Skyrim: Lore Accurate Necromancer

Inside Falion's dimly lit house, Erik admired his handiwork on Wyrmspire. The blade, now fully enchanted, hummed with an almost palpable energy as he held it up to the flickering candlelight. Along its length, the runic inscription (ᚺᚨᚺᚹᛟᚲ ᚹᚨᚺᛚᛏᛁᛁᛞ ᚱᚨᚺ) glowed a fiery orange, as though dragon fire itself had been captured within the ancient symbols.

They represented an invocation in the dragon language, one that resonated the most with Erik and represented his comprehension after his battle with Rahgot. He grinned, a surge of satisfaction bubbling up within him. The weapon was now as formidable as the mission he was about to undertake.

He slid the blade back into its sheath with a swift motion, and it shifted effortlessly back into its staff form, Wyrmspire once again appearing as a dragon priest staff with hints of its hidden strength. Erik downed a few potions, feeling the rejuvenating effects flow through him as his magicka and stamina returned, banishing the weariness that had settled in after hours of intense enchantment work.

With Geri trotting at his heels, Erik stepped out of the house and spotted Falion and Isran conversing quietly. The two men seemed almost comfortable with each other now, which Erik found mildly amusing.

"I see you two are getting along rather well," he said with a smile, nodding toward Isran.

Isran gave a slight shrug, a hint of warmth cracking his usual stern demeanor. "Turns not every mage is a catastrophe waiting to happen..." he replied, his eyes narrowing at Erik.

"You'll have plenty of time to keep chatting once we've finished our business in Dimhollow Crypt," Erik said, rolling his eyes and gesturing toward the road. "Let's go, Isran."

Isran gave Falion a respectful nod, clearly preparing to leave, but they both paused as Falion called out.

"Wait," Falion said, stepping forward. "I'll come along. The sooner you take the Daughter of Coldharbour out of Hjaalmarch, the sooner I can sleep easy."

Erik and Isran exchanged looks. Erik arched an eyebrow, sizing Falion up with a mixture of curiosity and approval. Finally, he gave a nod. "Suit yourself. But remember, you'll need to turn back halfway for the plan to work."

Falion returned the nod, his face resolute. "I can live with that. I've no intention of seeing what waits at the end of Dimhollow Crypt anyway."

With a final look between them, the three men set off toward the marshes, where the night was thick with mist.

...

The trio stood silently before the entrance of Dimhollow Crypt, gazing at the narrow, almost imperceptible gap in the cliff face. The dim torch flickered below, casting faint shadows across the jagged rocks that shielded the stairway from casual view. Erik took a moment to admire the crypt's hidden nature; it was as though the rock itself conspired to keep the entrance concealed.

He knew that finding it had been no small feat, even with their knowledge of its location. This was a place sealed from the world, meant to hide secrets and horrors alike.

Isran's gaze was fixed on the faint outline of a solitary cottage far in the distance, its shape barely discernible through the mist. His expression turned hard, almost haunted, as he muttered, "To think… an Elder Scroll and a Daughter of Coldharbour were sealed this close to the Hall of the Vigilant. Right under our noses." He shook his head, the weight of the realization settling heavily on him.

Erik shrugged, breaking the silence. "Whoever sealed Serana here clearly didn't want the Volkihars finding her. Hiding her near the Vigilants of Stendarr made sense." He paused, letting his gaze sweep the shadowed cliff face before adding thoughtfully, "Then again, maybe one of your predecessors learned about her and decided to erect the Hall nearby—to keep an eye on the crypt, make sure nothing got in or out."

Isran grunted, his expression darkening further. "Stop referring to it by name. It is a vampire—a cursed daughter of Coldharbour, nothing more."

Erik raised an eyebrow but kept his thoughts to himself, noticing the subtle tension that rippled through Isran's stance. They'd discussed this enough for him to understand that Isran wasn't pleased about taking Serana—or the Elder Scroll—back to Castle Volkihar.

Yet here they were, about to cross the threshold into a place few dared to tread. Erik had done his part to convince Isran this was their best option, and he saw no need to reopen that discussion now.

Sensing the charged silence, Falion cleared his throat. "We can worry about the right way to address… it—or her—later. For now, we have more urgent matters to deal with." He gestured to the entrance with a steady hand, encouraging them forward.

