"On Oblivion
by Morian Zenas
A guide to Oblivion and the Daedra
It is improper, though common, to refer to the denizens of the dimension of Oblivion as demons. This practice must probably dates to the Alessian Doctrines of the prophet Marukh which, rather amusingly, forbade traffic with "daimons," and then neglected to explain what demons are. It is most probable that "daimon" is a mispelling of "daedra," the old Elvish word for the strange, powerful creatures of uncertain motivation who come from the dimension of Oblivion. In later tractates by King Hale the Pious of Skyrim, almost a thousand years after the publication of the original Doctrines, the evil of his political enemies is compared to "the wickedness of the demons of Oblivion ... their depravity equals that of Sanguine itself, they are cruel as Boethiah, calculating as Molag Bal, and mad as Sheogorath."
Hale the Pious thus longwindedly introduced four of the daedra lords to the written record.
The written record is not, after all, the best way to research Oblivion and the daedra that inhabit it. Those who, in the words of the Alessian Doctrine, "traffic with daimons" seldom wish it to be a matter of public record. Nevertheless, scattered throughout the literature of the first era, are diaries, journals, notices for witch burnings, and guides for daedra-slayers which contain only a few contradictions. These I have used as my primary source material.
They are at least as trustworthy as the daedra lords I have actually summoned and spoken with at length.
Oblivion is a place composed of many lands, thus the many names for which Oblivion is synonymous: Coldharbour, Quagmire, Moonshadow, and others. It may be supposed that each land of Oblivion is ruled by one prince. The princes whose name appears over and over (though this is not a sure test of their authenticity, to be sure) are the aforementioned Sanguine, Boethiah, Molag Bal, Sheogorath, and Azura, Mephala, Clavicus Vile, Vaermina, Malacath, Hoermius (or Hermaeus or Hormaius, there is no consistent spelling) Mora, Namira, Jyggalag, Nocturnal, Mehrunes Dagon, and Peryite.
From my experience, Daedra are a very mixed lot. It is almost impossible to categorize them as a whole except for their immense power and their penchant for extremism.
Mehrunes Dagon, Molag Bal, Peryite, Boethiah, and Vaernima are among the most consistently "demonic" of the Daedra, in the sense that their spheres seem to be destructive in nature. The other daedra can, of course, be very dangerous, but seldom purely for the sake of destruction, as these five can.
Nor are those five aforementioned daedra identical in their destruction. Mehrunes Dagon seems to prefer natural disasters, earthquakes and volcanos, to vent his spleen. Molag Bal prefers employing actual daedralings, and Boethiah inspires the arms of mortal warriors. Peryite sphere seems to be pestilence, and Vaernima's torture.
Summoning daedra is not a difficult proposition, but it is usually an expensive one. Most Mages Guilds have a summoning room, but this is most often reserved for the highest echelon of guildmembers. Witches covens are much less class sensitive, and the Necromancers, the Dark Brotherhood, and many secretive kings and queens of Tamriel have private summoning rooms. Daedra princes usually demand some sort of service of those who summon them, though I am fortunate enough to have good relations with some and need not perform.
In preparation for the second chapter of this series, I will be investigating two matters that have intrigued me since I began my career as a daedra researcher. The first is on one particular Daedra Prince, referred to in multiple articles of incunabula as Hircine. Hircine has been called "the huntsman of the Princes" and "the father of manbeasts," but I have yet to find anyone who can summon him.
The other, and more doubtful goal I have for the next chapter is to find a practical means for mortal man to pass through to Oblivion. It has always been my philosophy that we only need fear that which we do not understand, and with that thought in mind, I pursue my goal."
Cura and Carcette reached the western frontier overlooking the central operations of the Graymarch. The air was thick with an eerie silence, broken only by the distant hum of the obelisks erected by Jyggalag's forces. The Knights of Order patrolled the square methodically, their silver armor glinting ominously in the dim light.
Cura broke the silence, and she looked up at the large silver cocoon in the wasteland, past the gate ahead of them. "So, that's the source of the Graymarch..." she marveled.
Carcette nodded solemnly, her eyes scanning the horizon. "Yes, Dragonborn. The very heart of Jyggalag's sacred work is there."
The ground beneath them trembled slightly as if sensing their approach.
Cura sighed sadly. "'Cura.'" She corrected the emotionless soldier. "It's 'Cura.' Have you forgotten?" She was disappointed that her mentor would seemingly forget her name. Though, it could have been Jyggalag speaking through her. Who knows?
Carcette's eyes flickered with a momentary softness, a rare glimpse of humanity beneath her stoic exterior. "Forgive me, Cura. It is... difficult to maintain the distinction between Jyggalag's will and my own thoughts."
Cura nodded, understanding the burden Carcette carried. "So you are still in there..."
Carcette's gaze hardened once more, the softness swiftly replaced by the cold resolve of a Knight of Order. "I am what I must be, Dragonborn. Jyggalag's will guides my actions, but within me, there is... a spark of my own consciousness."
Cura placed a hand on Carcette's shoulder, her voice gentle yet firm. "I believe in you, Keeper. In your strength and your heart." She was determined to get the Keeper back, no matter what.
Carcette slowly backed out of Cura's grip and turned towards the Coccoon of Order, looming in the distance like a miniature planet. "I will lead you through to Jyggalag's chamber. Follow my steps."
As Cura and her mentor began their trek towards the towering silver cocoon, the air grew colder, each breath visible in the frigid atmosphere. The ground beneath them continued to tremble slightly, a reminder of the ancient, powerful forces they were about to meet. The light reflected off the gray crystals littering the landscape, creating a kaleidoscope of white, silver and gray hues on the sand surrounding them, resembling much the gray skies hanging above them.
Carcette took the lead, her silver armor reflecting the pale light. She moved with a purposeful stride, her every step echoing with the solemnity of their mission.
The field was a wide, desolate expanse, filled with gray crystal spires and towering obelisks that seemed to reach towards the sky like fingers. Carcette was silent and robotic as they descended the large slope.
Cura broke the silence again. "Keeper... how long are you going to be like... this?" She dreaded the answer, but she needed to know.
Carcette's steps didn't falter, but her voice was tinged with a hint of sadness. "Until Jyggalag's will is fulfilled, Dragonborn. Until the balance of the cosmos is restored, I am bound to serve as his instrument."
Cura's heart ached at the words, a mix of compassion and determination welling up within her. "And what of your own desires, Keeper? Your own dreams?"
Carcette paused, her eyes scanning the horizon as if searching for an answer. The wind whispered secrets in her ear, and for a moment, the mask of her resolve cracked. "Desires... dreams," she murmured, almost as if the words were foreign to her. "In a time like this, such things seem distant, almost irrelevant."
"But they are not," Cura said gently. "They are what make us human, what give us purpose beyond duty."
Carcette's gaze returned to the path ahead, her expression hardening once more. "Perhaps. But for now, duty must come first."
As they continued their journey, the landscape around them grew more surreal. The crystals surrounding them hummed and shimmered; a song of order, in perfect harmonious cadence. As Cura and Carcette progressed, the crystal spires grew taller, casting elongated shadows that seemed to twist and writhe like puppets due to the light shimmer coming from the coccoon above.
