It was a cold and uncertain day in Whiterun, and Jarl Balgruuf had decided to go for a small walk outside of Dragonsreach for fresh air. He was accompanied by his brother Hrongar and members of the City Guard. He'd sent Irileth beyond the walls to oversee the long-awaited reconstruction of the Watch Tower with other City Guards.
Things seemed to be looking up for his city once Cura's efforts in defeating Alduin had paid off, and stray civilians who'd lost their homes to the war over the years had slowly come flocking back to the city, waiting for new houses to be built near the outer farmlands.
Heimskr had a congregation before him at the Wind District as he preached aloud before the shrine of Talos. "The Voice! Did you hear it? The voice that shook the very land? That was the voice of Mighty Talos! He is come! He is come to save us! To deliver us from our elven overlords! Aye, I tell you - Great and Powerful Talos has had enough of the Elves standing above us with their boots pressed firmly upon our throats!"
He thrust his arms up to the heavens. "TALOS THE UNERRING! TALOS THE UNASSAILABLE! TO YOU, WE GIVE PRAAAAISE!"
The citizens gathered there held their arms up high in response. "Praise be to Talos!" they cried in unison.
Jarl Balgruuf watched the spectacle from atop the stone stairs leading up to Dragonsreach. "That fool is bleating again... but I cannot disagree. That voice was ominous. I am almost tempted to think our friend Cura had something to do with it."
"You mean Saint Cura, don't you?" Hrongar said to him jokingly. "I've been hearing people throw that around lately since... since she was killed."
"I doubt it." Jarl Balgruuf scoffed and crossed his arms as he continued to look at the gathering below. "She's not going to be gone forever. A Legend doesn't just show up and disappear so easily. Even if she's dead - I'm sure she'll find some way to return to us all. Nobody goes to Sovngarde and returns unless the Gods have a higher purpose for 'em. I know that much."
From their point of view, they saw what appeared to be a hooded figure in red creeping around the Shrine of Kynareth. The figure had a dagger in his hand and slowly attempted to open the locked door into the building.
Jarl Balgruuf called out to his Guards and pointed a long finger towards the culprit. "Hey! Go in the Temple, quickly! Arrest that man before he kills someone!"
The creep heard the Jarl shout; perhaps he wasn't as discreet as he thought he was. He quickly began to flee, and the Whiterun Guards immediately drew their bows.
One fired an arrow into the back of the hooded figure and he dropped to the stone pavement.
The man dropped a note, which read:
"Corrupt the Shrines of Arkay, Kynareth, and Talos. There can be no holding back. Sacrifice yourself near them all to Dagon and allow your body to be a conduit for corruption.
Serve us well and you shall be rewarded richly in the next life.
- Vonos"
The Agent crawled along the ground in anguish and held his dagger to his wrist. "For Lord Dagon!" he cried as he slit his wrist there in the pavement, before the walkway leading to both temples.
The City Guard hurried to attempt to stop him once they'd finished reading the fallen note, but they were too late. Darkness emerged from the Mythic Dawn Cultist's body like a triad of black shadows, which began to quickly spread along the ground. Each headed towards one of the Shrines.
Heimskr continued to preach until he witnessed the darkness slithering into the decorative brooks surrounding the baby Gildergreen, and heading straight for him.
"I fear you not, demon! For I am Heimskr, Keeper of the Shrine of Talos! He who is both man, and Divine!" the preacher proclaimed with boldness as the crowd began to panic and flee.
He clasped his hands together in prayer and a barrier of golden light began to form around himself and the Shrine and Statue of Talos. "Great and powerful Talos! I hear your voice! I answer your call! Hear my prayers! Cast away the darkness, and protect we, your devoted people!"
The people of Whiterun dashed away from the walkway leading to the Shrine of Kynareth as the shadow began to enshroud it in attempt to find its way in, as well as into the Temple of Arkay.
Danica stood frozen to the young Gildergreen as her mind processed what was happening. Her temple was covered in blackness, as was the Temple of Arkay. She laid a hand on the Gildergreen and raised the other to the skies. "Kynareth, hear my call! Please, send down your venerable rains to cleanse away the darkness!"
As if on cue, and much to Danica's and the crowd's shock, the skies grew dark with heavy cumulus clouds, forming in a whirlwind in the heavens above.
A roar of thunder resounded and a mighty downpour bombarded the earth. The shadows began to writhe in dumb anguish as the holy water rained down from above.
Jarl Balgruuf was stunned. He watched the spectacle with Hrongar from a safe distance, with several Guards now gathered on the steps before them in defensive position.
The rains wet his head and drenched his clothes. Jarl Balgruuf could not believe what he had just witnessed.
Danica watched as the shadows lost their power and turned to a mess of running blood, now sliding off the roofs of the temples and running into the brook and through the grass and stoneways.
She pulled down her hood to receive the rain onto herself, and went down onto her hands and knees in prostration to Kyne.
Heimskr's heart was pounding in his chest and he broke out into a cold sweat. Something deep inside him told him that something was amiss. "Praise be to Talos! Praise be to Kynareth!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands up into the air. As the barrier subsided, he continued his sermon to the excited onlookers, proclaiming anew: "We are in the midst of a HOLY WAR! People of Whiterun, people of Skyrim! Guard your souls, and guard your minds! We live under the protection of the Divines, but there are those who threaten us still! We must be vigilant!"
Jarl Balgruuf has never seen such a spectacle before in his life. "Cura... this is your doing, isn't it?" he wondered. "The Divines could never intervene like that in the past."
He looked at the Gildergreen sapling, which was blossoming with gorgeous pink petals and wondered if it may have had something to do with it.
"Go get Farengar. I want him to study whatever magic that fool used to try and attack our gods." Jarl Balgruuf instructed Hrongar and the City Guards.
