Skyrim: Lore Accurate Necromancer

Auhtor's note: for whatever reason, the last chapter was an unsightly mess if you read it on a browser rather than the app with zero spacing. I've already fixed, so go ahead and give it another look if you couldn't read it proberly.

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Erik shook away the stray thoughts clouding his mind and focused on the task at hand. He cleared his throat, preparing to speak. "I'm—"

Before he could finish his sentence, the man cut him off, his deep voice rumbling through the cold air like a distant thunder. "You are Thane Erik, here on vampire-related business... I overheard the conversation."

Erik blinked, caught off guard by the abruptness, but said nothing.

The Redguard continued, shaking his head as if weary of the entire exchange. "Normally, I'd apologize on behalf of my brothers in the order. But there's no need for that." His lips curled slightly, though it wasn't a smile. "They're as much a part of the Vigilants as you are."

Erik's brow furrowed. "As I am?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at the strange turn of phrase.

Isran tilted his head, the cold blue of his eyes flashing with a hint of dark humor. "You see, this place is where the Vigilants send their exiles. A place to forget about those they deem... inconvenient. Undesirables."

Undesirables? Erik's curiosity piqued. He glanced back down the stairs toward where the two Vigilants had been stationed, their arrogance still fresh in his mind. "And yet you ended up here?" he asked, his voice laced with skepticism.

A low chuckle escaped Isran's throat, a bitter sound that seemed to carry the weight of long years of frustration.

"There are two kinds of people who end up at Stendarr's Beacon," he said, his tone cynical, his hand gesturing lazily as if waving away the absurdity of it all. "Incompetent, arrogant fools like the two down there. And then there's people like me—people who don't get along with others for... various reasons."

Erik studied him carefully, noting the faint edge of contempt in his voice. Isran wasn't just some embittered soldier cast aside—he was someone who had seen the rot within his own ranks. Someone who had clashed with it. Erik had to admit, the man was becoming more interesting by the second.

"But I suppose none of that matters," Isran continued, his dismissive gesture cutting off any further introspection about his past. His sharp eyes locked onto Erik's again. "I am Isran. And if you have business with vampires, you've come to the right place... no the right man..."

Erik met Isran's piercing gaze, his expression hardening as he made his decision. "Then I won't beat around the bush," he began, his voice steady, each word deliberate. "I'm hunting for a vampire clan—not just some feral bloodsuckers skulking in a cave, but a sizable, organized clan. And they're led by an ancient vampire lord, one who was bestowed Sanguinare Vampiris by Molag Bal himself."

For a moment, Isran's eyes widened in surprise, the mention of Molag Bal's direct involvement clearly rattling him. But just as quickly, the seasoned Redguard composed himself, his features hardening as his grip tightened on the warhammer in his hands. "I've heard of such clans," he said, his voice calm but laced with tension. "But unlike the usual rabble of vampires, these... they tend to mind their business, stay out of sight."

He paused, glancing toward the distant horizon as if weighing his next words carefully. "As much as I'd like to shed vampire blood," he added, his voice now quieter, almost begrudging, "there's no need to stir that kind of hornet's nest. The people will suffer if we provoke them without a plan.

Stirring them into action too soon could mean the deaths of thousands."

Erik sighed, his frustration creeping into his voice. He shook his head slowly, knowing that time was no longer on their side. "It's only a matter of time before they emerge from the shadows on their own," Erik warned, his tone growing darker. "And when they do, they'll begin terrorizing the people of Skyrim anyway. I know this for certain."

Isran's frown deepened, suspicion flickering in his eyes. He leaned forward slightly, his posture shifting into one of silent scrutiny. "And how do you know this?" he asked, his voice measured, though there was an unmistakable edge to the question.

Erik hesitated, purposefully letting the silence stretch just long enough to suggest reluctance.

He needed to sell this carefully, make Isran believe that this information was something dangerous, something few should know. After a moment, he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a hushed tone. "Have you ever heard of the Tyranny of the Sun?"

Isran's brow furrowed, confusion crossing his features. He shook his head. "No," he said, clearly intrigued but wary. "What is it?"

"It's an old prophecy," Erik continued, his voice low and almost conspiratorial. "Written on an Elder Scroll, deciphered by a Moth Priest. It foretells of a day when, through a heinous ritual of defilement, vampires can sever Auriel's—or Akatosh's—connection to Mundus."

Isran's frown deepened, his knuckles whitening as his hands tightened around the shaft of his warhammer. Erik's words had struck a nerve. "Sever Akatosh's connection to Mundus?" Isran muttered, almost in disbelief. "What does that mean?"

