The Inn was peaceful, albeit indoor area was filled with peace, but an uncertainty filled the air. A few townsfolk were becoming more confident and slowly exiting as Cura opened the scorched door, nearly bumping into her.
There were a few viciously wounded Vigilants and Town Guards being tended to by Jouane on bedrolls behind the counter. It proved simple enough for the old Breton to heal the various scorchings and broken bones, though time-consuming.
Cura danced around a trail of blood, seemingly from someone who was dragged inside. That would need to be cleaned.
"Mralki," one of the men spoke. "you're a master at relocatin' folk. Like a Deer in Hunting Season, your speed."
The Bartender scoffed. "Well, I'm just glad that our little Town survived the ordeal. Atronachs are not known for being so ill at aim..."
"I guess that Warlock had some good semblance of control. He must've had a lot of practice." a bitter old man sneered from the corner of the room. "Only my yard seems to be destroyed. Of course. Why wouldn't it?" He cursed his misfortune and grabbed a bottle of mead.
"Now, now, Lemkil." the bartender spoke. "It could have been worse; what if Britten or Sissel were caught in the brawl?"
"It'd be less of a thorn in my side." Lemkil sneered and handed him a few Septims.
"The way you talk, people are bound to think you're heartless. They're your own flesh and blood." Mralki sneered as he wiped blood off the counter using a rag.
"Let them talk." Lemkil snorted. "I don't give a damn." He quickly downed his beverage, slammed the bottle back on the counter and darted away. When he looked at Cura he scoffed. "Great, another one." He huffed past her and slammed the door on his way out.
A young man approached Cura from the room to her left. "So, you just came in and defeated the Atronach? That's... really impressive. The guards could barely hold it back. We all thought we were goners!"
"Once you've killed a Dragon, an Atronach doesn't seem so threatening." Cura shrugged.
"Oh! You're the Dragonborn!" the young man exclaimed excitedly. "That is so cool! I envy you, you know? You must go on so many cool adventures!"
Cura rubbed the back of her neck bashfully. "Er... thank you."
"I wish to become an Adventurer, but my Father won't allow it. If only I were Dragonborn-then he'd have no problem with it." the man crossed his arms.
"It's not as fun as you'd believe... uh.." Cura tried to catch his name.
"Erik." the young farmhand pointed to his chest with his dirt-covered thumb.
"Ah, Erik. Well, I'm sure you could easily become an Adventurer. You have the build for it-you aren't frail." Cura mused.
"Sure I'm a little green, but what I lack in experience, I make up for in courage." the young man puffed out his chest, and then receded, defeated. "...All I know is that this incident with that weird Warlock won't help my case with Father." Erik slunk back disappointed.
Cura nodded in acknowledgement. Indeed, if fiends would bring danger to the town, it was only evidence of the dangers of the world outside of it.
"Have you considered living closer to the City of Whiterun? There are more supplies there, and the city is safer. It's also replete with good soil, it would seem, judging by the farms there outside the walls." Cura asked.
"Rorikstead has been our home for the longest time." Erik explained. "My father Mralki runs the Frostfruit Inn here. I just help the farms."
"I can tell." Cura alluded to the dirt-stained raiment on his person. "Well... perhaps I can talk to Mralki. Maybe I can convince him to let you go."
"You'd do that?" Erik was stunned by the offer. "...Even if he did let me be an adventurer, we couldn't afford to buy armour, though. Maybe it's for the best that I stay..."
Cura pondered for a second. "Have you lived here all your life?"
"Born and raised right here in Rorikstead. My father was a soldier. He fought in the Great War, and when it was over, he retired here to raise a family. My mother passed away when I was just a babe, so he did his best to raise me on his own. It's not the most exciting place in the world, but the people here work hard and don't cause trouble for anyone."
Cura smiled. "I'll see what I can do." She had a feeling that Mralki had been a Soldier, considering how he seemed to know how to round up the townsfolk, from what she heard on the way in.
"Thank you. I can't stand the thought of being trapped in this village for the rest of my days." Erik wiped his brow in a gesture of relief.
Cura walked around a few wounded people, who were now sitting up on their bedrolls. She approached the Bartender.
Mralki's eyes lit up. "You! You're the Dragonborn, eh? You took out that Necromancer?"
Cura gave a tight nod. "Yes."
