Blood on the Ice
A harsh wind descended from the peak of Mount Anthor and swept across the snowy planes of Winterhold. As we rode towards Heljarchen the freezing wind came up from underneath our cloaks chilling us to the bone. Nelacar and I were only one or two leagues into our trip when I noticed a pathway just off the main road. It was a strange feeling when I saw it, like a sinking in the pit of my stomach. I've learned to follow those gut feelings. It led down to a lower embankment of the snowy range that seemed to cut through the cliff and form a gentle slope down. I stood close to the edge wary of the snow avalanching and strained my eyes till I could just barely make out what looked like standing stones in a circle. "Nelacar, we should check that out. I think I see something." I began to see a dark red light flash within the area. We couldn't pass this by.
"What do you see my boy?" He asked squinting, he didn't dare get as near to the edge.
"I'm not sure." I didn't wait for him and I made my way around and down the slope. I leaned back and let my legs carry me down as fast as they could go. Snow tossed up into the air around me as I plodded through the fresh powder. I saw a rise ahead with a clear path up, that was where I saw the standing stones. I rushed over and climbed up the steep hillside packing snow into hard clumps for footholds as I went. At the top of the rise was a ritual circle carved neatly into a stone platform, it resonated with power that still hung in the air centering on an altar. My skin prickled with whatever forces had been conjured here. I focused on the sensation of magic dancing across my skin and then nearly died of heart failure when a hand came to rest on my shoulder.
"Whoa, didn't mean to startle you, I was just going to warn you not to go into that circle." Nelacar had obviously beaten me up the hill somehow.
"How did you get up here so fast?" I demanded. Did he fly?
"Magic." Was all he said on the subject. "There are rune traps in there, be wary."
He was right, inside the ritual circle were at least five runes charged to go off with a burst of razor sharp frost magic. Featuring prominently in the center of the ritual circle was an icy corpse wearing blue silk robes. Frozen blood covered the area, crimson ice a stark contrast against the white land. Frozen arms stretched upward, blue hands fiercely clawed as if to grasp the throat of a long-gone foe. His young bearded face was frozen in a grimace of agony, and once dark eyes were faded into pale white by the icy ravages of time. He had lost whatever fight he had been in, that much was obvious. The whole scene was as surreal as it was visceral.
"Alright, here it goes." I muttered as I drew in my will and magic to cast a flare of light at each rune trap in turn. They went up one by one in loud cracks followed by showers of snow. When nothing seemed unstable I walked over to the corpse and checked his pockets for anything that might identify him. Besides some coin, the only item of note I found was hidden deep inside a pocket of his cloak, it was a really old book with faded script on the cover.
"Atticus, look at this." The old elf was standing next to a small altar with long extinguished candles decorating it. Formulaic circles of power were etched into the stone in patterns of three concentric variations contained within each other. Upon the altar were the shattered fragments of a pitch-black gemstone and a wicked looking dagger with a black leather wrapped handle, the blade had a deep red glow emanating from within.
I looked over the altar wondering if that was the light I had noticed and then held out my discovery. Nelacar's eyes went wide at seeing the book. On the tattered cover stood the title Mannimarco, King of Worms in faded gold. The altar and its contents forgotten for the moment, Nelacar came and looked over my shoulder as I opened the ancient tome. The first several pages seemed to have been added in recently as a journal of some kind. Inside the front cover read, 'Rundi's,' and I immediately recalled the notice that was posted at the entrance to the Hall of Elements. Rundi was one of the apprentices that had gone missing well before I arrived in Winterhold. We read through the journal pages swiftly and I groaned at the trouble the apprentice had gotten himself in.
When I didn't speak Nelacar filled the silence, "It seems that your predecessor here ran afoul of that Necromancer named Arondil." It was all there in the first few pages. "They were working together on a way to bind spirits as permanent servitors, very interesting. They had managed to create a prototype staff but Rundi feared Arondil was going to betray him."
"It looks like he was right." I said thinking about how Rundi failed to protect himself.
"This book though Atticus, it's rare. Do you know what this is? It's no coincidence we find this now." He said as he gingerly took it from my hands and opened it to the first page.
"No clue," I started to say, but Nelacar began reading aloud in a chanting rhythm. I soon found myself lost in the verse.
He spoke of the beautiful towers and gardens of Artaeum, the home of the Psijic order, who were once counselors to the wise and fair kings of old. He spoke of two brilliant students who studied within the Psijics' fold. Galerion with a heart light and warm, and magic bold and bright. The other dark and cold, Mannimarco, who delved deep into the way of the necromance, entrapping and enslaving souls.
