Skyrim: Lore Accurate Necromancer #35

As Erik stepped out of the Bannered Mare, Geri trotting closely behind him, he paused at the sight of Isran leaning against the inn’s wall, arms crossed and a bemused expression on his face. The morning sun cast a warm glow, highlighting the lines of concern etched on Isran’s forehead.

“Here I thought we were on an urgent mission,” Isran quipped, raising an eyebrow. “And yet, here you are… Did you enjoy yourself at least?”

Erik couldn’t help but chuckle. “What do you think?” He shot back, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Isran grimaced, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “I suppose that answers my question.”

With a dismissive wave, Erik added, “It’s not like I had anything better to do. I’m heading to the Skyforge now, so if you’ve got nothing better on your plate, come along.” He started walking toward the Wind District, Geri bounding ahead, tail wagging like a flag in the breeze.

Isran followed, his bemusement still hanging in the air like a fog. “I don’t understand the need to create a weapon now of all times,” he said, his tone serious. “A silver blade will serve just fine for shedding vampire blood. We don’t have much time to waste…”

Erik sighed, the weight of the moment settling around them. “Maybe for dealing with some cave-dwelling vampire. But we’re not facing just any foe—we’re up against an ancient clan of vampires. The Daughter of Coldharbour and the relic have been sealed in Dimhollow Crypt for thousands of years. A few more days won’t matter much in the grand scheme of things.”

Isran shot him a skeptical look, his expression a mix of concern and intrigue. “I still don’t see the wisdom in this. But I’ll follow along to observe, if nothing else.”

“Trust me, you’ll understand once I start working the forge,” Erik replied, a grin creeping onto his face. “Who knows? If we have time, I just might make something special for you too.”

With that, they continued their journey in silence, the streets of Whiterun bustling with the morning’s activity around them. The clang of a blacksmith’s hammer echoed in the distance, a steady rhythm that matched Erik’s growing anticipation.

Each step felt like a step closer to not just forging a weapon, but also to unveiling the potential hidden within ancient metal and the memories of those who had wielded it before.

...

As Erik, Geri, and Isran approached the Skyforge, the air crackled with anticipation. The ancient structure loomed ahead, a beacon of craftsmanship in Whiterun. Eorlund and Vilkas stood waiting, their figures silhouetted against the glow of the forge.

“Erik,” Eorlund greeted, his voice steady. “I see you’ve brought friends.”

“Just here to observe,” Isran replied with a nod, while Geri wagged his tail, eager for attention.

After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Erik reached into his satchel and pulled out two significant items: Rahgot's dragon priest staff and the Ayleid crown looted from Movarth’s lair. He held them up for Eorlund and Vilkas to see.

Eorlund examined the Ayleid crown closely, his brow furrowing in thought. “This crown appears to be made of meteoric iron,” he noted, turning it over in his hands. His gaze then shifted to the staff. “And this... the staff is ebony, yet it feels different.”

“It’s a dragon priest’s staff,” Erik explained, pride lacing his tone. “While it’s indeed made of ebony, it has slumbered alongside its master for thousands of years, leeching off the magicka accumulated by Rahgot’s soul. It’s transformed into something else entirely.”

Vilkas’s eyes widened at Erik’s revelation. “So Aela was right... you did have something to do with the Forelhost incident?”

Erik merely shrugged, a cryptic smile playing on his lips, clearly unwilling to delve into that topic further.

Eorlund cleared his throat, redirecting the conversation. “That’s not important right now. The materials are excellent, just as you promised. Now, the question is, do you have the skills and the right to use the Skyforge?”

Erik’s smile broadened. “I suppose we’ll find out soon, won’t we?”

“Indeed,” Eorlund replied, nodding with determination. “I said I’d test your capabilities, and I intend to do so. It’s nothing complicated. I need you to craft a steel dagger. I’ll judge whether you have the right to work the Skyforge based on its quality.”

“Sounds simple enough,” Erik said, his confidence unshaken.

Eorlund gestured toward the forge and the table beside it, laden with numerous ingots of different metals and various crafting materials. Without hesitation, Erik moved toward the forge, the heat radiating from the flames welcoming him like an old friend.

As he began to work, the clang of metal resonated in the air, a rhythm of focus and determination. Geri settled down nearby, watching intently, while Isran and Vilkas exchanged glances, both intrigued by Erik's dedication and the mystery surrounding his newfound materials.

The atmosphere buzzed with anticipation, and Erik’s hands moved deftly, shaping metal into purpose, forging not just a dagger but the very essence of the Dwemer knowledge he uncovered from the lexicon.