"Have a Mead, on the house." Mralki reached under his counter and handed Cura an orange bottle of Honningbrew Mead.
"Thank you-I love a fresh Mead." Cura confessed with a smile as she gestured to Lydia in the back. The Housecarl quickly approached, and Cura gave her the bottle. "Save me some, ok?"
Lydia scoffed and rolled her eyes. "I think I'll sell it to the Khajiit." She snarked as she returned to the back.
Cura dismissed the sarcasm, and went straight to the point. "So, Mralki... your son wants to be an Adventurer. Why won't you let him?"
"Are you kidding?" Mralki leaned forward. "In a world with War, Cultists, Warlocks, and now Dragons? The attack here today should be proof enough." He slapped his hand on the counter.
"Yes; clearly they can attack the town anyways-what difference does it make?" Cura poked a hole in his logic. "It's a dangerous world-and this secluded little town is in a ripe position to be attacked by Bandits, Cultists, and Dragons. Would you rather Erik face danger further off and gain life experience, or face it in his own home, having no joy or excitement to the presumed end? He will grow to resent you." Her tone fell dire towards the end, and Mralki flinched at the thought of his son hating him in his dying breath.
Cura could sympathize with Erik, as it had taken a lot to convince Carcette to let her go so far as past Dawnstar. Until the last month and a half, Winterhold was her grandest adventure. How things have changed.
"You're right..." Mralki reflected on her words. "But even if I permitted it, I couldn't afford to buy him armour or weapons."
Cura reached into her bag and took out a coin purse containing 500 gold. "I hope this helps."
"You would give your own coin to help my son?" Mralki took the coin purse, and his eyes reflected the surprise he experienced by the gesture. "I'm moved by your compassion. Your kind deed will not go unrewarded, my friend. Tell Erik I've changed my mind, and we'll visit Whiterun soon to fit him for armor."
Cura smiled. "No reward is needed; just allow Erik to live his life free." She turned away and walked to the farm boy, who was standing near the back wall of the inn, his knees shaking in anticipation.
"Well?" Erik demanded. "Did you have any luck talking to my father? What did he say?"
"It took a little bit of convincing, but I convinced him to change his mind." Cura informed him. There was a brief pause, and eventually it clicked. Erik leaped on the Breton and embraced her.
He then detached and took a step back when he realized that he was clinging onto a stranger. A friendly one, perhaps. But the fact remained. "I can't thank you enough, friend. I'll hope you'll come back to Rorikstead soon and pay me a visit. Maybe we can swap stories about our adventures over a mug of ale at the inn!"
"I look forward to it." Cura said kindly. "Take care of yourself, Erik."
"You're leaving already?" Erik asked, sadly.
"Not yet. I'm... going to follow-up on this Warlock matter." The Vigilant headed outside, leaving Erik behind inside the Inn.
Some of the previously wounded Vigilants were already examining the corpse of the Cultist, and another was scooping some Void Salts from the corpse of the Storm Atronach that previously terrorized everyone.
Lydia caught up to Cura and looked on, confused. They approached the corpse of the Cultist and Cura turned to one of the Vigilants. "Was he carrying anything unusual?"
"A few Black Soul Gems." One of the Vigilants reported. "One was filled, but the other two are empty."
"Bastard." Cura muttered aloud.
"He was also carrying this Ceremonial Dagger." The Vigilant to Cura's right held up a strange-looking Ebony Dagger, which had strange, distinct carvings in the blade itself. It was written entirely in Daedric Script, and it was unmistakable.
"I am alive because that one is dead
I exist because I have the will to do so"
"The slogan of Boethiah." Cura stated as she narrowed her eyes to read once more. The text was small and engraved into the ebony itself, but in certain angles, it could be read through the light of the sun.
One of the other Vigilants lifted the Cultist's hood to reveal that it was a Nord underneath.
"A Nord worshipping Boethiah? Strange." Lydia mused.
"Filthy scum." one of the Vigilants, a male Nord, spat. "Maybe he worked with Naarifin against his own people! Wouldn't be surprised if these fiends have a hand to play in the Civil War."
Cura crossed her arms. "Maybe they're having initiation rites. If I see anything else like this, I'll crush them."
"Go right ahead." The Vigilant told her. "There'll be no love lost. One less coven of conspirers in the world."
Cura turned to Lydia. "Let's return to Whiterun."
