"What Khajiit Heard
by Ja'zhan
This one heard about a knight of the Alessian Order.
He had many fine friends and was extremely wealthy. He retired from his service after the cleansing of Malada and lived a carefree life. This knight was one of those who lived in the conviction that the gods themselves had given him the right to decide about the life and death of his subjects. Some say there are few like him, but this Khajiit thinks even one such person is one too many. And this is how this Khajiit saw him.
Well, this knight lived on his estate with several hundreds of subjects and treated his neighboring landowners like fools. In short, he was overbearing. He kept dozens of hounds in the kennels of his palace, and dozens of kennel guards. They were all armored and rode horses, just like the nobles.
One day, one of the servants' children, a kitten barely nine years old, accidentally hurt the knight's hound while playing with a stone. The knight noticed this and asked the kennel guard why his hound was limping. When the kennel guard replied in a cold sweat that a kitten threw a rock and hurt his hound's leg, the knight ordered him to catch the kitten. So they took the kitten from his mother and locked him in a cell for the night.
The next morning, the knight mounted his horse and rode out to prepare for the hunt. There were hounds and kennel guards all around him. All the servants had been summoned and in their front stood the mother of the kitten who injured the knight's hound. Eventually, they brought the kitten from his cell. The morning fog seemed red in the sun. It was not a good time for a hunt, but the knight had no intention of calling it off. The knight ordered the kitten to be undressed. The child stood there, completely naked, trembling, and speechless with fright.
The knight gave the signal. "Run!" the kennel guards yelled, and the kitten ran. The knight grinned and shouted: "Hunt!" and he released his hounds. They hunted down the crying kitten and tore him to shreds in front of his mother's eyes."
Cura found herself in what appeared to be a massive outdoor boneyard, lain with many cages and feasted upon corpses.
A pair of what looked like Death Hounds with rotting flesh and bloodshot eyes guarded the gates and another feasted on the impaled corpse of a Soul-Shriven.
"I'm guessing those are Varla's hounds?" Cura assumed. As far as hounds go, they did not seem very orthodox. In fact, they were downright demonic in appearance. Either they were created to be this way, or it was a similar situation to Arvak, where the realm corrupted them. Either way, they were not a pleasant sight to behold.
"It would appear so." Mirabelle agreed.
"He skinned them? Does this man's cruelty know no bounds?" Sir Amiel showed pity towards the beasts when he beheld the torn flesh and sinews on their grotesque forms.
Savos shook his head. "No, I believe these are not natural hounds - they're certainly Daedric in nature... or... tainted by the environment."
As soon as the group was within eyesight, the hounds lunged forward with snapping jaws, cutting through the small cemetery gates and piling onto them. Their barks and growls were distorted and unnatural.
Cura quickly raised her shield and parried one, but the other chomped into her right thigh. With a grunt, she drew Dawnbreaker and stabbed it into the dog's mangled head. Immediate immolation occurred and a burning shockwave swept through the air, engulfing those around it.
Mirabelle launched a few Flame Meteors and Savos Aren erected a stone wall to block against the Scorpions nearby that were attracted by the fight.
Sir Amiel blocked the rear as two more hounds dropped from the cliffs behind them in a vicious lunging attack. He drove his sword through the mouth of one and blocked the second with his shield.
Cura joined him then and shattered its jaw with her mace.
The fight ended and Cura cast a Healing spell on her injuries. The gashes from their teeth oozed green and took longer to heal. The pain searing through her leg was like the burning of hot coals placed under her flesh.
It went without saying, but those were not ordinary dogs. It left little surprise that they would have something extra to their bite.
"Are you well, Dragonborn?" Sir Amiel asked his new liege. He sheathed his sword and approached to check on her wellbeing.
"I'm fine, Sir Amiel. Thank you." Cura confirmed.
"This realm really crushes one's spirit, doesn't it?" Mirabelle observed the countless bones in the outdoor cemetery, surmising that ultimately, it must be the Dog Pen. The cages on the ends indicated as much.
Sir Amiel grunted. "Aye, my lady. If you can, I'd say you should not tarry too long. If you have the ability to leave this place, it would be wise to do so."
As much as she would like to, Mirabelle had already made up her mind, as did Savos. They decided to aid Cura in this realm, and they intended to follow through with as much as they could. "We have an important task here. Once it's complete, then we shall leave."
Savos Aren seconded the notion. "It's imperative to Skyrim's... and the Empire's future that we see Cura through this. The Gods gave us this task."
They continued down the dusty path and came upon a very large fortress with a red and gold flag depicting what looked like a common soul gem with an eye on it, with rays of light shooting off the stone. Cura surmised that this was Fort Welkynd, judging by the imagery.
