Skyrim: Lore Accurate Necromancer #65

The golden doors creaked open with a metallic groan, revealing yet another tight, dimly lit tunnel. Erik stepped inside, the cold, damp air brushing past him as he moved deeper into the Dwemer ruins. The faint hum of machinery whispered through the stone walls, a reminder of the ancient, still-active mechanisms hidden beneath the mountain.

The tunnel curved and twisted before finally opening into a small clearing, only slightly wider than the narrow corridor he had just traversed.

In the center of the chamber stood a dwarven spider, its body gleaming with the dull luster of worn bronze and steel. The arachnid automaton’s four spindly limbs clicked softly against the stone as it shifted, its sharp mandibles twitching in anticipation. The faint, rhythmic hum of its core grew louder as the glowing crystal atop its head flared to life, arcs of lightning crackling around it like tiny whips of raw energy.

Erik paused, tilting his head slightly as the spider fixated on him, its movements growing more erratic as it charged its energy reserves. A moment later, the automaton darted forward with mechanical precision, its limbs clattering like a drumbeat as it closed the distance with alarming speed.

"Well," Erik muttered, raising an eyebrow at the determined little construct. With a casual step to the side, he gestured behind him. "Surtr, would you mind handling our overzealous friend here? Try not to reduce it to slag if you can help it. Might be something useful left in there."

Surtr, his flaming form illuminating the small chamber, let out a guttural, crackling sound that resembled laughter. The fiery skeleton stepped forward, the heat radiating from his body causing the air to shimmer. He planted himself firmly between Erik and the charging automaton, the glow of his flames contrasting with the cold blue arcs of lightning coursing across the spider’s frame.

The spider, undeterred by the fiery entity before it, lunged with mechanical precision, its mandibles aiming for Surtr’s arm. The jagged metal clamped down, but instead of piercing bone, the flames encasing Surtr flared violently, scorching the automaton’s limbs. Surtr caught the spider midair with a single hand, gripping it tightly as its legs flailed and its mandibles scraped uselessly against him.

For a moment, he seemed to study the construct, tilting his flaming skull as if weighing its worth. Then, the primal essence of Dagon’s fiery realm, the chaos and destruction that defined Surtr, surged forth. With a guttural roar, he slammed the spider against the stone floor with a force that shook the chamber.

The spider twitched and sparked, its core flickering as it struggled to recover. Surtr, however, was far from done. He lifted the automaton again, ignoring the arcs of electricity that danced harmlessly across his flaming frame, and brought it down once more with an even louder crash. The metallic limbs bent and shattered under the repeated blows, shards of bronze and steel scattering across the floor.

Erik watched the display with his arms crossed, half amused, half exasperated. "Well, so much for keeping it intact," he muttered under his breath as Surtr lifted the now-unrecognizable heap of scrap one last time and hurled it across the room.

The remains of the spider clattered against the far wall, its core sputtering weakly before finally dimming. Surtr straightened, lifting his flaming skull high as he let out a victorious roar, his infernal energy flaring outward in a brief but intense burst.

Surtr’s excitement lingered, the spectral flames of his skull burning brighter as he loomed over the crushed remains of the dwarven spider. His triumphant stance faltered, however, when he turned and saw Erik standing with his arms crossed, a pointed look on his face. The fiery skeleton shifted uncomfortably, his crackling energy dimming as he let out a guttural hiss.

“So...rryyy...” Surtr rasped, his voice raw and barely intelligible, like the sound of wind rushing through a forest fire.

Erik blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the sudden apology. His lips twitched into a bemused smile. “So, you can talk now, huh? That’s new. Still, just because you can doesn’t mean you should—”

Before Erik could finish, the harsh scrape of metal against stone echoed through the chamber, cutting him off. He turned his head sharply, eyes narrowing as another dwarven spider emerged from a side tunnel, its spindly legs clacking against the floor with eerie precision. The automaton’s glowing core pulsed, and arcs of electricity flared as it locked onto its target.

Erik let out a long, tired sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Of course. More of you. Why not?” He glanced at Helrath, his glowing red gaze calm and steady as always. “Your turn this time. Think you can handle it? And try not to smash it into unrecognizable bits, if you don’t mind.”

Helrath inclined his head ever so slightly, his bony fingers tightening around the hilt of his massive sword. Without a word, he stepped forward, his skeletal form exuding a quiet, deliberate menace.

The spider charged, its legs a blur as it propelled itself toward him. Helrath didn’t wait for it to close the distance. With a sudden burst of speed, he lunged forward, his sword flashing in the dim light. The blade struck with precise force, piercing through the spider’s bronze plating and driving straight into its core.