The guards went away to recover the body and Hrongar and Balgruuf headed back to Dragonsreach.
As if the Dragons and the Vampires weren't enough for this century.
Due to the extra-temporal nature of Jyggalag's library, many months had passed in solitude. What would be considered mere hours in mortal time were days in this realm, as was in Coldharbour and Oblivion itself, but Jyggalag's Infinite Library possessed a radical state of stagnance, reflective of the perfectionistic pensive giant himself.
Carcette found herself engrossed in the scribings dictating the lives of those she knew. She'd read through the stories of her parents; rediscovering her mother's unfortunate demise to Brain Fever, which reopened some wounds, to be certain. She'd also traipsed upon Patriarch Charlemagne - the leading priest of the Temple of Stendarr's life story. Surprisingly, he was still alive. Very aged, but living. Out of curiosity, she even investigated the life of Delphine - the insufferable Blades agent. What she found surprised her, learning of Delphine's fleeing of Cloud Ruler Temple through an underground passageway, abandoning her allies to a tragic fate - which she never recovered from, herself, living with that anguish and regret.
Jarl Skald's story was less remarkable - he was a standard boy born into a wealthy family, and his father was highly intolerant of outsiders. It explained much of his attitude. As of the moment, he was in exile at Jarl Korir's Longhouse in Winterhold.
Madena's spirit had appeared to a restless and tormented Silus Vesuius, who decided to repent of his crimes and join the Vigil at the grace of Vigilant Greyvild on the Isle of Wyrmstooth. This was surprising news to Carcette. It was definitely not what she would have expected of him.
When she took her own book off the shelf, Dyus accosted her with a hand on her shoulder, and shook his head. He insisted that the worst thing a mortal could do was peer into their own future, as it would only lead them spiraling down into a vortex of existential despair. She heeded his generous advice and placed her book back on the shelf. The choice of a gray cover for her life's story was an odd one to her, however.
Inigo's book was an azure blue colour - fitting, most certainly - and its details were very sad to behold, especially in his youth: a young Khajiit born to a superstitious tribe at the border of Elsewyr and Cyrodiil who wanted him to be sacrificed due to his fur colour. His brother and himself narrowly escaped death to be later adopted by an Argonian and Khajiit pair of former assassins. From there, he'd suffered many great losses and sorrows, and made terrible choices. Then, upon his entry into Riften Jail, he met Cura and his life would be forever changed.
The more Carcette read of Inigo's travels with Cura, she began to see the bonds of their friendship form, and she found her vision becoming blurry from the tears forming in them. She hadn't realized exactly how much Inigo's companionship meant to Cura - he was there for her when she was incarcerated in Markarth, the devastating news about the Hall was given to her, when she mourned their loss. She judged him too harshly way back then.
Cura's story fascinated her greatly. How was she supposed to avoid spoiling the future to her the next time they meet?
She would have to make the conscious effort, she supposed.
On the western battlefront. That was it. And where was Cura now?
She flipped through the pages:
"Will accept the services of Sir Amiel"
"Will battle the Flying Pseudodragon Menta-Na"
"Will learn inevitably that Varla of Fort Welkynd, guardian of the eastern frontier, is half-elven like herself"
"Will seek a peaceful resolution"
"Will be contacted by her friends Lucien Flavius, Inigo the Brave, and Serana Volkihar before they engage the Daedric onslaught on Windhelm"
"Here, she will learn of the Red Stone - the source of the belly of the lizard"
"Will enter the Fort after battling the corrupt hounds"
"Will learn of Varla's past, and due to her compassion, will spare his life and instead bargain for entry into the east"
"Will be blessed with a new Auroran's garb from the Daedric Prince Merida"
Carcette continued to flip through.
"Will descend the dreadful Thrassian Plague-infected sewers and discover the knight and former Khajiit child"
"Will come to a sorrowful realization about the Dark Maiden"
Then, an interruption happened, nearly causing Carcette to drop the book into the cold abyss below. She held onto it for dear life, clutching the book to her breast like a newborn child.
Laza, the knight of Order walked past her silently after having leapt down to her walkway from a higher platform. He seemed to look through her; as though she were air.
"Excuse me," Carcette called out to him. "Laza, right?"
He slowly turned his head to face her, but the stare of his helmet was cold, nearly robotic.
"How long have you served Jyggalag?" she asked out of genuine curiosity. She placed the book of Cura's life back on the shelf.
The knight stared at her, saying nothing. It was more than a little bit unsettling.
The world was going to Oblivion, and a war surrounded them, and he had nothing to say for it?
Laza turned around and continued walking, leaving the inquisitive Breton behind and disappearing into the light mist.
Carcette sulked in annoyance. It was quite rude, to say the least.
She utilized the power granted to her by Jyggalag and levitated to the higher walkway. With footsteps walking on light she reached the crystal ramp and ascended to Jyggalag's throne room.
The Daedric Prince sat upon his throne and seemingly stared off into the distance. His eyes were luminous - emanating a pale glow. He raised a hand and a book flew from the shelves into his palm. The pages flipped open and he began to write in one of them with his crystal quill before sending it off to it's proper placement.
"There is still one more event that must transpire before we engage Molag Bal directly. The Dragon Breaks have been accounted for. Cura begins her journey, and she must enter the Graymarch. You will see Cura soon, but not yet. On the western battlefront you shall. As for Laza, he has yet to make his move. A move that will set much in motion." Jyggalag preemptively spoke. He knew what Carcette was going to say; how could he not?
"Laza is odd. I don't trust him, frankly." Carcette expressed.
"And you are right not to. He seeks but one thing only: power. The power to destroy Molag Bal, and all who stand between himself and that goal." Jyggalag said.
