Skyrim: Lore Accurate Necromancer

The boat rocked gently over the dark waves of the Sea of Ghosts, a chill breeze whipping through the air as Erik and Serana journeyed towards the distant shore. Erik sat at one end, lazily watching the horizon, while Geri lounged across from him, her nose buried in an old tome. Two undead skeletons, their empty eye sockets fixed forward, rowed with rhythmic precision, propelling the boat forward in eerie silence.

Erik broke the quiet with a low hum, his voice rolling into song. "There once was a hero named Ragnar the Red…" he sang, his tone lighthearted as he gazed past Serana. "He came riding to Whiterun from ole Rorikstead…"

Serana, sitting quietly, wore a faraway look, her expression a mixture of contemplation and unease. Noticing, Erik raised an eyebrow and paused his singing. "What's on your mind?" he asked.

She sighed, meeting his gaze. "I keep thinking about that totem you left in Northwatch Keep… I've seen plenty of dark magic, but never anything quite like that."

Erik tilted his head, surprised by her hesitation. "Why didn't you ask about it sooner?"

Serana rolled her eyes, giving him a knowing look. "You were too absorbed with your grand performance. There wasn't exactly a chance for questions afterward."

A grin broke across his face. "You know what they say: theatrics are the spice of life." He gave an exaggerated shrug, then added, "But since you asked, the totem is my own creation. It combines ancient rites from the Reach witches and rituals I've pieced together from old Ayleid texts—their clans were once masters of certain... evocative spells when they ruled parts of Black Marsh."

Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. "You've done your research when it comes to necromancy. I think you and my mother might have gotten along." There was a faint sadness behind her words, a glimmer of something long buried and bittersweet.

Erik met her gaze, his expression softening. "She sounds like a fascinating woman. I'd be honored to meet her."

A bitter smile tugged at Serana's lips. "I remember her that way... but it's been thousands of years." She looked away, and for a moment, her eyes were distant, haunted by memories neither of them could touch.

Erik watched her carefully, but only gave a slight shrug. "Either way, we'll just have to wait and see, won't we?" He trailed off, his gaze shifting past her as he raised a finger towards the horizon. "Looks like we've arrived."

Serana turned to look. Just ahead, the silhouette of an ancient watchtower loomed over the water, its crumbling stone walls etched against the gray sky. It stood alone atop a rugged island, rugged cliffs rising up like jagged teeth from the sea.

The boat glided smoothly into the shallows, scraping to a halt on the rocky beach as Erik and Serana disembarked. Serana kept Geri secure in her arms, her gaze fixed on the landscape ahead.

Before them, an arched bridge stretched across a narrow chasm, flanked by foreboding gargoyles on either side, their faces locked in eternal snarls. Beyond the bridge loomed a dark, imposing castle, its blackened stone walls veiled in a shroud of mist that clung like cobwebs to its ancient turrets. The sight of it stirred something deep within her, though her face remained mostly unreadable.

Serana let out a faint, weary sigh. "Here it is… home sweet… castle," she muttered, her voice touched with a hint of resignation.

Erik's gaze swept over the ominous structure, and he couldn't help but raise an eyebrow in admiration. "I thought this place would be grand…" He gestured broadly, taking in the jagged towers and misted battlements. "This is something else entirely, albeit a bit time-worn. The fact that you were too modest when you described it didn't help either...."

She rolled her eyes, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "I didn't want you thinking I was one of those," she replied, a bit self-consciously. "You know, women who sit idly in their castles all day." She paused, looking down. "Honestly, this place never really felt like me. It might sound strange, but… I hope you can believe that."

Erik chuckled, giving her a reassuring grin. "For what it's worth, I think it's impressive. Dramatic, even. But I suppose a place like this would cast quite a shadow."

Serana shook her head, letting out a short, humorless laugh. "Shadow is one way to put it." She turned to face the bridge. "It's something, alright."

They crossed the bridge slowly, their footsteps echoing against the stone. The mist seemed to thicken around them, swirling ominously as they neared the castle gates.

Ahead stood an iron draw gate, its bars ancient and rusted, held in place by a sturdy wooden frame. Behind it, an elderly man sat hunched in a high-backed chair, casting a scornful look in Erik's direction, his lips curling in irritation.

