"Judgment
Why did we, the Alessian Order, condemn the follower of Mara who cured the boy infected with the Thrassian plague to death on the pyre? Why did we hang the boy who was saved from his illness? And why did the Archmage Syrabane who treated the plague with Warlock's Ring escape his death on the pyre?
We have explained this many times already; the crux of the matter lies in whether they did all of this with the permission of the Order. No matter what kind of miracle, without the permission of the Alessians it was not a miracle but heresy. Unfortunately, that follower of Mara sought no permission for her work, hence why she was sentenced to death on the pyre. In addition, the boy who was saved by the same unauthorized miracle, no, heresy, died for the same reason. Did not the masses willingly gather firewood for the follower of Mara, and were they not only too happy to throw stones at the boy standing on the gallows? This collective act of citizens is the most decisive proof of the righteousness of the Alessian Order.
As for the treatment of the Archmage Syrabane, his usage of the Warlock's Ring (which we recognize as a relic of St. Alessia) for treatment has been approved by the Alessian Order and will be subject to no further questions."
The river was tainted with grime and odorous filth. Just being near it was enough to push Cura to vomit. The scent was reminiscent of feces and rotting, charred flesh, and the faint tinge of blood and rotten eggs. Every step near these waters repulsed any who ventured too close.
And the Inquisitor insisted that the sewers somewhere near here could lead into the Imperial City. Like hell she was going through there. Sir Amiel insisted that there was a way into the plague bed through the workers' lodgingd near the docks. Potentially a way to not have to step into this sickening mire.
There would be boardwalks and fetid old houses below for her to expect.
Under a bridge, there was a pond filled with filthy green water attracted disgusting leeches to itself. Mirabelle scrunched her nose with disgust as she cast Unbound Flames into the dire moat. The grime was so thick that the concealing slime immolated on contact, spreading like wildfire and consuming the brown, rugged gastropods.
Savos Aren was surprised at the haste with which she dealt with them. "Excellent work, Mirabelle! It's important we keep our distance from those leeches."
"Indeed - it's no secret that the Thrassian Plague spread by leeches released unto our lands by the Sloads." Mirabelle called to history.
"Wait... by the leeches? How does that work, exactly? I'd guess through blood transfer?" Cura proposed. With a footstep she heard a very squishy splatter sound as her boot got stuck in the "water."
She gagged with disgust and lifted her foot, and strings of slime hung off her boot like cheese off a slice of pizza.
"Gods... this is so disgusting." Cura gagged as she attempted to slide the bottom of her foot along the underpass' stone wall in a vain attempt to clear the gunk off. A long smear of khaki Green painted the wall as her foot passed, and began to drip like a wet congealing paint.
Cura gagged again. She'd smelled rotting corpses and that was more palatable than this.
"The liquid appears to be a mixture of blood, pus, and rotten flesh." Savos Aren clung to the wall to get around the sickening fluid.
Upon closer inspection, Cura saw the vague shape of skeletons in the liquid, as well. Because of course there would be.
When they reached the other side of the plague pond they came to a large wasted road that led to a steep drop on collapsed stone and down to a winding, beaten road. Past that was a river area inhabited by Soul-Shriven and an Alessian Priest, all of whom had strange violet tentacular growths on their faces.
The river ended with a dock area and a large slave barracks - Slums left to rot, it seemed. A small hut rested on the west side, and cliffs and aqueducts surrounded the ravine.
Outside the nearby hut, there was a feminine figure wearing long, lightly armoured black robes and a hooded hat, donning what appeared to be a ravenlike white mask. She seemed to be treating some of the infected.
If she was same enough to heal people, perhaps Cura could talk to her. "Excuse me!"
The figure turned around to face Cura. "What is it? We're you bitten by one of those leeches? If so, was a good call in coming here. Name's Sabrina, the Pailune healer. But I guess you could've figured that out by lookin' at me."
"Pailune?" Cura's expression grew confused. It was not a place or concept she was familiar with.
"It's a city in a land far from here." Sabrina sighed. "I'm a Redguard, raised far from Hammerfell. Moved there to help with the weird illnes;, come from Stros M'Kai. Built something of a reputation and earned my title. Things were reasonable enough in the land, until the insanity all settled in. Wound up here after things went south and the Old Gods appeared. Never make a deal you can't close off."
Cura stiffened up hearing that. "Fine, I guess. Anyway, I was going to ask if this was the workhouse."
"Yes. The people who run the aqueducts live here in the Slums, pushing clean water through the realm at the threat of death. Now there's been a bit of a problem since the plague started. Dark Ones came up from the plague bed when a sewer valve was opened when it ought not been, and they tainted the waters." Sabrina explained as she recounted the terrible day as it were. "Place's been filthy ever since. Don't know why you're here - you'd best do a roundabout and get back to the Waterfront District. I mean, aside from the Plague, this is Varla's domain. He's a Man-Hunter. And a hunter must hunt."
Cura looked at the depressing surroundings and shuddered. "As if eternity in Coldharbour wasn't bad enough."
"Well. I suppose if we're here, that means we all deserve it, eh?" Sabrina shrugged as she reached into her satchel and pulled out a flask filled with green fluid. "Here. If you're headed down there, you'll want an Antidote. Never know what disgustin' things you'll run into down there. The Slums should lead ya down to the sewers under the Prison Tower. Not the best of places to begin with."
"What about the Prison Tower, aside from the obvious implications, makes it so awful next to... this?" Mirabelle asked as she gestured to the disgusting surrounding area.
"It's where she haunts." Sabrina invited the question.
"She?" Cura indulged her.
"The Dark Maiden, they call her. Was a Healer in life. Betrayed by her own and suffered death on a pyre all in the name of a Red Stone." Sabrina clicked her tongue shamefully. "Disgraceful lot, those Alessians were. Never much cared for anything that didn't fit their agenda, from what I hear. Isn't that just typical?" She wrung out the filthy fluid from the cloth in her hands and beckoned to the Soul-Shriven to get up.