"We won't be able to follow you inside." Savos warned her. "But when you get in there, I think you should expect a few Alessian Priests and Soul-Shriven to attack you, more or less."
"Not a problem at all." Cura knew they were just fodder. After all, these were people who were barely lucid mentally, and very frail in form. She had no doubt that dealing with Varla would surely be more difficult. She looked to Sir Amiel, who nodded to her. Then she pushed open the doors and ventured inside.
Immediately, she was inside a dusty old vestibule within a crypt of a castle with statues of Molag Bal on either side of the entryway. A welcoming sight to a masochist, perhaps.
Directly ahead, there was a small council room where Alessian Priests, just as Savos predicted, were resting around a circular table next to a fireplace, adjacent to a flight of stairs and between the entrance and another door.
The fortress style reminded Cura of a more depressing version of Castle Dour. As soon as one of the Alessians saw her, he began to stand up from his seat. She wasted no time and dual-casted Unbound Flames onto the group of them, spraying like a blowtorch from right to left, incinerating them all before they could attack her.
Sir Amiel was impressed by the quickness with which she dispatched the enemies. "You truly are a sight to behold, my lady." He admitted with great awe.
Cura decided to ascend the stairs on the left side of the room, wondering if there was a switch of some kind. She'd seen enough of these delves to know that it wasn't as simple as going up to a door and pushing it open in most cases.
Nothing could have prepared her for what she would see next.
There was a statue of a woman whose eyes were blindfolded, and she had long, flowing hair that ran down both of her shoulders. She looked sad, melancholic. And she wore an Amulet of Mara around her neck, and Fine Robes. She extended her hands forward, beckoning to someone sadly. Behind her were two banners bearing the Fort's sigil, and below her was the chilling sight of an altar with a small skeleton without a head.
Cura examined the headless corpse and emotion consumed her. She cupped her hand over her mouth and stepped backwards. She nearly lost her footing, but Sir Amiel caught her before she could fumble down the stairs.
Child sacrifice?
Was the Alessian Order that barbaric? How could they do such a thing? Go so far? It was abominable! Killing the Ayleids was one thing - they were an evil group and masters of cruelty as a general rule - but this was a child. Surely they hadn't done anything to merit such a horrible end.
She decided that it would be best to wipe the image from her mind at the moment - this was Coldharbour. This probably wasn't going to be the last upsetting thing she would encounter.
She was beginning to miss the Deadlands, though. At least Wretched Spire had alcohol that she could drown her sorrows in if need be - not that she would. She worshipped Stendarr, not Sanguine.
There was no switch to be seen, so she decided to go with plan B. Cura descended the stairs and walked up to the door. She pushed it open, but quickly leapt out of the way in case of a swinging ram, or a set of falling spiked balls on chains, or perhaps a dart trap could activate.
Thankfully there was not. Then again, this was a council room. Having deadly traps at the entry door would be terribly inconvenient to the occupants. She had to remind herself that this was a Fort, not a sacred burial ground or crypt. Though, with all the skeletons laying about one could forgive her mistaking it so.
Passing through the door led to a circular area with a couple of gates and a pillar at the center of the main room with gear strewn about and armoury tables and chests lined the walls. There were a few Soul-Shriven in the room, but without armour, they were a pushover. Cura felt bad cutting them down, as it was like swatting flies.
There were several labyrinthian hallways intersecting in midpoints that served to lose her sense of direction. Sir Amiel was excellent at keeping a mental note of certain locations, and managed to keep Cura focused as they wandered through. They faced off against several Alessian Priests and a Battlemage who was unrelenting in his Flame attacks. He summoned an Ancient Flame Atronach - it looked quite different from the slender, feminine flame Atronachs Cura was used to seeing. This one was large and boxlike in its form, but still humanoid.
They managed to defeat the foes with well-struck sword and mace blows, but not without sustaining terrible burns. Thankfully Cura's Healing Spells saved the day, bringing the two of them back from the brink. Cura found herself curious about the Ancient Flame Atronach and touched the corpse on the floor once the fire had died down. She took some of the Fire Salts from it and studied them. They were the same like a normal Atronach's.
The change was more aesthetic, and its flames were a tad more potent than the one she knew of.
When they reached a curving flight of stairs, Cura summoned her own Atronach from the modern day to do battle with an Ancient Flame Atronach summoned by the Battlemage while Sir Amiel managed to strike down the Alessian Paladins who guarded the top floor of the gloomy fort.
Cura's Atronach took a few hits before vanishing, but dealt enough damage to the odd one, leaving room for Cura to strike it down. Sir Amiel reconvened with her, and together they dispatched the Battlemage.
"Good work! I'd expect nothing less from a Knight of the Nine!" Cura healed Sir Amiel as she praised his efforts. The Alessian Paladins stood no chance against a true Paladin.
