Whiterun was ever the same as always, and the peace was much appreciated, even if it would be short-lived. Cura walked into the Marketplace and waved hello to Fralia. She would always be cordial towards the old lady; she absolutely adored Fralia. She was so kind, especially for a Nord.
Cura also exchanged pleasantries with Carlotta and Anoriath, the Meat Merchant.
"Tired of bread and stew? Had enough of fish and fowl? Treat yourself and your kin to a choice cut of steak or a tender rack of ribs." Anoriath announced aloud, trying to resound his voice over the other merchants.
When Cura noticed the fresh meat hanging from his stall, something primal was stirring within her. She turned over to the side and headed straight to him, the desire for carnage impairing her intelligence.
"The finest cuts, fresh from the wilds!" Anoriath boasted as he gestured to the fresh venison sitting atop his table. Cura ogled it with the eyes of a carnivore, as well as the thick, juicy steaks that hung from the roof of the stall. The blood seeping into the wood of the table drove her mad with desire.
"Did you kill all this game yourself?" Cura asked him as she shakily took out a satchel of 20 coins, trying to restrain herself.
"Oh, yes. Hunting is my great passion. That's why my brother and I opened a shop to sell hunting supplies. It's the Drunken Huntsman, down by the main gate. He tends the store, and I've got this stall." Anoriath brimmed with pride as he spoke of his passion. "Maybe someday you'd like to try some hunting yourself. The fields of Whiterun are ripe with game!"
In that moment, like a gloomy cloud overhead, Nazeem came over to the stall as Cura was carving out a slice of the venison for herself. Food was very important.
Nazeem opened snidely. "Do you have anything even remotely fresh?"
Anoriath took immediate offense to the notion. "I can assure you, it's all fresh. I hunt the game myself, every day." He leaned forward on the table, so as to establish eye contact with the pompous Redguard.
"Hmm. As you say." Nazeem all but ignored him, and began to pick out the dirt from under his nails, avoiding distinct eye contact. He glanced over at Cura, who was chewing on raw meat unthinkingly, tearing into the seams of flesh with her teeth, gnawing like a beast, which made his stomach turn with disgust.
Anoriath paid no attention to the Breton and her strange new habit, and continued minding Nazeem. "Maybe you'd like to try the Horker? Or some beef?"
Nazeem continued to glance at Cura with the corner of his eye while maintaining his position facing Anoriath. He was visibly uncomfortable. "You don't prepare the meat with any of those strange Elven spices, do you?"
Anoriath leaned back slightly. "Ahhhh... No, no Elven spices; just some salt, to preserve it. You're not afraid of salt, are you?" He mocked the snob.
Nazeem tured away from Cura, whose lips were dripping with leftover blood from the red meat, and he cringed lightly. He walked some feet away and postured. "I'm not 'afraid' of anything. I simply prefer quality merchandise. No, no this meat won't do at all. Too much fat, and it all smells... wrong."
Anoriath shrugged. "Suit yourself, then. The woods are that way. Outside the walls, walk straight ahead. Can't miss them. Good luck on your hunt."
"Good day." Nazeem turned his nose and headed past Cura. "I thought you Bretons were supposed to be civilized." He took one last disgusted glance and continued on his way to the Cloud District.
The realization finally caught up to Cura that she was acting like a savage, and she quickly wiped the blood on her mouth off on her sleeve.
She then hurried up the stone steps and up to Jorrvaskr.
Skjor stood there at the entrance, bandaging a wound on his arm. Aela stood beside him and emoted in frustration. "Those rats keep getting closer and closer, Skjor. How long until they break into Whiterun looking for a fight?"
"We have to strike first, Aela. It's the only way." Skjor stated. "We'll round up the others and we'll tear their organization to the ground."
"What's going on?" Cura asked as she approached with caution.
"The Silver Hand." Aela spoke sternly. No sarcasm, no dryness, no bitterness. Just fact. "We've got to do something about them. They're brazen enough to attack us outside the City Walls. Soon enough they will be in here."
Cura was silent. So soon? They must have been planning their move for a while. The timing was just too close for comfort. She and Farkas had raided Dustman's Cairn Yesterday. "Do you intend to make a move on them?"
"We intend to tear them out, root and stem. They have a fort at Gallow's Rock. Skjor and I are going to wipe them off the map. Care to join us on our Hunt?" Aela offered.
"I... don't know if I should." Cura mused.