"But why are you keeping him here if he's not loyal to you?"
"Because what will happen must be done." Jyggalag clenched the armrests of his seat.
"I don't understand." Carcette confessed.
"You do not need to understand; merely follow as I instruct." the Daedric Prince reminded her of their positions. "When the time draws near, you will pursue Laza, and he will become entrapped in my crystal barrier for a time. You will understand. Simply trust me."
Carcette was still concerned, though it was silly to be. After all, nothing seemed to be out of Jyggalag's uncanny scope of prescience. "All right."
"I will summon you when the time is right. You will see this transpire, and you will not at first understand why, but remember what I have instructed you." Jyggalag said firmly.
"Yes, of course." Carcette half-bowed and returned to the outer halls, leaving the Gray Daedra in peace.
Vilja was worried about the state of affairs above ground. As Lilian rested her head on her lap, she remained seated to not disrupt the child's rest.
Sophie, Aventus and the others were resting as well.
Carene had returned some time ago and was currently drowning her sorrows in a bowl of Cabbage Soup.
Brunwulf Free-Winter's swelling had gone down under the care of Faltonia Rato over the hours.
The other Spire residents discussed their potential future in Tamriel around the fire.
"Since it's basically a drab hub, we ought to open a Gambling hut there. Can you see it, Ninette? Hundreds - no - thousands of people coming in from all over Tamriel to bet money on frivolous games... and we just take in the coin!" Sunel fantasized to his betting partner.
Ninette laughed at the scheme. "Which bucket will the Horker toss the ball in? 5 septims a guess!"
"Which Mudcrab will reach the finish line first?" Sunel added. "Place your bet, and profits will be doubled if you're right!" Sunel laughed.
"It's ingenious! We should absolutely do that!" Ninette clapped her hands with excitement. "Oh - and card games! Pranks Pleasures!"
"Five Card Wisp."
"Venom Heart."
"Towers-Eight."
"Noddy! Oh, when will we be free to blow this joint?! We need to do this yesterday!" Ninette grunted with impatience and leaned forward, putting her face in her hands.
"Hey, Brunwulf. Is it true that Winterhold was home to Dunmer in ages past?" Tarvyn had to ask for his own curiosity.
Brunwulf confirmed as much. "Aye, it was. The Shrine of Azura that overlooks it is the only real trace of 'em left, though. It was after the city plummeted into the Sea of Ghosts, they were driven out by the local Nords, who blamed them an' the College for the disaster."
"Sounds about right. What really happened?" Tarvyn asked.
"Don't make the mistake of thinking all of us Nords are narrow-minded. We're not - the ones that are just happen to be the loudest." Brunwulf prefaced his explanation. "Nobody really knows what caused the cataclysm. All that's known is that it happened a couple of years after the eruption of Red Mountain, and nobody's bothered to fix the city since. Hundreds of years later an' it's still in ruins."
"I wonder if they have a Temple in Winterhold." Decanus wondered, scratching his chin. "If not, perhaps we can build a Temple of the Divines there. After all that we've endured; survived; I would like to honour them well. Perhaps even this Talos I hear spoken of."
Angrenor sat on a stone nearby, and was applying a cold cloth to his forehead to reduce the swelling of his injuries. "Wait... Imperial... you would build a Shrine to honour mighty Talos?"
"Of course I would. He has joined the ranks of the Aedra, hasn't he?" Decanus asked.
"Aye." Brunwulf confirmed.
"Then if I partake in the construction of a Temple of the Divines, I shall include Talos."
The former Stormcloak soldier was dumbfounded. He'd never heard an Imperial suggest something like that before in his lifetime - normally the contrary. "You accept the Ninth?"
"Certainly. Our world is ever-changing. If a Ninth has come, it only seems right he be acknowledged." the kind Pilgrim responded firmly and honestly. "If Akatosh, Arkay, Mara, Julianos, Dibella, Stendarr, Zenithar and Kynareth accept Talos, who are we to gainsay them?" After all, it wasn't out of the realm of possibility; "Arkay himself was once mortal. Mara granted him his Apotheosis. Why could the same not be said for this Talos?"
Angrenor looked to Rolff, who sat quietly and in great pain beside him. "I guess not all the Imperials are faithless bastards after all."
"Still don't change nothin'. They signed away all our freedoms to those damned Elves." Rolff snarled. "An' let damned Dark Elves into our city."
"What is your problem with us?" Tarvyn snapped at him from the other side of the bonfire. "Did a Dunmer kill your dog or something?"
Rolff shook his head. "No, but your kind are no damned good. You worship the Daedra and backstab each other for sport. Not a shred of honour in your blood. Ya can't be trusted. Like ALL Elves!"
"Your Dragonborn was a Breton. The Half-Elves. I guess that must hurt to see." Tarvyn tried to hold back his smugness with very little success.
"Shut up, ya bastard!" Rolff spat on the floor in his direction out of spite. "I don't wanna so much as hear that word come outta your mouth! The Dragonborn is one of our most sacred traditions! Traditions you provincials have squalled and rested on for generations!" He ran a sharp finger across the Spire inhabitants in a long wave.
Faltonia groaned and placed a hand on her forehead. "I don't know anything about any Dragonborns. I don't think anyone here has until the last few days. Your point couldn't be more wrong if you tried."
Tarvyn picked up for the Innkeeper. "Exactly! She said it best: we have no clue about your current squabbles and what you're complaining about because we've been gone from this world for millennia! What part of that doesn't sink in?"
Rolff sneered with the corner of his mouth. "The part where you losers just show up here an' everything goes to hell! That's what!"
"And everything was fine in this city before they showed up? Please, the Jarl was waging war against the Empire. It was only a matter of time until war came to our doorstep! Wake up, people." Brunwulf asserted.