Sir Amiel smiled. "You are too kind, my lady. I've grown quite rusty over the centuries. I assure you, my skills shall return in time."
They continued onwards and saw what looked like a cell being guarded by a very large knight. He didn't see them, and they preferred to keep it that way for the time being. At the far end of the sharp hallway was a lift that would lead downwards rested. To the right of it was another flight of stairs leading up to a set of doors.
"I think this may be the fiend's chambers." Sir Amiel pointed out. "Are you prepared to face Lord Varla? He is a man without mercy."
Cura exhaled deeply and clenched her mace's handle. Without her Dragonborn abilities, it would be tough, she had no doubt about that. And being Half-Elf meant Varla would be able to tank most spells. After giving it some thought, Cura sheathed her weapon and headed inside, to Sir Amiel's surprise.
Maybe they didn't have to go in fighting. Perhaps she could talk to him first. It's not like he knew she killed his servants just yet. Perhaps she would be able to gauge who he was; see if he was as twisted as everyone claims.
Though, given what she saw in the council room, she wasn't hopeful. She would have her mace on standby just in case.
When she entered Varla's Hall, she was immediately in a dingy throne room with braziers lit around and above the throne on a higher platform.
Who she could only assume was Varla sat upon his throne beneath a set of curving stairs and pillars, two hounds by his sides. He wore silver armour that was plated, bearing the look of a righteous knight, though the stains of blood formed a trail of rusted corruption on the steel. His helmet covered his face entirely, similar in style to the helms worn by the Dawnguard, it seemed, though curved and bearing a pair of shortened crosses over the cheeks.
Cura could feel his eyes burrowing into her as she fast approached. One of his hounds began to snarl, but he raised a hand, silencing the dark canine.
"Miserable wretch. What are you doing in my fort?" Varla demanded.
Cura stepped boldly to the forum. "I seek passage to the east. I've merely come to speak with you before doing so. It seems proper."
The Manhunter leaned to one side. "And why should I allow that?"
Cura blinked for a moment as she considered her response carefully. "For the sake of... tourism?"
Internally, she slapped herself in the face. What a stupid excuse.
"Tourism." Varla spat the word back out like a sour grape. "What do you take me for? A Merryman? Would you like it if I juggle for you as well?"
Cura grunted and shifted uncomfortably. This wasn't going the way she'd expected.
"No, I know who you are. You're the one who's come to fight Molag Bal, aren't you? Don't make me laugh!" Varla surmised. "You really think I'll let you through to the barrier tower?"
Cura looked at Sir Amiel. "Who blabbed?"
The knight shrugged his shoulders. "Perhaps Bal himself relayed the information to him."
It was possible. They were, after all, in his realm. If Inquisitor Pepe was to be believed, he was the puppeteer and they were his toys.
"Why do you follow Molag Bal?" Cura asked sternly. Besides being trapped in the beast's realm, of course. There were others who clung to their Gods around here even in Coldharbour, so Varla came off as more submissive than anything to just bend the knee to Bal.
"Because Molag Bal sees the value in me, sees my strength. To him I am more than just a mere tool to be coddled and used against others in petty wars." Varla stated with great bitterness on his tongue.
"No. To Molag Bal you're just another plaything. It's what he does. He sees you as nothing more but a tool to keep this realm under his thumb." Cura tried to wake him up.
"And you are nothing but a tool of the Aedra." Varla leaned his cheek against his right hand and caressed the hound to his left with his left hand. "A dog, existing only to serve the whims of your masters."
Cura took a step back as one of his hounds began to growl ferociously. She took a small breath and defied them, stepping forward again. "You're right. That is exactly what I am. And like you, I embrace my role as servant to those above. You once followed the Divines too, did you not?"
"The One: Akatosh. It was the Alessian law. I followed their rules; not the mistake made by Alessia in her life. The Eight were considered a heresy to Marukh, so away they went." Varla opened up. "Under the command of Emperor Belharza I committed unforgivable atrocities against the Ayleids, culminating in the slaughter at Malada."
Belharza... the same Belharza who was borne of Alessia and Morihaus? The Minotaur?
That still grossed her out. The mere thought of a woman being lain by a beast. It seemed more than a little perverse in concept. Something a follower of Mephala might engage in.
Cura listened closely. "But you're a Half-Elf. Emperor Belharza looked past that?"
"Yes. Pope Megus thought it would emancipate them for the sin of burning my mother on a pyre." Varla snarled and spat on the ground as the bitter taste of deceit covered his tongue once again.
Cura paused for a second and recounted seeing the statue of the woman and the wolf. "Wait... Mary, the Healer... she..."
