Skyrim: Lore Accurate Necromancer

Auhtor's note: quick confession. I got carried away, and Erik's encounter with the old alchemist, which starts in this chapter, ended up being way longer than it needed to be, taking two whole chapters. Still, I tried my best to keep it interesting so bear with it, and do enjoy the read. 

...

Erik woke with a grimace, blinking against the dim light filtering through the thin curtains. His head pounded slightly as if echoing the remnants of a dream. He rubbed his forehead, letting out a slow breath before glancing down.

Geri was curled up on his chest, snoring softly. The little Corgi's weight, though small, felt oddly comforting, as if his presence had been a protective ward while Erik slept.

"Alright, time to get moving," Erik muttered. He gently picked up Geri and placed him on the ground. Geri stirred but didn't complain, merely stretching his legs and yawning in response.

For the first time in weeks, Erik felt mentally refreshed—his mind clear, the fatigue that had haunted him gone. Yet, in contrast, his body felt heavy, weighed down as if every muscle ached. He knew it wasn't from the strain of his journey, but the effect of the Necromancer Amulet, which slowed his body's natural recovery. A powerful tool, no doubt, but not without its cost.

"Guess there's no escaping that side effect," he muttered, pushing the thought aside. With a snap of his fingers, a potion of stamina materialized in his hand, its liquid swirling a vibrant green.

Erik quickly drank it down, the familiar sensation of energy flooding his limbs. His weariness faded, though he knew it was only temporary. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and, with another flick of his wrist, sent the empty vial back to his storage in Snowhawk Fortress.

He sighed, muttering, "I'll need at least three times as many potions going forward."

His thoughts turned practical as he rose from the bed. He needed to find an alchemy table and stock up on ingredients. The amulet's drain on his stamina would be a long-term inconvenience unless he maintained a steady supply of potions. It was just another complication to add to the growing list of things that required his attention.

"First things first," he said to himself, stretching his arms above his head. "Breakfast."

Hearing the word, Geri let out a sharp, excited bark and wagged his tail. Erik glanced down, amused by the corgi's sudden burst of enthusiasm. "You're always up for food, aren't you?" he smirked, giving Geri a quick pat on the head.

Erik pushed open the door to his room, stepping into the hallway. The innkeeper barely glanced up from her work as he passed, and Erik gave her a brief nod before heading upstairs to the tavern above. The warm scent of freshly baked bread and roasting meat filled the air, reminding him just how long it had been since he'd eaten anything other than rations on the road.

The tavern was lively, though quieter than last night. Only a few patrons remained at this early hour, nursing mugs of ale or chatting in low voices over plates of breakfast. Erik found an empty table in the corner, far from the rest of the crowd. Geri, ever alert, followed closely and curled up at his feet, his eyes darting around the room, curious about the unfamiliar faces.

Erik settled into his chair, leaning back with a sigh. The fatigue might still linger in his bones, but his mind was already planning ahead. Supplies, ingredients, research. There was always something to do, another step forward in his quest to mend his soul.

But first, a meal.

Erik flagged down a passing server, raising a hand casually. "Something hearty, and a strong drink to go with it," he said, his voice low and gruff from the morning's quiet. Glancing down at Geri, who was sitting attentively at his feet, he added, "And something chewy for my little friend here."

The server gave a polite nod. "I'll have your order ready right away, sir."

As the server walked off, Erik leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. With nothing better to occupy his mind, he allowed himself to listen in on a conversation at a nearby table, where two burly Nords were having breakfast. Their voices carried easily across the tavern as they spoke with the casual ease of men who had known each other for years.

"Did you hear about Calixto's place?" one of the Nords said, shaking his head. "Burned down overnight. House of Curiosities, gone, just like that. The man too, they say."

Erik's interest piqued, though he kept his expression neutral. He leaned forward slightly, pretending to stare idly out the window, though his ears were focused entirely on the conversation.

"Aye," the other Nord responded between mouthfuls of bread. "Whole thing's in ashes. Shame, really. I used to like popping in there to see all those weird trinkets he collected. Odd fellow, though. Couldn't say I ever trusted him."

Erik's thoughts drifted to the amulet now hidden beneath his tunic. He knew all too well what had caused the fire.

The first Nord continued, "I heard the court wizard took a look at the ruins. Said there was something unnatural about it. Probably magic involved, but no one's too keen on digging into it. The guards are just calling it an accident, as usual."

"Figures," the second Nord said with a shrug. "Calixto was always messing with strange artifacts. Could be one of them turned on him, you never know with that kind of stuff."

