"The Adabal-a
by Morihaus
The memoirs of Morihaus, consort to Alessia and Taker of the Citadel
Note: An additional excerpt from this text is recorded in The Onus of the Oghma.
Editor's Note: The Adabal-a is traditionally believed to be the memoirs of Morihaus, consort to Alessia the Slave Queen. While this cannot be historically verified, the Adabal-a is certainly among the oldest written accounts to come down to us from the early First Era.
PELINAL'S DEATH
And in the blood-floored throne room of White-Gold, the severed head of Pelinal spoke to the winged-bull, Morihaus, demigod lover of Al-Esh, saying, "Our enemies have undone me, and spread my body into hiding. In mockery of divine purpose, the Ayleids cut me into eighths, for they are obsessed with this number."
And Morihaus, confused, snorted through his ring, saying, "Your crusades went beyond her counsel, Whitestrake, but I am a bull, and therefore reckless in my wit. I think I would go and gore our prisoners if you had left any alive. You are blood-made-glorious, uncle, and will come again, as fox animal or light. Cyrod is still ours."
Then Pelinal spoke again for the last time: "Beware, Morihaus, beware! With the foresight of death I know now that my foe yet lives, bitter knowledge to take to my grave. Better that I had died believing myself the victor. Although cast beyond the doors of night, he will return. Be vigilant! I can no longer shield the host of Men from Umaril's retribution."
ALESSIA'S YOUTH DURING THE SLAVE-YEARS
Perrif's original tribe is unknown, but she grew up in Sard, anon Sardarvar Leed, where the Ayleids herded in men from across all the Niben: kothri, nede, al-gemha, men-of-'kreath (though these were later known to be imported from the North), keptu, men-of-ge (who were eventually destroyed when the Flower King Nilichi made great sacrifice to an insect god named [lost]), al-hared, men-of-ket, others; but this was Cyrod, the heart of the imperatum saliache, where men knew no freedom, even to keep family, or choice of name except in secret, and so to their alien masters all of these designations were irrelevant.
Men were given over to the lifting of stones, and the draining of the fields, and the upkeep of temple and road; or to become art-tortures for strange pleasures, as in the wailing wheels of Vindasel and the gut-gardens of Sercen; and flesh-sculpture, which was everywhere among the slaves of the Ayleids in those days; or, worse, the realms of the Fire King Hadhuul, where the begetting of drugs drawn from the admixture of daedrons into living hosts let one inhale new visions of torment, and children were set aflame for nighttime tiger sport.
MORIHAUS EXPLAINS ALESSIA'S NAMES
Then Morihaus said to them: "In your tales you have many names for her: Al-Esh, given to her in awe, that when translated sounds like a redundancy, 'the high high', from which come the more familiar corruptions: Aleshut, Esha, Alessia. You knew her as Paravant, given to her when crowned, 'first of its kind', by which the gods meant a mortal worthy of the majesty that is killing-questing-healing, which is also Paraval, Pevesh, Perrethu, Perrif, and, in my case, for it is what I called her when we were lovers: Paravania."
"Though she is gone to me, she remains bathed in stars, first Empress, Lady of Heaven, Queen-ut-Cyrod."
And they considered themselves full-answered, and departed."
The sands were a violent blur in the western field; so much so that Cura, even bearing her hood, had to cover her eyes with her forearm as she walked onwards, step by step through the forceful gale which threatened to sweep her party away like flakes of dust. The further to the northeast they walked, the greater the winds seemed to be.
Bourlor shouted over the mighty winds, "This is the power of Kynareth! The rumour must be true! The Breath-of-Kyne is near!" there was no question about the nature of the gale. This both elated and concerned the huntsman, and he made his fears known. "Morihaus is called the Breath-of-Kyne, and with good reason. His power over the winds is immense. I would not be surprised if these gales were his doing. Or, perhaps a reflection of his might."
Cura nodded firmly. "Then I must calm his fury, as I did Pelinal's." She advanced a few steps toward the formidable sandstorm, seeking its core, when Sabrina hastily darted in front of her, stopping her by pushing against her shoulders.
"Have you lost your mind?" the agitated Redguard challenged. "You do realize who Morihaus is, don't you? You were paying attention when Bourlor was speaking, weren't you?" While her words lingered in the air like a mist, Cura responded with a grave nod, devoid of the expected fearful reaction.
"Yes, I know who he is. I've heard the Song of Pelinal since I was a child." Cura professed plainly, recounting nights when Brother Adalvald would read her bedtime stories in her youth. "And since then, I have faced Lord Harkon, Alduin, and even Umaril, my Dragon Soul, and Pelinal Whitestrake. If I must fight Morihaus as well, so that we may be freed of this terrible realm, then so be it. I carry Akatosh in my blood and Shezzar in my spirit."
Cura walked closer to the violent winds, and her memory conjured forth the image of the pathway to the Throat of the World. She stepped forward and dusted off her white robes. Taking a measured breath to calm herself, Cura turned around to speak with her allies. "Only one of you can come with me through these winds. The Shout will ward them away temporarily; though the group cannot pass with me in time without being torn asunder."
Her warning rung true to her companions, who could see with their own eyes the hurricane winds which seemed to carry bits of stone through the air. The gales were visible to mortal eyes; a reflection of the assurance of their doom should they touch them.
Sir Amiel looked to his men, and they each exchanged glances with one another. Maram and Aria were both hesitant to pass through the winds. Mary and Korn looked to Carcette, who seemed to be looking at Varla. Gloriel looked at Bourlor, who slowly shook his head, refusing to attack the Son of Kyne. Sabrina outright shook her head.
After a brief silence, Varla stepped forward. "Fine, I'll do it. We don't want our little Dragonborn ripped in half this far into the journey, do we?" His expression conveyed irritation, but it was mostly for show.
"You?" Maram asked brashly. "Morihaus will tear you to shreds. No doubt he can sense what you are. Who your father was."
Varla's expression darkened. It was clear that Maram's words touched a nerve. "Then that will be his problem."
Mary was the next to speak, directly addressing the bold Man-Hunter. "Take care, Varla. Morihaus is Kynareth's offspring, and he will present challenges unlike any you've encountered before."