As Erik finished cooling the dagger, the conundrum alloy glimmered in the forge's light, its shape a testament to his skill. He wrapped the handle in leather strips, his fingers deftly working the material until it felt comfortable and secure. With a final inspection, he stepped back, a smile spreading across his face as he turned to show his work.

The reactions varied: Vilkas and Isran looked intrigued, nodding at his swift handling of the forge. But Eorlund's expression was one of awe, as if he were struggling to find the right words. Erik found amusement in their varying responses but didn’t dwell on it.

“You've seen the forging process,” he said, confidence ringing in his voice. “Now for the effectiveness of the finished product.”

Gripping the steel dagger tightly, he moved toward the crafting table, his eyes landing on a sturdy iron ingot. Twirling the dagger with practiced ease, he held it in a reverse grip and drove it deep into the ingot. The blade bit into the metal as effortlessly as if it were wood, leaving a clean mark that surprised everyone.

Isran and Vilkas exchanged sharp looks, their intrigue turning into palpable excitement. Eorlund, though, merely shook his head, a quiet acknowledgment of Erik’s skill forming in his eyes. “I expected a great many things... but I didn’t expect to learn something,” he muttered, a hint of admiration in his voice. “I feel ashamed for even trying to test you. You indeed have the right to use the Skyforge whenever you wish.”

Erik chuckled, the sound bright and carefree. “You couldn’t have known that. The Skyforge is an ancient relic that should not be handled by those with inferior skills,” he replied, trailing off thoughtfully. “But now that’s out of the way, I’ll be occupying the forge for at least three days.”

Eorlund nodded in agreement. “A deal is a deal. However, if you don’t mind, I’d like to observe. I’m curious about what you plan to forge, and I think I can learn a great deal from watching you work.”

“Suit yourself,” Erik said with a shrug, turning back to the forge, his mind already buzzing with ideas.

Isran leaned back against the cliff face, silently surveying the scene, while Vilkas sighed, breaking the silence. “I would have liked to watch as well, but I received a mission to hunt down a giant destroying the farms near Rorikstead.”

“That’s a shame,” Erik replied, a touch of regret in his voice. “Take care out there.” He handed the dagger to Vilkas as a parting gift, the weight of the weapon settling comfortably in his hand.

Vilkas accepted it with a grateful nod, a newfound respect gleaming in his eyes. “Thanks, Erik. I’ll put it to good use.”

With that, Erik turned his attention back to the forge, his mind racing with possibilities. He began preparing his materials, laying out ingots and rare components alongside the crown and the staff, ready to dive into the real work ahead.

The heat of the forge enveloped him, igniting his passion, as he focused on crafting not just a weapon, but a creation that would rival the relics of Heimverlund, the very dragon who is believed to have created the Skyforge in addition to a great number of legendary armaments.

...

Erik stood at the Skyforge, the heat radiating around him as he prepared to transform the dragon priest staff into something new, something extraordinary. He glanced at Eorlund, who watched intently, curiosity etched on his face, while Isran leaned against the wall, arms crossed and silent. Geri lay sprawled nearby, bored, occasionally rolling a helmet across the floor like a ball.

“Alright, let’s begin,” Erik said, lifting the dragon priest staff, feeling the weight of its ancient power. The ebony metal felt alive in his hands, resonating with the remnants of Rahgot’s magicka.

He placed the staff into the forge, the flames licking at it as he fed it with kindling and charcoal.

Eorlund stepped closer, studying the flames. “You’re sure you want to melt it down completely? That staff has a history.”

Erik nodded, focused. “I know what I’m doing. The power of the staff will be infused into the new design.” He watched as the fire danced around the staff, its form starting to bend and soften.

The heat enveloped the metal, and soon it glowed with a fierce intensity.

“Just remember, it’s not just about the magic; it’s about balance,” Eorlund cautioned, stepping back as the staff began to lose its shape.

“Balance is exactly what I’m going for,” Erik replied, his voice steady. “There will be no other like this weapon in Tamriel. It’ll have both strength and grace.”

As the metal of the staff melted, Erik envisioned the transformation. He would retain the overall shape of the staff but divide it into two pieces—the neck and the dragon head figure, allowing for a blade to be concealed within. This design would give him the upper hand in combat, striking from both distance and close range.

With the staff melted, Erik carefully poured the molten metal into a mold shaped like a slender neck, ensuring he would have enough material for a gripping handle.

He then shaped the dragon figure head, ensuring its features remained intact for aesthetic value and magical resonance.

“Interesting approach,” Eorlund remarked, observing Erik’s meticulous work. “You plan to carve a space for the blade inside the staff?”