Cura adjusted her grip on the handle of her Elven Mace, a symbol of her strength and her secondary heritage. She had faced countless challenges, each more daunting than the last. This journey felt different, however. She knew that the Graymarch were her allies in this fight, but she was still uncomfortable in their presence. The air grew thick with the aroma of crystalline salt and ozone, mingling with the faint scent of blood from the countless battles fought before. Cura's steps were steady, each movement a testament to her unyielding resolve. Carcette, beside her, moved with a precision that bordered on robotic efficiency, her armor clinking softly with every step.
As they walked deeper into the heart of the crystal spires, the ground beneath their feet began to shift. The terrain began to elevate into a slope comprised of steps that resembled the uniform tiles of a Honeycomb. Cura's eyes narrowed as she took in the peculiar landscape. The steps, though seemingly natural, were perfectly aligned and smooth, as if crafted by an unseen hand. Each step was a uniform size, inviting her to ascend with purpose. The air around them hummed with an almost sentient energy, as if the very ground itself was alive and watching their every move.
Cura paused, her gaze scanning the horizon. "This place is... unsettling."
Carcette continued onwards into the coccoon. "This place is perfection." As she passed through, she beckoned Cura to enter. Hesitantly, the Vigilant complied, stepping through the crystal opening. Nothing could have prepared Cura for what she was about to witness inside of the Coccoon. As Cura stepped into the cocoon, the walls of crystalline spires enveloped her like a cocoon, their facets catching the dim light and sending shimmering reflections dancing through the air. The hum of the place grew louder, almost melodic, resonating in her chest. The temperature inside felt different, as if it were alive and breathing along with her. The landscape was a pristine, orderly expanse, where jagged silver rocks and gnarled silver roots covered the ground, creating an unsettling terrain. The sky above was a swirling mass of white clouds tinged with hues of light gray, as if it were cast in the interior of a diamond.
In the distance, towering structures loomed, their surfaces etched with intricate, glowing runes that pulsed with a faint, eerie light. The muted colour palette of the environment, dominated by shades of grey, black, and deep blue, added to the sense of unease that plagued Cura. She'd never before seen such a thing. Her emerald eyes were drawn to the many corners of the hauntingly beautiful space.
"This is the home of Jyggalag..." Cura mused.
Carcette's voice cut through the ethereal silence, her tone unwavering yet imbued with a hint of awe. "Indeed, this is the domain of Jyggalag, the Prince of Order, where perfection reigns supreme."
Cura's eyes narrowed as she approached one of the towering structures. The runes etched into its surface glowed brighter, casting a faint light that illuminated the otherwise dim environment. "This place feels... alive." She lifted a crystal from a small pillar and began to turn it in the light, studying how the light reacted to it.
Carcette nodded, her eyes reflecting the eerie glow of the runes. "Yes, it is. Jyggalag's power is woven into every corner of this place. He has spent eons perfecting his creation, ensuring that every detail is flawless, every rock in its precise place."
Cura clenched her teeth as she carefully placed the crystal she had been admiring back onto its pillar. It was best not to disturb the order. The ground below hummed with dormant energy, each footfall echoing like a drumbeat across the immense, cavernous space. The towering, ghostly structures seemed to murmur secrets into the breeze that wafted them across the abyss. Each of Cura's movements was calculated, as though she were traversing a fragile maze of unseen threads.
"Jyggalag's power is both mesmerizing and unsettling." Cura murmured, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Carcette's eye met Cura's, a flicker of understanding passing between them. "Indeed, his work is a testament to both his genius and his unyielding dedication to the concept of order."
Cura took note of that. If he truly was the embodiment of Order, he should be easy enough to reason with, one should think. The idea of standing in the presence of this indomitable God of Order was a harrowing concept to the Dragonborn: what would he be like? The sheer opposite of Sheogorath? Given that she got along with the Daedric Prince of Madness before, perhaps she could find a way to sway Jyggalag, as well? After all, they were once one and the same.
The air grew colder as they ventured deeper into the domain, the chill biting at their skin. Cura's breath formed small, visible puffs, each one a reminder of the harsh environment they were navigating.
"If Jyggalag is so dedicated to Order, why can't he keep this place room temperature?" Cura pondered.
Carcette's lips pressed into a thin line as she considered the question. "Jyggalag's obsession with order often leads him to prioritize precision over practicality. He sees every element, no matter how trivial, as a component in his grand design. This cold, this precise temperature, it's all part of his creation."
Cura nodded, her gaze drifting over the intricate patterns etched into the walls. "I just wonder what he wants with me. I mean, I know that he wants me to free him from his bindings, or whatever the case is, but... could you not do the same?"
"Jyggalag sees the potential within you, Dragonborn." Carcette informed her plainly.
Cura's eyes narrowed, her mind racing with questions and doubts. "Potential? What could I possibly offer him? My duties lie with Tamriel."
Carcette's expression remained impassive, but there was a hint of empathy in her voice. "Jyggalag sees the balance you maintain between chaos and order. You embody the duality he seeks to understand."
As they progressed through the labyrinthine corridors, the air grew even more frigid, the shadows deepening into dark recesses that seemed to whisper secrets of their own. Cura's breath caught in her throat, mingling with the frost that clung to the air. She could feel her pulse quickening, every beat a reminder of her purpose and the journey they were undertaking.
Carcette's voice cut through the silence, her tone as cold as the environment they found themselves in. "Just ahead, you shall witness the Grand Library of Jyggalag."
As they passed through the crystalline door, the world spanned around them, dwarfing the Mundus itself, seemingly. Many orderly, winding pathways comprised of honeycomb tiles formed bridges to various, perfectly-aligned corners of the endless Library. Shelves lines the crystalline walls, stretching infinitely high into the white light above, and infinitely low into the dark void below.
Knights of Order patrolled the perfect space, and Dyus, the Library Keeper, continued to survey the shelves, riding on a floating gray octagonal platform along its length.
"Every person who has ever existed has been catalogued here." Carcette explained as she led Cura along the straight pathway. The Grand Library of Jyggalag was a marvel of architectural precision, each stone and crystal meticulously placed to create an atmosphere of serene order.
Cura paused, her jaw hung open as she looked around her. Regardless of where her eyes fell, she was greeted with haunting perfection. Cura's breath came out in a soft cloud as she took in the enormity of the library. The crystalline structure seemed to shimmer with a cold, ethereal glow, casting intricate patterns of light and shadow across the pathways. The air was still, almost as if time itself had slowed down in this sacred place.
"Jyggalag's designs are unparalleled," Carcette murmured, her voice echoing softly through the vast chamber.
Cura finally snapped out of her stupour and tried to ground herself in the present again. "Is this how you knew everything that was going to happen? You... you read about my entire life in one of those books?" She pointed at the shelves, flabberghasted. "Keeper, I don't-"
""-don't believe that a Daedra can predict every facet of a person's life."" Carcette finished her sentence for her before turning around to face Cura.
Cura's mouth hung open. "I was-"
"-just about to say that. How did you know?"" Carcette again finished her statement before the rest of it could leave her mouth.
Cura began to feel unsettled; greatly perturbed. Her eyes darted around the endless rows of shelves, the sheer magnitude of the knowledge contained within them making her head spin. "How can you possibly know everything about everyone?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Carcette's expression remained stoic, but a flicker of something almost like compassion crossed her eye. "Jyggalag's library is not just a repository of knowledge, it is a map of destiny itself. Jyggalag has scribed every event that he predicted in the lives of the multitudes..." Her gaze glimmered. "...Even the lives of the other Daedra. This was why they saw fit to curse him with madness: their fear of his pursuit of Order and Perfection, combined with the accuracy of his predictions frightened them and threatened the delicate balance of power in the Oblivion Realms. His one mistake was believing that he was immune to their attempt."