Varla responded with a nod, "Understood, mother. I anticipate that Morihaus will prove as formidable as his nephew." A light smirk crossed his face as he pondered his current journey. "Perhaps the Aedra will forever remember this clash as the Day of Discord, a battle between two sons of Son of Kyne versus the son of Kyne's Handmaiden. I hope Kynareth will not hold this against you."
Mary simply shook her head, "She will not hold a grudge. By facing her son who dwells here in torment, you honour Kynareth," she assured, before turning her attention to Cura. "And you, Dragonborn, must liberate him from this plane, just as you did with Pelinal... and as you have done with me."
"I will." Cura spoke reassuringly before turning away and facing the violent storm which barred the way. Varla walked up to her, standing close behind her.
Sabrina cheered her on. "You know what? I take back what I said, Cura; if you could take on Pelinal, you can take on Morihaus! And with the brooding jerk by your side, I'm sure you'll succeed!"
Varla crossed his arms and slowly shook his head towards Sabrina's remark. "It's good that your cowardice compels you to remain here; you would only just get yourself killed."
Sabrina narrowed her eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Leave the battle of an Aedra to those connected to the Aedra." Varla elaborated firmly, before granting Cura a respectful nod of acknowledgement. They had started off as enemies, though now Cura was Varla's only hope of redemption from the vicious expanse of Coldharbour. What would come after that would be as it may.
"Our hopes lie with you, Dragonborn." Sir Amiel reminded her. "Fight well, and fight with the wisdom of Akatosh."
Carcette added, her voice stale and monotonous, dripping with the influence of Jyggalag, though a glint of familiarity was present in her eye. "Remember all that the Vigil has taught you; and what experiences you have lived through. Your success is assured."
"If you say so, Keeper. I guess I can take comfort in that." Cura responded plaintively. Though Carcette was driven by Jyggalag's force at the present time, Cura was still searching for traces of her mentor within her. Thankfully, she still held her memories of the past, and some sentiments.
Cura would find a way to break her out of this, as well. And she had to live to be able to do so.
"Whatever you're going to do, do it." Varla said cooly, as he tried to see beyond the vicious winds.
Cura took a deep breath and searched her inner soul, sifting through many memories, and then the Shout came to her.
"LOK VAH KOOR!" with these three words, a pathway was cleared through the violent tumultuous gale and Cura hurried through it, with Varla trailing behind her. Clad in full steel armour, Varla was surprisingly nimble, like a hound. Though, given his heritage, it was not quite as much a surprise as one would think.
"The Son of Kynareth versus the Son of Mara. There's a battle nobody would ever have presumed." Cura remarked with great amusement as she walked through the open air.
"And yet neither seem to be complaining. Focus, Dragonborn!" Varla reminded her as he hurried ahead, sensing a change in the atmosphere.
"I'm sorry, but this feels as absurd as killing Aurorans with Dawnbreaker." Cura admitted as she weaved around a large, jagged stone upshot from the broken terrain.
"You heard what Mother said. It is no mere fight to the death that this is. There is something you have done, and you must do again." Varla looked to the Dragonborn as he weaved around a broken column with the nimbleness of a wolf. "This is merely a piece of Morihaus, captured by Molag Bal. To subdue him would free him from the madness that consumes him here, as you already know. Kyne will do the rest, I assume." As the pair of them hurried along, the winds were beginning to return and they quickened their pace, escaping the onslaught and making it into a clearing.
Cura inquired of her insolent ally. "Do you think you could fight Morihaus, Lord Varla? Are you confident in your abilities?"
A loud 'HA!' escaped Varla's throat at her inquiry. "Without question. You have never seen me in a true battle, Dragonborn. Perhaps I will show you what one of your Knights is capable of in the process."
His self-assurance was both comforting, and concerning. How much of it was truth, and how much of it was arrogance, Cura could not be certain. But at any rate, she was glad to not have to face Morihaus alone.
There were towering rock formations that loomed in the distance of the imposing and desolate landscape which surrounded her. There stood stone pillars and arches with intricate designs and sculptures atop them, some standing while others were broken and scattered across the ground as debris. Flanking the stone walkway which was embedded in the sand were enclaves of statues which resembled armoured knights holding spears; worn out and coated in sand and bone dust. On either side of the imposing tower structure were short staircases which coiled around it from either side. A prominent feature was a glowing red light source behind the bolted-down door to the tower, visible from a slot in the metal, and forming a column which pierced the skies, casting an eerie light that seemed to serve as a warning to any who would dare come close.
Two Alessian Paladins dared, as it seemed; they stood guard like a pair of wayward sentinels, aimless, and yet, purposeful as their eyes beneath their dark and rusted helms surveyed the land before them.
Cura dared to step forward onto this abandoned ground, her boots clanking as metal met ancient, worn out stone, and the sand seemed to flicker; to slightly levitate with each step, as though a small wind current were raising the grains from the earth magnetically.
Cura felt a light bit of static from her clothes, and from her hair; like the early onset of a thunderstorm. Her right arm which she depended on for her mace etiquette, began to ache. Her body felt as though it was heating up and sweat began to bead on her forehead. The static in the air was becoming palpable.
Gravity seemed to matter little, as the elevating dust seemed to be rising higher and higher; an unseen force was affecting the terrain itself. The air seemed to heat up more around them, and the low rumble of thunder emerged from above.
The Alessians drew their weapons upon Cura's approach, and she and Varla in turn drew their own. The two parties rushed towards each other, when suddenly...
"FUS RO DAH!"
A mighty masculine voice roared from within the tower and the Alessian Paladins exploded forward, their bodies transformed to dust in the air, the door shredded off its hinges behind them, and Cura and Varla were blown backwards, tumbling like weeds and rolling across the hard stone. Bits of architecture rained down upon them and the thunderous sound of stampeding hooves smashed against the stone.
Author's Note: for this battle - "Vigilant OST - Morihaus" Thanks for reading!
Cura rolled over quickly, and her ears could hear nothing but a shrill ringing noise. She raised a finger to her earlobe and brought it before her eyes, coated with blood, which was running down her neck. Her eyes widened and she snapped her face upwards to see the colossal figure which loomed before them: Morihaus Breath-of-Kyne, larger than life. The living legend himself.
His Thu'um was unlike anything she'd ever experienced before; the Greybeards' Thu'um was powerful, but even it did not deafen her like this. Cura smacked herself on the side of her head a few times and shook her head quickly, staggering backwards. Her ears felt the weight of the liquid pouring from them and she scrambled about, looking at Varla, whose mouth was moving, yet she could not hear a word of it.
