Sir Amiel, Sabrina, Sir Torolf, Sir Ralvas, and the Gray Prince arrived at the Statue of Molag Bal at the base of the high staircase leading up towards the heart of the city itself; and beyond its ramparts; the Tower of Sacremnor.
Sabrina looked up at the weathered statue. "Gosh... How many millennia has this bastard tormented our world?" She crossed her arms and tilted her head to the side, to examine the hideous visage looming over them all. "I have a hard time believing that he'll ever be truly destroyed, you know? Even if Cura succeeds, there's no guarantee he won't pop up again, like a cold sore."
Sir Amiel adjusted his ratty armor, his voice steady but tinged with a hint of unease. "Molag Bal's power is immense, but our Dragonborn has faced many challenges and emerged victorious each time. She will find a way to balance the forces, no matter what."
The Gray Prince, standing with his blade at his side, scoffed. "Balance? Bah! What use is balance when there's strength and the will to wield it?"
As the group stood at the base of the towering staircase, the wind howled around them, carrying with it whispers of ancient spells and forgotten lore. The statue of Molag Bal loomed above, its twisted visage seeming to watch them with cold, calculating eyes.
Sabrina licked her dry lips. "Daedra stand for anything but balance."
"Unless you talk to Jyggalag, of course." Sir Amiel corrected her.
"Speaking of," Sabrina responded quickly. "how do you think things are going over there? You don't think he killed them, do you?"
"O ye of little faith." Sir Torolf rolled his eyes. "Jyggalag has use for Cura. I don't think it would serve his Order well to kill her."
As they continued to wait, a gust of wind swept through, carrying with it the faint scent of incense and the distant sound of chanting. Sabrina's eyes narrowed, her hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of her dagger. "Do you hear that?"
Some distance away, they could make out a small Host. Gloriel led the way with Bourlor and Sir Henrik flanking her on either side, and behind them were the Volkihar Vampires.
The wind carried their whispers into the pallid dimension, blending with the ancient magic that permeated the air around them. Gloriel's steps were steady, her presence radiating authority and strength. Bourlor, his eyes sharp as ever, scanned the horizon, ever vigilant for any signs of danger. His hand was steady on his bowstring, ready for the next shot.
"Keep a sharp eye, Bourlor," Gloriel whispered, her voice barely audible over the rustling wind. Bourlor pointed ahead towards the open city gate, where the Statue of Molag Bal rested. "I see them, up ahead. Sabrina and the others... and a new face with them."
Gloriel squinted through the dust and debris, and nodded. "All right. It is a noble idea to rescue any who would seek us out." As they encroached upon the meeting place, Gloriel waved to Sir Amiel. "It is done. We have the Volkihar Vampires on our side."
Vingalmo stepped forward and nodded in confirmation. "This had better not be a ruse. When we reach the top of that Tower, there had better be a promised portal out of here."
Sabrina scoffed. "You should be thankful you were even a thought. It just shows how considerate Cura is."
Sir Henrik hummed. "Indeed! You were, after all, her enemies in life. She would be well justified in leaving you all to rot here under the heels of Jyggalag. Mm. Mm. Mm."
Fura Bloodmouth nodded, "You make a fair point, fatso."
As the group approached the ancient Statue of Molag Bal, the air grew heavier, the oppressive weight of Coldharbour pressing upon them. The statue stood like a sentinel, its grotesque face twisted into a malevolent grin, as if mocking their endeavor.
"I can't believe anyone would ever want to worship that disgusting beast." Gloriel remarked somberly. "Lady Meridia is right in her hatred against him and his spawns." Her eyes shifted to the side, fixing on the Vampires behind her. "But it is the Dragonborn's will. And Lady Meridia seems to tolerate it, so I shall, as well."
"What is the meaning of this? You would save the Vampires, as well?" a Vigilant of Stendarr called out from behind Savos Aren and Mirabelle Ervine as he and his brothers and sisters in arms followed the two esteemed mages into the square.
The Vigilants of Stendarr, their armor gleaming in the pale light of Coldharbour, formed a protective semi-circle around the group, their eyes narrowed in suspicion. Savos Aren raised a hand to calm them, his voice steady.
"Brothers and sisters, we stand here united against a greater threat than any of us could have imagined. These Vampires, called upon by Vigilant Cura, have pledged their allegiance to our cause."
"What are you talking about? There is no way Vigilant Cura would sanction this!" the Vigilant barked furiously. "It was their fault that we perished!" he pointed a sharp and furious finger at the Volkihar Vampires.
The air was thick with tension as the Vigilants of Stendarr stood firm, their faces etched with determination and distrust. The Volkihar Vampires, their eyes glowing with an eerie light, remained silent but composed, their presence a constant reminder of the uneasy alliance.