Galerion confronted Mannimarco claiming, 'Your wicked mysticism is no way to wield your power, bringing horror to the spirit world, your studies must cease.' Yet Mannimarco ignored the warning and continued on his dark path. Galerion tried to warn the masters of the Psijic order, yet they ignored the threat until it was too late. The monks of the isle Artaeum were slow to perceive the threat and simply banished Mannimarco, thereafter ignoring the terror he spread upon Tamriel. So Galerion exiled himself as well to create a new order, a Mages Guild that could bring magic to all.
He spoke of how the touch of Mannimarco's hand spread far and wide throughout Tamriel's deserts, forests, towns, mountains, and seas. A dark grip stretching out, growing like some dread disease, and of dark necromancers, collecting cursed artifacts of yore which were brought back to Mannimarco. The story told of how he used these long-cursed artifacts to become the Worm King, world's first of the undying liches.
Yet Galerion eventually left the guild, calling it 'a morass,' and I could see why, but Galerion beheld Mannimarco's rise to power and gathered an army of mages and Lamp Knights. He vowed to himself, 'Before my last breath, face I must the tyranny of worms, and kill at last, Undeath.'
Nelacar invoked the words of the final battle between Galerion and Mannimarco with the skill of a true bard, "O those who survived the battle say it's like was never seen. Armored with magicka, armed with ensorcelled sword and axe, Galerion cried, echoing, 'Worm King, surrender your artifacts, and their power to me, and you shall live as befits the dead.'
A hollow laugh answered, 'You die first,' Mannimarco said.
The mages then did battle with the unholy force. Waves of fire and frost clashed so fiercely that even the mountains shivered. At the necromancer's call corpses burst from the earth to fight and were destroyed by holy lights. It was a maelstrom of energy that unleashed rivers of blood, and both sides were decimated. Even Vanus Galerion died, felled by the power of the Worm King who was then forced to flee, leaving his dark army scattered.
Nelacar continued his high chant, "It seemed once that Mannimarco had truly died that day. Scattered seemed the Necromancers, wicked, ghastly fools. Back to the Mages Guild victors kept the accursed tools, of him, living still in undeath, Mannimarco, King of Worms."
He finished reading the story which ended with a warning to children against the Worm King's awful touch. He sighed and spoke in weary tones.
"The victor always writes history. This story is the crux of the matter that we are off to investigate. Many seek to follow in the footsteps of Mannimarco, including Malyn Varen. It is said that the King of Worms was defeated. No true seeker believes that. They believe that he exists even now, his influence touching hidden altars around Tamriel. They believe that Mannimarco has transcended life and death, that he is a god, and that he will one day return." He closed the book and was silent for a moment.
"Mannimarco was not unscathed that day and certain artifacts of power were captured by the Mage's Guild." Nelacar mused.
"The artifacts of the Worm King have appeared many times throughout history." He paced back and forth a few times then began speaking again.
"Rather than destroy them the mages couldn't resist the temptation to wield them. Every so often they enter the hands of those who dare and claim their power. Azura's Star is not historically associated with the worm cult, but it's power is a strong temptation for Necromancers regardless, so here we are."
"The story also highlights one of the primary flaws in Malyn Varen's plan. He think's immortality is a matter of power. Galerion believed in the same falsehood. Knowledge is the true defining factor of victory when all power has been spent." He finished his storm of thoughts and handed me the book.
"It sounds like you admire the so-called King of Worms." I wasn't really asking a question. I was deep in my own thoughts about power and how those who obtain it are remembered. Mannimarco obtained great power, by all accounts horribly abused that power, and then was defeated, or not defeated. I wondered what had caused Mannimarco to use his power for such destructive ends.
Putting it out of my mind I tucked the book into my satchel and grabbed the dagger off the altar and unstrung its sheath from poor Rundi's belt. It still glowed internally and I wondered just what sort of enchantment had been placed upon it. It wasn't until later that night when I lost sleep wondering whose soul was trapped within the black gem and sacrificed to empower it. In any case we decided not to waste any more time there and trudged back up the slope to our horses who were beginning to become restless in the strong winds.
We continued on and travelled far, the sun crept behind the clouds throughout the day until it hung low on the western horizon. We talked of many things on the way, of love, life, and prophecy.
"A part of the Prophecy of the Dragonborn goes 'When the Brass Tower Walks and Time is Reshaped.' It obviously refers to what historians call the Warp in the West." Nelacar interjected.