Erik met Isran's eyes, his expression grim. "It means they can block out the sun. Permanently. The prophecy says that the sun will be blotted out for eternity, leaving Nirn in eternal darkness. Vampires would reign supreme—unchallenged by the light of day."

Isran's face darkened as the full weight of the prophecy sank in. His lips twisted into a grimace, his disdain for vampires palpable. "And the clan you're after... they know of this prophecy?"

Erik nodded. "They do. The only reason they remain in the shadows is because they lack the tools to complete the ritual. But make no mistake—they're searching for them. And if they find what they need, it won't just be Skyrim that suffers. The entire world will fall into darkness."

Isran was silent for a long moment, the only sound being the faint howl of wind as it swept across the mountaintop. When he finally spoke, his voice was filled with cold resolve and a hint of skepticism. "If what you're saying is true... then this is far worse than I thought. There is no time to waste, and yet I can't help but wonder... how did you learn of this prophecy?"

Erik kept his face carefully neutral, even as his mind raced for the right words. He couldn't tell Isran the truth, that he knew about this world because it had been a video game he once played before his consciousness was thrown into this body.

Not only would Isran think him mad, but the revelation could cause untold complications, perhaps even drive Isran to question the very fabric of his reality. Erik needed to be cautious, and above all, convincing.

He let out a quiet sigh, feigning weariness. "I learned about it from the journal of a long-dead vampire hunter," Erik said, keeping his tone matter-of-fact. "The hunter himself heard about the ritual from a vampire thrall he rescued. The Thrall's memory was hazy, but the vampires had been too careless, blabbering in front of him..."

Isran's sharp gaze lingered on Erik, scrutinizing every word, but Erik remained calm. He could sense the older man's curiosity and skepticism mingling behind those intense blue eyes.

"Apparently there was an inner conflict amongst the vampires, and one of them took off with an important item related to the ritual for some reason... " Erik reached into his cloak, producing a weathered, tattered book bound in cracked leather. "Take a look for yourself."

Isran raised an eyebrow as Erik handed him the journal, clearly intrigued but still wary. His large hands gripped the book with surprising care, flipping it open. As Isran began thumbing through the brittle pages, Erik continued.

"It's ancient. Millennia old, from the early First Era. The ink has faded, and a good number of pages were torn out. But what remains is a record of the vampire hunter's various hunts," Erik explained. He fell silent for a moment, letting Isran inspect the journal.

It was indeed the journal of a vampire hunter from long ago—one of the many treasures Erik Deathsong had stumbled upon during his centuries of wandering. The journal was authentic down to its core. Except for the last few pages.

Erik had taken great care when crafting his addition to the journal. He used illusion magic to perfectly mimic the original handwriting, and the parchment he added was artificially aged through magic, completely indistinguishable from the rest.

The lies were woven so seamlessly into the truth that even a vigilant investigator like Isran would find it difficult to uncover the deception.

Isran's expression shifted as he carefully read the passages, his eyes narrowing in concentration. The wind whipped around them on the high tower, but the Redguard remained still, his focus locked on the journal.

"This is… remarkable," Isran muttered as he continued to flip through the pages. He glanced up at Erik, suspicion flickering in his gaze but quickly replaced by a grudging respect. "I've read countless reports on vampires and their clans, but nothing like this. If this is real—"

"It is," Erik interjected with quiet intensity, his gaze locked on the Vigilant. "It's all there in the last pages. The hints are subtle, vague even, but they're unmistakable. Tyranny of the Sun… it's all there, written by a man who saw it firsthand." He gestured toward the journal. "I found it in a ruin, next to his remains—nothing but bones by the time I got there. The poor bastard didn't even have the chance to investigate the thrall's claims properly."

Isran's brow furrowed as he flipped through the final entries, his eyes scanning the faded ink. "Indeed," he muttered. "It's clear he didn't stop writing because he wanted to."

Erik shrugged, a casualness to his tone that masked the gravity of the situation. "With how vague everything was, most would have dismissed it as nonsense. But I've always been a bit too curious for my own good." He chuckled, though the sound lacked real humor. "In the end, it only took me a few years to track down one of the items the vampires need to initiate their ritual. It was locked away in Hjalmarch, tucked away where no one would think to look."

Isran's face darkened as he absorbed Erik's words, the weight of it pressing down on him. "And if it only took you a few years to find this relic, even with the scraps of information in this journal…" His voice dropped, becoming solemn.

