Cura's gaze was fixed on the swirling sands of the accursed realm, now illuminated by the purified sun above. Her band of allies shadowing her closely in a well-orchestrated formation.

Beside her strode Carcette, with only Sir Amiel at her flank. Following Cura was Gloriel, in the company of the Headless Sir Ralvas, Varla, Mirabelle, Savos, Mary, and the white wolf, Korn. Cura felt confident, having such a group by her side. She knew that she was making waves in this dark realm - and Molag Bal was going to be more desperate as a result.

Carcette turned around a couple of times, watching the road behind them, which confused and alarmed some of the party members. They kept on guard based on her reactions. Cura especially grew tense by this consistent action.

With Clan Volkihar aware of Cura's presence, it was certain they would be on her trail soon. Fortunately, she wasn't alone; she was in the company of those committed to vanquishing such foes.

As she led the way forward, Cura thought about who her allies were, and what they've accomplished in their lives. Knowing these things would help her know what strengths they could pool together and where they could cover defenses.

She began her silent contemplation. She thought first of Gloriel, the devoted servant of Meridia and previous bearer of Dawnbreaker; her spear was made of similar energy to the sacred sword, burning away corruption in its wake like a javelin of sunlight. She would be good at attacking their foes from a distance, and would cover more ground with such a lance. Gloriel seemed to have a deep adoration for her, as she was Meridia's current Champion, and believed the Daedric Prince sent her to save her from Jyggalag's purge. And she was right; perhaps Meridia wanted them to meet at some point, knowing Cura's allegiance and mission. Cura would have rescued Gloriel regardless; all she had to do was ask. But knowing that this would please Meridia made Cura even more determined to have Gloriel on her team.

Next, Mary, one of the Eight Saints of Cyrod, who single-handedly obliterated a Vampire Nest at Lake Ilinalta within hours; she was not physically strong by any measure, but her faith more than made up for her physical shortcomings. Having seen her ravage enemies by dousing them in holy light firsthand, and seeing her incredible healing abilities, Cura knew she would be best kept at the center of the group, protected against the enemies, so that she could illuminate the battlefield with her cleansing light unhindered. She was a sweet, meek, and very humble woman who had long suffered torment here in this ghastly realm. However, since she joined their party with Varla, Cura had noticed that gradually she was beginning to smile more, and after leaving the Prison Tower, she seemed a lot happier, as if her shackles had finally come undone.

Carcette, renowned for her prowess in Restoration and as Cura's esteemed mentor, had once vanquished the vampires already. Cura held her in high regard, cherishing her almost as a mother figure. Despite her gentle demeanor as a healer, Carcette wielded a warhammer with surprising strength for a Breton, earning admiration from many Nords on the battlefield. She embodied the principle of speaking softly while carrying a 'large stick,' quite literally. In any conflict, Cura knew she could rely on Carcette's unwavering support, just as Carcette could count on hers. As they journeyed together, Cura often found herself instinctively drawn to her mentor's side, basking in the joy of their reunion despite occasional minor squabbles.

And then, of course, there was Cura herself, Stendarr's Dragon, a master of Restoration, Vigilant, Paladin, and accomplished Battlemage, wielding not only Dawnbreaker but Auriel's Bow as well. The sight of these relics would surely be a bitter one for Harkon. Cura could not wait to be reunited with her Dragon Soul so that she could use the Thu'um in its most proper way once more. She felt as though she were walking with a crutch without it.

Fortunately, she was not only protected by the masters of Restoration but also by formidable men: Sir Amiel, the ex-leader of the Knights of the Nine, served as her personal guardian. His loyalty was unwavering, his vigilance constant, and his combat skills were exceptional. Her safety was assured in his presence; he required no commands to enact her wishes, intuitively understanding them in the heat of battle. His sturdy build and swift movements made him an outstanding shield against the strikes of powerful adversaries. He was the devout of Akatosh, and carried with him the might of a Dragon.

