Housecarl's shoulder. "In fact, I'm glad you didn't come. I wouldn't want the same thing that happened to me to befall you."
Lydia silently ruminated on her statement, but decided perhaps it was best to not question it. She vowed to step up her game as Cura's Housecarl from here onwards.
Another couple of weeks passed, and Cura was finally able to stand up straight again, much to her delight. Though she was still a bit stiff, she could walk again.
She looked at the Dungeon across the hallway from her bedroom and saw Silus Vesuius twiddling his thumbs. He was dirty and ragged, and growing a beard in his cell. He hlared at her for a moment, and muttered curses against the Vigil.
Cura ignored him and continued onwards. She waved in greeting to the other Vigilants, who were more cordial now, since she had been cleansed.
"We need to get it, Carcette! Before it moves again!" Cura overheard Moric Sidrey exclaim.
"I know. I'm just surprised that it landed here, in Skyrim." Carcette exclaimed in awe at the good fortune.
"What landed here in Skyrim? A Dragon?" Cura asked as a mite bit of stress kicked in. The others noticed her at once, and greeted her warmly.
"Oh, hello, Vigilant Cura." Moric waved to her excitedly. "A miracle has graced our land." He threw his arms up into the air in a gesture of praise to the heavens to help illustrate his point to the young Breton.
"A miracle?" Cura's stressed heart transformed into one of excitement.
"Stendarr's Hammer." Moric spoke with reverence. "The glorious Aedric Arrifact; the weapon wielded by the God of Mercy and Justice himself!"
Cura's eyes lit up at the mention. "Really? It's here in Skyrim?" The more she thought about it, Stendarr having a Warhammer lent credence to the persona of Stuhn, Shield-Thane of Shor.
Rumored to have been wielded by Stendarr, the God of Righteous Might and Merciful Forbearance himself, this two-handed hammer will deliver devastation to any foe... as the legends say. The same legends boast of the cudgel's impressive weight.
"Yes." Keeper Carcette nodded enthusiastically. "It was last in the Temple of the Light of Stendarr, in Bhoriane... in my Homeland... but was stolen long ago by Corsairs who attacked. They were beaten out of Bhoriane, but did not leave the temples and cities untouched."
"A bunch of fiends!" Cura exclaimed.
"It's been lost to the years, but now, it has turned up in Markarth. In the Dwemer Museum." Moric confirmed. "We must get it back, lest our inaction buy us the wrath of Stendarr. Unfortunately, Vigilant Tyrannus has informed us that Calcelmo, the Museum owner and curator, has no interest in parting with it, even for gold."
Cura did not like where this was going.
"Could we not burn Lich Dust for the forgiveness ceremony instead?" Cura asked. "Stealing from a museum is... against our faith."
"The Hammer belongs in the hands Stendarr's people; not on the hands of Dwemer-loving sycophants." Moric put his foot down. "We must honour the desires of our God!"
"Indeed." Keeper Carcette agreed. "The Dwemer themselves were expunged from the world for their blasphemy-we cannot allow our God's hammer to remain in the hands of one who idolizes such people for any longer!"
Cura nodded in understanding. "I'll do it, Keeper. I'll make you proud. The Hammer will be ours by less than a fortnight."
"Be careful, Cura." Keeper Carcette warned. "The law in Markarth is... harsh, to say the least. They'd relish the opportunity to lock you away in the mines until the Stars expire."
Cura pondered on it. Perhaps it wasn't such a good idea. With her continued stiffness, she would have a very hard time sneaking around the museum, and she would easily be captured, as her ability to run was not unhindered.
But regardless, Cura felt as though she owed a debt of gratitude to the Vigil for their mercy during her lycanthropy. She would repay them.
"I will be as careful as a falling leaf." Cura analogued.
"Perhaps pick a better metaphor." Moric chuckled. "Falling leaves are strewn about in the wind."
It did sound stupid in hindsight. "I'll do my best not to get caught, but I have over 2000 gold. Worst case scenario, I may end up paying 40 Septims."
"Do your best, Cura." Carcette demanded. "I want you to come back safely, with the Hammer in tow."
Cura and Lydia Fast Travelled to the Whiterun Stables and boarded the carriage to Markarth. The driver was in good spirits this day, so he only charged a mere 30 gold for the voyage. "What does it look like?" Lydia asked.
"Er... I'm not entirely sure." Cura scratched the back of her neck. "It's a large hammer, like a Warhammer should be. It's shaped like the Keeper's steel Warhammer... but has some kind of weird marking on the sides of the head."
The carriage trodded along on the dirt road. Cura wondered to herself how Kodlak and the others were doing.
Especially Vilkas.
