The Dark Lord: The Undead King
The great, central hall of Castle Volkihar was silent as an expansive court filled with vampire lords, alpha werewolves, draugr deathlords, Listeners, dremora lords, and other creatures of the darkness that knelt before their dark lord and master. The Laat Dovhakiin, the last Dragonborn, rested upon his high throne that had been the seat of a vast and magnanimous empire. Blue, magical flames flickered and crackled in four great braziers that sat in sets of two on each side behind a stone throne. The pale, blue lights revealed the imposing and dreadful form of the dark master of Castle Volkihar. It was a two meters tall figure whose face was shrouded in a black hood and its body was adorned with the legendary black armor known as the Ebony Mail. Beneath the shroud of its nightingale hood rested a horrible face; a fleshless skull with two pale points of light glaring from the empty darkness of the sockets. Set inside the creature's grim grin were sharp, dagger-like canines signifying that this skeletal figure had once belonged to a vampire long ago.
This skeleton was known and worshiped all across Tamriel as Sahrotalok-Dilon, a name which meant Mighty-Arisen-Undead in the draconic language. This title, that was bestowed upon him by the dragons who revered him as a god of death, solidified the Dovah's unyielding loyalty towards the undead king. The Nords of Skyrim knew him through the bastardized name Saarkiin, derived from the combination of Sahrotalok and Dovahkiin. The people of Skyrim revered him as the dread rider feared by Daedra and Divines alike, the retribution of Talos, and the ruler of the underworld where the cursed dead unfit for Sovngarde were taken. "Saarkiin" was a label that amused the dark lord greatly. Therefore he often went by the name bestowed by his brothers and sisters from a life lived long ago.
...
Long ago in a distant land that touched the sky, a mortal child of dragons had been born. His story was one that had been recalled and recollected time and time again. From Miraak to Talos, the legend of the Dragonborn was a tale known by the children of men and elves all across Tamriel. The legend always surrounded the exploits of a fearsome hero that triumphed over dragons and daedra and led humanity into the light and to the top of the world.
Yet nothing is ever as it seems. Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Miraak had succumbed to the temptations of the Daedric Prince, Hermaes Mora. Talos, the Hero of Mankind, had indulged in the vices of imperialism and became the great emperor Tiber Septum. Cut from the same cloth, the destiny of this newborn child would be no different from the rest. Thus is the terrible fate of all men, for all of mankind are born of the dark.
The newborn babe that awaited his great destiny called the misty, mountainous lands of Skyrim his home. However he would not know of his ancient homeland for many years to come. Before the Thalmor of the Altmeri Dominion had come to Skyrim, this child oft traveled alongside his Nordic parents. They lived their poor and humble lives as simple merchants, traveling the Holds while trading with the Khajit caravans to make thier living. Once the Nord babe had survived his first winter he was given the name Okeer.
Okeer had little memories of his family from the time before. Only blurry visions of the past and his own name remained. When the child had lived past his fourth winter his life had become uprooted and planted into the soil of nightmares. The Thalmor, high elf zealots of the Altmeri Dominion and the Summerset Isle, hunted across the land for those they saw as heretics against the Eight Divines. Unfortunately, and somewhat ironically, Okeer's his parents worshiped the "Ninth Divine", Talos.
They came in the night and found his mother and father anointing their son upon the alter dedicated to the Hero-God of mankind. Okeer never knew if they had tried his parents for heresy or if they had put them to the sword then and there. It mattered little. They had died long ago and it no longer held any bearing in his life moving forward.
For you see the Thalmor saw the child as innocent of the parent's sin and had taken him alive. They had intended for him to be blessed by the Temple in the Imperial City of Cyrodiil to remove the taint of Talos-worship from his immortal soul and return him to his homeland proper. However his fate had been slated for the malachite mines of the Summerset Isle. There he had been a variable slave as he toiled away in flickering darkness for the Dominion. Nevertheless he did not resent the high elves. His half-life in the mines was all that had ever known.
Day in and day out he worked the mines, worshiped the Eight, found community with the other repenting heretics from Highrock, Skyrim, and Hammerfell, and slept soundly on the thatch roof of the workers shack and under the summer stars of Aetherius. For fifteen years this had been his life. It had been the only life he knew.