"That was the moment when time lost all meaning and many opposing historical events occurred simultaneously, they also called it the Dragonbreak." I answered, having read all about it in one of Falions books.
"The very same." Nelacar continued waving his hands up into the air, "Everything that we know as time ceased to matter in that moment. The Hero of Daggerfall was the focal point of the Dragon Break and was instrumental in the Miracle of Peace. Through the Dragon Break he simultaneously gifted a powerful totem to many different factions. It gave the power to control the mighty Brass Tower to everyone that sought it. He gifted it to those who would use its power to wage war across the Empire… The Kings of Iliac Bay were defeated, preventing a major war. Orcs became citizens of the Empire, the King of Worms becomes a god, and the Brass Tower also known as the Numidium itself was destroyed. Mannimarco used its power to transcend into godhood rather than wage war. It was thus that the entire conflict was nullified, everyone gained the victory they wanted. Peace miraculously reigned throughout the Empire from that day forth until the Great War. Well, unless you count the Oblivion Crisis or the Umbriel Incident."
"Why would the Hero of Daggerfall give such power to the King of Worms?" I couldn't fathom and Nelacar remained silent as we rode on. I felt as if I missed his point.
When we reached the Nightgate Inn nestled into the small village of Heljarchen the sun had just set, so we rode around into the barn and away from the wind and snow. We unsaddled the tired horses and I fed the two beasts an apple each which they decided was more important than being stroked. Forgotten by my steed for the moment I tossed the young lad tending to the manure a coin as we hurried back to the front with our gear.
"You heard what that merchant said about the butcher… We need to be on alert!" The voice came through the door as we walked in.
"Just stories, I don't believe a word of it." The second voice was gruff and deep, belonging to the owner of this establishment, I couldn't remember his name.
"If it's true then Windhelm isn't safe. A serial killer… Gods. Anyone in the hold could be in danger, we aren't that far from the city you know." The first man was rather short for a Nord. He wasn't in here last time I came through.
The bald and bearding man with an eye that looked like it had been gouged through the center stood behind the bar wiping at it absently with a rag. "I think we will be fine, besides only young woman have been killed from what was said, I think you are safe."
The shorter man seemed to be far along the waning end of his middle years, he was thin but the rolled up sleeves of his brown tunic revealed tight cords of muscle along his arms as I got closer. I couldn't fail to notice that he had an oddly curved sword strapped to his waist. "Those women were torn apart with their insides missing. That is not a normal murder! I for one will be extra vigilant." He said harshly.
"You'd be too drunk to notice if a bear snuck up on you." Was the sharp retort.
The bartender noticed us then and quickly changed the subject, greeting us in a slightly strained voice, "Hail, come and settle yourselves by the fire and I'll bring you something warm for your bellies. Ah, it's you again." He recognized me then from my journey to Winterhold. "We haven't gotten many travelers this season, good to see you again." I noticed the thin man had turned his back to us and was now wholly focused on his drink.
I spoke up first, "We would gladly accept that offer," and we wasted no time tossing our cloaks and gloves off after brushing some snow away. We sat on stools close to the large fire and suddenly the smells of cooking meat filled my head. The spit roast across the fire caused my stomach to remind me we hadn't eaten much that day. The licking tongues of flame curled up under the boar, reaching out to taste the simmering flesh but always coming short.
"My name is Hadring," the innkeeper told my old elven companion. "That boar should be ready in an hour or so. For now, let me bring you some hot soup and mead to warm your bones." His gruff voice didn't quite match his eagerness to serve, but we didn't complain. Soon we were enjoying steaming hot chicken broth and downing mugs of frothy mead.
I turned to Nelacar after we ate and drank our fill in silence, "Did you hear them when we first came in?" I asked quietly. Both Hadring and the short man, Fultheim, who is apparently the local drunk, were both minding their own business now.
"Did you ever think of using that Fire Atronach of yours, or even just some fire around your hands when you were about to freeze to death on your way to the College?" Nelacar asked instead, his mouth twitching upward.
"Shut up." I grunted. "I'm serious." No, I actually hadn't thought of that. I resisted the urge to palm my face.
"Yes, but I don't see how it is any of our concern. We have much more important matters that require our attention." He seemed much too concerned with his third helping of broth to bother with such trivialities anyway.
We fell silent as Hadring came from behind me and stabbed into the boar with a long thin knife. "Ah, she's just perfect now. Here let me slice you both off a good cut before I prepare the rest of this for salting and storage. The grizzled bartender looked on at the perfectly cooked flesh in pride. Well, one bite and I could see why. It was absolutely delicious.