Cura could barely catch her breath, seeing him in the flesh: or rather, a piece of him. Morihaus was everything the tales said, and more. He stood a confounding nine feet tall, a bovine colossus. His face was that of a dark gray bull; complete with a rusted nose ring and covered in black armour. His body armour was ebony black, emblazoned with a red diamond at the center of his cuirass. His arms alone were larger than Cura's entire body's width, and his frame covered most of her vision. She had always believed Tsun and Umaril to be giants among men, but Morihaus dwarfed them both.
He definitely had to have assumed a mortal form when he courted Alessia. There was no way... Cura killed the thought then and there.
Clutched in the Breath-of-Kyne's right hand was a colossal greatsword, its size and breadth surpassing any blade she had ever encountered in her lifetime. The sword was as long as Morihaus was tall, and wider than Cura if she lay down shoulder-to-shoulder with herself on the floor. Its proportions were absurd. It was carved in a glistening steel and emblazoned with black metal at its core, and gilded with silver laced accents.
"You... are magnificent!" Cura proclaimed, her head bowed in reverence to the Aedric being. She quickly remembered that he was her enemy at the present time once Varla yanked her backwards, aiding her in narrowly escaping a brutal beheading.
"Don't be stupid! Remember where you are." Varla admonished the Dragonborn sternly.
Cura nodded at her curt advisor. Though she could not hear him well, she could somewhat begin to make out the silent muffle that was his voice. "Right. Thank you, Varla." She cast a Healing Spell upon herself to clear out her ear injury, and prayed that she could be prepared for his next Thu'um.
"Hmph." Varla sneered as he leapt into the fray, his swords drawn and aimed for the bull-man's chest.
Morihaus raised his greatsword into the sky, drawing in the winds from around him before stabbing it firmly into the ground, causing a massive wind wave to blow down all of the columns surrounding them, and cutting both Cura and Varla by the sheer force of impact alone.
Cura raised Spellbreaker to absorb most of the impact, but was nearly disarmed when she was blown backwards.
Varla leapt high into the air when he'd caught his footing and dropped down upon Morihaus, embedding both of his swords in the Man-Bull's shoulder plates. Blood began to creep out from the sundered metal and Morihaus retaliated with a forceful headbutt, knocking Varla off of him.
Varla hit the ground, landing on both feet and retreated with a quick backwards leap before the greatsword could split him down the middle.
If Morihaus could show of his Thu'um, the Dragonborn would oblige, as well; unveiling herself to him in equal candor.
"YOL TOOR SHUL!" Cura Shouted at Morihaus, and a great torrent of fire erupted from her mouth and snaked along the stone walkway, riding up Morihaus' legs and engulfing him whole. The flames smoldered with heat as they surrounded the indomitable bull, but did not last long, for his mighty winds erupted forth from his body, casting the flames off like shaken water.
Cura, with the poise of the dragons of yore, leapt forward and struck Morihaus with a force that shattered shields and spirits alike. Spellbreaker lived up to its name, its enchantments disrupting the very fabric of Morihaus's gales.
Varla, the agile fiend that he was, danced through the maelstrom of combat, his blades a blur, each strike a chorus of precision and power, his magical heritage manifesting in bursts of radiant energy that illuminated the battlefield.
Morihaus, undeterred by the might of his adversaries, answered with the fury of the storm. His greatsword, an extension of his furious calor, cut swathes through the air, each swing a gale that threatened to sweep away the resolve of any who faced him. The power of Kynareth's winds, harnessed through his unyielding spirit, whipped around him, a vortex of divine wrath.
The battle raged on, neither side yielding, their weapons an extension of their very souls. Cura's mace crashed against Morihaus's sword, sparks of magic clashing with the raw power of the elements. Varla's twin swords sang a duet of destruction, parrying and thrusting with a speed that defied sight. The ground beneath them cracked and groaned, bearing witness to the titanic forces at play.
Morihaus, feeling the weight of his foes' resolve, roared with a voice that echoed the thunderous might of Kynareth. He swung his greatsword with renewed vigor, each strike a tempest, each block a mountain unyielding.
Cura blocked with Spellbreaker, meeting his massive greatsword head-on in a collision which slowly began to push her into the earth. Her knees buckled against the pressure being heaped down upon her, and the stone was cracking underneath her feet. As Morihaus pushed down harder and harder, Cura's body was compressed lower and lower, and her left knee buckled under the strain. To avoid a break, Cura used Spellbreaker to guard herself as she slid to the side, allowing the greatsword to graze the width of the shield and plunge itself into the earth.
"IIZ SLEN NUS!" Cura cried out, her Thu'um emerging as a torrent of ice, encasing the Man-Bull on the spot.
Varla, sensing the moment, surged forward with a burst of divine light, his swords cutting through the air with a precision that was both beautiful and deadly. Cura was impressed as she witnessed the Man-Hunter's prowess. He truly was a force to be reckoned with. Each strike peeled back the icy shell, and Morihaus broke free, prying his sword out of the earth and striking Varla with his fist.
The Man-Hunter was knocked backwards, the wind brought out of him in a loud gasp after the Breath-of-Kyne's fist collided with his cuirass. However, before Morihaus could impale him with the massive blade, Varla, the progeny of love and hate, danced around the thrust with twin swords that gleamed like streams of starlight. His agility was a spectacle, his magical prowess a tempest. His blades cut into Morihaus' left arm, glowing luminous with the energy of the Et'Ada.
Seizing the moment, Cura plunged back into the battle, swinging her mace with full force against the visage of the Breath-of-Kyne. While she and Varla pressed their attack, Morihaus summoned a powerful wind, scattering them with its ferocity.
As they advanced with united force, he countered their assault with his greatsword, which sliced through the air, its song of ruin resonating. Winds spiraled along its blade, ravaging the terrain with each surge. The Man-Bull's every stride conjured a tempest, his every exhale unleashed the wrath of a storm. Their weapons' collision was a divine symphony, echoing their celestial lineage and indomitable spirits.
Varla managed to catch Morihaus' greatsword using his bare hands when the Man-Bull brought it down in a vertical swing, though the force of its winds cut through his armour in a terrible display of gore. Varla grunted in agony as flesh was peeled back within his tarnished armour, which was now covered in scratches, creases, and dents.