Cura's mind reeled as she tried to process the enormity of what Carcette was saying. The idea that every event in her life, and countless others, was predetermined was both terrifying and overwhelming. She felt like a pawn in a grand game she had no control over.
Carcette's voice broke the silence, pulling Cura back to the present. "And now you are about to ask me if we were fated to be here since the dawn of time."
Cura grunted, visible frustration marring her gentle features. "Yes, fine. Were we?"
Carcette's eyes softened momentarily, showing a rare display of empathy. "Cura, the threads of fate are complex and interwoven. Destiny is not a fixed path but a convergence of choices, actions, and events."
Cura's gaze remained fixed on Carcette, her mind racing through the implications. "Then what does that mean? Are we free to change our fate, or is it all just predetermined?"
Carcette's voice took on a contemplative tone. "You are capable of making your own choices, Cura. Jyggalag predicting them does not negate your individual agency. He is not the Author of Life, but rather, a knowledgeable observer of fate."
Cura's eyes narrowed, her mind grappling with the concept. "But if he knows everything, then doesn't that mean he knows how I'll choose?"
Carcette's expression remained resolute. "Jyggalag's knowledge is vast, but it is not omniscient. He can predict patterns and tendencies, but the actual choices you make are still yours to decide." She waved a hand, and a book dislodged from one of the many shelves, and soared into her hand. "This book, is the Book of my own Life." She handed it to Cura.
"Every prediction Jyggalag made concerning my fate has come to pass." Carcette explained, "My birth in Bhoriane, Wayrest... my familial tragedies... my vengeful nature and foolish decisions. My work at the Hall of the Vigilant, the fateful day when you entered my life. Everything."
Cura's fingers hesitated over the cover of the book, her heart pounding in her chest. She had always known Carcette as a Leader, a woman who lived life in a struggle against the odds, but the depth of her own history laid bare in these pages was overwhelming. "Why are you showing me this?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Carcette's gaze softened, and she seemed to consider her words carefully. "Cura, you have always been a beacon of hope and strength for the Vigil. But understanding the path that has brought you here is crucial if we are to navigate the trials ahead. This book is not just a history, but a map - a map of the choices we have made and the path we have yet to take. I want you to know what must be done, that way you will make the right choice moving forward."
"Is this you talking, or is it Jyggalag?" Cura inquired, her eyes narrowing in suspicion as she accepted the book.
"It is me talking." Carcette responded. Though her voice was devoid of the lilt it naturally had, the human glint in her eye spoke volumes.
Cura opened the book, and the pages crackled with age and magic.
Cura's eyes opened wide as she read the silver text within its pages. Then she slammed the book shut. "No. I won't do it."
Cura's voice reverberated with determination and a hint of fear. Her gaze locked onto Carcette, who stood steadfast and unyielding. "This isn't the life I chose," she exclaimed, her voice trembling as she tried to keep control of her emotions. The words seemed to echo within her, resonating through the very marrow of her bones.
Carcette's expression softened, concern etched in her eyes. "Cura."
"No!" Cura roared. The sound of her voice reverberated through the chamber, echoing off the stone walls. Cura's hands clenched into fists, the leather-bound book still clutched tightly in her grasp. She felt the weight of her destiny pressing down on her, the burden of choices made and paths laid out before her.
Carcette stepped forward, her movements measured and deliberate. "Cura, you have always been strong, but this is about more than just strength."
"There has to be another way..." Cura bit her lip. "I could never..."
The cold air of the chamber seemed to grow even more frigid, as if the very fabric of reality was mirroring her inner turmoil. The flickering torchlight danced upon the stone walls, casting eerie shadows that seemed to whisper secrets of ages past. Cura's heart pounded in her chest, each beat a drumroll of defiance and resolve.
Carcette, a steadfast figure of unyielding logic, her voice calm yet firm. "When you deny Jyggalag, we are going to fight. I will be compelled to. And you will strike me down in self-defense."
Cura's eyes widened as she grasped the gravity of Carcette's words. The thought of causing harm to her mentor, someone she considered like a mother, was unbearable. She felt a surge of determination and a deep resolve to find another way.
"Keeper, please," Cura pleaded, her voice breaking slightly. "There must be another way to restore balance without causing harm to you or anyone else. I won't let you fight me."
Carcette laid a hand on her shoulder. "Then you will pledge your eternal allegiance to Jyggalag. The secondary proposed option." She turned the page and pointed to the passage.
"No." Cura shook her head. "I will work with him, but I will not be controlled by him."
Cura's resolve was firm, her eyes reflecting both determination and sorrow as she stood before Carcette. The tension between them was palpable, like the crackling air before a storm.
"Then we are at a standstill," Carcette stated, her tone unyielding, but a flicker of sadness in her eyes betrayed her deep affection for the Dragonborn.
Cura's voice wavered slightly but gained strength. "I suppose a third option would be-"
"You know that you cannot leave Jyggalag pinned to his throne." Carcette squashed the idea before it even presented itself. "The Graymarch will be necessary to end Coldharbour itself, once and for all."
Cura's mind was a whirlwind of strategies and possibilities. She clenched her fists, frustration and determination swirling within her. "But there has to be another way! We can't just rush into this blindly. I won't let your life be lost because of blind obedience."
Carcette's expression softened slightly, a rare glimmer of humanity breaking through her rigid exterior. "Cura, you are right that there must be a balance." She waved her hand and the book returned itself to the shelf from whence it came. "Strive to be that balance." She continued walking along the path, and she beckoned Cura to follow her. Cura's heart pounded in her chest as she trailed behind Carcette, the weight of their conversation settling heavily upon her shoulders. The vast expanse of the Coccoon of Order stretched out before them, its desolate beauty a stark reminder of the monumental task ahead.
Eventually, after walking along the winding pathways in silence, the pair came upon the throne room of Jyggalag: a perfect chamber with a throne comprised of sharp crystals sat at the heart of the room; its coordinates at the perfect centre of the Coccoon of Order. Jyggalag was, in all intents and purposes, the beating heart of this machination. The Daedric Prince sat upon his throne, his face downcast and his sword piercing his heart and pinning him to the throne.
Cura's gaze locked onto Jyggalag, her eyes narrowing as she took in the surreal scene before her. The Daedric Prince's presence was always a paradox - cold logic entwined with a hint of melancholy.
"Jyggalag," Cura called out, her voice steady, though her heart was anything but. "Why this sacrifice?" It made no sense to her.
She had two visible options: either bow before him and worship him, or fight Carcette to the death. Why?
Carcette stood behind her, and stared at Jyggalag. "As you can see, the sword is there. The throne is there. The Prince lies desolate, in slumber. You know what you must do."
Cura's eyes flickered between the Daedric Prince and Carcette, her mind racing with questions and doubts. The weight of the situation pressed heavily on her shoulders, and she could feel the tension in the air, thick and oppressive.
She took a tentative step forward, her boots echoing faintly in the cavernous throne room. The crystals on the throne seemed to hum with an otherworldly energy, casting shifting shadows across Jyggalag's still form.
Cura's hands; both mortal and Dwarven Metal, firmly grasped the handle of the large sword. Her heart was filled with dread. She looked back at Carcette, who nodded silently.
