Ulfric Stormcloak emerged from beyond the walls of the Palace of Kings and walked firmly over the stone roads, joined by Galmar, Ralof, Thorald and Avulstein Gray-Mane. He was fitted in an Ancient Nordic Armour and bore an enchanted war axe on his waist and a sturdy Ancient Nordic Shield fastened around his left arm. He wore a Helm reminiscent of the one worn by Talos in all of his statues, hoping for the Divine's favour. He wore the blue cloak bearing his Coat-of-Arms: the roaring Bear. He looked a gallant figure; a giant in man's stature; a warrior in the dim light of day, with the light of the sun glistening off his armour.
He looked at the army among the city: his loyal followers - the true sons and daughters of Skyrim, clad entirely in blue - crying for the injustice done to their homeland, desiring vengeance and his guidance. Desiring a safe future for their families and standing beside their friends, ready for war. Ready for the sweet taste of victory, or their bitter reunion in Sovngarde.
Ulfric's mind wandered to Cura, who was lost to him, and anger welled up in his chest. When he stood before his brigade, he spoke loudly and clearly. "Friends, brothers, sisters. Our city; no; our province is under siege, as you are well aware. But this is no ordinary threat - this is not the machinations of the Empire, nor the Thalmor - but something much, much worse."
The murmurs began amongst his troops. They were uncertain and afraid by the sounds of it, though Ulfric knew they would stand. They were Nords. It was their way.
Ulfric continued with a shaking head. He wanted to appear unfazed. "No - this is the work of the Daedra! We need Talos more than ever now. We will pray to him with action! With meaning! We will let this Daedric scum know that we Nords are not pushovers! That we are a mighty and fearsome people! And that this is our land; not theirs! We will remind them of the lesson they'd forgotten; the lesson our fathers two-hundred years ago taught them!"
He'd failed his people once, long ago. A guilty stain on his robes that he would never be able to scrub clean. Under Thalmor inquiry he was interrogated viciously into granting them information that was used to gain the upper hand on his people. He wondered how, just how, the people could see him as a beacon of hope; see him as a figure of strength and security.
He knew one thing above all: he had no intention of yielding. He would draw his warrior's spirit. He was determined. Skyrim was his home, and he would not see it fall to the likes of the Thalmor - or the Daedra.
"With the power of Mighty Talos Stormcrown - Ysmir the Dragon of the North - we will crush them underneath our boots!" Ulfric thrust his arm into the air. "FOR SKYRIM!"
"FOR SKYRIM!" everybody chanted in kind.
The soldiers began to pour out of the city gate and took to the great bridge, ready to stand guard.
The Jarl breathed a plume of warm air from his throat as he tried to remain focused on what was most important: protecting his people.
In times of peace and petty skirmish, Lords, Counts and Jarls tended to forget their primary function. They were not simply rulers, but protectors and dispensers of justice. Propagators of order.
The sentiment evoked thoughts of Stendarr, and, by extension, Cura.
His Cura, who perished so this horror could transpire.
A lone tear ran down from his right eye. Galmar saw this, but said nothing, for there was nothing to be said for it. He understood it all too well.
They would stand behind and wait. Wait for the invaders to come.
Rynkyus and the Bladebearers had some difficulty explaining their presence to the Nords, but Jarl Ulfric granted them clearance through Ralof, understanding that it was Cura who sent them.
"We too wish to defy Mehrunes Dagon. He would push us into subservience, but we wish only to be free as we always have." Lyranth explained.
Rynkyus backed the sentiment. "There is no choice for us but to fight the Daedric Prince. You will find that your chances of survival are much higher with us by your side."
"We'll never fully trust you horned bastards, but..." Thorald mused, scratching his beard. "...maybe you would be useful in beating the others back."
The Bladebearers took no offense to the petty insults of this prettier mortal. They had a common enemy in the form of the Dremora Legion and Mehrunes Dagon. That was enough to justify them lending their aid.
The Bladebearers fear no foe. They walked through the sea of blue and reached the end of the great bridge. They would be the first line of defense.
