A/N: Sorry for the delay, but the next four chapters were originally one chapter, but it got out of hand - it ended up being like 15,000 words; Mostly because I really got into lore and explaining...Using only canon, on how the 'Dead Thrall' spell work in-universe. It was really fun to research and I hope y'all are ready for my succinct-as-heck theory-crafting of necromancy in the Elder Scrolls Universe. This info will come in handy in understanding stuff in my story later, so I tried to make it very detailed but simple as possible!
The College of Winterhold was situated atop a precarious cliff that looked ready to fall into the Sea of Ghosts at any moment. It was bitter cold, freezing the air until it turned to blades against unprotected skin. It was the second-to-last place on Nirn I wanted to be - but it also felt good to be isolated so far from everything I'd been through.
I had secured my admission through means of charm, septims, and a facade of eagerness - I was posing as a scholar, a lesser-noble of Cyrodil by the name of Lady Ligeia who wanted access to the Arcanaeum and tutoring from a specific staff-member there. I appealed to their vanity; Their hubris over the long defunct Mage's Guild and to their jealousy of The Arcane College that had since been purged of all connection between the two since the Oblivion Crisis. I filled their coffers with one large sum (it pained me, truly, to part with such a sum-) and was given full student status.
It wasn't quite a break from reality, as I was there for a purpose, but there were some days that had hours where I had forgotten why I was really there. Normally I would consider that dangerous, but I decided to numb myself to any panic I felt early on.
I attributed my seemingly natural talent for learning magical theory (that I was certainly unaware of having in the first place) as related to my singular focus rather than some innate, genetic ability. I regarded study of the arcane the same as I would casing a house or other marked building - thoroughly and obsessively, with nary a detail missed. I was not distracted by the so-called 'politics' of the wizarding-world, nor was I particularly interested in the philosophical 'why's and how's' of the spells I was doing...So long as I knew cause and effect. I cared about the consequences to them, rather than why they happened at all.
I was told by a few at the school that it was that sort of thinking that made me 'better' suited to the illusion branch, but that was not why I was here. It was unfortunate that my aspirations to learn magic had been suddenly given to me as a sort of job from The Unholy Matron, but perhaps this was exactly the sort of push I needed to actually make me do it. Sithis only knows when I'd ever get around to it if not for this command.
Despite my initial doubts and fears, it had only taken me months what others would have taken a lifetime to learn. I stayed up late, filled every minute with study rather than allow myself to open old wounds of grief or newer ones of regret. My avoidance fueled me like skooma fueled the Khajiit - it was almost a necessary madness to keep me afloat.
I understood the intricate balance of symbols and will and the importance of ritual in conjuration magic. The hardest part was often the 'will' of the caster, and I had that in spades. I could not let doubt and fear stop me, though it often plagued my thoughts - and I constantly forced myself to push forward; even through the lack of high mana or the ability to cast as effectively as one who had been doing magic since childhood. Push Forward: If not for myself, for The Night Mother. Through me, her will would be done. I was a tool, a vessel; And it felt good to have solid direction again.
I knew what had to be done, and now I knew how to do it.
The college had given me the necessary vocabulary and skills to actually make The Night Mother's desire into a reality. Often, I wondered what exactly was the purpose of this exercise other than a test or of control - in Sithis' infinite power, could he not simply take this task? Could she not?
Of course, I realized quickly, it wasn't entirely about the end. It was about the means. Was I strong enough, was I right for the job? Would I do anything in the face of my own faith and doubt? I wanted the answer to be 'yes,'I wanted to do something right. The Night Mother promised it would heal old scars, and hopefully some of them would be mine.
There came a time when I had to present my theory to Phinis Gestor - the Master of Conjuration at the college, and my official teacher. This, of course, was met with equal parts concern and excitement.
Necromancy wasn't particularly frowned upon in the College - (more politics I didn't care to learn about) - but procuring materials was a bit of a controversy among the other scholars. How one went about the study was always up for debate, and what sorts of subjects where okay to use.
It was no great secret that the others were a bit nervous around he and I - if not a bit scared of our chosen branch of spell-casting. I could understand that, as I shared a bit of their caution. Necromancy was toying with life forces and the Beyond - for Conjurers, the veil between Nirn and Oblivion was nothing more than a curtain to easily pull away and command. Even still, some fancied practitioners of Conjuration as simply madmen who were trying to play at being Gods.
In that line of thought, it is always best to be cautious. Perhaps it is right to fear Conjurers, who command legions of dead and daedra.
But more so - it put Phinis' concern into perspective. I had to be careful, and I had to figure out a way to put my theory into practice by means that the others would find at least marginally acceptable. As it was, it's difficult to simply transport dead bodies across holds without laymen sabotaging subjects for 'moral' reasons.
I told him I knew of someone within the college circle who could arrange things for me.