Varla stood up from his seat. "Was a victim of the Alessian Order and their hypocrisy. Abandoned by her goddess. Hmph. The Divines don't really do much for their followers at all, do they? It's no wonder they were branded a hersey."
Cura reached for her Amulet of Stendarr habitually, but quickly remembered that she'd given it to Rynkyus to give to her allies in Windhelm.
"I'm so sorry that happened to you." Cura expressed graciously. He was an absolute monster, true, but being raised to hate and kill would do that to someone. There really was no wonder why Molag Bal took an interest in the Alessian Order and those connected to it.
"Let me take a closer look at you." Varla ordered Cura with a gesture to remove her head covering. He had been trying to get a clearer picture of her this entire time, but her hood obscured most of her from him.
Cura nodded and graciously obliged, pulling down her hood. To Varla's surprise, she was just like him: a Half-Elf. He studied the pointed tips of her ears and the ridged brow she had, as well as her delicate features, more human in appearance from the eyes to the chin.
"You too are Half-Ayleid. I must admit, I am surprised. Well, you are lovely, I will give you that." the Manhunter admitted. His two hounds sat back down with a contented squeak, calm again.
"I'm not Half-Ayleid, I'm... Haf-Altmer." Cura corrected him. Ayleids were Altmer, but her mother hailed from the Summerset Isles, not the mainland.
"I suppose one turn deserves another." Varla took his helmet off then and there, revealing himself to be a man with jaundiced skin, pointed ears, and short, blonde hair. He had bright, blue eyes that bored into Cura. It was clear that he bore a closer resemblance to the Elves than to men. His face was rough, yet handsome, offset by the eyes filled with disgust and hatred for the world. Though, his face softened when he revealed himself to Cura. "I would guess that you have an inkling of an idea of what I've endured, existing on both sides, being considered by neither. Being used by both." Varla wondered, himself.
Cura nodded lightly. She often had been used for others' gains, but it wasn't entirely the same as what Varla had dealt with in his time, she would not doubt.
His face hardened again. "But it matters little to me whether or not you share similarities with me. You cannot be allowed to destroy the barrier tower." Varla protested. "They are the only thing currently protecting the heart of Coldharbour from Jyggalag's forces."
Cura narrowed her eyes. "Why would you want Coldharbour to continue? Surely you're unfulfilled in this Fort?"
Varla paced the floor before her and Sir Amiel took to her side. The silence was maddening.
Varla halted his pace and turned around to face Cura. "That sword on your hip... it's Dawnbreaker, isn't it? The blade of sunrise? The lady of light's very blade?" He focused on the artifact hung on her hip. He'd faced the Aurorans in battle many times in his missions. and tore them down cruelly and without mercy. The glow of their swords and spears were reminiscent of the Dawnbreaker.
Cura nodded and smiled. She drew the sword and held it horizontally. "It is. Lady Meridia granted it to me after I purged the necromancy from her Temple on Mount Kilkreath."
"My father was one of Meridia's Champions long ago." Varla explained. "He was a deranged madman who carried in his veins the Blood of Ada. He mantled Meridia and used the power granted to him to persecute and enslave humans."
Cura tilted her head. She pondered for a few moments. Something felt oddly familiar about his story. Where had she heard of such a person before? Any number of Ayleid warlords, she supposed.
"And once humans grew in power under that whore, Alessia, they rebelled and eventually turned on the Ayleids who assisted her against the empire." Varla walked over to one of the pillars and looked up. "Humans are no better than the Ayleids. Both sides are disgusting, vile. I am both. And so, I too must fall in these lines."
Cura rebuked him. "No - your race is not what defines you You are what defines you!"
Varla shook his head. "I am what I am. You are what you are. We are creatures of wickedness. The difference is that I have embraced it and you deny it." One of his hounds pranced up to him and he caressed its cheek. "The only good creatures in our world are dogs. Obedient, loyal, unwavering."
"Was your mother evil, too? A Healer of Mara does not sound like an evil person to me." Cura protested.
"Well, according to the Alessian Order, she spread the Thrassian Plague. She healed the people she inflicted to appear as a saint." Varla shrugged his shoulders. "You tell me, Mongrel."
"I don't know what happened for certain. That was before your time, and waaaay before my own." Cura answered honestly, shrugging off the insult. "All I know is that the Alessian Order transformed Tamriel into a theocratic hellscape. Everybody suffered under their reign. And how do you know they weren't responsible for the plague and just used her as a scapegoat? Ever thought about that?"
She was beginning to feel exhausted just thinking about it.
"It was the first thing I considered." Varla admitted. He seemed receptive to the idea. "If Emperor Belharza and the humans were willing to kill a child for no other reason than simply existing, they would be capable of anything."