Varla, whose lineage as the progeny of Umaril the Unfeathered and Mary was still a marvel to Cura, possessed a formidable presence. His stature was commanding, his swordplay, where he masterfully managed both a sword and a dagger, was nothing short of remarkable. Such coordination was rare indeed. Cura attributed her victory over him to the surprise attack she launched upon his hall. Despite his ill-tempered, arrogant, and violent nature, a legacy of the tainted Ada blood coursing through his veins, Varla was a tactical genius, adept at identifying his enemies' vulnerabilities with the precision of a seasoned hunting hound. Yet, beneath his harsh exterior, Cura perceived a nascent kindness emerging as he journeyed with her band. For all his outward callousness, he harbored a sense of regret for his past actions and a deep-seated affection for his mother, his only family. Cura held a conviction that with time, Varla could evolve to show compassion towards others and become a kinder man. In combat, she would deploy him to confront adversaries head-on, strategically placing him near Mary at the core of the formation. Together, they were poised to be a formidable duo.

Sir Ralvas, another Knight of the Nine and an emissary of Zenithar, managed to navigate adeptly despite his lack of a head. She remained puzzled by him but held onto hope that his head, if located within Castle Volkihar, could be reattached for his benefit. His extensive knowledge of the realm and its adversaries made him an invaluable ally. Nevertheless, she would have welcomed him into her party regardless, as he had willingly volunteered to join her in fleeing Coldharbour.

Sabrina stood out as an extraordinary rogue warrior, wielding poisoned knives and a Daedric Mace with such finesse that she embodied the adage of the Redguards dancing through battle. Her solo combats were a spectacle of excitement, especially when she effortlessly and gracefully defeated a plague-infested adversary in the Slums. Cura, a connoisseur of mace etiquette herself, watched in sheer amazement. She had never witnessed such an unconventional yet remarkably effective use of a mace.

Korn appeared to work in sync with Mary, lending her strength in battle and using her formidable jaws against foes. She was undoubtedly Mara's Wolf. Cura had never witnessed such sagacity in an animal as when she elegantly evaded the traps in the Prison Tower and intuitively pulled the chain on the other side. Moreover, peering into the canine's eyes, Cura perceived more than mere instinct; there was a sentient being without the gift of speech, communicating solely through barks. Yet, each bark seemed to carry a secret code, a concealed significance. Considering the wolf's guidance might be prudent, even if her vocalizations remained enigmatic. This led Cura to ponder: could the local lore about Mary being Mara's embodiment hold truth? Might she be an entity divided into two - the woman and the wolf, just as Cura was both herself and a Dragon, distinct yet one? In that recollection of her imprisonment, Molag Bal explicitly addressed her as Mara, which was unmistakable. Despite his malevolence, Molag Bal would likely possess insight beyond that of the villagers. This was something Cura intended to contemplate further.

And finally, Cura was aided by her former mentors and two of the greatest mages she knew: Savos Aren, former Arch-Mage of Winterhold, who lamented his past cowardice and swore to make amends for his abandonment of his allies. He was clearly quite powerful in his own right, being the Arch-Mage; and his advanced Flame and Lightning spells showed Cura that much was true. Admittedly, she hadn't spent much time getting to know him as a person, but even now she respected his authority as the former Arch-Mage. If he had any suggestions to make, she would be open to them.

And then there was Mirabelle Ervine, the former Master Wizard. Cura hadn't seen much of her power on Nirn, but it was her who created the barrier that stopped her attack from toasting J'zargo in the courtyard, so she was adept at creating powerful wards, which she demonstrated many times here in Coldharbour. She was versatile with many elemental spells, as well. Cura regretted leaving her behind to die to Ancano, but she was happy that they left on, and were on now, better terms.

Both Mirabelle and Savos were looking out for her to see her succeed in her task of retrieving the Amulet of Kings. It was clear that they knew much more than they were revealing, but it remained to be seen. Still, Cura was thrilled to have them by her side in this fight.

Supernaturally-speaking, however, Cura also had the aid of Stendarr and Meridia, and Mara. And potentially Jyggalag through Carcette's influence. The more she weighed the power on her side, the more she pitied Harkon and his group. Sure, they were in Coldharbour, the realm of his god, but that realm was collapsing before their very eyes.

Cura contemplated offering the Vampires a chance to repent, extending Stendarr's Mercy to them. Surely they could see that this realm was dying and they would fall with it?