Savos Aren stepped forward, his voice unwavering. "We stand here today because our enemies are greater than our differences." he said plainly, "They seek redemption for what they had done in following Harkon."
"This is a huge mistake." the Vigilant shook his head. "They are nothing but deceivers. They don't deserve our mercy! Stendarr has condemned them here in his justice! Leave them here, I say."
"I would be careful with your tongue," Garan Marethi said sternly. "if being condemned here was your Stendarr's will, then he has abandoned you as well, by the looks of it."
The Vigilant's eyes widened, a mixture of shock and indignation flashing across his face. He took a step back, clearly caught off guard by Garan's sharp retort. The tension in the square was palpable, each side glaring at the other with suspicion and mistrust.
Mirabelle Ervine stepped forward, her voice steady and authoritative. "Enough!" she commanded, her eyes locking onto the Vigilant who had spoken. "We have no time for recriminations and accusations." She channeled her Master Wizard once again to nip this conflict in the bud. She turned to the Vigilants. "Stendarr didn't abandon you, and you Vampires got what you deserved. Now, the gods are offering everyone another chance, a chance to escape this dying realm. The Dragonborn is going to obtain the Amulet of Kings, and she is going to meet her destiny on Nirn."
The Vigilants of Stendarr exchanged uneasy glances, their resolve wavering in the face of Mirabelle's bold assertions. The Volkihar Vampires, sensing the shift in atmosphere, moved slightly closer, their eyes never leaving the Vigilants. The air grew heavier, the tension thickening like a fog.
Savos Aren stepped forward once more, his voice softer now, but no less resolute. "Mirabelle speaks the truth." he twiddled his thumbs as he began to explain. "She has plunged the sword into the snake. All that remains is for her to claim the Chim-El Adabal and to reunify the Continent under the Imperial Banner."
The Vigilants of Stendarr shifted uncomfortably, their eyes darting between Savos and Mirabelle. The Volkihar Vampires remained silent, their cold, calculating gazes fixed on the Vigilants.
Vingalmo, however, seemed to be weighing the news in his mind.
Sir Henrik, who had been quietly observing from the side, stepped forward, humming softly. "Mm, the time for debate is over." His voice cut through the thickening air like a knife, his humming growing slightly louder. "The Dragonborn is our best hope for restoring balance to Nirn. We must put our differences aside and work towards a common goal. Mm-hmm." He hummed with a tone of finality.
Vingalmo, ever the pragmatist, nodded slowly. "Indeed. The Dragonborn's power is unmatched. Mm, we should support her."
Orthjolf narrowed his eyes at his rival. "Don't tell me you're already planning to lick her boots, now. All you ever do is kiss up to the top dog."
"Oh, I'm not planning to do anything more than what you're likely planning yourself." Vingalmo narrowed his eyes at Orthjolf. Even in death, court intrigue seemed to creep its way into their hearts.
A loud bark caught the large group's attention. Korn strode in first, her white fur shimmering under the silver light. Behind her, her human half, Mary approached with the young Khajiit, Atima, holding her hand, and Varla, Maram, Aria, Abbot Silorn, and Melus Petilius following her closely.
"Melus Petilius!" Sir Amiel recognized the former madman from the Waterfront District. "My lady, he is dangerous." he attempted to warn Mary.
Mary shook her head, "No longer; I have shown him the truth. He has come to his senses at last."
Melus nodded and clutched his spear tightly. "I stand ready to aid in this long, final battle. For the Gods. For Vena."
Sabrina sighed with relief. "Well, seeing so many people gives me some confidence. It's not just us against the world anymore."
Sir Amiel chuckled, "Oh, you enjoyed the wandering, Sabrina. Do not lie."
Sabrina stammered. "Oh - uh - well... Yes, I did. Fine. It was a thrilling change from decades of nothing. A jaunt around the abyss, if you will."
Atima spoke, her high-pitched voice wavering. "Uncle Caius. Where is Uncle Caius?"
A silence fell upon the group. Sir Amiel exchanged glances with his fellow Knights of the Nine, and they shook their heads. "I don't rightly know, Atima." he confessed. The silence hung in the air like a heavy fog, casting shadows over the faces of the assembled companions. Atima's eyes widened with worry, her small frame trembling slightly.
Mary stepped forward, her voice gentle but firm. "I wish I had the words to console you, Atima, but his fate remains uncertain."
Sir Ralvas cleared his throat. "He liked to roam the lands near the Prison Tower, but he wandered off from there some time before we met. I wish I knew."
"He's likely soul-shriven. Hmm." Sir Henrik pondered morosely.
"No he's not!" Atima shouted. "Uncle Caius is a sane man! Atima spoke to him for years! He cared for Atima when she felt alone. He brought Atima to Mary!"
