"Our God is the God of Mercy, Stendarr. Some mock our compassion, calling us sentimental fools and tenderhearts. But the truth is that everyone, no matter their strength, crawls to us when Sai, the God of Luck deserts them as he is prone to do. Our gift to the traveller is a simple one - we heal those who are in pain. For more complicated ailments, diseases and poisonings, we direct you to the Temple of Kynareth.
With due respect, for they are the finest apothecaries and we, the finest chirurgeons. If one possesses the desire and aptitude, one may join the Temple. Though we desire to help all Tamrielans, we only possess the means to train and assist a small handful. Sometimes, it is best to begin one's compassion with oneself."
- An unknown follower of Stendarr, 3rd Era
When Cura stepped outside of the Mathmalatu Priory, her sight was immediately thrashed by the dingy orange sand of the surrounding desert. She stood still for that time to take in her surroundings.
A wide desert mantled by bleak, dark brown cliffs and stones overlooked by a dark, burning sky above that resembled the void of the Soul Cairn very much.
It was much brighter than she was expecting. When she'd heard the stories about Coldharbour, she'd always imagined it to be dark, dingy, and freezing cold. However, the fires in the sky were there, swirling around the red and black void. Perhaps that was what Harkon intended the Sun to look like on Tamriel with Auriel's Bow.
Wait.
Harkon.
Cura grit her teeth nervously when she recalled his name. She touched the claw scars on her left cheek, which seemed to ride along to the bridge of her nose from in front of her left ear. As she caressed the old groove, she remembered what happened to Vampires who perished, and where they would go.
Fenrik, too.
And all of the Volkihar Court.
Suddenly, Cura began to feel very frightened. Without her Dragonborn powers, she was a sitting Duck in a den of Lions. If she should come across them; any of them; it would be certain doom. Even with her power she was outmatched with the lot of them there. She would surely not be a very welcome sight here. No doubt they haven't forgotten who sent them to this wasteland.
Cura looked down at her Vigilant uniform and realized that she was in quite the predicament. She needed a disguise. Something to hide her identity; perhaps even some of her face; at least until she could find her Dragon Soul and reclaim it.
"Ah, there you are. I was growing worried that we'd lost you Good to see you took the initiative." Mirabelle Ervine and Savos Aren manifested before her once more, confusing the Dragonborn greatly. The Arch-Mage was impressed that Cura actually had it in her to slay the Anatomancer to open the portal to enter Coldharbour.
"Wh-what?" Cura was confounded. She wondered what was going on now. "You... Sheogorath said... he said the two of you were illusions conjured up by him to guide me here."
"He said that to get you to move forward past your hesitation, I can only presume. You never know with a madman." Mirabelle admitted her reluctance to believe it herself. She looked at the bright sand-covered hellscape around them and brought Cura over towards a large rock, which would obscure them from sight as what appeared to be violet-coloured Vampiric Minotaurs lumbered past them and past the nearby broken columns. "Coldharbour is full of all manner of nasty brigands. Warriors beyond salvation. Clerics who spurned the Divines. Madmen. Demons of many a kind. Old fallen heroes. Anything you can think of, pretty much."
"And now, us." Cura added in.
Savos pointed to the sky and then traced the landscape with his hands as he brought them down. "Do you notice the sky and the sands, Cura? How bright it is?"
Cura nodded. "Yes, Arch-Mage. Why is that?"
"This is the work of the Daedric Prince Jyggalag." Savos exposited. "You can't see it due to the overbearing cliffs surrounding us, but a silver sun hangs at the center of the fields, illuminating this gloomy realm. The disorder brought to this dimension has provided the Prince of Order the perfect opportunity to conquer it and restore new Order."
Cura scratched her head. She faintly recalled someone mentioning Jyggalag a while ago, but when...
Carcette!
She was working with the Daedric Prince.
There was no way. That was nonsensical. Unthinkable. The Keeper who chastised her for defending Meridia would go and forge an allegiance with Jyggalag? Was it to see her again?
The thought warmed Cura's heart, but also elicited some guilt. If her death was going to lead Carcette down this road, then perhaps she should have been more cautious back in Red Scar Cavern.