"Yes, my Thane." Lydia walked beside Cura, and the pair quickly left Rorikstead. When they were some distance away, Lydia grumbled. "As if we didn't have enough issues these days; Stormcloaks, Dragons, Bandits, Werewolves, Vampires, and now Cultists. This province is under a heavy curse. My bet is that it's due to letting the Dark Elves in."
"I don't know. It's not fair to say that. I know Dunmer who are not involved with Daedra." Cura stated. "There are Dunmer Vigilants."
"Maybe so, but their race is cursed." Lydia informed her. "Wouldn't surprise me if they bring that with them everywhere they go."
"And all Bretons are Direnni Science Experiments." Cura rolled her eyes.
"You know what I mean." Lydia stated.
"I do, and I wish Nords wouldn't be so suspicious of everyone else. That Boethiah Cultist was a Nord back there." Cura gave Lydia a reality check. "All races have been deducted and cursed by Daedra-this is why the Vigil exists."
"With all due respect, my Thane, you are too idealistic." Lydia shook her head condescendingly.
"We all must stand for something." Cura spoke as she treaded through the tall grass in the field.
Soon enough, they returned to Whiterun, and to Jorrvaskr.
Vilkas was up and about, pacing the floor when he noticed Cura. "Ah, there's our little pup. It appears that you have more bite than we thought." He laughed. "Took out a Cultist who tormented a town for the last hour... in only mere seconds, I hear."
"He was going to Soul Trap people. I did what needed to be done." Cura reaffirmed her stance. "Daedra worshippers are to be put to the sword."
"The old man wants to see you." Vilkas informed her. "Don't keep him waiting."
A smile broke out on Cura's face, shattering her stoic composure. She hoped Kodlak was feeling better than the other day.
Lydia took a seat at the end of the room and began to chat with the staff around.
Kodlak was downstairs in his chamber with Aela, Farkas and Skjor, waiting.
"She comes." Kodlak spoke as she entered the room. "Cura, my dear. You have proven yourself quite the asset to Jorrvaskr, bringing honour to us all. Word of your deeds of kindness and valour have reached us here, from around Whiterun."
Cura felt excitement overcoming her. What was coming? Was she going to receive a promotion of sorts? The breton braced herself for the answer.
"We've decided to test your mettle further." Kodlak explained. "We have a task for you to perform-a little different from that which you have done so far. Do you think you can handle it?"
"I'm sure. I'd like to know what it is first." Cura asked.
In that instant, Vilkas approached her from the hallway at her back. "We've found a fragment of Wuuthrad. It's in Dustman's Cairn and it's ripe for the taking."
"Wuuthrad... Ysgramor's Battleaxe?" Cura's pupils grew in awe upon the notion of finding such an arcane and eclectic artifact.
"You paid attention." Vilkas laughed.
"Well, it's hard not to... you spoke about it in great length." Cura informed him. "I was bound to learn something."
Kodlak laughed at the sheepish expression that formed on Vilkas' face. It was cute, the way Cura seemed to push the boy's buttons from time to time.
The Breton turned to Kodlak. "I'll do it. It's not every day one could have the opportunity to hold history."
"It will be, once we've assembled the axe." Vilkas verbally poked her back. "Wuuthrad is a relic of Ysgramor. Through that weapon, we trace our line straight to the first harbinger of mankind in this land. What fragments we have are displayed in honor, but we always seek more."
"That's true. I can't wait to see it in its true splendor." Cura shrugged. She had no retort to it, so she simply smiled at him.
"To elaborate: last week a scholar came to us. He said he knew where we could find another fragment of Wuuthrad. He seemed a fool to me, but if he's right, the honor of the Companions demands that we seek it out. Farkas will be your Shield-Brother and observer." Skjor chimed in. "Consider this your last trial, whelp."
"I'd be honoured to retrieve it!" Cura stated excitedly.
Skjor retorted harshly. "There's a fine line between respect and boot-licking, newblood. But I like your spirit."
"I am sure Cura will impress." Kodlak said with confidence.
"At any rate, she has a day to prepare, as with our own trials." Aela stated. "If she has what it takes, she won't have to worry for the 'morrow."
Cura was confident. She had already gone dungeon-diving once before. This would not pose much of a threat. She took her leave and headed out.
