"The Song of Pelinal
Volume 7: On His Battle with Umaril and His Dismemberment
On Pelinal's battle with Umaril, and his dismemberment
[Editor's Note: This fragment comes from a manuscript recovered from the ruins of the Alessian Order's monastery at Lake Canulus, which dates it to sometime prior to the War of Righteousness (1E 2321). However, textual analysis suggests that this fragment actually preserves a very early form of the Song, perhaps from the mid-sixth century.]
[And so after many battles with] Umaril's allies, where dead Aurorans lay like candlelight around the throne, the Pelinal became surrounded by the last Ayleid sorcerer-kings and their demons, each one heavy with varliance. The Whitestrake cracked the floor with his mace and they withdrew, and he said, "Bring me Umaril that called me out!" ... [And] while mighty in his aspect and wicked, deathless-golden Umaril favored ruin-from-afar over close combat and so he tarried in the shadows of the white tower before coming forth. More soldiers were sent against Pelinal to die, and yet they managed to pierce his armor with axes and arrows, for Umaril had wrought each one by long varliance, which he had been hoarding since his first issue [of challenge.]... [Presently] the half-Elf [showed himself] bathed in [Meridian light] ... and he listed his bloodline in the Ayleidoon and spoke of his father, a god of the [previous kalpa's] World-River and taking great delight in the heavy-breathing of Pelinal who had finally bled... [Text lost] ... [And] Umaril was laid low, the angel face of his helm dented into an ugliness which made Pelinal laugh, [and his] unfeathered wings broken off with sword strokes delivered while Pelinal stood [frothing]... above him insulting his ancestry and anyone else that took ship from Old Ehlnofey, [which] angered the other Elvish kings and drove them to a madness of their own... [and they] fell on him [speaking] to their weapons... cutting the Pelinal into eighths while he roared in confusion [which even] the Council of Skiffs [could hear]... [Text lost] ...ran when Mor shook the whole of the tower with mighty bashing from his horns [the next morning], and some were slain-in-overabundance in the Taking, and Men looked for more Ayleids to kill but Pelinal had left none save those kings and demons that had already begun to flee... It was Morihaus who found the Whitestrake's head, which the kings had left to prove their deeds and they spoke and Pelinal said things of regrets... but the rebellion had turned anyway... [and more] words were said between these immortals that even the Paravant would not deign to hear."
Cura opened her eyes and gasped. She was lying on a floor stained with crimson, among the corpses of fallen soldiers. They wore elaborate gold armor that's plates resembled the feathers of birds, mirroring the majestic wings of Meridia, the goddess of light. Cura wondered how she - standing in Pelinal's place - had survived the massacre, and what had caused it.
Pelinal spoke to the Half-Elf from within her inner heart. "This is the second siege of the White-Gold Tower. I'd heard of the coward's bold return as Paravant lay upon her deathbed. I was joined by a White Wolf, sent of Mara, who had called my presence there, for a final battle against the fiend, Umaril." he narrated the circumstances and abruptly vanished, to allow Cura to experience the fight herself.
A long, bloody history between Pelinal and the Ayleid Lords stretched before her. But, a second siege? The song had long spoken of a single siege - and that siege was ultimately what marked the end of Pelinal himself.
Perhaps, being so long ago, the stories changed and events were conflated to flow a finer tale for the masses?
A barking sound alerted her, and there she was, checking up on the fallen warrior: Korn, Mary's White Wolf. She kept barking until Cura stood upright and then stood by the door when asked to remain there.
Author's Note: "Vigilant OST - Pelinal VS the Aurorans" (YEEEE! We're here! We're here! I've waited for literal MONTHS to write this battle! The Auroran segment is epic! It's my favourite part of the Vigilant Mod! :3 I hope you have as much fun reading this as I did writing it!)
Cura felt a surge of awe as her vision cleared and she saw the majestic hall before her. She was in the heart of the White-Gold Tower, the ancient seat of power for the Ayleids and the Imperials. The walls were gleaming with white and silver, and a long golden carpet led to a smaller chamber atop a small flight of stairs at the end of the room. Cura recognized the style of the Elven masonry, which resembled the Chantry of Auriel that she had visited in the Forgotten Vale. The hall was filled with elegant shapes and angles, and the pillars reached up to a high vaulted ceiling. Cura knew she was witnessing a momentous event: the siege of the White-Gold Tower. And she was amazed by its beauty.
Cura was herself, still, wearing her Meridian Champion garb, in its white and golden splendor. The blood vanished from the fabric and she glowed with the light of the Daedric Prince, which seemed to envelop the very air itself.
It was surreal.
Dawnbreaker pulsated on her hip, releasing waves of energy, calling her attention. Cura slid it out of its sheath and held it in both hands. She looked at the dead Aurorans on the ground behind her and laughed at the absurdity of the situation.
Was she to strike them down with Meridia's own sword?
She sincerely apologized to Meridia in her mind as she sprinted along the ornate corridor and climbed a short flight of stairs to a small chamber that led to another passage on its left side. In the middle of the chamber, two miniature statues of hooded figures stood, resembling the pedestal of the Beacon at the base of the Statue on Mount Kilkreath. The floor around them was tiled with maroon squares, and the doorways of the chamber were adorned with statues of armoured warriors holding spears.
"Pelinal, what keeps you trapped here?" she wondered to herself as she hurried forward.
As she neared the center, Cura veered left towards the hall where a swarm of Aurorans awaited. But a golden barrier of light blocked her path before she could enter the doorway. The hooded statues at the center of the vestibule summoned a Beacon to sustain the power.
Immediately, three golden Daedric warriors manifested before Cura, and each wielded a Spear which glowed with light similarly to Dawnbreaker.
"You'll meet your end, mortal!" one of the Aurorans roared as he lunged in for a spike. Graceful as the wind, Cura evaded the strike with a pivot and brought Dawnbreaker into one of the others' heads, impaling them through the eye slits of the tri-horned golden helmet.
She leapt back to dodge the second's Elven greatsword and rolled away from a second spear attack. She lowered herself and charged forward with her shield up, launching the Greatsword-wielder into the air and then impaled his Spearman cohort ruthlessly through the chest.
"Are you prepared for your death?" the greatsword-wielding Auroran growled as he leapt upright and brought down his blade diagonally.
With her champion reflexes, Cura maneuvered to the left, and barely felt the wind of that attack. Though, she knew from training with Farkas that one strike with a greatsword was worth ten of a normal blade.
She struck with Dawnbreaker, causing the foe to stumble backwards. He then responded with a downwards thrust, but Cura was quick to parry it with her shield. She kept her shield in place to absorb the second strike before felling him with a stab through the abdomen.
Ironically, the flames of Dawnbreaker burned him just the same.
Cura recounted scribings in a book she'd once read in the Arcanaeum at the College of Winterhold during her study there. They had a book that detailed the way Khajiit saw Meridia. The text essentially proclaimed her: "Merid-Nunda, False Spirit of Greed, The Orphaned Glimmer is the daughter of Magrus, who loved only himself and his own creations. Magrus did not take a mate but instead forged children of the aether. Merid-Nunda is a cold spirit, born of light without love. She is intellect without wisdom, knowledge without purpose."
It was text that Cura found quite flanderizing, to be truthful. Meridia was the daughter of Magnus, true, this much was proven by Dawnbreaker's reaction to the Eye of Magnus. But to call her a "cold spirit"... truly? "Intellect without wisdom, knowledge without purpose?"