Though, perhaps this was meant to be. Cura would not question fate in its machinations. She just had to focus on her current situation. One false move could end her life here.
She decided to sit down in the sand for a time, and tried to recall what the Greybeards had taught her about the Way of the Voice. Perhaps it could stir something in her. To take in the meaning of the Shout. It came so naturally to her before, but now... it felt unbearably difficult. Fus Ro Dah did not come easily to her back when she faced Methats and Gatanas.
She closed her eyes and, contrary to what Inquisitor Pepe advised her, petitioned Kynareth.
"Great Kynareth; I need your help. You granted mortals the power to use the Thu'um once, long ago... please bless me with it once more so that I may advance."
After a few moments of silence passed, nothing changed. Not a breeze passed her by. The Goddess' presence was nowhere to be felt in Coldharbour. A shiver ran down Cura's spine. She really was alone here, save for Savos and Mirabelle, who appeared to be genuine after all.
"I just need some time to rest." Cura hid between the stones to avoid detection from enemies. She would continue to try and meditate on the Words she remembered. So far, all that came to her mind were the three words of Unrelenting Force. "Fus", "Ro", and "Dah."
"Fus" meant "Force".
Force - power, strength, might. A great measure of strength that causes many phenomenon in the natural world; wind that blows a tree over. Waves that crash upon the shore. Rocks that fall from cliffs and knock away anything in their path. Force.
But... what did "Ro" mean, again? And "Dah?"
Cura sat in silence and explored her mind. Fus Ro Dah. Force... Force... and...
It was no use. The meaning was simply eluding her, much to her frustration. She kicked up some sand and laid against the rock. She angrily swung her fist backwards and smacked the large stone, and growled with dismay. What was she not understanding? Where had all of that knowledge gone? What was she doing wrong?
Savos Aren sat beside her and chimed in with a friendly suggestion. "I never knew much about the Thu'um, if I am to be honest, but to my understanding, it requires great dedication to master. Moreso than most spells. Perhaps you ought to focus on those in the meantime instead."
Cura tried a little more to touch the Thu'um, but it was a hopeless endeavour. She felt hopeless, but refused to give in to the feelings of despair. She had the former Arch-Mage and Master Wizard of Winterhold with her. They were willing to help her. All was not lost. "I... I guess."
In the meantime, Carcette attempted to Fast Travel to the Hall of the Vigilant, but dark energy drove her instead to the statue of Jyggalag. Or rather, the Daedric Prince took her from the skies himself to avoid crossing into the dark energy.
She caught a brief glimpse of a legion of Daedra on the mountaintop, who were held in place with mystical energy - the interference of Jyggalag himself. His power was incredible, to say the least.
For a brief second, she caught a glimpse of Tolan and Adalvald, as well as the Companions and the new Keeper and his forces, who bore similar uniforms to the Vigilants the group had encountered beneath Windhelm.
Vigilants seemed to be scouting various areas of the mountain and the main group seemed to be stumped by the invisible forcefield keeping them away from the fields.
Suddenly, all went black and Carcette felt a cold wind swirl around her.
When she manifested she saw the medium-sized statue of Jyggalag before her, carved in his likeness but covered from head to toe in ice and snow. There were skeletons buried in the snow and covered in a thick sheet of ice.
They wore gray robes like the ones she donned underneath the Armour.
She hadn't needed to ask; the Vigilants killed them. Of that, she was certain. The cracked skulls were evidence of the trauma of an assault by a blunt weapon.
"Do you understand yet why I have brought you here?" came the voice of Jyggalag.
Carcette nodded as her eyes stared into the eye sockets of the smallest fractured skull. "Please, tell me that this wasn't a Vigil manhunt."
"You should know." Jyggalag spoke dryly.
A child.
There was a child among them. Dead. Brutally slaughtered and left to rot under snow and ice with two adults.
Carcette was abhorred. "The... the Vigil did this. But... but why?! Surely a child..."
"Carcette, are you prepared to perform your third and final act of initiation?" the voice of Jyggalag asked sternly, snapping her out of her denial. No more would be needed from her from here, save for what was to come.
