A Necromancer in New Vegas
Chapter I: Power, or Why You Don't Interrupt a Ritual
As the sun rose over Whiterun, the roads east of the citylay empty of any travelers. Even the farmers and merchants had not yet risen. And still, one lone traveler continued his journey north from Falkreath. He strode with the confidence of a man who knew exactly where he was going, with the purpose of a man who was completing an arduous task. This man, this mage, was known by few outside the College of Winterhold, but they knew him as Arrelus the Exile.
Arrelus did not don the usual robes that wizards tended towards. Instead, he appeared more like a hunter in skins and furs. The resemblance was superficial though, as they glowed dangerously with Magicka. Anyone with even the barest knowledge of the Arcane Arts could tell that they were enchanted, from cowl to boots.
Beneath that cowl was a face that bore the familiar features of an Imperial. When Arellus had first arrived in Skyrim to study under the masters in Winterhold, his had been a very rare face indeed. With the Civil War heating up, however, he'd been able to blend in more. It had made moving in the northern Holds significantly more difficult, but a fight won was a fight that gave him both greater insight into magic and one which gave him additional soldiers.
He was a man with a tight grip on those who fell before him. One foot in the Doors of Death and one hand reaching in to steal from the Reaper, Arrelus was a necromancer. In the same way his adornments radiated Magicka, his eyes did nothing to hide the death he'd wrought for his own goals. The College had taken from him the place he called home. Exiled for studying what they deemed forbidden.
It had been a few years, but Arrelus was so close to getting back at them. With a wicked grin he pushed on. He'd taken what had just been theory back at the College and practiced it, mastered it. Even Malyn Veren and his so-called students fell before him. The very man that had inspired him to begin his quest into the dark art that was necromancy and the magics of manipulating souls was but a bump in the road in his quest for power.
That power would soon be his, thanks to what waited for him at his destination. His destination opened up before him as he found the hill upon which sat one of the Standing Stones of Skyrim. Ascending the dirt path, his eyes caught the old inscriptions on the key to his desires, the weatherworn Ritual Stone.
Approaching it, he noted that the bloodstain he had marked it with was still there, at the very center of the carved eye, though it was certainly faded. It had taken him some weeks to track down the Star thanks to the lead he'd gotten from that Altmer. Sneaking back into Winterhold was a bit of a risk, but nothing someone of his talent couldn't do, and as he had ultimately succeeded - well worth the challenge.
Sighing wistfully, Arellus was quite happy that things were coming together after so long. He still needed to set things up though. With that in mind, he placed his hand on the ground. There were a few shallow graves he'd dug here last time he'd contacted her. Assuming everything was as he left it….
A burst of his magic had been all that was necessary as the power the Ritual Stone gave him took effect. The hill shook a moment before several skeletal warriors rose, eight in total. Looking around at his soldiers, he idly thought about the bandits at Valtheim Towers that thought they could take on a Conjuration Expert with sword and shield. Well, at least they now had purpose and use in death where they hadn't in life.
Arrelus didn't even give them any commands. They simply moved according to his thoughts, taking positions around the hill in the surrounding woods to act as sentries. It certainly wouldn't do to be ambushed by a random patrol or Vampire at the cusp of his revenge.
With practiced precision, the necromancer repeated the ritual that had summoned his Daedric patron the first time. He wore a leather satchel and from it pulled five Dunmer skulls, each with a circular hole cut out at the top. Placing them equidistant from each other and the Ritual Stone, he placed a wax candle in each of the holes.
Following that, he reached into a pouch on his belt, taking a handful of void salt. Slowly and steadily, Arrelus connected the five points in the form of a star and then encircled it to form a pentagram with the Stone in the very center. With the barest amounts of Magicka, he lit each of the candles. Finally, from his satchel he produced a sealed jar. The contents were a very precise mixture of crushed wisp wrappings, glowdust, and a single drop of vampire blood.
He approached the Stone while being careful not to disturb the Salts. Placing the jar on the ground, he removed his furry tunic, tossing it outside the circle and exposing his chest to cold air still present in First Seed. Opening the jar, he dipped his first two fingers in it and stood straight.
Just as he'd done the first time, Arrelus started with the upper half of his right breast and moved across his torso diagonally. Mimicking the same motions he'd gone through with his Void Salts, he formed a pentagram on his body. Picking up the jar, he dipped his fingers in it again and mirrored the shape on the Ritual Stone itself.