"Please." Skjor rolled his eyes. "You've already torn through at least a dozen of them. Why stop now?"
"Because for the last time it was about survival." Cura explained. "I'm not going to actively try and engage them."
"You may have no choice soon enough." Skjor gave her a reality check. "You're one of the Companions. Your face is known amongst the people. They're going to come after you no matter what."
"They don't know of my... condition..." Cura spoke with inner disgust.
"It's enough to assume." Aela laughed. "That's the only reason why you're in the Circle now. Because you share in our blood. You're a member of the pack now." She chuckled for a moment, as if recounting something, and then spoke with an impish grin. " I almost envy you. That first time is always the most... intense. You gave those Draugr even more trouble than Farkas did at his first turning. I wish I could have been there to witness that."
"Well, I'm not going to be a Werewolf for much longer." Cura responded smugly. "I'm going to cure myself and be rid of this curse!"
"Cure? Hah. You're sounding like the old man!" Aela laughed aloud before catching herself and stifling in respect. "I... shouldn't say that. I love Kodlak. I respect and follow him. But he's wrong on this. It's no curse. We're made into the greatest hunters in the land. If he's worried about some mead-swilling afterlife in Sovngarde, he's free to pursue it. I'll take the glories of the hunt right here."
"And then you'll hurt many innocents, as well." Cura sneered.
"No, I have it well under control." Aela assured her. "I've been living in Whiterun all this time, and have only killed a couple of Guards in self-defense." She shrugged. "You can tame your inner beast, you know. You just haven't lived with it long enough yet."
Skjor looked off to the horizon. "And the Silver Hand make for easy prey..."
"Cura isn't going hunting with you two." A voice came in from behind them. It was Vilkas, and he walked immediately up to Cura's side. "She's already agreed to help me out with a task of my own."
Cura hadn't recalled agreeing to anything, but it quickly dawned on her that it was a ploy to get her off the hotspot. She simply nodded in agreement, going along with it.
"Polishing your sword, eh?" Skjor gave a naughty chuckle.
"Not exactly." Vilkas replied dryly as Aela began to laugh, herself. "And it's not your concern." Vilkas rebuked.
"We the Circle share our exploits." Skjor retorted. "I look forward to hearing about your escapades later." He turned around and headed down the steps, and Aela followed him down.
"Thanks, Vilkas." Cura sighed with relief. She had a lot on her plate at the moment. Dealing with the Silver Hand was not an ongoing plan of hers.
"You're welcome. Now you can come with me instead." Vilkas insisted. "Got to follow up on my claim, yes?"
"All right." Cura relented. "Where to?"
"We're going for a walk in the fields." Vilkas ushered for her to follow him.
The pair exited the city and walked down the entry road and out into the verdant fields of Whiterun. Cura was already familiar with them, but it was a beautiful day to be outside.
As they reached further away from the city, Vilkas suddenly stopped. "Ready?"
"For what?" Cura asked, a little confused.
"The two of us are going to race. First to Falkreath is the victor." Vilkas nudged playfully.
"That's quite a distance to run." Cura noted. "How could I possibly-"
As soon as she uttered the first syllable, Vilkas began to transform into his Werewolf form.
In broad daylight.
Was he crazy?!
With a loud roar, he whirled around to face Cura, expecting her to do the same.
The sound of his roar resounded in her, and the white wolf beneath began to slowly emerge from her, contrasting the black Wolf that was Vilkas.
Cura felt odd this time around. The transformation was painful, but seemingly faster than the last time. Not only that, but she felt a massive influx of power in her body.
Stranger still, though she felt a ravenous hunger, she could still think, as she had in human form.
Perhaps because she didn't fight it this time. Or perhaps it was her will to maintain control that preserved her.
None of that mattered now, because Vilkas, that Skeever, had gotten a head start!
Cura felt the wind rush through her as she dashed through the wide field, racing after Vilkas.
Never before had she felt so free.
It was as though shackles were removed that she never knew she had as she blasted through the grass, outspeeding many a Horse that she had ridden. She never thoughts that she would move so fast, and the energy she felt was almost palpable.
Her heightened sense of spatial awareness allowed her to maneuver around stumps and rocks with ease, and she could detect nearby animals with a scent of the air.
Truly an apex predator.
Cura was enjoying the experience, as much as she hated it. She felt alive as she leapt over Vilkas and picked up speed to throw him off.
Vilkas shuffled around her and bolted ahead, much to her chagrin.
