Skyrim: Lore Accurate Necromancer

Aela the Huntress moved swiftly through the sulfurous wasteland, her breath steady despite the acrid air. Her quarry—a hulking, three-eyed troll—let out a guttural roar, its breath visible even in the heat of the sulfur pools. She had drawn it from its cave, luring it here to these scorched lands where the heat would sap its strength and fire could aid her.

The troll lunged, massive fists pounding into the cracked earth as it charged. Aela danced to the side, her movements fluid and calculated. She nocked an arrow in one smooth motion, loosing it toward the beast's chest. But the troll, more cunning than expected, twisted its body just enough that the arrow embedded itself in its thick arm instead.

It snarled in frustration, yanking the arrow free. Aela frowned as she saw the wound heal almost instantly. She loosed another arrow, aiming for its heart this time. The troll raised an arm in defense, the arrow piercing deep into its forearm. Blood dripped, but again, the wound closed before it could weaken the beast.

"Damn it," she muttered, circling the troll with careful steps, her bow drawn once more. She needed to hit a vital point—heart, throat, or eye—but the creature was surprisingly adept at shielding itself, keeping its vital areas out of reach as it growled and swiped with terrifying strength.

Aela nocked another arrow, this time aiming for the troll's eye, hoping to blind it. As she pulled the string back, tension coiling in her arms, she heard a voice cut through the heavy air.

"I'll take care of it. Move aside," a calm yet firm voice called out from behind her.

Startled but instinctively alert, Aela didn't immediately comply. She glanced back quickly, catching sight of a young man approaching with a measured stride, a strange small dog following behind him with wide eyes full of curiosity.

His black robes swayed lightly, and an air of control surrounded him, as though he had seen far more than his youthful appearance suggested. His hand rested casually on the hilt of a sword, its dark edge glinting in the dim light of the sulfurous pools.

"Now!" the man repeated, sharper this time, his eyes focused entirely on the troll as if he were in complete command of the situation.

Trusting her instincts, Aela jumped back, rolling to the side just as the troll bellowed and charged toward her. She barely cleared its wild swing, skidding to a stop a few feet away.

The young man, Erik, took her place, stepping into the open ground between her and the enraged troll. Aela, now at a distance, watched warily, bow at the ready, unsure of his intent but intrigued by his calm demeanor in the face of such a brutal foe.

Erik turned his hand with a casual flick, and a bottle filled with purple liquid materialized out of thin air. The troll, roaring in fury as it charged, seemed nothing more than a distant concern to him. Without so much as a flinch, Erik tossed the bottle into the air. As it arced above him, he drew his sword in a single fluid motion, shattering the glass mid-flight.

Aela, crouched at a distance, narrowed her eyes. The shards of glass fell harmlessly to the ground, but the liquid inside didn't follow. Instead, it hung in the air, hovering and shimmering. Before she could fully process what she was seeing, the liquid began to solidify, freezing rapidly until it took the shape of four sharp, glittering ice spikes.

With a mere wave of Erik's hand, the frozen projectiles shot forward like arrows loosed from a bow—no, faster, like bolts from a ballista. They slammed into the troll with incredible force, sinking deep into its flesh. One embedded itself in its shoulder, another in its thigh, and two more punctured its torso. For a moment, the troll staggered, but its natural regeneration kicked in almost immediately, the wounds closing before it had even felt the full impact.

Aela frowned, her eyes darting from the troll to Erik. Whatever magic he wielded, it was potent—but would it be enough to stop a creature like this? Her hand tightened around her bowstring as she prepared to act again. But Erik, still calm, lowered his sword with an almost leisurely flourish, his eyes on the troll as if he already knew the outcome of this battle.

The troll, undeterred, roared again and lunged forward, its massive fists swinging as it closed the distance between them. Aela's instincts screamed at her to fire—to do something—but something about Erik's unflinching posture gave her pause. She held her arrow steady, watching, waiting.

The troll's fist came down, inches from Erik's face, but then—nothing. The beast froze mid-motion, its eyes bulging in confusion and fury. Its body trembled, muscles locked in place. Aela blinked, confused, until she noticed the veins on its face and arms. They bulged grotesquely, pulsating with a sickly purple hue, spreading from where the ice spikes had struck.

Erik, still unhurried, raised his sword, his fingers brushing along its edge. The blade flared to life, engulfed in flame. Without a word, he stepped forward and, with one swift, precise motion, sliced clean through the troll's thick neck.

The head fell with a dull thud, the body collapsing soon after, consumed by the sudden surge of flames erupting from within.

Aela's eyes widened as the beast's massive form crumbled into ash, the fire searing it away until nothing but charred remains were left. But as quickly as the flames had come, they flickered out, leaving only a smoldering corpse.

Erik stood over the remains, his expression calm, almost indifferent. He examined his sword for a moment before shaking his head in mild disappointment. "The metal's no good," he muttered, running his fingers along the cooling blade. "It doesn't hold magicka as well as it should."

Aela rose to her feet, lowering her bow as she approached. "That... was impressive," she admitted, though there was a trace of skepticism in her voice.