The drone lifted himself up off the towel on the ground and lumbered off under the bridge.
"Mary." Cura recounted the story she'd heard.
The poor woman was haunting the area where she died such a horrific death, as presented in the twisted realm of Coldharbour. She didn't need to even ask: the Red Stone sent Mary here. Undeserving.
In life, the poor woman devoted herself to healing others of their illnesses, and what came of it, ultimately? Pain. Anguish. Torment. And now, all of that and more here in Coldharbour. It just wasn't fair.
Maybe she could reunite her with Varla! With her son. Maybe that alone would be enough for Varla to allow her to head to the East.
"I need to know more about the plague sweeping the wasteland." Cura requested. How contagious was it? How long until the signs begin to manifest?
"It's the Thrassian Plague." Sabrina seemed to stare at her, dumbfounded by the question. The name alone denoted ideas of a voracious, violent illness. "It starts with fatigue, followed by chills and High fever. When it gets worse, your blood starts rotting and black spots appear all over your body. By that time it's already too late for you, so it's far better to prevent infection in the first place." She tapped on the birdlike mask she was covering her face with just to illustrate her point.
"And it's brought out by the bite of those Leeches." Savos Aren explained. "Absolutely vile."
Sabrina nodded. "Those leeches carry the Thrassian Plague. They prefer decomposing flesh and blood, so they let their hosts slowly rot before feeding. Eventually, they break through their current host's forehead and seek a new one. Don't get too close to the ones already infected."
"Pardon, my lady, but did you just say they break through one's forehead?" Sir Amiel raised an uneasy hand.
Sabrina confirmed it twice. "Yes. They seek entry into a person's body and consume them from within. The infection does... strange things to people. I'll just leave it at that."
The group collectively shivered at the mere thought of it.
Savos Aren cleared his throat and held a hand to it instinctively. "Well. That... that just darkened quite quickly. It wasn't anything I'd expected." He was glad Mirabelle had the foresight to cast them all ablaze earlier.
"Oh, how wonderful." Mirabelle massaged her forehead as the migraine settled in. "Coldharbour really is a den of vipers, isn't it?"
Savos agreed. "Cura, take care to avoid infection. I'm quite sure you don't want the makeover those unfortunate sods had." he pointed to the Soul-Shriven, one of whom appeared to have a strange growth poking out of the upper half of his face.
Cura tapped Sabrina on the shoulder. "Come with us! We could use another healer in the group, should things go south."
"I... go with you... down there... to the Bed of Corruption?" the plague doctor asked.
"Yes. You're well-protected, and you could offer cures in case of an emergency." Cura's eyes trailed down to the Daedric Mace on her waist. "And you're equipped for battle."
"You have to be, in this realm." Sabrina sighed and pondered for a hot minute. "Ah, what the heck? Sure, I'll join you. It'd be easier to cure people of the plague if the plague is gone."
With a handshake, they embarked onto the pier and headed right to the Slums.
Savos and Mirabelle were stuck outside of the rugged building as usual, but they decided it best to put up a magical ward to obscure the location from outside threats entering.
On a cliff nearby, a figure wearing Daedric armour and a hooded mask bearing a scythe on his back watched as the people vanished on the pier. His cold gaze fixed on the area, he turned around to leave for the moment.
The slums were made entirely of rotting wood. There was barely any light to see, and whatever light there was came from lanterns on end tables near moth-eaten beds and torches mounted on wood columns.
"Nice try, you Craven!" Sir Amiel was quick to strike down a Soul-Shriven who'd gotten up from his seat and rushed through the darkness to surprise attack Cura.
Cura hurried into the following room with Sabrina, where they were engaged by a few of these Soul-Shriven, who, under the dim light, all had the strange growths coming out of their foreheads.
Driven to madness, the foes moved erratically and screamed as they flailed their rusted swords and battleaxes.
Sabrina was nimble. Her violet eyes trailed light in the darkness as she danced around their attacks with swanlike grace.
Cura was quite surprised to see it, but recalled the incredible prowess Redguards were said to possess.
Sabrina hit the enemy square on the forehead after rebounding off the wall, and performed an acrobatic flip over him as he collapsed to the floor.
Cura admired her mace etiquette and then proceeded to bring hers across the enemy's head, tearing it off the neck.
She was good with a mace, too!
Sir Amiel rushed forward through a swinging battleaxe with a swift duck, and drove his sword with two hands straight through the last Soul-Shriven's chest. Using his foot, he peeled the enemy off the sword, leaving a trail of red as he slid off.
"Guess Coldharbour is bound to suffer a labour shortage." the knight scoffed as he wiped the blood off the sword onto his red cape. "All's as well. Molag Bal's reaching his end. Only right his tyranny should follow."
Sabrina searched the cupboards nearby in the room on the right. "At least their suffering is over. Ours keeps goin' on and on and on."
"When I defeat Molag Bal, I'm going to free you all." Cura promised as she crossed the main floor, past a locked gate.
"Don't make promises ya can't keep." Sabrina admonished her as she followed the posturing Breton.
In the second room, Cura found a small statue of Mara next to a desk, weeping to the skies above. Cura knelt before the goddess of love and spared a small prayer for the innocent people suffering in this disgusting realm.
The people who deserved to be here deserved it, but many did not.
When her prayer concluded, Cura raised herself to ascend a ladder nearby, which brought herself up to the boarded upper level.
The walls were thick with foul-smelling slime. Careful in her navigation, Cura gingerly squished her arms against her body to avoid contact with the filth.
A loud shout resounded from the next room, and through a small window Cura could see a madman, naked in all but a loincloth, with a long tentacle rising from his face and wielding a sturdy log of wood in his hands.
When the figure dashed towards her, she could see he was larger by a foot than the others around.