Vilkas, however, followed her down the hall. "Confident, huh? Do you really know what you're doing? You may be a good Healer, but in that Cairn are traps that would make your skin crawl."
"My skin can crawl just fine." Cura rolled her eyes. "It won't stop me from finding that fragment."
Her confidence amused Vilkas. "Fine, just be sure not to get Farkas killed, then." He said with a light chuckle.
Cura was surprised. A chuckle from Vilkas was quite an unusual feat to achieve, but it seemed that over the last month, he was warming up to her. "I'll try not to." Cura chuckled back.
Vilkas smirked and shook his head lightly. "Nor yourself." he added in. "It'd be a shame to lose you out there."
Cura stopped in her tracks, and turned around to face him again. "Wow... it almost... sounds like you care."
Vilkas shrugged. "Maybe I do."
Cura was both surprised, and joyful, herself, unawares. "Well... I'll be heading out to Dustman's Cairn tomorrow morning. I'll spend the rest of the day training. Would you care to join me?" She extended the offer.
"Sure, why not?" Vilkas accepted. "Still got to keep my skills sharp, eh?"
"Don't want to get rusty." Cura lilted up the stairs, through the main hall and into the courtyard.
It gave her a strange feeling of nostalgia from her childhood, leaving the warm Hall to spar in the courtyard, with the scent of Ale and Mead in the air, the crackling flame from the hearth, and the terrible odours of unwashed warriors, burnt wood, dried and crusty blood, and powerful Iron. The only difference was that it wasn't perpetual Winter like in the Pale. Hence, the name.
Though, there wasn't a lot of White in Whiterun, to Cura's surprise. It must look lovely in the Winter, she wondered. It was mountainous, sure, but not as harsh as Dawnstar and Winterhold to the North. And yet, Solitude, also in the North, appeared to be in its Summer season. Whiterun's greenery came as a surprise, especially since due South from Skyrim were the Jerall Mountains, bordering Cyrodiil. From what Cura had heard, they were always covered in snow. She wondered what life was like in the warmer lands of Cyrodiil.
Cura began to wonder if the Dragons were impacting the Climate of the Province in some way. It would explain the unusual Seasonal divides between Holds.
She remembered how her Fire Breath evaporated the snow and felt a twinge of pride. If she could do that with just a couple of words, how deadly could she become once she becomes fluent in the Dragon's Tongue? Perhaps she could tell this 'Alduin' where to go... and it certainly wouldn't be Aetherius.
"Ready, daydreamer?" Vilkas snapped her out of her thoughts, and Cura caught herself.
"Yes, let's do it!" Cura exclaimed, readying her stance.
Vilkas smirked and made the first move with his sword. Cura was quick, and pivoted backwards with a forceful spin, and bashed the blade with her mace, causing Vilkas to nearly drop it from his hands. The warrior picked up the slack and slid down under Cura's shield as she swung it in a horizontal loop, finding the narrow window beneath.
Vilkas quickly lopped to the side and caught Cura in the ribs with the pommel of his sword, causing her to stagger to the side. He then followed-up with a punch aimed towards her chest, but Cura hopped backwards, remembering some previous lessons. It was important to keep an eye on the elbows of her foes, because it would drop a hint as to where their strike would land. In that brief instant, Cura thrust her mace forward in unorthodox fashion and smacked him straight in the jaw, causing Vilkas to stagger backwards and hold a hand to his face.
"Not bad." Vilkas admitted as he realigned his jaw. "You're getting better."
Cura nodded. "I've been learning from the best." She said with a cordial grin. It was true that her reflexed had improved substantially, from repetition of techniques she had learned from Vilkas and Amren earlier in the Month. Her stamina had been slowly improving, as well, but still left a lot to be desired. The times she'd go jogging with Ria, Torvar and Athis helped with it as well. Her endurance had improved twofold what it used to be.
Vilkas smirked and stood up straight, correcting his posture as he sheathed his sword. "So... Cura... I've been meaning to ask you a few things." He began. It was clear that his words were escaping him, so he was expecting to get them quick.
"What is it?" Cura asked, intrigued.
"Do you like being a part of the Companions?" Vilkas asked as he took a seat and a bottle of Mead. "To mirror your own questions; what does it mean to you, being a Companion?"