"He should have come out if he cared to be rescued." Sir Torolf said coldly.
"Stupid! This one is stupid!" Atima shouted with frustration as she flailed her little arms around wildly. "Uncle Caius has to be out there!"
Mary turned to Korn and placed both hands on her furry cheeks, and gazed into her eyes, which began to glow a cyan colour. "Korn, let's try to locate Sir Caius." As the assembled companions exchanged glances, Korn's fur fluffed with an unusual intensity, and her glowing eyes flickered with the essence of Divine magic. She sniffed the air, her nostrils flaring, before she nodded towards a darkened pathway that seemed to lead towards the depths of the cave system.
"Let's move swiftly," Varla insisted. Even with his terrible injuries, the Man-Hunter began to follow the wolf.
"Whoa, excuse me!" Sabrina barked at him. "What do you think you're doing? We're waiting for Cura, remember? The Graymarch?"
"Do you see her?" Varla grunted, gesturing to the open area around them.
Sir Amiel nodded in agreement. "If Korn can find him quickly, we can tell the Dragonborn. I will not suffer another loss of one of my men." He turned to Sir Henrik and Sir Torolf, "Come. We will go with Varla. Sir Ralvas, stay here with everybody."
The group moved with urgency, their steps echoing through the adjacent caverns as they followed Korn's lead. The air grew colder, and the shadows deepened, casting an almost eerie glow on the rocky walls. Varla limped slightly, his injuries evident but his resolve unbroken.
Sir Henrik hummed softly, a low, almost soothing tune that seemed to calm the atmosphere around them. "Mm, let's hope she's alright." As they ventured deeper into the labyrinthine cave system, the flickering light of Korn's glowing eyes illuminated the path ahead, casting eerie shadows on the rough stone walls. The group's footsteps reverberated through the caverns, the sound echoing off the rock in a haunting symphony of urgency.
Varla's eyes darted around the darkness, his senses heightened with the keen instincts of a seasoned hunter. Despite his injuries, he pressed forward with grim determination. The metal fused into his flesh irritated and stung with each movement.
Korn darted ahead, her fur a blur of silver and gray in the dim light. She paused momentarily, her ears twitching as she sniffed the air, before continuing on. The group followed, their breaths visible in the cold air.
"Stay close," Sir Henrik murmured, his voice a low hum amidst the silence. "We don't know what dangers lie ahead. Mm-mm."
Varla followed Korn closely, his swords ready for anything. The wolf squeaked and leapt to the side, dodging the swing of a greatsword.
Varla quickly drew his sword and parried another blow. The pain shot up his arms and his seared flesh cried out on impact. He grit his charred teeth and buckled.
Sir Henrik dashed forward, his shield meeting the sword, and Sir Amiel shoulder-tackled the assailant in the dark.
The clash of metal on metal reverberated through the caverns, mingling with the sound of heavy breathing and the echoes of their footsteps. In the dim light, it was difficult to discern friend from foe, but the urgency in their movements and the determination in their eyes told the tale. Varla's eyes widened in pain and fury as he struggled to keep his footing, his sword slipping slightly in his grasp.
The figure shuffled backwards, and Korn leapt forward, landing on his chest and knocking him down onto his back.
Sir Torolf's bloodthirsty grin widened as he stepped forward, his sword raised high. "Let's go!" he growled, his eyes glowing with predatory intent.
Varla struggled to get to his feet, but his injuries had left him weakened. He gasped and stumbled backwards lightly. Regaining his footing, he cast a Candlelight over his head to illuminate the caverns.
The figure was wearing the armour of Sir Casimir.
"Sir Caius!" Sir Henrik recognized his comrade who had stolen the armour off another.
Sir Caius, his face contorted in a mixture of confusion and desperation, raised his sword defensively. The dim light cast eerie shadows across his face, revealing the strain of his situation. His eyes darted around, searching for any opportunity to escape or fight back.
"Sir Caius, what in the name of the gods is happening?" Sir Amiel asked, his voice a mix of concern and confusion.
Korn began to sniff the man as she stood on his chest, and she began to lick his face.
Varla grunted, "You have a good nose, Korn."
Sir Caius' eyes widened in shock as Korn's tongue touched his face. He struggled against her, but her grip was firm. "I... I don't understand," he stammered, his voice trembling with fear and confusion. "my brothers, why have you come? Have you gone mad like Casimir had? Like Berich had?"
Sir Amiel stepped forward, his sword still raised, but his expression softened by concern. "Sir Caius, we don't want to harm you. What's going on?"
"It's a warzone out there, Sir Amiel." Sir Caius groaned, and quickly sheathed his greatsword. "I fled into the city when the Knights of Order descended upon us all. Is it the end?"