Cura's eyes locked onto Jyggalag's figure, her breath catching in her throat. The Daedric Prince's cold, unyielding expression seemed to pierce through her very soul. She could feel the weight of his gaze, even though his eyes were closed.
"Jyggalag," she whispered again, her voice barely audible. "we're going to have a little chat." She yanked the sword backwards, causing it to slide out of the Prince of Order's heart.
Jyggalag's eyes opened immediately, a white glow emitting from them as the open wound began to seal itself with light. Cura stumbled backwards due to the clumsy weight of the perfect giant broadsword.
The air in the throne room crackled with tension as Jyggalag sat up, his movements as fluid as ever despite the recent trauma. His eyes, now fully open, bore into Cura's with an intensity that seemed to pierce through the very fabric of reality. The Daedric Prince's face remained impassive, yet there was an underlying sense of curiosity, almost as if he was studying her with a blend of fascination and disdain.
"Interesting." Jyggalag's voice was devoid of emotion, each word a calculated utterance. "You dare to challenge the Prince of Order."
Cura, still reeling from the sudden confrontation, steadied herself. She tightened her grip on the hilt of her sword, the cold metal grounding her amidst the surreal scene. Her eyes locked onto Jyggalag's, a silent challenge hanging in the air.
"I don't challenge you," she replied, her voice steady. "not yet, at least." She dusted off her Meridian Champion robes and kept her stance firm in the face of this giant crystalline entity. "I want to know what this is all about."
The room seemed to grow even more oppressive, the shadows curling around the stone walls as if they themselves were listening to the conversation. The air was thick with ancient power, and Cura could feel the weight of countless battles fought and won, lost and forgotten.
Cura reminded herself of who she was and all that she had done to get this far.
Jyggalag remained seated, his expression a mask of calm composure.
"Very well." Jyggalag's voice echoed softly, yet it seemed to reverberate through Cura's very bones.
Cura stepped forward, her boots clicking softly on the cold stone floor. The throne room seemed to hum with the accumulated energy of countless years of Daedric machinations. She could feel the ancient, almost sentient walls watching her every move, weighing her resolve.
"Jyggalag," Cura began, her voice steady and unwavering, "You know that I am the Dragonborn, a figure of legend and prophecy."
Jyggalag's expression did not change, but there was a flicker of interest in his eyes, a hint of recognition of the significance of her words. "Yes, Cura," he replied in his monotone voice. "The Dragonborn, the hero of the people. Or so they believe."
Cura's eyes narrowed. "And what do you believe, Jyggalag? What role do you see for me in this grand tapestry of fate?"
Jyggalag's gaze remained steady, his eyes cold and calculating. "The Prince of Order sees the threads of destiny clearly," he said, his voice like a whisper in the stillness of the throne room. "You are but one piece in a far greater puzzle, Cura. A piece that holds both power and peril."
Cura's grip on her mace's handle tightened, her resolve hardening. She turned her head and glanced upon Auriel's Bow, mounted on her back: a symbol of her defiance of Fate. She looked to her false arm, grafted onto her after she'd lost her true arm against Alduin; yet another instance of her defiance of Fate. She recounted being brought to the Deadlands, and how she breached it: another defiance of Fate. Her entire journey in Coldharbour was one big defiance of Fate.
Her gaze remained on Carcette. I will save you, Keeper. I promise. she resolved to herself, her heart igniting with determination.
"Your life is an unusual one." Jyggalag began, "Your destiny can veneer in two branching paths. The path of the Empress, or the path of Vengeance."
Cura's eyes darted around as she absorbed his words. "What do you mean?"
"You shall either come out of this experience the victor over Molag Bal, and you shall bring an era of great peace and prosperity unto Tamriel," Jyggalag said plainly. "or you shall fall from grace, and take up the mantle of a Daedric Prince."
Cura's breath hitched as the weight of Jyggalag's words settled upon her. The room seemed to pulse with the ancient power that had shaped countless destinies, each one a thread in the intricate tapestry of time. She could feel the threads of her own destiny tugging at her, pulling her towards two disparate futures.
"A D-Daedric Prince?" Cura's voice was barely a whisper, her mind racing with the implications.
Jyggalag's expression remained impassive, his eyes glinting with an unreadable intensity. "Yes, Cura. We who you call Daedra are not just malevolent entities; we are also powerful beings who can shape the very fabric of reality. If you succumb to your desire for vengeance, you will defeat Molag Bal... and you will supplant him."
Cura's grip on her mace tightened, her knuckles turning white. "I intend to defeat him and put an end to his evil."
"So you believe." Jyggalag leaned forward in his chair, his shadow covering the room while his tone dripped with self-assurance. "In reality, you are likely going to Swallow the Stone, and you are going to try to exact vengeance upon me. Your loss will shatter your world, and you will throw away all that you've believed in out of rage. Even now, you feel the fires of wrath and desperation kindling within you."
Cura's heart pounded in her chest as Jyggalag's words resonated through the throne room. The ancient Daedric Prince's eyes seemed to bore into her very soul, as if he could see the depths of her own ambition and the darkness within her.
Cura's voice trembled. "What are you talking about?" And then it dawned on her. She slowly turned around to see Carcette standing some distance away, her hand around the shaft of Pendulum, her warhammer. As though she is waiting for an order. Carcette's steely gaze met Cura's, her face an unreadable mask. The silence in the throne room was almost suffocating, each second stretching longer than the last. Carcette's expression softened just slightly, showing her humanity.
"Cura, Jyggalag is not our enemy. He is a balance we need in this chaotic world." Carcette spoke, her voice carrying both authority and compassion. "You must walk this path, and then the rest will follow."
Cura turned to Jyggalag, her emerald eyes narrowing dangerously as she regarded the gray, crystalline Daedric Prince. "I read the prediction in her Life book. During this meeting, you're going to set her upon me. Why? Why would you do such a thing?"
Jyggalag's eyes remained unyielding, his voice as calm as ever. It was clear that he wanted Cura to understand the stakes at play. Behind his helmet, she could see his scrupulous eyes boring into her essence from the throne. "Because, Cura, balance is a fragile thing. It requires sacrifices to maintain. And you are at the center of this delicate balance."
Cura's breath hitched as the gravity of Jyggalag's words sank in. "Sacrifices? What do you mean?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.
"This is your opportunity to prove me incorrect." Jyggalag said plainly. With a wave of his hands, a white light began to shimmer, and another book manifested itself on his lap. He waved a hand over it, and it flipped open, its pages turning in perfect rhythm onto the very page he sought. ""The Dragonborn, Cura, faces down the Daedric Prince of Order, seeking to outwit his machinations, in the hopes of protecting Carcette.""
Cura's eyes widened as she gazed upon the book. The pages seemed to shift and flicker, the words written in an ancient script that shimmered like the surface of a pond. Carcette took a cautious step forward, her warhammer still firmly in her grasp, but her expression softened as she saw Cura's determination.
"This is a prophecy," Jyggalag continued, his voice unwavering. "A prediction of your journey, Cura. Now, I give you a choice: Submit to me. Worship me, and forsake your covenants with all other gods. For they are unworthy."
Cura's gaze shifted between Jyggalag and Carcette, her mind racing to comprehend the gravity of the situation. The weight of the prophecy hung in the air, each word heavy with the potential for destruction or salvation.