He swung the log with a brutal sweep, and Cura ducked, lest she be battered through the wooden wall.
She did not mess around. Cura cracked his ribs with her mace and held Spellbreaker over her head.
When he brought down the log, it knocked Cura down to the ground, even with the shield raised. Then the madman pounded and pounded, and pounded down upon her in a vicious frenzy.
Each blow rattled her bones, ethereal or not. Cura wound up curling her legs into her stomach and using her feet to assist in keeping her shield steady. One mess-up would be her ruin.
Sir Amiel came to her side, charging the brute into the wall with a shoulder tackle and following up with a clean sweep of his claymore, which buried itself in the brute's side.
His musculature was thick, and the sword seemed swallowed by the fibers, unable to be pushed further through.
A swift backhand sent Sir Amiel reeling backwards, but his grip on the sword handle kept him in place.
Sabrina from afar reached into her pouch and tossed a throwing knife of sorts into the beast, and the knife hit him on his exposed shoulder like a dart.
When contact was made, the brute began to scratch and cling to the wall as paralysis took effect.
Cura cast a flame spell on the fiend as he was fallen to the floor, and finished him off.
A key dropped from his massive, sore-covered waist onto the ground.
Cura and her companions used the key to access the gate on the floor below, though returning to it was difficult; the commotion attracted the attention of other Soul-Shriven, who emerged to attack them.
A bloody fight in labyrinthine wooden halls led them back to the descending ladder and through the gate.
The next wide area they came upon was full of boardwalks and ramps over wrecked houses submerged in water.
In a way, it reminded Cura of Falmer settlements. It was really very sad to see.
With careful navigation, they managed to fight their way across the winding log bridges and out into a stone hallway, where Cura heard a man singing and playing a lute.
His song was uplifting and hopeful, and it grew louder as they approached him.
"Shezaaar returns. From the frost of icy Atmoraaa, announcing aaa new aaage.
Shezaaaar returns. With a roooaaar of Ysmir, bringing a storm to drench the junglllle.
Shezaaar returns. To plunge a swoooord intoooo the snake, to reclaim the eeempty thro-ooo-ne."
On closer inspection, he was a wretched old man wearing a tilted pot kettle on his head and a green belted tunic on his person. His eyes were white, and his gray beard scraggled. His skin was deathly pale, and he seemed to be in high spirits. He looked at Cura, Sir Amiel, and Sabrina and blinked a few times. When his eyes settled on Sabrina, he chuckled. "Ah, the good doctor returns! These halls are quite different from last you came down here. Do you like it?"
"Pipe down, you weirdo! Mind your own business." Sabrina growled at him.
"A bard all the way down here?" Cura asked.
The man looked at her with his visible white eye. "Oohhhh, what do we have here? Out for a stroll, then? Lovely day for it."
"Not exactly." Cura stated. "I... didn't expect to see you here, to be honest. Who are you?"
"Sir Cadwell of Codswallop, at your service, milady!" the Soul-Shriven removed the pot from his head like a gentleman tilting his hat. "Well, there's not much to tell, is there? It's the same old pish-tosh. Gallant knight, epic quests, rescued maidens. I came to this land when my head was quite unceremoniously separated from my body. Bad luck that, but you make the best of things."
Cura winced when she heard that. "How long have you been here?" It was odd that it would cause her to cringe, considering that she'd torn heads off with a mace before, but here she was.
"Oh, quite a long time. In fact, I wouldn't be a bit surprised if I was the oldest of the Soul-Shriven. Of those who didn't go feral, that is. I know every tunnel and path, every nook and cranny. The others look up to me, I suppose." Sir Cadwell said confidently. "I could swear I've done this song and dance before... with who? The... ah... hmm..." he tapped the pot on his head. "Vestige, was it? Yes! The Vestige. You aren't a Vestige, though... quite the opposite, really. You are no body without a soul... but rather a soul without a body! How quaint!"
Sir Amiel scrunched his brow in annoyance. "Why are you wearing a pot on your head?"
"It's called a helmet, I'll have you know. The proper headgear for a daring knight! Not at all as pedestrian as the foppery you're adorned with." no sooner did Cadwell say that before the annoyed expression turned to anger. He quickly recanted. "Ah, sorry, old chap! Your attire is perfectly adequate. Suits you to a tittle, it really does."
"I'm investigating this sector to discover where the Bed of Corruption is." Cura explained, trying to get back on track.
"Dibella's garters! Why? There are all manner of disgusting, slime-coated ne'er-do-wells below. Take this old fool's words to heart: you are far better off enjoying the splendor outside! Why, the beautiful sounds of wailing are wondrous to the ears. Can you imagine a world without it? Say... fancy a game of Oblivion Bop? It takes six-hundred-and-thirty-seven hours to play, but the last eighty-six are definitely worth it!"
Cura was confounded by the man's utter disregard for the reality around him. Though, she supposed that if he were here for as long as he claimed, it was all right, as long as it kept him sane, which was a term to use loosely in this situation.
"I'd rather not." Sir Amiel clapped back at him.
Cura looked down with a sullen gaze as she questioned the nature of existence itself, given the surroundings and this man's devil-may-care attitude towards it all.
Cadwell used his index finger and thumb to pull Cura's face back up in a playful manner. "Chin up, milady! Things could be much worse! At least fair Meridia has taken a shine to you. That makes things much less dangerous than they would otherwise be, I assure you!"
Cura was surprised that he recognized her armour as pertaining to Meridia. But it was no secret that Meridia had once battled against Molag Bal. Chances were that he most likely was a witness to the battle way back when.
"The man's completely bonkers. Let's keep movin'." Sabrina insisted. "Won't get anything useful out of him."
"I forget. Did you send for me or did I summon you? Or maybe this meeting was purely coincidental? Well, no matter! We're both here, so that's something, I suppose." Cadwell tilted his head to the side and began to shift left to right where he stood. "Ah, well. toodle-loo, then. It was fun meeting you regardless! To get to the Bed of Corruption, simply walk down the stairs over there and go through the hatch door on the far end of the hallway. You're so close!"