"How did you come upon Dawnbreaker, exactly?" Gloriel inquired. She'd wielded it once, long, long ago. In a brief epoch forgotten by history. "Surely your meeting Lady Meridia was not mere chance."

She wasn't wrong. Cura nodded. "It wasn't. I suppose I was meant to stumble upon her Beacon. I was exploring a Dwarven Ruin with an old friend when I discovered it. Meridia spoke to me, requesting my help in cleansing her temple on Mount Kilkreath from a Necromancer's influence. Malkoran, his name was. He was using the power of Dawnbreaker in a maligned experiment to corrupt the dead that lay within the Temple's halls. It was beyond blasphemy to Meridia."

"And you killed him, I presume? It's only right; Lady Meridia should not be made to suffer such disgrace!" Gloriel proclaimed fiercely.

Cura confirmed. "I did. He nearly took my life, but I prevailed."

"Probably would have been a better fate for you if he had." Varla said sardonically.

Carcette admonished him almost immediately. "If she would have died then, Skyrim would have been devoured by the World-Eater, and you all would be in your miserable little corners."

Sir Amiel agreed. "Indeed; since her arrival, I've felt a sense of hope that I'd forgotten over the centuries. In a way, I am glad that this Malkoran did not prevail over you."

Carcette looked behind the group briefly, and returned her attention to Cura and the others. She nudged Cura. "Soon, Cura, you will meet another who will want to join your cause. Test them first, and then let them join us."

Cura was confused by what she was saying. "Huh? What?"

Sabrina tapped the headless Knight on the shoulder. "So, Sir Ralvas, you're the Knight of Zenithar, aye? How did you die?"

"I was arrogant and foolhardy. I sought personal glory. I placed my own will and my own lust for fame over the will of the Nine." Sir Ralvas confessed, to his shame. "In facing the challenge of Zenithar, I failed. I tried dozens - no, hundreds of times to reach the Mace. I fell each time. And each time I awoke in the chapel, I leapt again. I tried to enlist the help of the other knights, but none would come to my aid. The inscription said to "walk in the faith" but even now, I do not know what this means."

Sabrina nodded. "A Paladin without faith is like an artist without eyes I guess."

"Most literally in my case. And now an artist without a head." Sir Ralvas chuckled humorously. "But hey, at least I'm not Sir Caius, robbing my fellow knights of their armour. I wonder what's become of Sir Casimir after such humiliation? Or Sir Torolf, even... I've not seen him in ages. Or Sir Henrik..."

"Sir Henrik has become a lazy lout." Sir Amiel scoffed. "He desires nothing more than the drink these days."

"Honestly, a drink doesn't sound like a bad idea." Sabrina interjected as she pulled a bottle of brandy out of her satchel and lifted her birdlike mask. She began to drink.

"Where did you..." Mirabelle stared at her, uncertain to where that came from.

When Sabrina finished the sip, she wiped her mouth on her sleeve, and extended the bottle to the Breton. "Want some?"

"Who am I to refuse such a magnanimous gesture?" Mirabelle shrugged as she took the bottle and took her fill. She passed it back, and then Sabrina gestured towards Sir Amiel.

"No, thank you. I would rather keep a clear mind in this dimension." the chivalrous knight declined politely.

"Stick in the mud." Sabrina scoffed as she was about to return it to her bag. Then, she recalled the others and walked around Korn. She offered some to Mary next. "How about you? I bet you'll like it!"

Mary shook her head. "I'm more of a Beer woman, myself. Sorry."

Carcette interjected. "You came from High Rock in the First Era, right? I don't suppose you could brew us a sample of Bretonic Beer in those ancient techniques, could you?"

Mary shook her head. "No; sorry, Carcette. I've never devoted time to learning that before. I was mostly just a travelling Cleric. Sometimes people would gift beer or other things to me in reverence, or to give thanks, or to ask Mara's favour."

Carcette snapped her finger crossly. "Damn. Well, I had to ask."

Sabrina, last but not least, offered some of her brandy to Varla. "How about you, Mr. Stick-in-the-ass? Want some brandy?" She brought it closer to him, and Varla shrugged his shoulders. He took the bottle from her.