"This is madness," Cura said, her voice tinged with anger and confusion.
"No, this is order." Jyggalag said flatly.
Cura's eyes flashed with defiance as she tightened her grip on her weapon. "I will not submit to you, Jyggalag," she declared, her voice steady and resolute. "I am the Dragonborn, and I will not be swayed by your empty promises of balance and order."
Jyggalag's face remained impassive, but a flicker of surprise showed in his eyes. He had not expected such bravery from her. "Then you are foolish."
"Stendarr-" Cura was about to pray.
"Stendarr is not here." Jyggalag rebuked her. "Nor is Meridia, Mara, Arkay, or any of the other gods. Molag Bal himself could not reach you here if he desired it."
Cura's jaw clenched, her breath coming in sharp, controlled bursts. The air around them seemed to thicken with tension, the very atmosphere charged with the weight of their confrontation. Carcette, ever the stoic soldier, stood resolute beside the Daedric Prince now, her eyes fixed on Jyggalag with unwavering determination.
Jyggalag continued, his voice a monotonous drone, devoid of emotion. "Then you will be alone," Jyggalag continued, his voice unwavering and cold. "And you will face the darkness of your own making, with no one to hold your hand."
Cura's grip on her weapon tightened, her knuckles whitening as she strained to maintain her composure. She could feel the eye of Carcette on her, silently urging her to remain steadfast.
Jyggalag turned his gaze upon Carcette. "Kill her."
Author's Note: for this fight, "Vigilant OST - VS Jyggalag" Thanks for reading!
Carcette's eyes widened momentarily, her stoic demeanor cracking just enough to reveal a flicker of uncertainty. She hesitated, her hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of her weapon. The silence that followed was heavy, filled with the tension of a decision that could change the course of their journey forever.
Cura took a step forward, her voice steady and unwavering. "Carcette, don't do this. You are my friend, my ally."
Jyggalag flicked his wrist, and Carcette's eye glowed white. With a jolt, her free will was suppressed, and she began to move by his command. Her movements were precise and mechanical, devoid of the humanity that once shone through. She raised her weapon, her hand steady and unyielding, her gaze fixed on Cura.
Carcette's eyes, devoid of emotion, locked onto Cura. "I am Order incarnate." she intoned, her voice cold and unyielding. "You will not stand against me."
Cura's heart pounded in her chest, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "FUS!" came her Shout, causing the Knight of Order to stumble backwards. The ground trembled beneath their feet as the Shout reverberated through the air, creating a shockwave that knocked Carcette off balance. Her eye, now a cold, calculating white, struggled to maintain its focus on Cura.
With a roar, Carcette charged forward once again, her warhammer swinging with terrifying force. Cura met the attack head-on, raising Spellbreaker to absorb the impact. The clash of their weapons sent shockwaves through the temple, the very ground trembling beneath their feet.
Cura countered with a powerful shout, her Voice echoing through the ruins. "FUS RO DAH!" The force of the shout sent Carcette staggering back, but she quickly regained her footing, her limitless stamina allowing her to press the attack relentlessly.
Cura was surprised that she was able to stand so quickly after the Force of the Thu'um blew her back. And yet, Cura had to force herself to temper her Shout, lest it destroy the person she loved in the process.
The battle raged on, each clash of their weapons a testament to their skill and determination. Carcette's warhammer struck with incredible force, while Cura's Mace steadied in her hand. Spellbreaker absorbed the brunt of Carcette's blows, but the relentless assault began to take its toll on Cura.
Carcette's Restoration magics healed her wounds almost instantly, while Cura struggled to keep up, her own healing spells barely enough to stave off the damage. The weight of the battle pressed down on her, each strike from Carcette's warhammer feeling heavier than the last.
Jyggalag's voice cut through the tension, his tone unwavering. "Do not underestimate my control," he warned, his eyes glinting with a cold, calculating intelligence. "She will not falter."
Cura turned to Jyggalag. "I thought we were on the same side! We both want Molag Bal destroyed!" She raised her shield to absorb another blow from the brutal maul. The impact caused her knees to buckle.
Her mind raced back to the Redwater Den in an instant, but she shook it off her mind. Things are different now: she was more resilient. It would not end like that.
Jyggalag's eyes narrowed, the cold gleam in them intensifying. "You misunderstand," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Molag Bal's destruction is merely a step in the grand scheme of things. My purpose, and yours, is to maintain balance in the cosmos."
Cura clenched her fists around her weapons, frustration boiling within her. "But at what cost?"
Carcette's warhammer stuck Cura's shield, and she continued to strike with unyielding fervour.
Jyggalag spoke over the din of collision. "Balance is not achieved through emotion, Cura. It is achieved through precision and logic," Jyggalag's voice echoed through the chamber, his words cutting through the chaos like a blade. "What you do here in Coldharbour will push history forward, for good, or ill."
Cura's eyes flickered with determination, her resolve hardening. She raised her shield, pushing against Carcette's relentless assault. "You're wrong, Jyggalag. Balance is found in compassion and understanding, not just cold calculation." Cura parried Carcette's warhammer and pivoted around, striking her arm with her mace. Carcette's eye widened in surprise, but only for a moment. The calculated determination in her gaze remained unchanged. She raised her other hand, her fingers forming intricate patterns that shimmered with arcane energy. The air around them crackled with the buildup of raw magical power, the atmosphere thickening with tension.
As the fight wore on, Cura's strength began to wane. She could feel the exhaustion creeping into her limbs, her movements growing slower and more labored. Carcette, fueled by Jyggalag's power, showed no signs of fatigue, her attacks as relentless as ever.
With a final, desperate effort, Cura unleashed a flurry of strikes with her Elven mace. But Carcette's Crystalline defenses held strong, her warhammer meeting each strike with unyielding force. The realization hit Cura like a blow to the chest - she could not win this battle unless she aims to kill. The defensive approach is not working, and she cannot withstand this for too long. She could see Carcette's face under the helmet - the one place she could harm her, likely using Dawnbreaker. Otherwise, the crystal was impenetrable. It was as she dreaded.
Breathing heavily, Cura took a step back, lowering her weapon. "I can't do this," she whispered, her voice filled with sorrow. "I can't fight you, Carcette. I... I don't..."
Carcette paused, her warhammer still raised. For a moment, a flicker of something - recognition, perhaps - passed through her eye. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by the cold, unfeeling gaze of a Knight of Order. "You underestimate me, Dragonborn." Carcette's voice remained steady, devoid of the usual warmth that once resonated through her words.
Cura's mace clashed with Carcette's warhammer, sparks of white light flying as the impact reverberated through the chamber. The air hummed with latent energy, the very fabric of reality seeming to tremble with the intensity of their confrontation. Cura's eyes locked onto Carcette's, searching for any sign of wavering, but her face remained impassive, a mask of stone.
"You think you can force me into submission with your logic and spells?" Cura asked Jyggalag. "You've already lost, if your goal was an accurate prediction." she argued.
Jyggalag's eyes narrowed, a flicker of curiosity and contemplation crossing his features. "You are not like the others, Cura. Your defiance is intriguing, but it will not change the course of events."
Carcette's eyes flashed with a dangerous light, her voice cold and detached. "Enough of this conversation, Dragonborn. You have made your point, but now it is time for action."
Cura blocked another attack. "Is it truly a prediction, Jyggalag, if you're the one orchestrating this?"