"Thank you, Sir Cadwell. Take care." Cura gave him a polite half-bow.
"That I will, milady! That I will! How could I not? This place is so wondrous!" Cadwell exclaimed as Cura and her companions proceeded down the stairs west of him. He then picked his lute back up and began to enthusiastically strum on it, and he looked to where Cura had disappeared. "Shezaaar returns. From the frost of icy Atmoraaa..."
Author's Note: for maximum immersion, I recommend listening to "King's Field IV OST - Dark Reality" for the entire section ;)
When Cura stepped out of the rotting barracks, she came upon a very long corridor filled to the brim with the foul-smelling liquid. Crouching through a round hatch, she entered the next area. She was here, now. No turning back. This was the site of the Plague proper. At the end of the walkway, she was surprised by the sight of a familiar crimson robed figure.
Inquisitor Pepe, with his tentacled face, now vainly hidden behind a golden mask, gazed down the hall, and looked to the pier below. As Cura approached, he turned to face her, prickly as ever. "You're finally here. There's nothing worth stopping for in this wasteland."
"Really? I was enthralled by the exquisite sights. The sand, bones, and high cliffs - oh - and crucified criminals. So many wonderful things to see here in Coldharbour." Cura said passive-aggressively in response. Or perhaps it only came out of her due to her exposure to Cadwell moments ago.
"And he is not one of them." Sir Amiel whispered to her. He was unenamoured with the idea of encountering the Inquisitor again, himself.
Pepe was unmoved by her sarcasm and retorted with some smugness of his own. "You're a right lazy one that even an old man like myself managed to overtake you."
Lazy. Right. She trekked all the way here from dealing with Varla's sector and all the lovely joys therein. "Well. Varla didn't feed me to his dogs, so ha, I guess."
Pepe scoffed and spat into the water. "Lucky you. You get to suffer a bit longer, then."
Cura got down to the point. "You know this place better than I do. Tell me about this dock." she patted the feeble wood under her foot with her heel.
"Originally, it was used to transport criminals and other goods. Workers and beggars settled around and gradually built a large city. Alessians burned this town many times out of fear of the plague, but it always started rebuilding the very next day. The Alessian Order finally gave up and even granted this city some autonomy... Ironically, the Thrassian Plague broke out here in the following year." Inquisitor Pepe recounted the past as if it were recent history; though it was from millennia past. As Coldharbour was a recreation of their world, it seemed valid regardless.
So criminals were considered 'goods' to the Alessian Order. Good to know.
"How did it spread so much?" Cura asked.
"A Sload... a Sload crept into the sewer. He was a good lad, but he was too ugly to be accepted." Pepe said regretfully. He paced back and forth and glanced into the muck below. "And Alessians killed him because of his ugliness. Just before his death, the Sload spat out some kind of liquid at the ones surrounding him. This is how the Thrassian Plague started..."
Cura shook her head. Well, it only seemed right that it would have been caused by cruelty. Perhaps 'The One's they followed wasn't Akatosh, but actually Molag Bal. It really wouldn't be much of a surprise from all she's seen of the order as of late. "Of course, naturally." She looked over the railing at the filth below, and saw a small canoe there. She looked at the dark passage to their left, where the torchlights failed to reach. The dreadful darkness beyond called to her. "Where does this sewer lead?"
"To the prison tower. It's a place where the people who opposed Alessians were imprisoned." Pepe confessed. He sighed and looked Cura up and down, assessing her abilities. "Beware of the leech monsters along the way. They are rampant here and far worse than the people in the Slums."
"What can you tell me about them?"
"You must have seen people infested with leeches on your way up here. Their final forms swarm in here. Some call them Mary's children. The Alessians burned her on the pyre for supposedly being a witch. Some say she consorted with Molag Bal and gave birth to these monsters." Pepe scoffed.
"That's ridiculous!" Cura protested. "There is no way that's true. I don't know much about this Mary woman, but she did not sound like the sort to do such a thing, from what I've heard."
"The masses called her Mara. Mara... the name of one of the damned usurpers connected to Anui-El." Inquisitor Pepe spoke with great scorn.
"How dare you." Cura rebuked the Inquisitor. "Mara is the embodiment of love and charity. Two things you evidently know nothing about! Don't you dare profane her name!"
"Or else what? Will you kill me? Pile my body on top of them mountain you Vigilants have no doubt made?" Inquisitor Pepe asked dryly.
"We are nothing like you!" Cura barked. While yes, the Vigil has arrested Daedra worshippers; suspected or confirmed; they never doted out punishment on the unworthy.
Right?
Cura stated at the torchlight reflecting off the water's surface. She watched it dance with uncertainty.
"You serve Stendarr the schemer. That speaks volumes about your sort." Pepe declared condescendingly. He barely even knew her, and yet had so many stones to cast.
"Stendarr is the apologist of man." before Cura could get into it, Sir Amiel intervened.
"Don't let him get under your skin. He's made his choices in life, and look where it led him." Sir Amiel took Cura by the back and led her to the boat in a knightly fashion.
"Right here, with us." Sabrina reminded him as she sat in the back of the canoe.
The thought was troubling. Whether Alessian or Servant of the Nine, they really were powerless against the Daedra.
Though, Cura was thankful that she wasn't alone here.
Sir Amiel sat in the center and Cura sat in the front. Sabrina loosed the binding rope and the boat began to drift down the dark river of sludge water.
The old Inquisitor watched them sail away and turned around to enter the shadows.
The boat drifted slowly, rocking lightly back and forth. Cura was reminded of the dark corridor she'd taken to reach Coldharbour from the Deadlands. "It's very dark. I'll produce some light."
"Sure, if you have a Histus Flask or lantern, perhaps." Sabrina stated. "Just nothing too bright. They'll be at it like moths to a flame."