“Exactly. I’ll extend the neck to serve as a grip, allowing the staff to transform into a sword,” Erik explained, his hands working deftly. He focused on the magic circle he had drawn on the floor, using a series of soul gems placed at strategic points to maintain the flow of magicka during the process.

As he finished shaping the neck, he felt the magical energy from the gems intertwining with the staff, grounding its essence. “This will help keep the magicka from dissipating while I work,” he said, glancing at Eorlund, who nodded approvingly.

“You’ve clearly thought this through,” Eorlund replied, folding his arms. “And the crown? What will you do with that?”

“I’ll melt it down and forge the blade from it. Ayleid metal is known for its magicka conductivity,” Erik answered, a grin spreading across his face. “Perfect for what I have in mind.”

...

Once satisfied with the neck and head of the staff, Erik turned his attention to the Ayleid crown. He placed it carefully into the forge, its intricate designs twisting and warping in the heat. As it began to melt, he could see the rich, metallic sheen of meteoric iron coming to life, swirling with potential.

Eorlund watched closely, his brow furrowed. “What kind of blade are you envisioning?”

“A blade that can cut through both flesh and spirit,” Erik replied, his focus unwavering. “This will be more than just a weapon; it’ll be a conduit for my magic.”

Erik dipped a ladle into the molten metal, allowing the Ayleid crown to pool. With precise movements, he poured it into a blade mold, ensuring the steel would harden perfectly to form a sharp edge. As he worked, he sipped from a stamina restoration potion, feeling the warmth spread through his body, invigorating him.

Geri, now tired of his previous distractions, rolled the helmet closer, watching with bright eyes. “What happens if it doesn’t turn out right?”

Erik chuckled, glancing down at the molten metal. “Then I’ll have a very expensive piece of scrap. But I’m confident.”

“Confidence good,” Isran finally chimed in, his voice low and serious. “But magic can be unpredictable.”

“I’ll account for that,” Erik assured, wiping sweat from his brow as he prepared to hammer the blade into shape. The forge crackled, heat radiating around him as he brought the metal out, glowing red and ready to be shaped.

...

As Erik began hammering the molten Ayleid metal into shape, each strike resonated with a satisfying clang. The blade took form under his skilled hands, and he lost himself in the rhythm of the forge, the sound of metal on metal becoming a comforting backdrop.

Eorlund remained nearby, keenly observing Erik’s technique. “You’re really applying yourself,” he said, admiring the precision of each blow. “The blade will be sharp enough to harness the magic from the staff.”

“Exactly,” Erik replied, grunting slightly with effort as he shaped the blade. “The combination of the Ayleid metal and the dragon priest staff will create a conduit for my magic, making this weapon unparalleled.”

Isran shifted slightly, his eyes narrowing as he leaned closer. “How will you ensure the blade fits seamlessly into the staff?”

“Planning to create a locking mechanism that allows the blade to slide in and out with ease,” Erik explained, wiping his brow. “Once assembled, it’ll look like an ordinary staff, but with a quick motion, it’ll transform into a sword.”

As he hammered the blade, he took another swig of stamina potion, feeling the surge of energy flow through him. Geri watched, fascinated, as Erik’s focus intensified.

Finally, Erik held up the nearly finished blade, its edges gleaming under the forge’s light. “This will be a masterpiece... my masterpiece.”

...

With the blade complete, Erik turned back to the neck of the staff. He fitted the blade carefully, ensuring it would slide in smoothly and lock into place. The grip of the staff had been elongated just enough to allow for comfortable handling as a sword.

Eorlund stepped forward, inspecting Erik’s progress. “You’ve done well. This is not just craftsmanship; it’s artistry.”

“Thanks YOU. But we’re not done yet,” Erik replied, securing the pieces together. He made sure the balance was perfect, the weight distributed evenly.

As he worked, Geri finally stood up, trotting over to sniff at the blade. He tilted his head as if to say, "this smells like magic..."

“Magic and a whole lot of hard work,” Erik chuckled, wiping his hands on his apron. “Once I finish assembling everything, I’ll enchant it to amplify its abilities.”

Isran, who had been silent, spoke up again. “Make sure to keep your focus. You’ll want to channel your energy carefully when you enchant it.”

“I will,” Erik promised, placing the final pieces together. The staff felt solid in his hands, and he could almost feel the latent energy humming beneath the surface.

With one last adjustment, he stepped back, admiring his creation. The staff and blade fused seamlessly, ready to become something truly extraordinary.

“I’d say that’s a job well done,” Eorlund remarked, nodding in approval.

“I agree,” Erik said, a sense of satisfaction washing over him. “Its name will be... Wyrmspire.”