Jyggalag's expression remained unreadable, but his voice carried an unsettling calm. "Predictions are merely the manifestation of patterns, Cura. The threads of fate weave together in ways both foreseen and unforeseen."
Carcette's warhammer connected with Cura's shield once more, sending a shockwave through the chamber. The clash reverberated, and Cura felt the impact travel up her arm, testing her resolve. At this rate, Cura was left with one of two options: kill, or be killed. As the fatigue wore into her, she nodded silently, a smile spreading across her face. She parried the cudgel one last time and slid backwards, away from her opponent, catching her breath. "Then... then I know how to defeat you." she said plainly. Her eyes darted between the Daedric Prince and his relentless puppet.
Carcette's eye widened slightly at Cura's words, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her normally composed face. Jyggalag, however, remained unmoved, his gaze unwavering.
"You speak boldly, Dragonborn," Jyggalag intoned, his voice echoing in the vast chamber. "But words alone will not suffice in this confrontation."
Cura took a step back, her shield still glowing with the residual energy from their clash. "No, you're right. They won't." She dropped her mace and her shield to the ground. "I refuse to fight."
Jyggalag's eyes narrowed as he watched Cura surrender her weapons. "Your refusal to fight is puzzling, Dragonborn," he said, his tone cold and detached. "Is this a ruse, or do you genuinely seek a different path?"
Carcette, who had been poised for another strike, hesitated. Her gaze flickered with curiosity and suspicion. "What do you propose to do instead, Dragonborn? I will kill you if you do not fight."
"Here's a new ultimatum for you, Jyggalag," Cura tested the Daedric Prince. "kill me and throw the threads of fate into disorder, or give me back Carcette and I'll help you claim Coldharbour."
Jyggalag's expression remained unchanging, his eyes boring into Cura's soul. The air in the chamber seemed to thicken, charged with the weight of their words. The Daedric Prince's voice, devoid of emotion, echoed through the chamber. "Your proposal is... intriguing, Dragonborn. But the threads of fate are not so easily manipulated."
Cura shook her head. "You said it before, that the future of Tamriel relies on my actions." she reminded him. "Well, if I die, how many of your foreseen events won't come to pass? How many things that were meant to change won't, and how many people will die?"
Jyggalag's gaze remained unwavering, his expression a mask of stoic indifference. "Your life, Dragonborn, is but a single thread in the vast tapestry of fate. Its removal would indeed cause ripples, but it would not unravel the entire fabric. Your reason for being was to stop Alduin; a countermeasure against the inevitable Fate of your Kalpa. You have long since outlived that purpose. Even in death, you continue to fight destiny."
Carcette's voice cut through the tension like a blade, cold and monotonous. "Jyggalag, the Dragonborn's life is not just a thread, but a crucial one. Her actions have already altered the course of history. If she were to die before her appointed time, the consequences would be catastrophic. Recall the timeline you accounted for in block C-3857463. Molag Bal escapes and claims her body. Molag Bal and Mehrunes Dagon's clash destroys Skyrim. Molag Bal ascends to Aetherius and kills the Aedra..."
Jyggalag's eyes flickered with a glimmer of acknowledgment. "Yes, Carcette. I am aware of those potential outcomes. But what you propose, Dragonborn, is not merely to ensure the continuation of a single thread, but to manipulate the entire fabric of fate."
Cura stepped forward, her resolve unwavering. "I am not asking to manipulate fate, Jyggalag. I just want the Keeper back. And I want to defeat Molag Bal. You needed me to come here to free you, and I have."
Jyggalag's eyes narrowed slightly, a rare flicker of emotion breaking through his stoic exterior. "Your determination is... admirable, Dragonborn. But the path you choose will have far-reaching consequences, not just for Tamriel, but for the entire cosmos."
Cura's voice hardened, her resolve unshaken. "I understand the risks, Jyggalag. But I also understand that there are no guarantees in life. As long as beings have Free Will, they act on their own accord. You may be able to make educated guesses, but they won't always be 100% correct. The Elder Scrolls themselves have shown me that."
Jyggalag looked down upon Carcette, who was now standing still. "Carcette's mortal life was meant to end here, today."
Carcette's eyes widened, a flicker of fear crossing her normally stoic face as a piece of her human heart resurfaced. "Jyggalag, I... I am not ready to die." she stammered, her voice trembling.
Jyggalag's expression remained unreadable, but his tone was calm and detached. "Your time has come, Carcette. It is part of the grand design. And once you perish, you shall spend eternity here, in my Realm of Oblivion, as you are already consigned to me."
Cura stepped forward, her hand reaching out to grasp Carcette's shoulder. "No. I won't allow it. I carry in me the power of Akatosh - god of time! And the spirit of Shezzar, freedom incarnate." She stepped forward. "Time is mine to change, and I will not allow this."
Jyggalag's eyes narrowed further, a cold glimmer of amusement dancing in his otherwise emotionless gaze. "Bold words, Dragonborn. But do they carry the weight of destiny?"
Cura's resolve only hardened as she turned to face Jyggalag. "I will not stand idly by while an innocent life is cut short."
"Impertinent mortal." Jyggalag slowly raised himself up from his throne. "Do you truly think you can change the grand design of fate? How predictable."
Cura's eyes blazed with determination as she stood her ground. "I have seen the power of the gods firsthand, Jyggalag. I have wielded the might of the dragons and harnessed the essence of the elements. I am not just a mortal; I am the Dovahkiin."
Jyggalag's gaze narrowed further, the cold, calculating light of his eyes never wavering. "Bold words, Dragonborn. But let us see if your resolve holds as strongly as your conviction. You have been given a great gift, one that few in Tamriel have ever wielded. Yet, true power is not in words alone, but in actions."
Cura's resolve was unshaken as she stepped closer to the Prince of Order. Her eyes blazed with the madness of Aka. "What do you intend to do? Sit back down, tin can."
Jyggalag's lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. "You dare to mock me, Dragonborn? Your impertinence is almost... amusing." He raised a hand, and the air around him shimmered with an otherworldly energy. "But I shall not be swayed by your bravado. The time of reckoning has come." He turned to Carcette; "If she will not fulfill your destiny, then I shall."
Carcette, standing rigidly beside Jyggalag, her eyes reflecting the cold logic of her master, spoke in a monotone voice. "Dragonborn, Jyggalag has deemed your actions insufficient. The balance of fate must be maintained, and if you are unwilling to fulfill your duty, then another must step in."
Cura felt a surge of anger at Carcette's words, but she knew that she couldn't afford to let her emotions cloud her judgment. "Jyggalag... I swear..." she felt her stomach wrenching. "If you so much as touch her, I'll-"
"Enough!" Jyggalag's voice cut through the tension like a blade. "Your threats are as hollow as the promises of mortal kings. You have no power to command me, Dragonborn. The destiny that binds you is one you cannot escape."
Cura's breath came in ragged gasps as she struggled to contain her fury. Her eyes, once blazing with determination, now shone with a fierce, desperate resolve.
Jyggalag summoned a bolt of energy and fired it towards Carcette, intent on her death.
"VOKRAS LOKAAL JAARIL!" Cura Shouted. Her Dragon soul emerged from her form like a burning Phoenix. The Dragon soul, a blazing white aura of protective energy, enveloped Carcette with its powerful wings, absorbing the bolt of energy sent by Jyggalag. The Prince of Order's eyes widened momentarily as he felt the full force of the Dragonborn's resolve, but his cold exterior quickly masked the surprise. The air around them crackled with the raw power of their conflicting wills.
