Skyrim: Lore Accurate Necromancer

After spending the last few hours subtly gathering information from Morthal's locals, Erik had pieced together enough of the town's happenings to satisfy his curiosity.

Now, it was time to meet the Jarl. His path led him to the longhouse that loomed at the edge of town, its wooden frame standing out against the bleak, swampy backdrop. Two guards stood at attention by the entrance, their expressions grim, as if echoing the mood of the entire settlement.

As Erik approached, the guard on the right stepped forward, his eyes scanning Erik from head to toe before addressing him. "The Jarl is accepting visitors, but there are a few things you need to be mindful of," the guard said, his tone cautious.

He glanced at Erik's sword, then continued, "You must maintain a respectful distance, make no sudden moves, and keep your hand far from the handle of that sword. Otherwise, you may be detained or… cut down on the spot, depending on the circumstances."

Erik shrugged casually. "I'll keep that in mind."

The guard, satisfied but still wary, nodded and gestured toward the heavy wooden doors. "You may enter."

Erik pushed the doors open and stepped inside, taking a moment to survey the longhouse's interior. It was warmer than he expected—cozier, even, compared to the dreary atmosphere outside.

Yet, despite the crackling hearth and the soft glow of candlelight, there was a lingering feeling of morbidity in the air, something that clung to the very walls of Morthal.

His eyes moved deeper into the room, toward Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone, who sat upon her throne at the far end of the hall. Her figure, draped in heavy furs and adorned with modest yet elegant jewelry, contrasted sharply with the typical image of a noble. She was older, her face lined with both wisdom and something more enigmatic—a distant, almost haunted look in her eyes.

Nearby, leaning against a wall with a resigned sigh, stood her husband, Aslfur. He was tall, with the tired eyes of a man who had heard the same complaints over and over again.

As Erik entered, Aslfur was shaking his head, half-listening to one of the townspeople who stood before the throne, rambling on about the strange happenings in Morthal.

"… desecrating corpses and eating the hearts of children at night! That's what he's doing, I tell you!" the man sputtered, his voice shaking with indignation. "We all know it! Falion's up to something—everyone's afraid to speak out, but I'm not! He goes out there in the dead of night, into the marshes—gods know what for!"

Jarl Idgrod remained silent, her gaze distant, as if she were listening to something far beyond the villager's words. Aslfur, on the other hand, pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling through his nostrils in clear exasperation.

"Enough," Aslfur finally said, his voice tired. "We've heard your concerns. The Jarl will look into it, but there's no need to make wild accusations." He gave a small wave of dismissal, and the man grudgingly shuffled out of the longhouse, muttering curses himself.

Erik stepped forward once the villager was gone, his boots clicking softly against the wooden floor. Aslfur's eyes fell on him, his expression hard to read, while Jarl Idgrod remained motionless, her gaze still somewhere far away.

Erik inclined his head politely. "Jarl Idgrod, I've come to bring an urgent matter to your attention," he said, his voice respectful yet firm.

At his words, Jarl Idgrod's eyes seemed to clear, the distant look in them sharpening as they focused on him. She studied him for a long moment, and Erik could feel her gaze probing him, as if seeing far more than just his appearance.

"I knew you'd come," she finally said, her voice quiet but commanding. "And I also know why you're here..."

Erik felt his second shock of the day. He had expected to approach the conversation cautiously, steering it subtly toward the vampire problem, just as he had been doing with the townsfolk. Instead, it seemed the Jarl had skipped the formalities entirely.

He raised an eyebrow, feigning a relaxed demeanor. "I wasn't aware my reasons for being here were so transparent."

Idgrod smiled, but it wasn't a warm smile—it was bitter, tinged with the weight of something far beyond her years. "In time, everything becomes clear to those with the Sight," she said, her gaze unwavering. "But you... and your motives... are anything but transparent to me."

She paused, her hand gripping the armrest of her throne as if steadying herself against an unseen force. "In my visions, all the Divines revealed was your figure, a burning house, and a looming calamity of blood."