"I was taught this recipe by someone who knows what they are talking about." He wouldn't say more.
After we were well sated Hadring rented us two rooms and Nelacar tipped him generously. When I got to my room I sat down heavily on the chair next to the straw bed covered by thick furs. I just sat and stared into the light of the lantern, my mind raced as my magic swirled in anticipation. Things were changing so fast. Was I ready to be out in the field like this? Killed with their insides missing… Then something underneath the end table caught my eye. I leaned down and found a tattered piece of paper folded into a tight square. I unfolded it, the creases were deep as though it had been folded and opened again many times before it was discarded, it read:
Beware the Butcher!
The killer who haunts the streets of Windhelm!
These calamitous times bring out the worst in people, don't become the next victim!
See Viola Giordano if you spot any suspicious behavior.
Well, I decided right then that I had to speak with this Viola Giordano.
The night went by in a haze of restless sleep as images of monstrous beings with necrotic breath that spread death and disaster across the land danced across my dreams.
Early the next morning Nelacar and I found ourselves in an argument. I wanted to make the trip over to Windhelm, but he insisted that we had no time to spare.
Despite his numerous complaints we found ourselves heading toward the ancient city. I found myself far in the lead galloping with my stallion who I came to know as Jezbel. Nelacar and his dapple grey refused to keep pace with me, perhaps in silent protest.
"We will only lose a day at most, someone is murdering people and stealing their organs, aren't you curious?" I practically begged him to understand.
I had even argued that we had a duty as mages to investigate such a strange occurrence, but Nelacar seemed less than enthusiastic at the prospect. He called me a foolish idealist. Maybe he's right, but it helps me get up in the morning. You see, I am naturally a very curious person and I love to explore. Uncovering secrets is kind of my thing in this hard life, and I wont let anything stop me from doing what I think is right. Even if it means charging into a situation that I might not be prepared for.
"That could be a day we don't have." He was silent after that.
When it came down to it, I simply couldn't resist the urge to investigate the killer, the Butcher he was called. I felt an uncanny drive to uncover the identity of this person who had apparently driven an entire hold to terror. I had to know why he was doing this.
The City of Kings stood silhouetted in the grey skies of Eastmarch, 'One of Skyrim's oldest holds.' I considered. Fog that hung low along the cobblestone road parted beneath us as the clacking of horseshoes signaled our procession toward the old city. The misty air was illuminated by the faint glow of street lanterns that hung every fifty paces or so along the road. A man on a mule was gamboling along at a slow canter, carefully lighting the lanterns just ahead of us with a torch at the end of a long pole. He was stonefaced and stared straight ahead as we passed by. Despite his efforts only small swathes of the road behind us were illuminated. The sun hung so low in the sky that dusk strained my vision. It took all the hours of sunlight that the mid-Frostfall day allowed us to make the journey. When we discovered the grey haze of stone and civilization we realized the great bridge we had been looking for was right before us. The very same bridge that once carried King Ysgramor and his five hundred companions home from victory against the elves. Windhelm was perhaps the first city fully constructed by man and was built as a tribute to that victory.
The stables looked closed up for the night, but it wasn't that late yet. I expected a bit more activity in the area, but everything was deserted. Even the guards seemed to cling to the shadows of Ysgramor's Bridge so as to not be easily seen. We tied our horses under the thatched roof of the stalls and continued across on foot with our packs. Jezbel whinnied as we left them there alone. The black steed looked at me and rolled her eyes in annoyance. I'd have to come back early in the morning to settle up with the stable keep and bring an apple or two for good measure.
The moss-covered stone was slick from the misty fog, it glistened in the light of the torches on both sides of the large gates. Those ancient walls had stood against so many trials. The bricks were worn and cracked in places yet still stood strong throughout the eras. We passed through those impenetrable gates with only a suspicious look from the wide-eyed kinsman standing guard.
The first thing I noticed about Windhelm was that there were only a few people to be seen hurrying along the vast walkways of the decrepit main street. The vast courtyard led up to a peaked building with Nordic carvings along the stonework. There was a freshly painted sign on the front that read 'Candlehearth Hall.' As large a building as it was there were even taller buildings of dark and ancient stone that stood in rows on both sides of the central district. Stone and mortar seemed to rise up and press on the city streets with an oppressive weight. The few souls that rushed to complete their business had dispersed until only two remained near the steps leading up to the large tavern.