"Sure, why not." the half-elf relented, popping the cork and guzzling down what remained of the liquid in a furious drink. He wiped his mouth on his arm and passed the empty bottle back to Sabrina. "I hate to admit it, but that wasn't bad. You do this for a hobby?"

"Gotta do something to keep sane when you're in a place like this for over thirty years." Sabrina smirked under her mask and returned the bottle to her satchel. She responded to Mirabelle's question at last. "I always carry at least six of 'em around with me. Turns out, you can use some of the Apples Gulza sells in the Hollow City in this realm with some good water, with a little bit of magic and void salts, and you can actually make a faux brandy."

"The Hollow City?" Cura inquired.

Sir Amiel, head bowed in grief, replied, "It has disappeared. Where it once stood, the Graymarch now rests. Past the barrier, closing in on what little of this realm remains."

"Maybe I should start a tab for that Brandy sip." Sabrina said, arms folded, her annoyance as clear as the liquor. If what he said were true, then those 6 bottles would potentially be the last she would ever brew, at least until they return to Nirn.

What a thought that was, returning to Nirn. Was it truly possible?

"I can only hope that Lady Meridia took pity on those poor people..." Gloriel mused sadly. She walked atop a sharp rock and stretched her arm out to point at the tall crystal spires which could be seen over the horizon, past the waters. "There. Th-there they are. C-Carcette... is that where you came in from?"

Carcette ascended the spire next to her and observed the wide expanse of silver spikes, ruling the outerlands like a picket fence. "No; I came in from the western bridge. But once the barrier ultimately falls, and it will, the obelisks will flood the realm and the Graymarch will conclude the purge."

Gloriel shuddered with fright upon hearing it, and began to shake, engulfed in horror. She were as a deer caught in headlights, planted firmly on the earth, forced to see death in its imminence. "I-I see..."

Carcette observed her change in demeanour, and the incredible fear which took her. She gently placed a hand on Gloriel's shoulder. "I will do what I can to reroute Jyggalag's wrath. I promise; we will be part of the Graymarch. Not its target."

"But I'm a servant of Meridia. Surely the Daedric Prince of Order would spare me not." Gloriel insisted.

Carcette shook her head. "Jyggalag cares little for alliances, unless they disrupt the Cosmic Balance he hopes to achieve. If anything, your alliiance with Meridia would be seen as fortuitous to him: Meridia also opposes Molag Bal. This is likely why he accepted me into his fold in spite of my being a former Vigilant of Stendarr: because Stendarr shares the same goal to Order as he does in this regard."

Mirabelle inquired next. "Curious; the Daedric Prince of Order. What you mean to tell us is that Jyggalag desires that Molag Bal be destroyed. Without a Prince of Rape, Domination and Enslavement, can a Prince of Order justify there being a God of Mercy and Justice? Would the latter not require the former for balance to be achieved?"

"If you see Justice as needing wickedness to thrive, or Mercy needing Cruelty to exist." Carcette proposed. "But what if I told you that one could exist without the other? Light can exist without Darkness; simply remove the obstacle which blocks it."

Cura listened to what Carcette was saying intently. She rubbed her hands together as she absorbed the lesson. "Keeper... what did Jyggalag tell you exactly?"

"I can't reveal everything to you, Cura. I just can't, because it would throw order into chaos if I did, but know this;" she descended the spire and faced Cura directly. "you will be faced with a choice here, in this realm. A choice to pursue the light, or to pursue the darkness. And your choice will determine the future of our world. It is as the stories say, 'The Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn.' It was more than poetry, my dear; it was prognostication."

Sir Amiel's eyes lit up. "When misrule takes its place at the eight corners of the world, When the Brass Tower walks and Time is reshaped, When the thrice-blessed fail and the Red Tower trembles, When the Dragonborn Ruler loses his throne, and the White Tower falls, When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding, The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn." he recalled the ancient Prophecy of the Dragonborn.

Cura was surprised. "Oh! You know it?"