At nineteen years of age Okeer had grown into a mountain of a man. His Nordic heritage had blessed him with the phenomenal strength, a barrel chest, and a mane of dark hair. Often times he would find himself fighting and wrestling with the other incarcerated warriors from Hammerfell or Skyrim for the fun of it and he had caught the eye of several high elf nobility who had a taste for gambling and bloodsport.
One day a high elf aristocrat had purchased his life from the Dominion and taken him to the Imperial City to fight in the Arena. Okeer, excited to see the world outside the tunneling mines of malachite, gladly fought in the name of the Dominion at the Arena. There he had steamrolled many opponents with his great axe and quickly became a crowd favorite. The people of the capital came to call him "Okeer of the North" which sparked his desire to seek out his homeland.
Eventually, Okeer had been able to purchase his own life with the earnings he received through his countless victories within the Arena. This did not please the Altmeri noble, but the law was clear within Cyrodiil and Okeer had found himself free for the first time in his life. While traveling Cyrodiil he had met several other Nords and felt a longing to see his homeland of Skyrim for the first time in his adult life.
He traveled to Bruma and found a long lost kinship with Nords he met there. The more he learned of his homeland and lost heritage the more he desired to see it for himself. So he finally worked up the courage to set out for the border between Cyrodiil and Skyrim despite warnings of civil unrest to the north.
On the long, winding roads between Skyrim and Bruma agents of the Thalmor had emerged from the darkness of nighttime. They meant to recapture Okeer and return him to his rightful master in the Summerset Isles. They surrounded his lonely camp, and so he fought. Fighting through the pain of spells and blades he swung his two-handed ax like a madman and by sunrise he stood bloodied and beaten over the ruined remains of the Thalmor assailants.
Okeer leaped onto the back of his horse and frantically made for the border of Skyrim, crossing it in a mad dash for safety. This had sparked the ire of Imperial guards protecting the border. In fear that they may be in lead with the Thalmor Okeer refused to end the pursuit and continued his flight northward. In his frantic escape he dove into the thick foliage of Skyrim's forest. However he was unfamiliar with the local topography and cracked his skull on a low lying branch and knocked himself unconscious.
The next think Okeer became aware of was the fact that he was sitting in a wagon with thieves and rebels on his way towards the chopping block. This is where the story begins for all who chronicled the rise of the Dark Lord into power. Here in this city was where Alduin would return, where the Dragonborn would begin his journey to learning the true destiny that awaited before him and the power that would bring the world to its knees.
After escaping Helgen with his neck intact he joined the Blades in there battle against the dragons and the World Eater, Alduin. After defeating the Black Dragon of Destruction he made a home living alongside the first friends he had made in Skyrim, the Companions. Afterward he traveled to the far north and joined the College of Winterhold and learn the true power that lay within his dragon's soul, becoming more powerful than anyone could possibly imagine. His dragon's soul had allowed him to delve into secrets of magic and Oblivion that none had been able to do before and for the first time Okeer tasted true power, and he wanted more.
One day, while searching the depths of a ruin for more secrets of magic and mysticism Okeer stumbled across a sacred tomb encapsulating a cold woman who's beauty was truly otherworldly to him. In her arms she cradled a sacred Elder Scroll, but despite himself and his desire for power he only had eyes for the scrolls bearer. Therefore he made it his duty to escort her, a vampire princess named Serana, back to her ancestral home of Castle Volkihar.
There at the dilapidated and ruined castle he met her father, a dark despot on a deranged mission to blot out the Sun. However Lord Harkin had offered Okeer the chance to stand by him in the night, and he took the opportunity so that he may stand by Serana instead.
Together he and Serana had overturned Harkin's insane and asinine machinations and in the end he found himself the King of the Night and a Lord of Darkness. He had become powerful beyond measure and his sphere of influence only continued to grow. Soon he found the Thieves Guild and the Dark Brotherhood in his deep pockets and at his beck and call. All the creatures of the night had come to know Okeer as their dark king and Serana their queen.