A Nord man in expensive looking furs was speaking loudly to a Dark Elf woman. She was waving her arms in the air, seeming to argue with the man. Well, he just seemed to grow more and more angry until he finally reached out to grab her by the arm. She pulled her arm back and lashed out with a swift kick to his groin and the angry man fell to his knees with a strangled groan. He looked up and snarled, seeming ready to hit her. He may or may not have, but I didn't wait to find out. A spell had already spread from my outstretched hand and ensnared his mind, calming the raging anger and hate that boiled just below the surface. Oh, did he feel hate. Hate that burned red hot, directed squarely at the woman. As calming energy surged through his mind he seemed to look around in a daze for a moment and muttered something unintelligible before hefting himself up and wandering off.
The dark elf woman looked towards us with a frown and then hurried away the opposite direction towards a lower part of the city. Odd days. He was too blatant to be the killer I was after anyway. With a shrug I made my way towards Candlehearth Hall and the old elf followed with a sigh.
Nelacar sat down at the bar and ordered a brandy on ice from the pretty barmaid. "What's your name young lady?" I heard him ask.
"Susanna," She replied with a coy smile and took a small mug off the counter replacing it with a large stein that she filled with ice from a bucket behind the bar. Her bosom became more apparent as she leaned over in front of him to pour a generous portion from a bottle of Colovian's finest. "Here, you better have a large, because you aren't having any part of what you're staring at." She quipped. I liked her immediately for putting the old mer in his place.
He waved me off when I said I was going to look around a bit. The inside of the hall was totally opposite from the hard and tense atmosphere outside. It almost felt as warm and welcoming as any family home. There was plenty enough to keep content all the patrons sitting around talking and enjoying an evening meal. I viewed tapestries depicting images of past glories, ancient rulers, and the beautiful fields of Kynesgrove as I trudged around the lower hall and up the stairs.
The upper floor was a common room filled with a colorful assortment of chairs and couches that you could just melt into. Again, the difference between this place and the rest of grey and drab Windhelm was astonishing. The sweet melody of a Bard playing the lute came to my ears and I was content. A large furnace made it feel like Ivarstead in the middle of Sun's Height. The heat quickly forced me to remove my cloak and heavy fur coat to reveal the college robes I wore underneath. The robes of an apprentice mage at the college are traditionally pale white with dark brown trim, not exactly inconspicuous. Even more so as they shone gently with power. I knew such robes were liable to attract attention in a place like this - they did, but it worked in my favor this time.
Viola Giordano sat upon a plush dark red couch close by where the bard was strumming away. I recognized her by the stack of 'Beware the Butcher' pamphlets sitting on the small table where she worked. I watched her make a few final deft strokes of her quill. It didn't take long before she looked up and noticed me. She blew on the just finished paper to dry the ink and set it aside before locking her eyes onto mine.
"Have you come about The Butcher?" She stared at my robes, "You are a mage, yes? Can you help me?" She asked immediately.
"Yes actually," I replied, "What can you tell me about him?"
"I've been following him for months now." She began to wring her hands together, "Well, not actually following. Trying to find him. Or her I suppose. The guards won't help. The people won't help. I'm the only one who thinks he can be caught. No one will help me." Her fierce gaze told me she wasn't going to just let this go.
"Why haven't the guards done anything about this?" I wondered aloud.
"They say they're too busy with the war, that is always the excuse Ulfric and his administration uses to deflect any responsibility for what goes on inside these walls. I say what good is winning a war if we're still terrorized by one of our own?" She declared hotly.
"Ulfric doesn't surprise me, that oathbreaker, but how can the rest of the people not care?" I asked much to her surprise.
"Oathbreaker?" She quirked her nose then forgot about it, "Oh, they care all right. Just none of them thinks to do anything about it. They say I'm just snooping around bothering people, but I'm trying to save lives! If you find out anything please tell me immediately." She begged of me and focused right back on her work. "I think someone has been taking down my pamphlets too." She muttered almost too low to hear. I went over to a dim corner and sat thinking on a wooden stool. A short time later I decided to act.
I walked all the streets and back alleys of the City of Kings that night. I was determined to uncover the mystery of this so-called Butcher. As I patrolled my gaze drifted around the dark and cold city that seemed so lifeless now. I looked up and noticed sharp icicles hanging threateningly far above the walkway. It was a quiet night, my footsteps were the only sound besides the howling wind. Every so often a guard and I would pass in our roving vigils, but those moments were few and far between. They seemed as fearful and hurried as the cityfolk, sparsely seen and offering no aid to their kinsmen.
