Cura and her companions traversed the enchanted bridge above the repulsive black mire. Their greatest relief was bypassing the gloomy muck completely, a favour granted by the Black Hand. The grotesque noises of movement from below the ominous surface churned the stomachs of the travelers, as they identified the squelching as the swimming Plague Leeches beneath. From above the surface, their writhing shapes were barely discernible; these grotesque creatures lay in wait for any misstep to seize a meal for themselves.

In Coldharbour, nothing was hallowed. The water here was undrinkable; consuming it was akin to courting death. The foul reek of the Prison Tower Sewers hung in the air like a pall, and even Korn appeared unsettled; the white wolf's fur bristled as she accompanied Mary and Sir Ralvas. Sir Ralvas was walking clumsily, but Mary held his hand to guide him forward without fear of falling into the muck.

The dark water resembled the consistency of blood; it was revolting to look at, and likely even more so to touch, though it's doubtful anyone would be keen to confirm that.

Sabrina chuckled beneath her Plague Doctor's mask. "In moments like these, I'm grateful for this mask," she said, tapping Cura and Sir Amiel. She draped an arm over Cura's shoulder and drew the imposing Sir Amiel closer, almost as if pulling them into a semi-embrace as they walked. "Ah, doesn't this scent bring back memories? It reminds me of when we first met, near the Slums."

"'T'wasn't that long ago, Sabrina." Sir Amiel chuckled. "You act like we met a decade ago, when it has only been a couple of weeks. Perhaps almost three?"

Cura smirked lightly. "I know what Sabrina means. It feels as though it has been many months, though it has been much shorter. Though, in Coldharbour, what does time matter?"

Gloriel muttered to herself as she walked alongside the group. "It matters more than one should think." she looked up to the dark void above, and the artificial suns in the sky. "I have all but forgotten what the mortal world looks like."

Bourlor, who walked behind her silently, nodded. "I've forced myself to remember the verdant fields of Cyrodiil. This cruel dimension would not only strip us of our spirits and use our failings against us, but it would have us forget ourselves at the same time. I find it most frightening that such a fate could befall even an Aspect of Mara. The corruption of this realm runs very deep."

Gloriel clenched the shaft of her Dawn spear. "Indeed it does, Bourlor. I... I feel my confidence returning to myself now, after the many millennia... I assure you, I shall burn the corruption away, as acid burns away taint from metal within a crucible. Yes. Lady Meridia desires to see Molag bal fall - and this is the Champion's job, but... I wish to aid in any way I can." she seemed to almost take on a luminous quality.

Bourlor took notice of this and nodded. "I have confidence that you will succeed as well, Gloriel. Be a light in the world again."

Gloriel smiled at the archer. "I will. And may your arrows ever meet their quarry."

Bourlor tilted his hat with a friendly chuckle. "And may your spear never miss its mark."

Sabrina and Sir Amiel stared down at the black water with disgust as they walked. Sabrina called out to Mary. "I thought that the Plague ended when you were freed? How can there still be these leech things?"

Mary stopped in her tracks for a moment and looked down upon the accursed waters. "Because I am not the only figure in Coldharbour who was trapped in that era. Perhaps the Inquisitor's guilt encompasses most of the area, as well."

"Inquisitor Pepe?" Cura asked. It would make sense, given that he was the one responsible for burning her at the stake during the plague. It also explained why the heart of the Alessian Order was at the center of Coldharbour. Inquisitor Pepe and his cohorts must have had quite a many regrets for their pasts. Or, perhaps some were so fervent in their zealotry that even in death they sought to maintain the status quo. Like Warden Uighool in the Prison Tower, for an example.

The further they followed the makeshift path, the deeper the fog encroached upon them. In the distance, they saw a large island, shrouded in mist, and upon it seemed to be a large cemetery of sort with various crypts around a pathway behind a large gate. The cemetery and its crypts and sepulchres were large, and yet atop the highest peak lay the familiar sight of Castle Volkihar - however, it was made of the same dirty stone found within the entire realm.