Before Erik could ponder the implications further, the server returned with his meal. A steaming bowl of thick stew was placed in front of him, accompanied by a large piece of soft bread and a bottle of mead. For Geri, the server set down a generous piece of horker meat, to which the Corgi's tail immediately began wagging in approval.

"Enjoy, sir," the server said with a smile.

Erik tossed a few extra coins to the server as a tip, then picked up his spoon, still half-listening to the conversation as he took his first bite. The stew was hearty and warming, the perfect comfort for the chill that always lingered in Windhelm.

The bread was soft, and the mead, strong and sweet, cut through the heaviness of the meal with ease. Geri, meanwhile, happily gnawed at his horker meat, his little paws bracing it against the floor.

The Nords' conversation drifted to other topics, no longer of interest to Erik. As he finished the last of his stew and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, he pushed the empty bowl aside, feeling satisfied and ready to face the day.

He stood up, leaving a few more coins on the table for the meal, then glanced down at Geri, who had just finished his own feast. "Let's go, Geri."

With a bark of agreement, the Corgi trotted after Erik as they left the tavern and stepped out into the bustling streets of Windhelm.

The morning air was crisp, and Erik turned toward the market square, his thoughts already turning to the next task ahead.

...

In the heart of Windhelm's market square, Erik found himself slowing his steps as he took in the lively atmosphere. For all its cold and unwelcoming nature, the city had an undeniable energy, one that pulsed through its ancient stone streets.

Windhelm was the oldest city of Man still standing on Tamriel, its origins tracing back to the Merethic Era, and the weight of its history could be felt in every corner. Despite its reputation for harshness and the often unwelcoming demeanor of its Nord residents, Windhelm was one of the largest cities in Skyrim. Its bustling marketplace reflected that, a melting pot of people from all walks of life.

Stalls lined the square, filled with goods of all kinds. Housewives bargained for fresh vegetables and cuts of meat to prepare for the day's meals, while adventurers haggled over weapons and armor from the blacksmith. The constant hum of voices, the clinking of coin, and the occasional call of a merchant hawking their wares filled the air.

Erik observed it all with a quiet detachment. While the city and its people held little interest for him, the sheer size of the market was impressive, even to a man as seasoned as he was. But he didn't linger long.

Geri trotted faithfully behind him, occasionally sniffing at the passersby, his demonic eyes catching more than a few curious glances. Erik paid no mind to their stares as he made his way toward one of the more notable buildings in the market square: the White Phial.

The alchemist's shop stood in one of the busiest parts of the square, its wooden sign swaying gently in the breeze. Erik pushed the door open, a small bell chiming as he entered.

Inside, the familiar scent of herbs, potions, and alchemical reagents filled the air. Shelves were lined with jars and vials of every shape and size, their contents ranging from dried plants to shimmering liquids.

This was the very place where the Dragonborn, according to the events of the game, would be sent to retrieve the legendary White Phial—a vessel said to restore any liquid placed within it. Erik, however, had no interest in that particular quest.

He already knew where the Phial was hidden, buried deep within a crypt, the resting place of the alchemist who created it. Retrieving it would require a special alchemical mixture to access the tomb's inner sanctum, a challenge Erik was more than equipped to handle.

But the Phial itself was cracked, damaged long ago. To repair it, he would need unmelting snow from the Throat of the World, a rare and elusive item that was currently beyond his reach. For now, he had neither the time nor the inclination to pursue it.

Today, his business at the White Phial was more mundane. He needed ingredients and, more importantly, access to the shop's alchemy table. After all, with the Necromancer's Amulet sapping his body's natural stamina recovery, Erik knew he would need far more potions to keep himself going.

Inside the White Phial, Erik was greeted by the sight of two individuals. One was an elderly Altmer, seated comfortably in a creaking wooden rocking chair, his long, bony fingers delicately turning the pages of a thick tome. His sharp, angular features showed a lifetime of study and mastery of the alchemical arts.

The other was an Imperial man, much younger, sweeping the floor with quick, practiced motions. As Erik approached the counter, the Imperial immediately abandoned his broom, stepping up with a welcoming smile.

"Good day, what can I do for you?" the Imperial asked, his voice eager.

Erik returned the smile, but it was more measured. From the folds of his robes, he produced a neatly folded piece of parchment, presenting it to the man. The Imperial took it, eyes scanning the contents with interest.

"I'll have as much of these ingredients as you can spare," Erik said calmly, his tone professional. "And, if possible, I'd like to rent your alchemy table for a time."