She felt a tad guilty upon her rejection of him, and feared resentment would grow between them. She hoped he would understand her stance at the time.
Lydia was silent, but vigilant of the road and the forest of which they trodded.
"Have you ever been to the Reach?" Cura asked her Housecarl.
"Once, long ago." Lydia stated exasperatedly. "Not a friendly place, especially if you're a Nord."
Cura raised an eyebrow. "But the Nords rule Skyrim. Why would any place be unfriendly to them?"
"The Breton who inhabit the Reach-the Reachmen-hate us." Lydia explained.
"Ah, the Daedra-worshipping Forsworn?" Cura recalled Vigilant Tolan complaining about them once, in the past. Their carriage was attacked by those Reachmen. It was hard enough, rooting the evil out in subtle places, but what are they to do about an entire evil culture surrounded with Daedra worship?
The Reachmen were considered an insult to most Bretons. Carcette made that very clear on the topic with Tolan. He was never to compare the Reach with High Rock, even though they were neighbours.
But it seemed like Bretons all hate each other anyways. Not hailing from the culture, Cura could not understand why this was the case. Perhaps someday she'd go to High Rock herself and learn more about them.
Hopefully they wouldn't assume her to be a Reachman, because she hails from Skyrim.
"Cura du Pale". The thought of her having a posh Breton name made her chuckle lightly. She was nowhere near refined enough to live up to it.
"Try to keep us out of trouble there, my Thane." Lydia rolled her eyes.
"I make no promises." Cura stated briskly. "Trouble finds its way to me."
Lydia sighed. Worst case scenario, they could probably Fast travel out of the city.
It was a useful Magickal skill to have.
The road was long and winding, but they eventually reached the western Highlands and entered into the Reach.
It was a peaceful ride.
Cura had been expecting a Dragon attack, but none occurred. Maybe Alduin had gotten bored? Do evil Dragon gods get bored?
Soon enough, Cura and Lydia came upon the steps of the ramparts.
"They say this city was built by the Dwarves." the carriage driver stated dryly. "Don't believe a word of it though."
Cura and Lydia headed to the city gate, where a guard in green accosted them at the gate. "Welcome to Markarth, travellers. Safest city in the Reach."
"That's good." Cura mused.
"Yes, it's all well and good. Though if something... odd were to happen, stay out of it. Let the Guards handle it and don't go around asking questions. Understand?" The Guard stared through his masked helmet into Cura, as if demanding her cooperation.
"Is there something wrong?" Cura raised an eyebrow.
"See, there you go. Asking questions. Keep your nose out of trouble, Breton." the Guard sneered as he moved aside to allow entry. "Blood and silver, friend."
Already this city was feeling incredibly suspicious.
Cura and Lydia exchanged glances and decided to head inside.
Within the stone Palisades there was a large, dingy city with an odd sense of style compared to the rest of Skyrim. Perhaps it was built by the Dwemer.
The Central market consisted of only two stalls: one peddling meat, and one peddling jewelry.
An unsuspecting Imperial woman was conversing with the Redguard jewelry owner when something terrifying loomed behind her.
"The Reach belongs to the Forsworn!" a swarmy Breton man in a ragged and filthy white shirt shouted as he ran towards the woman with an Iron Dagger pursed in his grip.
Cura quickly caught sight of this and acted instinctively, scurrying forward quickly and bashing his head into the floor with her mace the second he grabbed the Imperial.
"I die... for my people..." the Breton man choked out his last words as blood began to pool onto the street.
Cura's heart finally caught up, leaving her disoriented momentarily. It all happened so fast.
The Imperial woman was shaken, as well, still trying to discern what had just occurred.
"By the gods, that man nearly killed me. You saved my life. Thank you. Here, I was going to bring this to my sister, but I think you should have it." The Imperial woman praised Cura with gratitude, handing her an emerald necklace emblazoned within a silver frame, Redguard in make. Not a cheap gift. The grateful Breton pocketed the fine jewelry.
"Are you all right?" Cura asked her. "Do you know why he was after you?"
"No. I don't have any idea. I was just shopping for a pendant for my sister back in the Imperial City." The woman excused with confusion about the entire event.
"Margret, are you all right?" the Redguard woman rushed around her counter to get a closer look.
"I'm fine, Kerah. Don't worry." the Imperial assured her friend.
"Do you have any idea as to why this happened?" Cura asked Kerah.
"She's a traveler, from the Imperial City. Came by every day looking for jewelry for her relatives back home. In Cyrodiil. Why would anyone want to kill her? Is it because she's a Noble? It doesn't make any sense!" Kerah exclaimed in mortified disbelief.
Truly, it was absurd. The Forsworn had no personal qualms with the Imperials, as far as Cura had heard.
