Skyrim: Lore Accurate Necromancer

Erik leaned back with a smirk as he looked around the room, taking in the wary, suspicious stares of the Dark Brotherhood's assassins. Their faces ranged from shock to guarded resentment, and Erik relished every tense second. 'Now that we've established the stick, it's time for the carrot,' he thought, suppressing the smug amusement curling at his lips.

Clearing his throat, he said in a rich, commanding voice, "There's no need to despair. After all, I'm here now."

Gabriella, a lithe Dunmer with piercing red eyes, sneered and gestured toward the burnt body of Arnjorn and the bound Astrid. Her voice laced with sarcasm, she asked, "And what more could you possibly do for us?"

Erik's chuckle echoed through the sanctuary, low and mocking. "What can't I do?" he countered, his voice dripping with confidence. "For one, I can elevate the Brotherhood. As it stands, Maven Black-Briar is the only 'big fish' who considers you worth even the barest bit of her time, and let's be honest—she barely lifts a finger for you as it is."

His eyes swept over them with a challenging glint. "And that's because, right now, you're little more than dregs that would amount to nothing more than a nuisance to the true powers of Skyrim."

Nazir, standing just to the side, felt a chill run down his spine. The way this stranger knew their names, their sanctuary, and their alliances—it was unsettling. This man wasn't a lost traveler or a luckless wanderer who stumbled into their lair. No, this Erik had purposefully walked through their doors.

Nazir's fists clenched, and he couldn't keep the suspicion from his voice as he asked, "And how, exactly, do you plan to 'elevate' us?"

Erik's grin widened, and he raised a brow, folding his arms in a gesture that suggested he'd been waiting for this question. "Through connections, of course. Maven Black-Briar is already my business partner. If I vouched for you, she'd not only give you more business but would be willing to introduce you to others of her ilk—the true 'big fish' of Skyrim's underworld."

A wave of murmurs rippled through the assassins at his words. Erik's eyes glinted as he continued, "But it doesn't end there. Connections are only half the equation. You'd need the skills and discipline to handle the sort of jobs these new alliances would bring. As you are now… let's just say you'd need some improvement."

Erik's gaze drifted to Babette, the ancient vampire in a child's body, who had been watching the exchange with a mixture of skepticism and fascination. He gave her a slow, meaningful nod, one that promised far more than he said aloud.

She shivered, her eyes widening slightly, as if she understood the potential Erik was hinting at. The ancient hunger in her gaze met Erik's own, a flicker of excitement mingling with the darkness.

Turning back to Nazir, Erik spoke with an air of finality. "But we'll get to that in due time. For now, just know that I'm not here to bury the Brotherhood. I'm here to raise it."

His eyes scanned each assassin, resting on their uncertain faces. "And each of you has a choice: you can stay as you are, treading water, or you can follow me into the depths and emerge stronger, more dangerous, and truly feared."

A tense silence settled over the sanctuary as Erik's words sank in.

The tension in the room was palpable, and each assassin stood frozen, their eyes shifting between Erik and Astrid's now-lifeless form on the floor. The dim torchlight cast flickering shadows over the room, giving the entire scene a twisted, surreal edge.

It was Festus who finally broke the silence with a dry, almost sardonic sigh, muttering, "I'm too old for this." His gaze shifted to Erik, scrutinizing him carefully before adding, "If you can deliver on what you promised, I, for one, am willing to follow you. But you need to convince Astrid first. She's in charge here."

Erik's eyes narrowed, a faint glint of amusement barely masking his calculating gaze. This old man is sharper than he looks, he thought. Festus sees where the wind is blowing—he's just waiting for the others to catch up. With a slight nod, Erik lifted his hand, releasing Astrid from the paralysis that held her rigid.

"Now, Astrid," he said, his voice smooth and almost mocking, "let's hear what you think of my proposal."