"WULD NA KEST!" Cura blasted through the surrounding gale with her shield held forward, transforming herself into a projectile launched at Morihaus, knocking him away from Varla and causing the Man-Bull to hit the ground.
Cura was breathing heavily when she landed on her feet. Morihaus lay on the ground and she exhaled deeply. "Is it over?"
Varla groaned and fell to one knee, embedding his sword in the earth to keep himself from fully collapsing. He could not say, as he had no breath to give. Cura hurried to his side and began to cast a Healing Spell upon him.
"You fought well, Varla." she said with a smile as she treated the awful gore beneath his steel surface with a mending golden light.
The air around them began to churn anew, drawing their gazes back to Morihaus, who was now ascending gradually into the air. The strength of the swirling winds was formidable, exerting a palpable pressure on all who were present.
"You have got to be joking..." Varla groaned at the sight of their adversary getting up once more.
Author's Note: for Phase 2, I recommend "Elden Ring OST - Divine Beast Dancing Lion - Phase 2" ;)
The Breath-of-Kyne had received his second wind, as it seemed. Morihaus, the winged demigod, son of Kyne, unfurled his mighty wings, each feather crackling with the raw power of the storm. With a thunderous roar that shook the very foundations of the earth, he summoned the fury of the heavens, lightning arcing from his outstretched pinions, illuminating the battlefield with flashes of divine wrath. Sparks flitted through the air as violet-hued lightning discharged from Morihaus, forming an untenable Cloak of Storms around his very form.
The air itself became a tempest, charged with the energy of a thousand storms, as Morihaus took to the skies, his silhouette a dark omen against the brooding clouds.
"WULD NA KEST!"
With that Shout, Morihaus himself rocketed through the sky like a comet, dropping down upon Cura and Varla with a powerful explosive blast that formed a large crater in the earth. He quickly grabbed Varla by the neck and raised him into the air, his eyes white with fury. The lightning whirling around him struck the landscape in various directions as he raised the son of Mara and Umaril into the air, crushing him with both of his mighty hands in the process.
Varla stabbed Morihaus in the neck with his free arm repeatedly, in attempt to loosen the crushing grip around his body.
Cura nocked an arrow on Auriel's Bow and loosed it into Morihaus' side, in the hopes of distracting the Breath-of-Kyne, though it proved futile. Her firebolts and ice spikes did little to nothing against him.
Varla pulled back his sword and drove it forward into Morihaus' left eye, embedding it deep and causing the Aedric Bull to cry out in surprise. In response, Morihaus whipped Varla down towards the earth below, causing him to smash into the earth at high velocity.
Thankfully, Cura was nimble, and dutifully cast a large Drop Zone over the earth, preventing serious injury.
On impact, Varla gasped as the sharp pain rung through him. He was quickly beginning to regret tagging along for this duel. "Hmph. I... suppose he sees a little too much of Umaril within me." he quipped as he attempted to stand again. He stumbled forward as blood began to pool on the tiles under his boots. He glanced down at the Amulet of Mara around his neck, coated in his blood, now. A silent anger boiled within Varla at the sight of this desecration.
Morihaus took flight once more, looming over the duo. The greatsword, now alight with celestial fire, became a beacon of destruction, each swing releasing shockwaves that tore through the air, a testament to the power of Kynareth's chosen champion. In his bout of madness, Morihaus was a frenzied mess of violence, each strike uncalculated; vicious; wasteful.
Cura used Whirlwind Sprint to escape the brunt of the onslaught, taking cover within the Barrier Tower itself. She channeled Welling Blood - the infamous Restoration Spell that Colette Marence had taught her and Lucien which does the adverse - chipping away at the life force of an enemy. The spell afflicted Morihaus, causing him to stumble in his flight, thrashing about in pain as the spell wracked his being.
Varla fell to his knees again, his swords dropping with a clink to the ground beside him as he held himself up with his hands and knees. His breath came in short gasps as mortality held him in its grip. Morihaus truly was nothing he'd ever faced before. In his lifetime, the greatest of his opponents was Gloriel the Valkyrie. But after her, none posed a challenge, for the rest were mere mortals.
Cura conjured a Flame Atronach to deter Morihaus from Varla, distracting the demigod with fireballs. Morihaus was merely irritated by its presence, extinguishing the Atronach with one burst of magicka from his mighty blade. Cura switched up her tactics, casting Unbound Fire onto Morihaus, and bombarding him with Unrelenting Force as he soared through the sky.
Once struck, Morihaus plummeted out of the sky and hit the earth below.
"LOK VAH KOOR!" Cura's Shout disrupted Morihaus' storm in his native tongue.
The battlefield, a vista of chaos and carnage, bore witness to Varla's tenacity. His injuries, grievous and numerous, were but physical constraints to be overcome by the force of his spirit. The pain that wracked his body was overshadowed by the power of his lineage, the divine essence that flowed through his veins providing a wellspring of strength that defied the corporeal limits.
Morihaus, with the fury of the storm at his command, unleashed a relentless onslaught, each blow meant to crush the life from Varla's form. But Varla, with a warrior's heart and a lover's passion, parried and countered, his swords singing a dirge for the fallen and a hymn for the living. His agility, though hampered, was replaced by a strategic cunning, a dance of survival that wove between the arcs of Morihaus' greatsword.
Varla's swords, extensions of his will, moved with a precision born of desperation, each cut a line drawn against the inevitability of defeat, each parry a statement of his refusal to yield. "Why... won't... you... die?!" he roared at the indomitable Morihaus with each strike.
Varla's vision blurred, not from the tears of pain, but from the singular focus that consumed him. His twin swords, now heavy in his grasp, were the last vestiges of his resistance, the final argument against the destiny that sought to claim him.
Morihaus struck him with a backhanded punch, knocking the Man-Hunter's helmet square off his head. It landed amidst the rubble of the ruined columns and left him unguarded to the subsequent strikes. Blood flew as his nose was broken; his cheek crushed, his forehead smashed, and his jaw dislocated. Every punch from Morihaus was like being battered by a warhammer. The storm returned again, covering the arena in its brutal thunder.
Cura hurried to intervene as soon as distance was drawn between the two. She moved with a guardian's grace, positioning herself to bear the brunt of Morihaus' fury, allowing Varla precious moments to gather his strength and continue the fight.
