Skyrim: Lore Accurate Necromancer

Erik turned the chalice over in his hands, noting the cold, weighty metal and the spikes curling out in patterns both jagged and elegant, framing intricate engravings that seemed to pulse faintly with a sinister energy. The black-and-gold vessel was almost regal, but with a dark edge befitting the Volkihar clan.

"So," Erik said, his voice dry, "I need to go to Redwater Den in the Rift, find the bloodspring beneath, and fill this chalice with its essence?"

Garan Marethi gave a slow, approving nod. "That is correct," he replied, his voice calm but edged with a cautionary tone. "Though I must warn you—Redwater Den is no ordinary lair. It's a refuge for the less… reputable members of society. Skooma fiends, feral vampires, and other dregs of mortal and immortal alike. You may find the company there… unpleasant."

Erik allowed himself a half-smile. "That's quite alright. I think I can manage a few feral vampires and skooma-addled vagrants."

The edges of Garan's mouth lifted slightly as if he too found amusement in Erik's confidence. "Your resolve is admirable. But remember, the den is a dangerous place, and many who enter it do not return." He paused, letting the warning sink in before adding, "Our lord expects only the strongest to succeed."

Erik's brow lifted in mild surprise. "How soon do you expect me to finish this task?"

Garan's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "There is some time. We won't require the blessing for five, perhaps six months." He folded his arms, a flicker of intrigue crossing his face. "Now that Serana has returned with the scroll, our lord is eager to set his plan into motion. Of course, certain… considerations must be met before the stage is fully prepared."

Erik felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth, though he kept his expression neutral. 'Of course, Harkon would need time. Even though it was something that could be done in a few in-game days in the game.'

The memories he had of the game's storyline came to the fore, and Erik quickly analyzed how different the real experience would be.

'In the game,' he mused, 'the Dragonborn's initiation with the Bloodstone Chalice was a swift affair. Harkon personally taught them the intricacies of vampiric power, including the vampire lord form. Filling the chalice was only the beginning, and upon returning, Harkon would declare he'd been spreading rumors of an Elder Scroll appearing in Skyrim to lure Moth Priest to their doorstep.'

But Erik knew that would hardly be so possible in reality. For one, the journey to Redwater Den itself was no small feat—it would take him across a sizeable stretch of Skyrim, deep into the Rift, and back, which was over a month's journey by foot or horseback alone.

Not to mention, the subtleties of spreading rumors to reach even the ears of the secluded Moth Priests would take time—far more time than simply playing a few scripted lines.

Erik slipped his hand into his cloak, fingers brushing against the cold metal of the chalice before securing it in a hidden compartment.

He nodded at Garan, his expression serious, concealing the truth in his words with practiced ease. "I'll endeavor to complete the task as soon as possible," he said evenly, watching the elf's face for any signs of suspicion.

'Soon as possible, heh!' he mused internally. 'Not if I can help it.'

His mind was already forming a plan to delay the mission as long as he could. Every moment he could stall would buy Isran time to rally the Dawnguard, recruit able fighters, and amass the resources they'd need to stand against the Volkihar.

As his mind drifted to Isran, Erik's lips twitched in amusement. Imagining the man's usually stoic face twisted in rage after his little prank, was enough to make him chuckle, but he held back the urge. Despite the deception, Erik knew Isran would move on, fueled by his undying vendetta against vampires.

Garan Marethi, evidently pleased by Erik's apparent eagerness, nodded approvingly, his thin lips stretching into a small, almost smug smile. "That would be for the best. Our lord… appreciates expedience."

Erik bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment. "Then I'll take my leave at once."

He turned away, scanning the hall for Serana, but as he expected, she was nowhere to be found. Like in his memories of the game, she had vanished into the shadows, her departure as silent and sudden as her presence. He shook his head, amused by her elusiveness. 'She'll turn up eventually.'

Erik set a course for the exit, his steps echoing off the cold stone floors of the vast hall, eager to leave behind the scrutinizing gazes of the Volkihar vampires.

The atmosphere in the hall was oppressive, filled with an air of ancient malevolence, and Erik felt the weight of countless watchful eyes—eyes that seemed to size him up as both potential ally and prey.

Just as he neared the great double doors, a figure swept in front of him, blocking his path with a regal, deliberate step. Vingalmo. The tall Altmer vampire's sharp, angular face was set in a practiced expression of haughty amusement.

His dark eyes, glinting with the cold arrogance typical of his kind, assessed Erik with the air of someone appraising a new, perhaps unwelcome, addition to their collection.

"Leaving so soon?" Vingalmo's voice was smooth, laced with a faint, condescending amusement. He tilted his head, studying Erik as if he were a curiosity that had wandered into his presence uninvited. "One would think a fresh initiate would be eager to… familiarize himself with his new family..."