Sir Amiel turned his head to her. "'They?'"
Cura cast a Candlelight spell and the white ball of light hovered over her head, lighting their surroundings slightly.
In the waters below, strange creatures were stirring due to the presence of light. The trio saw them slithering along the floor below the waves, and the presence of uneasy black tendrils stirred much alarm in them.
Sabrina cried out, "LOOK OUT! THOSE ARE DARK KIDS!" as what appeared to be a tentacled slug creature leapt out of the water and screeched like a furious Ice Wraith before attempting to ram into them.
Sir Amiel drew his bow and plugged the creature with an arrow, killing it on impact. When it dropped into the water below, several others began to rise in all directions and began to lunge at them in attempt to knock them out of the canoe.
Sir Amiel caught Sabrina by the back of her black coat and she clung to him tightly. She gestured towards Cura. "You're a Breton, right? Fire hurts them! They fear it! Make some!"
Cura cast a Flame Cloak around herself and stood upright to avoid having the flames touch the boat. The creatures immediately began to fly into a panic and scattered from the immediate area. It didn't stop Cura from hurling Fireballs at them, striking down three of the flying menaces.
Sir Amiel picked off another with an arrow before it could disappear into the shadows. Sabrina clung to him anxiously as the boat was rocked almost off-kilter by the ramming attack of one underneath them.
Cura could see multiple others attempting to assail them from below, and decided to take one for the team. She reached her Dwemer Hand downwards and placed it on the vile sewage water's surface, and cast a Lightning spell.
The creatures below writhed in anguish and throttled as the electricity conducted through them in chains and they began to slowly rise to the surface like dead Slaughterfish.
"Good thinking, captain!" Sir Amiel said playfully, admiring Cura's art of war.
Cura paid no attention to his words, as she was more taken in by the scenery before them. Eyes. Tentacles. Everywhere. On the ceilings, sticking up out of the water. Riding the walls in the darkness.
It looked like the work of Hermaeus Mora, with the exception of the red glow being emitted from the evil eyes. She fixated upon them and how they stared back at her. She knew that if Inigo were here he would have flipped the bird at them. She wished he could.
She would do it in his honour, then.
This is for you, Inigo. Go get 'em! Cura thought to herself before crudely holding up two middle fingers at the Daedric eyes as the boat slowly drifted into the harbour.
Sir Amiel was surprised by the sudden uncharacteristic gesture, but once the sights registered, he understood and followed suit, holding up two of his own.
Sabrina was hyperventilating from the struggle before and could not wait to reach the docks. She clung to the rim of the boat like her life depended on it. She thanked all the gods she was wearing a safety mask.
When they reached the docks, they could hear the sounds of pulsating heartbeats coming from the columns of eyes and tentacles that ran the length of the hall and snaked around the floor into the water, like veins pushing out rotten blood.
Sabrina dropped to her hands and knees and huffed. "Oh, thank the Divines! Solid ground!"
Cura and Sir Amiel looked at one another and then back at her. "Sabrina, I'm curious. How do you know so much about these creatures? I reckon you don't see too many of them on the surface." Cura insisted. It was clear the plague doctor was more knowledgeable than she let on initially. And she didn't miss the fact Sir Cadwell recognized her.
Sabrina grew silent and looked at the deep waters behind and beside her, and then back at Cura, who stood over her. With a defeated sigh, she decided to come clean.
"I know about them because I've been here, okay?" Sabrina confessed with a frustrated tone. "I investigated this place. The water was drying out, so I turned the valve to fill the moat again. Damn it, I didn't know there was a plague stirring down here at first, I swear it!" Cura continued to stare at her. "...Okay, that's a lie. I did know. I did."
"You knew and released plague-infested water into the Slums? By the gods, woman!" Sir Amiel exclaimed.
"Yes. Because... I heard her calling to me." Sabrina admitted. "Mary. She called to me. She said that she wanted air. She was suffocating down there. They imprisoned her below the Prison Tower. I figured, well, if they're willing to do such a thing to a holy woman, leavin' her to rot in a plague-infested pool, then maybe they deserve it, those Alessian bastards."
Cura crossed her arms. "I take it you had a change of heart later?"
"Kind of. When I saw what the plague was doing to people... I had to do something to help 'em! I'm a sucker." Sabrina sighed sadly. "I was hoping they'd just die and that'd be the end of it, but... no. Mary didn't want 'em to die, even despite how horribly they treated her. Her power's turned 'em into those things, like the old man said."
Cura was worried at first, thinking Mary culpable for a moment. Perhaps the words of Pepe were twisting her mind. So the plague was there with the Maiden, but her power lay in the waters, as well - restoring those who perished, but with the unfortunate side effect of mutating them. So it was like dying, reviving, dying, reviving, dying, and reviving eternally for these poor people.
"You've really caused a big mess, haven't you?" Cura remarked as she looked at the smashed wall nearby, where tentacles had torn through.
"I didn't think it would be so bad. Please, you've got to believe me!" Sabrina pleaded with her. The Pailune healer was fearful of how Cura was going to take the news, especially given their current location.
"But your intention was for the Alessians to die."
"Well, yeah. They've been attacking normal folk constantly for the last... forever. Everyone who isn't them hates them." Sabrina admitted. "I've only been here thirty years an' I normally avoid 'em like the plague!"
"I can see why." Cura agreed. "They've caused even greater suffering still." She extended a hand to help Sabrina back up. "I don't condone the action, but... seeing as you're already in Coldharbour, I can understand why you've done it."
Sir Amiel looked around at the eldritch horror surrounding them. "I fear what this Mary woman will look like when we eventually see her. I do hope she is not mangled and deformed like these things."
"Gods." Cura shuddered with disgust at the thought. "I hope not. For her sake, and for Varla's."