Cura climbed onto the small bluff to her right and scaled the side of the mountain, searching for a shortcut. A few Deer scattered out of her path and a Rabbit cleared the way as she raced through the small wooded area above the cliff's edge, ploughing through bushes like small, flimsy toothpicks, no effort pushed at all.
Vilkas jumped ahead, racing down the beaten path, and Cura usurped her position, cutting through the crags, and leaping down, landing ahead of him, and speeding forward. The boost of energy was immense.
Cura and Vilkas continued to hurry along, where the pair found a small group of Bandits at a checkpoint watch in the forest. Immediately, one of the Bandits loosed a pile of boulders, causing the rocks to collapse, blocking their path and almost hitting Cura. Vilkas quickly pulled her backwards so she could dodge the stones.
Immediately, an arrow whizzed past Vilkas as he ran up the nearby cliff, heading up the tower. The Bandits exclaimed profanities in sheer terror as they began to try and escape, though they were met with Cura on the opposing side at the bottom of their rampart.
A Bandit was flung off the wooden bridge that connected the two towers by Vilkas, and when she hit the ground, she perished immediately from the impact, which crushed her ribcage. The sound of the impact resounded through the forest, and turned on a predatory joy within the two Lycanthropes.
As Cura headed up the ramp, the Bandits retreated backwards, into Vilkas' grasp. Without a second's thought, the dark Werewolf ripped the head off of one, and tossed his head over the hill nearby,. watching it roll down like a bloodsoaked ball.
Cura felt exhilaration, and raised her hand, sharp claws exposed.
"N-no! Please! Have mercy!" The last Bandit pleaded with her, as he held up his arms over his head and turned away in sheer horror.
Before Cura could strike, his words rung a bell within her. She realized that she was about to maul him like a savage beast, and quickly pulled back. Vilkas, however, did not hesitate to shove his claws through the man's back and out his chest.
Cura was mortified. Her carnal instinct took over for a split second, but she managed to keep it at bay. Though her will triumphed, the idea that she could slip at all brought fear to the Werewolf.
Immediately, she ran off into the forest, and as she made some distance, her body quickly began to shift back into her Human form. Cura fumbled about for a moment and latched onto a tree for support as she regained her faculties.
Vilkas hurried over and slowly shifted back into his Human form as well. "That was a fun romp, wasn't it?" He spoke casually. Ignoring the Bandit encounter on the main road.
Cura was just thankful that nobody saw her turn back. She'd have to hide in the shadows for the rest of her life.
"It was exhilarating." Cura confessed. "Though I'm not sure how I feel in the longterm."
"We're in Falkreath now." Vilkas notified her. "I guess you win this one, you crafty Elf."
"Wait... I did?" Cura hadn't paid attention to the race distance, which was cut out of her mind when the rocks fell.
"Aye. Past the ramparts is the main road to the City of Falkreath. I just didn't think those Bandits were going to make a nest there." Vilkas confessed.
"How do you live like this?" Cura postulated.
"I feel terrible... did you really have to pull that man's head off? And... tearing through the other's spine... was that really necessary?"
"What would you have me do, roll over and let them plug me with arrows?" Vilkas asked sardonically. "Don't think I'd make a good Pincushion."
"Perhaps you could have killed them in a manner less garrish?" Cura proposed in hindsight as she remembered some of the gruesome deaths she'd been a part of and cringed.
"If you mean mercifully, then I did." Vilkas reaffirmed his stance. "If gore disturbs you that much, you ought to be a Librarian, not a Warrior."
"It's not the gore itself..." Cura stated. "It's just..." Thoughts raced to how she came very close to coating her own claws in blood and guts before. "unorthodox, as far as fighting goes."
"So, tell me again why you joined the Companions." Vilkas took a seat at the base of a nearby tree.
"To hone my skills." Cura stated plainly. "To grow as a Warrior, to learn from masters. To expand my weapon horizons. Traditionally, in the Vigil we only ever use Blunt weapons to emulate our God, Stendarr, who wielded a Warhammer. I wanted to also learn the way of swords and bows."
"Hmm. You could always ask me. I'd be happy to teach you about two-handed weapons." Vilkas explained.
"Farkas taught me a little about them." Cura stated as she recounted the few days those two would train in greatswords. She was still more comfortable with her mace's, though.
"Learning from Farkas." Vilkas echoed the notion. "Not a sentence I ever thought I'd hear."
