Skyrim: Lore Accurate Necromancer

Erik studied his reflection in the cracked mirror of the small, dimly lit room in Dragon Bridge's inn, his expression as dark as the shadows under his eyes. He muttered, almost to himself, "I look like I kick puppies for sport."

His pale skin, unnaturally sallow and gray from the botched soul transfer that had scarred his very essence, stood out even more after his transformation into a vampire.

And those eyes—glowing faintly with an eerie blue radiance—looked back at him, as though they belonged to a man no longer entirely tethered to the mortal realm. Every glance in a reflective surface reminded him of what he'd lost and, perhaps, what he wanted to become. It took a regular application of illusion magic just to dull the glow, to keep from drawing every stare in the inn.

Serana leaned against the wall, watching him with a smirk. "It's a wonder the common folk don't stone you on sight," she mocked, picking up Geri, who lay curled by the fire, and lifting the small corgi to eye level. "Then again, I bet it's thanks to Geri here—he's probably the only thing balancing out that unsettling look of yours."

Erik turned to her, half-offended, half-amused, and raised an eyebrow. "Not to brag, but this face of mine is considered quite good-looking these days. Intimidating, sure. But still easy on the eyes." He smoothed back his disheveled hair as if to make his point, the hint of a playful smile tugging at his mouth.

Serana rolled her eyes, setting Geri down. "You're so full of it, Erik…" She trailed off, letting out a sigh as she glanced around the cramped, draughty room. "Honestly, I wish we'd gone to Solitude instead. At least then, we wouldn't be on top of each other in this tiny closet they call a room... and I wouldn't have to listen to you complain about your looks..."

"Absolutely not." Erik's voice held a rare edge of finality. He shook his head, and his gaze hardened as he looked away. "I'll take you anywhere else you want. But not Solitude. Never Solitude."

Serana's brow furrowed. She hadn't heard him use that tone often—especially not with her. "What's wrong with Solitude?" she asked, a mix of curiosity and unease in her voice. "It's not far from here. In fact, it would've been the most sensible place to stay."

He kept his eyes fixed on the wall, hesitating, as though searching for a way to explain without making her suspicious, or worse, curious. Solitude was where Sheogorath, the Daedric Prince of Madness, was known to frequent from time to time, visiting his old pal Pelagius.

If the daedric princes didn't already know of his presence in this world—and Boethiah already revealed that they do—then he might have visited Solitude, but even then, he would have stayed as far away from the Blue Palace as possible. That's how little he wanted to do with the Mad God, or the Dam Dog, as he likes to be called on occasion.

Erik's ego made him confident in bargaining with even the likes of Boethiah, and to sihpon power right from under the nose of Molag Bal, but Sheogorath was someone Erik wouldn't want to cross even if he were ten times more arrogant and confident in his abilites. 

The daedric prince of madness was not only unpredictable, but he was also deceptively cunning, and extremely powerful, traits that made even other Daedric Lords wary of him. 

"It's a long story," he finally replied, his voice firm yet distant. "A story that's best saved for another time." His eyes softened as he glanced back at her. "Just trust me on this."

Serana gave him a scrutinizing look, but something in his eyes told her not to press further. With a slight frown, she nodded, letting the silence settle between them. After a moment, she shrugged. "Fine. But don't think I'm letting you keep all your mysterious secrets forever."

"Wouldn't dream of it." He allowed himself a tired smile, though a glint of worry lingered in his gaze. "Now, let's get some rest. We'll need it before we head out tomorrow."

As the candlelight flickered in their cramped quarters, Erik settled onto the ground while Serana took the bed, his thoughts tangled in the dangers ahead.

...

Erik and Serana navigated down the steep, snow-covered slope, their boots sinking into the powdery drifts that blanketed the rocky path. In the distance, a stone castle jutted out against the pale horizon, perched precariously at the edge of a cliff. The sea glistened under an unusually bright sun, its icy breeze cutting across the land and reaching them even from afar. Serana pulled her hood lower over her face, grimacing as the sunlight hit her skin.

"It's good to breathe the open air after being cooped up in that stone coffin," she muttered, her voice filled with a rare appreciation for the surroundings. Then, adjusting her hood, she added, "But let's hurry—the sun isn't exactly friendly to my skin... You know what I mean."

Erik chuckled, shielding his eyes as he glanced up at the bright sky. Despite the cold, the sunlight felt a bit too intense for his liking. "I know exactly what you mean," he replied, his tone laced with wry amusement. But as he turned his gaze back to the path, his laughter faded. He stopped, his eyes narrowing at the sight of three figures farther down the slope.

Dressed in elaborate, gleaming robes that seemed out of place against the snowy backdrop, the figures led a disheveled man with bound hands, his head bowed and movements sluggish as they marched him up the incline. The robed figures moved with an air of cold authority, their golden faces impassive against the harsh light. Their clothes and posture practically shouted their identity, and Erik's face hardened.

Serana followed his gaze, her expression souring. "Those are elves. And they've got a captive." She shot Erik a skeptical look, folding her arms. "I thought you said the Ayleids were gone. That history had finally buried them."