Cura glanced at her allies, choosing to approach the six nearest to her on the bridge and calling them closer to her. A sense of foreboding filled the air, and she braced herself for whatever threat might emerge, ready to spring into action.

A dense fog enveloped the land, obscuring the artificial sun created by Jyggalag and the celestial light ignited by Cura with Auriel's Bow. This spectral gloom shrouded the desecrated cemetery, filling the air with the heavy perfume of looming peril. Cura, unwavering, her armor shimmering in the diminishing light, watched as a horde of vampires materialized from the ghostly shrouds of Coldharbour, awakened from their eternal rest by her presence. At her side, Mary murmured a benediction, her palms radiating with holy light, while Korn, the white wolf, bared her sharp fangs, a low growl rumbling from her throat.

Carcette, clad in the sacred regalia of Jyggalag, raised her warhammer, Pendulum. Gloriel the Valkyrie, her wings of light unfurled, her gaze steely, poised her Dawnspear with deadly precision. The Knights, Sir Amiel and Sir Torolf, veterans of countless battles, stood shoulder to shoulder, their swords drawn, their resolve unyielding.

Before Cura could even address them, the vampires, a horde of shadows and malice, advanced with a hunger that had plagued the realms for eons. Their eyes, devoid of soul, fixated on the living, their fangs bared in anticipation of the feast to come. The air crackled with the power of the undead, a stark contrast to the expected sanctity of the cemetery, a place once of peace, now a battlefield in hell.

With a battle cry that split the sky, Cura surged forward, her blade, Dawnbreaker, a whirlwind of divine wrath. Mary was close behind, her spells casting a luminous net that scorched the enemy's flesh. Korn sprang into action, a flash of white against the darkness, her fangs clamping down on the ghostly figures of the vampires.

Carcette's hammer clashed with the barrage of claws and teeth, each strike affirming her steadfast faith. She recalled the relentless, hunger-fueled frenzy of her vampire days. It was tragic that they would yield to such madness, even in Coldharbour.

Sir Amiel and Sir Torolf fought back to back, their blades singing a deadly duet that felled vampire after vampire. They were joined back-to-back, shifting and swinging like their lives depended upon it in the sea of undeath that encompassed them in the fog.

The clash of steel and the hiss of spells filled the air, a symphony of chaos and courage. The ground hallowed by the dead became the anvil upon which the battle was forged, each gravestone a silent witness to the valour displayed by Cura and her allies.

There seemed to be innumerable Vampires in that realm, though given their fate, it was hardly a surprise. Even if there were innocents among them, perhaps that innocence was long lost by now. The best they could do was grant them Stendarr's mercy, freeing them from their endless torment in another way.

Before them stood the Vampire Lords, ancient and malevolent, arisen from the nearby crypts, their eyes burning with a sinister glow, their fangs unveiled in eager anticipation of the bloodshed to come. Their pallid blue skin and grotesque, bat-like visages were a testament to their nefarious essence. As Cura prepared to confront the escalating threat, a figure moved before her, lifting a hand in a gentle gesture to bid her pause. Gloriel, the Valkyrie, unfurled her radiant wings and cast a fleeting look towards Cura. "Champion, permit me this battle. I seek to restore my honour as Meridia's chosen Valkyrie."

Gloriel, once a mortal warrior famed for her bravery and prowess in combat, experienced a life-altering event when she rescued a priestess of Meridia from the malevolent Ayleids of Abagarlas. In appreciation, Meridia, the Lady of Infinite Energies, granted Gloriel a fragment of her divine power, transforming her into a Valkyrie, a stalwart defender of the light. Gloriel's human history was scarred by sorrow and loss, owing to the ruin of Delodiil, which propelled her unyielding quest for justice and honour. As a Valkyrie, she rose to become Meridia's venerable champion, charged with eradicating darkness wherever it took root. Her Dawn spear, a luminous weapon, was crafted from the essence of Meridia's domain, and with it, Gloriel has vanquished numerous emissaries of the dark. Her journey ended tragically at the hands of Lord Varla in Mackamentain, and she has since been confined in Coldharbour, awaiting her ultimate destruction; disheartened and despairing.