The Breton lowered her eyes to the floor. "Yes, Lord Jyggalag. Anything you would ask of me."
"I have not forgotten your role in the slaughter of my three followers." the Daedra's voice grew cold and stern. "They were praying to me for peace in the disorderly province at the dawn of the Stormcloak uprising when you ordered the indiscriminate deaths of any discovered Daedra worshippers ten years ago. You allowed your fear of the Mythic Dawn and other Daedric Cults to cloud your judgment, and my followers suffered as a result."
A scene from time long past flashed before her eyes of a family attempting to plead to a group of Vigilants wielding iron maces.
There was no denying it. Carcette had long held stern views against all Daedra-followers, stemming from the incident with her Aunt and the Reachmen.
However, from Cura's example she discovered that matters weren't quite so black and white.
She looked at the corpses shamefully. "I did this...?" it slowly sank in the longer she looked at the traumatic wounds.
It was just a small family. That wasn't what she had in mind when she'd given those orders. She thought of the Mythic Dawn, or cult of Boethiah, or Forsworn. Not this.
Jyggalag read her thoughts; or rather, knew what they were going to be. "Perhaps you should have chosen your words more carefully when you gave that order. But what's done is done, and cannot be undone. I too, have seen this many an age ago."
"Is there nothing? Nothing at all to be done?"
A deep pit of sorrow swallowed the former Keeper of the Vigil. Regret that sawed her heartstrings.
"They had never performed a human sacrifice. They were simply intellectuals. Historians who worked at the Blue Palace, and their son accompanied them on a pilgrimage to my shrine from Solitude." Jyggalag spoke plainly. "The Vigilants of Stendarr spared them not. Their exact words before the slaughter were; 'The mercy of Stendarr does not extend to Daedra worshippers.'"
A shrieking wind blew around Carcette and she fell to her knees before Jyggalag's shrine.
A vision surrounded her of three spirits; an Imperial man, woman and child. They stood around her and witnessed the faction leader of the organization which slaughtered them weep as the realization settled in.
"I allowed you a chance at redemption at the Witch's House, and you performed admirably. As such, my judgment shall be lessened upon you. However..." the Daedra's voice softened as he referred to Carene and Lilian.
Carcette slowly raised her face to the shrine. She knew what was coming, and, looking at the victims, she knew she would probably deserve it.
"You must atone with your life." Jyggalag commanded. "Death to pay for death. Sacrifice yourself to me, and I shall forgive you this transgression."
A gray knife materialized before Carcette on the steps the shrine stood on.
Stendarr had told her to do as she must. Perhaps this was it. No doubt the God of Mercy and Justice would have looked upon this wanton slaughter with disgust.
And now, everything made sense. Why the Shrine was unconsecrated against the vampires! The Shrine she believed she'd been tending was dead for years; upheld with rusted faith. Rusted from the blood of every person her men had slaughtered under her orders. Some were deserving, but how many? How many were killed on baseless accusations, and followers of less destructive Daedra, like this family? How much blood was on her hands?
The thought shook her to the core, and all pretense was stripped from her. The veil of perceived righteousness was removed and it was lain bare before her eye.
It was never about Stendarr - it was about vengeance. The entire reason why she joined the Vigil was not of a Divine calling as she'd convinced herself it was - it was out of anger because of the injustice done to her family. She'd believed in Stendarr, true, and she'd followed him religiously her entire life, but that servitude was not the catalyst for her becoming a Vigilant. It was hatred; anger; injustice. And once she'd gotten her vengeance, she grew empty and hollow. As much as she professed Stendarr and performed acts of healing in his name, she never hesitated to lift her warhammer to anyone who she'd perceived as involved with Daedra.
Cura changed her perspective so much over the years.
And now, here she was, face-to-face with the consequences of her uninhibited hatred. Given power as Keeper, she failed to bring Stendarr's glory to the province, and instead diminished his name for years.
Was there any wonder why Stendarr was upset with her? The Vigilants murdering these innocents because Jyggalag was classified as a Daedra came down to her indiscriminate hatred of the Et'Ada who were not of the Nine. It was surreal.