Then again, she did send Cura down into the Sewers with her Champion armour, which was the last thing Mary needed to see. But, it did shield her from disease.
To say she was incapable of love or charity, or anything of the sort was nothing short of nonsense. Why would Meridia be invested in the destruction of the Undead if she had no love for the living?
Meridia was an enigma, to be certain. Cura was uncertain to where they would stand after this.
"I honour my lord by destroying you!" one of the Aurorans proclaimed as he lunged at Cura with an Elven Mace in hand.
"Ha!" Cura laughed aloud as she dodged the swing. "If only you could even begin to understand the gut-choking irony of all this!"
Cura, a devotee of Meridia, faced a paradoxical situation. She was battling Meridia's Aurorans in the ancient White-Gold Tower, wielding Dawnbreaker, an artifact of Meridia herself. To make matters worse, one of the Aurorans attacked her with a mace identical to the one she carried on her right hip.
It was absurd!
Nimbly she moved, with the grace and cunning of a fox as she cut between the horde, and blocked a battleaxe and slid around a warhammer, and clubbed one in the head. She dodged a blow from another greatsword and leapt back into the wall to dodge a normal sword.
She was outnumbered, twelve to one, and had to dance and maneuver around the sporadic crowd as strikes came at her from all sides. Cura charged a pair of Fireballs and launched them against the ground in front of her, bombarding the oncoming barrage of foes.
She was not alone in her fight. She had the spirit of Pelinal by her side. His power coursed through her veins and his fury guided her strikes with Dawnbreaker. The holy sword blazed with light, searing the flesh of the Aurorans who dared to oppose her. She was his instrument, his champion, his legacy. She carried on his crusade against the Daedra, and she would not falter.
She was quickly surrounded by leagues of them, swinging sword after sword and battleaxe against her.
Cura was wild as a Sabre Cat, ripping and tearing them down, one by one, but taking hits in the process. Blood spurted off of her as she marched through the horde like a Tank. She remembered that these foes ultimately led the Star-Made Knight to his grave.
To avenge his death, she decided to annihilate these villains with his name on her lips. She grabbed Auriel's Bow and retreated to the entrance door, creating some distance from the persistent foes. She fitted an Ice Arrow on the bow and shot it at one of them, who was squeezed between two others. The arrow exploded in a blast of Frost and Sunlight, hitting all three.
Once done, she leapt backwards to dodge what appeared to be a Bound Arrow conjured of Meridia's golden light. When the arrow struck the wall it burst into heated energy, much akin to Auriel's Bow.
Cura raised her shield and leaned forward into it, and charged forward like a rampaging Bull. When she made contact with the Archer, she slammed him into the wall, and struck his head off with Dawnbreaker. His bow disappeared on his demise and she was struck in the back with a sword.
She parried the next blow and kicked her foe in the stomach. When he staggered from the impact, she tore him down with the divine blade, as well, and continued to rush through the first hall.
The battle had just begun!
Cura's heart leapt with excitement and a madness of its own took hold of her. She loved it: every strike, every slash, every stab... it left her in pure ecstasy. In the next chamber, barriers erected themselves by another Beacon mounted upon two more statuettes. Materializing near her were two giant Aurorans - feminine in their shape, with golden birdlike armour and helms that obscured their face but had decorative crescents on the back of their heads. They both wielded spears lit with the flames of Meridia.
Immediately, Spellbreaker absorbed a few violent strikes as the pair unfairly engaged Cura two-on-one. Though, nothing about this fight in general was fair.
After all, it was them against Pelinal, not Pelinal against them.
BAM!
THUMP!
WHAM!
When the strikes failed, they nodded to one another and leapt to either side and attempted to thrust their pikes forward to skewer Cura.
Cura leaped between their forward strikes and rolled along the floor. She quickly slid to the left to dodge a downward thrust and smashed one of their kneecaps.
"Nargh!" the giantess cried out as her leg buckled and she was caused to stumble. Cura leapt onto her back and used it as a platform to spring into the air and behead her companion with a downwards slash, clearing her neck.
The Auroran Giantess' head rolled across the floor and her body fell limp and turned to dust.
"No! Yuna!" the wounded giantess cried out as she observed her ally's demise.
Cura switched out Dawnbreaker for her mace and used it to batter her across the side of her face. The giantess fell over to the left, and Cura launched a Firebolt, knocking her back.
When the Auroran tried to get back up, Cura slammed her in the ribs with her mace, which seemed to deal the killing blow, as she fell limp and was also reduced to dust.
The Beacon sputtered out and the barriers dissolved. Cura then ran to engage the next, even lager horde of enemies. She hadn't even had time to count them before having to dodge three separate arrows made of light energy.
The horde rushed her swiftly, and without mercy.
The air crackled with energy as she channeled the arcane forces that flowed through her veins. Cura created a Wall of Flames to divide the ground and hurried around it to meet her confused enemies. Dawnbreaker, her companion, stood by her side. The sword hummed with a celestial power, its blade radiant like the morning sun.
She was met by two Aurorans wielding swords of their own. Their blades clashed against Dawnbreaker's radiant steel, but the sword held firm.
Leaping back for a breather, Cura weaved her magic. Arcane energy danced at the palm of her Dwemer arm, and she chanted incantations. Bolts of lightning shot forth, striking the Aurorans. Some stumbled, their golden armor crackling under the assault.
She was chaos personified; she was the storm.
Their allies who watched from the furthermost corner of the grand hall took heed and stormed her.
Cura stood tall in the face of these insurmountable odds, her armor gleaming like a fallen star. Her eyes blazed with righteous fury, and she drew both her Elven Mace, and Dawnbreaker. The Aurorans, clad in shimmering silver, dared to rush towards her, their eyes burning like suns. Their blades were not of steel but of pure light, and they hungered for her mortal flesh.
The first Auroran lunged, its blade trailing comet-like sparks. Cura sidestepped, parrying with her mace. The clash sent shockwaves through the chamber, shattering the blade on impact. Cura's breath misted in the cold air, and she whispered a prayer to the Nine Divines as her eyes darted about the room. They'd begun to close in on her, and seven were lunging at her at once! Three of whom were also dual-wielding.
"Stendarr, lend me your strength!"
Her blade cleaved through the first Auroran, and it dissolved into motes of golden light. But more came—endless, relentless. They swarmed her, their voices a chorus of celestial rage. Cura fought back with the fury of a god, each swing of Dawnbreaker pure calamity. And her mace a cataclysm of fury. She danced among them, leaving trails of radiant blood in her wake.
The White-Gold Tower trembled. The very stones wept as if mourning the clash of immortal forces. Cura's armor bore scars—burns from Auroran blades, but she pressed on. Her eyes sought the heart of the storm, where a towering Auroran, its wings ablaze, awaited her, accompanied by three of its cohorts in another small chamber, with a Beacon barring entry or exit from either side once she'd stepped in.
"Meridia!" Cura shouted, her voice echoing through the vaulted halls. "Do you think you could let up maybe a little? Sheesh!"
The Arch-Auroran descended, its wings casting shadows across the marble floor. Its sword blazed like a sun, and its eyes held the promise of oblivion. Cura met it head-on, claher maceshing with the divine blade. Sparks erupted, and the very air ignited. Cura was tossed backwards by the magnificent force, and her back hit the barrier.
"HNG!"
She managed to strike one down, but was immediately overshadowed by the immense strength of the other two, who bound her against the wall with brutal hands. Then they threw her against the adjacent wall and rushed her down.