He sealed the jar up and placed it back in his satchel, replacing it in his hand with an elven dagger. Just as he was ready to slice open his palm and complete the ritual, something caught his ear. It was the sound of clashing steel. It seems that some unfortunate party had gone down a path they should not have.
Closing his eyes, Arrelus looked through the world as his minions saw it. Three of them had already gathered around two warriors. It appeared that they were a pair of Nords. The two of them were equipped with what appeared to be heavy steel plate. The woman carried a sword and shield, whilst the man was wielding a two-handed ax.
As he watched, the man destroyed one of his soldiers, but the rest of his skeletons quickly arrived at the scene. What was a frown quickly turned into a smile as he opened his eyes. There was nothing to worry about. A seven-on-two battle could only end one way.
With that in mind, the necromancer cut into his right palm, watching as his lifeblood dripped onto the grass within the pentagram. Placing the dagger back into his bag, he dabbed his uncut hand with a little of his blood, flinching at the sting. He then drew a symbol in the center of the pentagram on his chest. The symbol itself wasn't important, only that his blood connected the pentagram on the floor, on his body, and on the Stone.
As he readied himself to mark the Stone, he heard heavy footsteps ascending the hill. Turning his head, he widened his eyes upon seeing the two warriors. "Halt, Necromancer!" The woman shouted. Arrelus didn't come this far only to be stopped by a couple of ignorant Nords. No, he would not lose here.
He placed his entire cut palm on the Stone's Pentagram while turning his body towards the pair. Fingers crackling with electricity, Arrelus aimed for the larger man with a Lightning Bolt. "Fus-Ro-Dah!" The man Shouted words he did not recognize, but he had been in Skyrim long enough to know exactly what the Voice was.
His lightning evaporated before an invisible force that rushed at him. He fully expected to be launched into the ancient Standing Stone. Instead, he could only feel himself falling….
[][][]
Arrelus had shut his eyes to brace for the impact, but he never actually felt it. Instead, ears that had just been so full of that blasting Shout rang a moment. When it stopped, a chorus of growls told him that something was definitely off.
Removing his hand from the Ritual Stone, he created a Candlelight to illuminate his surroundings. Despite his eyes being open again, it was pitch black. The newfound illumination allowed the necromancer to finally see why.
Where before he'd been on a grassy hill surrounded by rocks and trees in the chilly heart of Skyrim, Arrelus now stood in a cave. The Ritual Stone stood as impressive as always just behind him, and behind that was a dead end in the cave. Before him was a pack of… dog-like animals. He didn't think they were quite wolves though. Skyrim's wolves definitely seemed different.
Still, they clearly meant him harm. Even if they didn't, Arrelus needed them for his own purposes. Who knew where he had ended up? That homebrewed ritual he'd come up with was already unstable on its own, let alone whatever happened when it got mixed up with something as ancient as The Voice.
And it was for that reason that growling silenced as the mage used his free hand to cast a Frost Rune under the 'wolf' in the center. It activated, sending out massive spikes of ice in all directions. A quick cast of Ironflesh kept him from being affected by his own spell, the canines were not so lucky.
The center-most of his targets had flesh and bone alike shredded by the projectiles thanks to standing directly above the Rune. The two to the left and right of it were more fortunate, but not by much. The two adjacent to the central one had spikes penetrate all the way through their bodies, leaving gaping holes in their bodies.
The outermost of the brown-furred and wolf-like animals were simply impaled by those spikes. All four of them were launched to either side though, while the first one had its various entrails paint the ceiling a bright, reflective red. With the annoyances dealt with, Arrelus cast Healing on himself to close the self-inflicted wound in his hand.
There were a couple pups some distance away, but he decided to just ignore them. If they got too brave, he'd just kick them into the wall. There was something… off about this cave which demanded his attention. It was just difficult to place it.
With his full focus on the matter at hand, Arrelus suddenly realized what it was. "By the Nine! I can't feel any Magicka!" The blood drained from his face as it dawned on him. Magic was… everything to Arrelus.
"Calm down." He ordered himself, balling his hands into fists. As his nails dug into his palms, Arrelus was able to focus a bit more clearly. "Okay, Magicka isn't gone. I just used several spells, so I can still use magic. There has to be an explanation for this."
Glancing back at the Ritual Stone, the necromancer pursed his lips. Clearly, wherever he was, the Ritual Stone had come with him. The only question was… did both of them leave Skyrim, or did he simply end up going to another Ritual Stone somewhere else? Arrelus knew other Standing Stones existed outside of Skyrim, so it was possible.
