The air, shrouded in mist, coated swiftly the cavernous entrance. Curalmil's tomb lay nestled deep within the caverns therein.
Inigo's mouth curled it's corners in amusement as he shuffled through the glacial floor from its entrance, turning his back to the world they left behind. "I still cannot get over the fact that this old fiend is named 'Curalmil.'"
Vilja conceded as she followed closely behind. "It is rather strange, isn't it? We're going into a cavern to find a bottle from a guy whose name sounds like Cura. She never helped me find those ingredients I needed."
"No offense, my friend, but Cura had more than enough on her plate." Inigo's foot scuffed a femur bone of a skeleton laying next to a box filled with ore and a pickaxe.
"I know that. Sigh... Poor Cura. Sometimes when I close my eyes I can still see her just laying there..." Vilja massaged her forehead with the palm of her head. "I can't believe it. I just can't! She beat Alduin, for Shor's sakes! To die to a bloody dagger of all things..."
Inigo agreed with her. "Yes, but maybe there is a reason for it. The gods have a reason for these things, even if we cannot understand it."
"I didn't know you were religious, Inigo. You're a priest now?" Vilja laughed softly.
Inigo scoffed and shook his head. "Hardly. I just observe the world with my own two eyes. After all we have gone through, it must be the case."
"I'm not gonna argue that, that's for sure. On fact, even in my own.life, the gods have blessed me." Vilja sighed and surveyed the tunnel as they passed. "Though, we really have been through a lot, Inigo. You especially. Some of the stuff you told me on the boat ride made my skin crawl. That poor mage girl. Yikes."
"Yes, I hope to return to Riften soon," Inigo expressed his concern. "I hope to make sure Illia is doing all right. After we save Delphine."
"No offense, Inigo, but why do you care about Delphine? The woman has been nothing but rude to you." Vilja reminded him. She was greatly surprised by his compassion towards the Grandmaster, given the past.
Inigo ducked under some collapsed rubble as the environment quickly blended from a glacial crevice into a Nordic Tomb. "It is not a matter of whether or not she was kind to me. It is the matter that she is a person, and there is too much spite and bitterness in the world. Cura had the right idea all along. It is not through hate that we are going to protect Skyrim, but through mercy."
Vilja raised her eyebrow. "Sure, if you say so." she was skeptical about the possibility of such a feat, especially given the circumstances. Unless, of course, "mercy" meant the utter destruction of the Daedra. A pause halted her thoughts, and she realized how eerily she sounded like the Vigilants of Stendarr.
Shrugging it off, she and Inigo proceeded through the ancient Nordic Tomb. It was unremarkable; beginning a glacial crevice and leading into stone and dried earth. Inigo was far more impressed with Saarthal and Labyrinthian, comparatively.
They dispatched the Draugr throughout the crypts and hurried through the dilapidated caverns. They killed the ones emerging from the sarcophagi, Inigo dispatching them thoroughly with Exploding Bolts of Fire, from his double-tiered Dwarven Crossbow.
"Ha, ha!" Inigo laughed. "Burn! Incinerate, you unholy walking shambles!" he rounded the corner and blasted the head off one at point-blank range.
Vilja licked her thumb and index finger and doused the flame sitting on his cheek tuft. "Wow, Inigo. Be careful if you're gonna do it like that, or you'll hurt yourself!"
"Hehehe..." Inigo chuckled as he rubbed his cheek. The pair of them continued, descending a winding flight of wooden stairs.
"Is it just me, or do all of these Ancient Nord Ruins look the same?" Inigo asked as he gazed at the black statues jutting out of the walls above braziers.
Vilja agreed. "Yes, they do. Even the ones on Solstheim look like this, from what I have seen. I wonder if the Temple of Miraak looks anything like this, as well?"
"Temple of what?" Inigo ducked under collapsed rubble.
"The Temple of Miraak." Vilja restated. "It is only a legend, but the Solstheim main island was said to be home to an ancient Dragon Priest who betrayed the others and went his own way. A lot of people wonder if there's any truth to that Temple's existence. I asked the Skaal once, but they just told me not to focus on the past when the present holds its share of burdens."
"I was just thinking that his name sounds like the noise a dog makes when it vomits." Inigo shrugged.
"If Cura was here, she could probably translate it. It is in the Dragon Language." Vilja mused with a shifting glance as they stepped into a small chamber.
There was a locked door flanked on either side by staircases which led to a wall with words inscribed upon it. Before the door, however, was a large sarcophagus laying horizontally, spread to divide the walkways.
Inigo snuck around the sarcophagus and ascended the stairs. Vilja whispered aloud, "What are you doing?"
"I am going to copy this writing. That way when Cura comes back, she will be able to read these words." Inigo whispered back as he reached into his bag and took out a large roll of paper and a piece of charcoal. He looked at the long, horizontal, diagonal, and vertical scratch marks, unable to read any of it. He just copied the letters down from observation. "Hehe. If only Lucien were here. He could do this much faster."