Elenwen paced the floor in her office, filled to bursting with anxious frustration, immense sorrow and tormentous fury. Any second now she would receive the fruits of the torments she'd inflicted upon members of the Mythic Dawn that they'd weeded out of a hideout in the mountains South of Whiterun. She'd participated in a fraction of their torture herself, but her lust for vengeance was not satisfied.
Could it ever be?
She paced the floor and bit her lower lip. A grunt of annoyance seeped through as she turned on her heel, coming face-to-face with Rulindil, who just came down the hall and made it to the entrance of her office. "What is it? What did they say?"
Rulindil looked a tad uncertain, but the nervousness on his face was unmistakable. "There are more of them out there, ma'am. They lurk in the cities."
"Yes. I know that already. And?"
"They intend to defile the Shrines to the Gods." Rulindil stated.
Elenwen was uncertain if she'd heard correctly. "Defile the Shrines of the Gods?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Auri-El, Magnus, Trinimac, Jephre, Xarxes, Mara, Stendarr, and Syrabane?"
Rulindil tapped his fingers on her desk and looked at her as if she were an alien. "The Nord Gods. Not ours."
Elenwen nodded as the realization set in. "Ah. Akatosh, Mara, Julianos, Stendarr, Arkay, Dibella, Zenithar, Kynareth and-" She shook it off. "-nevermind. What does this have to do with anything? I suppose the only offense we can find is in the desecration of Stendarr and Mara."
They knew the locations of most of the shrines, having kept an especially tight surveillance over the shrines of Talos spread sporadically throughout the wilderness over the years.
Elenwen had become acquainted with the Divines as she'd studied the culture of the Nords in her spare time.
Especially Stendarr.
Traditionally, Elenwen and most of her ilk had never much cared for that particular Divine: the apologist of men, as he was known. If there was anything that made a proud Altmer roll their eyes backwards, it was the assertion that men were deserving of kindness - of charity - of equality. To most Altmer, the very thought was asinine.
Elenwen was such an Altmer, until she'd met Ulfric all those years ago. She remembered how silent he was when he was dragged past her into the holding cell; rushed past her by wounded Thalmor Wizards, who violently threw him inside and stashed the key away.
Ulfric lay there, hands bound behind his back, weak, and beaten within an inch of his life.
She looked around to see if there were others around before approaching the door and looking within through the iron bars. Underneath the flickering torchlight she could see his resolve.
Beaten, bloodied, and nearly dead, but he stood up. With shaking knees he grabbed the stones on the wall and pulled himself up to sit on the bench nearby in defiance of his own body. If he was going to die, it would not be on the stone floor. He would die sitting upright, or standing up. His pride would not allow it. Death could claim him when it earned the right to do so.
Elenwen felt something then that she'd never felt for a human before: respect. Admiration. In her experience, most would have spent the hours weeping to themselves, cursing up a storm, or lamenting their fate, but not Ulfric. He stared her right in the face from the wall across, seeing her vaguely through the bars. He refused to show his pain, even as blood coursed down his cheeks and forehead.
He had the picturesque image of a suffering god in that moment. Under the dim light, his flesh glistened crimson, but his all was glowing in a faint light.
He stiffened. He would not allow her the privilege to know that he was harmed, despite its visibility in the various bleeding wounds all over his body, and the shredded tunic he was wearing. His bruises were black and blue and cuts deep and oozing.
Not a flinch.
Elenwen made certain that they were alone when she reached into her satchel. She took out a Healing Potion and angled it diagonally to try and slip it between the bars. With a persistent push, she slid it through and the bottle fell to the floor with a 'clink!' It rolled a few feet before settling in the corner near the door.
Ulfric watched as it landed and painfully pulled himself upwards, and hobbled over to it. As he did, Elenwen pulled away from the door, and hid with her back flat against the wall beside it and listened for the sound of him picking up the bottle.
A moment of silence.
"Thank you..." Ulfric whispered, his voice trembled as the strain tugged him; pulling him to the earth against his will.
A faint gasp came from the First Emissary. The last thing she needed was for her coworkers to hear that.
She stood there, silent, and listened in on his cell. She heard him drink the potion and exhale afterwards. She wondered to herself, what possessed her to do that? Why did she give a Health Potion to this Nord?
