Skyrim: Lore Accurate Necromancer

Humming to himself as he strolled along the woodland path, Erik's deep voice carried the familiar words of an old tune, "Sera was never an agreeable girl… her tongue told…"

Geri trailed along happily, sniffing at the mossy ground and weaving between tree roots with boundless enthusiasm. The little corgi's nose dipped and darted through patches of wildflowers and tangles of green vines, clearly delighted by the scents of the forest and the soft earth under his paws.

Erik chuckled, his eyes flicking down to watch Geri's antics, and kept on humming, the lyrics rolling from memory. "…But she was so fast, so quick with her bow…" He muttered the words more to himself now, the rhythm of the tune guiding his steps as he veered off the beaten trail, slipping into the shadowed embrace of the deeper woods.

After a few minutes, Erik found himself in a secluded hollow wrapped in a thicket of jagged rocks. Moss-covered boulders and the face of a small, natural cliff loomed over him, casting the area into a shadow that seemed deeper than it should've been.

It was an unremarkable place at first glance—just a lonely clearing with a gnarled old tree and a small, still pool of water nestled among the stones. To anyone passing by, it would have seemed like an unassuming nook of nature. But Erik knew better; there was something hidden here, something that no ordinary traveler would notice.

With a knowing grin, he stepped toward a particular spot among the rocks, his eyes catching on the faint outline of a dark door obscured within the cliff's face. It was well-concealed, nearly swallowed by the shadows and rock formations around it.

The door was stark, adorned only with the engraved image of a pale skull. There was no handle, no keyhole, nothing that would indicate it was even a door at all—just the smooth, carved face staring out from the stone, as if it were a mural painted to blend in with the cliffside.

He reached out, pressing his hand against the cold stone. The skull's hollow eyes began to glow with a faint, eerie light, illuminating the shadows as if they held secrets of their own. A low, hoarse voice reverberated from within the stone, almost like the whisper of the wind in a crypt, "What is the music… of life?"

Erik's grin widened, and without a moment's pause, he replied, his voice barely above a whisper, yet clear and firm, "The melodious quietude of silence, my brother."

A heavy silence hung in the air, as if the forest itself held its breath. Then, slowly, the glow in the skull's eye sockets dimmed, and the same low voice echoed once more, "Welcome home."

With a quiet chuckle, Erik watched as the outline of the door began to shimmer, the rock seeming to ripple like water before fading away entirely to reveal an open passage. He glanced back at Geri, who tilted his head, giving the dark entrance an intrigued sniff before trotting in ahead of him.

Stepping through the hidden doorway, Erik found himself in a stone chamber lit by flickering torches set along the walls. The air carried a faint scent of incense mixed with damp stone, reminiscent of the many Nordic crypts he'd explored across Skyrim.

Yet, this place was different: it was meticulously clean, the floors swept and the walls devoid of any cobwebs or dust—a stark contrast to the ancient tombs he'd seen, where decay was as common as draugr. To his left, a modest alcove with a single wooden bench sat neatly tucked against the wall, perhaps a spot for meditation or quiet waiting.

Ahead, a narrow stone staircase descended into deeper, hidden corridors.

"So, this is the Dark Brotherhood's sanctuary," he muttered under his breath, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Surprisingly, it's just as I remembered it…"

His voice trailed off as he glanced around, the reality of the moment setting in. He knew he'd have to tread carefully here; this was no game, and he wasn't merely an adventurer.

Just as he began to take in the surroundings, a whisper of movement alerted him to a presence at his side. He spun around, just in time to see a figure materialize from the shadows—quick and silent, like a ghost emerging from the darkness.

The figure was a woman, dressed in dark red leather armor, her face mostly obscured by a cowl and a muffler. Only her sharp, focused eyes gleamed through the shadows, watching him with cold, lethal intent.

In one swift motion, she raised a curved dagger, the dark blade glinting as she lunged at him, a deadly blur aimed straight for his throat.

Instinct took over. Erik's eyes widened, but his hand shot out, a surge of magicka flowing through him as he cast a telekinesis spell. The spell took hold, freezing her mid-lunge, and her body hung suspended in the air, caught inches from her intended target. She glared at him, her eyes narrowed, unyielding in the face of his magic.