Eventually the Companions, ostracized for their neutrality in the waging war for Skyrim, found themselves run out of Whiterun and betrayed to the werewolf hunters known as the Silver Hand. Okeer took it upon himself to unite vampire and werewolf under his banner and personally destroyed organizations such as the Dawnguard and the Silver Hand. With his ever expanding army the time eventually came.
The Civil War for the future of Skyrim began to escalate out of control. Okeer entered the Civil War under the false guise of supporting Ulfric Stormcloak and his band of rebels. He propped him up like a puppet and spearheaded the rebellion from the shadows, facilitating their war effort with his black magic and dark legions.
After many months of battles and fighting the war came to a head at the city of Solitude. Once the Stormcloaks had taken the city and broken the Imperial Legion the war had finally ended. Ulfric celebrated his victory within the city, but the end was nigh for him as well. Okeer's own undead legions flooded the city in the cover of darkness, slaughtering any and every combative man or women within the walls. That night Solitude became as silent as its name sake. The next day the Dragonborn emerged from his lofty castle and established himself as High King of Skyrim. With Elisf the Fair hostage within the blue palace none of the remaining Jarls could resist. Thus the foundations of Okeer's, or Saarkiin's empire took root...
Later in life Okeer had encountered and rescued his ancient dragonborn brother out of time, Miraak, from the clutches of the vile Daedric Prince, Hermaes Mora. The two time-brothers defeated the Deadra and together they split the map of Nirn into two and shared vast empires across the entirety of the world. Okeer, who soon became known as the dreaded Dark Lord Saarkiin, had toppled the Empire of Cyrodiil with an army of undeath and proclaimed himself the Last Dragonborn Emperor of Tamriel.
Soon the Deadric Princes of Oblivion began to reproached them for their grandiose behavior within the mortal realm and sought to claim the powerful souls of Saarkiin, Serana, and Miirak for themselves. Together the dragonborn brothers and the daughter of Coldharbor declared war against the Daedric Princes of Oblivion. One by one Saarkiin and Miraak used the various Daedric artifacts and Elder Scrolls at their disposal to force the daedra out of their respective plains of Oblivion onto Nirn where they could be theoretically defeated. Through great effort, strife, and many sacrificed lives, Saarkiin, Serana, and Miirak succeeded in their campaign.
The three had conquered all the plains of Oblivion and unlimited magicka was theirs to relish and command. From each side of the planet the two brothers ruled alongside each other in relative peace and harmony for many long years. A century had passed while both empires and their subjects prospered unlike any before. Yet the Last Dragon Emperor and the Elder Dragon Emperor did not go unchallenged forever. The Aedra greatly feared the power that was wielded by the dragonborn brothers and declared all-out war, attacking Saarkiin and Miraak's home capitols in Skyrim and Morrowind without warning nor hesitation.
Saarkiin had been attacked at one of his seats in Solitude by divine armies of Golden Saints, winged soldiers capable of terrifyingly powerful holy magic. Yet the dark lord had access to all the Daedric artifacts with their fully unlocked potential, four Elder Scrolls of Blood, Dragon, Sun, and Oblivion, and an army of dragons and undead that could be summoned on a moment's notice. He had vaguely foreseen the attacks through the magic of the Dragon Elder Scroll and had prepared himself accordingly, awaiting the Aerda at Solitude. That battle had been violent and it had been harsh. Divine and Damned spells arced across Skyrim and several cities had been laid to waste. Only when Saarkiin had called upon the very essence of his ancient enemy, Alduin, did the battle finally come to an end in the dark lords favor.
However there had been no time to warn his brother, who was on the opposite side of Nirn, of the eminent attacks. Miraak had attempted to escape through an Oblivion gate to take shelter within the safety of Castle Volkihar after his own armies of daedra, elves and dragons fell to the might of the Divines and their endless armies of Golden Saints. The Aedra pursued him into Oblivion and only his mask had arrived, found buried in the snow next to the watch tower…
….