Jyggalag's voice, calm and devoid of emotion, cut through the tension. He paused, awestruck. "The very Shout you utilized to protect your friends against Alduin upon the Throat of the World." Cura's Dragon soul flared with renewed vigor, pulsating with the ancient magic that coursed through her veins. The protective shield held firm, repelling the destructive energy that sought to end Carcette's life. For a moment, the two entities locked in a silent exchange of wills, each refusing to yield.
"You have always been a curious creature, Dragonborn," Jyggalag continued, his tone remaining unchanged, yet imbued with a strange respect. "and that is why you have two paths available to you."
"Three paths." Cura corrected him.
Jyggalag paused for a moment. "Three?"
"The path where I defeat Molag Bal and return to Nirn with all of my friends, and Carcette lives." Cura proclaimed.
Jyggalag's eyes narrowed slightly, his expression unreadable. "The path of the Empress, the path of Vengeance, and now, a third path. This is a development that I had not foreseen." He paused and walked back to his throne. He lifted the book off the armrest and began to recalculate. "Though, perhaps I should have expected as much. It is said that the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn."
Jyggalag's cold fingers danced over the pages of the ancient tome, his eyes scanning the intricate runes and arcane symbols that shimmered under the dim light of the throne room. Cura watched him intently, her heart pounding with a mix of determination and uncertainty. Carcette, still bound by the protective energy of the Dragon soul, struggled to regain her composure. "Indeed. The hour of Carcette's death has passed... and my own interference has changed matters." the realization dawned upon the Prince of Order as he pondered the new developments. "The Path... it has been altered. You were meant to be swearing vengeance upon me right this minute, and I was supposed to remind you of your two choices, but..."
"But what?" Cura asked.
Jyggalag's eyes flickered with a glimmer of curiosity, his usually stoic demeanor cracking just a fraction. "It seems that the balance of the cosmos has shifted, and with it, the roles we were destined to play. The Empress's path, the path of Vengeance, and now... a third path, one that neither of us foresaw."
"Wh-what do you predict of it?" Cura inquired curiously.
Jyggalag summoned the book of Carcette's life, which had concluded, though now a new, blank page conjured itself past her death. The Title read: "New Beginnings?"
"I... will need time to process these changes." Jyggalag admitted. The room fell silent as Jyggalag's words hung in the air, resonating with an intensity that seemed to pulse through every corner of the throne chamber. The Dragonborn, Cura, stood rooted in place, her gaze fixed on the Prince of Order. The implications of Jyggalag's statement were vast, and they threatened to upend the very fabric of destiny she had long been a part of.
"Ithelia... The Prince of Paths is at work once more, it seems." Jyggalag whispered.
Cura's mind raced as she grasped the enormity of the situation. The cosmos had shifted, and her destiny was no longer tethered to the binary fate of Empress or Vengeance. A third path, unknown and unexplored, beckoned to her. She felt as though she stood at a crossroads, the decisions of her past converging into a singular moment. She had to ask, "Ithelia? Who, or what is Ithelia?"
Jyggalag paused for a moment, considering his words and whether or not a mortal should bear such knowledge, though with the recent developments, he elected to tell her regardless. "Originally the eldest of the Star-Orphans and a follower of the parabolas away from Magnus, Ithelia was revered as the White Star, the Prime Archon, and the Queen of Fates Unwritten. She determined the potential for fate to emerge. Eventually, she beheld the Infinite Abyss and the Indeterminate Sea, unveiling the Indefinite Limits of creation, possibly through the Missing God, the first to understand that Nothingness does not exist, and where there is nothing, there lies potential. The Ayleids of Essondul venerated her until the Daedric Princes expunged her from existence."
Cura's eyes widened as she absorbed the ancient lore. The White Star, the Queen of Fates Unwritten, was a figure shrouded in mystery and power. Her existence seemed to blur the lines between fate and free will, creating a labyrinth of possibilities that even the most powerful beings could not fully comprehend.
"Ithelia," Cura murmured, the name rolling off her tongue like a sacred incantation. "she is a sister of Lady Meridia's?"
Jyggalag nodded silently as he began to scribe in his book. "Indeed." He tapped his hand against the armrest of his throne. "And, like Meridia, it would appear that she has long taken an interest in you. Her influence is subtle, but profound."
"Why did you do this, Jyggalag?" Cura asked, needing to know for her own personal reasons. "Why would you make me have to kill Carcette? What purpose would that play in the grand scheme of things? Why push me towards two paths?"
Jyggalag looked up from his writing and stared at her, his face rested like stone. "Your resolve was to be tested, Dragonborn. The nobility or the malice in your heart were to compete as you ascended to the heights of Sacremnor. You were to struggle with the duality of your nature: mortal righteousness, or mortal vengeance. This sacrifice was designed to test who you truly were, not just as the Dragonborn, but as Cura Stormcloak. For the test to be effective, you were to lose the one closest to you."
"And you were hoping to mirror what happened when Lydia was slain in Markarth." Cura surmised.
"Yes," Jyggalag admitted. "or no. It was a test of virtue. A test of the weight of your conviction to your Faith."
Cura's eyes narrowed as she processed Jyggalag's words. The burden of her choices seemed to press down on her shoulders, the weight of her destiny now heavier than ever. She clenched her fists, the leather of her gloves creaking under the tension.
"Why must it be so complicated?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Why must the path to what is right be so fraught with peril and sacrifice?"
"Because it is only in the utmost darkness that one can gauge the brightness of their light." Jyggalag explained plainly. "And, I must admit, Dragonborn, I underestimated the brightness of the flame that burns within your heart. I judged you based upon how you had reacted in the past; I was certain that you entered Coldharbour as that very same Cura Stormcloak. Though it appears to me now that you have changed."
Cura listened to Jyggalag's words intently. She didn't feel different, and yet... she was. She looked down at her hands; real and prosthetic. She examined them plainly. "I... yes. In more than merely physical ways, I suppose I have changed." She turned her gaze back up to Jyggalag. "Now, because I've forged a new path, and now that Carcette missed her moment of death, I want her back. I want her to be Human again."
Jyggalag's gaze turned contemplative, his usually stoic expression softening ever so slightly. "A noble wish, Dragonborn," he murmured, his voice carrying a weight of ancient wisdom. "But the threads of fate are complex, and reversing the course of one's existence is no easy feat. Carcette's life was bound to the mortal coil, and her return to it would require more than mere willpower."
"Yes, it would require the power of a Daedric Prince." Cura locked eyes with him. "Do I have to beg?"
Jyggalag's eyes narrowed slightly, his expression unreadable. "You do not need to beg, Dragonborn," he replied in a low, measured tone. "But you must understand that the power to restore a soul to its former life is not something to be taken lightly. It requires a balance of forces that few can comprehend, and even fewer can wield."
Cura felt a surge of determination. "I understand how incomprehensible power works, Jyggalag. I can create cyclones with my words."
Jyggalag's eyes glinted with a hint of curiosity and respect. "Indeed, you possess formidable abilities, Dragonborn. But the power to restore a soul is not merely a matter of raw force. It is a delicate dance of energies, a symphony of wills that must be orchestrated with precision and care."
Cura's resolve hardened. "Okay. How can you restore the Keeper to her Humanity?"