With a renewed sense of purpose, Gloriel felt compelled to demonstrate her worth in battle - not only to Cura, Meridia's reigning Champion, but also to herself, affirming her ability to champion the light. Cura's actions, intentional or otherwise, had significantly bolstered her confidence, and Gloriel was eager to put it to the test now that it was hers.

Cura nodded in approval. She lowered her mace and shield and took a tentative step back to give her ally space. "Very well, Gloriel. Go for it!" She did not need to wish her good luck, for she knew that Meridia was with her. She could feel her presence radiating off of the Valkyrie.

Gloriel the Valkyrie's armor shone with a celestial light, a beacon of hope in this forsaken land, as she raised her spear, its tip alight with the dawn's own fury. With a voice that cut through the silence like a clarion call, she challenged the darkness. "Spawns of Molag Bal, hear my name and weep! I am Gloriel the Valkyrie, returned Champion of Meridia, and the Bane of your existence! You shall be rendered dust before my spear's wrath!" The Vampire Lords, clad in shadows, moved as one, a sinister ballet of death, their claws extended, their magic dark as the void.

Gloriel lifted her spear high, proclaiming, "I am the morning sun, arisen to banish this dreadful night!"

As the first Lord lunged wings unfurled, Gloriel spun, her spear an arc of pure radiance, and the creature recoiled, hissing, as its flesh seared at the touch of her holy weapon. She moved with grace, a dance of war taught by the divine, each step a strike, each breath a battle cry. The fog swirled around them, a witness to this epic confrontation, as if the very air of Coldharbour sought to smother the light she bore. Gloriel's Dawn spear, alight with the fierce radiance of Meridia's will, cut through the gloom like a star falling to earth. The Vampire Lords, ancient and cruel, circled her with eyes glowing like embers in the mist.

One by one, the Vampire Lords advanced, their powers vast and their hatred deep, but Gloriel met them all with the heart of a warrior unyielding. Her spear sang a song of dawn, its melody a dirge for the damned, and where it passed, shadows fled and darkness wept. The Vampire Lords, for all their might, could not withstand the purity of her assault, their immortal forms faltering under the weight of her divine wrath. Gloriel ascended, her spear an omen of demise, each jab banishing a vampire to the true abyss, in Meridia's honour.

The duel was a tempest, a clash of light against dark, of life against death, and the very stones of Coldharbour trembled at its fury. Gloriel's spear was a comet, trailing fire across the night, and each Vampire Lord that fell became a star, extinguished in the firmament of her glory. The fog lifted, banished by the brilliance of her spirit, and the realm of Coldharbour knew the warmth of dawn, if only for a moment.

When the last of the Vampire Lords lay vanquished, the Valkyrie stood alone, her breathing steady, her resolve unbroken. And when the dawn finally broke, casting its first light upon the battlefield, it revealed the cost of their victory. The cemetery lay scarred and numerous headstones broken, covered with innumerable ashes blowing in the wind. Cura and her allies, though weary, stood victorious, their bond forged stronger in the fires of battle, their spirits unbroken by the night's ordeal.

Cura approached Gloriel, looking on with awe. "Wow, Gloriel! You are a force to be reckoned with. If this is how you fight normally, I'm glad we're on the same team."

The Valkyrie drew breaths in shallow, uneven gasps, moistening her lips before she spoke once more. "Truly, I had harboured fears that my strength to stand unaided had waned through the ages... It fills me with joy to discover that my prowess in battle remains undiminished."

Varla crossed his arms and leaned his back against a tombstone. "She is called Meridia's Valkyrie for a reason. You would have to be a fool to underestimate her. I know I certainly didn't." He kicked a small rock away with his boot, causing it to clatter against another tombstone. He smirked saucily at the Valkyrie. "I still have that reminder on my chest from your spear."

Gloriel grit her teeth. That comment had made the situation awkward. She planted the shaft of her spear onto the ground and held it upright. "Well... at that time we were foes, Varla. But not enemies."

Korn wandered away from her companions, meandering through a narrow space amidst the tombstones. She paused, her snout raised high, as she keenly sniffed the air, searching for a particular scent.