Sir Caius' words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of desperation and uncertainty. The caverns, once a place of refuge, now felt like a prison, trapping him in a labyrinth of confusion and fear. His comrades, once brothers in arms, now stood before him as potential executioners.
Varla, still nursing his wounds, lowered his head and studied Sir Caius with a mixture of suspicion and empathy. "Yes; it is the end of Coldharbour. You were smart to flee into the city. It's the only safe place left... for now."
"You're the Man-Hunter!" Sir Caius narrowed his eyes at Varla. "The cruel bastard who killed thousands."
"No longer." Varla proclaimed, his voice betraying the pain he was trying to obscure. "Look; we don't have much time. We're joining the Graymarch. Do you want to live, or do you want to die?"
Sir Caius's face contorted with confusion and fear as he listened to Varla's words. The flickering Candlelight spell cast eerie shadows, making his eyes wide and his breath quicken. He struggled against Korn, who still had him pinned, her sharp claws gripping his armor.
"We've all changed, Caius," Sir Amiel murmured, his humming voice almost drowned out by the tension in the air. "This is your only chance. Please, join us." He extended a hand to the knight.
"Fine; but can you get this mutt off of me?" Sir Caius asked, gesturing towards the persistent Korn.
Korn's eyes gleamed with a predatory intensity as she released her grip on Sir Caius's armor. She backed away, her tail swishing with a mixture of respect and wariness. Varla nodded, acknowledging the gesture, and the tension in the cavern eased slightly.
Sir Caius rubbed his sore face, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Alright, I'll join you. But what about the others? What's happening to them?"
"Sir Gregory and Sir Juncan are dead." Sir Amiel said sadly. "Only I, Sir Torolf, Sir Henrik, and Sir Ralvas remain."
Sir Caius dusted himself off as he slowly stood upright. "Atima... is she all right? She is a little Khajiit Child with orange fur." Sir Caius's eyes softened as he mentioned Atima, a glimmer of hope breaking through his hardened exterior. The mention of the little Khajiit child seemed to spark a renewed sense of purpose within him. "Please, tell me she's safe," he pleaded, his voice cracking with emotion.
Varla's expression softened, a rare sight for the Man-Hunter. "Atima is with my Mother, near the Statue of Molag Bal; the Square a short walk away."
Sir Caius nodded, "Thank the gods. I never should have left her. It was my cowardice that caused me to impostor Sir Casimir and to flee."
"What were you afraid of?" Sir Amiel raised an eyebrow.
"That you were going to turn on me, as well." Sir Caius confessed, his gaze piercing the leader of his band. "When you came down to the sewers with that Half-Elven blonde woman, I wasn't quite sure where we stood. She seemed kind, so I knew she would not harm Atima."
Sir Amiel's eyes narrowed slightly, the flicker of a smile playing on his lips. "Ah, you refer to Cura. She is indeed kind, and she would never harm anyone without due cause, especially not a child. We are not the monsters your anxieties make us out to be, Caius."
Sir Caius's gaze shifted to Varla, who stood silently, his arms crossed and his eyes fixed on the knight. "What do we do now?"
"We wait on the Dragonborn's arrival and invade Sacremnor." Sir Amiel proclaimed. He beckoned Sir Caius to follow him, Varla, and their companions back to the Statue in the square. Sabrina observed the pale gray skies above, and watched as gray crystals grew up out of the sands outside the city; closing in like long, sharp fingers pointing to the void above. She looked over to Gloriel. "Hey, I know you were afraid of this. We're gonna get through it."
Gloriel nodded to her Redguard ally and clutched her Dawn Spear over her breast. She forced herself to remain calm. "Indeed, Sabrina. I just... this vision... it has haunted me for over a decade."
Hestla, one of the Volkihar Vampires, shuddered as she saw the gray obelisks beginning to take shape, like a creeping wind which culminated into whirlwinds of stone and sand. "It's unlike anything I've ever seen before. I hope they realize we're on their side."
"You're never on a Daedra's 'side.'" Vingalmo said sharply, his red eyes fixing on the path ahead. He clasped his hands behind his back. "You're either useful to them, or not."
Minorne, who stood near her cousin, bristled at his words. Her eyes trailed towards the Vigilants of Stendarr. She'd seen them in much the same way the Daedra saw mortals. Until a stronger one came along and defeated her: Cura.
Abbot Silorn held firmly onto his scrolls. "I am not a fighter, and neither is Atima. How will we factor into this?"
Mary placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "It will be all right, Abbot Silorn. We have many courageous individuals with us who will guide our steps and guard our lives." She looked at Varla, and at Maram and Aria with a gaze of certainty.
Maram nodded and gripped his maul tightly. "I will guard you with my life, Mary. This will not be like the last time."