Cura sat down in the grass beside him. "You don't give your brother enough credit. He isn't as stupid as everyone makes him out to be. And he thinks very highly of you."
"I know." Vilkas mused as he leaned against his left knee.
Cura crossed her legs and pulled down her hood, and nestled back against the tree, sitting now to Vilkas' right.
A few moments of silence accompanied by birds and grasshoppers singing passed them by, and Vilkas decided to break the silence. "And what do you think of me?"
Cura was floored by the sudden question. She never liked being put on the spot, but here was the second personal question for the hour. "Well..." she began to consider.
Vilkas turned his face to her, listening intently.
"I like you." Cura stated in so few words. "You're stubborn and a bit snobbish, but you're very courageous, thoughtful, and intellectual."
Vilkas laughed in amusement. These were things he had heard many times over.
Turnabout was fair play. "And what do you think of me?" Cura turned the question back around.
"You've got quite the character." Vilkas scoffed. "So brutal, but so shy at the same time. You could come off as a little sanctimonious at times, but I guess being a Vigilant, it's par for the course."
Cura pursed her lips. She had never seen herself as sanctimonious; just a bit precarious towards her faith and the world outside of it. Was it so wrong to scrutinize people?
"Other than that, I see that you've got a pretty big heart, and you're not afraid to get your hands dirty, unlike so many of the wenches in Skyrim." Vilkas stated as a fact. Cura took it as a compliment. "Just make it a habit to think before you act sometimes."
"Thank you." Cura turned to face him. "Another thing I like about you is your honesty." She threw in.
Vilkas snorted. "Don't get used to this. I wouldn't be talking about this in Jorrvaskr."
"I understand." Cura said. "I guess two people conversing personally would be an oddity."
"Was that sarcasm?" Vilkas asked, causing Cura to smirk. She nodded. After all, she'd had personal discussions there before already. This was just Vilkas and his pride.
Vilkas slowly stood up and Cura followed suit, standing before him.
Vilkas admired her. With her hood down, her beautiful blonde hair shone in the glistening sunlight that seeped in from beneath the trees. When she turned her face to an angle, her emerald eyes gleamed, reflecting the verdant trees surrounding them. A vision of Elvish beauty in such lighting.
"You're beautiful." Vilkas spoke softly, making the half-Elf blush.
"And you're... distinguished." Cura tried to compliment him in equal measure, but found herself in stupor.
Was 'distinguished' really the best she could come up with? Vilkas was quite rough-looking, to be sure, but he had a sort of charm about himself. Cura found herself drawn in by those dashing brown eyes.
Cura took a step closer and gazed into them, those hypnotic chestnut orbs. Vilkas placed a hand on her left cheek and gazed into her own eyes.
By her instinct, Cura then leaned in for a kiss, wrapping her arms around Vilkas' shoulders in a show of tenderness. Her fingers clasped together, as if to seal him in place. Vilkas caressed the nape of her neck and drew himself further, pressing his chest against hers.
In that instant, her cheeks became flush with red and she pulled back. In a flurry of mixed emotions, Cura picked her mental patch for the ripe words she needed. "I'm not sure about this." she spoke with embarrassment.
Vilkas' expression dropped like a bag of cannonballs. He had no idea what to say to that. Himself, he felt embarrassed.
The pair stood amidst the trees, silent.
"So... that's it, then?" Vilkas asked.
Cura nodded. "I'm not ready for romance." She crossed her arms. "There's still so much I need to do... and I haven't known you for long enough... that... moved so fast."
Vilkas rubbed the back of his neck and slunk down against the tree again. "Life is short here in Skyrim." he stated.
"I know." Cura admitted, well aware of the fact. She felt disappointed, but at the same time she felt she had to stay true to herself.
"I'm sorry."
With that, the Breton ran further into the woods, hoping to avoid any further awkwardness on her part. Vilkas stood in place and watched her disappear into the trees and bushes, bewildered.
As Cura ran through the woods, thoughts encroached upon her mind. Fool! Idiot! Moron! Icebrain! How could you lead him on like that? What were you thinking? Why did you do that? She grit her teeth. You could have had a relationship with him, and you threw it aside without a second's thought. She continued to sprint.
Then again, perhaps it was for the best. She hoped Vilkas would understand her stance. She was the Dragonborn, and she already had major curses and death threats heaped upon her shoulders, placed next to the fate of Tamriel, it would seem.