Varla furrowed his brow, continuing with the conversation. "What's the difference?"

Gloriel explained, "A foe is one who is obligatory to fight due to a cause or external reason. An enemy is one you vanquish with hatred."

Varla appeared perplexed by the concept. "Destruction has only ever stemmed from my hatred," he proclaimed, yet his gaze revealed a deeper truth: he had frequently been wielded as an instrument of war, his considerable size, strength, and skill dictating his use. Belharza had intended for Varla to serve as his personal dragon, a formidable force to be deployed against the Ayleids, or his and the Alessian Order's own enemies, with little regard for Varla's own welfare, be it mental or physical.

Gloriel shook her head in disagreement. "No, Varla, I don't believe that's the case. It seems more likely to me that these are the words you've convinced yourself of to be able to move on from Mackamentain."

Varla grunted from deep in his throat. "Maybe that's true. Maybe not. Whether I hated you or not doesn't change that fact that I killed many, indiscriminately."

Gloriel took his hand into her own. "And now you have the opportunity to return to the path of righteousness; to protect the world, potentially." She gazed into his eyes. "You are capable of great things, Varla. Take this from a former foe-turned-ally."

Varla gazed at her hand, and a gentle change came over his features. He gave a nod of agreement. "You're right. Maybe there is a chance for me to make a positive impact in this world. Indeed, as the saying goes: the Blood of Ada holds immense power; it can bring about great pain, but also has the potential to usher in great peace."

Gloriel nodded. "Yes."

Carcette surveyed the ashes of their foes before turning to Cura. "A warmer reception at the castle is hard to imagine. I bet the members of Harkon's Court are itching for a chance at revenge against me."

Cura shook her head. "Definitely. They will certainly remember our faces, especially since Vingalmo has already seen us. They've probably been waiting for us all this time. But we have the upper hand now." She held Auriel's Bow in her hand. "This is the least of their worries now." She then turned to the rest of her allies. "You will remain here in case something goes wrong: I don't want to endanger the entire party."

She pointed to specific members, "Carcette, Bourlor, Sir Amiel, Gloriel, Maram, Mary, Korn, and Varla, come with me." She gazed at the path that split the cemetery, winding up the hill and weaving past numerous statues of Molag Bal and hooded skeletal figures, arrayed like dark sentinels watching over the land.

Sabrina spoke up, eagerly voicing her displeasure at the idea with a sulk. She gestured to the remainder of the party around her. "So, what, you want the rest of us to stay here? And do what, play Tales of Tribute?"

Korn vanished from sight momentarily, only to be found investigating a massive stone slab situated behind a pedestal, which was crowned by a statue of a hooded skeleton. After thoroughly sniffing the slab, Korn halted, a look of realization crossing her features. With newfound excitement, she pranced back to the group, her tail held aloft in a proud wag.

Cura shook her head, "No. I wish for you to follow me up until the castle bridge. I wish for you all to remain as backup."

Korn, with a few eager sniffs at Sir Ralvas' hand, barked with excitement and hopped from side to side in an animated display of joy.

"What has excited you, dog?" inquired Sir Ralvas, puzzled by Korn's abrupt elation. Korn proceeded to stride eastward, circumventing a grand statue and weaving through headstones, all the while barking to guide Sir Ralvas by sound. Stumbling over a headstone, Sir Ralvas was steadied by Savos Aren, who quickly came to his aid.

"My apologies," Sir Ralvas excused himself. "I have not been to this area before; I am not quite as familiar with the layout."

Mirabelle grasped his other arm, and together with another mage, they guided him through the deadly maze. Cura and her companions kept a close watch, while Mary rushed to her wolf's side. Korn, persistent in her barking, seemed fixated on a sarcophagus. She sniffed at it and then started scratching its side with her paws, signaling for others to notice. With Savos and Mirabelle's assistance, Sir Ralvas approached, laying his hands on the lid. He curled his fingers beneath it and pushed, sliding the stone slab off. It fell with a clatter, stirring a cloud of dust into the air.