The automaton shuddered violently, its limbs spasming as the light in its energy crystal flickered and died. A moment later, it fell limp, collapsing into an eerily intact heap of bronze and steel. Helrath withdrew his blade with surgical precision, the soft scrape of metal on metal echoing through the chamber.

Erik raised an eyebrow, impressed despite himself. He approached the defeated automaton, crouching down to examine it more closely. “You destroyed the soul gem inside without causing any structural damage,” he muttered, running a gloved hand along the spider’s smooth plating.

“Impressive work, Helrath. Almost too clean. Makes me wonder what else you’ve been hiding...”

Helrath straightened his skeletal shoulders, a faint shift in the spectral flames of his eye sockets betraying his pride. He turned his skull to Surtr, his gaze lingering just long enough to make his silent gloating unmistakable.

Surtr let out a sound somewhere between a growl and a burst of static, his fiery aura flaring briefly in what could only be described as a complaint—or perhaps an exclamation of indignation.

Erik chuckled, rising to his feet and dusting off his hands. “I see you two are really getting along.” His tone was laced with amusement, his gaze flicking between the two skeletons. “A little friendly rivalry, is it? Or maybe not so friendly.”

Helrath, unperturbed by the exchange, lowered his sword and stood at attention. Erik tilted his head, a curious glint in his eyes. “Now that I think about it, I haven’t heard you say a word since we entered this ruin,” he said, crossing his arms. “What’s the matter? Lost your voice?”

Helrath’s head tilted downward briefly, as if in contemplation. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and halting, the words heavy with a deliberate cadence. “Much... to... learn,” he rasped, his voice carrying the weight of distant echoes. “Have... nothing... wor...th... Father’s... ears...”

Erik’s expression softened, his bemusement giving way to something more thoughtful. He studied Helrath for a moment, noting the subtle way the skeleton’s posture shifted as he spoke. “I see,” Erik said, his voice quieter now. “You’re a careful one, aren’t you? You don’t waste words unless they matter.”

Helrath dipped his head, his glowing eyes steady as they met Erik’s.

“Well, I suppose this is my fault,” Erik said with a faint smirk. “ I like to think there are brains rattling around in there somewhere, and I should have done more to teach you, but....”

Surtr’s flames flared again, his skull tilting sharply toward Erik in mock offense.

“Don’t give me that look, you brute,” Erik added, shaking his head. “I’m just calling it like I see it. Now, if we’re done playing with spiders, let’s keep moving. I've had enough of this dank tunnel...”

As Erik and his companions ventured deeper, the rugged natural cave began to give way to the unmistakable imprint of civilization—albeit one long abandoned. The jagged stone walls softened into smooth, evenly carved rock, each surface meticulously worked.

The glow of bioluminescent mushrooms that had lit their way was replaced by dim, amber lights set into sconces along the walls. Despite the millennia that had passed, these ancient Dwemer lamps still flickered faintly, casting long, wavering shadows across the hallway.

Erik ran his fingers lightly along the wall as they walked. Intricate Dwemer glyphs were etched into the stone, their angular patterns telling stories that not many people could decipher.

The floor beneath his boots was no longer uneven dirt and gravel but a polished stone path, its surface broken only by the occasional embedded metal plate engraved with runes. On either side of the hallway were dressers, benches, and storage compartments, all crafted from the distinctive golden alloy of Dwemer metal. Despite the ages, their craftsmanship was evident in the lack of rust or decay.

“This place…” Erik muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “It’s like stepping into the past. No... deeper than that. It’s like walking through memories.”

At the end of the hallway loomed another massive door, its surface embossed with geometric patterns that spiraled toward its center. Erik placed his hands against it, the cool metal pressing against his palms. With a grunt of effort, he pushed it open, the hinges groaning in protest as the door creaked wide.

Beyond the doorway lay a sight that made Erik stop in his tracks. A seemingly bottomless chasm stretched before him, its depth swallowed by darkness. A narrow bridge, constructed of the same golden alloy, spanned the abyss.

It lacked rails or barriers, leaving it a precarious path.

Halfway across, the bridge branched to the left, leading toward a separate chamber. Above, a hole in the cavern’s ceiling allowed sunlight to filter through, its pale rays cutting through the gloom and illuminating floating motes of dust. The soft glow gave the area an almost ethereal quality, the golden metal glinting faintly under the light.

“Beautiful and foreboding,” Erik mused, stepping onto the bridge.

As he advanced, a flicker of movement caught his attention.

Two figures appeared on the bridge, their forms translucent and faintly glowing. They were undoubtedly From-Deepest-Fathoms' companions, but this time there were only two. The male Nord and the other Argonian.