As the battle raged, Cura's tactics evolved, her movements a dance of strategic prowess. She fought not just for victory but for Varla's survival, her strikes calculated to draw Morihaus' attention, her defenses orchestrated to provide Varla with respite. The small Half-Elven woman was a Skeever trying to block a Mammoth, and yet she kept the fiend at bay with the determination to barricade him from her ally. Each step by Morihaus was met with a mirroring step by Cura, forcing the Man-Bull to take his eyes from the son of Umaril and focus on the Dragonborn.
Cura acted as an ally, and as his intercessor; delivering him from certain death and buying Varla time to drink a Healing Potion. Her voice, firm and clear, cut through the cacophony of the storm. "Varla, you're Mara's son! Surely that means something! Don't just focus on brute strength!"
"Shut up!" Varla snapped back at Cura as he picked his swords up again, his countenance one of rage and defiance. "I know how to fight!"
A blast of divine energy from Morihaus' greatsword struck Varla in the chest, causing him to be flung backwards into a ruined column. The impact was severe, and he landed straight onto the ground. He could feel his energy slipping from him, and his anger rising. He closed his eyes. "Mother, I need... aid... this is getting to be ridiculous." He grunted and seethed as he pried himself up from the floor, lacerated and broken.
Cura blocked a mighty bolt of lightning with Spellbreaker, absorbing the brunt of it, before the greatsword, driven horizontally, collided with it and caused Cura to be flung to the side in a graceless fall. She quickly caught herself and rolled away from the site of impact, instinctively. Morihaus leapt towards her and crushed the earth where she was with his greatsword, bursting with the power of the winds.
Cura bashed the back of Morihaus' knee, causing him to stumble, and she leapt onto his back, knowing that his anatomy would make it nigh impossible for him to reach back at her. The Minotaur thrashed about in attempt to shake her off of him, but Cura held firm, even as he conjured his Lightning Cloak. The bits of static wracked her body, but she continued to hold on, activating her Dragonskin to absorb the lightning. She clubbed Morihaus over the head with her mace with a few well-placed whacks, causing him to recoil.
In the crucible of the battle, where the fate of legends is forged in the fires of conflict, Varla found himself consumed by a tempest of rage. The pain of his wounds, the sight of his blood, and the relentless assault of Morihaus, Breath-of-Kyne, ignited within him a fury that eclipsed reason. His twin swords, once wielded with the precision of a master, now lashed out with wild abandon. Each strike, fueled by the raw power of his divine lineage, became less a calculated maneuver and more an expression of his unbridled wrath.
The battlefield, already a tapestry of chaos, responded to Varla's rage with a palpable tension. The air grew heavy, the earth trembled, and even the skies seemed to darken in anticipation of the reckoning that was to unfold. Varla's movements, once a ballet of grace and agility, now bore the weight of his fury, his blades carving arcs of vengeance through the air, seeking the heart of his winged adversary.
Morihaus, sensing the shift in his opponent's demeanor, met Varla's recklessness with a measured brutality. His greatsword, a monolith of destruction, swung with a renewed purpose, each blow aimed to exploit the openings left by Varla's blind rage. The winds of Kynareth, once a howling gale, now whispered with the cunning of a predator, circling the Son of Mara, waiting for the moment to strike.
Cura watched with a warrior's eye as her comrade's discipline unraveled. Her heart, a bastion of courage, ached to see the Son of Mara so lost in his wrath. She knew the dangers of such uncontrolled emotion on the field of battle, where every misstep could be fatal, where every unchecked swing could spell doom. Yet, she also understood the power that such passion could unleash, the devastating potential that lay within the heart of a warrior pushed beyond their limits. She finally lost her grip on Morihaus in the throttle of the duel and fell to the ground. She quickly scurried away from a stampeding hoof and dashed with Whirlwind Sprint to a safer distance to calculate her next move.
Chaos. All was chaos.
As the battle raged on, a transformation overtook Varla. The fury that had once threatened to consume him now catalyzed a metamorphosis, awakening a primal force within. His eyes, alight with the fire of his rage, took on the piercing gaze of the wolf, and his senses sharpened to a supernatural keenness. With each breath, he drew in the scent of the storm, the tang of metal, and the musk of his adversary, Morihaus, Breath-of-Kyne.
His movements, already a blur of speed and precision, became imbued with the feral agility of the wolf. His twin swords, extensions of his will, now struck with the ferocity of a beast unleashed. The grace of his dance was now edged with a savage intensity, each step, each leap, an echo of the wilds from whence his newfound power sprang.
His wounds, which had once slowed him, now seemed to fuel his wrathful vigor, the pain transforming into a relentless drive that propelled him forward with unstoppable momentum.
"FUS RO DAH!" Morihaus roared, blasting Varla with a mighty burst of wind, decimating the immediate landscape behind and surrounding him. The wind cyclone was fierce: a burrowing force which shredded the earth and stone. Cura gasped in horror as she bore witness to her most favoured Thu'um turned upon Varla in such a way. She cupped her hands over her mouth as the massive cloud of dust began to slowly sink.
The dust slowly dissipated, unveiling a surprising sight: Varla stood undaunted, surrounded by the spectral aura of a Wolf, luminous and pure, armouring his form. The air shuddered around him with each footstep taken. His form was one of primal ferocity; an abomination in the sight of Morihaus, a corrupted answer to his own lineage. The Man-Bull snorted with insult at the sight of this Ayleid bastard, dared to take on the likeness of an Aedra.
Without any warning, Varla surged ahead in a fierce sprint, vaulting with supernatural accuracy and plunging his blades deep into Morihaus' armor. He savaged the Man-Bull with raw ferocity. With agile movements, he evaded the subsequent blows from Morihaus, parrying with his own sword, slicing and creasing the armor.
Varla maneuvered with agility and delivered powerful strikes from multiple angles, his swords etching a pattern of bloodied fury. Morihaus, despite his strength, found himself sluggish to retaliate against his adversary, who was rapid and precise.
Cura observed the divine energy surrounding Varla with great awe and admiration. She could see not only Varla's involvement, but that of the Aedra as well. Mara's presence in the battle was subtle yet profound, her power coursing through Varla's veins, guiding his actions with the wisdom of the maternal divine. It was as if each strike Varla delivered carried with it the weight of Mara's own resolve, each defensive maneuver a reflection of her desire to shield her son from harm.