Erik glanced at her, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Maybe. But not good enough."

Aela chuckled, her sharp eyes still lingering on him. "It looked good enough for me." She paused, taking the chance to give him an inspecting look.

Her gaze traveled from his armored form to the ebony sword hanging at his side, then up to his face. She tilted her head slightly. "Are you a mage? If you are, you're certainly nothing like the ones I know."

Erik raised an eyebrow, turning fully to face her, intrigued by her observation. The red hair, the ancient Nord armor, the bow slung across her back—it all seemed familiar, but it was the face paint and the piercing, almost glowing grey eyes that finally sealed the connection in his mind. Aela the Huntress, he realized, a prominent member of the Companions.

He crossed his arms, adopting a casual stance. "What makes you say that?"

Aela's eyes flicked to the ebony armor he wore, clearly heavy and restrictive, especially for someone dabbling in magic. "Most mages I know wouldn't be able to buy groceries in armor like that, let alone roam the wilds comfortably."

She smirked, her gaze moving to the sword, now sheathed at his side. "And they most certainly aren't capable of wielding anything sharper than a butter knife without losing a few fingers."

Erik shrugged nonchalantly. "Other mages are limited by their arrogance—and their disregard for anything that isn't arcane." He said it matter-of-factly, but kept the real reason for his reliance on a sword to himself.

There was no need to tell her about his broken soul and how it weakened his magicka pool. It wasn't something he'd discuss with a casual acquaintance, even one as intriguing as Aela the Huntress.

Aela looked like she wanted to respond, but before she could, Geri suddenly lunged toward the troll's charred remains, gnawing at the still-smoking corpse. Her eyes widened in alarm.

"Isn't that poisoned?" she asked, her voice sharp with concern.

Erik frowned slightly, glancing at the wolf before shaking his head. "The mutt's more clever than he looks. He won't eat anything harmful to him."

Aela studied Geri for a moment, impressed by the creature's intelligence, before looking back at Erik. "Interesting companion you've got there."

"Same could be said of you," Erik replied with a faint smirk, his eyes briefly flicking toward her bow and armor, before resting back on her face.

She smiled slightly, but her expression soon turned serious. "So... what brings you out here, mage-who-isn't--quite-a-mage?"

Erik exhaled, glancing past her toward the snow-covered peaks and the direction of Riften. "Just passing through." His gaze then returned to hers, sharp yet guarded. "And you? What's a Companion doing this far south, hunting trolls?"

Aela's lips twitched with a hint of a smile. "A hunt's a hunt, regardless of where it takes me." She leaned on her bow slightly, her posture relaxed but not unalert. "And I don't see too many lone travelers who can handle a troll that easily. What's your story?"

Erik gave a noncommittal shrug. "I could ask you the same thing. But some stories are better left untold." His eyes glinted with a wry amusement, not offering more than that.

Aela chuckled. "Fair enough." She looked at him for another moment, as if weighing whether to press him for more, then let the subject drop. Instead, she glanced over her shoulder toward the path ahead. "I'm headed back to Whiterun soon. You?"

"Riften," Erik replied.

Aela nodded. "Well, safe travels then, mage-who-isn't-quite-a-mage." She gave him a final smile before picking up the troll's head and turning to leave, though her eyes lingered on him for a beat longer, intrigued by the strange man and his even stranger magic.

In the end, she couldn't help but offer. "If you pass by Whiterun, consider visiting Jorrvaskr... we don't normally recruit mages, but your sword arm seems strong enough..."

Erik said nothing as he watched her walk away, then turned back to Geri, who had already consumed an alarmingly large portion of the troll's midsection and was now trotting back toward him, tail wagging. He sighed, running a hand over the corgi's head. "Come on, boy. We've got a long way to go."

With one last glance at the troll's remains, Erik adjusted the Ebony Mail on his shoulders and began walking south, his mind already drifting to what awaited him in Riften.

...

After several days of travel, Erik finally approached the gates of Riften, the worn stone walls of the city looming before him. Geri padded silently behind him, occasionally glancing at the passing trees as if expecting some hidden danger to leap out.

The journey had been mostly uneventful after leaving the sulfurous pools—aside from the occasional mudcrab skittering out to challenge them. Erik dispatched them with little effort, and now, as they neared the gates, he felt the weight of the city pressing on him.

Two guards stood at the gate, their steel armor slightly worn, the crossed blades emblem of Riften gleaming faintly under the dim sunlight. As Erik made his way toward them, one of the guards stepped forward, a practiced scowl on his face.

"Halt. If you want to enter Riften, you'll need to pay the entry toll."

Erik paused, raising an eyebrow. His eyes swept over the guard before resting on the other, who shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. With an amused glint in his eyes, Erik crossed his arms and said, "As expected of Riften... I haven't even stepped into the city and I'm already the victim of a shakedown..."

The two guards paled visibly. The one who had spoken raised a hand nervously, glancing around as if someone might overhear. "Damnit! Keep your voice down, stranger. No need to cause a scene. Just... go inside."