He, of course, knew I spoke of Enthir. It turns out he too had utilized the crafty Dunmer before, though his subjects were usually unclaimed bandits and Forsworn. I thought it ironic that a good many in the past could have came from my time as a mercenary. Of course, I kept this to myself.
It was when I told Phinis that I had a specific subject in mind that he finally seemed to pause. When I told him for my desire of permanency - he completely froze.
"That's the path to Lichdom..." He had told me, voice cracked and uneasy.
"I don't plan on utilizing the theory to prolong my own life. I want to put a soul back into its original body. That's it."
I told him, too, that 'My physical mortal body would no doubt not be able to handle such things' - in fact: 'Perhaps my body would still age, but my soul would not?' I was not so practiced in the laws of necromancy or conjuration to know what would happen if I even tried. I was no elf, whose body could last for hundreds of years. Of course, this is what I said to him, as he only knew me as a normal Imperial woman whose natural life-span would reach ninety-odd winters if I was lucky.
Of course, as Dragonborn, this was simply not true. Phinis Gestor did not need to know this, however, nor the other people here who would gladly poke and prod me with their experiments. I myself was not completely certain what sort of magic made up the intricacies of my body and soul, but it was definitely not the same as a 'normal' Imperial woman. Either way; I had to be careful.
You see, Lichdom could come in many forms; Body-Hopping, Soul-Eating, Blood-Magic...There were many flavors of this corruption, and as Dragonborn I was already naturally one of them.
There were many things I had learned here during my time at the college, and it made things Paarthurnax tried to tell me on that mountain long ago make a lot more sense. There had been warnings, riddles, and more than a few vague statements that I had never quite understood. Reading all the tomes I could about souls, magic, blood, and physical bodies in Nirn - I had came to the epiphany that dragons were effectively immortal - as I knew before - BUT - now I understood why. It was because they ate the souls of lesser beings, including lesser brethren. When one life was used up or destroyed in battle, they would 'use' another.
Time, but as currency - in the shape of a soul.
It made sense, of course, with Akatosh being depicted as a dragon in most cultures, but it seemed so blatantly obvious I wondered why it wasn't common knowledge. Perhaps it was a mixture of their absence for hundreds of years and the fear of delving too deep into magical theory.
Eating souls bought more time; an exchange, if you will. The time that the other creature was supposed to have lived is now 'yours' to use, as there is a 'finite' amount that must all be distributed, though perhaps not as evenly as mortals would like to believe. Just like currency, it can be taken - stolen, perhaps - or won. It could be hoarded.
Pushing deeper into more convoluted theories, 'finite' was only meant by perception rather than an actual measurement of moments, as the more powerful/immortal one got - the less time itself made sense. For the Gods, there was only existence. The past, present, and future meant nothing because they existed in layers, not in a line. That was sort of frightening, if I'm to be honest.
The point of researching such a thing was more personal than for my task given to me by The Night Mother, though it had much overlap. The more technical side of the ritual hinged on it.
I was technically a dragon in human form - my soul is made up of the same exact things that theirs are. It was capable of being infinite, of lasting for Eras and Ages, and it would fuel my body's youth for that whole time.
This epiphany was met one late night, and it made me both scared and confused. I had planned my life around the idea that I would most likely die early, die young - the life I lead was not so safe. I could still die at any time, of course, being 'immortal' did not make me un-killable, though I was not so keen on where all my 'time' would go - redistributed, perhaps, but certainly not taken by mortals whose bodies could not handle it. I had half-theories and thoughts about that, but none of them seemed to fit. Time, perhaps, was also a thing that had intelligence of some kind, or perhaps acted on a set of rules and laws of nature that I had no way of studying.
I tried to soothe the worry and help Phinis swallow his fears, but it did not seem to help. At the same time, however, it seemed he did not want to interfere. As basic principle here at the college, we are free to study whatever we wish. He commented, however, that my driven - almost obsessive - nature about the study seemed to be a bit unhealthy. I had tried to learn nothing else in my time here. He questioned me: Was I in too deep? Was I being corrupted with madness? Perhaps a bit, but it was in service to The Night Mother - though, he did not know this either.
It is not your job to tell me weather or not you think my theory is moral, sir.
He agreed with me, but still framed his concern as if it were merely an intellectual debate.
He started to go on about his concern for my desire in permanency and the state of my mental health if it did not go as planned. It worried him that I was simply interested in conjuration as a means to hide grief for my subject, and as such was only in it for figuring out how to resurrect my lost loved one.
That...Was uncomfortable to consider, so I let myself hide under The Night Mother's command. It was what I was here for. That exact thing, but not to cope with grief or -
- It was just business, something I had to do to fulfill my duties as Listener. I was good at business, and I always put 100% into everything I did.