As she dropped, the foes encircled her and struck her several times. Her Half-Elven blood began to paint the floor in disordered splashes as she attempted to rise again. Cura's armor cracked, and blood flowed freely from her wounds. But she grinned—a mad, defiant grin. She was not going down that easily.
One of the Aurorans chanted forbidden incantations, summoning bolts of searing energy firing haphazardly from a star which levitated above his head. Cura deftly deflected them, her shield radiating with a powerful ward. She lunged, aiming for his heart, but he sidestepped, and struck her side.
With a roar, she lunged again, turning on the other foe, driving Dawnbreaker through the first Auroran's chest. The creature screamed, its light flickering. Cura wrenched the blade free, and the Auroran dissolved into radiant mist. The tower shook, and Cura staggered, falling to one knee.
She swiped the second with Dawnbreaker, and the fiend managed to escape the blade. She rushed it down, only to be struck in the back by the flying Auroran fiend. With a swift maneuver, she escaped the sharp blade, and used her mace to strike the second foe.
And that was when she'd begun to falter. Cura lost her footing and slipped on her own blood splatter. Dawnbreaker resonated in her hand, recognizing the Daedric power surrounding it.
"Meridia, please listen to me," she pleaded, coughing up crimson. "I can't perish here. Not by the hands of your lackeys. That would be a terrible outcome for both of us, wouldn't you agree?" She meant every word: she and Meridia had a great partnership, and she hated to see it ruined by this unlucky situation.
But she rose, her eyes aflame. The remaining Auroran hesitated, sensing its defeat. Cura raised Dawnbreaker, and the tower blazed with divine fire. She charged as the foe swooped down for a deadly blow like a comet of vengeance, and the two clashed, impaling one another in mid-air. Cura grabbed the back of the fiend's neck to steady herself as its blade stuck through her abdomen. She winced in great pain as she forced Dawnbreaker, which had only partially penetrated her enemy, through the remainder of it.
As they fell, they were frozen in their fatal embrace, a brief instant before hitting the ground.
Cura tried to maneuver her body to use her foe as a cushion, but that only drove its blade deeper into her flesh. She let out a loud gasp as the pain surged through her whole being, and with a great effort, heaved herself off of him and lay on her back next to the slain enemy, who vanished like the others.
Dawnbreaker stood upright, the tip of the blade stuck in the stone floor.
Cura cast a potent Healing spell upon herself to close her wounds and quickly sat upright. The barriers were gone, and the Beacon in the statuette's hands grew dim.
She slipped her feet as she tried to get up from the red pool she lay in, smearing the blood like paint as she tried to grip Dawnbreaker's handle. She beheld the sword and pried it from the cold white stone.
In the end, the White-Gold Tower stood, scarred and silent. Cura knelt amidst the dust of the fallen, her breath ragged. The echoes of battle faded, and she whispered a final prayer before moving through the door on the left, which would lead to the antechamber, divine insight told her.
As Cura entered the great antechamber with a limp in her step, she was immediately greeted by an extremely long brown and gold carpet flanked on either side of statues depicting the crescent-helmed Aurorans kneeling towards one another and in prayerful poses along the white walls. As Cura walked through she felt a gutteral feeling; was she technically betraying Meridia by doing this?
As she approached the end of the carpet, she saw a majestic sight that made her gasp in awe. A colossal statue of Meridia towered over the throne, leaning against the wall and resembling the one she had encountered on Mount Kilkreath. The Goddess of Light had wings on her back and wore a hooded robe, and raised her hands together above her head, holding the Beacon in between them. The sight both inspired and instilled guilt in Cura as she observed it.
"I'm sorry, Lady Meridia. I had no other options." Cura apologized as she approached closer, wiping the blood off of Dawnbreaker onto her robes, which seemed to dissolve the blood on contact. Previously red, they were white again now. Perhaps Meridia's disdain for undeath would not allow blood to dry on her gifted armour.
Cura hoped Meridia understood that this was a reenactment - not a personal attack. Sunlight poured in from the windows on either side of the antechamber. She waited for a sign that Meridia was watching or listening, but there was none. Maybe she was too hurt to communicate, or maybe this was just the nature of the dream. Cura couldn't say for certain.
Cura had expressed her contempt for Umaril to the goddess before. Maybe Meridia did not interfere because she thought this dream would be a suitable way for her to vent her anger?
As Cura stepped on the carpet, where the statue's shadow fell from the windows behind the icon of Meridia, she was suddenly assaulted by two Slave women, who were forced to attack her.
It was a reflex; a mere instinct. Cura bashed one with her shield and struck the other with her mace in the spur of the moment, and it was enough to end their lives. The action made her lash out at her attackers without looking at them.
When they collapsed to the floor, lifeless, Cura trembled and backed away.
They were innocents, who were under a spell. But who would be so despicable as to do such a thing? Their bodies crumbled into heaps of dust on the ground and Cura gasped at the horrific sight.
Immediately, from above Meridia's statue, a gravelly, raspy male voice called out to her. His voice was as pleasant to the eardrums as a splinter was to the sole of one's foot. "You really enjoy killing. You are like a child tearing legs off of insects."
Cura scowled upon his words. If he was who she thought he was, and he could be noone else, he had absolutely no room to judge.
"The Mythic Era will not be over, not until the tainted blood of Ada still remains in the world. Like yours and mine..." the smoke-laden voice continued to growl.
"Show yourself. I'm here to kill you." Cura responded and gave her Elven Mace a light twirl with her wrist.
"Fine. We will talk after I cleave your head from your shoulders. Perhaps you will listen then." the voice snarled with annoyance.
Author's Note: Here we go! "Vigilant OST - Umaril the Unfeathered"
In a cocoon of blue light, Umaril uncloaked himself and manifested before Cura. She felt dwarfed by his presence as he loomed over her. He had a colossal stature, reaching almost two meters above her head. He was not only tall, but also broad and muscular, filling the space with his imposing figure. She could see where Varla's stature was inherited from. He wore a golden armour that shone with the radiance of Meridia. His chestplate, gauntlets and boots were adorned with feather motifs, resembling the Aurorans' armour style. From his shoulders sprouted wing-like structures that gave him an even greater imposing presence. His helmet had a strange and fearsome visage, with horns, a grim expression and a cruel gaze. He wielded a sword that resembled Dawnbreaker! However, it generated an aura of light around the blade that formed a Bound Sword of its own, strangely enough. And in its length, it was three times longer than Cura's Dawnbreaker.
She would show him that size made little difference, be it herself or her sword, as both were going to triumph over this Goliath.
Dare she have the audacity to call upon Meridia, though?
Project your innermost feelings outward.
"FUS RO DAH!" Cura opened the duel with the Shout, and a mighty gale struck the Unfeathered. However, her Thu'um was weaker than normal. It merely caused the giant to stagger from ten feet of her.
Cura really felt like she was a part of History, now. She fought Pelinal, and now Umaril. It was a humbling, yet extremely exciting feeling! She then drew her blade - Dawnbreaker - a blade bright as if it were forged in the heart of a sun. Its golden edge shimmered, ready to cleave through the veil of Umaril's immortality.
She sneered at the arrogant fool who dared to challenge her with his gilded sword - a pathetic copy of her glorious Artifact. She spat at the worthless imitation.
Pah!
She was Meridia's favourite; not this clown.
Umaril pulled his massive body up and clenched his sword. "Child's play!" the Unfeathered spat as he charged up a beam of energy and spun around, firing an arc of golden light through the air, striking Cura with it.