He recalled how thrilled Lucien was at the Forgotten Vale and Auri-El's Chantry. Every foreign thing they came across, from flora and fauna, to statues and architecture, he sketched in his journal. A smile spread on Inigo's lips as nostalgia came upon him.
Vilja crossed her arms and tapped her foot as her impatience poked her. "Are you finished yet?"
"Almost there. Patience is a virtue, Vilja." Inigo said aside as he continued to scribe the letters. He'd messed up a couple of them and had to smudge and redraw them, to Vilja's chagrin.
"Ugh! You take forever!" Vilja growled angrily. Her voice seems to have stirred something in the air, as the sarcophagus lid was tossed into its side, and a Draugr emerged, with a helmet bearing two long, black horns, and a great battleaxe in his hand. He slid over and put one leg out of his rest, and then the other followed, and he lurched upwards.
He stood easily a foot and a half above Vilja.
"Oh, crud." the Nord girl squeaked as she backed away. "Inigo, we have a visitor here."
Inigo awoke from his artistic trance, turning around and seeing the Draugr looming before Vilja. "Uh... I guess this is him? Curalmil? Ew. You certainly do nothing to flatter our friend, this is for sure."
"I agree." Vilja sneered.
In the dimly lit chambers of Curalmil's tomb, the air hung heavy with anticipation. Inigo the Brave, clad in the Nordic Carved steel armor, a gift from Jarl Laila Law-Giver, and Vilja the Nord Bard, stood parallel, on higher and lower level. Their mission was clear: to acquire the legendary White Phial.
Curalmil, a sorcerer of ancient lineage, was no ordinary foe. His eyes glowed with an otherworldly light, and his fingers traced intricate patterns in the air, summoning protective wards. The room crackled with magic, and the air smelled of burnt herbs and ozone. With battleaxe in hand, the ancient sorcerer studied the people before him.
Inigo tightened his grip on his sword, its blade reflecting the light of the braziers below, foreboding.
"I have a few tricks up my sleeve, Inigo. Vilja sings and the World listens." Vilja hummed a haunting melody, her voice weaving through the room, disrupting Curalmil's incantations. The sorcerer scowled, his lips moving in silent curses.
"There is more to being a Bard than just music, you know." Vilja informed Inigo.
"Stay close," Inigo whispered to Vilja as he leapt down from the platform to join her. "We'll need to work together."
They advanced, step by cautious step, toward the heart of the chamber. Curalmil's eyes narrowed, and he raised his left hand. The air shimmered with a violet hue, and a spectral wolf materialized, its eyes hungry for blood.
Inigo lunged, sword meeting ethereal fangs. The wolf dissipated, but Curalmil seized the opportunity. He hurled a bolt of lightning at Vilja, who deftly sidestepped, drawing out her lute in defiance. The lightning struck the wall, leaving a smoking scar.
"Hin lovaas nis sav hi," Curalmil sneered, his raspy voice cracking like coffin nails.
"Faal Sot Phial los dii!"
"I have no idea what you just said, but I could not care." Inigo thrust his sword into the wolf.
Vilja took a few steps away, keeping a distance from Curalmil. "I think it's high time I Perform for you, Inigo. It's been mostly hectic, but if you can be a dear and keep him distracted for me..."
"Say no more!" Inigo blocked a swing of Curalmil's battleaxe with his sword, steel clashing against steel. "I can only assume he knows why we are here..."
Vilja's fingers danced across her lute strings, and a gust of wind swept through the room, extinguishing the torches. Darkness enveloped them, broken only by the glow of Inigo's sword. Having catlike eyes came in handy under these conditions. He swung blindly, catching Curalmil's shoulder. The sorcerer staggered, but his rotted eye sockets blazed cyan blue with fury.
"Ganog!" Curalmil's voice echoed, and the ground trembled. Shadows coalesced into several spectral warriors - fallen knights who had sworn loyalty to the sorcerer. They charged, swords raised.
Inigo parried one, and was slashed by another. He nimbly danced through the flurry of violence, striking against who he could, his blade singing as it clashed with theirs. Vilja's voice rose, weaving a counter-spell. The spectral warriors faltered, their forms flickering. Inigo seized the moment, driving his sword through one ghost warrior's chest. It dissipated, leaving behind a puddle of ectoplasm.
Curalmil's laughter echoed. "Hi krif fah sizaan drun. Faal Phial los dii, ahrk hin sil fent agniir niil lu. "
But Vilja had other plans. She sang of courage, of sacrifice, her voice piercing the darkness. The spectral warriors wavered, torn between loyalty and freedom. Inigo lunged at Curalmil, their blades meeting in a clash of wills.
"You underestimate us, you rotten old zombie." Inigo grunted, pushing forward and leaning into the strike. His ears pointed backwards and he bared his fangs. "We are not doing this for ourselves, but for those who need the Phial's healing touch. Evidently, you know nothing of kindness."