Cura herself leapt into the fray with Whirlwind Sprint, knocking Morihaus back so that Varla could shatter his defenses, and the pair alternated in their relentless onslaught, pushing Morihaus further and further back. But before Cura could deal the finishing blow with her mace, Varla vaulted high into the air and plunged his sword downwards through the Minotaur's heart.
Morihaus roared in defiance as blood bubbled up from the wound, spilling out from around the blade's entry point. He reached out to grab Varla by the neck, but the Man-Hunter twisted the blade in place. A messy squishing noise pierced the air as the sword drilled deeper into his form, carving itself deeper into his heart and pushing through to the stone beneath his form.
Cura walked up to Morihaus and looked down at him with her mace slung over her shoulder. She wiped the blood from her nose and looked upon the Son of Kyne, who was not yet at his end. She channeled the mercy of Stendarr and delivered a final blow to the Minotaur's head, ending his suffering.
The storm finally subsided and the air became still. Varla exhaled through his nose and pulled the sword from Morihaus' chest, a trail of blood running down the length of the blade like a river as it was unsocketed. He sniffled lightly and looked at Cura. No words passed between the two of them, but there was nothing that needed to be said. They had a mutual understanding. Their mission was accomplished, and their alliance was sealed, for good and all.
A gentle wind picked up from around them, and Morihaus' body was slowly lifted into the air.
"AGAIN?!" Varla exclaimed with horror at the sudden elevation, until the body began to slowly dissolve into light, much in the same way Kahkaankrein had.
"You have pacified my Morihaus," the voice of Kyne spoke to the pair of them. "now, you must look upon that which aches his pure heart, so that he may be free."
Cura bowed politely. "I shall, dear Kynareth." She docked her mace upon her waist once more and headed towards the Barrier Tower, and within she saw a pair of binding shackles on the floor, and many bones and skulls surrounding it upon the floor. "Poor Morihaus... bound in a location like this for so long. I pray he will find peace, now."
She reached a hand towards the shackles, touching the source of the red light which powered the barrier around the Tower of Sacremnor.
Author's Note: for this segment, "Sovngarde theme"
Cura's vision shifted and she found herself within the White-Gold Tower, once more. In the Throne Room where the giant statue of Meridia stood at its end with her hands raised upright. She was at the end of the carpet with her back to the entry door, where she had last seen Pelinal before he left for good.
Nearby, a Priest of Stuhn began his ascent of the carpet from beside her, and Morihaus himself entered the hall. His massive form commanded respect from the many soldiers within his platoon, who stood on either side of the carpet. Among them were Minotaurs, Nedic Men in leather armour, and Nord warriors in plated Dragonbone armour. Kynareth's gentle breeze blew in through the windows and white petals flitted through the air. Cura stood there, taking in the sights before her with amazement.
With a heart filled with sympathy, Cura walked beside Morihaus, dwarfed by his colossal stature as they ascended the carpet's length together. Whatever ailed him must have broken his heart fiercely.
As they reached the furthest end of the room, beneath the statue of Meridia and before the throne, Cura saw it: Pelinal's broken sword, embedded in the stone floor.
This was a funeral procession.
Morihaus, grieving, knelt down before the broken sword and Cura joined him in spirit, kneeling beside the giant in silent prayer.
Morihaus began, "So you went before me, too... You remain faithful to yourself until the end..." His face was overcast in shadow, so his expression was difficult to make out. Though the sadness in his voice was profound. "You taught me, Pelinal, that Ada changes things through love..."
He brought his massive hand to his chest. "This is why my heart feels so heavy. It would be so much easier to surrender myself to bloodlust and rage... But I will keep watch... For her, for Paravania."
With these words, the world slowly faded to white around them, and Cura found herself returned to the Barrier Tower, its red light no longer present. Sitting on the floor in front of her was Morihaus' Nose ring, which she picked up and examined. She knew that Inigo and Lucien would never believe this without evidence - even though Varla could very well attest to it.
Still, it would be nice to keep a trophy of the occasion. She pocketed the nose ring.
Varla approached Cura, dusting off his armour. "So, that's it, then? Did you free the large oaf?"
Cura's remaining allies hurried onto the vicinity. Mary embraced Varla, who was covered in injuries, and Korn rushed over to him and circled him affectionately. Gloriel winced when she witnessed the terrible wounds on his body.
"Morihaus, the Breath of Kyne." Gloriel remarked. "Truly a grand adversary."
"What was he like?" Aria asked, her voice silent as always. Though Varla could not be certain if she was whispering, or if his hearing was shot.
"Everything the tales said he was." Varla confirmed with a pained groan as he massaged the back of his neck.
Carcette approached Cura and spoke flatly. "You have done well. Now you must return to where you started: the Barrier Tower there was to be a failsafe for Molag Bal, and it draws from the residual power of lingering sadness. Cleanse it and then we will be ready to move on."
"Move on to what?" Sabrina demanded.
Carcette elaborated by refusing to elaborate, "The truth."
Sir Amiel scratched his chin. "I suppose, being Coldharbour, it surely could not be so easy."
Cura sighed and looked at Varla, whose injuries were being mended. "Thank you for your help, Varla. You were incredible out there."
Varla nodded, "You saved my life several times in that duel, as much as I hate to admit it." He slowly stood back up. "Let's head to that damned Barrier Tower and be done with it."
A simple Fast Travel cast upon Mathmalatu Priory was easy enough to bring the group there, and Cura quickly ascended the nearby stairs embedded in the cliff.
The Barrier Tower next to the Mathmalatu Priory was illuminated, finally; a column stretching high into the sky surrounding a pile of corpses covered in sand. Sir Amiel cleared his throat. "I have stood by this district for centuries, and I have never before seen such a phenomenon. Dragonborn, if you would investigate?"
"I believe this is related to Morihaus' memory." Cura raised an eyebrow.
Carcette nodded, and she gestured towards it systematically, as though it were another errand to be crossed off of a list. "Proceed."
Cura was brought to the hallway in a palace of sorts, shrouded in the cover of night. Nearby, she could see Morihaus sitting by his lonesome, his head downcast in grief, and his legs crossed. She approached him, and he simply said, "I always knew she would go to the stars... But it's still so painful..." his voice was solemn and laden with grief, as though his entire world were collapsing around him.