Erik couldn't mask his surprise this time. A burning house? A calamity of blood? He hadn't expected Idgrod's visions to reveal so much. Still, he forced himself to stay calm. "And what, exactly, do the Divines expect you to do about it?" he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity, though he couldn't hide his intrigue.

There had been no mention of the Divines or visions in the original quest he remembered from the game—just an investigation into a burned house that eventually revealed a vampire conspiracy. Then again, the one doing the quest had been the Dragonborn, not him.

Could it be that the Divines had sent these visions to Idgrod because of him? Did they somehow sense his arrival into this world? The thought gnawed at the edges of Erik's mind as he watched Idgrod closely. Her expression remained unreadable, but her words held a weight that was hard to ignore.

"The Divines rarely meddle in the affairs of mortals," she said, her voice soft yet resolute. "Even if they did, trying to decipher their will is beyond my means. All I know is that a calamity is approaching Morthal, and you may be the only one capable of stopping it."

Erik frowned, turning her words over in his mind. Overthinking the matter wouldn't help him now. He had a goal, and this unexpected twist—though unsettling—might actually play in his favor. He smiled, a touch of grim humor in his voice. "Well, you're not wrong."

He uncrossed his arms and leaned slightly toward her. "A coven of vampires has taken root nearby. They're planning to take control of Morthal, using its people as livestock to harvest blood."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Idgrod's husband, Aslfur, and her housecarl, Gorm, paled visibly. Their faces were a mixture of disbelief and alarm, with Gorm's hand reflexively gripping the hilt of his weapon. The air in the longhouse grew tense, thick with the gravity of Erik's revelation.

"You've been too careless," Gorm said, his tone harsh and brimming with irritation. "If vampires are involved, anyone could be an enemy. They could already be inside the walls, for all we know!"

Erik chuckled lightly, though there was no real amusement in it. "I've already considered that. A simple Detect Undead spell would have revealed any hidden threats within this longhouse."

He gestured casually around the room, his eyes sweeping over the few guards and servants standing at their posts. "And from what I see, there's no one but the Jarl's trusted followers here."

Gorm didn't look convinced, his brow furrowed as his gaze shifted between Erik and Idgrod. "That's not enough to—"

Idgrod held up her hand, silencing her housecarl with a single gesture. Her eyes, though weary, had a sharpness to them that Erik hadn't noticed before. She wasn't rattled easily, that much was clear.

"So, you seek my cooperation to rid Morthal of this threat..." Her voice trailed off, and her gaze sharpened as she added, "But to my eyes, you don't appear to be so selfless. Speak, what is your price?"

Erik couldn't help but laugh at her bluntness. "Dealing with those who are wise is indeed refreshing." He gestured westward. "West of Hjaalmarch, there's an abandoned fortress, infested with undead. I want sole ownership of it and the lands surrounding it."

The words had barely left his mouth when Gorm's eyes widened in outrage. His face turned red as he stepped forward, sputtering in disbelief. "What nonsense?! How dare you make such exorbitant—"

Idgrod raised a hand, silencing her housecarl once again. Her gaze never left Erik. "What else?" she asked, her tone measured but unwavering.

Erik couldn't help but feel impressed.

Either her sight allowed her to see deeper into people's intentions, or she was simply an expert in deciphering people's intentions. He didn't dwell on the thought for long. This woman was sharper than most people he and even the old necromancer had to deal with in recent memory.

"I need the position of Thane," he said smoothly, "and a letter of introduction to the Vigilants of Stendarr."

For the first time, a flicker of hesitation crossed Idgrod's face. She leaned back slightly, her fingers tapping slowly on the armrest of her throne. "Why do you need the title of Thane and a letter of introduction to the Vigilants?"

Erik met her gaze evenly. "I'm hunting an ancient vampire," he explained, his voice steady. "One far more dangerous than the entire coven of vampires plotting against Morthal."

He sighed, his expression darkening as if recalling a long and difficult pursuit. "The Vigilants would be vital in dealing with this particular vampire, but as it stands, I'm nothing more than a nameless wanderer to them. The Vigilants tend to take vampires too lightly. They won't see the threat I'm trying to deal with unless I have a position of influence."