Isran sighed, glancing at Falion and Erik before finally taking the lead. "Fine," he muttered, stepping past the threshold and disappearing into the crypt's darkened maw.

Erik chuckled under his breath, scooping Geri up into his arms. The little corgi wagged his tail, as though sensing his master's resolve. "Ready, boy?" Erik murmured with a grin, patting the dog's head before following Isran into the shadows.

Falion hesitated a beat longer, rubbing his temple in exasperation at the brewing tension. "Magnus guide us..." he muttered to himself before stepping in behind them, careful to stay alert as he entered the crypt.

Dimhollow Crypt began as a narrow, dark tunnel that wound into the mountain like the maw of some ancient beast. The faint echo of dripping water grew louder with each step, mingling with their cautious footfalls until they reached a medium-sized cavern. Here, an underground river carved its way through the stone, cascading in thin waterfalls that shimmered in the dim light.

The air was thick with the smell of damp earth and something feral—a musky, animal scent that put Geri's hackles on edge. Sure enough, the trio soon found themselves surrounded by wolves, their yellow eyes gleaming in the shadows.

Falion barely hesitated, his hand already lifting to summon his flame atronachs. The fiery spirits erupted into existence, illuminating the cavern with their blazing forms. With swift and brutal efficiency, they set upon the wolves, flames licking and consuming their coats until, with a final yelp, silence fell once more.

Once the last wolf lay still, Erik surveyed the cavern. To the northeast, a heavy iron gate blocked their path forward. To the southwest stood a small, crumbling tower.

Falion glanced around with a frown. "Seems like a dead end," he murmured, sounding somewhat disappointed.

"Not quite," Erik replied, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Without further explanation, he moved toward the small tower, leaving Isran and Falion to exchange puzzled glances. Moments later, they heard the distinctive clank of a lever being pulled, and the gate creaked open, its ancient hinges groaning under the strain.

Falion's frown deepened as he watched Erik emerge from the tower, clearly impressed—and perhaps a little unsettled. "I sometimes find myself alarmed by the extent of his knowledge... it seems to cover the most obscure of places and things."

Isran's eyes narrowed, and he spoke in a low tone. "He is knowledgeable, yes… almost to the point of suspicion."

Falion arched a brow, giving Isran a wry look. "We all have our purposes, our reasons for being here—you included." He paused, then added with a knowing smile, "I doubt you're here out of selflessness alone. That hatred you carry for vampires… it feels unnaturally deep."

Isran's jaw tightened, and a flicker of something dark crossed his face. "Perhaps you're right," he muttered, unwilling to discuss it further.

Before the conversation could grow tenser, Erik appeared again, gesturing toward the now-opened gate. "Let's keep moving," he said, cutting through the thick silence that had fallen between the two.

The gate led them into a winding, natural corridor, dimly lit by torches mounted along the walls. A lone sarcophagus lay to the left, its lid slightly ajar and revealing the skeletal remains within, long dead and undisturbed—until now. They pressed onward, up a flight of stone steps, and found themselves in what seemed to be an ancient, dark graveyard.

As they moved through the eerie expanse, guided by Erik's Magelight spell, skeletal figures began to stir, bones rattling as they rose from the ground. With a quick swing of his hammer, Isran crushed the first skeleton, sending shards of bone scattering across the floor.

Erik kept close, his fingers weaving the intricate signs of a Fireball spell, but he waited, watching Isran and Falion handle the initial wave with a flicker of amusement.

More skeletons, armed with ancient weapons, emerged from nearby alcoves and the ledges above, their brittle fingers clutching bows and firing down at the trio.

Their bones were scattered by the second Fireball.

Isran frowned, muttering under his breath, "Honestly, I expected this to be more difficult," before releasing a powerful fireball that tore through the ledge, reducing the archers to smoldering heaps.

Falion smirked, catching his breath after a particularly close encounter with a skeleton that had managed to sneak up behind him. "Well, if you're not impressed yet, I think we may find a few more surprises the deeper we go."

Erik chuckled as he patted Geri, who was trying to keep up while trotting valiantly beside them. "Let's not keep them waiting. Shall we?" With that, he led them onward, deeper into the heart of Dimhollow Crypt, where the true dangers lay waiting in the shadows.

