Skyrim: Lore Accurate Necromancer

Finally realizing he couldn't figure out what Geri was—or what it was doing here—Erik decided to let the matter go, at least for now. After a few more half-hearted probes, it became clear the corgi wasn't going to reveal anything beyond its cheerful demeanor.

While it was undeniably a Daedric creature, its power didn't match the spell used to summon it, not at the moment anyway. The magicka it radiated was significant but nowhere near the overwhelming strength the tome suggested.

'Maybe it had such power before but lost it due to an incident,' Erik mused as he watched Geri sniff around the summoning stones. 'Or maybe it will grow into that strength in the future.'

These speculations, however, would have to wait. For now, Erik had a more pressing goal. Glancing at the fallen Vigilants of Stendarr strewn across the ritual site, he muttered, "Can't let such good material go to waste."

He knelt beside the first body, examining the bones. The Vigilants had been powerful mages, experts in restoration and, to a lesser extent, conjuration—though their focus in the latter was on banishment, sending Daedra back to Oblivion rather than summoning them.

Erik's expertise, however, lay in raising the dead, and the bones of these Vigilants, steeped in magicka, were rich resources for his necromantic craft.

With precision and efficiency, Erik began extracting bones from each of the corpses, careful not to damage them. Magic practitioners tended to have bones more attuned to magicka than ordinary people, making them ideal for necromantic reanimation.

Once he had gathered enough, he stood and surveyed the pile of harvested bones, feeling the subtle hum of dormant magicka within them.

Nearby, Geri lay on the ground, watching the entire process with interest, its blue eyes following every move Erik made. Erik glanced at the corgi and chuckled to himself. "Enjoying the show, are we?"

Geri let out a soft bark, tail wagging slightly.

"Well, let's make this quick," Erik muttered, his hands already weaving intricate patterns in the air. His magicka flowed effortlessly, seeping into the bones as he began the reanimation ritual.

Each bone clicked and snapped into place, drawn together by the invisible threads of necromantic energy. Slowly, a new skeleton soldier took shape, bleach-boned and looming, its hollow eye sockets glowing with faint magical light.

Erik stepped back, admiring his handiwork as the skeleton soldier stood before him, silent but alert. "Not bad," he said, wiping his hands on his cloak.

He then snapped his fingers, summoning the other skeleton he had raised earlier from the remains of the bandits near Snowhawk Fortress. With a whirl of magicka, the second skeleton materialized in a flash of purple light, appearing next to its newly created comrade.

This one, however, was far more imposing—now fully armored in steel plate, a two-handed sword gripped in one hand, and a large shield in the other. The moment it appeared, it glanced at the fresh skeleton beside it, an almost imperceptible air of superiority in its stance.

Erik couldn't help but laugh. "Stop bragging and get to work."

The armored skeleton turned its attention to Erik, its hollow eyes glowing faintly, then shifted to the task at hand without further hesitation. Alongside its newly created kin, the two undead soldiers began moving the bodies of the fallen Vigilants, clearing them from the center of the ritual site as ordered.

As they worked, Erik crossed his arms, observing them. Once the corpses were piled to the side, he motioned toward the summoning circle. "Both of you, stand in the center."

The skeletons complied, stepping into the stone circle, their presence lending an eerie aura to the already ominous site.

The ancient Nordic symbols etched into the stones seemed to pulse with faint, residual magicka, remnants of countless rituals performed here over the centuries. Erik could feel the power within the summoning stones stirring, resonating with his own magicka as he prepared to perform a spell few living mages even knew existed.

His hands moved in precise, fluid gestures as he focused on the ancient knowledge passed down to him from Erik Deathsong's memories. The old necromancer's expertise in manipulating magicka and Oblivion energies had been vast, and now Erik was tapping into that well of knowledge.

Standing at the center of the ritual site, the two skeletons awaited his command. They were strong, but he needed them stronger. Dealing with a coven of blood suckers led by a master vampire required more than mere reanimated bones. He needed warriors imbued with the power of Oblivion itself.

Erik raised his hand, his fingers weaving through the air as he channeled his magicka into the summoning stones. Their ancient carvings glowed brighter, responding to his call. The energy they held was tied to realms beyond Mundus, realms of Oblivion that had long used such sites as doorways. He spoke the incantation in a low, deliberate voice, the words vibrating with an otherworldly resonance.