Idgrod listened carefully, her brow furrowing in thought. There was a long pause as she considered his words, her fingers still tapping in rhythm on the armrest. Aslfur shifted uncomfortably beside her, his eyes darting between Erik and his wife, but he remained silent. Gorm, however, was less composed, his jaw clenched as he struggled to hold back more protests.

Finally, Idgrod spoke, her voice deliberate. "You ask too much, stranger. Ownership of a fortress, the title of Thane, and my personal recommendation to the Vigilants. All of this in exchange for removing the vampire threat from Morthal?"

Erik nodded. "Yes. But understand, I'm not just offering my aid in stopping this threat to your lands. I intend to destroy the coven and kill their master all on my own without even alarming the townsfolk to their presence... granted you agree to my terms, of course.

Idgrod sat in silence for a few more moments, weighing her options. Her piercing gaze seemed to probe Erik's every word, every gesture. Finally, she leaned forward slightly. "Very well. If you can rid Morthal of the vampires threatening us, you shall have what you ask for. But if you fail, know this—there will be no second chances. I will not let this town be caught in the crossfire of your mission, whatever it might be."

...

Erik's expression twisted in absolute disgust as he swung his blade to the side, flinging mudcrab blood from the steel. His trek through the marshes had been anything but pleasant.

For two hours, the mire seemed to conspire against him, sending wave after wave of mudcrabs, each more mindlessly aggressive than the last, as if their very existence hinged on tearing him apart. But their shells cracked easily under his blade, and now, at last, his true destination lay ahead: the summoning stones.

The site came into view through the thick fog of the marsh—a circular platform made of weathered stone, etched with ancient Nordic runes, surrounded by crumbling pillars. Though it lacked the grim accoutrements of necromantic altars, the summoning stones would do nicely. Their deep connection to the realms of Oblivion would be enough to strengthen the skeleton warrior he had prepared at Snowhawk Fortress, awaiting his call.

As Erik neared the stones, a thick, coppery scent clung to the air—blood. His steps faltered as the stench grew stronger, more oppressive. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the surrounding marshland, his instincts flaring to life. This wasn't the stale stench of long-decayed corpses, nor was it the usual swamp rot. This was fresh. Too fresh.

Erik knelt, running his fingers through the damp, churned-up soil. Dark, wet blood. Multiple people had died here, and recently.

His hand instinctively moved to the hilt of his sword as he stood, scanning the area with renewed wariness. The marshes were always dangerous, but this? Something had gone terribly wrong here.

Moving cautiously, he edged closer to the summoning stones, his senses attuned to every shift in the marsh's eerie silence. The pillars, though in various stages of collapse, stood like silent sentinels, watching over whatever carnage had taken place.

Finally stepping onto the platform, Erik's gaze froze at the sight before him. Strewn across the ancient ritual site were five bodies with signs of burns and frostbites all over them, wearing armored mage robes bearing the insignia of the Vigilants of Stendarr.

Their cold, lifeless hands still clutched maces and great hammers, as if they'd fought to their last breath. Blood soaked the stone floor around them, the air thick with the iron scent of death. But despite the gruesome scene, it wasn't the bodies that drew Erik's attention.

At the center of the platform sat a small creature—a corgi, with sleek black fur and a white underbelly, leisurely gnawing on the severed leg of one of the Vigilants. It seemed entirely out of place, its tail wagging furiously as it chewed, completely unfazed by the carnage around it.

The corgi noticed Erik before he could move, its eyes lighting up with surprising enthusiasm. It immediately abandoned its macabre snack and trotted over to him, barking twice in excitement as it sat at his feet, tail wagging with even more fervor.

Erik instinctively reached for his sword but quickly hesitated, his hand faltering as he sensed no malice from the small creature. Despite the blood on its muzzle and the flesh caught between its teeth, the corgi's wide blue eyes glistened with an innocent charm, almost too endearing for the scene it had been part of.

He knelt down, gripping the corgi by the nape and raising it to his eye level. The creature dangled in his grasp, still wagging its tail excitedly, its tongue hanging out of the side of its mouth.

"What's a good boy like you doing in a swamp like this?" Erik asked, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

The corgi barked again, its tail wagging even faster, as though it understood every word.