"A child...?"
Varla gave Cura little room to react when he reached into his bag and tossed a small humanoid skull to her.
"Her name was Enola. My final Ayleid victim." Varla said coldly. "Unless you factor in Malada - but the people there actually put up a fight."
Cura gasped and the skull almost slipped through her hands. Visible sadness encroached her. The child's bones she'd seen downstairs on that altar; the Skull must have been from there. "You... you actually..."
He raised a hand to silence her outrage for room to explain. "The Emperor forced my hand. I'd refused at first, but it was that, or to be counted among the Ayleids. I knew it was wrong. How could I not? But it needed to be done. After all, 'What child of Man could fail to be in bliss if Nirn were Elven-free?'"
Cura stated into the hollow eye sockets of the skull and something strange happened: her mind was taken back through time.
She found herself standing beside a small Altmer girl wearing a pink dress of sorts, with short, wavy blonde hair. The little girl was weeping and terrified as she lay on her knees, bound behind her back, looking at her home, which had been razed to the ground.
A bearded man with a horned circlet in Emperor's blue and red robes with dark brown fur on the collar and the Amulet of Kings around his neck ordered men in red clothing to carry out executions on the captive Ayleids, young and old.
"Belharza." Cura spat with disdain as she needed no introduction to who the figure was. He was the son of St. Alessia, and yet everything he did undermined her name in the grand scheme of things.
Cura knew, even without knowing St. Alessia, that she would certainly not approve of this. What were they thinking? Were they even thinking at all?
The carnage was horrifying to behold, even for Cura. The streets were filled with running blood and trees dripping with the gore of the hanged Elves whose intestines were gnawed by the dogs.
Near a blood-covered stone, a Giant knight in black and gold dragon-emblazoned armour muttered to himself. "There were only women, children, and priests who never even lifted a sword... this shouldn't be called a battle."
He turned to Varla, who walked past him in that moment. "Varla, my friend. What was the purpose of this battle? I don't understand what the little people think anymore."
His question was met with silence as the figure moved past him to reach the Emperor and his small host of Legionnaires.
The children wailed as their parents were struck down under a light rainfall, and they joined them soon enough.
Varla, in his bloodstained silver armour, walked through the pools of gore to the Emperor and tossed a chain of tied Ayleid heads to the ground near his feet. He was followed by five hounds, each engorged with blood and meat, chewing on bones. "New decorations for the fences." he sneered.
"Well done on taking Mackamentain. We are one step closer to Malada now." Belharza praised his follower.
"It was an honour, your majesty." Varla leaned forward, with a hand crossing his chest.
"Don't be so formal, Varla. We may not be related by blood, but you are like a son to me. You can ease up." Belharza expressed with a great fondness in his eyes.
"Meridia's Aurorans showed up again." Varla informed him.
"That Goddess is a sore loser. Umaril's defeat must have frustrated her. Why else would she help the doomed Ayleid?" he stroked his scraggled beard. "These Ayleids... such an uproar because of one temple. If they only surrendered it, they wouldn't have had to die." the Emperor scoffed with condescension. "Fools, all of them. Perhaps we need to hasten the enforcement of the Alessian Doctrines. I will talk to Borgas about this."
The Knight shifted with his hands behind his back and cleared his throat. "Why are you so insistent on taking Malada?"
"The Alessian Order wants to use it as a temple. They say that if we pray there, they will find out where Shezzar is." Belharza explained plainly. "If we can't find Shezzar that way, then we should take Malada anyway, don't you think so? It's all for the good of the Empire."
Varla stiffened up, but nodded in agreement. A reluctant nod, but a nod just the same. Something in his demeanour changed, however.
Cura felt nauseous at the sight of it all. She tried to comfort the traumatized little girl who was sobbing, but her hands merely went through her, like a spectre.
Varla heard the child crying and his attention was immediately brought to her. His helmeted face turned to her, and the Emperor's as well. "What should we do with the survivor?"
"No." Cura protested, quickly standing unseen between Varla, Belharza and the little girl. "No. Don't you dare!"
Belharza's pride immediately flipped on its head to reveal an apathetic snarl of disgust and he scolded him like a failing student. "Varla, I ordered all Ayleids killed, no matter whether man, woman, or child. As a knight of the Empire, you must overcome your compassion." He stepped closer to his Knight. "Why are you hesitating to kill one or two more of these filthy Ayleids? Strike her down, now."
"The blood of the Ayleids flows in my veins, too." Varla spoke with condemnation.
Belharza was stunned; shocked by the news. He took a few steps back. "Wait... you know about this? Ah, I should have known. Have you been listening to that strange Bard?"
Cura wondered what he was going on about: anyone could see that Varla was a Half-Elf. All he needed was a mirror to know the truth.