As the spell lifted, Astrid stumbled, barely able to keep her footing as she regained control. She took a breath, then spat out, "You son of a—"

Before she could finish, the skeletal figure looming behind her clamped its bony hands over her head and twisted sharply. There was a sickening snap, and Astrid's words died on her lips as her body went limp, collapsing to the stone floor.

Erik arched an eyebrow, feigning surprise as he turned to the rest of the assassins, who were staring in horror. His mouth curved into a smile with just a hint of contrition. "Dear me," he drawled, "what a clumsy creature… Allow me to make amends by disciplining it." He stepped forward, placing a hand on the skeleton's ribcage and, with a firm pulse of magic, shattered the skeleton into a heap of lifeless, bleached bones.

Straightening, Erik looked around the room, his expression cool and composed. "Now then," he said, voice low and commanding, "it seems you'll need to choose a new leader. Given that Astrid has… sadly… passed in an unfortunate incident, I'd suggest Festus here. He seems the most experienced among you."

The assassins exchanged glances, their initial shock slowly giving way to a tense acceptance. Festus exhaled slowly, a faint glint of satisfaction in his eyes. He saw a chance to rise to a rank befitting of his age and experience and took it.

Still, he needed to maintain appearances.

"You ask too much from an old man like me," he grumbled, his voice carrying the heavy weight of reluctant acceptance. "But if no one else is willing to step up…" His gaze swept the room, a silent dare to the others. "I suppose I can bear the burden."

Nazir gave a resigned sigh, glancing warily at Erik. He had felt the full force of Erik's magic earlier and knew that further resistance could be fatal. "Festus has been with us a long time," he muttered, his voice thick with reluctant acceptance. "I'd say he's earned his place here."

Gabriella crossed her arms, her sharp eyes narrowing at Erik as though dissecting him with her gaze. After a long silence, she finally nodded. "A wise choice... for now." Her tone held a warning, yet the agreement was clear enough.

Veezara, the Argonian assassin, hissed quietly, his voice brimming with resistance. "If we're talking about age and experience," he said, shooting a skeptical glance at Festus, "then Babette is more suitable."

At this, Erik turned to Babette, a wry grin curving his lips. "And what do you think of this… child?" He placed deliberate emphasis on the last word, knowing full well what he implied.

He wasn't mocking her. Despite her age, the word, child, came naturally to him as he addressed her. Despite her small stature and youthful appearance, Babette had lived centuries, her experience etched in her sharp gaze.

Babette's calculating eyes met his, and though she usually wore a mask of feigned innocence, and sometimes arrogance, something deeper flickered in her gaze. She understood what he was, not only in strength but in the timeless power he radiated.

Her senses screamed at her that Erik was a fellow vampire, one far older, and more powerful than her. Her very nature would not allow her to oppose him, and so she obliged.

The seconds stretched as she held his gaze, and then, with a faint smile, she shook her head. "I'm not interested," she said smoothly. "I'm far more suited to alchemy and the occasional contract. Leadership isn't for me." Her tone was respectful but assertive, and she allowed herself a slight bow, a display of deference and survival.

Erik gave a short nod, acknowledging her decision. "Wise choice," he replied softly. He let his gaze drift over each of them, his smile laced with a sense of finality.

Erik's gaze settled on Festus, a glint of amusement lurking beneath his calm expression. "Now, with that settled, it falls upon you to decide whether to accept or refuse my proposal," he said, his voice smooth and amicable, the words rolling off his tongue like a promise.

Though his tone was friendly, the weight of his presence pressed on every assassin in the room, underscoring the fact that Erik had come with a purpose—one that would allow only one answer.

Festus glanced uneasily around the dimly lit chamber, his gaze lingering on Astrid's still-paralyzed form. He nodded at last, unable to deny the pull of what Erik promised. "As I said, so long as you can deliver on what you promised… I'll follow your lead," he agreed, though his words held a note of hesitation.

"You claimed you can give us connections, which is one thing. But you also promised the Brotherhood a newfound strength, a way to carry out missions that have eluded us for decades." His eyes narrowed as he looked Erik over, assessing, probing. "Can you truly empower us in the way you suggest?"