"Well, that's one way to say hello," he murmured, a smirk tugging at his lips. The woman showed no sign of backing down; instead, she twisted her arm just enough to reach into her belt, withdrawing three small, glinting throwing knives.

With a sharp flick of her wrist, she hurled them toward him, her hand moving with a deadly precision.

But Erik was faster. With a jerk of his wrist, he sent her flying sideways into the stone wall. The impact echoed through the chamber as she hit the wall with a dull thud, her knives clattering harmlessly to the ground.

Before she could gather herself, Erik lifted his other hand, and in an instant, a staff appeared in his grasp—its tip glowing faintly with a paralyzing enchantment. He pointed it at her, releasing a pulse of magic that surged forward and struck her like a silent command.

Her body stiffened, the paralysis spell taking hold, leaving her unable to move.

Erik lifted Astrid higher, pulling her closer as she glared, her fierce eyes blazing with defiance. Her jaw clenched, fury emanating from her as she struggled against the invisible force holding her still. Erik raised an eyebrow, amused, and murmured, "You must be Astrid. A pleasure...."

She narrowed her eyes, attempting to spit out a curse, but the paralysis spell held her speechless.

He chuckled at her restraint, nodding approvingly. "Good choice. If you have nothing pleasant to say, silence serves just as well."

With Astrid still suspended in the air before him, Erik began his descent into the sanctuary, her frozen form floating just ahead like a prize on display. Each step echoed down the stone staircase, the sound mingling with the faint drip of water trickling somewhere below.

The corridor opened into a spacious chamber, more impressive than he'd imagined. Though not much differed from the Nordic crypts scattered across Skyrim, this one held a different energy—an air of secrecy layered with shadow and a faint tang of decay.

In the center of the chamber ran a narrow, glistening stream, cutting through the stone floor and disappearing into the darkness. On the right, a tinted window bearing the ominous skull of Sithis overlooked the area, its empty eye sockets watching over the sanctuary like an unblinking judge.

To the left, a small clearing held a frostbite spider, its glossy eyes fixed on him with a strange, predatory interest. But Erik's gaze was drawn to the ancient word wall at the far end of the chamber, its carved runes seeming to pulse with latent power. He'd have to study it once his business here was concluded.

He hadn't fully taken in the sight when a sudden shout broke the stillness. "Everyone, come quickly! We have an intruder! He's got Astrid!" The voice belonged to an Argonian assassin, his sharp eyes narrowed as he took in the sight of Astrid, helpless in Erik's magical hold.

A ripple of tension filled the room as assassins emerged from hidden alcoves and shadowed corners, surrounding him in a semi-circle. Each one was armed and ready, though they held back, eyes flicking nervously to Astrid as they considered their options.

An imposing Redguard dressed in Alik'r garb held a scimitar poised to strike; beside him, an elderly Imperial robed in black and red armor glowered, staff at the ready. A lithe Dark Elf woman with a calculating gaze watched him closely, her dagger glinting in the dim torchlight. Even a young girl stepped forward—though her eyes glowed an unnatural red, her stance was deceptively relaxed.

All were ready to fight, yet it was the little girl who caught Erik's attention. Her nose twitched, her face paling further as her crimson eyes locked onto his with recognition and dread. She didn't seem as eager to fight as he fellows; instead, her gaze spoke volumes, her small mouth parting slightly as if she understood exactly who, or rather what, Erik was.

A low murmur rippled through the assassins, some casting uneasy glances at one another as they weighed their chances. Erik's gaze swept across them, his lips curving into a faint smile. "Quite the welcoming party. I didn't expect the whole family.... though I must say, it's nice of you all to come out and greet your new master..."

Festus's eyes narrowed as he leaned in closer to Erik, his scornful expression barely disguising his disdain. "What in Oblivion are you blabbering, boy?" he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "We only serve Sithis here, so unless you want me to turn you upside down with my magic, I suggest—"

Before Festus could finish, a fierce voice cut through his tirade. "No one has time for your long-winded speeches, Festus," growled the Nord standing nearby. The man stepped forward, his glare fixed on Erik, and his tone held an edge that was unmistakably personal. "You! Release my wife at once, or I will make you suffer."

Erik turned his gaze to the Nord, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. He could sense the man's barely-contained rage, his scent touched with the unmistakable musk of a beast. With a smirk, he tilted his head.