Rolff had no rebuttal. He glanced over to Agrenor, who could not say otherwise, himself. Having fought wars for Ulfric already, and losing most of his right lung in the process, he knew firsthand the veracity of Brunwulf's words.
In that moment, Inigo and the wounded allies and soldiers descended into the safe haven, bloodied and limping. A couple of Stormcloak soldiers were missing limbs and relied on each other to walk.
Inigo carried Delphine to a safe spot and laid her down so that Esbern could properly treat her injuries.
Stenvar, Mjoll, Erik and Marcurio rejoined the remaining Blades when they approached to see what happened.
"By the gods... what happened up there?" Annekke asked, gripping her casted arm as she looked at the wounded Grandmaster.
Darkeethus grit his serpentine teeth and seethed upon seeing the deep gashes in her flesh exposed as Esbern removed her slashed and dented armour. He looked at the dismal state of Galmar and the other warriors who entered.
Ralof wanted to be alone, opting to sit far away from everyone else as the weight of the deaths pressed upon him. Thorald and Avulstein were his friends, and they were skewered like nothing. How was he going to explain that to Fralia and Eorlund? He gripped his forehead in his index finger and thumb to steady himself as he grieved in private for the loss of his comrades.
Lucien shuddered as the heat of battle died down. His body felt frozen and his heart was shocked with small, cold stings. "I... I survived that. I actually survived that!"
"Where's Cosnach?" Darkeethus asked the others, noting the abrasive drunk's absence.
"He died in the fields after buying us time to contest the horde of Daedra by angering Dagon." Mjoll explained. "He died a hero."
"Gods rest his soul." Annekke lowered her head in respect.
Sylgja leaned on her mother's shoulder. "I'm glad you weren't there, mother." Truly, the thought of her dying to the Daedra was horrifying for the young Nord to behold.
Annekke held her daughter's hand comfortingly.
Inigo sat on the ground near Esbern as he worked on mending Delphine. "Will... will she survive?" a deep-seeded guilt held Inigo down. He never wanted anyone to die on his behalf. Not after Fergus.
Esbern tried to reassure him. "I think so, but I don't think she'll be able to fight for a very long time. It's Stendarr's mercy that the blades were not fatal."
Inigo furrowed his brows as he gave thought to it. "I do not understand it at all! If Stendarr is so merciful, why did he not save Cura, or expose the false Carcette to us so Cura could have stopped all of this from happening?"
Esbern looked to the forlorn people who were now given hope; the inhabitants of the Wretched Spire, who were freed by the portal and Cura's efforts, and then at Lilian and Carene, who were spending time with Vilja and the children, who only live because of Carcette's actions proceeding from Cura's death.
"The gods can see a wider picture than we can." Esbern reminded him. "Perhaps terrible things must happen so that greater mercies may be bestowed."
Inigo leaned backwards. "I lost my brother in a similar way. When we were attacked by a frothing angry mob, he handed me our father's sword and fell so that I could continue walking. I did not ask for another to do this for me again!"
Esbern scratched his beard. "Frankly, I wouldn't have expected Delphine to do it, myself. I can only assume she did it from the shame she has."
"Shame? Because of selling her bathwater?" Inigo chuckled, recalling the odd bottles he'd seen on the shelves in the Sleeping Giant Inn basement long ago.
"No." Esbern cut the levity as he began to finish up with the stitches. "Her shame in allowing what happened to the Dragonborn!"
"But what does this have to do with me?" Inigo asked.
"Don't be coy, now. We both know that you were Cura's best friend. It showed, plain as day." Esbern stopped him with a friendly truth as he began to wrap a medical gauze around Delphine's torso.
"Yes, I... I was." Inigo admitted.
Esbern bit near the end of the long cloth and gripped the base of it in one hand, and used a dagger to cut the fabric so that he could properly tie it.
"You know, I'll bet for all her gruff exterior, Delphine actually likes you." Esbern scoffed. "Or, respects you somewhat. After all, you have quite a few valiant deeds under your belt, as well. You've fought Dragons, Daedra, and Vampires too. In a way, yourself and Lucien are the unsung heroes of this tale."
"Do not forget Serana, Mjoll and Vilja. Or Lydia." Inigo reminded him. "And all of you, the Dawnguard, Vigil, Winterhold students, Companions and Paarthurnax as well!"
"I... must admit. I was surprised when Paarthurnax came to our aid." Esbern confessed. "When the Dragons came onto the field, I was certain it was the end of us, and they helped push back Mehrunes Dagon instead. It was fascinating."
Lucien walked over to them and squatted beside his friend. "It's no surprise, really. Mehrunes Dagon is the sworn enemy of Akatosh. The Dragons are the sons of Akatosh. Dagon picked the worst possible time to attack Tamriel again." he tapped Inigo on the shoulder. "How are you doing, Inigo?"
The Khajiit shrugged. "I am doing as well as a cabbage in the Pale."
"So, frozen and barely hanging on?" Lucien clarified.
"Yes, pretty much. I am a sea without salt." Inigo reiterated.
"So, fresh and full of now-dead fish. Gotcha!" Lucien tried to make light of it, but Inigo was a bit distracted.
Inigo seethed as he removed his armour. The wounds embedded in his flesh nearly made Lucien gag when he'd taken notice of them. Deep, crescent slashes ran from his right shoulder down to his lower left waist on his back. Mere inches from his spine."Inigo?"
"I will be fine, Lucien. Do not..." Inigo grew lightheaded and slipped out of consciousness then and there.
"Inigo!" Lucien cried out in terror. "MEDIC! WE NEED A MEDIC!"