"She will never be fully human," Jyggalag walked over to Carcette, and looked down upon her. "she will forever bear the traces of my influence. And when she does die, in her new timeline, her soul will come to me naturally."
Cura clenched her fists, frustration bubbling up inside her. "So, we're saying that Carcette will never truly be human again? That she'll be forever bound to your realm?"
Jyggalag's expression remained unchanging, his eyes showing a deep sorrow. "Yes, Dragonborn. Her fate is intertwined with mine, and she has been forever changed by our encounter."
Cura looked somewhat morose upon hearing the news. She turned to look at Carcette, her expression somber.
"She came to me and made this bargain for you." Jyggalag explained. "She gave herself to me, body and soul, to aid you in this quest."
Cura's eyes widened, the realization of Carcette's sacrifice hitting her like a wave. She felt a pang of sorrow and regret, knowing that her mentor had given up so much for her sake. The burden of Carcette's sacrifice weighed heavily on her shoulders, and she couldn't help but wonder if she had done enough to honour her.
Jyggalag's voice broke the silence, his tone gentle yet firm. "I will relinquish control over her, until such a time that she perishes on Nirn."
Cura nodded, her mind racing with thoughts of Carcette's future. She looked down at her mentor, who was standing quietly, her expression a mix of resignation and determination. The two women had been through so much together over the years, and now they were facing another impossible decision.
"Okay." Cura said, her voice steady despite the turmoil within her.
Jyggalag turned to Carcette, "I relieve you of command, my Champion of Order, until such a time that you come to me again." He extended a hand to her, and a white light enveloped her like a coccoon. The crystalline elements of her body began to dissolve, leaving her as she was prior to her transformation into a Knight of Order. She wore the Armour of the Bastion with a long, gray cape, and her eyepatch rested over her left eye.
However, she was still very different than she was as a mortal: her hair was a pale gray colour, and her eye, once a deep, soulful brown, now held a grayish hue, reflecting the power of Jyggalag.
Carcette stood still, her new form radiating an aura of serenity and strength. The armour seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly glow, enhancing her already formidable presence. Her eye, carrying the essence of Jyggalag, reflected a mixture of determination and wisdom, a blend of mortal resolve and Daedric might.
"Thank you," Carcette murmured, her voice steady. She turned to Cura, her gaze unwavering.
"Keeper... how do you feel?" Cura inquired, reaching towards her hesitantly.
"'Carcette,'" her mentor parroted back humorously to her. "It's 'Carcette,' have you forgotten?"
Cura gasped for a second, "Wait... that was a joke. That was a joke, right?"
The former Keeper of the Vigil chuckled in response, "Yes, it was."
Cura rushed forward and wrapped her arms around her mentor, clasping her in a firm embrace. Carcette's presence felt both comforting and formidable, a mix of warmth and strength that had been absent since her transformation. Cura held onto her tightly, as though trying to anchor herself in this unfamiliar reality. Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions - fear, relief, confusion, and determination all battled for dominance.
"You've come back to me," Cura whispered, her voice trembling with raw emotion. "I've missed you so much, Keeper."
"I never left." Carcette responded warmly. Cura's eyes glistened with unshed tears as she held her mentor tightly. The significance of the moment was not lost on her; it was a reunion of sorts, a rekindling of a bond that had been forged through countless trials and tribulations. The cold, harsh landscape of the Coccoon of Order seemed to fade away as the two of them stood there, a cocoon of their own making, where time itself seemed to stand still.
"Cura." Carcette began, "I'm so proud of you; you have grown so much. So much..."
Cura felt a lump form in her throat as Carcette's words resonated with her. The burden of their journey, the losses they had endured, and the trials they had faced all seemed to melt away in that moment.
Cura pulled back slightly, her eyes meeting Carcette's. She knew that she was back, but she still felt jarred by all that had transpired. She examined her closely. The once stern features now carried the weight of time and transformation, yet the spark in her eye remained, a beacon of hope.
"We have come so far, haven't we?" Cura murmured, her voice tinged with both nostalgia and determination.
Carcette nodded, her gaze softening as she looked at her former apprentice. "Cura... you saved my life. You changed my fate. I... I don't even know where to begin..."
Cura's eyes shone with unshed tears as she listened to Carcette's words. The significance of their journey, the trials they had faced, and the sacrifices they had made all seemed to converge in this moment.
"I did what needed to be done," Cura said, her voice steady now.
"From the bottom of my heart, Cura... thank you." Carcette expressed her gratitude with a humble bow. Cura felt a wave of emotion swell within her chest as she watched Carcette's gesture. Despite the years they had spent apart, the bond between them remained unbroken.
"We have many more battles ahead," Cura said, her voice carrying a sense of resolve. "We must remain vigilant and ready for whatever comes our way."
Carcette straightened up, her eyes locking with Cura's in a moment of mutual understanding. The air between them crackled with the weight of their shared experiences, both the triumphs and the tragedies.
"Indeed, we do," Carcette replied, her tone firm yet tinged with a hint of melancholy. "And I believe in you, Cura. You can do it; defeat Molag Bal." Cura stood tall, her resolve unshaken by the heavy responsibility that rested on her shoulders. The journey ahead was fraught with peril, yet she felt a sense of purpose that she had not felt in a long time. The memories of past battles, the victories and the losses, played through her mind like a grand symphony, each note resonating with a new determination.
"Let's gather our strength," Cura said, turning to Jyggalag. "we will open the way to Sacremnor. The Graymarch will be able to invade. You will claim this Realm, and I will slay Molag Bal."
Jyggalag nodded, "Indeed, Dragonborn."
"And, I've thought of a name for the Third path, Jyggalag." Cura said as she stepped to the door.
Jyggalag's eyes narrowed slightly, a surprising flash of curiosity evident in his expression. "A name for the Third path? What is it, Dragonborn?"
Cura paused, her gaze sweeping the room before settling on the Daedric Prince. "I call it the Path of Balance. It is the middle ground, neither of the extremes that we have seen before. It is a path where order and chaos coexist, where the beauty of creation is preserved and the darkness is kept at bay."
Jyggalag's expression softened, a rare sight for one so stoic. "The Path of Balance," he repeated, his voice carrying the weight of contemplation. "It is a worthy concept, Dragonborn. A balance that could bring harmony to Tamriel, a balance that could keep the forces of chaos in check."
Cura nodded, her resolve growing with each passing moment. "Exactly." She walked towards the exit with Carcette, and Jyggalag turned to his book. However, he called to Carcette one last time: "Carcette, your life has been extended. Spend it meaningfully."
Carcette paused at the door and looked upon Jyggalag briefly. She nodded serenely, understanding where she stood with the Daedric Prince. "I will."
Cura and Carcette stepped out of the chamber, the cold air of the Daedric realm biting at their faces. The landscape before them was a desolate expanse of snow and ice, stretching out endlessly into the distance. The sky above was a deep, foreboding grey, with clouds that seemed to swirl and twist in the wind.
Carcette shivered, her breath visible in the frigid air. "This place is colder than I remember. I can see your point about Room Temperature."
Cura smiled slightly, her eyes reflecting a blend of determination and warmth. "Yes, it feels like the Pale in the middle of Evening Star. But we must push on. The Path of Balance isn't just an idea; it's a mission."
Carcette nodded, her expression resolute. "I understand. Lead the way, Dragonborn."