She liked Vilkas, but by her honour, she would not burden him with her potential death somewhere down the road.
It hurt. She clenched her chest in pain; it was a hollow pain, but nothing like that which corrupted her in the Cairn; this was something different altogether.
Eventually, after some meandering through the forest, she came upon the Town of Falkreath; and running misdirectedly, she headed towards the gloomy cemetery. An Altmer in Monks robes was giving a sermon to a Nord and Imperial couple, and a Nord man stood nearby. When he noticed Cura, he quickly approached her.
"You have the look of a killer." He said, narrowing his eyes. His piercing glare made Cura feel uncomfortable, and try as she might, she knew she could not deny his assertion. At this point, she's probably killed dozens of people. If he would have said it two months ago, she would have laughed it off as absurdity, but now it just rung a sad truth.
"I mean no harm. I wandered in here..." Cura scratched her neck. She wandered as she was lost in thought, and stumbled upon this, and that was the truth.
"Show respect while you're here and you and I will be fine." The Nord asserted as he walked past her.
Cura couldn't help but overhear part of the sermon. The Altmer raised his hands up to the sky, much as the Priestess of Arkay at Helgen had. "The god Arkay was once like us, bound to winding mortality. But he willingly gave up his existence that we might better understand the vagaries of life and death. It is through the ebb and flow of this cosmic tide that we find renewal and, in the end, peace. May the spirit of Lavinia and all those who have left this world and its suffering know the beloved serenity of Aetherius..."
The Imperial wife began to weep in her Husband's arms.
"...and may we one day rejoin them in eternity." The Altmer concluded.
Cura walked up to the grieving family and gave them a respectful nod. "My condolences." She spoke sadly.
"A sad time." the Husband said sadly. "If only you'd have come sooner, Vigilant."
Cura's eyebrows humbled with compassion. "Who... died?"
"Our daughter. Our little girl. She hadn't seen her tenth winter." the Husband's voice began to break.
A sadness encroached Cura's heart. Barely ten years old. How Breton placed a hand over her heart, dreading the answer, but she ad to ask anyways. "You said I came late... who or what did this to the poor child?"
"Sinding."
The name was grit between his teeth, and caused the Wife to cry out in emotional torment.
The Husband embraced his wife and fought back tears of his own. He continued. "Came through as a laborer. Seemed like a decent man. He's stewing in the pit while we figure out what to do with him, if you've got the stomach to look at him. What could drive a man to do something like this?"
Cura couldn't give him a sure answer. Humans could be driven to committing evil acts fairly easily; especially if Daedra were involved. Given the way the man spoke about this Sinding, and the mention of her job as a Vigilant, it led her to believe he was either a Vampire, or another accursed Werewolf.
She could not make peace with that.
Still, she needed more details to conclude her theory. "How... did he do it? What happened, exactly? I need to know so I can do something to help." She tried to speak as softly as she could through her sharpened canines and molars.
"She was... he ripped her apart. Like a sabre cat tears a deer. We barely found enough of her to bury." The Husband choked and trembled as he recounted the grotesque vision. "My poor, sweet Lavinia..."
If Cura was going to save Skyrim, she would start with the little people. She nodded. "Thank you. I'm sorry for making you relive that horror..." She laid a gentle hand on his and his wife's arms. "I'll make things right."
"Whatever you must." the Husband said as he and his mourning wife left the gravesite.
The Altmer priest spoke to Cura. "Life is fragile, friend. Be careful."
Cura nodded in reassurance. "I will. Where is the Dungeon?"
"East side of town, next to the Alchemy Shop Grave Concoctions, and the Jarl's Longhouse." The Altmer explained as he pointed off in the distance towards the main road.
Cura obliged and headed down the beaten path, onto the road, and past the Jarl's Longhouse. Her personal squabbles could wait for the time being.
When Cura entered the Prison building, a Guard stared at her. "Careful. There's a vicious animal down in the Dungeon."
"I know." Cura kept her eyes directed to the stairs as she descended. When she entered the cell blocks, she saw nobody there in the main cells except for a sleeping Guard leaning against the wall nearby.
She noticed a door to the left, dividing the Dungeon, and passed through it to see a larger cell with thicker bars and a flooded room below eye level.
As she stepped closer, she noticed a shirtless blonde man in ragged trousers leaning against the stone wall, looking incredibly disheveled. That had to be Sinding.
Cura felt a rage boiling within her as he slowly walked up to the door to face her.