It was her duty to oversee the tortures - not aid the prisoners. She would do well to keep her mind focused on what mattered - breaking the spirit of Skyrim.
And then she had Cura.
Back to the present came her thoughts.
Poor, sweet Cura. It pained her how little time she'd spent with her. How little regard she'd shown her. How she'd given her away for the fear of the reactions of her own colleagues.
These days, she'd caught herself considering Stendarr more than ever before. Cura was a devout follower of his.
How merciful was Stendarr in Cura's final moments? Did she suffer greatly? Did she feel anguish?
No matter; whatever she felt was nothing next to what Elenwen had and will inflict upon her tormentors.
They would suffer sevenfold what Cura endured before tasting the bitter mercy of death's black claws.
"They want to desecrate the shrines to diminish their power, so that more portals to Oblivion could be opened." Rulindil explained the dreadful logic behind their schemes.
The Ambassador flinched out of her dark fantasies as the implication settled in. "Naturally, Rulindil. What other purpose would they have for attacking the Gods? The Mythic Dawn has declared war on all of us - not just Skyrim. This frozen wasteland is only their bridgepoint. From here the Daedra plan to spread out to all of the Empire, and naturally they will make their way to the Summerset Isles and besiege Alinor, as well. It's only a matter of time."
Rulindil laughed. "Hmph. How much of this could have been avoided if the Dragonborn were raised by us instead?"
He knew what she'd done. He knew why she did it. This hypothesis was unnecessary.
"None of it, you fool. Don't you understand? They already had the means to end her in the most vile of ways. Whether she was killed in our ranks or the Vigilants would have changed nothing!" the sorceress spun around and walked to the door. "Have the prisoners anything else to say?"
"No, ma'am. We've extracted all we could from them. We've found the locations of their next targets." Rulindil answered honestly.
"Then you have your orders." Elenwen walked down the hallway and headed through the Solar and down to the interrogation chamber. She drew her Elven Dagger.
What happened next horrified even her own men.
They watched as their First Emissary made herself the last, and most brutal tormentor the Mythic Dawn captives would ever face. By the time that evening was over she cast them into Oblivion in severed pieces.
Inigo sat on a broken ledge as he oversaw the refugees underground. She was gone now, but his heart went out to Lamae.
It continued to torment him. How much of it was real?
"What's doing, kitty cat?" came the inquisitive Serana, tapping him on the arm and seating herself beside him.
"Oh... nothing much, Serana. I am a wet match in a dark cave at the moment." Inigo confessed.
The Vampiress sighed. "I know. It's not the best situation, but we're doing our best. That's got to count for something, right?" she sighed and massaged her forehead to soothe herself. "We're here, and Cura is in Coldharbour. Coldharbour. I'm terrified for her, Inigo."
"I am too. It is not an ideal situation."
"You don't understand. Coldharbour! My father is there. His court... they're all there. She's in grave danger!" Serana shuddered.
Inigo looked away. "No. Cura will endure! I believe in her! She has beaten the odds many times before!"
Serana watched the flood of people entering the large, cramped city space below. "Sigh... I know. But... she was Dragonborn before. Now... I'm not so sure. Gods... the thought of it is making me sick."
The blue Khajiit agreed with a solemn nod as he hopelessly looked to the cavernous roof above and watched water drip from the stalactites as he heard the groans and complaints of the citizens of Windhelm.
"You think this is bad? It's a lovelier sight than the Deadlands, at least." Sunel laughed at the whining Suvaris Atherton as he walked alongside the Dunmer. The other Dunmer of Wretched Spire walked with them as well, lead by Tarvyn the former mayor's son.
Stighelm stared morosely at the city around them. "This... is was Windhelm. W-when I... I was... was a lad." He recognized the ruins that surrounded them and began to hyperventilate. He collapsed to the floor as the realization that his world was long gone set in. The Nord began to weep on the stones of his former home, but was comforted by Ninette Gestor and Decanus, who helped him stand back up on his feet.
"Ain't no use cryin' about it now. This city's long gone." Ninette tried to console him.
"When I left for Morrowind... that was the last I saw of 'em. My mother, father, sister, brother. I thought I'd be home in a year, but..." Stighelm suffered the more thought he put into it.