Erik chuckled softly, his expression unreadable as he stepped closer, his ebony armor shifting slightly as he moved. "Now, now. Just because I've pointed out that it's a shakedown doesn't mean I'm unwilling to donate a few coins to the brave men who keep Riften safe." He reached into a pouch, pulling out a small handful of coins, the clinking sound making both guards exchange wary glances.

The second guard, clearly the more cautious of the two, cleared his throat. "What's the catch? What do you want?"

Erik smiled, his tone light but deliberate. "Information. Simple as that."

The guards relaxed slightly, though their eyes remained cautious. "What kind of information?" the first guard asked, lowering his voice.

Erik slipped the coins into the man's waiting hand, his gaze now sharp and focused. "I want to know the lay of the land. What's happening in Riften these days?"

The guard weighed the coins for a moment before pocketing them, nodding to his companion. "Riften's... changed a bit over the years. You'll want to watch your step around the Thieves Guild. They operate out of the Warrens beneath the city. Best stay out of their business unless you've got a death wish."

The second guard chimed in, his voice lowering to a near-whisper. "And don't cross Maven Black-Briar. She runs the city, more or less, and her family's got deep roots in... well, all kinds of dealings. If you value your life, you'll keep your distance."

Erik nodded slowly, absorbing the information. The Thieves Guild... and Maven. Just like I remember. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "What about the docks?"

Both guards hesitated before the first one replied, "Skooma gangs and lizardfolk..." he spat out. "They've been running things down there for a while now. You don't want to get tangled with them either. It's... dangerous at worst, unsavory at best."

Erik chuckled softly, dropping the last few coins into the guard's hand. "Good to know. Keep up the fine work, gentlemen."

The guards exchanged uneasy glances but said nothing more as Erik moved past them, Geri following close at his heels. The gate creaked open, revealing the narrow streets and wooden structures of Riften beyond.

As he stepped into the city, the familiar scent of damp wood and cold air hit him, bringing back memories of long nights spent hoarding treasures in the city's homes and the warm glow of Hearthfire in his own house, Honeyside. He smiled faintly, walking deeper into the city, his mind already calculating his next move.

Erik glanced at the sky, the darkening clouds casting long shadows over Riften. The dim light reflected off the murky waters surrounding the city, and a chill crept into the air as the evening settled in. He hadn't come to Riften just to rest, but whatever business he had would have to wait until tomorrow. For now, he needed a place to gather his thoughts and prepare for what was to come.

His eyes landed on a small wooden bridge in the distance, connecting the walkways to Riften's central area, its commercial district, with lanterns flickering in the encroaching dusk. 'That should be the way to The Bee and the Barb,' he mused, recalling the inn's location. Nodding to himself, he began making his way toward it, Geri silently trailing behind him.

He had barely made it halfway across the bridge when a voice cut through the stillness of the evening. "I don't know you. You in Riften lookin' for trouble?"

Erik winced internally at the all-too-familiar greeting. Turning slowly, he saw a man leaning against the wooden pillar of a nearby house, arms crossed over his chest.

The man's posture was lazy, but his eyes were sharp, assessing. 'Maul,' Erik mused to himself, recognizing the man instantly.

In the game, Maul had been little more than a mouthpiece for the Black-Briars, a thug meant to show that Riften's underworld was firmly under their control. He was simply a storytelling tool, insignificant then, and even more so now.

Erik dismissed him with a glance, deciding that indulging the grunt's ego would be a waste of his time. He turned and continued walking without a word, his boots echoing dully against the wooden planks of the bridge.

Maul, however, was clearly unused to being ignored. There was a brief moment of stunned silence before Erik heard the sound of hurried footsteps behind him. "Hey!" Maul barked, his voice thick with anger as he moved to grab Erik's shoulder.

Erik's hand instinctively tightened around the hilt of his sword, prepared to bash the thug's skull in if need be, but before the situation could escalate, a figure from further along the bridge intervened. Cloaked and silent, the figure raised a hand, a simple gesture, but one that spoke volumes.

Maul froze in his tracks. His expression shifted from fury to immediate compliance. Without another word, he backed away, his gaze briefly flickering to the cloaked figure before settling on the ground as he stepped back.

Erik raised an eyebrow but didn't slow his pace.

Whoever the cloaked figure was, they had clearly earned Maul's respect—or fear. But it didn't matter. He had no interest in involving himself with the likes of Maul or whoever controlled him. He pressed forward, his gaze fixed on The Bee and the Barb ahead.

The sound of Maul's retreating footsteps faded, but Erik could sense the cloaked figure following him, their presence a silent shadow trailing behind. Even as Erik stepped past them, the figure didn't speak or make any further gestures, merely keeping pace from a safe distance.

Erik, uninterested in their motives for now, continued his steady march toward the inn, ready to call it a night. Whatever Riften had in store for him, it could wait until morning.

The door to The Bee and the Barb creaked open, and Erik stepped inside, leaving the city streets and its shadows behind—for now.

...

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