It was the sentimental fool within her stirring again, Cura figured. Nobody would want to see their family members in such a state; even if they'd never truly met before. As much as she distrusted Elenwen, it would break her heart to see her in such a state. She couldn't explain it exactly, but it was something she understood.
"I... I dunno. Never saw her. I just broke the valve in the wall and gave an opening for air to enter her room." Sabrina shrugged. "If she's been stuck down there in the plague bed... the Bed of Corruption for such a long time... there's nothin' good to expect there."
Sir Amiel nodded. "Expect the worst, but don't rule out hope. It's what you've been teaching me."
The group continued onwards, tearing through tentacles and eyes that blocked the doorways and fighting against Dark Ones in many forms: ones that had physique like werewolves, vomiting blood against the group, more of the small, hovering tentacled creatures, and egg-shaped creatures with eyes all over their bodies surrounded by magickal rings, trying to shoot beams of energy at them.
They survived a large, high room with mere boardwalks heading clockwise downwards with the steepest drop Cura had ever seen below. She kicked a stone into the void below and did not hear a sound. Fighting through foes that dared to knock her off the edge was a harrowing experience, especially when one of the large ones tackled her off the upper planks.
Cura had grabbed hold of a rope suspended between two wooden platforms, and half of it snapped due to the momentum, causing her to swing like an ape-man through the air. Her heart raced a thousand miles a minute as she held the rope tightly to her person as it began to slow, leaving herself suspended in mid-air while her allies continued to fight against the tentacular threats above.
One of the spherical menaces found the opportunity to fire a mass of wriggling tentacles onto the rope, and it wore away and snapped, causing Cura to plummet.
The world was rising above her as she flew downwards, no Whirlwind Sprint to change her direction this time. She was consumed with terror as her heart nearly left her throat.
She saw the ruins of wooden houses on a water-covered floor below, growing larger and larger out of the darkness as the wind continued to drag her towards it.
Drop Zone.
A spell came to her, at last!
Cura tried to cast a Drop Zone for safe landing, but due to her panic, it failed. She clenched her eyes and shouted in fear, for a last, vain attempt before colliding with the ground. Formed by thoughts of fear, and memories of reliable teaching, she dared to Shout mere feet over the ground.
"FUS!"
A gust of air emerged from her throat, blowing some water up off the ground below softly, and pushed her back just a little to lessen the momentum of impact. She stalled for a second, rising into the air, and then taking to the watery floor with a splash.
Cura fell unconscious for a few moments, and the world darkened around her. The sounds of her allies clashing with the leechlike monsters grew lower and more silent.
"Quick thinking, Cura. It was incredible, how it came so naturally to you." came a familiar voice.
"How... how did I do it?" Cura asked the voice in her mind.
Martin Septim appeared before her again and gently lifted her from the floor. "You felt it in you. You felt the Thu'um. The Thu'um. The gift of Kyne to your people."
"But Kynareth has no power in Coldharbour... right?" Cura was confused.
"No. None of the Aedra hold much influence. Much. Not none at all. Kynareth's gift is in you - but you cannot use it wantonly. Not until you regain your Dragon Soul." Martin told her.
After all, the Thu'um's purpose was to honour the gods, first and foremost. That honour broke her fall and preserved her life.
"Cura!" she heard Sir Amiel calling out to her. "Hey, Cura!"
Martin Septim nodded to her and slowly faded away into the shadows.
Cura snapped awake when her body registered Sir Amiel shaking her with his hands.
When her eyes opened, she surprised both him and Sabrina, who stood before her, ankle-deep in the flood. The air was still, and the only sounds there were were the rushing waterfall and pulsating heartbeat of the eye clusters and veins surrounding them.
"I... I survived? I survived!" Cura exclaimed as she pulled herself up. An ironic statement, given her current general circumstances.
"What was that sound?" Sabrina asked her, frightful of what the Breton had done.
Sir Amiel stepped back to give Cura room to stand back up. "It was the Voice. I... I've heard it only a legend, but... there was no mistaking it! All hail the Dragonborn!"
"The Voice?" Sabrina asked.
"The gift of Dragonspeech. The Dragonborn carries the blood of Akatosh, and can perform great, mystic feats with mere words. That is the Voice. It goes back to the ancient times, and has been largely forgotten, but as the devout of Akatosh I aspired to learn as much as I could about my god." Sir Amiel spoke with trembling words as he stood before the Dragonborn. "Even separate from your soul, you still carry the gift."
Cura wondered how she'd managed it, and then she recalled the words of Arngeir: "True mastery of the Voice can only be achieved when your inner spirit is in harmony with your outward actions."
Her inner spirit was falling and simply wanted to cushion her fall. And so she projected that state of being outwards.
Cura was dizzied a tad, and looked around. All she saw were ruins, eyes, tentacles, water, dead Dark Ones, and a Soul-Shriven body impaled on a sword. The body wore a golden armour with a helm bearing the crest of a squid, from the looks of it.
Across from him and above, there was a waterfall obscuring an exit door blocked by a thick blob made of black blood and eyes.
It took little effort for Cura to cast flames and burn it down once she'd gotten around the falls.
When they passed through the gate in that small entryway, they found themselves in a small, round room with two small chutes on either side, with a knight and a bonfire, surrounded by barrels and crates.
The knight in silver armour wore a dark blue cape sashed around his left shoulder and flowing along his back depicting the insignia of the Cyrodiilic Chalice of Stendarr sat before a bonfire next to a small end table with a flute, some potions and a key rested atop.
Cura's eyes were drawn to the faded Chalice design and she gasped. "Stendarr!" she cried out like an excited child upon seeing it. It was quite more than a relief to see the comforting symbol under these circumstances.
The knight turned his head to see who was yelling, and then he turned his gaze back into the fire.
Sir Amiel's eyes widened and he shuffled past Cura to meet the other Knight. "Sir Casimir? Sir Casimir, is that you?" he called out to the Paladin.