"They're with the Divines. I'm sure they'll be relieved to know you walk amongst the living once more, freed of the Deadlands." Decanus gently tapped his shoulder.
Delphine and Esbern looked to Faltonia Rato, Elda Early-Dawn and Filnjar. "You three. Set up shelter stations in different areas. We've got to manage things better."
"Great. I've always wanted to break my back discarding stones." Faltonia rolled her eyes.
"The Imperial has a point." Elda conceded. "There's way too much wreckage for the three of us to clear alone."
Filnjar agreed. "I'll find the other miners. If anyone can clear some rocks, it'd be them."
Delphine agreed. "My Blades will guard the Palace above ground. Maybe the miners of Kynesgrove can help you, too."
Faltonia suggested next. "Some of those louts from the Spire could stand to work a day out here." she quickly set off to find her people in the crowd, when she nearly bumped into Brunwulf Free-Winter.
"Sorry, ma'am." the large Nord excused as he tried to get around the crowd and clutter blocking them.
"You look strong. Care to lend a hand with clearing some rocks so we can set up sleeping stations?" Faltonia asked him as she swept a Blood Scion's corpse out of her way with her foot.
Brunwulf nodded. "Was just about to volunteer for that, actually." he gestured towards Captain Lonely-Gale, Rolff Stone-Fist and Angrenor Once-Honoured behind him.
Angrenor was mumbling to the others as he came around. "Ever since that Imperial craven ran me through from behind, I've had trouble breathing. Don't have any trouble drinking though."
"Look, I guess you're a bit surprised to see me here." Rolff confessed. "But I guess we're all sharing this area; Nord and Grayskin an' Imperial alike. Sooner we clear the trash, sooner we can divide the spaces up so you can all have your own spaces down here."
"Our 'own' spaces?" Faltonia did not like the way he said that. And the word 'Grayskin' left a bitter taste in her mouth.
Viola Giordano stood nearby with Silda the Unseen, and both were disgusted hearing the conversation. Yet, both quite intrigued to see where it was going to go just the same.
"Yeah. We Nords'll have the wide area in the back an' the rest of all of you can have the areas near the entrance." Rolff suggested as he began to plan it out in his head. There was a wider area further back, east of the location where the Asylum was, and he figured it would be a safer spot. Though non would say it, all thought he would do much better in the Asylum, personally.
Faltonia sulked with disdain. Of course the bigot would want the non-Nords to dwell near the entrance to be the first slaughtered in the event of an attack. She'd dealt with Orcs, a Werewolf and Daedra of all kinds, and yet Rolff may be the one to turn her stomach. "Oh, how generous of you. I'll keep that in mind next time you ask for an Ale."
Brunwulf Free-Winter shook his head and gently touched the Innkeeper's forearm. "He's one of those narrow-minded morons. Don't pay him any mind. We don't have to divide anything."
Faltonia glared at him for a few moments, and calmed herself down as she'd gotten lost in his brown eyes. "Yes... yes, fine. I just hope he can stop blaming Decanus and myself for what the 'current' Imperials are doing. I'm not even sure, to be frank."
Rolff laughed hastily. "Dumb Imperial bitch. Go read a History Book, or somethin'. Skyrim belongs to the Nords! We should decide where everyone goes, whenever we want! Be happy I ain't got the time to lecture you."
"But you sure have time to shoot your damned mouth off." Captain Lonely-Gale was growing tired of his nonsense, as well. He pushed Rolff forward and the bigot flinched his arm in response. He reluctantly moved ahead.
"Time and a place, friend. Time and a place." Angrenor told him as he followed.
Brunwolf shook his head. "I'm sorry 'bout that. Not all of us think like he does, I promise you that." he attempted to reassure the frazzled Innkeeper.
"I'll tell you, the Daedra were less pigheaded than him." The Imperial woman scoffed and walked around them to continue her search for more recruits. Immediately, she saw Lucien talking to Vilja and Lilian, who were resting with others at the entrance area of the wrecked ancient city.
"You. You're a Battlemage, aren't you?" Faltonia demanded.