"Begone, stranger!" the old man barked, his voice thin but filled with a surprising intensity. "You're not welcome here!"

Erik said nothing, merely turning to Serana with an amused look, raising an eyebrow as if to ask, Do you know this cranky gatekeeper?

Serana shook her head, just as puzzled as he was.

But then, the man's gaze shifted, his eyes squinting as he looked closer at her face. His expression transformed instantly; the impatience and disdain melted away, replaced by stunned recognition. His thin lips broke into a wide, toothy smile, and his eyes sparkled with excitement. He scrambled to his feet, pointing towards her.

"Lady Serana!" he cried out in a wavering voice. "Lady Serana has returned! Open the gate!"

The cry echoed through the mist, and from somewhere within the castle, chains rattled as mechanisms creaked into motion. Slowly, the iron gate began to lift, groaning as though it hadn't moved in centuries.

Erik raised an eyebrow, smirking as he turned to Serana. "Quite the warm welcome…" he said, drawing out his words theatrically before giving her a deep, exaggerated bow. "After you, Your Highness."

Serana shot him a withering look, though a faint smile hinted at the edges of her lips. "Oh, stop it, you," she muttered with a sigh. She took a breath, her expression turning more serious as she glanced at the imposing gate now fully raised before them. "Listen, before we go in…"

Erik's expression softened, and he tilted his head slightly. "You alright?" he asked, his voice low and genuine.

Serana hesitated, as if weighing her words carefully, before nodding. "I am. I think so." Her voice was steady, but her eyes reflected a deep conflict.

"And… thank you. For everything, for getting me this far. But once we're inside, I'm going to need to go my own way for a bit. There's… a lot wrapped up in this place," she said, her gaze drifting toward the darkened doorway ahead. "Things I haven't dealt with in a long time. And I don't think you're quite ready to handle them, either."

Erik nodded, offering her a gentle smile. "Fair enough. Take the lead, then."

With a nod of appreciation, Serana placed Geri gently on the ground, and the wolf padded along beside her as she stepped forward. Erik followed at a respectful distance, observing as she seemed to brace herself with each step.

They entered through a narrow stone hallway that led to a grand balcony overlooking a massive dining hall below. The room was vast and dimly lit, an eerie warmth emanating from the torches that lined the walls and the massive iron chandelier suspended overhead. Rich red carpets lined the hall in three columns, stretching the length of the room.

Two long tables were arranged horizontally in the center, laden with jeweled goblets, gleaming silverware, and bottles of dark wine. Among the table settings were well-dressed human thralls, some seated, others lying atop the tables as if part of the morbid decor.

Erik's gaze took in the fancifully dressed vampires lounging at the tables, their pale faces cast in shadow, expressions of detached amusement or indifference on each. They drank casually from goblets, some glancing up as Serana descended the staircase with Erik a step behind her.

Only the grand table at the far end of the hall, situated opposite the balcony, remained empty—save for two figures standing behind it with silent, watchful eyes.

Both wore regal but somber attire, their dark expressions adding to the oppressive atmosphere. Vingalmo and Orthjolf, Harkon's primary advisors, stood on either side of an ornate, high-backed chair carved from ebony wood and inlaid with crimson gemstones.

At the very center of the hall stood Lord Harkon himself, his lips curling into a self-satisfied smile as Serana's approach brought his glowing eyes to life.

Dressed in royal vampire armor adorned with intricate, darkly beautiful patterns, he looked every bit the monarch he fancied himself to be. His gaze flickered briefly to Erik, his smile momentarily tightening before it returned to Serana with possessive pride.

Harkon's voice cut through the silence like a blade, smooth yet carrying an unmistakable authority. "My daughter… at long last, you have returned." He took a slow, deliberate step forward, his piercing gaze never leaving her face as his expression turned steely. "I trust you have brought my Elder Scroll?"

Serana's frown deepened, her brows knitting with visible irritation. "After all these years… that's the first thing you ask me?" Her voice was laced with bitterness, and she barely restrained herself as she ground out, "Yes, I have your precious scroll."