Saarkiin now sat upon his grim throne and studied his loyal subjects who knelt before him. Serana, his empress for over a century, sat at a lower throne to his right and looked up at her lord husband with concerned, vampiric eyes. To his left sat the cold and reserved Valerica, the official Lady of Castle Volkihar and Saarkiin's mother-in-law. A vampire scout approached the central throne and laid the mask of Miraak at the foot of the steps and backed away apologetically.
"And so passes the First Dragonborn. Now I truly am the Last…" said Saarkiin in a smooth, grim, and solemn voice.
If there had been a body then Saarkiin had could have used his powers over life and death to resurrect him. The Aedra were not daft opponents, however. They would have thoroughly and utterly destroyed Miraak's physical body whether he had died on Nirn or in Oblivion. Now they would have in their possession the recently collected weapons and Elder Scrolls that were in lock and keep within Miraak's temples and were assuredly preparing another attack on Saarkiin's homeland of Skyrim.
The great undead was not willing to sit idly by and watch the Aedra burn his home and slaughter his people. The Aedra would never sue for peace and they sought to destroy the world that he, Serana, and Miraak had created together. Therefore he would use the Elder Scrolls in his possession to their fullest extent.
"I will use these four scrolls to erase the seven Divines from creation…" said the grim figure. Seven because it appeared that Akatosh and Talos had not taken part in the attacks, for obvious reasons.
"Are we even sure that this plan will work against them?" asked Serana. "It's the Divines we're talking about. They'll be a lot tougher than the Daedra were." The lords in attendance looked up fearfully at the empress.
"I have to try, Serana. Combined, their powers are far greater than ours. I only survived our battle because they had split their forces to attack Miraak and myself simultaneously. If not for the Scroll of Dragon and my surprise trump card then the Aedra would have crushed me once and for all during our battle at Solitude. The Scrolls are our only hope of victory."
"I think you've gone mad you old bag of bones! You could destroy the whole planet with that kind of power. I think we should face them head on. I believe that together we can prevail." Commented Valeria, crossing her arm and staring down her undead son-in-law. Various members of the gathered crowd began to murmur in support of Valeria's proposal.
"Thank you for your imput, mother Valeria… I have heard your concerns, my dear family and followers. Yet I have consulted the Scrolls time and time again. It is too late and this is out only course of action. We do not have the time nor the manpower to muster another counteroffensive. The Aedra have prepared themselves for another onslaught and will bring down an almighty spell of smiting upon Nirn that will wipe out all lands that have been touched by my influence. This world is to be destroyed either way. That is why I have gathered all those dear to me and that have supported me throughout the ages.
My family, my companions, and my servants. You have gathered in this great hall today because I will activate these Elder Scrolls and cast a powerful spell of smiting of my own design. We may not be able to save this world, yet we will survive it or take the Aedra into ultimate destruction with us…" Said Saarkiin. And with that the hall erupted into cheers. There was nearly three-hundred "people" in this castle. They, and the rest of the world, all counted on him.
Saarkiin rose from his throne and raised his arms high into the air. In the space in front of him the Elder Scrolls appeared. They floated in midair and with a wave of his right arm each scroll opened. From each page of each scroll Saarkiin recited the passages that had appeared to him.
Several decades ago Saarkiin had discovered a spell from the Oblivion scroll to turn oneself into a skeleton lord and double their magicka. Through the Illusion and Alteration schools of magic Saarkiin could always go back to his human form to look, feel, and appear as he did in life before vampirism and undeath.
As an undead he could also read the scrolls freely without penalty. Over the years of studying Saarkiin had learned many secrets of Aethereas, Nirn, Oblivion, and magicka from the confines of the Elder Scrolls. With each reading of the scrolls he found that they often revealed different prophecies pertaining to the subject of the scroll and the desire of the reader.
The Last Dragonborn finished the recitation and the floating scrolls emitted a wondrous white light before exploding into ethereal flames. In a second they were completely turned into ash and the world around the castle shook. The magic fires that illuminated the castle died out and the great hall was dark. Saarkiin, Valeria, Serana, and most of the rest of the castle denizens could see well enough in the dark so the lights were a mere formality. The shaking ceased and all was silent once more.