Sinding sadly greeted her, and, noticing her Vigilant ensemble, remarked. "Come to gawk at the monster?"
Cura narrowed her eyes and placed a hand on her mace. "Only a Monster would slaughter an infant."
"Believe me, it wasn't anything I ever intended to do. I just... lost control. I tried to tell them, but none of them believe me. It's all on account of this blasted ring." Sinding spoke disheartenedly as he held our his hand, revealing what looked like an iron ring with the small engraving of a wolf's head carved into it.
Cura could just feel the evil emanating from it. "What on Nirn..."
"This is the Ring of Hircine. I was told it could let me control my transformations. Perhaps it used to. But I'll never know. Hircine didn't care for my taking it, and threw a curse on it. I put it on... and the changes just came to me. I could never guess when. It would be at the worst times. Like... with the little girl." Sinding explained his debacle with great regret and heartache heaping itself upon him.
"You're..." Cura was about to call him out.
"I don't suppose there's a point in keeping the secret if I'm going to die in here anyway. I'm sure you've heard of men who shift to beasts under the influence of the moons." he continued by confessing, "I am one of them. A werewolf. It's my secret, and my shame. That's why I wanted the ring... it was said to give men like me control. Now I may look like a man, but I still feel the animal inside of me, as strong as ever."
It struck a chord within Cura. She could understand to a degree where he was coming from, though she could control her inner beast.
"Why did this make you attack the girl?" Cura asked, wanting to know for certain.
Sinding's expression contorted into one of disgust and anguish as he recounted the events that transpired. "I had just come into Falkreath. They needed some help working the mill, and I thought that would be something safe. Something I could do. When I saw the little girl, I was just... I could feel it coming on. I could taste the... I needed to hunt. But this pitiful, limited body wasn't meant for hunting. Slow. No claws. Weak, mashing teeth for chewing cud. I held in my rage as long as I could. But it boiled inside of me. She looked so fragile. Helpless prey. And then..." He broke down for a moment, but collected himself quickly. "I feel terrible about what happened. About what I did. It would probably be best for everyone if I just went away."
Could this happen to Cura, as well? With this insight, she knew now that she definitely needed to cure herself. She hadn't seen any young child since her transformation, but if she were to succumb to those violent desires as Sinding had, she would never be able to live with herself.
Cura cleared her mind of such thoughts. "I'll take that ring off your hands. You needn't carry such a burden any longer."
Sinding's mouth flew open in shock. "Oh my. You would do this for me? Here, take it. I don't want anything to do with this wretched thing anymore." He all but pushed the Daedric Ring into her hands. Upon doing so and with closer inspection, Sinding realized what Cura was as he picked up her scent. "You're Moonborn too, aren't you? I'm sorry you have to live with such a curse. Must be tough as a Vigilant of Stendarr."
The words dug into Cura viscerally. Her lower lip quivered for a brief second, forced by a bout of stress. "It's shameful, and I never asked for it."
Sinding sympathized with the distressed Breton. "I know what you mean. I never wanted this, either. Ever since I accrued this curse back in Windhelm, I fled to Darkwater Crossing last month... then rushed to the Rift, and then to Falkreath... I thought I'd have been fine here."
Darkwater Crossing? Last Month? It couldn't be. If events had been different, would she and the other Vigilants slain Sinding?
"I'm going to take this Ring to the Vigil." Cura stated as she pocketed the dark artifact. "They will lock it away so that it will never trouble a soul again."
"Thank you for your help. I will make my home deep in Bloated Man's Grotto, away from anyone I might hurt." Sinding detailed his plans. Before Cura could even react, he began to transform before her very eyes, into the largest werewolf she had ever seen thus far; easily towering a foot and a half over herself and Vilkas. With a loud roar, the large beast clung onto the wall, and using his great upper arm strength, pulled himself up the wall and out through the weighted roof.
The loud crash alerted the Guard who was asleep in the next cell block over, and he bolted over to Cura. "You! What did you just do?"
"Nothing." Cura raised an eyebrow,
"Don't lie. You were talking to that freak and now he's gone!" The Indigo-sashed Guard assumed. "Just what are you hiding?"
"Maybe you should be chasing the Prisoner rather than harassing me." Cura slapped him with a reality check, and the Guard immediately ran off, realizing that it was pointless to argue with her as the Beast escaped on his watch.