"Ah, you must be Arnbjorn," he mused, his tone condescending. "I heard you were kicked out of the Companions some time ago." His eyes swept up and down Arnbjorn dismissively. "Tell me, how exactly do you plan to make me suffer?"

A vein pulsed in Arnbjorn's forehead as his fury escalated. His teeth bared, his eyes darkening as he let out a menacing growl. Without a word, dark fur erupted along his arms and neck, his body contorting and stretching as he began his transformation into a werewolf.

"Wait! Don't—!" Babette's small voice rang out in alarm, her pale face even whiter than before as she took a step back. But her warning came too late.

Arnbjorn, fully transformed, lunged toward Erik, his claws extended, his eyes blood-red with rage.

Erik's smirk only widened at the sight. "I suppose an example is due for others to fall in line." He snapped his fingers, and instantly, two towering figures materialized by his side—Helrath and Surtr, their skeletal forms towering over everyone present.

Behind them, ten more skeleton warriors emerged, their soulless eyes flickering with a spectral light.

With eerie coordination, Helrath and Surtr moved as one, each grabbing one of Arnbjorn's muscled, fur-covered arms and slamming him to the ground. Arnbjorn snarled and writhed, his claws scraping against the stone floor, but the skeletons held him firmly in place, their grip unyielding.

Erik's gaze bore down on Arnbjorn, his smirk sharpened with mocking disdain as he said, "You're not remotely as capable as you believe yourself to be, little pup." He lifted his hand, and flames flickered to life, casting a fiery glow that danced ominously across his face. "Perhaps you should consider your own standing before you threaten your betters."

The flicker of murderous intent in Erik's eyes wasn't lost on the gathered assassins. Weapons tensed in their hands, and they began shifting forward—everyone, that is, except Babette, whose small form remained unmoving, her crimson gaze fixed on Erik with an unsettling clarity.

As they prepared to act, a sudden clattering of bones filled the chamber. Erik's skeleton warriors emerged from the shadows, one stepping forward with a sword raised, the blade's tip grazing Astrid's neck as a wordless warning. The others spread out, skeletal hands ready to defend Erik's position, cutting off any possible movement.

Arnbjorn's snarl turned to a pained roar as Erik unleashed his spell. Flames leapt from his hand, wrapping around Arnbjorn, consuming him in a blaze that turned his fury to anguished cries. The others watched, frozen in horror, as the fire reduced Arnbjorn's body to ash, his thrashing form illuminated in grim detail until the flames faded to silence.

Erik's satisfied gaze lingered on the assassins as he said, "Now that we've established what happens to insolent fools, let's move on to business."

Erik's eyes scanned them with a chilling calm, settling briefly on Babette, whose face paled at his faint smirk. A shiver ran down her spine, her stillness betraying that she alone seemed to grasp the full depth of Erik's threat.

He continued, "From now on, you do as I say, and you do it to the letter. Otherwise, you die." His tone grew softer, yet somehow more lethal. "Excruciatingly."

The assassins exchanged wary glances, a subtle undercurrent of defiance simmering beneath the fear. But none of them dared step forward. It was Nazir who finally broke the silence, his dark eyes narrowed in cautious suspicion.

"I don't know how you found this place," he began slowly, "or what it is that you truly want, but there's an order to these things…" His gaze flicked around, searching for any support among his brothers and sisters before looking back at Erik. "We follow the Five Tenets. We have our pride and tradition to follow. You can't just waltz in and demand obedience..."

Erik met Nazir's challenging stare with a chuckle, a sound as cold and cutting as the northern winds. "Oh, please…" he scoffed, his voice dripping with mockery. "You don't have the Night Mother, nor a Listener. The Dark Brotherhood's days of glory are long gone."

He let his gaze drift lazily around the chamber, taking in the faces of the remaining assassins—shadows of the Brotherhood's former strength.

"This is the last sanctuary of a once-feared order," he continued, his words carrying the weight of finality. "And you're nothing more than common cutthroats, scavenging through the ashes. You take on petty contracts, barely worth the price of a dagger, for vagrants and jealous lovers. It's pathetic."

Silence settled heavily over the sanctuary as Erik's words hung in the air, harsh and damning. Nazir's face hardened, but he remained silent, his jaw clenched as he weighed his response. None dared to move, each assassin visibly grappling with the bitter truth Erik had laid bare.

...

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