Aria nodded, and spoke loudly and firmly. "And the child, and the Abbot as well. As the followers of Mara; it is our sacred duty!" She ran her finger along the flat edge of her rapier. The sound of Korn barking some distance away caught their collective attention, and all eyes fell upon the returning wolf. Behind her, Varla, Sir Amiel, Sir Torolf, Sir Henrik, and Sir Caius followed.
As soon as Atima saw the knight, she opened her arms and ran to him. "Uncle Caius! You're okay!"
Mary was surprised by the speed with which the child moved, but a tender smile spread on her face as she watched the young Khajiit run towards the Knight.
Sir Caius, his armor battered and his face lined with worry, knelt before Atima, embracing her tightly. "Dear Atima, I am here. But we must hurry. There is much at stake."
"Korn, you never cease to impress me." Savos Aren admitted as he gazed upon the wolf. The wind began to whirl up into a frenzy again, and Coldharbour's void began to glow an ominous red, as though the realm itself were struggling to rebel against the forces of Order; the last desperate attempt of a body to cleanse a growing virus from itself.
As the companions regrouped, the tension in the air was palpable, the very fabric of the world seeming to hum with the impending clash. Gloriel, resplendent in her Valkyrie armor, grasped the Dawn Spear firmly in her hand, the symbol of her unwavering dedication to the Radiance of Meridia. Her golden armor glinted menacingly in the dim light of Coldharbour, as she turned to address her allies. "Coldharbour is desperate. It knows its time grows short."
The Gray Prince squinted his eyes as dust began to whirl around violently. "Another Storm - it's not going to let up."
The winds began to hiss and scream, and the sand began to pick up, forming a vortex around the fields outside the city walls. Mighty gales seeped into the streets, and the Host were formed to cover their faces against the violent tempest. The storm was beginning to throttle the Vigilants and the lighter weights of the small legion, and Sabrina cried out. "Yikes! I'm gonna go flying!" she gripped Sir Amiel tightly, and he planted his feet firmly on the ground.
Varla grabbed Mary and Atima, pain wracking his sturdy form as the metal that was embedded in him was throttled, as well. Maram formed a protective shield over them all with his large form, and Korn dug her claws into the ground, trying to hold on.
The Vampires hissed as the brutal wind cut at their flesh, as well, and they held onto the gate itself, and onto bricks to stay their position.
Gloriel planted her Dawn Spear into the ground and Bourlor held onto her. She extended her wings of light in attempt to form a shield in front of her to block the vicious gale.
The storm's ferocity intensified, the tempest's fury a testament to Coldharbour's defiance. Lightning crackled and boomed, casting eerie, flickering lights that danced across the battle-hardened faces of the companions. The winds howled with an almost sentient rage, and the ground beneath their feet trembled as the ancient forces clashed.
And then, a powerful voice cut through the winds.
"LOK VAH KOOR!"
With a burst of energy, the winds dispersed and the storm subsided with an abrupt halt. A trail of dust cleared, and Cura emerged from the veil, with Carcette, human once more, behind her, and the Army of Order in its cold glory marching by the thousands. Cura stood tall, her Elven Mace glowing with a soft, ethereal light. The storm's remnants dissipated, revealing the battlefield in a strange, eerie calm. The Army of Order, their crystalline armour gleaming like diamonds, marched forward with disciplined precision. The air was heavy with anticipation and tension, the very atmosphere charged with the clash of ancient forces.
Cura marched towards the town square, and stood at the gate. She looked upon her allies; the host she and her partners had amassed, and her countenance was one they were unfamiliar with: gone was the soft and cheerful Cura they'd grown accustomed to. In her place stood a woman of unyielding determination, her eyes blazing with the fire of countless battles fought and won. She wore the armor of Meridia, each piece bearing the weight of its own story, and in her hands, the Elven Mace and Spellbreaker both.
Carcette walked towards the party, standing beside Mirabelle Ervine and Savos Aren, both of whom were shocked to see her returned to her natural state, albeit with gray hair and a gray eye.
"Keeper!" one of the Vigilants gasped in shock, recognizing their leader from Skyrim. The other Vigilants approached her closer, but Carcette instead turned their gaze upon Cura.
Cura began, "It is time." She took measured steps towards the Statue of Molag Bal at the center of the ruinous Town Square. "Long has the world of Nirn suffered under the hand of Molag Bal and his vile trickery. How many countless innocents have been tormented in this unholy realm? How many souls have been made corrupt by his vile hand?"
Cura's voice echoed through the desolate square, reverberating off the crumbling walls of the ancient structures. Her companions gathered around her, their expressions a mix of awe and trepidation. The statue of Molag Bal loomed before them, its dark, twisted form a grim reminder of the malevolent force that oppressed them all.