On impact, she flew backwards and hit her back flat on the ground. The pain was indescribable as the light entered the fabric of her being.
Umaril hurled himself up into the air and attempted to drive his bastard sword, a weapon type fittingly-named in his case, into Cura. She took heed of the call and flipped herself backwards to dodge it.
His blade became lodged in the stone tiles - that was with how much force he'd wanted to skewer her. He and Pelinal must really have hated each other, but of course, she already knew that.
Cura had no respect to give this fiend. He enslaved humans. He did horrific things to women and to children. This craven had to send hordes of Meridia's minions to wear Pelinal - her, in this case - down before engaging him - her. If you dare call yourself powerful, you should be at the forefront of the battle - don't send others to die for you.
Cura could never imagine sending Inigo, Lucien, and the others out to die so she could face an enemy she was afraid of. Never.
The Unfeathered menace dislodged his weapon from the ground and an aura of golden light began to whirl around him like a Flame Cloak. Sparks of lightning shot out from his sword and struck Cura directly in the chest, stunning her momentarily, opening her to a vicious slash across the chest, which also caused her to fall to the ground again in excruciating pain.
He continued to slash her while she was down, each hit more painful than the last, as Cura struggled to get back on her feet. His cloak of light seared her with each second she was caught in it, and she was beginning to feel drained.
With a burst of will, Cura held Spellbreaker out to absorb some of the light and charged him with it, knocking the golden sorcerer king on his behind. She ran him down and relentlessly gave him a hacking of her own with Dawnbreaker.
Meridia's venerable face looked down upon the duel of her Champions, not of Umaril and Pelinal. The stone face of the statue came into Cura's view when she was shoved into one of the Auroran sculptures, forced to parry a strike with Spellbreaker.
The light surrounding Umaril's sword humbled Cura - it was the very force of Meridia herself, it seemed. It felt akin to a thousand daggers piercing every joint in her body on each pound.
Cura would try once more to appeal to the Magna-Ge, looking to the statue of her. She'd noted Dawnbreaker's reaction to being here the entire time, pulsing lightly as a reaction to the mystic energies in the air, and that only meant the power was very much real. This was a dream, but more than that. "Meridia! Am I your Champion now, or is it still Umaril? Lend me your aid, I petition you!" She thrust Dawnbreaker into the air. Maybe if she would have some of that light herself, Umaril would learn what empathy was for once.
The Unfeathered rushed Cura down and backhanded her across the face using the back of his left hand. He then slapped forward, cutting her with the claws on his gauntlet.
His slap; it was powerful. He really was no mere Altmer - or Ayleid, in this case.
Seeing her recoil granted him sadistic pleasure, and he raised his sword to cleave her head off her shoulders like he promised, but nothing could have prepared either of them for what happened next.
Meridia herself, in that brief moment, made herself manifest, and enveloped Cura in her feathered wings, shielding her against the blow. The sight surprised Cura, but the Umaril before her continued on as if nothing had happened, mindlessly striking at the wings.
"What...? Lady Meridia!" Cura exclaimed her surprise at the Daedra's appearance in the dream.
"This is Umaril, but not entirely. You are neither here, nor there. This was not your fight; you had no business here. And yet, I understand why you must fight this fight. Take care of yourself, Cura. You cannot die here." Meridia gently pat her on the head before lifting her wings and disappearing into the light.
This entire time she'd been calling out to her, and even thought it was a pointless endeavour. No, as it turns out she didn't interfere until now because of the fatality of the strike.
Umaril was flung backwards by the force of Meridia's mighty wings, and he slid across the carpet. Cura took the opportunity to Heal herself of her injuries. Using her Dwemer Metal arm, she fired an Exploding Bolt of Lightning at the Ayleid king, and it struck him in the forehead, causing his entire body to convulse as electricity poured into him.
He would not survive this fight.
For Pelinal!
Cura dashed forward, feeling the winds of Kyne under her feet, and gripped Dawnbreaker tightly in both hands. She arced diagonally upwards to take his head off, but Umaril was wiser than that. He pulled back immediately and struck her in the side with his sword. He managed to pierce the fold of the left side of her armour and caught between the plates.
Cura was forced to pull back, lest she be severed in two as he continued to pull to the left. His swipe, however, caught the pin of her robes, tearing it off. The white fabric, unbound, slunk downwards, drooping like a banner.
Umaril struck like a cobra, threatening to impale her throat. Cura raised Spellbreaker and was shoved backwards by the blow instead. She lost her footing, but cast Longstride to counter her fall with a speedy recovery.
Every blow from Umaril, in addition to being essentially maimed from within, caused her to feel like her bones threatened to snap. He was a truly mighty foe. A proper match for the Whitestrake. These ancient figures had no equal in the modern day.
Perhaps the closest would be her, the Dragonborn. But she was without her Dragon Soul at the moment - her power was greatly reduced. However, the wind beneath her feet drew her attention. Pelinal had the winds of Kynareth on his side. Kynareth! KYNARETH! Kynareth, the goddess who'd granted the Thu'um to mortals, just the same.
A joyful sentiment filled Cura as she felt the holy winds surrounding her.
"FUS RO DAH!" she blasted the Unfeathered down with the mediocre form of her Thu'um. This time, due to him charging her, she'd taken Paarthurnax's wise words into account: "It is called 'Force' in your tongue. But as you push the world, so does the world push back. Think of the way force may be applied effortlessly. Imagine but a whisper pushing aside all in its path. That is 'Fus.' Let its meaning fill you. Su'um ahrk morah. You will push the world harder than it pushes back."
Umaril was flung backwards like a box of tissues. He ragdolled along the floor and bounced into his throne at the feet of Meridia.
He was growing weary, and he looked up to his goddess. "O Bright One!" he cried out to her. "I cannot die like this! I cannot be humiliated so! Give me the power to vanquish this foe!" he felt power surge through every muscle in his body as he was essentially lifted from the floor.
Cura was surprised, but she supposed it was fair - after all, Meridia had just given her a second wind. She gently touched Dawnbreaker's blade on the flat of its edge, and she could feel a tingling sensation. Pure power. The light energies of life itself flowed through the blade. She'd never paid much attention to it before, really, but the sword was even more magnificent than she'd realized.
She took the sword into both hands again, boldly.
A bit of blood ran down her side and dropped to the marble floor in small splatters from the wound in her side. However, she took comfort in the knowledge that Meridia was on her side in this fight.
And Umaril was the one destined to fall. Good on him. If only he would just do so and get it over with already.
"PELINAAAAAAAL!" The Unfeathered unleashed his own mad fury, setting upon her like a swooping hawk. His immense frame covered her view, and he brought his sword down with one last, desperate attempt to crush her, but Cura pivoted around him and drove Dawnbreaker into his lower back, severing his spine.
Umaril dropped to the floor, unable to move his lower half. He wailed in dumb anguish as he tried to force himself up, but found only half of himself mobile. Cura elected to bring him to a merciful end, walking around him and pressing Dawnbreaker against his exposed neck.
"I haven't forgotten your wicked deeds, Umaril." Cura said. "Your reign of darkness ends here. The innocent souls you've ensnared cry out for justice."
Umaril looked up from the ground and hissed, hearing her words clearly. His raspy voice growled at her assertion. "Justice? You know nothing of it. I am beyond your comprehension. My purpose transcends your feeble existence." Either he understood that it was Cura, or perhaps what she'd said were Pelinal's own words. He continued his tirade. "You fight for a world that crumbles. Mortals are but dust in the cosmic wind."