...

Hours later, Isran and Falion found themselves in yet another cavernous chamber, its damp stone walls lit only by the flickering light of their torches. The way forward was blocked by a rusted iron gate, its bars covered in faint etchings worn down by time. Erik had already slipped off into one of the shadowed corridors with Geri trotting dutifully at his side, casually announcing he'd "find the mechanism" to open the gate. Now, only the sounds of his faint footsteps echoed in the stillness, leaving Isran and Falion waiting in the eerie quiet.

Falion chuckled, crossing his arms. "There he goes again," he muttered with a touch of admiration. "I swear he knows every inch of this place. Almost as if he's been here before."

Isran shook his head with a wry smile, having grown used to Erik's uncanny familiarity with the crypt. "Well, at least he's thorough. Gets the job done," he replied, though his voice carried a hint of skepticism.

He couldn't deny Erik's effectiveness, nor his peculiar knowledge, but he was beginning to wonder just how deeply Erik's insights ran.

Their journey through Dimhollow Crypt had been surprisingly smooth, though not without its fair share of grim encounters. The crypt was an unsettling mix of ancient Nordic burial architecture and naturally formed caverns, with chambers that varied from organized, solemn tombs to vast, rough-walled caves.

They'd cleared multiple rooms and winding corridors, dispatching waves of the undead—first skeletons, then frostbite spiders in every imaginable size, and finally, the draugr, slumbering within their stone sarcophagi until disturbed.

The draugr had proven the most challenging, though still manageable thanks to Erik's foresight. Every time they entered a new burial chamber, Erik would pause, eyes narrowed as he raised a hand and cast a Detect Undead spell. The dimly glowing outlines of hidden draugr flickered into view, marking those corpses lying in wait.

Once he mapped out the threats, he'd begin setting runes near the sarcophagi. Erik's rune of choice—Fire Runes—would lie dormant until triggered, their magic simmering just beneath the stone, a silent promise of destruction.

Following the plan to the letter, Falion would summon a pair of flame atronachs, who would waste no time launching streams of fire toward the sarcophagi. The moment the flames touched the resting draugr, they'd stir, stepping directly into the rune-traps Erik had prepared. Explosions filled the room, flame licking over the stone as several draugr were reduced to smoldering remains.

Those that stubbornly survived the ambush found themselves face-to-face with Isran, who dispatched them with brutal efficiency. With a single swing of his war hammer, he'd crush their skulls or sever their limbs, each blow accompanied by the crack and shatter of brittle bone.

One of the draugr, tougher than the rest, had managed to stumble forward, its ancient armor glowing faintly with enchantments. It let out a guttural roar, swinging a rusted greatsword in an arc toward Falion, but before it could land a hit, Erik stepped forward, casting an ice spike that pierced its chest.

The draugr staggered, and Isran finished it off with a powerful swing of his hammer, shattering its skull with a resounding crack. As the last of their foes crumbled to the ground, Isran let out a huff of satisfaction, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow.

Now, with the gate still closed and Erik yet to return, Falion broke the silence once more, glancing around the dark stone chamber. "You know, it's strange—this crypt feels alive in its own way. Almost as if these walls have memories, old and bitter."

Isran grunted, his gaze steady on the path Erik had taken. "Old and cursed, more like. There's a reason the Vigilants of Stendarr were so thorough in trying to purge places like this. Nothing good ever rises from the dead."

Falion arched a brow, an amused smirk on his face. "Oh, is that what you're doing here—purging evil out of the kindness of your heart?" he said, his tone light despite the tension in the air.

Isran's face darkened, though a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Maybe not kindness," he muttered. "Let's just say… I'm not fond of vampires..." His tone left no room for further probing, and Falion wisely let the matter drop.

Moments later, the sound of grinding metal echoed through the chamber as the iron gate slowly lifted, its ancient chains rattling. Erik appeared from the shadows with Geri perched in his arms, the corgi looking surprisingly calm for a dog that had just navigated a crypt full of undead.

"Gate's open," Erik announced with a grin, his face illuminated by the glow of the torches. "Ready to press on?"

"Let's get on with it," Isran replied, his eyes flashing with determination as he stepped forward, gripping his hammer tightly. Falion rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress a smile as he followed, his atronachs trailing behind.

...

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