Slowly, the air above the platform began to shimmer and warp. Tiny rifts, no larger than a coin, flickered into existence, each one connected to a different plane of Oblivion. They hovered in the air like fragile mirrors, reflecting dark and distorted glimpses of their realms. From each rift, thin tendrils of energy leaked through, spilling into the cold marshland air and weaving themselves around Erik's skeletons.

Though small enough to prevent anything from crossing over, these rifts allowed the ambient power of Oblivion to seep into Mundus, creating a web of chaotic energy that pulsed through the air. Erik's lips curved into a grim smile. Normally, the mere to attempt to open even one of these portals would have drained all of his magicka, but the summoning stones were amplifying his power, acting as a conduit to Oblivion.

This site had been built for this very purpose—to allow daedra passage into Mundus. It made what Erik was about to do possible, though only for someone with the control and knowledge he possessed.

His voice rose in intensity, the incantation shifting as he reached the critical point of the spell. The rifts pulsed with energy, and Erik could feel the different powers leaking from each plane—Molag Bal's oppressive darkness, Mehrunes Dagon's searing rage, and even the subtle, insidious magicka of Vaermina's dream-twisting realm.

"Bind them," Erik commanded, his eyes locked on the skeletons standing within the circle. His hands moved in deliberate arcs, guiding the raw energy from the rifts and directing it into the bones of his undead soldiers. The transformation began immediately.

The first skeleton, the one clad in steel armor and bearing a sword, was enveloped in the dark blue energy of Molag Bal's plane. The armor groaned as it warped, the steel darkening into an almost black hue, jagged spikes forming along its edges.

The skeleton's bones glowed faintly with an eerie blue light, the power of undeath pulsing through its marrow. The two-handed sword in its hand elongated, its blade turning black and serrated, imbued with the power to drain the life force of those it struck.

The second skeleton, made from the Vigilants' bones, was engulfed in a red flame from Mehrunes Dagon's realm. Its bones twisted and thickened, growing larger and more robust. Red veins of molten energy pulsed along the skeletal structure, each one crackling with destructive force.

The skeleton's hands morphed, its fingers sharpening into claws that burned with the heat of Dagon's fury. The very air around it shimmered with heat distortion, as if it were standing on the edge of a volcanic rift.

Erik's spell continued to weave the energies from Oblivion into the skeletons, the rifts feeding their power directly into the bones and armor. The skeletal soldiers shifted, groaning as they adjusted to their new forms, the magicka that held them together growing stronger and more intricate with each passing moment. They weren't just animated bones anymore; they were avatars of Oblivion's might, bound to Erik's will.

As the final tendrils of energy fused with the skeletons, the rifts began to close, sealing off with a faint pop, their brief connection to the realms of Oblivion severed. The marshland fell silent once more, save for the faint crackle of energy still radiating from Erik's newly transformed soldiers.

Erik stepped back, surveying his handiwork. The first skeleton, now a dark knight of death, loomed ominously, its black armor gleaming faintly in the dim light. Its sword hummed with the energy to sap the vitality of its foes, a weapon of pure malice. The second, wreathed in flames, looked like a creature born from a volcano's heart, its burning claws and molten veins pulsing with destructive power.

Geri, who had been watching the entire process from a safe distance, barked once in approval, wagging its tail.

Erik smirked. "Excellent," he muttered to himself, feeling the surge of power that now radiated from his undead soldiers.

The power radiating from the two skeletons was now unmistakable. "You're not mere undead anymore," he proclaimed, pacing in front of them. "You've absorbed the energies of Oblivion. You can be considered Daedra to an extent—maybe even fragments of the realms that shaped you."

The two skeletons stood silently, their eyes glowing faintly with the energies coursing through their bones. Erik wasn't bothered by their lack of response. "Nothing to say? No matter," he said with a smirk, crossing his arms. "Who knows? You might even gain intelligence one day. And it's only fitting to give you names before that happens."

Erik turned to the skeleton imbued with the molten energy of Mehrunes Dagon. Its bones glowed like hot coals, radiating heat and destructive potential. "I'll call you Surtr," Erik declared, recalling the mighty fire giant from ancient Nordic myth.

Next, Erik shifted his gaze to the skeleton imbued with Molag Bal's dark power. Its blackened armor bristled with spikes, and its sword, a manifestation of death itself, hummed ominously. "And you," Erik said, narrowing his eyes, "I'll name you... Helrath."