"Many of you have suffered by his hand here for millennia; some for centuries, some for decades, some for years, some for months." Cura began, "The time is irrelevant; for we all have yearned for the same thing: freedom. And, my friends, that freedom has come at last. We are going to tear apart the Tower of Sacremnor; not one Daedra will be left alive. This realm shall be cleansed, as rust is cleansed by fire off a blade."
As Cura's words settled into the air, a profound silence enveloped the town square. The Vigilants, her loyal allies, stood with rigid posture, their eyes locked on their leader. The weight of Cura's declaration was evident in the stillness; it was a moment that would change the course of their fates forever.
Vingalmo and the Volkihar vampires lowered their heads. The shadows cast by the towering walls of the ancient square seemed to pulse with the rhythmic throb of their collective heartbeats. The once-vibrant town was now a shadow of its former self, its streets littered with the remnants of centuries of despair. Yet, amidst this decay, hope flickered.
Carcette stepped forward, her gaze unwavering as she locked eyes with Cura. "Cura, we stand ready. What is your command?"
Cura's expression hardened, her eyes blazing with determination. "Follow my lead." She turned to the Statue of Molag Bal.
"FUS RO DAH!" The ground beneath their feet trembled as Cura's voice boomed through the square, the ancient stone walls vibrating with the sheer force of her Thu'um.
The statue of Molag Bal, its dark, twisted form, seemed to writhe and twist in response to Cura's shout before shattering into many pieces. Cura waved her hand towards Sabrina and Sir Amiel, and gestured for the legions to follow her as she ascended the stairs. The Vigilants, vampires, Knights of Order, and allies moved with a synchronized grace, their steps echoing in the hollowed square. The air was thick with anticipation, the very atmosphere charged with the promise of change. Cura's presence at the forefront of the group was a beacon of hope, her unwavering resolve a guiding light in the darkness.
As they reached the top of the stairs, two Dremora were brazen enough to attempt to stand in the way of this brutal onslaught. Cura erely stood back as Sir Torolf and Sir Henrik dispatched them. Sir Amiel used the Key that he and his team had taken off the corpse of Dro'Zel in Malatar Mansion to unlock the gate that the Dremoras were guarding.
Cura pressed forward as the portcullis raised itself, sliding into its sheath above. With a swift motion, she raised her shield and dashed forward, tackling another Dremora out of the way as he tried to rush her down.
From behind Cura, her army poured into the large courtyard like water. The courtyard was a maze of dark, foreboding structures, each shadowed by the oppressive canopy of the ancient stones. The air was heavy with the scent of rot and decay.
Cura's forces moved with a unified purpose, their steps echoing against the stone walls that lined the courtyard.
The Tower of Sacremnor loomed straight ahead, its barrier guarded by dozens of Dremora. Its heights spanned high into the sky, its top unable to be seen. As Cura's army advanced, the Dremora at the barrier of the Tower of Sacremnor stood resolute, their crimson eyes glowing with malevolent intent. The air crackled with the tension of impending conflict, the very atmosphere charged with the promise of battle.
Cura, her presence a beacon of hope amidst the darkness, raised her Elven Mace high, its gilded structure glinting ominously in the dim light. "For the future of Tamriel!" She pointed forward and issued one command: "CHARGE!" The army responded with a thunderous cheer, their unified shout rippling through the courtyard. The ground beneath them shook as they charged, an unstoppable force of disciplined soldiers and fierce warriors.
Leading the charge, Cura's shield bore the brunt of the arrows being loosed in her direction. Her Dragonguards: Sir Amiel, Sir Ralvas, Sir Henrik, Sir Torolf, Varla, and Sir Caius as well, surrounded her, forming a protective barrier in front of the Dragonborn. The world was a whirlwind of steel and chaos.
Maram and Aria flanked Mary, Atima, and Abbot Silorn, and Korn used her divine power to cast a protective barrier over the escortees.
Sabrina coated her dagger in Venom and leapt forward, embedding its sharp edge right into the face of a Dremora, driving him into the ground by the force of impact.
"Die, impertinent mortal!" A Dremora from the left flank lunged for the Redguard, but she peeled backwards, and an arrow whizzed past her, piercing his head.
Bourlor loosed a second, and then a third arrow, clipping down the Dremora as he tried to fight past it.
Cura's Elven Mace sliced through the air, a merciless hammer of justice. With a powerful swing, she knocked aside a Dremora's sword and thrust forward, causing him to stagger backwards.
Other Vigilants surged ahead, bludgeoning the Dremora, each mace a vicious blow of vengeance. Carcette joined in, as well, Pendulum firmly in her grasp as she clubbed his head into a mess of red pulp.
The Volkihar Vampires hissed at their Dremora captors. Vampires and Vigilants alike moved in unison, their coordinated assault a symphony of death.
Vingalmo let out a chilling laugh as he dispatched a Dremora with a swift strike of his sword across his throat.