Curalmil's eyes widened as Vilja's song reached its crescendo. The remaining spectral warriors shattered, their essences dissipating like morning mist at their master's hesitation. Inigo's sword found its mark, piercing Curalmil's black heart. The undead warrior sorcerer gasped, collapsing to the floor. The blue light faded from his eyes as the interlopers successfully dispelled his being.
The room trembled, and the closed doors parted, opening to reveal a small antechamber.
Vilja smiled, wiping sweat from her brow. "We did it, Inigo!" she said. "The Phial is ours."
Inigo approached and the pair high-fived.
As they stepped out of the chamber, victorious but weary, Inigo glanced back. Curalmil's body lay still, his eyes empty. The battle had been won, but the cost weighed heavy on them. "We did excellent, Vilja. But I could definitely use a good rest after that."
"Good gravy, yes." Vilja agreed. "That performance took a lot out of me."
"Yes; how did you do that?" Inigo inquired curiously. "Was that Illusion magic?"
"Sort of," Vilja explained. "anyone with good enough Speechcraft can learn its perks."
"What does that mean?" Inigo inquired.
Vilja giggled lightly. "Really? You're best friends with the Dragonborn and you still don't realize there's power in words?"
"The Thu'um?" Inigo asked.
"Not quite." Vilja tried to explain. "The Bardic arts are a gift from Kynareth and Dibella both. It is similar, but nowhere near as crazy as what Cura could do."
"Huh." Inigo scratched his chin. "So it is the... 'Diet' Thu'um, then."
Vilja laughed softly and tapped him on the arm. "Oh, Inigo. You are so funny sometimes."
"Where can I learn this?" Inigo inquired as they stood before an empty basin.
"Focus on exerting your will over the enemy." Vilja said with a chuckle. "Perhaps I'm so good at it because I can be very pushy."
Inigo rolled his eyes, but turned away so she could not see it. He redirected his attention to the empty basin. "I guess this is where I pour Nurelion's elixir?"
"Seems like it." Vilja agreed.
Inigo drew the solution from his bag and poured it into the receptacle. A green ooze filled the basin and sure enough, the door ahead of them opened itself, revealing a smaller inner chamber.
Within, there were collections of various Alchemical ingredients. Vilja sighed. "I know a bit about Alchemy, you know. If you ever need a potion or two, just ask!"
"What if I asked for ten?" Inigo joked.
Vilja pursed her lips humorously. "Don't push your luck, cat."
They advanced forward, and were greeted with a distressing sight; there was an exquisite bottle, unlike anything they'd ever seen before: it was white and long-necked, with ornate golden rings welded into its design. It had to be the White Phial.
But there was a massive crack riding up its side.
"Uh... Inigo?" Vilja observed the long crevice and ran her finger along its shape. "I... don't think an infinite bottle is supposed to have a crack in it."
"No... no... it must be an illusion, that's all!" Inigo waved it off. "Yes. An illusion. We are not utterly screwed at all. No. Not us."
His nervous tone betrayed his hopeful banter.
"Inigo..." Vilja presented it to him. "It's not an illusion. We are utterly screwed."
Inigo paused for a second and a long smile stretches across his face. He began to chuckle, causing Vilja to laugh, as well. The two began to break out into a hysterical laughing fit.
"Hermaeus Mora clips his toenails in my dinner again!" Inigo laughed between his sobs.
"More like sprays his ink! Hahaha!" Vilja tapped the wall as she pressed her forehead into it. After sometime of laughing, she put her arm around Inigo. "Ah, well. it's always better to laugh than to cry."
"Yes... at least when you laugh and cry you can always tell onlookers that the joke was just that funny." Inigo wiped his tears away.
They observed the broken flask. "What a piece of crap." Inigo remarked. "I have seen mead bottles with better durability. In Ancient Nord Ruins."
"We could always bring it to Nurelion's place. He is a good Alchemist, even if he is a Skeever butt." Vilja proposed as she tapped on the sundered porcelain. "Maybe he'll know if there's a way to fix it?" she was drawing at straws, now, but it was better than despairing over the fact.
Inigo observed it, and nodded thoughtfully, considering her words. "Yes, I like that idea."
"Exactly. After all, it's not over until the Fat Lady sings!" Vilja proclaimed with enthusiasm.
"Oh, well, in that case, we're finished." Inigo teased playfully.
They walked a few feet before Vilja spun around. "Hey! What's that supposed to mean?"
The two continued their trek out of the tomb with the ancient White Phial in hand. They were incredibly disappointed to find it in such a weathered state, and could only now hope there was a way to restore it.
After all, the dates of Delphine, Nurelion, and perhaps even all the warriors of Skyrim depended on it.
Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Unfortunately the chapter is short, but that's because my computer died midway. I'll need to get a new one, so for now I'm using my cell phone to type out the chapters (it's not very conventional). I can't promise steady updates until I have a new PC. Sorry about that
Vilja's Bard Spells are inspired by Ordinator Perks of Skyrim in the Speech tree, and the Become a Bard mods, by the way.