Erik chuckled, glancing at the fallen Vigilants, then back at the dog. "You're no ordinary mutt, are you?"

The corgi let out a soft whine this time, its eyes wide and imploring.

Erik sighed, staring into the creature's unnaturally bright blue eyes. Even without the blood, without seeing it in the middle of the marsh, gnawing on someone's severed leg, he would have mistaken this creature for an ordinary animal.

There was a dense aura of magicka radiating from its small body, so strong it made the hairs on his neck prickle. And it wasn't just any magicka—this was Daedric energy, raw and ancient, pulsing from the dog like a beacon. The creature didn't belong to Mundus.

It was clear the corgi was a Daedric entity of some sort, but for the life of him, Erik couldn't figure out what kind.

"You're not going to tell me what you really are, are you?" Erik muttered, lowering the dog to the ground. The corgi barked in response, spinning in a small circle, tail still wagging as if nothing in the world could dampen its mood.

Erik shook his head in disbelief. "Of all the things to find out here…" His voice trailed off as he scanned the bodies of the Vigilants once more. The bloodshed still fresh, the magicka permeating the area, and now this Daedric dog—something shady was at work here.

He couldn't leave the creature behind. Whatever it was, it had been involved in the deaths of these Vigilants, directly or indirectly. And while it wasn't outwardly hostile, Erik knew better than to ignore a Daedric presence, especially one so bizarre.

Erik sighed, shifting his gaze back to the corgi. "Do you want to come with me?"

The corgi, ever enthusiastic, barked excitedly, wagging its tail furiously as if it fully understood his words. Erik could tell by its energetic movements that the little creature wanted to be set down.

"All right," he muttered, placing it gently on the ground.

Without wasting a moment, the corgi bolted back to the center of the ritual site and let out a loud, commanding bark. Erik watched, intrigued. As if responding to the dog's call, a book with a deep purple cover materialized out of thin air, hovering briefly before dropping softly to the ground in front of the corgi.

The corgi glanced at the book, then turned back to Erik, barking once again—this time with more insistence.

Curiosity piqued, Erik walked over and knelt to pick up the tome. He recognized the book's deep purple hue and the intricate symbol on the cover: a conjuration spell tome. But something about this one felt different, ancient. His eyes narrowed as he spotted a single word scrawled across the cover in deep, bloody red ink—Geri.

"Geri," he muttered, looking back at the corgi. He tilted his head slightly and asked, "Is that your name?"

The corgi, now officially Geri, barked once in affirmation, its tail wagging even harder. Erik couldn't help but chuckle. "Well, that saves me the effort of naming you, I guess."

Shaking his head with amusement, Erik's attention returned to the tome. Flipping through the aged pages, his initial curiosity soon shifted into shock. His brow furrowed as he skimmed over the intricate spell formula, which was more advanced than anything he had seen before. The deeper he delved, the more concerned he became, until finally, he glanced at Geri with suspicion and a hint of wariness.

The spell described in the tome was no ordinary conjuration—this was a summoning spell, specifically designed to summon Geri. What made it unusual wasn't just its complexity, but the fact that it wasn't tied to any particular plane of Oblivion, as most Daedric summoning spells were.

Instead, this spell allowed the caster to summon Geri from anywhere, at any time, pulling the creature from wherever it might be directly into the caster's presence.

Erik's fingers tightened around the book as his mind raced. Summoning spells were often intricate, requiring careful manipulation of magicka to bend Mundus's natural laws, allowing daedra or other entities from Oblivion to manifest in the mortal realm.

The more powerful the creature, the more magicka it required to summon and control. These spells were divided into levels—novice, apprentice, adept, expert, and master—each increasing in difficulty and magical demand.

But this spell… it far rivaled even the master level. The staggering amount of magicka required to perform it bordered on the impossible for most conjurers. It wasn't just a simple bending of reality; it demanded an enormous strain on the very fabric of Mundus to make it work.

He glanced down at the corgi, who continued to wag its tail innocently, seemingly oblivious to the weight of what Erik had just uncovered.

"You're not just any Daedric creature, are you?" Erik murmured, his voice low as he studied the dog more carefully now.

...

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