His companion, Fura Bloodmouth, followed suit, her crimson eyes glowing with a malevolent light as she plunged her blade into the throat of another Daedra. Hestla, Stalf, Salonia, Minorne, Orthjolf, Garan Marethi, and Rargal soared through the air overhead, leaping over the sea of their allies to reach the Dremora Archers who mounted themselves upon the roofs of the adjacent buildings.
Savos and Mirabelle cast protective wards against the onslought of spells from Dremora Mages who stood in the back of the creeping tide of Daedra.
Cura's eyes blazed with fierce determination as she advanced, her Elven Mace a beacon of hope amidst the chaos. The air was thick with the acrid scent of burning flesh and the distant wail of Daedra summoning their dark powers. Each step she took felt like a declaration of war, her presence an unyielding force that shook the very foundations of the battlefield.
"Forward, Vigilants!" She commanded her brothers and sisters in arms. The Vigilants, clad in their meager armor, moved with a unified purpose, their resolve unshaken by the horrors that surrounded them. The ground beneath their feet trembled with the power of their march, each step a testament to their unwavering commitment to the cause. With a unified effort they all cast Stoneflesh upon themselves and charged forward, engaging the enemy, accompanied by Jyggalag's Knights of Order.
Cura's gaze fell upon a towering Dremora, his crimson eyes blazing with malevolent intent. Varla roared, two swords in hand. He channeled the anguish that consumed his body into a burning rage as he engaged the large Dremora. Like a mad dog, he snapped forward, his swords a pair of deadly jaws. Cura watched Varla, her eyes filled with admiration for his unwavering strength. She saw the Dremora falter under his assault, its armor dented and cracked.
The battlefield was a chaotic expanse of clashing steel and screams, the clash of spells and the snarl of beasts. In the center of this tempest, Cura stood as an unyielding pillar, her Elven Mace a radiant symbol of Stendarr's light.
Carcette stood by her side, as always. Carcette's eye was sharp, her expression resolute. She held Pendulum in both hands, the metal glowing faintly with holy energy. The two companions, united in their unyielding resolve, faced the encroaching forces of the Daedra.
Varla, fueled by his unrelenting fury, clashed swords with the Dremora, his movements a blur of raw power. He cleared a way forward, knocking back his formidable foe, paving a way through the sea of malice.
Carcette raised Pendulum high, channeling the power of the divine. The holy instrument glowed with a fierce light, and she struck it against the ground with a resounding crack. The impact sent waves of energy rippling outward, scattering the Daedra and weakening their resolve.
"By the will of Stendarr!" she shouted, her voice ringing out across the battlefield.
Knights of Order rushed past her, taking the cleared route forward and pushing onwards.
Vingalmo and the other Vampires distratced the Dremora archers by flying in paraloops through the air.
Orthjolf swooped down, and with a fatal grasp, threw one of the archers down to the earth below. The Daedric forces, emboldened by their arrogance, surged forward once again. Their demonic howls and guttural shouts echoed across the battlefield as they pressed the assault. The ground quaked beneath the onslaught, and the air crackled with dark magic and the stench of brimstone.
Cura loosed an Exploding bolt of Fire from her Dwarven Metal Arm's Crossbow, blowing off a chunk of the stone floor, as well as a few of their foes. She recoiled lightly from the force of the blast. Her Knights continued to guard her passage, standing in an Arrowhead formation with the Vigilants and the Knights of Order, pushing against the coming horde. The Tower's Barrier was coming closer and closer into view as Cura and her allies progressed forward. Sabrina reached into her satchel and drew another vial: an explosive fluid contained within. She lobbed it in an arc towards a large crowd of Dremora on their left flank. The vial burst, spraying flames and shrapnel, cutting down several of the fiends and scattering the rest. Sir Torolf raised his Greatsword of Anui-El and razed a row of enemies with a powerful beam of energy. His faith in Arkay, even amidst the hellish backdrop, fueled his holy weapon. "For the God of Death!" he shouted, as he slammed his sword down, carving a large fissure in the floor and splitting a group of Dremora in half.
As they neared the base of the tower, a massive rune-sealed portal hovered, its red glow illuminating the area.
Gloriel thrust her Dawn Spear forward, causing a Dremora to stumble beack when he nearly caught Cura off-guard. The fiend's sword narrowly missed grazing her armor. Cura pivoted, unleashing a powerful blast of Unbound Fire at the Dremora. The explosion sent the demon reeling, its blackened form stumbling backwards and crashing into several of its allies. "Watch the flanks!" she commanded, her voice carrying across the din of battle.