"Why, of course," Erik replied with a slight incline of his head. "Strength and eternal life, the means to enjoy your newfound power for centuries if you wish. All of it—well within my reach." He spread his hands wide, his eyes glimmering with a dark allure. "You have barely glimpsed what I can offer."

Festus's brow furrowed in doubt as he studied Erik's face, the flickering torchlight casting shifting shadows on his expression. "I don't mean to doubt you," he murmured, "but this is Skyrim. Many claim power. Few actually wield it as they claim. I've seen powerful mages, but…" He trailed off, clearly skeptical.

Erik regarded him impassively, a chuckle rising as he held up a hand. "Forgive me—this illusion spell is second nature by now. I sometimes forget I'm even wearing it." He waved his hand across his face, as if wiping a film away, and his pale features shifted, transformed.

The room went silent. Erik's skin paled even further, deathly ashen and almost translucent, the veins below surfacing like faint cracks. His once-blue eyes glowed an eerie, unnatural shade, bathing the room in a cold, unsettling light. 

It was as if the very essence of death had descended into their sanctuary. Even hardened killers like Festus and Nazir could only stare, discomforted by the quiet power that radiated from him.

Without a word, he turned his gaze to Babette, who had watched the exchange in knowing silence.

Babette offered a small, knowing smile as she stepped forward, breaking the tension in the room. "He speaks the truth, he.." she began, though she hesitated, studying Erik with a mixture of curiosity and recognition. Her gaze shifted to meet his, sharp yet cautious.

Erik returned her look with a cordial smile. "Erik Deathsong," he said, his tone calm yet carrying a weight that silenced even the most skeptical assassins.

Babette nodded, her expression growing thoughtful. "Lord Erik here is… a pure-blooded vampire, or at least directly sired by one," she clarified, glancing at the assembled assassins.\

Her gaze returned to Erik, her eyes narrowing slightly as she noted his confident posture, the way he called over one of the skeletons with a flick of his hand, making it kneel before he casually perched on its back as if it were a throne.

"What's more, I'd wager he belongs to one of the ancient clans. The Volkihar, perhaps?" She tilted her head, clearly testing the waters.

Erik chuckled, giving a slow, deliberate clap. "Very perceptive, child," he said, his tone filled with amusement. "Your eyes are as sharp as your fangs." He inclined his head. "I was embraced by none other than Lady Serana herself, daughter of Coldharbour. I am the only one of her direct line, at that."

This revelation sent murmurs through the group, as the gravity of Erik's lineage sank in. Babette's gaze flickered with a newfound respect, though she maintained her calm demeanor.

Erik continued, his voice soft yet commanding, "I can imagine some among you have considered the gift Babette carries, with all its powers and drawbacks—the sun, the feral hunger. But I offer a different legacy, one of purity."

At this, Erik's gaze swept over the gathered assassins, his eyes calculating, noting those whose interest was piqued. "No offense, Babette," he added, a faint smile tugging at his lips, "but the thinness of your line's blood places it in the lower rungs of any vampire coven..." 

Babette merely shrugged, unbothered, as if used to hearing the limitations of her bloodline. "None taken, Lord Erik. I know my place," she replied, though her smile hinted at ambition. "Still, the promise of greater strength and any relief from the sun's curse—well, that is enticing."

"All in due time," Erik said smoothly, his gaze shifting to the assembled assassins. "For those willing, the power I offer is unmatched. You will gain speed and strength beyond what you've known, rivaling any vampire you encounter. Your skill in illusion, necromancy, and blood magic will deepen, and the sun will be a mere inconvenience."

He smiled darkly, his voice a low, inviting murmur. "Then again, what true assassin would need to stalk their prey in broad daylight?"

Erik's words hung in the air, as potent as any spell, and in that moment, he knew he had them—these assassins, these agents of darkness. Their loyalty could be his, bound by the allure of the power he wielded and the promises only he could fulfill.