The Imperial glanced back at the list: Netch Jelly, Honeycomb, Purple Mountain Flower—ingredients known for their stamina-restoring properties. A faint look of hesitation crossed his face, but before he could respond, the Altmer's sharp ears seemed to catch the mention of the alchemy table. His eyes flicked up from his book.

"Give me that," the old Altmer said, his voice commanding but calm. The apprentice dutifully handed him the parchment without question.

The Altmer's piercing eyes scanned the list in silence. His brows furrowed slightly before he finally turned his gaze to Erik, giving him a scrutinizing look. "By the looks of this, it seems you intend to brew stamina restoratives."

Erik didn't respond, but his expression made it clear that the assumption was correct.

The Altmer's lips curled slightly in something resembling a smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "We just so happen to have more than a few already brewed," he continued, his voice carrying an air of superiority. "Why don't you save yourself the effort and buy the finished product instead? It'll be better than anything you concoct, anyway."

The dismissiveness in the Altmer's tone was unmistakable. He barely concealed his disdain, as if the very idea of a younger mage crafting anything worthwhile was a waste of time.

Erik's lips curved into a polite smile, though it never quite touched his eyes. "I've no doubt your brews are of superior quality," he began, his tone courteous but laced with something more, "but I'd still prefer to brew my own potions."

The old Altmer alchemist sneered, his upper lip curling in obvious disdain. "Fine, fine," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "If you want to waste your money and ingredients, be my guest."

A flicker of irritation sparked in Erik's chest at the man's condescending tone, but he hid it behind an almost amused expression. His mind raced, contemplating how best to deal with the arrogance of the elderly Altmer. 'This old bastard needs to be put in his place,' he thought to himself.

As the alchemist turned away from him, apparently done with the conversation, Erik spoke again, louder this time. "You don't seem to think highly of my skills as an alchemist," he remarked casually, a deliberate edge to his words, "even though you've never seen my work."

The old man froze, slowly turning to face him with narrowed eyes. Erik caught the look and shook his head with a sigh, muttering just loudly enough, "I guess old age doesn't necessarily beget wisdom."

The remark had the intended effect. The Imperial apprentice's face paled, his eyes widening as if anticipating the explosion to come, while the Altmer's thin face contorted into a mask of pure outrage. His fingers tightened around the edges of the book he held, and his glare could have turned a lesser man to ash on the spot.

"What did you say?" the Altmer hissed, his voice dripping with venom.

Erik's smile widened, now almost predatory, a mischievous glint flickering in his eyes. "You heard me," he replied smoothly. "You dismissed me before even seeing my skill. What kind of alchemist makes such judgments?"

The old alchemist's face darkened further, a vein bulging at his temple. His hands trembled, either from anger or age, perhaps both. "What skill could a greenhorn like you possibly have?" he snapped. "I've been studying this art for centuries, and even I find myself lacking! Yet you, a child in the craft, dare to compare yourself to me?"

Erik's eyes gleamed with a challenge, his smile growing sharper, almost like a wolf circling its prey. "Just because you find yourself lacking doesn't mean I have to be," he retorted. "Who's to say I can't learn in a single day what you haven't in all your centuries?"

The Altmer's pale face flushed with fury. He opened his mouth to hurl more insults, but Erik cut him off before he could even begin.

"How about a bet?" Erik suggested, his voice calm and measured, though the thrill of confrontation was evident in his gaze. "If I can't brew a stamina potion that's at least twice as effective as what you have in stock, I'll pay double for the ingredients. But if I succeed, I get them for free."

For a moment, the old alchemist stood frozen, his expression torn between disbelief and fury. The Imperial apprentice looked back and forth between them, clearly mortified by the turn the conversation had taken. The Altmer's lips twitched, as though he were about to dismiss the idea outright, but something held him back.

Gold was not a concern for him; he had accumulated more wealth than he knew what to do with in his long years of practice. But the idea of putting this insolent young man in his place... That was worth more than coin.

Slowly, a cold, calculating look replaced the fury on his face. "Twice as effective, you say?" he asked, his voice laced with skepticism.

Erik nodded, holding his gaze confidently. "Twice as effective. I'm sure a master like yourself can easily judge the results."

The old alchemist's sneer returned. "You're a fool to make such a wager," he spat. "But I'll gladly take you up on it. Consider this your lesson in humility."

Erik's smile didn't waver. "Oh, I'm counting on it," he said smoothly, his eyes gleaming.

...

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