The sarcophagus revealed a macabre collection of severed heads. Most were decayed to bone, yet a few grimly held onto their flesh. Cura recoiled in revulsion. It was almost expected, the grotesque gathering in such a crude container. But then, what else could she expect? A display in a glass cabinet? She chided herself for forgetting, even for a moment, that this was the reality of Coldharbour - unforgiving and brutal, even by its own standards.

Korn put her paws atop the sarcophagus, standing on her hind legs with her tail wagging wildly, attempting to reach what appeared to be the face of a bearded Dunmer. Varla leaned in, grasped the head at which the wolf was barking, hoisted it aloft, and smirked, jesting, "Has anyone lost a head?"

Sir Ralvas raised a finger, calling attention to himself nervously. "Er, that would be me, good sir." There was no telling what Varla intended to do with it, after all.

Sir Amiel looked at the severed head, recognizing the face of one of his old brothers in arms. "Yes! That is it. There be his head!"

Sir Torolf stared at his companion's missing head and shuddered at the stump beneath it. "Nice cut." Even as a fiend who had skinned himself, he felt a pang of sympathy for his comrade's plight.

Varla presented the head to Sir Ralvas with a smirk. "Consider yourself fortunate. I was tempted to play hide and seek with it just for kicks."

Mary shook her head at her son's impudence while aiding Sir Ralvas in his adjustment. She shut her eyes, focusing on the mending of his body. A gentle, ethereal blue glow surrounded them, and the torn tissues seemed to weave themselves back together, like a thread bringing two fabrics together. Sir Ralvas seemingly stopped altogether, attuned only to the warmth on his neck.

Aria whispered to Maram, "It's quite amazing to witness, don't you think, Maram?"

He gave a brief nod in agreement. "Indeed, Aria. May it remind us of the Aedra's kindness."

In an instant, as if struck by a surge of electricity, Sir Ralvas' body began to convulse violently. Mary quickly wrapped her arms around him, offering words of comfort, "It's okay, Sir Ralvas... hold on!" Gradually, his shaking subsided, and his body relaxed into stillness. Mirabelle, with hands clasped over her mouth, retreated a step, shaken by the intense scene before her.

"Will... will he be all right?" the Master Wizard inquired after witnessing that terrible convulsion.

Cura watched in amazement, confident that all would be well; Mara was not one to cause harm without justification. And even then, she was often kind even in her punishments. "Sir Ralvas?" the Half-Elf inquired softly, extending her hand towards his shoulder. In response, he swiftly clasped Cura's arm, a rush of awareness flooding back to him.

His expression remained unchanged, yet his nose began to twitch, followed by his eyebrows. Gradually, he opened his eyes, unveiling red orbs that blinked repeatedly. Clenching his teeth, he shielded his eyes with his arm. "Gods, it's too bright!" he had to close his freshly-regained eyes, as the light of the realm, as dim as it was, was overstimulating to him.

Korn scurried up to him and barked joyfully before gently licking his cheek. "Haha! Oh, the pup! My, what lovely white fur you have!" he wrapped his arms around the affectionate canine. He slowly began to look at the party surrounding him. His eyes fell upon Mary, who knelt in the dirt in front of him. "You... you must be Mary, I presume? Your beauty is ethereal. Thank you for returning my lost head!"

Mary's complexion turned a rosy hue. "You are welcome, Sir Ralvas," she replied.

His eyes fell upon Varla. "The Man-Hunter, of course. Gods... you are quite a large one, aren't you?" he grit his teeth when Varla's seven-foot form filled his view. The Man-Hunter reached down and pulled him upright into a standing position. He stumbled backwards, disoriented, but Varla grabbed him, holding him upright.

Sir Amiel and Sir Torolf approached their friend. "Sir Ralvas, how does it feel to be able to see again?"

Sir Ralvas' eyes lit up when he took in the sight of his old comrades. "Ah, my friends and fellow knights! You are a sight for sore - believe me when I say they are sore - eyes!" He began to look around, "Let us see who I can recognize by context..." he pointed at Carcette next, "Hmm... Breton. Eyepatch. Gray Orderly armour... You are Carcette!"

The former Keeper of the Vigil was surprised, looking down at herself for a minute before nodding. "Impressive. Yes, I am."