Part II
Saarkiin was not sure if he had been victorious. He knew that he was still "alive". All of his subjects, his castle, and everything in and around it were still intact. However it was evident that the dark lord did not have a single clue as to where he was at. Well, of course he knew that he was still safe inside his castle. But where was the castle?
Castle Volkihar was formerly located on a small island off the northwestern coast of Skyrim. Now it was located deep in an unknown forest surrounded on all sides by thick, ancient coniferous trees.
Day and night the vampires, werewolves, and undead in service to the dragonborn scouted the nearby area for landmarks, cities, or danger. Soon the vampire nightstalker, Fura, and the alpha werewolf, Aela, returned to deliver their report.
It would seem that Castle Volkihar had been displaced onto an island much larger than the previous one that it was carved into. Yet the integrity of the underground portions of the castle remained perfectly intact.
Several years after he had moved into the castle, Serana and her mother had laid out the groundwork for improving and updating the ancient stronghold. Several wings, armories, hundreds of rooms, this throne room, an excavated tomb, the courtyard, and the entirety of the old castle was either added to or improved upon.
Here in this castle Saarkiin had stored every Daedric artifact along with various other Aedric, Dwarven, or Aethereal artifacts. The armories were outfitted with a surplus amount of powerful enchanted weapons, items, and scrolls for use in defending the castle. The catacombs and tombs below were filled with hundreds of draugr, skeletons, and dragon bones that rested in wait for the dragonborn to adorn his Aethereal Crown and raise them from the dead to service his armies.
One of the first issues Saarkiin and Serana had noticed was the inability for them to open an Oblivion gate. Almost all contact with the plains Oblivion was lost. The only contact with the plains was the portal to the Soul Cairn in Valeria's workshop.
Through his past studies of the Elder Scrolls Saarkiin had learned that all magicka did not flow from Aethereas or the planet. It instead came from Oblivion. Soon he realized that when anyone here in the castle casted a spell, their magicka did not regenerate unless they drank a mana potion.
Saarkiin did not have proof but in his ethereal gut he felt that he must be in another world. Another plain entirely. Later that evening his fears were confirmed when more scouts returned with their reports.
A large village with a castle of its own lay in the far side of the island. His nightstalkers and nightingales had infiltrated the town and collected various pieces of information and items such as a map of the new world.
The map was unrecognizable to say the least. Between Saarkiin and Miraak's empires the whole of Nirn was known to him. This map was of the unfamiliar island and an unfamiliar continent that was off towards the northwestern coast.
Saarkiin retired to his room that he shared with Serana. The two sat by the fireplace and studied the map in detail. The writing and language was familiar to the language used by the old Cyrodillic Empire.
"The island Castle Volkihar is on now is called Bear Island?" asked Serana.
"Indeed. And this continent here is called Westros. Yes…" said Saarkiin, lost in the map. It was divided up into so many houses and so many factions. Seven Kingdoms each divided between multiple lordships, not unlike the Holds of Skyrim. According to his scouts the natives of Bear Island were something akin to a Nord and the ruling family are the Mormonts. Their sigil on the map was a thematically appropriate green bear.
"I wonder if we'll see any werebears here."
"Indeed…"
Serana looked to her husband who still lingered in the map. Saarkiin was not only lost in just the map but in his own thoughts as well. He had lost an entire hemisphere of a planet that he ruled over. He had made sacrifices and paid the ultimate price several times in order to save that world on multiple occasions.
Now that world was gone. He had once reveled in unlimited magicka and now all magicka was finite. Even the bountiful stock of magic potions and ingredients were limited.
Saarkiin did have in his armories, the Black Star, and thousands of filled grand and black soul gems. He speculated that soul gems could be used to restore magicka in a similar fashion to potions. The dark lord made a mental note to study that further. So as long as he could access the Soul Cairn he had access to his magicka.
"Has Valeria studied the portal yet?" Saarkiin asked Serana.
"Yes she has. For some reason the Soul Cairin is still available to us despite not being able to contact any of the other plains of Oblivion. All of the collected souls remain within, including the Reaper, the Ideal Masters and Durnehviir."
"Splendid. We have an ample supply of souls and soul gems available to us for now. But we will have needs to replenish it regularly with whatever we can find in this new world. Many humans are clearly present if this map is to be believed. Good…"
"So what issues are we faced with aside from our supply of magicka?"