Mary cast a Healing Spell on a large section of the Allied army that surrounded her. Channeling the light of Aetherius, she mended the wounds of her protectors and allies. Melus Petilius and the Gray Prince advanced with haste, mowing down straggling Dremoras from either sides of the formation as the group pushed onwards in a relentless march to the Tower's Seal. The battle raged on, the clash of steel and crackle of magic filling the air. Cura's allies fought with unwavering resolve, their faith in their gods driving them forward. As she raised her hand to unleash another spell, she noticed a group of Dremora attempting to flank the formation from the east. She quickly called out to Sir Torolf, who was already on the move to intercept them. The massive tower loomed above, its crimson light pulsating like a beating heart. Dremora warriors lined the battlements, their crimson eyes locked on the approaching force. As Cura and her allies neared the base, the ground began to shake violently. From within the portal, dark tendrils of energy reached out, wrapping around the Tower's base. The air grew thick with malevolent power as the seal's defenses activated. Cura turned to Carcette and nodded. She looked to the older Paladin to stave off the shadows.
Carcette stepped forward, her warhammer glowing with divine light as she began to recite a prayer. The shadows recoiled, hissing and writhing as the pure radiance of Stendarr's and Jyggalag's powers both pushed back against the dark magic. Around them, the battle continued to rage as more Dremora warriors emerged from the portal, their crimson eyes burning with malevolent intent.
The Volkihar Vampires cast spells from above, drenching the enemies with fire, lightning and ice all three. Dremora hailed down from the battlements under their by one, the Dremoras fell from without the tower, unable to withstand the unyielding onslaught of the Vigilants, Knights of Order, and the powerful spells launched at them by Savos and Mirabelle, as well as the brutality of the Vampires.
Cura stood at the base of the tower, her countenance one of stark determination as she prepared to engage the Dremora warriors who had now begun to pour from the portal. She could feel the magical energy flowing through the stone, a dark and foreboding presence that set her teeth on edge.
Around her, the battle raged on as Knights of Order advanced to meet the oncoming horde head-on.
"Cura!" Sabrina called out to her, clutching a small, red object in her hands. She hurled it overhead towards the Dragonborn, and Cura jumped to catch it.
Cura looked upon the object now in her hand: a still heart, with fresh blood dripping from its aorta. She recognized it immediately: the Heart of the Mad King, Dro'Zel - the key to disabling the barrier. Her eyes met the seal of red energy straight ahead, and she clutched the heart tightly. "ONWARDS!" she commanded, her voice rising over the din of battle. The heart in her hands glowed with an intense, pulsing light as she approached the barrier. The Dremora warriors, sensing the approaching threat, redoubled their efforts to stop her advance. Arrows whistled past, and dark magic sizzled through the air.
Cura ducked beneath a hail of projectiles, her shield raised, and pressed forward. Bolts of silver light struck one of the Dremoras, fired by Knights of Order. Maram, with n uppercut of his maul, swept two of the foes off their feet, and sent them hurdling through the air.
Aria weaved through the crowds like a spider, her rapier carving webs of deceit as she danced with the Dremora in a duel of wits. With a tight flurry of strikes, the Whisperer parried the fiend's war axe and slid forward, socketing the point of her sword in his eye. The Dremora shrieked, clawing at his ruined face as he stumbled backward. Aria spun, her blade singing through the air as she deflected his clumsy retaliatory attack. She grinned, relishing the chaos of battle.
Melus leapt forward and embedded his lance into the chest of the foe, and he spun in a half circle as he drove the Dremora all the way through, drilling him into the ground.
Sir Amiel beckoned his men to follow the Dragonborn, and he kept a close eye on Sabrina, adjacent to him. Bourlor's arrows cleared a way, with Mirabelle and Savos' Lightning Bolts, which kept the dying Daedric Horde split.
Meanwhile, Cura reached the barrier. The Heart of Dro'Zel glowed brighter in her hands, its pulsing light intensifying as it approached the seal. The magical energy between the two objects seemed to recognize each other, creating a visible disturbance in the air. Cura squeezed the heart, allowing the blood to spit onto the barrier, donning its eternal presence and permitting entry for all. The barrier wavered, then shattered with a deafening crack. A swirling vortex of magic and shadows appeared where the seal had been, revealing the Tower of Sacremnor in all its dark glory. The very air within the fortress felt heavy with malevolent energy, as if the building itself was alive and hostile to the intruders.
Cura's eyes narrowed as she stared up at the towering spires. She turned around to face her allies. "Leave the remainder to the Knights of Order! Follow me! All of you!"
The Skyguard, Savos, Mirabelle, Carcette, Gloriel, Bourlor, the Volkihar Vampires, Mary, Korn, Atima, Abbot Silorn, the Gray Prince, Melus Petilius, and the Vigilants rushed into the Tower behind her as the Knights of Order swarmed the remaining Daedric Forces outside, and followed the groups, as well.