"Sir Amiel?" the Knight turned to face him looking worn to exhaustion. "How many moons has it been, old friend?"
"Too many." Sir Amiel responded. "I have found new purpose in my unlife... this is the Dragonborn Cura. She is what is known in her time as a 'Vigilant of Stendarr.'"
The Sir Casimir? The very one who murdered a beggar in cold blood in the very Chapel of Stendarr? The Knight who wore the Gauntlets of the Crusader?
Sir Casimir crossed one leg over the other and faced Cura as she approached. "I see. Who did you kill to wind up here, Cura? And... a Dragonborn. Fascinating. Are you related to the Septims?" The man sounded exhausted as he spoke. Perhaps Stendarr's curse persisted even in death.
"No." Cura shook her head. "I'm not related to the Septims, and... I came here by choice."
The knight was dumbfounded. "What? Why on Nirn would you do that? This is no Tavern - this is Coldharbour. The land of the unclean, tormented and defiled. 'Tis no place for the likes of you. Especially if you are Dragonborn."
"Molag Bal stole my Dragon Soul. I've come to retrieve it... and the Amulet of Kings." Cura admitted.
"Hmph. Stendarr frowns upon the arrogant. You'd better watch yourself, lass." Sir Casimir scoffed as he poked the fire with a long stick, kicking up some embers when he flipped a stone. "And... nice to see you, as well, Sabrina. Stirring up more trouble above, eh?"
Sabrina scoffed. "Why are you down here? You know the Bed of Corruption is just through that hole!" She pointed to the chute on the west side of the room and the bits of broken wall which obscured it originally.
"What can you tell me about those leech monsters?" Cura asked. If she had to go through there to find Mary, she was certain there would be others.
"They are former mortals. twisted by the Thrassian Plague and Mary's blessing. They rot and regenerate again and again until they lose their human form." Sir Casimir explained what would be common knowledge. "I'm tending the bonfire. Those leech monsters fear it. As long as one lights a fire, they won't attack." he pointed at a small leechlike creature crawling along the ground and looking at the small group. "Well, there are creatures like Atima who don't fear fire... but she's harmless."
"Atima?"
Sir Casimir pointed to a little Dark Kid which was playing with toys on the floor, obscured by two large crates.
Cura approached the small abomination with caution. "Er... hello."
"Talos, Talos! Talos! Great and mighty Talos!" the small creature sung in a high-pitched, childlike voice, accompanied by an innocent giggle.
Cura raised both of her brows. "That name... Talos. Where did you hear it?" Indeed, in the pit of Coldharbour, where could she have heard his name?
"Uncle Caius told Atima about him. He said Talos is the ninth Divine, yes? But it is funny because there are only eight Divines, no matter how many times Atima counts." the childlike leech monster pondered. "Khajiit even asked Mary, but she did not understand, either. Her former mother said there is only one Divine, and now Atima is really confused..."
So the girl was a Khajiit? Cura stared at her, observing her mangled, compacted sluglike form and gazed pitiously at the numerous tendrils sticking out of her. No resemblance to a Khajiit at all.
"Stendarr..." Cura muttered under her breath as she took in the sight. Not just Atima, but all the others she'd fought on the way down. How horrible.
She looked at the little toys spread on the ground, which the creature was moving around. "What are you doing?"
"Playing with dolls! Look, Mary made a doll for Atima. You must be jealous now, no?" Atima lifted one up with her tentacle and began to jiggle it around in the air.
A deep sorrow came upon Cura and she sat down with the child. The Plague Bed was just beyond the door to the west, she could feel it. Was Mary really down there? What was she going to be like after everything? Could she still be reasoned with? It seemed so, if Atima was to be believed.
And she seemed like such a kind person. Cura dreaded moreso the idea of her being a potential foe to fight. She really did not want to.
She observed Atima's proximity to the fire. "Aren't you afraid of fire? All the others like you seemed to fear it."
"Mary says the fire is scary. But Atima likes it. It is very warm!" the girl exclaimed joyfully.
Cura gently touched the top of what she assumed was her head. "What exactly are you?" How does one go from being a Khajiit child to... this?
"Atima is Atima. It is a nice name, no?"
Cura nodded. "Yes. It's very pretty."
How did a child end up in Coldharbour? The mere idea was profoundly upsetting.
"Thanks to this one! What is her name?" the child asked.
"Oh. Cura." the Breton forced a smile so as to lighten the mood slightly.
"Cura? That's a funny name! Hehehe! It sounds like a type of medicine or healing spell!" Atima giggled.
Cura couldn't deny it. "Very funny. Anyway - what can you tell me about Mary?"
"Mary is very kind. She does not hurt Atima like her former mother did."
That was distressing to hear, and Cura immediately had to know. "Your former mother hurt you?"
"Atima hates her! Atima hates her former father, too! They hurt Atima. Bad child, bad child, they said." Atima shrunk away as she recounted her past. "Because Atima is a Khajiit they made her wear a collar and beat her with a whip!"
When Cura heard that last part, her mouth hung open. Dirty bastards! A deep, indescribable torrent of disgust filled her. How could anyone do such a thing to a child? Human or Khajiit? It was despicable.
She recounted the tale that Inigo had told her of the dreadful day his brother and himself were attacked by angry locals who'd accused them of stealing, just by the virtue of them being Khajiit.
She hated this mentality with a passion.
"I'm so sorry you went through that... truly." Cura sympathized with a gentle caress of the sluglike creature.
Sabrina approached Cura and looked her up and down. "I want to examine you. You've been wandering through here unprotected. You wanted me along for medical insight, so here ya go."
Cura stood still and allowed her to examine the skin of her face and on her arms. The plague doctor held up a torch in front of her face and moved it left and right and her eyes followed it like normal. Once she was satisfied, Sabrina held her hands to her hips and stepped back. "Tip-top condition. Is that a feature of bein' Dragonborn, too?"