“This place is unbelievable,” the Nord said, his voice carrying a wistful awe. He walked ahead confidently, his boots making no sound as they touched the metal bridge.

“Indeed,” replied the Argonian, his voice smooth and measured. He gestured toward the architecture around them. “Avanchnzel is as much a library as it is a city....”

The Nord nodded, his gaze sweeping the bridge and the chasm around it. The two figures continued walking until they reached the end of the bridge, only to vanish in a faint burst of light. A heartbeat later, they reappeared at the beginning of the bridge, their spectral forms resuming the same path and conversation as if caught in a loop.

Erik narrowed his eyes, his gaze fixed on the looping specters as they completed their sequence yet again. The Nord gestured emphatically as he spoke, the Argonian’s calm demeanor offering a stark contrast as they disappeared at the far end of the bridge and reappeared where they had started. Erik’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“I don’t remember much about this place from the game,” he muttered to himself, “but now I’m really curious whose memories we’re seeing...” He hummed thoughtfully, one hand resting on the pommel of Wyrmspire as he took a slow step forward.

In his former world, playing Skyrim, these specters had seemed like little more than tools for storytelling—colorful echoes of the past meant to shed light on the fate of the ruins. But here, now, armed with the knowledge of the ancient necromancer whose body he now inhabited, Erik understood their true nature. These were no mere apparitions conjured for ambiance.

“These specters...” he murmured under his breath.

Erik folded his arms as he considered them more closely. The clarity of their forms, the steadiness of their voices, and the unbroken cycle of their appearance suggested something unusual. A normal soul trapped in such a way would degrade over time, losing its intelligence and eventually fading into an aimless echo. Yet these figures were so vivid, so consistent.

“I already know these memories belong to one of Fathoms’ companions,” he concluded quietly. “And if the soul’s lingering with this much persistence, whatever reason it has to cling to Mundus must be very compelling...”

The realization stirred an almost grudging respect within him, though it didn’t erase his curiosity. He shook his head, forcing himself to let the matter rest for now. Dwelling on it wouldn’t get him any closer to understanding—he’d uncover the truth when the time was right.

“Let’s go,” he said aloud, his voice breaking the heavy silence.

With a decisive step, Erik strode forward, his pace steady as he walked directly through the spectral figures. The air around him chilled briefly as their translucent forms dissolved and reappeared behind him, once more beginning their endless loop.

The steady clink and rattle of bones echoed softly as Surtr and Helrath followed. Surtr’s flames hissed faintly, licking at the darkness as he kept a wary eye on the surroundings. Helrath, ever stoic, matched Erik’s pace without comment.

But Erik’s advance came to an abrupt halt when he heard a low, plaintive whine. He turned, raising an eyebrow at the sight of Geri still standing at the start of the bridge. The corgi’s ears were flat against his head, his tail tucked low as he darted nervous glances at the specters that continued their ghostly conversation.

“You cowardly little mutt,” Erik said, rolling his eyes.

The corgi didn’t move, letting out another whine that seemed to carry a faint apology. Erik sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Fine, fine. You win.” He extended his hand, conjuring a swirl of magicka. The air shimmered as golden runes formed and dissolved into motes of light that scattered across the bridge.

The specters froze mid-step, their forms flickering before shattering into countless glowing fragments. The pieces dissipated like embers caught in the wind, leaving no trace of their presence.

Geri barked loudly, his tone shifting from nervous to exuberant. He bounded across the bridge with newfound confidence, his little legs carrying him quickly to Erik’s side.

“There,” Erik said, smirking as the corgi wagged his tail furiously. “Happy now?”

Geri let out another cheerful bark, hopping around Erik’s feet in what could only be described as a victory dance. Surtr made a low hissing noise that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle, while Helrath turned his skull toward Erik, the flickering light in his eye sockets almost questioning.

“Don’t start,” Erik said, pointing at Helrath. “The mutt’s got me wrapped around his paw, I get it.” He looked down at Geri, who was now staring up at him with an expression of pure, unadulterated adoration. Erik sighed. “But you’d better not get used to it, understand?”

The corgi barked again in what could only be interpreted as agreement—or, more likely, defiance. Erik shook his head with a wry grin and turned back toward the path ahead.

“Let’s move,” he said, leading the way.

Behind him, Geri padded happily, his fear forgotten, while Surtr and Helrath fell into step, their eerie forms casting long shadows across the bridge. The remnants of the specters’ memory still lingered faintly in Erik’s thoughts, but he pushed them aside. The answers lay deeper within Avanchnzel, and Erik intended to find them.