A ripple of whispers spread through the vampires gathered around the tables, shock and awe passing like a wave among them.

"She has the scroll!"

"After all this time! I can't believe it!"

"The Elder Scroll…"

Harkon's lips curled into a thin smile, a mixture of condescension and amusement dancing in his eyes. "Of course, I am thrilled to see you, my daughter. Must I say the words aloud?" He gave a slight, dismissive shake of his head, feigning disappointment. "Ah, if only your traitorous mother were here. I'd let her watch this reunion… before putting her head on a spike."

The veiled threat hung in the air, his words carrying a sense of cruelty that made Serana's eyes flash with anger. Harkon's gaze slid to Erik, his interest piqued as he studied him carefully. "Now, tell me," he continued, a chilling curiosity in his voice, "who is this stranger you have brought into our hall?"

Serana turned to Erik, her gaze softening just a fraction as she spoke. "He's my savior. The one who freed me."

Harkon's eyes narrowed as they fell upon Erik's staff, a flicker of intrigue crossing his face. There was something unusual about this stranger—and he didn't like surprises. "For my daughter's safe return, you have my gratitude," he said, though his tone carried little warmth. "Tell me, what is your name?"

Erik inclined his head respectfully, though his eyes held Harkon's without flinching. "My name is Erik Deathsong… and you must be Lord Harkon. Serana spoke of you often."

At this, Serana fought to keep her expression neutral, though her brow twitched slightly. She had mentioned her father to Erik in their travels, but none of the words she used to describe him were particularly flattering.

A smirk tugged at Harkon's lips, his eyes glinting with amusement as he scrutinized Erik. "Then you must know who—and what—I am by now. Who we are…"

Erik's gaze remained steady. "Vampires. Amongst the oldest and most powerful in Skyrim." His voice was calm, carrying no hint of fear or reverence as if simply stating a fact. "And you are their king—one of the most powerful beings to walk these lands."

Harkon laughed, a booming sound that echoed through the hall, drawing the attention of every vampire present. "Indeed." He looked down upon Erik with a kind of cold, regal satisfaction, clearly intrigued by Erik's lack of fear.

"As a reward for bringing my daughter back, I would offer you my blood and a seat at our table." He let the offer linger in the air, watching Erik's face for any flicker of interest or hesitation. "But…" he added, his gaze sliding back to Serana, a predatory gleam in his eyes, "it seems Serana has taken it upon herself to reward you already."

Erik raised an eyebrow, his gaze flickering between Harkon and the assembled vampires before he asked with a hint of wry humor, "So, will that be a problem?"

Before Harkon could answer, Serana interjected, her voice firm. "Erik has earned my trust and friendship. He's proven himself more than capable during our journey." She leveled a steady look at her father, her tone making it clear that her support for Erik was unwavering.

Harkon chuckled, his laughter echoing around the grand hall with a mix of amusement and mild condescension. "Oh, I don't doubt your words, Serana." His gaze shifted back to Erik, scrutinizing him with a touch of curiosity. "But as you may or may not know, everyone here was given the Blessing of the Night by me, personally."

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle, his gaze never leaving Erik's face. "I'm sure you can understand why accepting you—when you were turned by Serana, rather than by me—might cause… concerns. Doubts among my retainers."

Erik sighed, his expression calm but sharp. "Well, the fact that I haven't been kicked out of the castle or tied up on the dining table tells me there's a way to assuage these doubts." His tone was pointed, challenging without being disrespectful, and it brought a flicker of interest to Harkon's eyes.

"Indeed so," Harkon replied smoothly, nodding in approval. "You simply have to prove your capabilities and your loyalty. Do that, and all here shall welcome you with open arms."

Erik gave a single, decisive nod. "Then tell me what I must do."

A gleam of satisfaction lit Harkon's face as he studied Erik, his smile widening as though he had just found a worthy piece in a game he enjoyed. "I like your eagerness, Erik Deathsong."

With that, he turned to one of the vampires seated further down the table—a dark elf whose calculating gaze was fixed on Erik with a faintly sinister curiosity. "It's time, Garan," Harkon commanded, his voice carrying an edge of authority. "Bring forth the chalice and explain to our new friend here what he must do."

...

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