"However, the Ayleids abandoned you. They threw you into Lake Rumare as a newborn. If the Imga prophet hadn't found you, you would have been food for the fish. And you would still choose the blood of the Ayleid over us?" Belharza tried to win his mind back.
Varla looked at his father figure and then at the little girl. "It will be done, your majesty." He hardened his heart and approached the girl quickly with blade in hand.
"NOOO!" Cura cried out in attempt to stop the madness before being pulled out of the vision.
She stood there, holding the skull in her hands. A sob escaped her. At this point, she should be numb to such a spectacle, but it was blasphemous; inhuman. As she focused on the skull, she only found herself muttering. "How awful..."
"Humans... Elves... they are all twisted... cruel. Senseless. None of them deserve any mercy!" Varla spat.
That did it. Something began to burn inside of the Vigilant. Cura nearly leapt forward, unable to hold herself back. She snapped at the twisted Knight, baring her fangs at last. "Mercy is not something people deserve! It's something they NEED!"
The room fell silent around them as her words hung over it. Varla stared at her blankly; no longer angered, just bewildered.
Sir Amiel placed a hand on the hilt of his sword, readying himself in case a fight should begin.
Cura caught her heaving breath and regained her composure. "Varla - Lord Varla - how different would your life have been had the Alessian Order showed a little mercy?"
The Manhunter was stumped by her question, as he could not truly envision it himself. "Perhaps I would have been raised by a Healer in some shack in the woods rather than a large, luxurious castle." He laughed about it as if it were a joke.
"I can tell you from experience that being raised by Healers in some shack near the woods is not a bad thing." Cura smiled as she recalled the past as she placed Enola's skull onto a nearby pillar's stand. She was not keen on carrying that around, in truth.
Varla turned to his hounds and extended a hand flatly towards them as he issued his command. "Maril. Umar. Stay here." He began to walk towards the door and beckoned Cura to follow him.
They descended the stairs and Varla led them towards the cell with the large knight that they'd moved past earlier. With a single look from Varla, the knight moved out of the way, allowing the group to approach the cell.
"Belharza's Dragonblood Knights obey my command, as well." Varla explained. "For, who else is there to give them orders?" He gestured towards the cell, ushering Cura forward.
When Cura looked inside the cell, a rotted corpse wrapped in a linen pouch was sprawled along the floor shouting like a disjointed madman, with a rusted crown atop his decrepit scalp. His face barely had any flesh clinging to it and much of it was skeletal.
"There he is. Belharza. The Emperor who raised me as his greatest killer." Varla gestured towards the madman.
When the zombie saw Cura, he began to yell at her, barely lucid. "Who's a child of a minotaur? Who's a half-bull? Who told you such nonsense? Are you saying Alessia spread her legs for a beast? What a vulgar image! Don't be a moron! Huhuhu!"
Cura was a little concerned, based on his mental state. More for him than anyone else. "Calm down, please."
His eyes moved past Cura and darted at Varla. "Silence, Varla! Don't let your success at Malada go to your head! You, an Ayleid orphan raised to knighthood by none other than I. Belharza!"
"You did nothing good for me." Varla responded coldly. "Your love was never unconditional. All you ever did was manipulate the people around you; I was no exception. You saw me as nothing more than an object to be used against the Ayleids. A cruel jest."
"I want the heart of Shezzar! Bring me the heart of Shezzar! The heart of Shezzar!" the deliriously demented aged monarch barked orders from the ground. "I told you we need to kill this abominable Auri-El! Bring me the heart, quickly!"
"Wait... the heart of Shezzar?" Cura inquired, having heard about it before, but under the name of Lorkhan. So, this confirmed that Lorkhan, Shor, Sheor and Shezzar are one and the same, after all.
"Shezzar is the agent of the One True God. He's the leader of the weak, spreading the might of the True God in every corner of Mundus." he turned to Varla again, his hollow eyes piercing into him. "Varla, did you forget? You should know this like a lullaby by now! Is your Ayleid blood making you forget?"
Cura turned to look at Varla, who was lowering his head with disappointment. "He doesn't seem to see me." she surmised.
"Do you really believe what that Bard said? Don't worry - you are a child of Shezzar. The abominable Auri-El has abandoned you, but I, Belharza, will never forsake you!" there came the honeyed words. And then the bargaining followed. "So, please, come to your senses. Be that bold man you used to be and get back to cutting off Ayleid heads!"
"That's enough out of you." Cura admonished the vapid wretch.
"Hungry... I am so hungry..." the shell of an Emperor whined as he crawled along the ground like a caterpillar.
Varla grunted. "Do whatever you want with him. Kill him, for all I care."