The large blood-stained Nord at the meat counter sneered. "Filthy Forsworn." He looked down at the corpse. "Didn't think Weylin had it in him."
Lydia grabbed Cura by the shoulder. "My Thane, we were asked not to involve ourselves in city matters. Let's move on from here before the Guards inquire anything."
"Good idea, Lydia." Cura agreed as she quickly hurried on ahead, leaving the macabre scene behind them.
"Bloody enough for you, outsider?" Another Nord man asked her as she approached near his favourite standing spot.
"Bloody enough." Cura said with a sigh. The scene she left behind was enough to let a bad taste into anyone's mouth.
"Then turn around and go back where you came. City doesn't need you, doesn't want you. Blood and silver are what flows through Markarth. That's the way it is. That's the way it'll stay." The Nord glared at her sternly, with eyes that would inflict the Rattles to the cruelest Troll.
"What does that mean, 'blood and silver?'" Cura asked. "The City Guards mentioned it outside."
The Nord rolled his eyes. "It's right there in the name of the most powerful family in Markarth. The Silver-Bloods. They have a whole mine filled with prisoners to dig up silver ore, gets smelted by workers they pay, and they own half the city. I work for them. The inn is named after them. When the guards make an arrest, they check with them first."
So, this was what Markarth was about. It sounded terrible to Cura. Though, she figured that for now, it would be best to get what she came here for and get out as soon as possible. After all, the city doesn't need, nor want her, apparently. She could take a hint. Another dealing with anyone with "Silver" in their name would be sure to end in disaster. "All right, I get the message. I'll be on my way." Cura dismissed him and passed by, leaving the Nord a little huffed.
"My Thane, when we find the Hammer, do you think you'd be able to lift it?" Lydia asked her. "I've heard of Stendarr's Hammer before-and that it weighed a near ton."
"Well, it is a Divine Hammer." Cura clarified. "I believe the weight is justified."
"What do you suppose Stendarr used it for?" Lydia laughed in amusement.
"Maybe he cracked Mehrunes Dagon's skull with it." Cura mused. "Order and Justice always win over revolution and change, in the end of it all."
"Until chaos sets in." Lydia reminded her.
"Yes, until chaos sets in." Cura shrugged.
It always seems to. Justice, after all, is rarely a lasting luxury in this world. A shame Stendarr relinquished most of his power to sustain the world; it exists, sure, but always at the threat of destruction.
Hopefully chaos would spare Cura this time. Then perhaps she could spare the world the next bout of destruction headed its way. Though, with Akatosh governing her life thus far, it seemed as though time was in fact on her side.
The pair continued up the carved stone steps to the fortress known as Understand Keep; the Dragonsreach, so to speak, for Markarth. Not as refined, admittedly.
The two guards before the engraved golden metal plated door watched the pair like Hawks as they gained entry into the castle.
Inside, there was a full draft of warm, stale air tainted with mechanical oil. Sounds of chugging machinery could be heard from the West, and the pair followed the whirring, cluttering and clanking noises to a large open area with a water canal and many large, golden pipes releasing steam and turning gears.
A few steps below, a swarmy old Altmer and his apprentice, both in Royal blue hooded robes seemed to be operating an Arcane Enchanter and a few odd metalworks, respectively.
Immediately, the old Elf noticed Cura's presence. "What are you doing here? The excavation site is closed. I don't need any more workers or guards."
"Actually, I was looking for you." Cura stated frankly. "I'm Cura of the Pale, Vigilant of Stendarr, and..."
"I told you I'm not hiring any more guards. Why do you people always bother me when I'm trying to finish my research?" Calcelmo quickly snapped at the Breton.
"You idiot. Do you even know who I am? The most recognized scholar on the Dwemer in all of Tamriel, and you people keep bothering me!"
The Dragonborn raised her eyebrows, surprised at the sheer amount of unwarranted hostility coming from the old Elf.
Calcelmo quickly came to his senses, and recognized the uncouth manner with which he spoke to the cordial maiden.
"I... I'm sorry, I... I got too excited. I'm in the middle of some very... stressful work, and I shouldn't have yelled. How can I help you?"
Cura nodded. All was forgiven. Besides, she had important business to get down to. "I am here, representing the Vigil of Stendarr." Cura began. "I have-"
"The Hammer. I know, I know. You aren't the first of your group to come here and pester me on it." Calcelmo sneered.
"And you're keeping it in a Museum of Dwemer Artifacts?" Cura could see no relation, especially given the audacity and arrogance of that civilization.
"Correct. It's a private place where I can catalog my research. Occasionally, the Jarl will come in and have questions, but that's thankfully rare." Calcelmo chuckled. "An Aedric artifact merits study, naturally, so I took it the first chance I was offered it."