As Cura exited, she saw the Hold Guards running after Sinding, and she proceeded to join the chase, for a time, until they hit the pine forest and her lackluster sense of direction got the best of her yet again, forcing her to wander aimlessly for a lengthy time.
Sure enough, off in the distance, Cura could see what looked like a campfire and a group of people. Perhaps she could ask them for directions. She wasn't certain if she could Fast Travel through the forest, what with all the trees.
Upon closer inspection, it seemed to be a group of Bandits with glistening weapons. Fifteen of them, in fact.
It was then that she felt a sharp pain in her chest. "Kahh!" Cura gripped her chest to no avail as a thick layer of steel rested between her hand and flesh. Her mind entered a momentary daze, and she could feel it coming on again.
Her inner beast was clawing at the walls of her flesh and bone, and began to tear itself out of the confines of her Humanity.
That accursed ring! She hadn't even put it on, but there it was; on her left ring finger, as if denoting a marriage to evil. Cura then slowly slipped away into the darkness.
"Kill her! Kill her before she comes to!" A voice shouted out.
Cura's eyes were still shut, but her ears were the first things to respond to life, though the world was filtered through a fog.
"No. I want to talk to her, first." A deep, masculine voice spoke.
"I can't believe that a Vigilant of Stendarr would be one of those things!" Another voice mused in awe.
As Cura's eyes slowly began to open, she realized she was tied to a chair with solid rope, and several Barbarians had Silver Swords pressed against her chest, readying to pierce her at any moment's notice.
Looking up from the swords, Cura could see a man in a Quicksilver Armour that had a clear Bear motif engraved in it, much like what the Ancient Nords were said to have worn. He was a Nord with a large scar carved into his face, going from his chin up to his left eye, which as white and decrepit, and a secondary scar split through his lip and to his nose. The hairs of his dark beard traced the outline. The Bearlike helmet he wore cast a shadow over his forehead and his eyes.
Krev the Skinner.
Cura quickly looked about, and saw numerous dungeon cells surrounding her, and tortured Werewolves within them, hanging like puppets. Some were crucified against the walls, and one was a Human body with a wolf's head sewn in place of his human head. Cura could see werewolf pelts on tables, and blood-soaked floors.
It just went from bad to worse.
And even worse, still, as she recognized one of the Human Heads that was placed on a Spike to her right some distance away.
It was Skjor.
His expression was blank as his eyes stared into nothing. Flies were beginning to congregate around his head, as well as the heads of some other people she did not recognize.
"The Vigil of Stendarr is filled with inept fools." Krev explained. "It doesn't surprise me that they wouldn't recognize a Werewolf among them."
"Why don't we send her back to Carcette, a piece at a time?" One of the Silver Hand warriors suggested. "After she killed seven of our men in the pine forest, she would deserve it."
"Excuse me... what?" Cura asked in disbelief. "I would never-"
"Oh no? Perhaps you're a new Wolf, then." Krev approached her closer. "Dangerous. Rabid. Bloodthirsty. Haven't satisfied your craving for meat." He walked over to a table, and Cura's eyes followed him past his troops as he lifted off what looked like a slab of rotting meat.
Her stomach nearly churned at the sight of it, with the browning spots and awful odours emanating from it. Her view only got better as he walked ahead of his crew and held it up to her face. "Know what this is?" Krev demanded.
It was pungent in the worst possible way. Cura nearly threw up in that instant, especially when she noticed the sullied black juice dripping from the pores of it. The smell, however, reminded her greatly of what she encountered at Helgen.
"I...is that Human flesh?" Cura asked.
"Werewolf flesh." Krev stated. "Not a shred of Humanity in it." He held it up right under her nose, before her mouth, and practically pressed it against her lips. Cura quickly turned her face away from the offensive entrée.
"Please, take this away." Cura pleaded. "It's... awful."
"You're going to eat it." Krev said with a wolfish grin spread across his face.
Cura's face paled in horror, and the other Silver Hand members began to laugh in delight at her misery.
Splat!
A stray maggot fell off from one of the pores in the meat and landed on Cura's lap, causing the Vigilant to cry out in surprise. As she slipped backwards, she hit the floor, still bound to her chair.
This was what the Silver Hand were about. Violent brutes who seemed as disgusting as the Creatures they hunted. Heathens, the lot of them. If she weren't exhausted, she would have blown him across the room with a Shout.
"Eat it! Eat it!" The Brutes chanted above one another as Krev grabbed Cura by the shirt and pulled her back in an upright sitting position. He then placed a foot on her knees to keep her steady as he delivered a violent backhand to her face.