"It is an ancient prophecy, said to have come from the reading of an Elder Scroll. Or some believe it to be from Ancient Akavir." Sir Amiel recalled. "I studied all that I could on Dragonborns and the Emperors. When I say that I am an Acolyte of Akatosh, I mean it in utmost sincerity, my lady." He gestured to the skies above, where a white Dragon continued to soar in circles around the hopeless void above. "And that, that is your Soul. I know it to be true. And we shall see it returned to you."

Sir Ralvas was disappointed. "I wish I could see it."

Mary tried her best to describe it to him. "It is a Dragon; it has wings in the place of arms, two legs, and a long tail with a spike at its end, and it glows luminous like the sun from afar, leaving trails of golden light as it moves along the soulless sky."

"Ah, I can imagine that." Sir Ralvas tried to bear the image in his mind.

Varla looked at the gray expanse surrounding them, and scoffed at Carcette. "Us, join the Graymarch against Molag Bal? It sounds unbelievable to me. You're saying that Jyggalag is magnanimous enough to take in newcomers off the street, and let us join his ranks for a time?"

"He did it for me." Carcette shrugged. She knew it to be true; her armour was a testament to that fact.

Savos Aren was fascinated. "We know so little about Jyggalag, truly. He has largely been an obscure figure in the annals of history. The precious little that we know is that he is the other face of Sheogorath, the Prince of Madness."

"No longer." Carcette informed him. "Jyggalag... is magnificent. I've never seen anything like him, even among the Daedra. He is a towering figure, in an armour comprised of the crystals you see there, and pale as a ghost. He speaks with a booming, soothing, and monotonous voice. He has been separated from Sheogorath since the Era of the Oblivion Crisis." she gestured to the Graymarch off in the distance. "Jyggalag is a paragon of Order, and will stop at nothing until this evil realm is destroyed and replaced with it. Molag Bal is set to lose his place in the Daedric Pantheon, and Jyggalag will regain his rightful position. The endless torment and suffering here will come to a swift end when the Prince of Domination's heart is impaled upon his sword."

Cura shook her head. "That's not going to happen. I'm going to smash his horned face inwards!" She brought out her mace and clenched it tight. Carcette stared at her student upon seeing this sudden bout of aggression from her, and something seemed to dawn on her. She shook her head slowly.

"Cura... the justice of Molag Bal is a tricky endeavour." Carcette began, as if to test her student. "If you slay him, the burden of his blood will be forever upon your hands. You will be Cura, the one who destroyed Molag Bal. The mortal who judged a god."

"I judged him dead long ago." Cura said coldly, twisting her mace on her left palm.

"Is it a mortal's place to judge a god?" Carcette asked her.

"It is a Vigilant's place to judge the Daedra." Cura reminded her.

Carcette had never realized how arrogant that sounded until now. Now, that she had come to know a powerful Daedra. "So we thought. The gods are eternal beings, Cura. They have lived a very, very long time. Far longer than we could even fathom. Our judgment of them is tantamount to a small Moth judging us. Jyggalag's judgment of Molag Bal is absolute. Meridia's judgment of Molag Bal is absolute. Stendarr's Judgment of Molag Bal is absolute."

"And I am Stendarr's Dragon, and Meridia's Champion. I don't see what the issue is." Cura growled in frustration.

A sound was heard faintly, from a southern-based cliff. Sabrina's eyes darted around the barren landscape and she saw something dash quickly past the corner of her eye. "Look alive, people!" she called out, drawing her Daedric Mace.

The group, alarmed by the suddenness of that which encroached upon them, drew their weapons.

Carcette crossed her arms and turned to Cura. "It's all right - don't do anything hasty!" She simply faced the opening between the ground spires behind the group with anticipation. "You can come out, now. It's all right!" she declared to the surprised stalker.

The figure seemed to hide once more in that brief moment. Korn, the diligent wolf that she was, sprinted forward with her fangs bared, and leapt around the crags. A loud grunt resounded through the air. "Damn mutt! Get off of me!" they heard a man exclaim in anguish as the wolf gnawed upon him.

"Korn! Back!" Mary called out to the white wolf, and Korn obeyed, releasing the figure and returning to the group.