Vingalmo's smug expression dropped instantly as Erik brushed past him without so much as a sideways glance. The silence stretched uncomfortably, filling the room like a storm cloud ready to burst. A faint flush of color, rare for a vampire, crept onto the Altmer's face, his hands twitching as if ready to reach out and seize Erik by the collar.

Rage contorted his expression, his lips parting to deliver what would no doubt be a venom-laced threat—yet he hesitated when a loud, mocking chuckle echoed through the hall, breaking the tension with an almost palpable snap.

From the shadowed edge of the hall, Orthjolf, who had been watching with silent amusement, leaned forward and called out, his deep voice tinged with a biting satisfaction.

"Well done, kinsman! Seems you have keen eyes," he jeered, his words laced with a deliberate arrogance as he glared at Vingalmo. "Nothing good would come from mixing with an elf. Their kind has always been—"

But Erik didn't so much as slow his stride, and he continued forward without acknowledging Orthjolf's commentary, his eyes fixed on the heavy doors that led out of the hall.

The Nord vampire's voice died off mid-sentence, his cocky smirk faltering as Erik passed him by without the slightest hint of acknowledgment. Orthjolf's expression shifted from surprise to barely masked irritation, and he clenched his jaw, his pride visibly stung.

Around them, chuckles and whispers echoed through the hall like leaves rustling in a windstorm, a mixture of surprise, amusement, and barely hidden malice.

From one corner, a young vampire muttered to his companion, "Did you see Vingalmo's face? Like a frostbite spider caught in sunlight."

"He treats them both like gnats," another snickered, "not even worth swatting. Perhaps we have a wolf in our midst... or a fool..."

But no one looked more pleased than Garan Marethi himself, the dark elf vampire who stood a few feet away, his face shadowed with an expression that could only be described as satisfied indifference.

Watching the petty jabs and bruised egos of the court held little allure for him—he served Lord Harkon, and whoever ruled this castle was of little consequence to him so long as he kept his position.

Yet, in this moment, he couldn't help but admire Erik's boldness in handling the situation. 'To move through Castle Volkihar with such calm disregard for these so-called primary advisors…' Garan's lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile. 'He's either foolish or very powerful... either way, I ought to keep an eye on him...'

Meanwhile, Vingalmo and Orthjolf seethed, their rage palpable as their smug exteriors crumbled, replaced by a raw irritation at being brushed off like nothing more than dust on Erik's cloak. They exchanged a brief look, a silent pact forming in the glint of their eyes. Their bruised egos demanded satisfaction, and the new vampire who had shown them such disdain would not be easily forgotten.

But Erik barely noticed, his gaze fixed on the grand doors that loomed ahead. Behind him, his loyal companion Geri trotted dutifully, the crogie's blue eyes glinting with their own knowing disdain as he occasionally glanced back at the vampires with a look that was unmistakably challenging.

The hound's presence at Erik's side made an impression all its own—a small ordinary creature among vampires, yet disdain was apparent in Geri's narrowed gaze as he eyed those around him.

He seemed even more arrogant than Vingalmo, Orthjolf, and even Erik himself.

The whispers faded as Erik reached the doors, pushing them open and stepping out into the cold night air with an unbothered calm.

...

The Dead Man's Drink had a subdued warmth that seemed almost out of place in the bleak, mist-laden town of Falkreath. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows over the tavern's patrons, who sat scattered around, sharing quiet conversations and stolen glances.

Erik, seated on a sturdy wooden stool near the bar, took a slow, thoughtful sip from a bottle of mead, savoring the smoky sweetness that softened the chill of the night outside.

Across from him, Valga Vinicia, the Imperial tavern keeper, polished a mug with her usual air of boredom. She looked up as Erik placed a few gleaming coins on the counter, the metal catching the light and reflecting in her eyes.

"Say," he began, giving her an easy smile, "I'd wager a tavern keeper like yourself hears all sorts of rumors in a place like this. Any chance you'd care to share a few?"

Valga's lips twisted into a grin as she deftly pocketed the coins. "You've come to the right person," she said, leaning in a little. "In Falkreath, if I don't know it, then it ain't worth knowing." She gave a knowing wink before adding, "Though for a man like you, I'd wager you already know most of what goes on."

Erik nodded, matching her grin. "Flattery is as easy on the ears as it is on the mouth... though that's not what I'm paying you for. Tell me, what's been happening around Skyrim? Anything I ought to know?

Valga drummed her fingers on the counter, considering. "Oh, all kinds of shenanigans, of course. This is Skyrim, after all. But there's one tale in particular I reckon you'll find interesting. Just the other day, word came down about a Vigilants' outpost up in the Reach getting absolutely torn apart."

Erik raised an eyebrow, keeping his expression neutral though his interest had been piqued. He had almost completely forgotten about the two arrogant vigilants he met at Stendarr's beacon. 'Looks like the seed I planted finally sprouted,' he mused.