"And yet, it is mortal courage that defies oblivion." Cura sneered. "Eternity bows to valour. Your tyranny ends now!" With a quick flick of the wrist, her sword severed his jugular vein. The Unfeather began to gag and choke on his own blood.
This was when she, spurred forth by Pelinal, knelt on his back, and using Dawnbreaker, began to carve the feathered wings off of his armour. To her shock as she performed the act, blood began to pool from the stubs.
It was a gruesome sight to behold. Umaril, the fallen angel of the Ayleids, lay on the ground, gasping for air and clutching his neck. His once majestic wings had been ripped from his back, leaving behind bloody stumps. He had no hope of escape or mercy. He had met his end at the hands of the Divine Crusader.
And this was where he'd earned the moniker of the "Unfeathered", she supposed.
She discarded the wings and shook off a sudden bout of dizziness. She made distance between herself and the doomed Ayleid King, who continued to choke until his breath was still.
Once Umaril was well and truly gone, Cura leaned against Meridia's Statue to recover for a time. The vision had not yet ended, strangely. Was there more to this?
She received her answers immediately in the form of the familiar Altmer Bard from Molag Bal's vision, arrayed in his familiar blue Fine Clothes, with his white hair bound in a ponytail. When he made himself manifest, he looked at Cura, seeing Pelinal.
And now she would see what was tormenting Pelinal Whitestrake. The desire for that knowledge was the only thing holding her back from attacking this conniving bastard.
The Bard clapped his hands together and approached her from the Throne under the Statue. "Wonderful, wonderful, my lord Pelinal. Splendidly done. Your heroic acts will be sung about for many years to come."
Cura grit her teeth, speaking for both Pelinal and for herself at this point. "What do you want? I'm sick of your stupid games."
"Oh, of course." the Bard waved her anger off like drops of condensation slicking off of glass before redirecting their conversation entirely. "I'll show you something in Umaril's gallery. Please, follow me."
He walked forward and with an accursed spell, opened a strange red portal that seemed ornate and intricately designed. Cura was hesitant to follow him through it, but was urged forward, one foot at a time.
She hesitated before entering the dark hallway, where faint torchlight flickered on the narrow walls. She trailed behind the Bard as he descended two short flights of stairs. The shadows receded, revealing a horrific sight: a sculpture of flesh, blood, and bones from countless victims. It was a gruesome mural at the center of the room.
A monstrous sculpture of a creature made of bones and flesh hung from the ceiling by metal links. It had no eyes, no mouth, no face, but it seemed to stare at the intruders with malice. Its body was a mass of ribcages and skulls, fused together by blood and sinew. From its back, a multitude of human hands extended, forming the shape of wings that spanned the width of the display. Blood oozed from the ceiling and dripped onto the unmoving creature, staining it with a crimson hue. It lay on a stone platform, surrounded by four large torches that cast a flickering light on the gruesome scene.
The display was a gruesome sight. Three women, enslaved and exploited, had been brutally killed and arranged on the ledge as a sacrifice for the monstrous creature that loomed over them. Their bodies were riddled with wounds and their blood stained the floor below. It was a horrific act of violence and cruelty.
This was nothing short of absolutely Demonic. The longer Cura's eyes took in the sights, she could feel the last remaining pieces of her innocence being drained down the pipes of despair.
How could anyone do such a thing?
The Bard stood before it, gesturing for her attention. "So, what do you think? This is the lost Body Art from Abagarlas. It seems Umaril went to some pains to reproduce it."
"It's vile. It's ugly, and it has no place in this world!" Cura's emotional outburst erupted like a volcano. The Bard was unfazed, still treating her like Pelinal.
"A mountain of guts under the bloody rain... it looks almost like one of your battlefields. In any other circumstances, you and Umaril might have been good friends." the Bard said with a smug chuckle. As if it were a joke to him. Cura, however, saw no humour in it, and she was certain Pelinal hadn't either.
"I don't think so. This is disgusting!" Cura roared.
"It does not seem to suit your tastes. Well, no matter." the Bard nudged his head to the right, motioning beyond the display. "What I really wanted to show you is further on. Follow me, please."
He began to walk, tracking bloody footprints along the stone floor, and Cura followed him.
She could strike him. Kill him. She thought about it.
No; Pelinal's memory was more important for now.
As she walked around the grotesque artwork, she could see the entrails wrapped around the bottom, lain around the skeletal remains. Absolutely sickening.
The elven Bard led her to the end of the room, where various blood-soaked cages lay atop one another. She heard the faint whimpers of a prisoner as they approached.
A darkened rectangular cage sat in the shadows, barely illuminated by a small lantern beside it. The rest lay in shadows.
Cura took care not to trip on anything, as sight was difficult in this area.
The Bard stopped to the left of the cage and lifted the lantern, shining it onto the cage. "This is it."
Within, Cura saw a familiar face.
"Mary!" Cura felt a surge of shock and horror when she recognized the Breton woman in the cage. She was sobbing quietly, her left waist, arm, leg and the floor of the cage covered in blood from the cruel torment she had endured. Perhaps for months. On closer inspection, Cura recognized the bloodstained gauze wrapped around her left eye, as per usual. So the Alessians hadn't cut her - Umaril had. Tears of blood ran down the curve of her cheek, suggesting that it was recent. Her belly was slightly bulging, indicating that she was pregnant. Cura was deeply disturbed by the sight of the woman's suffering and vulnerability. Hearing a tale and seeing it firsthand were two very different things. Nothing could have prepared her for this. "Her? Why?"
Umaril did this. Did his cruelty know no end?
Cura felt a surge of pity and horror as she looked at the woman who was carrying Umaril's child. How could such a monstrous being force himself on a helpless human and leave her in this condition? She wondered how he had managed to impregnate her without killing her, given the huge difference in their size and strength. She quickly banished the disturbing image from her mind and focused on the divine mercy of Stendarr and Mara instead, as she was taught growing up. She could see that the Bard was also somewhat appalled by the situation, as he spoke with a grim voice.
"She is Umaril's bed slave. Disposable, if you understand." the Bard hinted at the sinister machinations at play which Cura had already learned. And even if she hadn't had prior knowledge, it was self-evident enough. "Tomorrow, she was to be cut down and become a part of the artwork you've seen before."
Right. The "artwork". That disgusting display that destroyed the remainder of her soul from simply seeing it.
Maybe the Alessians were onto something about the Ayleids, after all. If this was what they did in their past time, the world was better off without them. That isn't to say that the Alessians were the pillar of moral conscience, themselves, because they were awful in their own right, as well.
She was happy to have had the blessing of being born in the time of Alduin and the Civil War, instead.
"Filthy, disgusting BASTARD!" With a furious roar, Cura felt her blood surge once more. She punched the bars of the cage on the right, alarming both the Bard and Prisoner. She had just killed Umaril, but she wished she could do it again and again. Perhaps she would have added him to this art he cherished so much, too.
She squeezed her palms tightly. "Stendarr take the reins." Cura whispered to herself as she attempted to steady her nerves. This was a story better forgotten. What was her purpose here?
"...But Umaril is dead now, so there's no worry about that anymore. Splendid. You are her lifesaver." With a playful clap of his hands, the Bard praised the Knight sarcastically.
Cura growled. "I told you to stop with the games. What do you want from me?"
The Bard did not hide his malice as he faced his interlocutor, whom he took for Pelinal. His expression was twisted and sinister, and his mouth curled into a grin of contempt. He spoke with confidence and mockery, knowing that he was addressing a madman who would stop at nothing to expunge his people from Nirn. "She carries Umaril's seed. It's up to you to decide what to do with her."