We're Jyggalag promoted as an Aedra, this would never have happened. "Daedra" was simply a label to them.
The former Keeper's eyes fell upon the knife. "I understand." she accepted her fate somberly. She was in the presence of a god; there was no backing away from this.
She looked at the family who stood around her, waiting for their justice to be served.
Perhaps Stendarr himself wanted justice for them, too.
With trembling fingers, Carcette grasped the knife. The Armour of the Bastion disappeared from her body and she was stricken with great, sudden weariness. Her vision blurred and the wind was sucked out of her lungs. She plummeted to her knees, but her bare hand pushed herself up from the stone steps.
She held the knife up to her neck with her right hand and exhaled deeply. The condensation from her breath fogged the gray steel.
A couple of snowflakes landed on her red cheeks and more flitted around her. The cold air stung her face. Her lips were becoming dry, and she licked them and closed her eye. She focused her thoughts into Cura, who was stabbed in the throat by their adversaries.
How did that feel?
She shook the thought.
A vision of many years ago entered her mind: a vision of Temple Acolytes such as herself, Colette, and other Priests, Curates and the Patriarch from Bhoriane when she was in her early teenaged years. The group of them were on a pilgrimage to Stendarr's chapel in Cyrodiil.
They'd performed the Pilgrimage of the Wayshrines to honour the Nine, leading the procession with song and incense, following the guided tour based around the Champion of Cyrodiil's footsteps.
Banners of the Chalice of Mercy held high in the air and the Patriarch brought the ceremonial Chalice to be filled at the shrine there in anniversary of the end of the Oblivion Crisis, where righteousness won the war against evil.
When they reached Chorrol, they saw the Vigilants of Stendarr and the Crusaders standing outside the Great Chapel. Pilgrims were graciously shown inside.
It was a grand chapel with stained glass windows depicting the Nine Divines: Stendarr, Mara, Arkay, Julianos, Dibella, Zenithar, Akatosh, Kynareth, and Talos. This was mere years before the Great War with the Aldmeri Dominion had erupted.
Patriarch Charlemagne of the Temple of the Sacred Light of Stendarr knelt before the shrine and raised the chalice. "O mighty Stendarr, God of Mercy, God of Righteous Might; grant that we, your faithful servants may never stray from the path of righteousness. May we be ever vigilant in your presence against the schemes and the wicked machinations of the Daedra, and bring your love and your charity to those most deserving of your aid. With these pure waters, may we drink evermore of your steadfast care. So let it be done."
"So let it be done." the choir acclaimed.
"May our sins not weigh us down; may we find redemption in your mercy. So let it be done."
"So let it be done."
"If we find ourselves astray, or without hope, may you grant us the resolution and the strength to do what must be done to regain our favour with you. So let it be done."
"So let it be done."
"May we walk always in the light, and never fall prey to the snares of Oblivion. So let it be done."
"So let it be done."
The Patriarch dipped the ceremonial Chalice into the font of the Shrine. "May we be purified and cleansed with your light as we drink of this water."
The temple-goers all knelt and he offered them a drink of Stendarr's mercy.
When he came to Carcette she raised her face from the floor and took a drink of the water. A feeling of rejuvenation filled her then; as if any impurity had been purged from her body.
Calmness, tranquility, peace.
The world felt very different back then. A mere thirty-two years ago.
With a cold snap of the wind, Carcette returned to the present.
"Confess your sins and all will be well." Jyggalag commanded.
Carcette looked to the skies above. "Stendarr, forgive me, for I have commanded grievous errors in your name in my short-sightedness. I am sorry to have diminished you for many years, and for never having looked into my Vigilants' deeds. Please, forgive me."
Nearby, to the right of the Shrine of Jyggalag, a vision of a very tall, old bearded man in blue chainmail-lined robes with a familiar Warhammer on his waist appeared before her. He bore a Drinking horn sashed around his body.
Her eye widened at the sight of him and she was breathtaken. Every fiber of the former Keeper's being trembled as she beheld the sight of none other than Stendarr himself.
She fell to her face, pressing her forehead to the stone. She was not worthy to behold such a face! To see Mara was one thing, but Stendarr himself?