Erik smiled faintly, his eyes gleaming with a quiet certainty. "Then it's only a matter of time before the vampires find it too."

That was all Isran needed to hear. His jaw tightened, and without a word, he reached for the warhammer resting against the wall. He lifted the massive weapon with ease, settling it onto his shoulder.

His expression was grim, but resolute. "We can't afford to waste any time," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Where is this relic sealed? We need to get to it before they do."

"Dimhollow Crypt," Erik replied, turning on his heel and heading toward the stairs, gesturing for Isran to follow. "Near Morthal. It's sealed away alongside a daughter of Coldharbour."

Isran's eyes narrowed as he descended the stairs behind Erik, the mention of Molag Bal's spawn sending a ripple of disgust across his features. "A first vampire…" he muttered, almost to himself.

The thought of such an ancient and powerful creature was enough to stir even the most hardened vampire hunters.

"Indeed," Erik confirmed, his tone casual despite the gravity of his words. "The poor girl was probably offered to Molag Bal centuries ago. What happened after that… well, you know as well as I do what kind of 'blessing' she received." He shook his head, a flicker of sympathy crossing his face.

Isran shot him a cold glance. "There's no need to sympathize with those blood-sucking vermin," he said, his voice hard as iron. "The only good vampire is a dead one."

By the time they reached the exit of the watchtower, Erik simply shrugged. "Doesn't really matter right now, does it?" He pushed open the heavy door, letting the crisp night air rush in.

The chill of the Skyrim night washed over them as they stepped outside, the sky dark and foreboding. "Let's head to Riften and grab a carriage. We can talk about everything else on the way."

As Erik and Isran made their way toward the road leading out of the watchtower, the two Vigilants stationed below called out, their voices brimming with self-importance.

"Where do you think you're going, Isran?" one of them sneered. "Leaving your post already?"

Isran didn't even break his stride as he shot back, his voice flat and unimpressed. "If anyone asks, tell them I'm quitting the order."

The Vigilants shared a mocking laugh, the sound grating against the cold wind. "Running away, huh?" one of them jeered. "Seems the great Isran's is off to chasing shadows... and it looks he even found a bosom friend who is just as delusional...."

Erik felt his jaw tighten, a flicker of anger rising inside him. His eyes narrowed, and his steps slowed just enough to signal his agitation. If he didn't need Isran, the two fools would already be little more than charred remains. Their arrogance was nauseating, and their smugness only served to fan the flames of his irritation.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. His hand instinctively went to the inside of his cloak, brushing against the cool surface of a black soul gem nestled within its folds. The temptation tugged at him, dark and irresistible. He could feel the familiar rush of magicka stir within him, and the thought of silencing those buffoons became all the more enticing.

Still, he had a plan to see through. He convinced himself that patience was the key to success and prepared to continue walking, but the two vigilants, unaware of the dark storm brewing in Erik's mind, continued their mockery.

"Be sure to hold each other's hands, eh?... otherwise those vampires will get you!"

They dared to mock him again.

Erik's patience finally snapped as the two vigilants began laughing, their voices echoing all over the peak.

His eyes grew cold, and without a word, his hand slipped beneath his cloak. The black soul gem, its surface covered in intricate Ayleid runes, pulsed faintly as he summoned it into his palm.

Unlike ordinary soul gems, this one held a darker purpose, its ancient symbols humming with malevolent power. Erik could feel the magic coursing through it, a well of energy waiting to be unleashed.

'If you like dealing with Daedra so much…' Erik mused silently, his lips curling into a smirk as he eyed the vigilants ahead. He loosened his fingers, dropping the soul gem onto the snow-covered ground.

With a soft whisper of magicka, the snow seemed to shift and swirl around the gem, as if welcoming it into the earth. The gem vanished, sinking beneath the surface, hidden from sight but not from its purpose.

"Then I'll give you more daedra to fight than you can count..."

He continue his stride smoothly, his expression impassive, his thoughts carefully masked. Neither Isran nor the Vigilants noticed his subtle movements, their attention focused elsewhere. But Erik felt a quiet satisfaction bloom within him.

The gem was set, and soon the Vigilants would get their wish. They wanted to deal with dark forces—well, Erik had given them their chance.

The only one who noticed his actions was Gerri. The little corgi let out an excited bark, tail wagging furiously as he trotted happily by Erik's side. His wide, blue eyes usually sparkled with innocent joy, but in that moment, they gleamed with something else—something darker, more mischievous.

Gerri's bark carried a hint of malevolence, as if the tiny creature was in on the plan, his excitement palpable.

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