"Er, well... sort of? I'm more of a wizard, honestly." Lucien awkwardly confessed.
"You'll do. Get with the party and help us clear some stones." the Imperial woman yanked him by the back of his collar and pulled him along forcefully.
"Whoa! Hey!" Lucien cried out in surprised protest. Vilja giggled with her hand over her mouth at the display.
One of the Orcs from Wretched Spire scoffed to one of her friends as she passed by them. "I wasn't expecting to end up here when we'd heard of a possible home in Skyrim, if I'm to tell you the truth."
Lilian lay against Vilja's lap, exhausted from lack of sleep and much travelling over the last few days. The friendly bard caressed the girl's hair. She was seated on some of the rubble near the city entrance. Sophie sat nearby, as well as some of the Argonian children from the docks and Aventus Aretino, the troubled child who had been locked in his house doing suspicious endeavours. Vilja was watching over them for the meantime as everybody got to work clearing the rubble further in.
"Where's mommy? I want to see her..." Lilian muttered lowly, droning as she tried to rest. It wasn't easy for the girl, with the pain of losing her father and her near-death experience in the Witch's Pond having been such a short time ago.
"Lilian, your mommy is helping brew potions for the soldiers. It's... it's going to be a big battle up there." Vilja told her. Her shaking voice betrayed her feelings of anxiety. In truth, she was frightened, herself, though she tried to keep a confident composure for the children. She'd never seen an onslaught of Daedra before, though she'd heard stories on Solstheim about the Oblivion Crisis. It was a week and a couple of days since Cura had perished, and things have rapidly begun to change. They couldn't quite keep track of it all.
She came to Skyrim for help regarding her Magic Bottle. How was she to know this was what was going to happen?
"Ugh... it really is grungy down here. I don't like it. Not one bit." Vilja spat.
One of the Argonian children, Swims-under-Rocks, raised his hand. "Vilja, can you tell us one of your fun stories?"
Vilja considered it. She tapped her chin. "Sure! Hmm..." she began to consider one worth telling to cheer them up. "All right - I guess I could tell you the story of how i got my Horse, Bruse."
Elda Early-Dawn hurried along and gathered Nils and a few of the Dunmer to help with the stone-clearance. She found herself collapsing to the ground with sheer exhaustion, but Suvaris Atheron and Tarvyn rushed to her aid.
"Miss, take a moment to rest. You need it." Tarvyn helped her to a flat stone so she could sit. Elda stared at the two Dark Elves, unsure how to react, herself. She simply nodded and wiped the sweat off her brow.
"Here; some Flin always helps with tiredness, I find. Drink up." Suvaris reached into her bag and handed her a drink.
"Thank you... you're very kind." Elda expressed her surprise and gratitude as she accepted the alcoholic beverage.
"Don't mention it." the Dark Elf watched as people cleared the corpses of Blood Scions. "Gods. Who would have expected this to be underneath our city?"
"Aye. It's terrible." Elda agreed as she took a liberal sip. "Thank the gods none of 'em came out of the Dungeons. Then our city'd really have somethin' to worry about."
Members of the Blades were scattered around, helping in the corpse-clearing effort, tossing the corpses into the fire. Even though Mjoll had told them what it was like, her descriptions did not do it justice. It was truly disgusting.
Sylgja was aside with Darkeethus and her mother Annekke - the two Blades who sat on the sidelines in recovery. "I'm going to help Filnjar clear the rocks. If you need anything, ma, just holler."
"I'll be fine, love. Just watch yourself - don't get hurt." Annekke requested as she took her leave.
Darkeethus groaned as the pain settled back in, expressing great discomfort.
"Hanging in there, Darkeethus?" Annekke asked with concern.
Darkeethus groaned. "Do I have a choice? Oog."
Dust and embers from the bonfires floated in the air nearby, prompting Annekke to turn her face away. "No. I suppose not. Well, at least we're alive to see everyone working together. I thank the Divines every minute I see her." she looked over to Sylgja, who was slowly growing smaller the further into the darkness she walked. "And now I pray she'll be all right. That's what being a parent is, you know? We worry. Constantly."
Darkeethus grunted. "Maybe I'll experience it too, one day. I hope."