Stepping in from the shadows was a man with a tricorn hat of sorts, wearing a leather armour and thick gloves. He stared at the large group awkwardly. "Er... hello. I, uh, I hail from the Waterfront District."

"Bourlor! What are you doing here?" Sir Amiel asked the interloper, stepping forward to greet him.

"Bourlor?" Cura was surprised to hear his name, herself. "The one who had enmity with Vernaccus?"

The hunter nodded, and waved. "Yes, hello. I see that I have a lot to explain..."

Cura realized that he must be the one who Carcette informed her about earlier, the one who wanted to join her group.

"Explain quickly!" Varla demanded, approaching him with a violent haste.

"I... where to begin..." the secluded Hunter pressed his fingers together. "Ah! ...So you are the one who defeated Vernaccus, truly?" he pointed at Cura. "I'd heard the tale of a woman in a hooded garb wielding a mace, a bright sword, and a mystic shield who travelled the landscape, making war with Oblivion. It was you, wasn't it? Who fired the light into the sun?" he pointed to the natural celestial body above. "I must say, I am incredibly impressed. Kynareth must guide your bow, as well."

"I've trained with the best I know." Cura admitted, calling to mind Aela and Inigo.

"I've been shadowing your steps, from the Waterfront District, to Fort Welkynd, to the Barrier Tower in the East, to the Prison Tower... you have left quite the impression on Coldharbour. You've slowed down a bit now. I've found you at last! Is... is it true you intend to break free of Bal's clutches?" Bourlor inquired. "If so, may I join your army?"

"My army?" Cura was confused, until she remembered that the group she was leading were effectively fighting for her. Making her the leader of a renegade army. "Oh... yes. Sure; anybody who desires to leave is welcome to come along with me."

Bourlor clapped his hands together joyously. "Oh, excellent! I miss the world of the Living so much... I've been in this horrible realm for ages... alone in my shack... slowly going mad... stained with the mocking presence of Vernaccus, looming overhead. If you return my bow, I will be happy to fight for you."

Cura had hoped to give Bourlor's Bow to Inigo as a gift, but here the man himself stood before her. Or, did he? She was not quite sure. "Actually, before I do that, I'd like to see your archery skills." The Legendary Bourlor only missed ONE shot. Otherwise, his aim with his bow was immaculate. If this man truly was who he portended to be, he would have excellent aim.

Bourlor was taken back by this. "I am no longer the legend I once was. Kynareth has left me; that was why I could not hit Vernaccus."

Noticing the crestfallen demeanour in the faithful hunter, Mary walked over to Bourlor and placed a kind hand on his shoulder. "The Divines never leave us: your misfortune served a purpose, I am certain of it." she had belief that he could succeed in Cura's test. "Does anybody here have a spare bow that he could use for the time being? I have a good feeling about him. Lady Mara is certain of his success."

"Lady Mara's wolf just attacked him." Sabrina pointed out sardonically.

"Korn is precautious." Mary spoke in her wolf's defense. "He did not exactly come upfront at first."

Korn tilted her head and barked, panting. She walked over to Bourlor, which intimidated the hunter, and she looked at the bite wound she inflicted upon him, and began to lick it. With each lick, the blood slowly began to vanish, and the bite wounds began to dissolve. When the wolf was done, she made a cheerful 'yip!' noise and walked around the group, to the side of Mary and Sir Ralvas.

Sir Ralvas spoke up. "Fascinating... I'd heard about Bourlor. If he is true, then he would make for an excellent ally. He can borrow my bow to take your test." He drew his bow, which was mounted on his lower back beneath his warhammer, and held it outwards for Bourlor to approach and take it.

Gloriel scratched her chin and watched as Bourlor walked past her. "I've never heard of you before... but I spent many centuries hidden underground, myself..."

Bourlor graciously took the bow into his hands. He began to twirl it around and ran his hand along the length of it. "It's not my bow... I can't promise that I'll excel with it." He accepted a quiver with 4 arrows in it.

"Where would be a good place to practice?" Cura asked Sir Ralvas.

Savos Aren cut him off before he could respond to her question. "Right here. I can Conjure a Flying Target over the waters for him; see if he can strike it three times from afar."