Sir Ralvas clapped his hands and then looked to Sabrina. "Hmm... Plague Doctor. Sabrina, perhaps?"

Sabrina removed her mask and hat to show him her true face. "Yes, Sir." Her pink eyes gleamed with mischief. "I think I'm quite distinctive; it's both a blessing and a curse. What can I say?"

Sir Ralvas paused, then chuckled lightheartedly when he got a good look at her. "So you are a Reguard! That certainly explains your incredible prowess in battle; it is as though you are a Blade of Diagna himself. Though I did not see it, sounds still echo off of walls, and from what I could hear, you fought well against Sithis' pawn, friend. Good on you!"

Sabrina massaged her left shoulder and responded sheepishly. "Ahh, I could have fought better, to be honest. I was a clutz."

Sir Ralvas turned to Savos and Mirabelle. "Aha! Dunmer mage and Breton mage beside him. No doubt the two of you are Arch-Mage Savos and Master Wizard Mirabelle."

Mirabelle nodded. "That would be correct. Not a bad assessment."

Savos chuckled. "I've seen people with their heads not recognize me on a first glance before, truly."

Sir Ralvas smirked with satisfaction. He turned to look at Gloriel. "An Ayleid in golden armour. You must be Meridia's Valkyrie, Gloriel." He pointed to the silent Bourlor beside her, who seemed to be examining his bow. "And you're the huntsman Bourlor, no doubt. I see that bow!"

Bourlor looked at the string intently, a smile playing on his lips. "Right again, Sir Ralvas."

Gloriel clasped her hands together. "It must be wonderful to have regained your sight after so long, Sir Ralvas. I am happy for you."

He looked at Maram and Aria next. "The large man in the golden armour with the maul must be Maram... and the petite lady with the rapier and the silver hair must be Aria the Whisperer. Am I correct?"

Maram laughed aloud, and gave a friendly nod. "Your skills at discernment are something else, Sir Ralvas."

Aria whispered, "I'm quite impressed that you kept a detailed account of each of us mentally. That you would recognize us by a mere glance, is nothing short of incredible."

Sir Amiel spoke up, addressing the truth of his friend. "Sir Ralvas was the greatest of the Knights of the Nine where scoping the enemies was concerned. He could find a weakness in many an insurmountable foe. He has a very keen eye for detail."

At last, Sir Ralvas made his way to Cura and, with a respectful gesture, took her right hand in his. He lifted her hand gently and placed a kiss upon its back. "My lady, the Dragonborn, your heritage is clear in your half-elven visage, and your armaments - a mace and shield - are as distinguished as your person. Your presence brings light to our world."

Cura blushed. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to court me."

Sir Ralvas chuckled lightheartedly. He quickly recovered himself. "Oh, no, my lady. I could never be so impertinent. I'm just merely being honest."

Cura nodded and turned her attention to the island itself. "All right, so... the Castle appears to resemble the one in Skyrim quite well. I would wager that they're all on guard. If any of them are willing to speak and not simply attack, I will reason with them. Though after what we've already encountered, I won't hold my breath."

"That spooky fortress on top of the mountain, you mean? Yes; it is a sight to make eyes sore." Sir Ralvas tapped Cura on the shoulder. "So, may I perhaps lead the way up the winding path? I've not walked on my own in such a long time!"

Cura patted his arm approvingly. "Of course, Sir Ralvas. Go on ahead."

The formerly-headless knight took his first sight-filled steps into the world once more, and began to ascend towards the Castle at the top of the winding mountain. Korn elected to walk beside him regardless, and he stroked the fur on the wolf's forehead. "I no longer need a guide, but you are most welcome to walk with me anytime, Korn."

Cura and her allies followed Sir Ralvas' lead. Now that his sight was returned to him, he would serve to help guide them around, as he intended. Being able to identify his allies brought Sir Ralvas a sense of joy and relief; before it had all seemed a dream to him, but now he knew that Cura was true, and that her allies were real. He knew now that there was a way out of Coldharbour, and perhaps, Cura would be the one to lead him to it.