"You want me to kill her?" Pelinal's voice overrode Cura's own.
"It's all the same to me what you do with her. But I'm sure she'll pose a threat if you let her live." The Bard chuckled. It all amused him.. He moved nearer to Cura and touched her gently, then pointed at the defenseless victim. "The blood of Ada gives power, but it also breaks the minds of many who carry it within themselves. As you yourself should know very well."
Cura shoved him away. "Get out of my sight!" she spoke in unison with the Whitestrake.
The Bard threw up his hands defensively and backed away. "Very well. I see you need some time to decide. Don't rush your decision." He quickly faded away. This man was a devil. Cura could not stand the sight of him.
Cura walked through Pelinal's memory as he guided her to the cage where Mara's suffering devotee was held captive. She felt a surge of pity and anger when she witnessed the condition of the prisoner.
Mary barely raised her head to see her, and with a faint voice, begged for her release from her shackles. "H-Help me..."
Pelinal drew his sword through Cura's movements and brought it down as she cried out in protest. Without word and driven by mindless rage, he impaled the woman through the chest and she slunk to the floor with a whimper, and bled to death then and there.
Cura's eyes widened as she saw what he did through her hands, and tears began to run down her cheeks.
"I did not. I had sinned. In my rage, I killed a blameless woman who carried a child in her womb. My final two victims, who could not defend themselves. I did not care that she was a devout follower of Mara, of the Divines... and for this last grave offense, I was forsaken by the Eight and taken by Molag Bal." Pelinal confessed sadly.
"No! Pelinal, this isn't what happened!" Cura told him as flamed began to consume her. The scene grew dark, and she found herself whisked into Molag Bal's throne room, with the red ornate portal looming above.
"...while Pelinal stood above him insulting his ancestry and anyone else that took ship from Old Ehlnofey..." Molag Bal recited the Song of Pelinal from his infernal throne. "...which angered the other Elvish Kings and drove them to a madness of their own and they fell on him, cutting Pelinal into eighths..." he shifted upright in his seat. "This will be a good song." with a maniacal cackle, the Daedric Prince mocked the Star-Made Knight's plight.
As the flames consumed her, Cura could hear Pelinal's faint monologuing. "I... I am a storm, the rage itself. This is how I can fight battle after battle, lay village after village in ash and ruins and murder women and children alike." her face was forced to watch black spikes slowly manifesting from the red portal. "It was always raining after the battle. Gentle rain washed away the blood and healed my pain. It swept the dirty blood away and drove it to the edge of the sea."
Pelinal felt a surge of despair and sorrow as he realized the extent of his own brutality. He had become a beast, a slayer of innocents, a scourge of the land. "When did the rain stop falling...? Since when does it take more blood to wash away the blood shed before...?"
The black spikes pulled themselves back and then struck like serpents, impaling Cura through every major part of her body. She shrieked from the sudden shock, and bore his pain.
"N-no... Pelinal! No! That... that isn't what happened!" she shouted in denial. She knew what really happened - the victim in question told her out of her own mouth. "You didn't kill Mary! You... you..."
She focused her mind back there, to the grotesque torture gallery, and she stood beside Pelinal, looking upon him and the Bard and the cage.
Pelinal stood before Mary, and he heard Cura's voice speaking to him from within this time. "You found mercy within yourself; chivalry. The mark of a true knight - not a monster. The Bard is Molag Bal! He's a liar! A deceiver! I met Mary; she lived after this day and bore a son named Varla. She was slain later on by the Alessian Order - not you!"
Pelinal stared at the feeble woman in the cage and listened to Cura's words. He sensed that there was something to them. A sort of foreknowledge. He snapped at the Bard. "Get out of my sight." He paused for a few moments and contemplated what Cura was saying.
"You have to release her, and get her out of this place. I'm begging you, believe me. I may be a Knife-Ears, but I'm telling you the truth!" Cura pleaded with him. "Please, do it for your own sake, Pelinal. Once you do it, I'm sure Bal will lose his power over you."
The Star-Made Knight nodded and pried the cage door open. Mary looked up at him weakly, and trembled as she spoke. "H-Help me..."
Pelinal knelt before her and loosened the bindings around her wrists, and she collapsed to the floor. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her upright gently. "Th... thank you..." she expressed her gratitude.
"Can you walk?" Pelinal asked.
"Yes... but..."
He began to walk and beckoned her to follow. "Come on, let's go."
She sounded tired, but also glad. "Yes..." Seeing her reaction, Cura could only surmise that she'd thought anywhere was better than here - and she would be right.
Pelinal led her through the grotesque room and passed the effigy from hell, and through the ornate red portal.
With a flash of shadow, the two of them found themselves back in the antechamber near Umaril's corpse, and the Statue of Meridia. The room was darker, now, and no longer bore the light of Meridia. The only light in the antechamber was the twilight's glow from outside.
They continued their journey to the entrance, where Korn was patiently resting. Pelinal moved closer to Mara's canine companion. He nudged Mary gently towards the animal, being careful not to harm her.
Korn barked at him a few times, and he spoke to the canine sternly. "Take care of her."
The wolf squeaked a couple of times and approached the poor woman. She began to walk with her new charge, and looked back at Pelinal one last time before leading Mary to the doors.
As he saw them depart, Pelinal felt a calmness wash over him. He no longer felt the urge to fight or the anger that had fueled him. He barely noticed the wounds he had suffered or the fracture in his arm. He just gazed at the horizon, feeling a peacefulness he had not known for a long time.
Cura had told him the truth. He felt it in his bones, in his soul, in his heart. This was the truth of what happened on that day. The gods did not abandon him; at least not entirely. But he knew that in his soul, as part of it were in their realm already.
A faint buzzing sound came from some distance away, to his right, and the Bard manifested again. He sounded incredibly surprised. "Ah, so you didn't kill her? This is unusual for you." he looked to see that the woman was nearly to the exit door, and tried one last time to change Pelinal's mind. "But, was it a right thing to do? Her child will surely cause disasters. Larger even than you."
Cura's voice rung in his mind, and Pelinal shook off what the Bard was saying. "That's not up to me. Only the future generation should decide what the future brings."
The Bard resigned himself. He knew now that it was a fruitless endeavour. "...As you wish. Then, farewell." He slowly vanished, and Pelinal himself disappeared as well, replaced again with Cura.
Cura stood there, shaken but filled with triumph. She held a hand to her chest and breathed a sigh of relief.
Author's Note: For this segment, "Vigilant OST- Pelinal's Recollection and Regret" - it's a very touching song
As the air settled, a gentle, white breeze swirled into a small vortex at the edge of the central carpet and Pelinal emerged from its grace before Cura, appearing almost like an angel from its soft currents. He felt no anger; no hostility as he gazed at her. Only remorse - deep sorrow as the Knight discovered the truth - the truth of a memory that clouded his mind - a lie exposed at last - and he was free from Coldharbour. His loathing of Cura had vanished completely, and peace subdued the beast. He stretched out his healed left arm and offered her his hand gallantly.
The Vigilant Cura hurried to his side, taking the Star-Made Knight's hand, and began to accompany him to the place where death awaited him, at the end of the hall, before Meridia's statue.
"I was a storm, the rage itself. This is how I could fight battle after battle, lay village after village in ash and ruins, and murder women and children alike."