Nurelion and Nafyromir hurried over to his side, leaving the ones they were attending to aid the collapsed Khajiit. Nurelion was quick to administer a Healing Potion while the Altmer Mage prepared a Healing Spell.
"We'll help him - just give us some space." Nurelion requested of Lucien for the ephemeral moment.
A short few words, yet they seemingly took so long to come out and find Lucien's ears. The Imperial did as instructed and backed away. He couldn't help but worry about his best friend. He walked some distance away towards one of the ruined buildings, and slammed his fist into the solid brick. And then he hit again and again and again as the stresses overcame him.
"N-no! Not again! I can't lose another of my friends!" he wept miserably as he continued to watch the helpless Inigo on the ground from afar. His voice feebly echoed through the cavernous space. He wished he could turn back the clock. Perhaps to before he'd come to Skyrim. Perhaps had he never come, Cura could have avoided her death, and all of the subsequent suffering could have been prevented.
Or, perhaps it could have ended up worse.
If only she would have let him read that Elder Scroll way back when.
He sighed hopelessly, rejoicing in the meager positivity that at least they were safe for now.
"Gah!" cold sweat ran down the Jarl's face as he awoke from a large shot of pain traversing his upper back down his left leg.
Ulfric Stormcloak lay helpless in a rugged bed, anguished in mind and wracked with unspeakable pain. Despite this, however, he forced himself upright in defiance of his suffering body.
He was not going to lay there like a sick dog - he was the Jarl of Windhelm, damn it!
The last thing he remembered was collapsing in the Rift, and then being cared for by the Vigilants of Stendarr there as he bled out before losing consciousness to grief and agony.
The surroundings were unfamiliar to him. He was underground in what appeared to be a base of operations. Frost lined the ceilings above and bits of dust filled the dry air.
His nostrils whistled lightly as he sniffed the air, and his eyes were crusty and burning.
"Where am I ?" he asked himself aloud as the scenery began to settle in.
To his right, he saw Cura, his daughter, laying there, dead. Her skin was pale as snow and her expression pained. She was still armoured and donning her Apprentice Robes, with her natural Amulet laced around her interlocking hands. Her weapons rested upon her, as well.
Ulfric stepped off his bed and limped over to her bedside. Each laboured footstep dragged him closer until he gripped the head of the bed to keep himself steady.
That was his daughter laying there; his child. The beloved heiress of Ysgramor. The Dragonborn.
A profound sadness brought him to hold her hands. "Cura... you never deserved this fate... I could do nothing to help you. I'm so sorry..."
The grieving father lowered his head and began to sob over her as the truth before him processed in his mind.
Hearing of her death was enough to hurt him, but seeing the gash across her neck was an arrow wound to his heart.
He didn't even know she was engaging the Mythic Dawn, or that she'd lost her arm to Alduin.
His focus was placed entirely on a war that turned out to be pointless.
He was deceived. The entire goal was to tear down the Empire, beginning with the fracture of Skyrim. He should have seen it sooner.
In that chaos, the Daedra would flourish.
They managed to push the fiends away from the central East, but it was a bitter victory. A victory that cost many good men. Even then, could it truly be called a victory? It was more of a fortunate instance of survival than anything.
Nobody won; they merely pushed Dagon back, and were it not for the aid of Talos and the Dragons, where would they be now?
Ulfric caressed his daughter's cheek. He always wanted to do this, in truth. He wished he could have sat at his daughter's bedside and told her stories about his battles and old Nord fairytales. Perhaps even just once, read her Kolb & the Dragon.
Even were she alive, that opportunity had long since passed.
"I was never there for you." he admitted sadly. "And yet, you called me 'father.' I did not deserve the title."
He recounted their very first encounter, on the carriage heading towards Helgen, and the scenario that occurred. "Even back at Helgen, all I could focus on was my execution and the glory of Sovngarde. My martyrdom and where it would lead my cause. I never opened my eyes to see you, even as you sat next to me. I did see you, but I did not see you for who you were... and you look very much like Elenwen and myself." he paused to wonder. "Did you know? Did you know, even back then, what I was to you? What you were to me?"
Naturally, no answer was given to him.
"Ah, you're awake!" came the gentle voice of Vigilant Emma, who had come up the stairs with a book in her hands.
"You're Vigilants of Stendarr." Ulfric said in his delirium.
Vigilant Emma nodded. "Yes. Our order was founded after the Oblivion Crisis. We dedicate our lives to facing the Daedra, wherever they appear. We are quartered in the Hall of the Vigilant, but... er... Keeper Carcette resigned and we're due to get a new one soon."
Ulfric nodded. "A noble goal." He'd just faced the Daedra she was talking about, and paid a heavy price. "Cura... she was one of you. Fought many beasts out there."
Vigilant Emma nodded and looked to the deceased. "She was remarkable. I don't know how she did it, frankly. She had so much courage. I didn't know her very well, but we have spoken in the past. She joined the Dawnguard in fighting against the powerful Volkihar clan."
"I know of this." Ulfric admitted. "I was very proud of her, myself."
Vigilant Emma put her book aside onto an end table. "Were you close?"
"She was my daughter." Ulfric delivered the bombshell as he gently caressed Cura's forehead. It was cold to the touch.
The Vigilant's eyes widened and her mouth hung open. Cura was the daughter of a Jarl? Of Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak?
It actually made a lot of sense.
"I'm sorry for your loss." Vigilant Emma expressed her condolences.
"Hmph. I knew it. I always knew there was something more to her." came Isran's voice from the stairway east of them. He'd heard the conversation on his way down, and he was accompanied by Florentius. "So, the Jarl of Windhelm was her father all along. That certainly explains a lot."