His concern, of course, as usual, was not unfounded. It is a well-known fact that raised thralls are never 'themselves' in the way that personality nor memories come back, too. It was simply the 'life-force' puppeteering the body, but the brain and the will - the soul, if you will - was not there.
To calm him, I directed him to my notes. I had discovered several runes and revealed an incomplete sketch of my plans for a transmutation circle and summoning circle, then combined them into one interlocking ring. This would (hopefully) negate such an effect. I was not simply calling the primordial forces back, but harnessing the very same soul that belonged to the body in a resonance energy by way of call-back.
Essentially, I was telling the soul to shove itself back into its original body, which would make it work the way it was supposed to.
The problem with normal necromancy was the lack of ability to do that, and also the fact that most 'primordial forces' that puppeted the body were simply wisps or muscle memories encoded into the flesh. It was, essentially, a zombie. An empty shell. The body, if looked at like a machine, needed the original operator to function correctly.
My theory, of course, was rooted firmly in conjecture. Even if such a thing could be done, it was a largely kept secret only found in long-lost grimoires of dead Liches and master necromancers. I doubted, however, that such a powerful and thought-challenging thing could be kept secret. What I was proposing was nothing short of ambitious, to say the least. I, a lowly student of the College of Winterhold, with barely a grasp on magical theory and unpracticed as a mage. I would not classify myself as a wizard of any merit, and if asked about my status as a magic-user - I would say that I was not even adept at it.
Perhaps this was not entirely true, but I found myself enjoying more physical approaches to destruction and chaos rather than through the second-hand means of will and power from Oblivion. There was something truly satisfying about feeling the real weight of a blade in hand, of a bow slung across my back that magic would never fill. Magic was a useful tool to me - something I had always been interested in learning; but now that I felt it within my palm, it was the almost the same as Shouting. It felt impersonal, detached, and almost a bit silly. I was unused to the sensations, and frankly: a bit awkward and uncomfortable.
Natural talent I had, perhaps - but that did not make me a wizard.
And echo from my past. 'All mages use magic, but not all magic-users are mages.'
I found myself begrudgingly drawn to the scholarly aspect of such study - and perhaps in a better world I would have been a sort of historian or anthropologist; someone of great status who wrote books on ruins plundered and long-dead societies. Maybe I would have traveled the world.
But this was not that world, and I was here for a purpose other than my own enjoyment.
Phinis had been startled by my quick, concise answer and seemed to desire to study my sketch more closely - though now it was I who worried about him becoming too power-hungry.I snatched my plans back from him as politely as I could muster. I then told him of my plans to burn all notes of research and give the culmination to Urag for safe keeping in the Vault. Without my notes, the symbols could not be decoded and the ritual could not be safely completed.
(Even if one tried, they'd have to be in possession of either many many black souls for the blood-price exchange rather than just my one soul, bolstered by the many other dragon souls I'd absorbed.)
Phinis' concern then turned to the very same thing - the blood-price. He was not squeamish about blood-based magic, nor of the soul trade; Just that I would not be able to pay it and possibly put others on the grounds in danger. I told him I of course completed many calculations that would prevent such an obvious mistake from happening, and also hinted at a loophole or two that I knew of to help him relax. I even offered to do my spell off-grounds, far from civilization to the north in the ice-fields, if he so desired. For safety reasons.
He denied me this level of privacy, saying he wanted to make sure I was close by in case something happened. He wanted to make sure I was alright and mentally sound after the ritual. More so, if I was successful - I would be changing the very history of necromancy - and he wanted to be there for such an occasion. He lamented that it was a shame that the very nature of my research would force me to keep much of my materials and epiphanies from the masses, including even my own teacher. He understood the caution in keeping secret the very idea of raising the dead back properly, rather than mere puppets for servitude. It was dangerous knowledge, if put in the wrong hands. And there were many, many wrong hands to put this sort of magical breakthrough in.
In truth, I was not very worried. Much of the conjecture was based in actual magical academia, but the ritual itself was tailor-made for my own personal use. It relied heavily on the fact that I had a dragon soul and pledged allegiance to Sithis. The ritual itself drew the intended and I together in bonds, much like Lucien LeChance and I - though I wasn't to clear on what exactly that meant at the moment. I suppose in time I would see.
And so it was that Phinis Gestor was marginally satisfied - if not wary - of my decision to go through with the ritual as planned.
In the week or so that passed as I waited for the body to be delivered via Enthir's means, Phinis Gestor created a space for me in a lesser-used wing of the college and helped me haul my supplies into the room I would be preparing the spell in. I told him it could take as short of a time as a few hours - and at most: A whole day. I had to be in full concentration the whole time, and I requested not to be disturbed during the ritual. He, of course, knew of the delicate nature of such incantations and agreed to inform the staff and students on my behalf. I would have no disruptions or curious eyes prying near the wing.
And so came the day that the coffin arrived.