How long had he been there?
Her shame only multiplied as she stood in the presence of not one, but two Gods. One of whom she'd revered since infancy.
Stendarr, the god of mercy and justice; the god of order, the god of righteous rule by merciful forbearance.
As well, more figures made themselves manifest beyond the murdered family; the souls of Vigilants that she knew appeared around her, in front of Stendarr.
Moric Sidrey watched Carcette's judgment from the side. She was shocked to see him. "M-Moric?!"
Her former ally looked at her calmly. "Carcette, we've made some terrible mistakes, but don't be afraid. Stendarr is with you." he consoled her.
Carcette lowered her head to Stendarr, the knife still pressed against her neck. "If I do this, my lord, will it... be blasphemous?"
Stendarr walked up to her and placed his index finger and thumb under her jaw, and turned her face up to himself. "No; it is justice, Carcette. It will be quick, and then you can begin anew."
Begin anew? How could she... Carcette had difficulty understanding it. If she were to die now, there would be no new beginning for her, would there?
Stendarr shook his head as though he read her thoughts. "Even now as I stand before you as your apologist you have no faith in me."
Carcette gasped fearfully in that split second. "N-no... it's not like that... I... I'm just confused."
How could Stendarr be okay with her doing this? She was essentially offering herself up as a Daedric sacrifice!
But...
No.
The message hadn't sunken in entirely. Aedra and Daedra were both Spirits. From Anu and Padomay.
Jyggalag was different, as far as Daedra went. He simply called for logical order and natural balance. He would not harm one unless there were a logical reason for it.
Perhaps this was okay with Stendarr because he looked at Jyggalag as an equal; as a celestial relative who'd been wronged.
Carcette looked at the spirits that surrounded her, and focused her eye on Moric Sidrey, above them all. He was another casualty of her failings as a leader. And the others as well. The Vigilants surrounding them were those who had been killed during the Vampire Raid.
You should have never placed me in charge, Moric. Carcette thought to herself as she stared into his blue spectral eyes.
After all, she had a heart for two things: nurturing and vengeance.
Mercy and Justice.
"I'll... I'll make things right." Carcette assured Stendarr. Or rather, it was more a matter of self-assurance than anything else. The prospect made her greatly uneasy, but there were no other options.
"You needn't fear. I am still with you. Your side I never left." Stendarr reassured her. The god of mercy held her left hand, reassuring her of this truth. She could feel his touch!
It was incredible.
It was unprecedented, as far as their world was concerned. Unthinkable.
A great warmth filled her body and a calmness overcame her. Her feelings of fear and doubt began to vanish and she saw the beautiful sight of Bhoriane, of the Church of the Sacred Light of Stendarr. Its teal walls and wide hall showed in her mind's eye, and the gorgeous stained glass depiction of the Divine filled her mind.
She was a child again, sitting at the pews with her mother and father. The smell of incense calmed the atmosphere.
Her eyes focused on the chalice of Stendarr, sat upon an altar, where the Disciples offered up the hearts of Dremora and ghostly Ectoplasm, purified with Holy Water; spoils of defeated adversaries to mankind.
As a little girl, she imagined that one day, she would be held in the arms of Stendarr, like a loving father. She would close her eyes and she would feel safe in his powerful arms, wrapped around her in a gentle embrace.
He was ever a source of strength and comfort; even later in life when she'd begun to have doubts, and through her entire time as a vampire.
She pushed down and jolted her right arm to the side.
Carcette was snapped out of her nostalgic vision as cold steel drove across the front of her neck.
She dropped the knife and fell into Stendarr's gentle arms as he slowly lowered her to the floor. He touched her forehead kindly and disappeared into the air, taking the supernatural away with him.
The murdered family nodded peacefully and disappeared. Now that the one who unknowingly ordered their deaths was slain, they could rest in peace.
"It is finished. My judgment is concluded." Jyggalag spoke from his sharp crystalline throne as Carcette appeared before him. "By fate's decree you are bound no more to your past. This chapter of your life is closed. Now, you will enter the next one. Stuhn and I have made an agreement concerning you. I will resurrect you, for you are needed by him: body and soul."