"The vampires need thralls to survive. The werewolves need to transform and hunt regularly in order to maintain their immortality. The Daedric Artifacts are still active and several of the more fickle ones demand regular sacrifices lest they become agitated. The dremora butlers, maids, and guardsman tend to get violent when cooped up for too long. With the limit use of magic I doubt the human mages that live among us will last very long."
"I see…" replied Serana, contemplating. Saarkiin examined her features in the light of the fire as he had done hundreds of times before. She was just as beautiful as the day he found her in that weird stone box almost a hundred years ago.
"Even my Thu'um is weaker. I can already feel it in my throat." He actually did not have a throat on his neck but the ethereal feeling remained all the same as he reached up and touched it. "What do you believe we should do, Serana?"
"Let's learn more tomorrow when more scouts return from the human settlement. I'm sure you'll be able to figure it out from there, smart guy." She teased. He was insanely intelligent due to years of studying the scrolls. But it was just a tease. Serana then when off to sleep in her coffin while she waited and Saarkiin remained by the fire. As a skeleton lord he no longer needed to rest any at all. So for the rest of the evening he returned to his throne to wait for his scouts to return.
Early that morning when the night was still dark the nightstalkers and nightingales returned. They kneeled before their master, between them a human hostage from the settlement. Saarkiin would get the information he needed from this human, erase his memories with Alteration and Illusion magic, and sneak him back into the town before the sun rose.
He was a beast of a man. Black hair and thick beard with a thick, brown leather jerkin around his broad chest and back. The jerkin held the bear sigil from the map. He was enthralled and therefor in a dazed state. Saarkiin waved his right hand and said:
"You may look upon me, mortal." The man looked up from his stupor and l came face to face with the specter of death. Saarkiin's pale lights peered from underneath the hood and pierced the man's soul.
"State your name!" ordered the nightstalker that had rose to stand behind the man.
"I-I'm Jorah. S-Ser Jorah of house Mormont. Son of Beor. I-I'm a knight…"
"Fear not, mortal. You are under influence, but you have not sinned against me, so you are safe here. I need only ask a few questions and then this will all be just a distant nightmare. [Calm]" said Saarkiin as he cast a spell upon Ser Jorah. The knight slowly rose from his knees and looked around rapidly like a cornered animal before resting his gaze at the horror before him.
"W-what is it you want to k-know?" stuttered the terrified knight.
"Who is the lord of this land?"
"I-I don't…"
"I implore you to tell me…" replied Saarkiin as the pale lights became more intense.
"The lord of the northern lands is Eddard Stark of Winterfell. The king of the Seven Kingdoms is Robert Baratheon." Relayed the fearful knight, quickly stammering out the answer in fear.
"One king and Seven Kingdoms? Interesting. Please my dear knight, continue…" And so the bear knight, in fear for his own life in the light of the specter before his eyes, told in truth as much as he knew about life in the Seven Kingdoms.
Hours pass and the somewhat more relaxed knight began to grow weary. The time had come to release the bear back to the wild. He wiped the man's memory temporarily and returned him to a state of enthrallment. He ordered the nightingales to return the man but before they departed he issued another order. This time he addressed Jorah:
"One more thing, good knight. If you should see any members of your society that are perishable and wouldn't be missed I would reward you handsomely if you brought them to this location. Remember that this is all our secret. Even to you, thrall." The nightingale grabbed the dazed man by his arm and lead him away.
Saarkiin look across the throne room to see that Serana had been there most of the time. She approached the throne and the two conversed over the information that had just been obtained. The knight had known a great many things about his home country. They had learned of the local political system of wardens, lords, nobles, and royalty. All familiar concepts. They learned that magic was extremely limited in scope across the land and many more things.
Selecting Ser Jorah for abduction had been the right choice. He made a mental note to praise the nightstalkers and nightingales for their exceptional work. After the brief discussion Serana and Saarkiin became silent for a moment and stared at each other. Then Serana said:
"Well, did you figure out what you wanted to do?"