No matter what people would say concerning the matter of their relationship, it was clear that Morihaus' love for Alessia was pure. Never before had Cura ever dreamed of seeing so mighty a creature destroyed by sorrow.
Cura wanted to pat his shoulder gently, but her hand seemed to pass through him, as she was a spectral interloper.
She ascended the stairs nearby, where a Knight in dull armour stood, leaning against the wall next to the doorframe, adjacent to the iron brazier which casted a somber glow on him. "Paravant will become a star... I will never forget how her eyes burned bright as meteors." the knight said.
Cura continued onwards past him and entered what looked to be a large bedroom, shrouded in the black of night. The moment she set foot on the floor, Pelinal made himself manifest there, and walked along the embroidered carpet towards the bed. His hair was white and bound in a short ponytail, and he sported a white eyepatch over his left eye. He wore a set of white, gilded noble robes.
"Perrif." he said softly as he stood before the bed.
Cura hurried around Pelinal to see the figure of Saint Alessia sitting upon her bed. She was cast in shadow, illuminated only by a single sconce lain on the end table next to the bed. However, Cura could recognize her blue ornate Empress robes and horned hood, as well as her tanned skin and dark, but graying hair. Even in her latter years of life, Saint Alessia was still beautiful to behold.
Another thing that caught Cura's eye was an Elder Scroll laying beside the sconce on the end table. She gently reached out to it and found that she was able to touch it.
"Welcome back. I didn't expect to see you again." Alessia spoke with a joyful lilt in her weakened voice. She spoke with concern, now. "So... how did it go? Did you find her?"
"Yes, I did. Finally. I'm going to her now." Pelinal said with a stern nod.
"I hope you find the way." Alessia responded.
"I'm not sure I will..." Pelinal admitted.
"You will. I'm certain." Alessia insisted.
"Yes, perhaps..." Pelinal relented.
After a few seconds of silence, he spoke again. "It's... time to say goodbye. Sleep well, Perrif."
"Goodbye." Alessia said softly.
Pelinal descended the stairs, presumably to enter his final battle, and vanished into the aether.
Cura quickly swiped the Elder Scroll before the vision came to its end, and stood before her allies once more, holding it in her hand.
"Is that an Elder Scroll?" Sir Ralvas inquired, shocked by the suddenness of the object's appearance.
Cura nodded, and quickly unravelled the Scroll. A great flash of light consumed her vision, as well as the runic symbols and esoteric inscriptions of the scroll. At its center, the face of a white Minotaur flashed in her vision. Her world shifted then and there, and she no longer stood before her allies.
Cura was in a white field briefly, wandering amidst the beautiful flora which sprawled for endless miles, melting into patches of blue and yellow as the horizon deepened. She had taken a moment of respite to meditate along the sand-laden roads of Coldharbour, and this was what she had discovered.
A figure loomed between the curvature of a split tree; a figure with a long pair of horns, it looked like. And above the head, between the horns, was a circular orb. Cura looked to her side, realizing that her mace had disappeared, as did Spellbreaker and Dawnbreaker.
"You do not need your weapons. I mean you no harm." the figure spoke to her in a calm, feminine voice.
Cura cleared her throat. She also came to the swift realization that she was without armour. And she bore instead her old Vigilant Apprentice Robes and hood. She wanted to trust the obscured figure before her, but she would still er on the side of caution. "Who are you?" she inquired, taking a reflexive step backwards.
Emerging from the shadows cast by the trees, the figure stepped into the dimly lit clearing. She could be no-one else.
"S-Saint Alessia!" Cura stuttered with awe as it came to her.
The brilliant woman nodded to her, confirming her assertion. "I am known by many names: Alessia, Al-Esh, El-Estia, Aleshut, Queen-ut-Cyrod, Paravant, Perrif, Paravania, only by my beloved Morihaus, and countless other names. It matters little, at this point. If you can truly recognize me for who I am, then you understand why I approach you."
Cura could barely fathom the situation. She had seen a vision of her once before, not very long ago, and from peering into the past, and now she stood before the Paravant herself in a vast meadow. The worst fear Cura had at this point in time was saying something that would make her look foolish before the first Empress. "I..." she bit her lip and tried to organize her thoughts. "...I would assume this has something to do with my Dragon Soul."
"Yes, but even more than that." Alessia walked through the flowers, and beckoned Cura to follow her, which the Half-Elf did instinctively. "Molag Bal is an awful creature, as you know: he holds nothing but hatred for the Divines, and contempt for Mortals. Through his manipulation of the Order which blasphemed my name, he coerced them into sacrificing my remains to the Red Stone in secret. A part of me is bound to Coldharbour."
"No-!" Cura exclaimed, aghast by the sound of it. It was as though a lance had struck her square in the chest.
The Paravant nodded solemnly.
"It is no coincidence which sent you here, Friend of Stendarr." Alessia walked over a small log which lay across a small brook, acting a bridge. "I am sorry to say that it was I who led you to this point."
Cura furrowed her brows as she shadowed her steps. "What?"
"I am the Mother of Dragons - the one who chooses my successors." Alessia proclaimed. "When Martin Septim broke the Chim-El Adabal on that fateful day, he became bound to Akatosh. However, I too, am joined with the God of Time. It was my will which had the Dragon Soul bound to your blood, from Shezarr's own."
"What does that mean? I don't understand!" Cura massaged her brow, as confusion turned her around.
Alessia showed her the Amulet of Kings. "The blood of Shezarr is what created it. Lord Akatosh bound his soul to Shezarr's spirit held within. The Dragon Soul which I implanted within you is an Amalgam Soul, much akin to the spirit of Talos."
Cura's eyes darted around, scanning the landscape. "Then... who am I?"
Alessia walked up to her, sensing her distress and placed her hands on her shoulders. "You are Cura, the Last Dragonborn. Your line shall be the last upon Tamriel. You walk the land with my blessing, with Shezarr's spirit, and with Akatosh's soul." she placed her thumb on Cura's forehead. "It has been said that you shall be my successor in this age, but there are trials you must continue to face."
Cura felt a peaceful sensation wash over her as she stood before the Paravant. "That was why Pelinal stopped during our fight... I understand it now. But... wasn't Talos a Shezarrine? How..."