When the Daedric Prince clapped his hands together, Carcette's body vanished from the material world and appeared beside her. She gasped, seeing the gaping wound on her neck.
Stendarr needed her alive?
With the wave of Jyggalag's hand, the wound was sealed and her soul was thrust back into her body in orderly fashion; every body part aligned perfectly, soul-to-body. Not one hair follicle was misplaced.
Carcette felt herself; her arms, her chest, her sides. She was almost uncertain about whether she had dreamt of her death or not.
"Fear ye not. This day I have long foreseen. From the days of the First Era I knew you would come to me in distress. I knew that the Oblivion Crisis would lead to the creation of your Vigil. I knew that Skyrim would be engulfed in a Civil War, and that Alduin would return then. I knew that Inigo the Brave would come to befriend the Dragonborn. I knew that Cura would ascend to great, great, greatness." Jyggalag reassured her. "And now, with your performed deeds, and your self-sacrifice, you are worthy to be deemed the Champion of Jyggalag. Champion of Order. In my name, you have secured the protection of the citizens of Shor's Stone and Kynesgrove, you have brought order to the abandoned ruins underneath Windhelm and saw the Champion Inigo through, and you have avenged my followers unjustly slain. I am pleased."
The gray knights that stood to either side of a long, gray carpet raised their crystalline swords in perfect synchronization.
"Hail Jyggalag!" they proclaimed. "May order ever rule."
Laza of Order leaned against the nearby obelisk and crossed his arms, silent as ever.
After this declaration was made, the world was unveiled to Carcette. An expansive Library, seven times larger in scope than anything Hermaeus Mora could have even dreamed of spanned continents around them.
It felt infinite - all-consuming. A vast space of knowledge and logic.
It was very impressive, to say the least.
The great library of Jyggalag. Each book, the story of a mortal, Daedra, Aedra, and Daedric Prince. Endless predictions and endless truths. Entire life stories, from beginning, to middle, to end. Family bloodlines lined up in numerical order from births of offspring branching downwards into their individual offspring. Ending with those who had no children. These massive, innumerable shelves made walls along the endlessly spiral crystal walkways, which crissed and crossed in perfect symmetry. Not one pillar was misplaced.
"Yes. You may read yours. And Cura's." Jyggalag permitted her, knowing full well what she was going to ask.
Carcette was directed by a man in dark gray robes with pale skin and gray hair over to a specific shelf dedicated to heroes of Nirn. She saw Saint Al-Esh, Morihaus, Pelinal, Harald, Ysgramor, Tiber Septim, Indoril Nerevar, Sotha Sil, two copies of Vivec, Almalexia, Kagrenac, and many, many other names listed.
She was directed to 'Saint Cura'. Carcette tenderly took the ivory white book and pried it open. From the very first page, she saw the date of birth "18 Morningstar 4E 188" and then two dates of death. "21st of Rain's Hand 4E 204" and "17th of Last Seed, 4E 282"
She turned the page, and the first notes were: "Conceived by the Ambassador of the Thalmor, Elenwen, and the Jarl of Windhelm, Ulfric Stormcloak on the 13th of Second Seed, 4E 187. She will grow to be a Manmer, standing at 4 feet and nine inches tall, with golden hair and emerald eyes, inherited from Hoag Stormcloak, the father of Ulfric. Her golden hair will be inherited from her Aldmeri Ancestry. She will have ears that sharpen to a point, like an elf, but will be smaller as a human's. She will be an unsuspecting Dragonborn, and as such, the likely candidate for the wandering Shard of Akatosh."
"Born at the tavern in the city of Dawnstar by Elenwen and carried on horseback to the Vigilant headquarters due far southeast of the Shrine of Jyggalag and south of the city of Dawnstar."
"Carcette, the leader of this group, will hold compassion for the babe, and accept her into the fold. Stuhn will show her a glimpse of the child's destiny and she will comply."
It was uncanny. Carcette continued to flip through the predictions. Every event lined up perfectly with the tales Cura had told her of. and a couple of things she'd lied about were now exposed, as well: her facing the Dragon at Dragon's Bridge, for one.