With a sorrowful voice, Pelinal confided in Cura his regrets as they approached the towering figure of Meridia. The goddess of light watched them silently from her pedestal, as if judging their sins. Pelinal's steps were marked by a soft radiance that filled the desolate hall with a faint warmth.
"It was always raining after the battle. Gentle rain washed away the blood and healed my pain. It swept the dirty blood away and drove it to the edge of the sea."
The Whitestrake felt a surge of remorse as he followed Cura through the hall, feeling the breeze enter by the open windows. The pink petals that drifted in the air reminded him of the blood he had spilled in his past. Cura sensed his anguish and squeezed his hand reassuringly. They moved slowly in the soft breeze, and he continued.
"So I thought. So I wanted to think. Kyne was always crying after the battle, but not for me... No, she was crying for the innocents lying there..." the epiphany stung his heart and his voice shuddered as he found his resolution. "The blood of the weak will no longer be shed. Even Kyne will not need to cry again... my fight... my fight is over."
He finished his walk of penance in silence before kneeling down to face the door, with his back to Meridia's statue and in the same pose Cura'd first seen him in before the Tower.
Pelinal continued his mournful monologue. "I ran on and on... when I finally came to my senses, the rain of remorse had ceased and the sun had long since begun to sink in the distance. I turned around and at the end of my long shadow saw what I was looking for."
He looked over to Cura with gratitude, for showing him mercy; him, an unforgiving storm. A monster who'd tried to butcher her like all the others who looked similar to her. "A golden wheat field, gentle breeze striking it. A woman hitting the pillow, feathers bursting out of it turning to snow, and a child playing with the wolf."
Though she could not see his face, she could hear the serenity in his voice accompanying his smile. He believed it all now. "This... this is the wind of Kyne. I finally found it... finally..."
As Pelinal's form gradually vanished, a lone white feather remained, shining brightly in the soft wind. It drifted into Cura's hands, who closed her eyes and felt a warm tear roll down her cheek. "Rest in peace, Pelinal."
Sir Amiel paced the sands nervously, gripping his hands behind his back. He worried for the sake of his new liege, and hoped to the Nine that he didn't err in his judgment to allow her to go on without him.
Sabrina noticed his panic-laden behaviour as she continued to lay about. "Careful, Amiel. I think the foundation's weakening under your feet." she teased the rusted Knight.
"You think this a joke, Sabrina?" Sir Amiel grew irritated with her nonchalance. "The Dragonborn could well be dead and here you lay out on the rocks like a lethargic mermaid."
"And you're pacing around like a braindead Goblin." Sabrina clapped back at him. "I'm sure she'll be fine. Didn't we spend around three minutes butterin' her up earlier? Listing all her accomplishments and whatnot? She's fine. Quit frettin' over it."
Sand blew through the desolate land, carried by the faint winds, and a figure slowly approached, cloaked in the moving dust. The figure was pretty small, all things considered, but Sir Amiel and Sabrina were able to quickly discern who it was.
"See? Told ya so!" the plague doctor thrust her hand forward and the figure emerged from the waving curtain of sand.
Cura rejoined them, and she wore a serene smile. "I'm back."
Sir Amiel's jaw hung open. "Y-you did it! Oh, glorious day! W-was he truly there? The Whitestrake."
Cura nodded and held up the white feather that she'd caught. "I fought Pelinal and freed him from this never-ending nightmare. I... also received this, as a parting gift."
Sir Amiel and Sabrina approached closer to see the feather and the Knight clasped his hands together in prayer. "'Tis a feather of Kyne's own wing."
Cura was surprised to learn as such. She kissed the feather softly and placed it back in her satchel. "I wonder if Varla is actually waiting for me." she wondered with a sarcastic chuckle. She began to head back to where the gate was; where she'd left him, Mary and Korn.
To her great surprise, he was, and so were they. Mary sat with her son, and the two seemed to be holding a conversation while the wolf sat nearby. By the look of it, the conversation was no light one. No sooner did Cura return through the gate than she saw the shock plastered on the Man-Hunter's face. He swiftly lifted himself off the flat stone and hurried to meet her.
"I don't believe it. It's done, then?" Varla asked.
Cura gestured to the skies, where there was no longer a red beam trailing upwards. "I'll let you be the judge, Varla."
The Man-Hunter observed the change in the atmosphere with disbelief, which quickly simmered down to resignation, and then to comfort. "It is gone. You've bested the Whitestrake." he lowered himself onto one knee and leaned upon his sword, which he planted in the ground. "I'll confess: I didn't think it could be possible... I was certain you were going to be slaughtered. I was wrong."
Cura stood before him, and he made himself low before her. It was no easy feat, given his great height - inherited from Umaril, Cura could now see a definite resemblance. She hadn't needed to question what was happening. He begun to speak once more.
"Cura, was it? Dragonborn." Varla began, clumsily trying to find his words. Humility did not come easy to him, but he would attempt to show it. "There... there is no excuse for the way I've treated you. I deserve to be slain by your hand for my treachery."
Cura looked to Sir Amiel, and to Sabrina. And then to Savos and Mirabelle, who watched the scene with baited breath. She was undecided on what to do concerning Varla. So rather, she would allow him to propose a course of action himself. The Dragonborn crossed her arms and kept her ears open.
Mary walked up to Cura and touched her arm. She looked to her son, and to the Dragonborn. "Varla has a proposition for you. Please, give him time to formulate the words well."
Varla cleared his throat. "I can only move forward one of two ways: either slay me for my many foul deeds, or..." he hesitated for a moment, uncertain of whether or not the idea was even a good one to the Dragonborn to begin with. "...accept me as your Vassal, your personal Guard."
"My Housecarl?" Cura asked.
"Your Knight. Your sword, and your shield." Varla's words reminded Cura of what Lydia had once said to her, there.
"You can't seriously be considering this." Sir Amiel sung out in protest. "He is a deranged madman! He will slit your throat at the first chance he gets!"
"No." Varla shook his head. "I swear upon my honour, I would not."
"His honour seems dubious, at best. I'm with Sir Amiel on this one." Sabrina corroborated.
"I have nowhere else to turn. You are my only hope now!" Varla finally admitted his fears. He lowered his face to the ground and trembled before the feet of the Dragonborn. "Please... Molag Bal will kill me for what I have done. I was a line of defense for that Barrier Tower." as he said it, Cura's expression loosened. Now it made sense. "As well, the Graymarch is coming. There is not much time left before it tears the realm asunder. I..." his visual discomfort was enough to inform Cura of the genuineness of his claim. "...I cannot protect her. Or myself. Not against Jyggalag's forces. Not alone. I do not wish for us to die here for good."
Mary's voice was full of emotion as she begged Cura to spare her son. "Please, Cura. Don't judge him by his past mistakes. He's not a bad person. He was just angry and hurt by what happened to him. He deserves a chance to make things right." She looked at her son with love and hope in her eyes. "He's sorry for what he did, aren't you, son?"
Varla agreed. This was the topic of their discussion before Cura came back. He was not able to comprehend it fully, nor did he have the words to express it, but Varla had lived in sorrow and anger for a long time. It was his only reality, from the moment he had his first conscious thought. The only trace of love he had ever experienced was from his dogs when he was a child. Everyone else had either tried to exploit and control him for their own benefits, and his only father figure had trained him to be a murderer.