Cura looked at the pitiful creature before her. He'd suffered like this for millennia, she supposed. Perhaps it would be a good idea to grant him Stendarr's mercy. "Hm." she gave it some more thought.
"Do you intend to kill this man?" Sir Amiel asked. "Though, I suppose it would be a kindness in this place."
Cura looked at Varla. "He was your father figure... your mentor. You would cast him into the flames just like that?" Where she came from, family, mentors, allies, and friends were worth fighting for; not throwing to the wolves.
"I can't bring myself to put him out of his misery." Varla confessed. "I could countless others, but not him. I suppose I do hold some vestige of care towards him. You like to preach about mercy so much, so you show it to him."
Cura decided to oblige. But if she would decide the wicked old Emperor's fate, she would choose something poetic. From her back she drew Auriel's Bow. "I will grant some justice for the God whom you'd blasphemed your entire life. The God who your friends in the Alessian Order tore asunder." She nocked an Ebony Arrow onto the bow and lowered it towards the decrepit old man. She pulled back the Bowstring and paused for a moment to focus.
She silenced the preemptive feeling of guilt for the dishonourable act of killing one who could not fight back by thinking about Enola; the little girl who he'd condemned, who could not fight back, herself. And the women, priests and infirm of the Ayleid cultures.
Fighting fire with fire only burns a forest.
And here she was, stepping into the flames.
Cura loosed the arrow, plunging it directly into Belharza's forehead, and with a burst of divine light, his body was incinerated to dust. He hadn't even had a moment to process what happened.
His suffering was at an end, and the people who suffered because of him were at last avenged. Or, perhaps emancipated.
A pair of horn pieces fell near Cura's feet and she picked them up to examine them more closely. Horns? Why would he have horns? Perhaps he was part-Minotaur after all? She pocketed them as a trophy of sorts to show Lucien when she eventually finds her way home. Surely he would be interested in seeing the Horns of Belharza.
There was something else in the ashes as well; a phylactery containing other ashes. "Hmm?" She bent down and picked it up.
"Ashes of St. Sard." Varla stated as he saw them. "He gathered them, believing that they would make him immortal, as St. Sard herself was said to be. Immortality matters not to the dead."
Cura faced him again and pocketed the ashes. "What are you going to do now, Varla?"
"I am going to return to my throne room." the cold Knight proclaimed as he began his walk.
Cura hurried to catch up to him and walked beside him. "So, can I head to the East?"
"Only if you do something for me first." Varla conditioned. "I want you to go into the sewers northwest of here, and I want you to stop the Thrassian Plague. It's found its way here. I do not desire to be infected with it in eternity. I suppose you could understand."
Cura agreed. "Fine. I suppose I'll live up to my name, then."
"What is your name?" Varla asked her at last.
"Cura."
After a moment of pause, Varla continued to walk. "Well, then, Cura. Return when the deed is done and I will open the portcullis to you."
"It's a deal." Cura agreed. They went their separate ways; Varla headed up the stairs towards his throne room and Cura approached the nearby lift with Sir Amiel and pulled the lever.
As the lift descended, the knight spoke up. "That went better than I was expecting, to tell you the truth. But tell me, Dragonborn; why have you shown such courtesy to that madman?"
"Because it's easy for me to judge him when I've come from an era where laws and civilization have been established." Cura admitted. "Don't get me wrong; I find what he did to be utterly repulsive, and what the Alessians did to be nothing but barbaric. Though... that was the world back then. There was no innocence in the First Era. But I wonder if I would have turned out similarly myself, had I been born in that era."
Sir Amiel understood what she was saying. Even in his era, things were tough, and people violent. Varla's time was much before his own, the end of the Mythic Era. A wild time it was for the untamed Tamriel. The lands were cruel, but the hearts crueller.
When they reached the outside, Cura had taken a moment to meditate outside of the dark, dry walls of Fort Welkynd, seeking peace after the disgust she'd walked into.
Soon enough, she found herself in a sort of trance. Sitting upon a large stone, she found herself enshrouded in darkness, though a source of light began to slowly manifest in the distance. She abruptly stood and approached the light, uncertain as to what she could make of it, but its familiar warmth touched her soul.
The Vigilant knelt before the light with reverence. It was a great relief to see it after all that's transpired in Coldharbour. "It's great to see you again, Lady Meridia."
From the light manifested the Daedric Prince of Light herself, donning her luminous blue hooded robes with blonde hair riding down her shoulders. Her angelic white wings framed her sides as they rested in place. She reached a gentle hand forward and touched Cura's chin, and raised her face upwards to look at her. "You really know how to make an entrance! But forcing your way into the Prince of Murder's realm … that takes exceptional bravery. Or is it unprecedented stupidity? No matter. Clearly, you came here for a purpose."