Out loud, he said, "Really? An entire outpost destroyed? There must have been a lot of casualties..."

Valga gave a grim nod, crossing her arms. "Strange business, that. They said only two Vigilants were stationed there when it happened and so only two died... and apparently, the outpost was ravaged by hundreds of daedra, or so I've heard...."

She shook her head with a wry smile. "Seems like they might have poked something best left alone. Or maybe they just met someone who wasn't in the mood to play nice."

Erik took another slow sip of his mead, concealing a grin at Valga's words. She didn't even know how close her tavern gossip came to the truth.

He glanced back at her, but the subject was already losing its appeal; thinking on it now, his actions seemed almost childish. There was no guilt over what had happened to the two arrogant Vigilants—just the faint realization that his reaction had been a bit unnecessary, a response to the empty words of two zealots with more pride than sense.

Shrugging off the thought, Erik leaned in again. "What else is happening around Skyrim?"

Valga hummed thoughtfully, her finger tracing absentmindedly over a knot in the bar's wood. "Well, here's an odd one," she said, lowering her voice as if for dramatic effect. "They say undead creatures have been spotted wandering Haafingar's shores. Rumor has it they crawled out of some old ruins. Supposedly, the place was a secret prison used by the Thalmor if you can believe that…" She chuckled and shook her head, clearly amused by the absurdity of it all.

Erik raised an eyebrow, feigning a skeptical scoff. "Sounds like mad talk to me."

Despite the dismissive tone, a thrill sparked within him. The totem he had placed in Northwatch was working perfectly, raising undead along the coast and unsettling the locals.

It wouldn't be long before the Thalmor felt compelled to investigate, stumbling headlong into his carefully planted trap, only to suffer more casualties. If fortune favored him, they might even encounter the Volkihars and clash, unwittingly creating a tangled web that could stall both the vampires and the Thalmor.

If that didn't happen, well, he could always use the Thalmor's distractions as a handy excuse for his leisurely pace in fulfilling Harkon's task.

Valga watched his expression, apparently disappointed by his lack of reaction, but her bemusement quickly returned as she rifled through her mental list of rumors. "I know, I know. Sounds too wild to be true, right?" She laughed and moved to wipe down the bar. "But let's see… what else is floating around these parts?"

Valga's eyes lit up, the gleam of fresh gossip illuminating her expression. "Oh, right—there was that!"

Erik leaned in, feigning greater interest than he truly felt. "Now this one sounds promising."

Valga grinned, obviously enjoying the audience. "You know Nurelion, right? The old Altmer who runs that alchemy shop in Windhelm?" At his nod, she laughed, amused by her own story already. "Of course you do. It's strange enough that a High Elf would settle down in Windhelm of all places, especially with the Nords there being… well, the way they are. But to think they'd even let him set up shop…"

She shook her head, her voice trailing off before she dove back in. "Anyway, rumor has it he hired a group of mercenaries and set out to claim some legendary alchemical relic hidden in a cave. And you know what? The old man actually succeeded… only to find out the relic was broken beyond repair!"

Erik barely resisted a sigh, keeping his expression neutral as he mused to himself, 'Why is it that every rumor seems to tie back to me? Am I weaving too many webs?'

He kept the thought to himself and leaned in slightly, keeping up the charade of interest. "Oh? So, what did he do when he found out?"

Valga's eyes sparkled with delight, and she laughed, "Oh, he threw the most almighty tantrum! Stormed around like a raging bear, then ended up paying the mercenaries… wait for it… a measly five septims! Can you believe it? Just five coins, when there were more than twenty of them! If his apprentice hadn't come to their aid and paid them something fairer, the old grouch would have been torn limb from limb."

Erik let out a laugh, shaking his head. "Sounds just like him. I've crossed paths with Nurelion before, and his temper's a thing to behold."

Valga sighed, a wistful look settling over her face. "You must be an adventurer, huh? Traveling around and living life like the heroes in the tales."

Her wistful tone turned wry. "I envy people like you sometimes… But then I remember I'd probably end up in some frostbite spider's stomach before I'd make it more than a mile out of Falkreath."

She gave a half-hearted laugh, shaking her head at her own sense of adventure. "Ah, anyway. So, will you be staying in Falkreath for a while, or is this just another stop along the way?"

Erik looked around, taking in the dim warmth of the tavern and the faint scent of pine seeping through the walls. "I think I'll stay a while," he said, a slight smirk crossing his face. "My travels have taken me from one frozen wasteland to another, marshes to more snow, and then back again. I think my eyes could use a bit of Falkreath's 'vibrant' greenery to lift my spirits."

Valga chuckled, giving him a friendly nod as she wiped the counter again. "Well, you came to the right place. You need anything else, you know where to find me."

Erik nodded and settled back into his seat, letting the clamor of the tavern drift over him, content to let the world slow down, at least for tonight.

...

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