"Who are you supposed to be?" Ulfric stood up from his daughter's bedside immediately. Pain wracked his body, but he stood tall just the same in defiance of his mortal frame.
"Isran, leader of the Dawnguard. I'm also a bit of a fan, I guess you could say. I respect a man who's willing to fight for what he believes in. Stands up for his principles." Isran admitted. "Your daughter was the same way. Fought like hell right to the end. I knew her when she was young. Taught her how to swing a mace. When I saw what she'd become, I couldn't have been more proud of her. Dragonborn. Nobody could have expected that."
Ulfric agreed. He was proud of all Cura had accomplished. He'd kept it to himself, but it was no less genuine. He looked back at Cura, then at Isran. "Seems you left more of an impression on her than I did."
Isran changed the subject. "Mehrunes Dagon. You survived him? What was his army like?"
Ulfric recounted the battle in great detail, of the Daedra, weak and strong, and the calamity in the outer fields. He spoke of Talos' Divine intervention and of the Dragons coming to their aid. He ended the story with his unconscious plummet into the White River and his coming across Vigilants somewhere in the Rift.
"We beat the Daedra back, yes, but where will Dagon assault next? We'll need to warn Jarl Laila Law-Giver. Riften could very well be his next target." Ulfric stated. "She is a loyalist to my cause. It shouldn't be difficult to get her on our side."
"If the Dragons gave Mehrunes Dagon the walloping you described, he's gonna have to lick his wounds for a while." Isran pondered. "We've gotta use everything at our disposal, here."
Ulfric glanced at Cura again. "We're all on the same side of this war. Imperial, Stormcloak, Dawnguard... if not, we're all sitting ducks."
Isran was inclined to agree. "We'll need a symbol. Someone who could speak for all of us, and yet represent none of us. That way, we'd be able to hold such an alliance."
"A symbol?"
"Someone who embodies redemption; building bridges; picking up broken pieces." Isran reiterated. "If I pondered to the Empire, it would come at the political expense of my organization, and you sure as hell can't just walk into Solitude and hand over a peace missive."
Ulfric looked at Cura again, and then the idea struck him. "Inigo."
"Inigo? The blue Khajiit?"
"Yes. He speaks for all of us: he grieves the loss of the Dovahkiin as a close friend. He desires an end to the Daedra menace. He is not tied down strictly to either of us except ceremoniously in my case. He is a friend to Balgruuf and the Empire, as well."
Isran considered it. If Inigo would be cooperative, it would make it easier to create a web of alliances to stand against Dagon and his forces. As they stood now, it was mere luck that decided the fate of Windhelm, as he saw it. "The Dawnguard and the Vigilants of the Beacon are holding the southeastern front. If you can get the Jarl of the Rift on our side, and with your men backing us, we may be able to push that red scumbag back through his damned portal."
Ulfric was barely in any shape to walk around, let alone join another war effort. He had to return to Eastmarch - his people needed him! Though, perhaps Laila would be willing to accommodate him while he was in recovery. He didn't have to take to the rugged mountains so soon when Riften was much closer in proximity. He agreed with Isran. "Jarl Laila will see reason. When I return to Windhelm I will contact Inigo... or perhaps send a Courier his way. They have an uncanny ability to track people down."
"The Daedra may think that they've won, but we'll show them they're wrong. In due time." Isran looked at Vigilant Emma. "You there, Vigilant; standing there like a statue. Get a carriage prepared for the Jarl - he's not exactly in the best shape to hike in the woods right now."
Vigilant Emma stiffened up, but nodded respectfully. "Yes, sir." She hurried up the stone stairs, and Isran began the walk behind her.
Ulfric's body was chastising him for his stubbornness, reminding him that he was, indeed, just a man. He grunted as stiffness squeezed his sides and flames clawed his back. His legs were pinned by burning daggers, poking in and out of his thighs with each laboured footstep. He bit his lower lip as he felt the tears in his shoulders and ribs. He lumbered over to Cura and examined her weapons and armour. He touched her Elven Mace.
She embraced that part of her heritage, it seemed.
Ulfric took the mace from her waist and lifted it into the air, and gave the cudgel a stiff twirl. "Cura, my daughter. With your weapon, I will deliver proper justice unto your enemies and killers." He loosened the leather strap on his belt and tied it in a loop. He used it as a docking for the mace, slipping its handle through the loop and allowing its ridged head to suspend over it, hooking onto the belt.
He gently touched her forehead again and, with pained movements, ascended the stairway, determined more than ever to strike back against the Daedra.
The peaceful ambience of Jyggalag's library was enhanced by its silver ambience, like dwelling amidst a colourless film. The longer she dwelled therein, the more she grew fond of it. In some way, she'd wished Adalvald could be here too; being the literature buff he was, he would absolutely adore the Library.
Carcette stumbled upon a unique book with a leather cover, simply titled, 'Laza'. It was not a prediction book, but rather, one recovered from Coldharbour judging by the baneful dust baked onto its face. Within it, there were four sections. She began to read:
"Take on the name of Laza and become an immortal hunter.
Chase the Stone and hunt down the souls of those burned by the Stone.
Crush the Stone and bring peace to the captive souls and the Old Forest."
"Laza and the Owl"
1
"Laza met the White Owl on the green meadow. The Owl stared at Laza's weeping eyes and told him:
"A shepherd may become a wolf if he lays down his staff, and he may roam the forest and hunt down his prey. A wolf may become the wind if he abandons his fangs, and then there is no place out of reach for him. And so he may eventually reach those he lost. But the wind may not blow straight. If you become the wind of Order, your fangs will grow back and you will be a wolf again."