Cura was interested now. Her eyes perked up with a tinge of excitement. "Wow... have you learned anything?" Just then, the silent Lydia elbowed the inquisitive Paladin in her side to remind her of her duties. "Err, I mean that I'm here to bring it to its rightful place." Cura cleared her throat.
Calcelmo was amused. "A prospective student, are we?"
Cura couldn't deny her curiosity. "I am fascinated by your research, here." She admitted. "To know what you could have discovered from Stendarr's Hammer would be amazing."
"It can shatter most armours, that much is true... and it also saps away the life of its foes." Calcelmo admitted.
"Incredible..." Cura was awed by the exposition. "I'd really like to see it up close, at the very least."
"I'll let you in if you agree to something for me. There's a giant spider in Nchuand-Zel. My workers call her 'Nimhe, the poisoned one.'" His tone hissed as he revealed the problem at hand. "If you deal with Nimhe, I'll let you into both the excavation site and my Dwemer Museum... and maybe even make a deal with you concerning the Hammer. What do you say?"
Calcelmo left no room for objection. It was worth the chance to get the Hammer of her God. "All right, I'll do it. That Spider is as good as dead." Cura assured him.
"Enthusiasm. Good. Here's the key to the dig site." Calcelmo swiftly handed the key to her.
Cura was ready. She had faced large Spiders before. She did not fear this Nimhe. "Come, Lydia. Let us take care of this."
Lydia followed her Thane, who was already heading off to the excavation site. "As you wish, my Thane."
Calcelmo returned to his work, and turned to his assistant. "Next season, nephew. Next season for sure..."
"'Next season for sure...' What? Uncle Calcelmo, I don't understand what you mean." His assistant scratched his shoulder, befuddled by the odd out-of-the-blue statement.
Calcelmo elaborated exasperatedly, expecting him to know better than that. "The excavation, Aicantar! Right after I finish my book. We'll start excavating Nchuand-Zel again."
Aicantar gave an 'ah' in realization, then began to excuse himself from the notion. "Could I maybe skip the excavation, Uncle Calcelmo? I, uh, just don't think you won't need me."
Calcelmo laughed. "Nonsense, you're a vital part of my research team. You'll be there, have no fear! Now, I don't want to hear another word of protest."
Aicantar stifled himself. His uncle was a little too confident in this stranger's abiliries, it would seem.
Cura and Lydia found their way inside the excavation site, and as promised, there were large tangled Spider webs and egg sacs lining the walls in a nightmarish ensemble something akin to a Witches Festival event un some areas. Lydia shivered, "I really don't like this..." She shuddered.
"Don't worry, Lydia; worst comes to worst, I can burn the arachnid to cinders." Cura held up her hand to reveal small embers floating around her fingertips, emphasizing her promise. This offered Lydia some comfort and reassurance, but she hated Spiders.
As soon as the pair exited the tunnel into the larger room, a web shot out at Lydia, wrapping her momentarily. "Gah!"
A large Frostbite Spider descended from the ceiling on its web, and Cura reacted quickly, lighting it up with her flames. The Arachnid thrashed against the fire, its gaze turned away from the struggling Lydia towards the Human blowtorch that was Cura. The eight-legged horror leapt forward, bearing its fangs, but Cura quickly held up her shield, causing its fangs to slide off the flat metal. She then slid beneath it and broke a leg with her mace, causing the spider to limp onto its side. She then shoved her mace into its lower abdomen, causing green fluids to begin to leak out onto her.
The Breton squirmed out from under the fiend, and Lydia finally broke free of the silky rope that bound her, and embedded her sword into the Spider's face, killing it.
Cura headed over to Lydia and examined her for injury, but thankfully there were none. "Well... that was easier than I expected." She scoffed, recalling the large Spider she and Sven fought in Bleak Falls Barrow. That felt like so long ago. Perhaps this was a sign of her growth as a warrior since then. "Let's return to Calcelmo."
"Wait, my Thane..." Lydia headed over to what appeared to be a dessicated corpse of an Imperial Soldier on the slope nearby with a small leather-covered book creeping out from beneath his mummified remains. "There's a corpse here, with a Notebook."
Cura hurried over to see for herself. Lydia handed the book to her briskly, and she began to read:
"Salonia,
We've been saddled with some researchers who can't go four steps without examining something and they fight about as well as you'd think... probably worse. Stromm at least has some magical competence but none of them can swing a sword. Erj and Krag seem up to something so I'll have to keep an eye on them, but Staubs assures me they're trustworthy.
-Alethius"
"..." Cura and Lydia looked at one another, seemingly thinking with one mind. They knew that they would have to look into this further.