Mirabelle agreed. "Yes; it would keep minimal attention on us for the moment, and we can assess him from here."

Bourlor touched the sore place where Korn had attacked him, still surprised that it healed so quickly. He squeezed the bow in his fingers. "This is the first time I've held a bow in ages. Kynareth guide me."

"You can do it." Mary reassured him with a smile. Divine-given talent never fades - just have faith, and you will do well.

Carcette nodded. Faith. It was a tenuous thing, ebbing and flowing, raising and dropping. Like the wind, it would come and go; and yet when it remained, incredible things have happened.

Bourlor was a tad uncertain, himself, but Mary seemed to believe in his abilities.

Varla spoke up. "It's simple. Either you can do it, or you can't. Just try it before I lose my patience." By the look of him, it seemed as though he were beginning to already.

Bourlor ascended the top of the small cliff and looked down at Cura beside him, below his raised section. She had a friendly enough face, and she nodded at him. He looked to his right, where Savos Aren stood parallel to him.

Author's Note: For this scene, play "Elder Scrolls Oblivion OST - Death Knell". Thanks for reading! :)

"Are you ready?" the former Arch-Mage asked, readying a Conjuration spell in his right hand.

Bourlor shut his eyes and summoned his ancient spirit. It was time to validate his worth. He concentrated intensely, envisioning a body of water encircled by a verdant forest. The goddess's essence was understated yet deep, revealed not through majestic visions or thunderous voices, but in the gentle whisper of the wind, the soft rustling of leaves, and the constant rhythm of his heartbeat. Bourlor realized his belief lay not only in Kynareth but also in the natural order she represents, and in his own role as a conduit of her intent.

Observing Cura and her allies, and hearing of their exploits, he recalled his days as an adventurer. If Cura's belief could brighten the sun, perhaps his own conviction could revive his skills. He had lingered too long in the Waterfront District, downcast and alone, bogged down by his lone failure, constantly tormented by the shame brought upon him by the demon that had defeated him.

Perhaps this was the turning point. The fiend was dead; the realm was crumbling. The Divines' influence was growing through these figures. Perhaps now was his time to return.

"Is this your will, Kynareth? If so, I wish to serve you. Grant me your holy wind." he spoke unto himself as he felt the length of the bow in his hand. "Kynareth... Kynareth... Great, ancient Hawk. Glorious Kyne, wife of Shor. Mother Nature. Guide my hand. Steady my bow. Loose my arrows." He felt a gentle breeze circle around himself, and kiss his hands. The gust reversed around him and whirled away. When he opened his eyes, a blue glow emerged from his pupils in a brief instant, and his confidence was returned.

Cura noticed this shift in his posture; he stood upright again, and planted his feet firmly on the ground. A smile stretched across his face. "I'm ready." Bourlor said, nocking an arrow on the bow. He slid his finger below the arrowhead, steadying it, and pulled back the feathers, stretching back the string.

A light, visible wind formed around him, and Cura was immediately convinced of who he was. The test was no longer necessary, but she still wanted to see what he would do.

Savos nodded. "Very well, then. Let's see just what you can do." He cast his spell, conjuring what appeared to be a dinosaur-like bird with sharp ridges on its chest: a Cliff Racer, but made from mystic energy. The creature sprawled across the skies over the dark waters, flying quickly and zigzagging about in a frantic manner.

Bourlor focused his mark, watching the target soar at the size of a fly in the distance.

"If he gets even one of them, I'll chug an entire bottle." Sabrina held up a second bottle of brandy.

Savos then summoned two more of them to confuse the archer. The three Cliff Racers flew to and fro, up and down, across, and overlapped on several instances.

Bourlor waited until he spotted the formation he wanted, and loosed the arrow with a thunderous clap. The projectile shredded the open air and tore through all three Cliff Racers at once, at the precise moment when they'd crossed into a line accidentally.

Cura recoiled in astonishment. He had slain three targets with a single arrow! She struggled to believe the spectacle before her. Over and over, she visualized that fleeting moment, knowing Inigo would have been green with envy to witness such a feat. The legends were indeed true!