The words bit into her like the jaws of a bear, but Cura was compelled to agree: exchanging eternity in the Deadlands for eternity in Coldharbour did really seem a stupid move. "I have, my lady..." Meridia has never let her down in the past, so Cura would be transparent with her. "I've come seeking the Chim-El Adabal, and to reclaim my Dragon Soul. And to deliver justice to the Prince of Murder."
Meridia closed her eyes and calmly drew her hand back. "I know. You are taking a great risk being here, Champion. Your wounds... they will only grow with time. Your status as a Vigilant of Stendarr shall leave you vulnerable here. Your patron cannot aid you now." When she'd said 'wounds', she really referred to the emotional scars beyond anything else. She could sense Cura's unease upon exiting the Fort, and her sorrow.
Cura conceded. "I know. I have been growing fearful of as much. I will not deny it. But seeing you here renews my hope, Lady Meridia." Cura unsheathed Dawnbreaker and held it horizontally in both hands. "I thank you again for this wonderful blade you have bestowed upon me. It's saved me through many dangerous quarrels."
Meridia touched the flat of the blade and ran her finger across it. She was touched by Cura's humility, and pleased by the recognition. "And I have another gift to bestow upon you, Champion. A gift that shall teach the fiends of this realm to fear you - for they shall know to whom you belong." She held her hands at short distance apart in front of her chest and a ball of golden energy began to form between her palms. "The light of Meridia cleanses and purifies. There is nothing to fear from its brilliant embrace."
Cura was confused, but awestruck at the magnificent brilliance of Meridia's power. The light was bright as the sun itself, and yet did not harm Cura's eyes to stare at. The light began to throw off hues of green and blue as well, and snaked over to Cura herself. She became enveloped in the beautiful rays of energy and the gleaming power outlined her form.
Under white light, her dismal, blood-soaked, burnt and ragged Apprentice Robes were wiped away from her, replaced with white robes lined with gold trimming, styled almost identically. Her brown leather hood transformed into a white hood, and a golden steel faceguard lined her face, protecting her cheeks, eyes, and her forehead beneath the hood. Her leather surcape became white as snow, and her SpellKnight Armour turned a beautiful auroran gold. Scaled pauldrons of gold manifested upon her shoulders, bearing the starlight insignia of Meridia. Her steel plate boots and gauntlets changed to golden plated gauntlets, and a white and gold belt sashed itself around her waist, with it a new sheath for Dawnbreaker.
When the transformation came to an end, Cura stood there before the Daedric Prince, humbled and pleasantly surprised by her new attire. "Wow... it's beautiful! Thank you so much!"
"An armour befitting Meridia's Champion." the Prince proclaimed, accompanied by an explanation. "This armour will not just guard your form; it will grant you a perfect protection against disease, and the ability to breathe underwater. My power will reinforce your Healing and Destruction spells, and the darkness will flee before you."
"It's more beautiful than I deserve, my lady." Cura looked down at the flawless garments.
Meridia gave a lighthearted laugh in response. "Nonsense! I will not allow my Champion to wander the wastes of Coldharbour looking like she belongs in it. Farewell, Champion. When you defeat Stone-Fire, do give him Meridia's regards." The light began to dim, and Cura was brought back to the wastes.
Sir Amiel was joined by Mirabelle and Savos Aren, who looked at the new armour with a sudden surprise. Cura herself examined it, looking herself up and down and looking over her shoulders to see it from behind.
"You've gained new armour. Fascinating! It radiates a powerful energy." Savos Aren commented as he observed it.
"The power reminds me vaguely of the Eye of Magnus," Mirabelle added to the observation. "just how did you acquire it? And did you speak to Varla?"
Cura cleared her throat. "This armour was a gift from Meridia to help me through Coldharbour. Yes, I spoke to Varla - it's a long story - but I need to get to the sewers and clear the source of the plague from there. Then he'll open the portcullis for me and allow entry to the eastern corners."
It was an odd explanation, but a sensible one where sudden armours were concerned.
"Well. That worked out, I suppose." Savos shrugged. "It was your original plan to investigate there and find a way directly into the Imperial city, after all."
"The city can wait for a bit." Cura proclaimed. "I think there's more to Coldharbour that I need to unravel. And it starts in the east."
Mirabelle nodded. "Perhaps you're right. There does seem to be a great deal of history to be learned here, and it is certainly rich with examples of how not to live one's life."
The group departed the fort entrance and continued down the road, and came upon the statue of Mary and the wolf again. Cura looked at the statue's face, and noticed that she was blindfolded, fascinatingly enough. With an acknowledging nod, Cura bypassed the statue standing in the shadow of Fort Welkynd and continued her journey westward to the plagued waters.