The ones in Skyrim were unique though. How likely was it that another Ritual Stone existed somewhere devoid of Magicka in the air?
Shaking his head, Arrelus looked to one of the… mostly intact canines he'd killed just now. He went to raise his hand and cast Telekinesis to bring its body to him, but thought better of it. If there was no Magicka in the air to absorb, it would be… difficult to fill his reserves back up.
Certainly, he had quite a lot of Magicka to use at any given time, but who knew what was outside this cave? Well, there was certainly one way to find out.
With that in mind, Arrelus stepped towards one of the wolfish creatures hanging from the cave wall, pinned tightly. Placing one hand on the thing's head, he watched as a purple aura surrounded first his palm, then spread over the creature's entire body. The light was absorbed into its body and then disappeared, the violet glow in its eyes going away last.
Arrelus didn't really care about how well this thing could fight. If it was anything like the wolves back in Skyrim, then its solo capabilities would be negligible at best and a detriment at worst. No, all he wanted was to peer into its head.
Closing his eyes, he could feel the Magicka connected his will to the physical form of the animal's corpse. That Magicka controlled each and every function of its anatomy, and that included its brain, its mind, and all its memories. Necromancy was, after all, so much more than simply puppeting the corpses of the fallen to act as your personal army.
Images of the very cave he found himself in filled his vision. Many of the memories revolved around here, from the birth of those pups to the killing of a couple of strangely dressed people. They both had these… strange instruments. One of them seemed to shoot some sort of red projectile of heat and energy. The other had a smaller one that fired… metal? This was certainly a strange area, indeed.
What Arrelus really sought was what lay outside the cave though. Sifting through those memories made him shake his head. Nothing but desert and rocks stretched as far as the eye could see. There was an enormous hole in the ground not too far from the base of the cliff this cave was apparently situated in. A large cross dominated the horizon, but there was also… something else.
Arrelus couldn't help the grin that danced across his lips in that moment. There was a village, a small one, nearby. Villages always had graveyards. If he had to make a guess, then it was probably on that hill behind the village.
Breaking the connection between himself and the creature, Arrelus watched as it turned to dust. He hadn't sought to make the thing a thrall. As such, a lower-level spell was more than sufficient to get all he needed from the thing.
Thanks to the new memories from the creature, Arrelus was very easily able to make his way to the entrance of the cave. The Ritual Stone wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. Hopefully, anyways. It did come along with him wherever he was now, after all.
It took a moment for Arrelus' eyes to adjust to the sunlight, but when it did he was greeted by the vista he had just seen. The sky was cloudless with a Sun brighter than any day he'd ever experienced. The air was hot and dry, with any wind he felt only serving to make him sweat more instead of cooling him off. All the snow and grass and trees in Skyrim had been replaced with sand and stones and cacti he'd only ever seen pictures of.
Something told Arrelus he wasn't in Tamriel anymore. Oblivion, he might not even be on Mundus anymore. He was a former student of the College and knew more than enough about magic to determine that something had… gone wrong in that ritual of his. It's not as if it was an official one used to commune with Azura. It was something he'd put together based on the research he could remember from years ago, with some alchemical and historical knowledge to fill in the blanks.
It worked the first time, when Azura had initially given him that errand of hers, but that was under far more ideal conditions. Getting into a fight at the cusp of the ritual being completed wasn't exactly what he'd call ideal conditions though.
Thankfully, though, the air was calm, which meant that the sand below him wasn't being kicked up. Enough Alik'r had conversed with him and told him how large a problem sandstorms could be. With that in mind, Arrelus cast Detect Dead and peered towards the hill he had guessed was the graveyard.
With a grin, he noted that he was correct. If he was going to find out where he was, he'd need a mind more… human. Or elf. Even a Khajiit or Argonian might work for finding out what sort of place this was. Dogs were far too simple to really determine much beyond physical surroundings, unfortunately.
It shouldn't be difficult to get to the graveyard by nighttime. So long as no one else visited it, then he should have a proper thrall by midnight.
And that's it!
A bit on the shorter side, but the next few chapters will definitely be longer than this prologue. I'm actually quite looking forward to this.
Make sure to let me know what you think through a review or via PM! I've got a Pat-reon as well, over at pat-reon-dot-com-slash-orpheuskidwell
Orpheus out! Ja ne!