Cura shook her head. "Divine protection." She gently held the fabric of Meridia's gifted armour.
"Then gods be with ya. We'll be out here." Sabrina walked over to Sir Amiel and lowered him down.
"Wh-what?" Sir Amiel was about to protest.
"I need to make sure you won't be bringin' anything out of here either." Sabrina began to assess him, and turned to Cura. "Get along, now. Just be careful, all right? I don't know how Mary's gonna react to you."
Cura was worried, but quickly squashed her fears with the thought that Meridia was with her. She had no need to fear the disease. She gingerly approached the chute and pushed open the wooden door. She slipped through to the other side, and immediately found herself knee-deep in filthy waters.
The smell was oddly pleasant, likened to the scent of lavender and daisies, carried by a gentle breeze, weaving a delicate tapestry in the soft, light air. It was a heavy contrast to what was actually in the room: a culture of grotesque tentacles, glowing eyes, and a massive cluster forming a throne shot up from the water-logged ground and surrounded the back wall. The red tentacles flailed and flopped about with reckless abandon when they realized one had come to disturb their peace.
Splash!
Sploosh!
Splat!
Immediately, Dark Ones - a large one with tentacles for a head, and a few of the little sluglike flying ones came rushing out from around the floor tentacles to attack Cura, like guard dogs. The brute spat up a trail of blood at her, but she used Spellbreaker to protect herself. The blood hit the shield like a squirt gun against a wall. When Cura closed in she ducked under a Dark Kid and brought her mace upwards, cracking the brute in the face with a sharp uppercut.
She danced around the biting attacks of the others, and dispatched them with firm blunt attacks.
Cura was near to a frenzy, scoping the surroundings. Everything looked like a potential enemy in here, and the ocular throne was disquieting. She took a few steps forward, pushing water out of her way with each laboured step. Her foot got stuck in some sludge, and another Dark Kid leapt at her, ramming into her chest as she approached the throne. She staggered backwards and fell right into the water with a startled yelp.
"Who are you? Why are you causing us harm?"
A feminine voice spoke out to Cura, and she quickly pulled herself upright. She stumbled backwards a few steps and watched as the Dark Kid flew through the air, its sluglike form wriggling as it was called over. Its trail ended at the side of what looked like a woman with ashen blonde hair in a torn roughspun tunic with an odd growth over her left eye. She had bandages over her right eye, and Cura wondered how she could even see her.
Cura took in what she was seeing before her and she gently placed her mace on her waist. "I'm Cura. A follower of Stendarr."
"Stendarr..." as the woman said his name, her face trailed away. "A name I've not heard in long ages... and Cura. A nice name. It has no place in a world like this, though." She hung her head from weary exhaustion - or perhaps apathetic lethargy. "You don't deserve to be confined here. Be free." She waved her hand and the Dark Kid flew off towards the chute where Cura came from.
Cura slowly approached her and kept an amicable posture. She had no intention of fighting; especially now that she knew she was approachable. "Are you Mary? The follower of Mara? The Healer?"
The woman looked upwards and a small wince came up from her throat. Every word sounded dazed, as if she were not fully there. "I... I am. I'm... I'm her. Mary. The witch. The bride of Molag Bal. That's what they all said... when... when..." her expression soured as she recalled her final days of life. "when they... when they sacrificed me to the Red Stone. When they took it all from me... the Tower of Prayer, my child, my wolf. All of it... taken. And I... I was burned."
Cura stepped forward again, pulled by her empathy. She immediately grabbed Mary by both shoulders - firmly, but filled with compassion. "You're not a witch! Don't call yourself that! You're a Priestess of Mara! Mara would never endorse witchcraft!"
Mary shook her head. "I deserved it. Everybody said so..."
"Mara says otherwise!"
The woman was surprised at Cura's insistence. "You claim to speak for Mara?"
Cura shook her head. That wasn't what she was trying to do at all. "No. I can't speak for the good mother exactly, but I have spoken to her before! Her love for us all is incredible!"
Mary looked through Cura as the Half-Elf spoke. "Where is she, then? Why did she consign me to Oblivion? Why did she not come to my aid?"
Cura stuttered as she tried to come up with an answer. "Well..." nothing she said would alleviate the pain. Nothing could be said to alleviate the pain. "The Aedra lost a lot of their power in creating Mundus. It's always been difficult for them to interact with us, true, but they try."
Mary paused and closed her eye and softly pushed Cura's arms off her shoulders as she stepped backwards. "You should not have come here. You are not welcome here."
Cura grunted with surprise. "What?"
Mary turned away from her and walked to the ocular throne. "I wish not to be reminded of who I once was... and what I once believed in... by a pretender in Ayleid Armour."
Cura was shaken by that accusation. "Excuse me? I am-"
Mary whirled around quickly, like a ravenous shark and shouted, "YOU WEAR AURORAN GARB! DO NOT TRY TO DECEIVE ME!"
The room around them began to quake and trails of dust fell from the arched ceilings above. Immediately, the tentacles in the room began to thrash furiously, striking at Cura and causing her to duck under her shield.
The gentle woman's aggressive shift caught the Vigilant off-guard, and spooked her to her core.
Mary levitated into the air and the eye-covered tentacles enveloped her like a pair of hands, clasping her in their palm. A deep red energy flowed into them and they shone darkly. When the light grew and expanded, the tentacles retracted back into position and Mary had taken on a new form: she was much larger with pale green flesh and handlike tentacles protruded from her left eye, where the growth was. She also had them coming out of her left ribcage, and left shoulder. Her rags were torn in many unfortunatte places, exposing her right breast and left leg as the shredded fabric weaved around her form. When she opened her right eye, it glowed red like those throughout the underground.
Cura cast Stendarr's Aura, which repelled the assaulting tentacles which slapped her repeatedly. She quickly drew her mace and Spellbreaker and turned to face the unwanted opponent before her.