Cura was flustered. It took her a moment, and she eventually settled on a place against one of the wooden columns that held up the roof for support. She leaned her back to it and looked up momentarily as she gathered her thoughts. It was a difficult feeling to describe, but the words finally arrived. A serenity met Vilkas' gaze. "It means so much." Cura began to explain. "I feel a sort of... belonging here. It almost feels like a Home away from Home. I know I haven't been here long, and the feeling is still very fresh, but..." Her eyes drifted to the wall momentarily, then back at Vilkas. "...getting to meet you all has been a lot of fun! I've met so many interesting characters since I've been here."
A heart-to-heart with Vilkas; it was a new experience for Cura, but she hoped she wasn't on the way of messing it up. Vilkas seemed to evoke a sort of cloud over her better judgment, and she could not explain it. The Breton wrestled with her own heart, in the hopes of keeping her mind on track.
"And it would seem the old man has taken a liking to you." Vilkas took a sip of the Mead.
"Kodlak..." Cura smiled. "he's wonderful. Every time we speak, I learn something new. He truly is a fount of knowledge. I don't know where I'd be right now if it weren't for his advice; probably dead in the field from driving myself mad."
"Aye. He has that affect on people; his wisdom is contagious. I can say I've known him all my life." Vilkas explained. "Ever since Farkas and I were wee pups. I'd probably be lying dead n a ditch if not for his guidance."
Pups?
Cura pondered on the choice word used, but decided to let it slide. It could have been meant metaphorically. She shrugged it off and pressed the matter of the two being young. "You've been in Jorrvaskr since you were children?"
Vilkas leaned back in his seat and took another sip of mead. "To hear Farkas tell it, our father raised us here as happy pups, running around biting knees. I love my brother, but his brains are not his strong suit. We were brought here by Jergen. Whether he was our father or not, I don't care. He left to fight in the Great War and never came back. So he's not my problem anymore. We've been here as long as either of us can remember, though. So try to show some respect."
"Of course." Cura nodded. "I'm sorry to hear about that."
Vilkas waved it away. "And what of you?"
"Me? Well... I suppose my origins are similar." Cura shrugged. "I was abandoned as a babe in the Pale, South of Dawnstar. I was adopted and raised by the Vigilants of Stendarr; namely Keeper Carcette, Vigilant Tolan, and Brother Adalvald, mainly. They were around the most." Cura stepped away from the pillar and took a seat in front of Vilkas. She took an apple from the bunch on the plate in front of her and took a bite of it. "The Vigilants aren't as cruel as everyone tries to paint them as. They can be merciful, too."
Vilkas scoffed. "Depends on the person they're talking to, I guess. No mercy for a Vampire or Werewolf."
"Not as a rule, but they will offer to cure early infection." Cura admitted. "Early Sanguinare Vampiris or Sanies Lupinus can be cured."
"And if they're already infected?" Vilkas dropped the ball, causing Cura to stiffen for a second.
"Well... they would slay them, as they are a threat." Cura admitted.
"And what of you?" Vilkas asked her on a personal level.
"It depends." Cura tapped her hand on the table. "I don't entirely agree with the Vigil's stance in that regard. A werewolf or vampire may not have had a choice in the matter of their infection. I will only slay them if they prove to be dangerous to civilization. If they don't wish to harm anybody, then I could turn a blind eye, I suppose." She mused.
Vilkas listened intently, and slowly nodded. "I see."
"If they seek to be cured, I don't know if t's possible... but if it is, I'd try and help them in their endeavour." Cura assured him honestly.
"The old man was right about you." Vilkas scanned her eyes for hints of deception or falter, but found none. "You are a little different from the other Vigilants."
Cura said nothing; she simply continued to work on her apple.
Vilkas pulled out his chair and stood up. "It's been a good chat. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a scheduled lesson with Ria." He gestured over towards the Imperial woman, who had just come around the side of the building.
Cura waved to her, and she waved back in response before approaching Vilkas near the training dummies.
The sun gently shed its light on the courtyard, and Cura basked in it as she watched the sparring session unfold. It was an eventful day today, but tomorrow it would be even more so; her big Trial would begin, in Dustman's Cairn. She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes, and began to meditate in the cool breeze, reflecting on what she heard from Vilkas.
She did not quite understand it, but she liked the gruff warrior. She felt a light flutter in her chest when she spoke with him, though she could not entirely find the words to explain the phenomenon.
Stendarr help her.