"Of course. We're going to do the same thing we always do. There is a throne out there in this new world of ours… I want it."
"That's my man."
Part III
"You want another throne, eh?" Serana said to herself as she walked down the long corridors of Castle Volkihar, her favorite death hound by her side. She was thinking long and hard about the many events that had transpired in the past few months. It had all been terrible and such, but Serana was centuries old and had dealt with far worse. She was far older than even her own husband. Honestly when she had first met her husband, the man named Okeer, she had thought of him as a child. It warmed her cold, dead heart thinking about how far that man had come and where they had been centuries ago.
It was daytime once again and Saarkiin would be busy making his preparations for the days that lay ahead. He had talked to her about building a ship and exploring the region around the island. Saarkiin had always been a curious one, delving into each dungeon and ruin he came across, and dragging Serana into the fray with him.
Serana decided that she would leave him to his devices and take care of some administrative paperwork for the castle that had piled up in her room prior to recent events. I guess I don't have any excuses to put work off now.
As she sat down at the desk in her personal room she couldn't help but reminisce about the past once more. In the years she spent with the man that would become her future husband she had been amazed that in such a short period of time he had surpassed her and her father, the Vampire Lord Harkon, in power. It terrified her at first because she truly feared that he would go insane with his prowess just as her father had before him. Yet Okeer had maintained his composure through each and every event of their lives together.
Then everything changed when the Daedric Prince Molag Bal came and kidnapped Serana. Okeer had made the ultimate sacrifice for her to gain the ultimate power necessary to stand against a Daedric Prince. He became the Skeleton Lord Saarkiin, the entity that all of Tamriel came to fear as a god of death. He was no longer the man she had fallen in love with, but she could never repay the debt she owed him for doing what he had to do to save her from that dreadful deadra. In time, she learned to love the new version of her husband all the same as before.
As Serana was compiling several papers together she felt a familiar presence in the doorway. She turned to see her mother, the Lady Valerica.
"Finally doing something productive, I see." Said the older vampire as she strode across the room and took a seat at a table near Serana's desk. Serana ignored her mother's comment and said:
"Can I help you with something, mother?"
"Where is your husband? Is he busy?" she asked.
"He said he would be in the Soul Cairn doing test for the time being."
"Good. I need to ask you about something important about what happened at Solitude."
"Why?" asked Serana, puzzled.
"Whatever he did before returning to Castle Volkihar after fending of the Aedra nearly threw the Soul Cairin out of balance. What did he do?"
"What he had to do, mother. He always does what he has to do…" said Serana, annoyed.
"The Ritual of the Ideal Masters…" she growled. "I knew it. That mad skeleton…"
"Don't talk about him like that. I told you he had to do it." Snapped Serana. It was true that the last thing that ever needed to happen was for anyone to preform that ritual. But it had to be done. It didn't matter now anyways, but Valerica was always looking for reasons to be suspicious of Saarkiin, for every time she looked at him Serana knew that she saw her own late husband.
The Ritual of the Ideal Masters had been put into place as a countermeasure against the future threat of any Aedra or Daedra. When Saarkiin, in life as Okeer the Dragonborn, defeated his nemesis Alduin he was not able to devour his soul as he did with other dragons. In that century after the Daedric Wars had ended Saarkiin had searched high and low until he finally found it adrift in Sovngarde. The Eternal Soul of the World Eater.
It took a great deal of effort, but Saarkiin and Serana had been able to drag the soul of Alduin to the Soul Cairn. Together with the Ideal Masters, the Reaper, and Durnehviir they sealed away Alduin into the core of the Soul Cairn. Then a ritual was constructed to allow Saarkiin to unleash the World Eater as the ultimate conjuration spell should the time come to use it. The only problem is it cost the soul of every living thing in and around the city of Solitude…
"I'm sure everything is fine, mother. You can stop worrying about the past. We have a bit of a predicament here in the present."
"Alduin' s soul was never returned to the Soul Cairn. Do you understand the implications of that, Serana?" said Valerica in a low tone.
"Mother I'm sure he was lost with Nirn and the Aedra. I wouldn't worry about it. Now let's discuss more pressing matters…"