He had experienced the warmth of his mother's love and the compassion of Cura, who had gone out of her way to see them reunited. These feelings were alien to him, as he had grown up in a world of cruelty and brutality. He had seen how Cura had turned from a gentle protector to a violent oppressor, and he had realized the bitter truth: he was tainted by the evil that surrounded him and he'd forced that evil upon her as well. He had lost his innocence and his ability to love. He had become a hateful creature, just like the ones who had raised him.
He felt a deep sorrow as he realized that he had wasted his life in violence and hatred, when there was a better path to follow. He bowed his head in regret as he faced the reality; he was a wicked and vicious man. Not by choice, but by ignorance. And yet, that ignorance was precisely what destroyed him. Faint tears beaded themselves in the corners of his eyes as he finally found himself with his back to the wall.
Now that he'd experienced kindness, he feared it disappearing again. A vision of Enola, the innocent Ayleid Child flashed before his eyes. It wasn't his magnificence in battle that brought him to Molag Bal; it was his murder of innocents. Every other atrocity came secondary after that one. It spiraled downhill from Enola's death and he'd never known peace again.
If only he would have denied Belharza. If only...
When Cura saw the tenderness in her eyes, her heart was swayed. She turned back to Varla. "Nobody in my group is innocent. We've all killed many people."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Excuse me?" Sabrina spouted defensively. "I have never committed murder! What is this?"
"You unleashed a plague on hundreds of people." Cura reminded her. "And it was Mary's power that caused it. You wanted to spite the Alessians, did you not?"
Varla stole a glance at his mother in shock upon hearing this, and the meek woman looked away sadly. Her misery had spread upon the land; a testament to the immensity of her anguish.
Sabrina stiffened up in that moment. "Well... yeah... I suppose so. You're right. Ugh. I hate that you're right."
"My incompetence as a leader allowed my band to fall apart, following Sir Berich's bitter betrayal." Sir Amiel sighed sadly. "I never should have trusted that Red Stone to empower us when the gods were with us. How much misery could have been avoided."
Savos Aren offered him a comforting shoulder shake. "Don't worry, friend; I once abandoned my allies to die in Labyrinthian out of cowardice. That is my shame."
Mirabelle elected to come clean on her part, as well. "During my tenure as Master Wizard of the College of Winterhold, I'd overlooked the danger posed by the Eye of Magnus. I'd suspected Cura of collusion with the Thalmor, and wound up placing little attention on the actual Thalmor in our building. It nearly cost us Skyrim itself, had Ancano succeeded in his schemes."
Cura at last confessed her own crimes. "I'm not perfect either. I'd lost my mind and slaughtered the entire city guard of Markarth and worked with Daedra-worshippers to escape their prison. At Molag Bal's command, devoid of my own self-control, I slaughtered another Vigilant."
Everyone around her was surprised to hear such a thing.
"Truly?" Varla asked.
Cura nodded shamefully. Though, now that she'd confessed it, it stung slightly less than it had in the past. Perhaps this was the sort of emancipation Pelinal had spoken of. "I did. I'm not proud of it, but I cannot change my past. I can only hope to, as a very good friend of mine said, move forward." She pulled Dawnbreaker from her waist and lowered it above Varla.
The Man-Hunter closed his eyes tightly, expecting the worst, but received a gentle touch on the top of his head with the flat of the blade. "I, Vigilant Cura Stormcloak, the Dragonborn, anoint you, Sir Varla. In the names of Stendarr, Akatosh, Kynareth, Mara, Arkay, Julianos, Zenithar, Dibella, and Talos." she brought the sword to his left shoulder. And then to his right. "As well, in the names of Meridia and Azura, two Daedra whom I hold good tidings with." She lifted the blade from him and drew it back to herself. "I proclaim you Sir Varla, Blade of the Skyguard. Rise, and take up the mantle to defend Tamriel and her beauty."
Varla raised his head, and slowly the rest of him followed. He sheathed his sword on his belt. "Your kindness knows no bounds. Thank you for giving me a chance."
Cura was not entirely trusting of him just yet, and elected to make it known. She pointed a stern finger at him. "Yes. A chance. You get one chance, Varla. Do anything dishonourable, or try anything suspicious behind my back, and I will set Sir Amiel against you." He was, after all, the son of Umaril the Unfeathered. Perhaps it was unfair of her to judge him based on as much given her own parentage, but she'd already dealt with his treachery once before. He'd given her plenty of reason to distrust him.
Varla turned to look at the Knight of Akatosh, and the rusted warrior glanced a stern glare back at him. This was a fair compromise. "I understand." Varla closed his eyes and accepted the terms. "I promise you, Dragonborn: as I've served Emperor Belharza, I shall too serve you."
"It is all well and good, but there is more to be done. On the west of the island, there is another barrier tower. Once broken, it should break the seal on the Graymarch." Savos Aren exposited.
"In the west... that was where my Dragon Soul flew." Cura recalled its pattern of flight.
Varla grew anxious. "The Graymarch is in the west, as well. Barely held back by that barrier you are adamant to break."
Sabrina scoffed. "Great. So the endgoal is to get Jyggalag's forces to storm the place?"
Cura nodded. "The Graymarch will be our force against Molag Bal. If Jyggalag really is the Daedric Prince of Order, he would see the logic in teaming up with the Last Dragonborn when we have a common goal. After all," she spun on her heel and turned to face the west. From where they were, the view was obscured by the ramparts of the Imperial City and the large cliffs overlooking the area. "my mentor is in his ranks."
"To reach the west, we will have to go through the city. The island is chopped up in that way." Sir Amiel informed her.
"That's fine by me. We'll go through the city." Cura agreed to the idea. She would have to, sooner or later. After all, Molag Bal's filthy Tower sat in the middle, replacing the White-Gold Tower. It was blocked off by its own barrier, which could be seen in the sky surrounding it.
You can hide there all you like, Molag Bal. At the end of the day, you're just another filthy, cowardly slimeball, just like Umaril. Cura thought to herself as she continued along the dirt path with her new allies in tow. She glanced at them all: Sir Amiel, Knight of the Nine, who walked directly behind her, talking to Sabrina, the Pailune Healer. Beside them on either flank, Savos Aren and Mirabelle Ervine, respectively, her mentors at Winterhold. And at the back, Varla the Man-Hunter, now a Blade, walked with Mary, devotee of Mara, and her wolf Korn walked beside her in the desolate landscape.
Cura knew that the danger was not over yet. She still had many tasks to complete, and many enemies to face. But she also felt a new sense of optimism, knowing that she had found allies in this hostile world. She was not the only one who sought to restore balance and harmony, and to make things right. She was part of something bigger than herself.
She felt a surge of excitement and curiosity as she walked through the strange land. She had just encountered one of the legendary heroes of old, Pelinal Whitestrake. What other wonders and secrets awaited her in this place? She could hardly believe that she was here, in a realm beyond time and space, where the past and the future mingled. She hoped to meet more of the ancient champions and learn from their stories. She was eager to explore and discover everything she could. She knew this was a rare opportunity, and she was determined to make the most of it.
Even if it were Coldharbour, there was much to be gained from being here. Though she would be scarred for the rest of her days by what she'd seen in Pelinal's memory, she felt closer to the Whitestrake than she'd ever imagined possible. Perhaps he'd left her a blessing of his own to carry her through the rest of her days.
The Feather of Kyne, the goddess of the storm, was a precious relic that she now carried with her. It was a symbol of her faith and her mission, to bring justice to the corrupted and the wicked. She gazed at the feather, marveling at its intricate patterns and colors, and felt a surge of courage and determination. She knew that Kyne too was watching over her, and that she had a destiny to fulfill.