Erik winced, recognizing her suspicion. "They are gone," he replied, the bitterness in his voice undeniable. "These aren't Ayleids. These are Altmer—Thalmor Justiciars of the Third Aldmeri Dominion." He clenched his jaw, his eyes lingering on the figures with a look of quiet contempt. "And in their own way, they're even worse than the Ayleids ever were."

Serana arched an eyebrow, intrigued by the loathing in his tone. "Oh? How so?"

He shook his head, almost as if the question pained him. "The Ayleids were cruel, tyrannical, and they never bothered hiding it. They ruled with iron fists, their intentions as clear as their ruthlessness."

He gestured at the elves below, his mouth twisting with distaste. "These Thalmor, though, put on airs of civility, as if they're righteous enforcers of law and order. They like to paint themselves as the only hope for the world. But they're no better than anyone else..."

Serana's eyes narrowed as she studied the group ahead. "Hypocrites, then."

"Exactly, and no one likes a hypocrite..." Erik said, his voice low and firm. He glanced back at the path, his expression hardening. "Best to ignore them. Nothing good will come from getting involved with the Thalmor. They'll try to twist anything we do into something against us."

Serana hesitated, her gaze lingering on the captive. "But…they've got someone bound like a prisoner... what's all this about?"

Erik's hand clenched at his side. "Who knows? We're in no position to make an enemy of the Thalmor out here in the open." He started forward again, motioning for her to follow. "Let's just stay on our path. We have bigger things to deal with."

The Thalmor Justiciars, noticing Erik and Serana as they drew closer, began to exchange whispers, their gold-and-black robes rustling as they leaned toward each other. One of them squinted in Erik's direction, his eyes sharp and suspicious.

Sensing the attention, Geri growled low in his throat, his blue eyes locked onto the Altmer, bristling with quiet hostility. Erik glanced down at his companion, his own face revealing nothing, as he slipped a hand into his cloak to pull out Rahgot's mask. The ancient visage covered his features, casting a dark shadow over his face.

Serana's eyes flicked over to him, noticing the mask. "What are you doing now?" she whispered, suspicion tinging her voice.

Erik's reply was calm, almost indifferent. "Hide your face well. We don't know what these Thalmor might do..." He cast a hard look at the figures ahead, each of them bristling with a kind of arrogance only the Thalmor seemed to master. "No point in making ourselves easier to recognize if things go sideways."

Though slightly puzzled, Serana obeyed, pulling her hood down and lowering her gaze to avoid drawing attention to herself. She sensed his tension, but with her centuries of caution as a vampire, she knew when to follow Erik's lead. Meanwhile, Erik's mind turned to their destination, his eyes narrowing as he looked down the slope toward the fortress silhouetted against the blue horizon.

'Northwatch Keep,' he thought grimly. From what he remembered, it was an old fort controlled by the Thalmor, often used as a prison for the unfortunate souls caught in the Dominion's web of "justice."

He returned his gaze to the small group ahead of them. The bound man, stumbling and trailing slightly behind the Justiciars, was clearly no friend of theirs. 'So, they're escorting a prisoner... but where to, and why?' Erik mused, feeling a pang of irritation. 'I hope we didn't just stumble onto one of their miserable plots...'

As they closed the distance, Erik's expression hardened beneath the mask. He and Serana passed by the Thalmor without incident, each party cautiously sizing up the other but holding their distance. Erik almost allowed himself a sigh of relief—almost.

Then, in a voice as cold as the snow-dusted landscape, one of the Justiciars called out, "Hey, you!"

Erik didn't pause or turn. He let his breath out in a measured sigh, his fingers subtly flexing.

Serana stopped, glancing at him expectantly, a silent question in her eyes as if to ask how he intended to handle this. But to her surprise, he didn't answer.

Instead, Erik's body shifted with a fluid swiftness as he drew the Wyrmspire Swordstaff from his back, the weapon's edge glinting in the midday sun.

Erik's ebony greaves dug deep into the snow, his body tense like a drawn bow. Then, with a speed beyond mortal comprehension, he sprang forward, his movements a blur even to Serana.

In a whispered chant, he hissed, "You should have mind your damned business! Hahvok Vahltiid Rah." and his form seemed to shimmer, vanishing from one spot only to reappear an instant later directly behind the first Justiciar. Before anyone could react, the Thalmor's head was sent spinning into the air, the severed neck sending out a crimson spray that stained the white snow beneath.

Not pausing, Erik flowed toward his next target, a sharp-edged shard of ice forming in his hand. With a flick of his wrist, he hurled the projectile, and his target instinctively drew his sword, bracing to deflect the incoming spike.

But just before the blade connected, the ice shattered mid-air, fragmenting into countless tiny, razor-sharp needles. Each shard pierced through the Altmer's exposed flesh, the sudden agony sending him stumbling backward, his face contorted in shock as blood trickled from dozens of fresh wounds.