Sabrina's jaw dropped in unseen disbelief. She was utterly astonished by the turn of events.

Sir Amiel gently tapped Sabrina's arm. "Put the bottle away, lass. You'll drink yourself to a second death."

Varla rubbed his eyes. He surely must have missed something. He blinked, and the three targets seemed to have vanished. Was this for real? If so, then he was overcome with a massive amount of respect for the bowman.

Carcette stood by silently with a knowing look on her face. She nodded with approval, while Gloriel and Mirabelle's jaws hung open in shock at the display.

Mary clapped her hands together with excitement. "I knew you could do it! See? It wasn't so hard!"

Sir Ralvas sighed. "I wish I could have seen it."

Bourlor looked back at Cura, and then at his supporters and smiled. He readied his bow for another round. "Is that all, Arch-Mage? I'm just getting warmed up. Let's have another!"

Savos Aren chuckled, as well. Impressed by the hunter's confidence and his display, he conjured four Cliff Racers this time. "Let's make this round a tad more challenging, then."

The illusory birds soared more chaotically than the last time, two doing figure-eights in the sky above, and two zipping back and forth over the waters.

"They won't be aligning this time!" Savos taunted him.

"Don't need them to." Bourlor said proudly as he nocked two arrows onto his bow and turned it on an angle. "Kynareth, make my shots true!" he requested and the winds took to his body once more, blowing his cloak upwards in a mighty draft. He loosed both arrows, and one clipped a higher Cliff Racer and the other clipped one of the lower ones. He quickly drew two more and struck the remaining two at the height of their flights. Not one arrow was wasted.

Bourlor laughed as a lighthearted sense of excitement swept him off his feet. He spun the bow around in his hand and removed the quiver, which held only one arrow now. He descended the cliff and walked over to Ralvas, returning it to him. "Thank you, friend; I had forgotten how it felt to wield a bow in my hands."

Sir Ralvas chuckled. "I am glad you could make use of it. I haven't for ages."

Sabrina applauded him and turned to Cura. "Well, Cura; if I didn't see it I would never have believed it. This guy is definitely the Bourlor of legend."

Cura cheerfully walked around a large stone and approached the archer directly, with Bourlor's Bow in her hands. She presented it to him. "I am convinced, and incredibly impressed with what I've seen. Welcome to the party, Bourlor."

The Archer grasped his bow with trembling hands. "My bow... This is the one! Oh, blessings of Kyne!" he exclaimed. He raised it high, admiring its elegance. The bow emanated a powerful gust of wind, and even more astonishing was the Bound Arrow he conjured, crafted from the wind itself. He launched the Bound Arrow skyward, where it spiraled like a serpent, surrounded by crackling wind cleaving the air before vanishing into the heavens.

In a way, it reminded Cura of Unrelenting Force, but much weaker in comparison.

Bourlor looked back down to Cura, who stood lower than him, and he took to one knee, and presented the bow to her. "I offer my services to you formally, Dragonborn. I will not falter, and my arrows shall rend the flesh of your foes, without equal."

Cura placed a hand upon his head. "By the grace of Kynareth, I will accept you in my ranks. Welcome, Bourlor the Unfettered." when she lifted her hand, he stood upright again. He clenched his bow tightly and mounted it upon his back.

"I am ready to take on the world. Long have I languished here in sorrow; now I shall stride by your side a Phoenix, risen from the ashes." Bourlor proclaimed. "Simply guide my bow; I will do the rest."

Cura nodded enthusiastically. "Welcome aboard!"

The other group members welcomed him as well. The more manpower they had, the better their chances were at survival. Cura turned to Mirabelle. "Explain to Bourlor where we are headed, and what the working plan is. I shall lead the way."

Mirabelle obliged, and followed behind the group with Bourlor as they left the safe area and headed back into the dusty wilderness. She began to explain exactly what he had just signed up for.

The Archer was confident that he could be of good use to the group, and was more than willing to prove it. The fields of Coldharbour were looking brighter, now. Now was the perfect time to launch an assault against the Vampires.

The party was a force to be reckoned with, gaining strength as time marched on. With Cura leading the charge, their confidence in victory was unshakeable.