2
"Laza met the Gray Owl at the edge of the Old Forest. The Owl stared at Laza's burning eyes and told him:
"Blind your right eye and you will also blind the eyes of the sky. No one will remain to watch the forest from above. Blind your left eye and you will also blind the eyes of the forest. No one will remain to wander in the forest. Blind both of your eyes and no one will ever catch you. But you too will catch no one. Use your nose and ears, avoid the smell of blood and follow the call of the Owl. Then you shall find your way to the bottom of the fountain of Kyne."
3
"Laza met the Black Owl at the fountain of Kyne. The Owl stared at Laza's bloody eye sockets and told him:
"Plunge your dagger into the fountain and wash away the Nedic maiden's blood. You will lose your staff, but you will grow fangs. The waters of the fountain will be tainted, but you will be a wolf. Kyne will be gone, but you will be one step closer to those you lost."
"The People of the Grasslands"
"The nomads who served Kyne were not allowed to enter the Forest, hence they lived in the grasslands.
They looked out over the green meadows and galloped across the northern lands.
They offered the ashes of their dead to Kyne, and her wind returned them to the old Forest.
...
...
...
The dark voice of... carried death with its song and the people of the grasslands turned to ash, leaving only Laza behind.
Laza blinded both his eyes and crawled on like a wraith, hunting the Stone.
Deep in the Old Forest, there was peace at the bottom of the fountain, but Laza never slept again."
The text was strange and cryptic, and quite concerning objectively. Carcette shut the dusty old book and thought to inquire knowledge from Jyggalag concerning its cryptic contents. For the time she'd spent in the Great Library of Jyggalag, she'd learned much more than she could have imagined about her world and its history, and the histories of their worst adversaries and greatest heroes. It almost gave her a sense of pride, knowing more about the Daedra now than the other Vigilants had ever could have.
Jyggalag was remarkable. Never before had Carcette thought such a being could exist: one who could foresee so much, with such impeccable accuracy - he was truly one of a kind.
Others may see him as the dull counterpart to Sheogorath, but this was certainly not the case. He was far more fascinating. To her, at least. His order and logic were enigmatic. Insanity, ironically, was predictable. It would always result in senseless violence. A funny thing, that. Chaos always resulted in misery. Order resulted in harmony.
The Library was perfectly peaceful. Knights of Order walked around, patrolling. Priests sung praises to Jyggalag. Dyus kept the books organized. Carcette engrossed herself in the sea of literature. All was calm, and all was still. And safe. Secure. There was no chaos to be found.
At least, not yet, but soon, if Jyggalag's prediction about Laza was correct.
Since it was Jyggalag who predicted it, she knew that it was certain. A sudden shift in the air beckoned her, and she knew the time was drawing near. He wished to see her now. She ascended the cold crystalline stairs and walked through the labyrinthine honeycomb-patterned pathways between stone obelisks and rows of bookshelves as she located the throne room.
Jyggalag sat upon his spiked throne and watched the sand-covered wastelands of Coldharbour from his cocoon of Order. He squinted his eyes at the sight of the odious barrier placed by Bal to keep him out. He watched the warping spiritual energy pushing in and out, revealing a weak spot, waiting to be exploited. He watched the Imperial City with intent.
"Soon. Very soon, the barrier keeping me out will be broken. The events are in motion."
Carcette entered the throne room, summoned by the Daedric Prince. She held her hands behind her back as she awaited instruction. The gray monolith of a Daedra began to motion his hands in a circle, and light began to take shape between them. He then moved his hands apart in a perfect horizontal direction, and something began to take shape: it was what looked like a mace with a ringed head with sharp edges, but long, like a warhammer. "This weapon was to be yours, long ago when you took office in the Vigil. Originally, it was to serve as a badge of office, but the Vigilants who were to bring it to you from Wayrest fell in the Dragontail Mountains."
As the weapon took shape before her, Carcette fixated her gaze on it. "Excuse me?"
"It has been lost to time, but I summon it here, now, as a gift to you. May it serve you well in our mission." the weapon finally arrived, casted with silver, the longmace was beautiful to behold.
Carcette was dumbfounded upon the sight of it. "I... I thought they sent nothing because the Cardinal was upset about my sudden departure. We hadn't spoken since."
Jyggalag shook his head. "Things are hardly ever so black-and-white, despite my desire for them to be so. No. The weapon is named Pendulum. As one's destiny shifts away from the world, the world pulls it back. An apt name." With a twirl of his hand, the weapon gently floated down into her hands.
The former Keeper ogled it and examined its weight difference. It was lighter than other warhammers she'd wielded. And it had a beautiful shine. Emblazoned on the handle was the Chalice of Stendarr.
This weapon was meant for her. She wasn't even aware of it. Did Moric know? Perhaps he had, but he'd left before it was scheduled to arrive. And it never did. But there was no mistaking it: it was Bretonic weaponry. "How did it get lost?"
"Brigands attacked the Vigilants who were responsible for its transport. The weapon fell off a cliff and landed between several stones below, where it remained unseen for over eighteen years. Well; unseen by all but Jyggalag, that is." the Daedric Prince assured her. "I have waited long to return it to its rightful owner, as predicted. The time draws near. It will serve you well in Coldharbour."
"Th-thank you." Carcette was overcome with gratitude. She hung the new warhammer on her back, sliding it under the gray cape.
Carcette donned the gray Armour of the Bastion with pride. When she stood in the presence of Jyggalag, she felt rejuvenated; at peace. It was something she wasn't used to, frankly. There was solitude and serenity in the stagnant nature of the realm and the certainty Jyggalag exuded. It was something she sorely lacked in life.
"Carcette - you will be able to pass through Molag Bal's barrier. It was designed with the intent to push me back. Being mortal, you are exempt from its rule of oppression, as it was not designed for you."
"Could Cura pass through the barrier?" Carcette wondered. She wanted to ensure that Cura would not also be attacked by the Army of Order.