The moment the names left Erik's lips, both skeletons dropped to one knee. Erik blinked, genuinely surprised. The motion was fluid and deliberate, as if they had a sudden awareness of the gravity of the moment. They bowed their heads, a gesture of respect, or perhaps even loyalty.

Erik chuckled, though his amusement was tinged with intrigue. "Huh. Maybe the day you gain intelligence isn't so far off after all," he muttered under his breath. He felt a flicker of pride in the creatures he had shaped, satisfied with the results.

Stepping toward Surtr, Erik drew a small blade and cut a shallow line across his palm, letting the blood drip onto his fingertips. He began inscribing the summoning symbols directly into the skeleton's bones, the blood acting as a conduit for the spell.

Each symbol burned itself into Surtr's form, binding him even more tightly to Erik's will. The process was delicate but quick, the deep-red runes glowing faintly as they sank into the bone.

"Done," Erik muttered, wiping his hand clean. With a snap of his fingers, the two skeletons—Surtr and Helrath—vanished in a swirl of purple magicka, sent back to Snowhawk Fortress to await his call.

Watching them disappear, Erik felt a sense of satisfaction, the ritual site now empty save for himself and his new companion. Geri, the little black-and-white corgi, trotted over, his tail wagging furiously. He let out a happy bark, hopping around Erik's feet.

"Already bored of the swamps, are we?" Erik said with a grin, looking down at the daedric dog.

Geri barked again, clearly affirming the sentiment. Erik chuckled, scratching the back of his head. "Yeah, it's about time we get moving anyway. But first…"

His words trailed off as he shifted his gaze toward a large tree near the edge of the ritual site. Its gnarled roots twisted into the ground, the branches heavy with old, moss-covered bark. Erik's smirk returned, though his eyes were sharp now.

"The fellow hiding over there…" he called out, his voice calm but commanding. "Isn't it about time you showed yourself? You've been watching for a while now. I'd be disappointed if you didn't say a few words at least."

At Erik's words, a figure emerged from behind the gnarled tree. The man was tall and slender, his features distinctly Redguard beneath the hooded grey mage robes he wore.

The moment Erik saw him, he recognized the man—Fallion, the former conjuration instructor at the College of Winterhold, now the reclusive mage of Morthal. He was also the unofficial court wizard for Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone.

Fallion's eyes flicked nervously between Erik and the remnants of the ritual. His posture was tense, as if ready to bolt at any moment. "You've exhausted the summoning stones..." Fallion's voice trembled slightly, betraying his unease. "Do you even know what you've done?"

Erik shifted his gaze from the stones, now drained of their magicka, to Fallion. He shrugged nonchalantly. "It's a shame. I would've liked to create a few more mutant skeletons. But I suppose we all have to make sacrifices."

Fallion's face twisted in frustration as he began pacing, his hands gesturing wildly as if to dispel the anxiety gnawing at him. "The summoning stones themselves don't matter," he spat, "but the purpose they served does! The blood resonance from the Daughter of Coldharbour cannot be hidden any longer. The Volkihars will be upon us soon."

Erik's brow furrowed at those words. "You know about the Daughter of Coldharbour?" he asked, his tone sharpening with interest.

Fallion's frustration only deepened at Erik's question. His pacing became more erratic, his hands now shaking. "I've heard from the Jarl that you're after an ancient vampire, but to think you're chasing Harkon's spawn... Do you have any idea what that means? Harkon isn't just any vampire, he's one of the most powerful vampires to ever walk Tamriel... And his daughter... Serana..."

He shook his head, as if the weight of the situation was overwhelming him. "You've stirred a hornet's nest, and the Volkihars won't let this pass. They'll come, and Morthal will burn."

Erik remained unflinching, though his mind raced. He naturally knew about Serana, and in fact, she was the so-called "ancient vampire" he was pursuing, but he had no intention of killing her or even touching a hair on her head for that matter, despite what he claimed to Jarl Idgrod. She was the key to reaching and opening the portal to the Soul Cairn, where he could mend his broken soul, after all.

But Fallion's panic was becoming an obstacle. The mage was clearly losing his composure, and panic would only lead to mistakes. Erik raised a hand, signaling Fallion to calm down.