"Aye. I understand."
Her words hung in the air over them. They turned to look at the bonfire and embraced the warmth of it. It was comforting, the sight of the dancing flames and falling sparks. It was a soft distraction from the madness of the world.
Inigo continued to watch over everyone with Serana by his side, perched like a couple of Gargoyles. "Soon we will go upstairs. I hate Windhelm, but I do not want to see it collapse." He'd faced many adversarial challenges in this one particular city, but he did not blame most of its inhabitants. Most of them seemed to be normal people, as many others. Though the extremists were by far the worst. And the witch that had Mr. Dragonfly and him captured, and her sons, but they were long, long dead now.
The worst memory Inigo had recently was Rolff Stone-Fist, the one man who would survive a Zombie Apocalypse simply due to a lack of interest on the part of the undead.
Serana agreed. "It would have been Cura's city had Ulfric died, right? Gods... I still can't believe it. That he's her father, I mean. I suppose she and I had more in common than I thought."
Inigo shifted in his seat. "It is crazy how much we never really know about others. But this is why I try to focus on the good aspects of a person; we are what define ourselves. Not our family, not even our friends - though they can show traits about our personalities."
"What do you consider a friend to be, Inigo?" Serana asked, her thirst for philosophy piqued.
"Cura. You. Lucien. Vilja." Inigo put it simply. "A friend is one who will stand by your side, even in the face of a roaring Dragon. A friend may judge you, or may look up to you, or even spend less time with you, but if they are not willing to side with you when it counts, then they were never your friend."
Serana nodded and smiled. "I think so, too." She gently placed her hand on top of the exhausted Khajiit's hand pressed against the stonework and gave it a firm clench. "We're friends here, Inigo. We've got this. Either we defeat the Daedra, or we die together."
Inigo reciprocated. "That means a lot to me, Serana. Thank you."
The vampiress gave him a determined nod and then leapt off the ledge and glided down towards the crowd. She decided to examine the affairs below. Inigo's mind wandered back to Lamae once more.
That beautiful maiden in the white gown with the short blonde hair and carnation in her hair. When he closed his eyes he could still see the two of them sitting under that Gildergreen Tree, and he began to wonder if it was in fact the same one he'd often seen in Whiterun, just millennia in the past. It was gone now; replaced with the sapling gifted to them by Kynareth.
What a sad memory it became now.
The feelings that stirred in Inigo were familiar - he'd fallen in love, once. The bandit girl he'd been in a relationship with long ago abandoned him for a darker personality. She'd thought him childish and no longer worth her time. She said he'd never make anything of himself and that being a Bandit was too much for him.
Why? Because he was an optimist? Because he thought there would be more to life than robbing people on the road?
Clearly, at the very least, Cura agreed with him, accepting him into her ranks. She saw something in him that the world was blind to, and put him on a better path. He would honour her. He would go out there and fight those Daedra like she would have done - minus the Shouts, naturally. Though he had quite a few 'shouts' he'd like to get off his chest, as well.
In such a short period of time, he realized what the Vigil of Stendarr meant when it came to the Daedra. It was the ones like Molag Bal and Mehrunes Dagon that spread misery for misery's sake.
His thoughts returned to Lamae, whom he felt for. She certainly did not deserve her fate. And neither did Serana. That was Molag Bal's doing.
Tamriel does not deserve to be razed to the ground like Mehrunes Dagon desires, either.
This was it.
Alduin.
Molag Bal.
Mehrunes Dagon.
Something told Inigo that perhaps this was it; perhaps this era really was to be the last. The end of the world. He slowly pulled himself up and wiped the tears away from his eyes. Cura... he thought to himself. ...Is this really the end? The end of everything we know and love?
A brief pause was broken by the sounds of rocks being hit with pickaxes and people murmuring. Inigo breathed out through his nostrils as he tried to renew his confidence. He closed his eyes and visualized the world before all of this, when it was him, Cura, Mjoll, and Lydia traversing the fields of the Rift on horseback.
A small smirk crept onto his face when he found himself amidst the sorrow and regret. Confidence was struck, like a fresh vein of gold ore.
Not if we have anything to say about it.