Erik didn't spare him a glance. He was already on the move, his boots kicking up fresh sprays of snow as he zeroed in on the final Justiciar. This one had watched his companions fall and was far more prepared. He raised his hand, summoning flames that coalesced into a burning sphere. With a wordless snarl, the elf hurled the fireball directly at Erik.

But Erik was ready—a Lesser Ward flickered to life in his free hand, and with a sharp crack, he slapped the fiery projectile aside, its flames dispersing harmlessly into the snowy ground. His ward shattered, but Erik's eyes narrowed with an almost amused glint.

"As expected of an Altmer," he muttered, a slight sneer in his tone. "Competent at magic, if little else."

The Justiciar hissed in fury, his hands weaving more fire and ice, launching spell after spell toward Erik in rapid succession. But Erik sidestepped or parried each attack, pressing forward with an unrelenting ferocity until the elf found himself backing up.

Finally, realizing the hopelessness of his magical barrage, the Justiciar summoned twin Daedric blades, ethereal and violet, crackling with a dark, foreboding energy. His face contorted with disdain as he spat, "Filthy human!"

Erik's only response was a cold, unyielding gaze. Raising his blade, he intoned once more, "Hahvok Vahltiid Rah." The words left his lips like a command of death itself, and Swyrmspire's edge took on a shadowy, ethereal aura, elongating with black energy that crackled and hissed.

As Erik brought the weapon down in a brutal arc, the Thalmor crossed his blades above his head to block. But Wyrmspire's empowered edge cleaved through the conjured swords as if they were nothing more than mist, and the momentum carried forward, slicing through the Justiciar's helm, armor, and body, splitting him cleanly in half.

Both halves fell to the snow with a dull thud, lifeless.

Erik exhaled, flicking his blade to the side to scatter the Thalmor's blood across the snow before sheathing it with a decisive click. The crunch of approaching footsteps caught his attention, and he turned to see Serana making her way over, her brow raised and lips pulled into an amused smirk. Meanwhile, Geri was sniffing the severed head of the first Justiciar with a curious excitement, his icy-blue eyes gleaming.

Serana sighed, shaking her head as she glanced at the blood-strewn slope. "Well, at least you didn't take your time with them." She gave Erik a bemused look. "What happened to 'ignore the Thalmor and avoid getting entangled with them?'"

Erik shrugged, a nonchalant glint in his eyes. "Knowing the Thalmor? 'Entangling' with them was inevitable the moment they called out to us."

"So you say..." she rolled her eyes, "but I have a feeling you wanted to do this the moment you laid eyes on them...."

He chuckled, the sound dry and almost begrudging. "You're not wrong there."

Erik's gaze drifted from her to the prisoner the Thalmor had been leading. Despite his tattered clothes and bound hands, the man stood tall, seemingly unaffected by the biting cold that whipped around them.

Broad-shouldered and muscular, his hair was braided and reached his shoulders, while a striking red tattoo—fierce and tribal—marked the left side of his face. Erik's eyes narrowed slightly, the tattoo sparking a flicker of recognition.

"You're of Akaviri descent," Erik observed, genuine surprise threading his voice.

The prisoner's own surprise mirrored Erik's, and he straightened slightly, wariness shading his eyes. "What of it?"

"Nothing," Erik replied, a faint, intrigued smile forming. "I just didn't expect to find someone like you here. Especially when... well, let's say a certain someone went to great lengths to rid Skyrim of your bloodline long ago."

The prisoner's brow furrowed, as if trying to piece together Erik's cryptic words, but he held his tongue. He didn't press for more, though the curiosity was evident in his gaze.

Erik's mind drifted to the memories he bore of the old necromancer whose essence still lingered within him. The Akaviri invasion had been an unexpected hindrance, arriving at a pivotal moment and disrupting some of Erik's predecessor's carefully laid plans.

The necromancer had lashed out in fury, crippling many of their fleets. His actions were one of the many reasons Skyrim hadn't fallen to Akavir at the time. However, It had been a campaign of personal vengeance—one born of disruption rather than anything else.

Shaking off the old memories. "What's your name?"

The prisoner hesitated but answered with a steady voice, "Kaiden."

Erik's eyes flicked over him with renewed curiosity. "Why were you imprisoned by the Thalmor, then?"

Kaiden exhaled, his shoulders loosening slightly as he replied, "Because of my weapon. I was trained with a katana as my ancestors were, and apparently that's all it takes for the Thalmor to jump to conclusions. They thought I was a Blade. That symbol... it stirs the Thalmor's fury like nothing else."

A moment passed before Erik burst into laughter, the sound echoing across the snow-dusted slope. "So you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time?" he asked, his laughter mingling with the frosty air. "And here I thought my luck was cursed."

Kaiden allowed himself a wry smile. "I'm glad my misfortune amuses you at the very least....."

Erik's laughter faded into a chuckle, and he looked back at Serana. She was watching them both with a faint smile of her own, her arms crossed and amusement bright in her eyes.

"Well," Erik said, turning back to Kaiden, "I believe it's fate we met here, Kaiden... how would you like to shed some Thalmor blood with me?"

...

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