"When the Dragon Broke, more than time was fractured. Reality itself was forever changed. Many things are true and false, at once. For instance, we stand in Coldharbour, together, while being apart, and in another dimension. Have you asked yourself before how this can be?" Alessia looked up to the skies, which were luminous like the skies over Sovngarde. "My Morihaus now rests with Kyne in her Gardens, once more, rejoined with himself that was already there. How do you suppose such a thing could be possible?"
"No, I..."
"Reality is ever-changing. The Daedra know this, and capitalize upon it. The Alessian Order also capitalized on that fact, which allowed them to Break the Dragon. Which allowed the Eye of Magnus to enter Nirn and be used to change the fabric of reality." Alessia explained. "Akatosh has returned to Aetherius, and Akatosh is in you. Shezarr has returned to Aetherius, and Shezarr is in you. Shezarr is Akatosh is Shezarr. Aka is known for having many faces. The spirit of Human Undertaking and the Dragon God of Time. Pelinal too bore such a spirit."
Cura rubbed her hands together in a circular motion as she took in the information. "I... I trust you, Saint Alessia. How may I help you?" she realized that perhaps there was more to her being here than just to give her a Metaphysical History Lesson.
Alessia closed her eyes and the environment around them shifted - a vision of two figures appeared beside her: Morihaus in his grandiose splendor to the left of her, and to her right stood a more manageable-sized bull-headed man with white fur, a nose ring, and ornate robes with brown fur at the collar. "Pelinal and I were not the only ones sullied by Molag Bal and the blasphemous Alessian Order. My lover, Morihaus was beside himself upon my death, and fought on for Pelinal until he was eventually slain himself. Molag Bal bound his body here, and a part of his soul, forcing him to guard a Tower to the Northwest for millennia, until the intervention of Varla and yourself." She turned to the smaller man-bull to her left. "And my sweet little boy, Belharza... he was robbed of his throne long ago... mere months after I lay on my deathbed."
Cura scratched her head. "Robbed of his throne?" she recalled seeing a Human Belharza in Varla's past visions. She looked at the Minotaur as portrayed in the vision beside Alessia. "Gods... you and Morihaus really - " she looked at the large bull-man, baffled. The white minotaur was clearly a minotaur. This meant that Cura's theory was null; Morihaus was a Minotaur when... "really -"
"The heart can never be tamed." Alessia admitted truthfully with a light blush. "Yes, I loved the Son of Kyne. And he loved me very much, as well. And our son... our Belharza..."
Cura continued to assert to herself that Morihaus assumed a human form, but his genetics as a Minotaur carried over. At least, she hoped so. She quickly diverted her thoughts, as she began to feel filthy by merely having them. "I saw Belharza, though; he led the slaughter at Mackamentain. He raised Varla as a son."
Alessia shook her head. "That was not Belharza. That was the Alessian Order's Belharza. My son was taken away on the eve of his coronation and consigned to another realm, similar in nature to the one where we are now, within Coldharbour. I cannot do anything to help him. Please - "
Cura nodded enthusiastically, before she could even finish. "Of course I will!" She gently took Saint Alessia's hands into her own. "I promise I will free Belharza."
"Thank you, Cura." Alessia responded with relief, and the vision slowly began to fade.
Cura's allies stood around her, puzzled.
"What was that?" Maram asked firmly. "I saw something for a split second. Did anyone else see that? A horned woman in blue robes?"
Sabrina confirmed, "I did. Cura, what did you do now? What was that?"
"That was Saint Alessia." Cura responded faintly, still in the process of comprehending everything that she just learned. She looked down upon the Elder Scroll in her hands and folded it quickly. "The Alessian Order... the Alessian Empire... it was founded on a lie."
Gloriel scoffed in response. "That's hardly a surprise, to be honest."
Cura turned to Varla, "Emperor Belharza was an impostor, Varla. He was not the son of Saint Alessia, nor was his Amulet of Kings real."
Varla's eyes widened and he leaned forward, wanting to hear the rest of this. "What are you saying? The Emperor..."
"...Wasn't a Minotaur." Cura reminded him of what they'd just fought against.
Varla nearly stumbled backwards. "So, not only has my life been a lie, but so too has my purpose been. I was never the Right-hand of Belharza at all... but the Right-hand of Belharza's Impostor."
Mary gently caressed her son's arm to express sympathy. Truly, not a thing Varla had done in his life had sprung from any good, as many would see it. But she had words to impart upon him: "Your life has not been a lie, dear Varla. Your heart has been true to your cause, and yet the truth was withheld from you at every turn. But now that you know the truth, what will you do?"
Varla paused and looked at Cura. "I hate to admit it, but you've been the truest person I've ever met. You never try to deceive people; you go against common sense to help people, and you truly are the Dragonborn." he nodded and resolved himself. "From this day forward, I'm no longer Lord Varla, Right-Hand of Emperor Belharza, nor am I Varla the Man-Hunter." he held forward his Amulet of Mara. "I am Varla, Hound of Mara. Varla, the Sword of the Dragonborn." He nodded to Cura. "And I will follow you to the ends of Oblivion."
Cura was happy to hear it. "You'll always have a welcome place amongst my party, Varla. I can't wait to bring you to Skyrim."
Carcette stood silent the entire time, yet her cold eye was fixed on Cura, prompting the Vigilant to turn to her for advice. "Okay, Keeper... where do we begin?"
"You have the Bull Elder Scroll in your hands right now. You will have to return to the First Inquisition Court. There, the Statue will be plain to see." Carcette explained.
The group stared at her blankly. Sabrina asked, "The place where we found Kahkaankrein, you mean?"
Carcette nodded. "Yes. However, perhaps now without an entire horde of enemies to fight through in the main hall, you will be able to discover it more swiftly."
Cura placed the Elder Scroll in her bag. "Kahkaankrein... Belharza... it actually makes sense that the Alessians would attack both, given their seething hatred of the then-Eight Divines." She stretched both of her arms forward and laced her fingers together to get the stiffness out of her back. "Very well. Let's be off."
As she lead her band of allies forward, Cura's mind returned to thoughts of home; she'd gone through quite the interesting ordeal of late. She hoped that perhaps the difference she was making in Coldharbour would in some way help her companions in Skyrim, at least until she herself could reach them again. One thing was certain: she missed the gentle breezes and blue skies.