"No. She is deceased. Only the living can bend the rules of this barrier. Molag Bal has not expected a second mortal to enter his realm through my cocoon." Jyggalag explained. "When two of the towers are deactivated, the barrier holding the Graymarch will succumb, and Laza will be free to advance. As of right now Molag Bal thinks himself the victor, but when Jyggalag next awakens, his Tower shall fall and his ambition shall be naught but dust in the wind."
Carcette was confused by what he was saying. "When... you next awaken?"
"Bring the Dragonborn to me when the barrier falls, and have her awaken me. Then, she shall be ready for the invasion of the Tower of Sacremnor in the heart of the city." The Daedric Prince stood up, towering over the Breton. He stood ready for something , but did not elaborate. "And now, my time has come."
"Your..."
Silent footsteps echoed through the throne room, reverberating off the obelisks and crystal spikes in the square space. Laza entered the chamber with a long, slender gray claymore in his hands.
The Sword of Jyggalag!
He glared at the Daedric Prince with intent; a red glow illuminating his visor as he clenched the sword with both hands and held it up against his right shoulder.
"Your attempt to kill me will not bring you peace. It will not avenge your sister. It is futility itself." Jyggalag explained coldly to the warrior.
Carcette turned to look at the Daedra. "His sister?"
Jyggalag nodded. "She has been released of her millennia of suffering upon the world. She now waits where it all began to reunite with Shor. Thanks to your efforts, and Inigo's, she will no longer walk the world an accursed undead."
Before Carcette could put it together, the revelation practically screamed in her face. Lamae Bal.
Laza was related to Lamae Bal? "Plunge your dagger into the fountain and wash away the Nedic maiden's blood." Carcette whispered the passage from the recent book to herself as the pieces fell in place.
Laza was the one who first slayed Lamae. Or rather, induced a near-endless sleep upon her until the group arrived.
She could not see Laza's face, but his wrathful expression was plain to see.
Suddenly, she saw the ulterior motive Jyggalag had in sending her to the ruins underneath Windhelm - it was not just to provide a safe space for refugees, or to redeem herself, or to save the Vigilants - but to deliberately turn Laza against Jyggalag himself!
Jyggalag smirked underneath his helmet. As he saw it, all was going according to his plan. "I stand ready, Laza. Do as you must; what you are compelled to do. You have touched the Stone, and from there there can be no recourse."
He extended his arms and sat upon his throne again, ready to face the wrath of his high-strung subordinate. With a glint in his eye, he saw the Amulet of kings in Cura's hand and the destruction of Molag Bal.
Carcette gasped and hurried to try and stop the Knight, but Jyggalag simply shook his head. "No. Allow him."
Laza walked past Carcette as she reluctantly stepped back. He paid her no mind as he stormed up to the throne of Order. With a wrathful thrust, Laza hurled the long gray sword like a javelin and struck Jyggalag straight through the heart, pinning him to the throne.
"Jyggalag!" Carcette cried out as the blade pierced through his chest.
Laza stared at him for a hot minute, his visor glowing a deep, burning crimson.
Why? Why would he just sit there and allow this? Would it not have just been easier to send Carcette through the barrier to help destroy it from within?
Laza quickly dashed for the exit once he'd completed his task; almost as if the sudden realization of what he did frightened him. From the wound on Jyggalag's chest a burst of silver energy erupted and caused the ceiling above to begin raining down spikes of crystal.
Carcette chased Laza along the walkways and through the Library, warhammer gripped firmly in both hands. Thanks to the mystic properties of the armor gifted to her, the hammer weighed very little, and she was able to keep up a steady pace with the nimble Knight.
They leapt over gaps and dodged descending crystals. Priests of Order were also attacking Laza, firing beams of energy from their crystalline hands and Knights of Order wanted to claim his head.
In her pursuit, Carcette leapt off a column above and tackled Laza to the ground and began to beat on him for what he'd done, but the Avenger slipped free of her grasp. With a firm punch, he knocked her off of him and scrambled to his feet quickly.
The chase continued into the crystal-laden sands outside of the cocoon, and Laza spotted the entry into Coldharbour - a barrier consisting of moving light. He ran, and ran and ran, and ducked once as Carcette leapt over him to try and tackle him to the ground again.
In her lunge, Carcette flew right through the barrier and landed on her chest into Coldharbour. Laza came from behind her, reaching forward to attack, but that was when it happened.
He was suspended in place by the residual power of Jyggalag, and crystals began to freeze the light of the barrier, entrapping him within them.
Jyggalag's voice came above Carcette. "The barrier is suspended with him in crystal, in that ephemeral second of weakness. Once broken, Laza will be free to pursue Marukh and Cura, and then Molag Bal. But, in this destruction, so too will the barrier itself vanish. I leave you in charge of the Army of Order until I reawaken."
"I... don't understand how that works, exactly, but how will it happen?" Away from the library, she had no way of going back and rereading Cura's life story to see what leads up to it. The only answer Carcette got was silence. "Jyggalag?"
Nothing.
All she could sense before her was Laza, encased in crystal, extending his hand forward to grab her, but entirely frozen in place. His white armour was now black, however, having been tainted by the Stone, as it were.
She dusted off her armour and stared at him. "I understand the path you're on. I'm sorry about your sister, but she was dead long ago. Don't worry, though; Molag Bal will suffer for all that he's wrought upon the people of Nirn." She walked away from him and headed through the gate into Coldharbour proper. The Knights of Order's obelisks were in place, awaiting activation.
She knew that all the remained to do now was wait. Wait for what, exactly, she did not know. But she had all of eternity to do so, and stretching out before her, spanning for miles was just that.
An eternity in the cold abyss.