"When Celann will leave, Cura will volunteer herself to help earn money for the Vigil. Her fate is not yet to intertwine with Sinding, however."
Carcette continued through, passing pages and pages and pages.
"Cura, with Inigo by her side, will battle Carcette at the bottom of the Red water Den. Carcette will defeat the Dragonborn to preserve her facade, and this will strain their relationship for a time."
She remembered it sadly, and continued to pass through the pages.
"Cura will reconvene with her friends Hilda and Lydia in Sovngarde, and she will face Alduin and lose her left arm due to a reckless miscalculation."
"Sorine and Gunmar will give Cura a replacement arm, and she will join the Priestess Enakain on her excursion, believing her to be Carcette."
Further down;
"Cura's first death occurs during her battle against Vonos. Her Dragon Soul flees her body, but is taken into Coldharbour due to the Mark Molag Bal had discreetly placed on her during her unwilling slaughter of Tyranus in the Abandoned House in Markarth."
"Cura is taken to the Deadlands, where she will meet Madena, and those who were shorn by fate during the end of the First Era. She will send them through the open portal with knowledge of Windhelm, guided by a band of wandering Dremora known as the Bladebearers."
"Cura, goaded by the dreadful trickster Sheogorath, passes between the liminal spaces through the slaying of a Holy Piper and achieves CHIM unwittingly. Her lack of wisdom prevents her from truly achieving such."
It was all too surreal. She glanced ahead, and saw, written: "Cura tears the kingdom asunder, leading an army of Dragons, where she..."
And she closed the book there. Cura, leading an army of Dragons? She'd lost the page when she reopened the book, and found a new passage: "...wherein she founds the Fifth Dynasty."
She stared at the book in disbelief for a few moments before turning her attention to the man in gray beside her. "The Fifth Dynasty?"
"Alessia, Reman, Tiber, Titus, and Cura, soon. As Jyggalag has predicted." the bookkeeper responded.
The idea that Cura would do such a thing appeared outlandish, though there was more than enough evidence to suggest the possibility of it. At this point, who was she to question Jyggalag's judgment? It was surely going to happen. There were no questions about it.
"When will this occur?" Carcette asked genuinely. "How long until that point is reached?" From her angle, the book had a quite many more pages to go before that point was reached. She skimmed through them quickly.
"Time and place are nothing. Constructs of a feeble mortal mind attempting to categorize and understand the world around it. As the new Champion of Jyggalag, you will understand this, given the nature of eternity. However, you have not reached that point yet." the Bookkeeper took the book from her hands and placed it back on the shelf.
"And when will I be ready to understand it?" Carcette mused with a bite of cynicism. Surely it would not be soon enough for her to help Cura gain a head-start. Though, perhaps it would be best if she refrained from doing so. Lest she disturb the flow of fate.
The sullen old man turned his face to her. "When you've become like me. An ancient figure, gray-haired and pale and unable to die, reading the fates of existence contained within innumerable books in this infinite space. Once you perish, truly, at the end of your life, in your bed." He gestured towards the crystalline realm surrounding them. "This library was rebuilt long ago, when Lord Jyggalag was separated from Sheogorath and the mantle of madness was passed to another."
The old man turned from her. "I was imprisoned by Sheogorath, but Lord Jyggalag saw fit to reclaim me, and thus I resume my duty as... the Keeper of the Great Library of Jyggalag." he sounded as if a yawn were stuck in his monotonous throat.
Carcette sat upon the edge of the walkway and looked at the bottomless abyss of white fog that stretched for ages below her, and she looked up to the adamant ceiling, stretching infinitely high with crystal columns that formed pillars between rows of bookshelves. She looked up to the sky and studied its fogginess.
Aside from the chill in the air, it wasn't quite so bad of an environment. It nearly felt like being back in the Pale. Her thoughts fell upon Cura. Regardless of what the future held, she wanted to see her again.
Perhaps she should read her book again to discover if such an encounter occurs.
Or, perhaps she should leave it up to fate.
She had a strong feeling within. They will meet again, she was sure of it. No predictions were needed.