Her ears began to ring as Cura's whole head and shoulders flung to the side due to the momentum of his mighty hit. As she paused for that brief moment in time, she reflected on her life and how she wound up here. The Ring forced her to transform, but it seems as though they managed to best her mindless wolf form.
Krev grabbed Cura by the collar and yanked her back in place, and again, forced the rotten flesh into her face. "Eat it, you bitch!"
Again, Cura refused, which only served as an annoyance to the Silver Hand leader.
"Eat the gods-damned thing!" Krev demanded through gritted teeth as he once again battered the Breton. "By Zenithar, I'll-"
"You just blasphemed the Gods..." Cura spoke in a low tone. "And you expect to do something by one? Interesting."
"Shut your trap!" Krev slapped her yet again, causing Cura to grut painfully. "You've got a lot to pay us back for. You killed six of my men."
"Unintentionally." Cura informed him. Her eyes moved over to Skjor's severed head. "But that man... he was worth at least a-a Hundred of your men!"
Her disgust was immeasurable. A deep sorrow filled the Breton as she continued to look at Skjor. How did that happen? How could it happen?
"You knew him, did you?" one of the Silver Hand members asked.
"I did." Cura admitted.
"Lock her away." Krev ordered his men. "Send a letter to Keeper Carcette. Tell her that if she doesn't send us 10, 000 gold within a fortnight, we're going to be sending her this Vigilant piece by piece every day instead."
He turned to face Cura, who had blood running down the side of her face. "Your name, Vigilant?"
Cura turned her face away, refusing to speak it. This earned her a punch straight in the gut, which, with the Quicksilver gauntlets, caused her ribs to break, and her to cough up blood. "Gahh-hack!" Cura cried out.
"Your name." Krev demanded.
"None of... your business." Cura spat some of her excess blood on his stomach, as she was having difficulty keeping her body straight due to the force of impact.
Again, Krev pulled back his arm, and delivered his promise of another punch, which clashed against Cura's cheek, causing her to spit out blood and saliva as her face was twisted to the side by the force of impact.
"Your name." Krev demanded, ever stern. He was not going to stop until he got what he wanted.
Another Silver Hand member returned with a parchment and an ink blot and quill pen.
Cura continued to resist the large Nord.
"Fine. I could do this all day." Krev stated, shrugging his shoulders. Again, he brought down his fist. This time, he hit the Breton so hard that she flew backwards, still in her seat, and dropped to the ground like a bag of bricks. Blood began to run down her broken nose and she began to cough violently. Again, Krev reached down and yanked her back up, and grabbed her jaw, squeezing it tight between his thumb and index finger. "Your name, Breton."
"Cura... her name is Cura." A familiar voice spoke from within another cell off in the distance. Cura's eyes widened in terror. How did they know?
Krev chuckled. "'Cura?' What kind of person would name their kid that?" He motioned a nod to his scribe, and the Silver Hand member was beginning to write.
"Dear Keeper Carcette," Krev began to dictate aloud. "it has come to our attention that you enjoy the company of Dogs. As a matter of fact, we have such one of your hounds here with us. Vigilant Cura. A Breton, perhaps in her later teens, younger adult years. We aren't sure. Blonde hair, green eyes. Stubborn attitude."
His minion was chuckling along as he wrote it down.
"We want 10, 000 gold within the next couple of weeks, or you can enjoy daily gifts from us. I assure you, they call me 'The Skinner' with very good reason. You can send an envoy to Gallows Rock with the gold, or come yourself. I'd love to sit down and have an ale with you.
Best Regards, Krev the Skinner, Leader of the Silver Hand"
The scribe folded up the paper.
"Good. Now get that into the hands of one of those idiots, and they'll take it to their Leader for us." Krev chuckled lightly, before turning to look back at the weakened and distressed Cura. "And bring her to the cell over near the door. She can spend some time with her friend."
"You mean the redhead?" One of the warriors asked for assurance.
"Yes, the one who came in with that bald fool. The Companions." Krev stated nonchalantly. "I'll be in my room, sharpening my blades." He lumbered past Cura and headed down the hallway, past the other cells.
Cura was dragged to the cell from whence the voice that gave her up came, and a familiar face indeed rested within it.
It was Aela.
As soon as Cura's bloodied face made visual contact with the distraught Huntress, she lost consciousness once more.