"Take a breath and calm yourself. You're falling apart," Erik said evenly. "First, explain the purpose of the summoning stones you spoke of. What is it and how is it related to Serana of Volkihar?"

Fallion took a shaky breath, steadying himself under Erik's cold gaze. "The power within the summoning stones was used to maintain an ancient spell... one with the sole purpose of hiding the Daughter of Coldharbour's presence from her kin," Fallion explained, his voice barely above a whisper.

He winced, rubbing his temples as though the weight of the knowledge was crushing him. "Now that you've drained them, it's only a matter of time before they appear. And when they do, they'll raze Hjalmarch to the ground, searching for her..."

Erik's eyes remained fixed on the mage, his expression inscrutable. He casually reached down to lift Geri, the corgi letting out a contented huff as Erik began to caress his back. Fallion's face was growing paler by the second, but Erik stayed composed.

"It's not just her blood, you know..." Fallion added, his voice dropping lower, as though sharing a cursed secret. "There's something else. Something in Serana's possession. I... I don't know what it is, but I've been told that if the Volkihars get their hands on it, a catastrophe would engulf all of Tamriel."

Fallion's face turned ashen, and his eyes darted around as if expecting the vampires to descend upon them at any moment.

Erik remained silent for a moment, continuing to stroke Geri's fur. The mention of the item didn't surprise him. He knew full well what Serana was carrying—an Elder Scroll, an artifact with the power to shape the fate of Mundus itself. The scroll was just one part of the larger puzzle. The others, hidden in places far more dangerous, could not be easily retrieved.

"There's no need for panic," Erik said, his voice smooth, attempting to ease Fallion's fraying nerves. "I know about the item in Serana's possession, and while it's powerful, it's only one piece of the puzzle. Nearly impossible for anyone to gather all the pieces—Harkon included. So relax."

Erik's calm words did little to ease Fallion's anxiety, but the mage nodded nonetheless, perhaps out of desperation more than belief. The weight of his fear clung to him like a shroud.

"How much time do we have before the spell is completely gone?" Erik asked, his voice sharp with purpose.

Fallion paused as he began to calculate. "Two or three months, maybe" he muttered, still wringing his hands. "But the moment they find her, the Volkihars will move. We can't afford to be complacent."

Erik grinned, his eyes gleaming with a dark amusement. "Four months," he said, as if it were a lifetime. "That's more than enough time to take care of the vampire coven near Morthal and deal with Serana. By the time your precious spell breaks, you won't have to worry about the Daughter of Coldharbour ever again..."

As he spoke, Erik moved closer, his bloodied hand reaching out to clasp Fallion's shoulder. The crimson stains from his earlier ritual still glistened on his fingers, unnoticed by the mage. Erik's grip was firm, almost reassuring—until the blood on his hand began to shift. Thin tendrils of blood curled around his fingers, hardening and freezing into sharp, crystalline blades.

For a moment, Erik's gaze lingered on Fallion's neck, cold and calculating. The mage, oblivious to the deadly potential of the frozen blood, continued to speak, rattling on about preparations and what must be done next. Erik could feel Geri at his side, the corgi's eyes glowing with excitement as his tail wagged furiously, sensing Erik's indecision.

It would be so easy, Erik mused. A swift flick of his fingers and Fallion would be silenced forever. No more worrying about loose ends or someone exposing what just happened in the ritual site...

Geri let out an eager yip, almost as if encouraging him to go through with it.

But then, Erik smirked and loosened his grip. Patience, he reminded himself. There was still value in keeping Fallion alive, for now. He might prove useful in the coming months, whether as a source of information about vampires or a tool to manipulate the powers of Morthal. Besides, killing him now would only create unnecessary complications.

With a final pat on Fallion's shoulder, Erik turned away, his frozen blood-blade retracting into liquid before evaporating into the air. Fallion blinked, still completely unaware of how close he had come to death. He nodded weakly, half-heartedly agreeing to whatever Erik had just said, his mind still clouded by the weight of their earlier conversation.

Behind Erik, Geri let out a disappointed whine, his tail slowing its wag. The corgi's blue eyes seemed to glimmer with unfulfilled anticipation, but Erik simply chuckled and shook his head.

"Not today, boy," Erik muttered softly. "He might still be useful...."

As they left Fallion standing in the swamp, Erik's thoughts were already on Serana and the intricate web of plans he had begun to weave. Four months was more than enough time to set everything into motion.