Fear held my heart as I stalked across the stone paved roads and I shoved it down. I had to be present if the killer attacked again. I had thought to defeat the killer just as he was about to strike his weapon into the heart of some unfortunate damsel, saving her life and winning her favor.
What happened instead is that I heard a shrill scream a short distance away as I was walking through a neighborhood of manor houses. I grasped onto the hilt of Rundi's enchanted dagger and ran toward the large house on the end of the row with darkened windows. The door was locked and for some reason I couldn't blast or melt the locking mechanism. There must have been some sort of ward on it. I ran again and managed to grab the attention of a guard. We came back to the house and he gazed into the window, "There is nothing in there." He said as though I was wasting his time.
"Surely not," I gazed hard through the glass, the house was large and empty, I could see most of the lower level… and he was right, there was nothing in there. "So, it seems…" I trailed off.
The guard and I parted ways and I got another warning for wasting time. I had nothing, except I knew there was someone dead in that house, I just had no way to prove it… and the guard ignored my report. No way to get in the house and no proof means that I had failed.
Very early the next morning, some hours yet before the sun would break over the horizon, I stepped out the back door of Candlehearth Hall for a breath of fresh cold air. We would have to continue our journey to Ilinalta's Deep today and I couldn't sleep. I confess I was disappointed to leave Windhelm empty handed, and I was sure Nelacar was beginning to despise me.
That was when I heard some commotion coming from an alleyway leading through the old grave yard. I ran as fast as I could. There was already a small group of people there, and just one guard to try and deal with the whole situation alone. I saw a women in the robes of a Priestess of Arkay moving below by a gravestone, but I couldn't make out what she was doing. I had to get by, but the guard was holding us all back.
"Excuse me!" I called out over the crowd, but the guard just ignored me. That made me angry.
"SILENCE!" I shouted just as I saw Urag do when Onmund and Breylna got into one of their arguments in the middle of the Arcanaeum. I was about to yell it again when I noticed that everyone was staring at me. There was a shopkeeper with slicked back hair, a homeless woman that looked like she wanted to be anywhere but there, and another woman in rather fine clothes who were all scrambling for the guards attention, then an indomitable Viola Giordano joined the crowd and eagerly stared at me as well.
I realized they were all waiting for me to speak, "Yes, well, I see that you require some assistance here, I am a Mage from the College of Winterhold, may I offer my services?"
The guard's beard twitched under the iron helm, "Well, sure, I could use some help. As soon as we are done here you have to go report to the cities Steward though, we can't have just anyone claiming to be on official business. Then he waved me past with a look that came close to pity. I soon saw why.
My first sight of the murder scene made me want to scream. I shut my mouth forcefully with a snap and breathed heavily through my teeth. I had to focus hard on separating myself from the gibbering insanity that threatened to rise up. In it's place I summoned forth the calm rational parts of my mind necessary for conjuration. I needed to be cold and calculating to withstand the sight of Susanna disemboweled.
This was very different than the frozen over scene of Rundi's murder. That was so surreal… This though… This was very real. My mouth ran dry and sweat poured down my face despite the freezing cold. This was Thick. Wet. Blood on the ice, and by the gods I could feel a dark magic rushing through the air, the blood that dripped to the ground thrummed with power. Who could have done this?
The body was still fresh, likely killed when I heard that scream just a few short hours earlier. The smell of human gore hung heavily in the air. She had been torn apart by something sharp, but not a dagger. Large gashes split deep across the sides of her body, several ribs stuck out at odd angles from within the cuts.
"Agavar let you by, eh?" An old woman, the Priestess of Arkay, asked me as she knelt close to the body, looking into poor Susanna's eyes with the light of a torch.
"Yes, I have come to help investigate, do you mind?" I asked pointing at the cadaver. I had helped with the dissection of a draugr cadaver one day at the College. It was my least favorite task in my few short weeks there thus far, but I could do this.
The Priestess nodded and began to observe me closely.
I had to see if the rumor was true, so I grabbed a thin stick sitting on the ground nearby and used it to examine the wounds. "The ribs had been pried open to extract her lungs." I noted aloud. "There is also a diagonal cut from the right shoulder leading down her back." I held the skin open with the stick and saw inside, "There's only the frayed remains of a large muscle that has been cut out." I said clinically, "It seems the Butcher is taking people apart piece by piece." I concluded my observations dispassionately. There were many more cuts but I ignored them for now.
That's when I lost it. I couldn't hold down the rising bile in my throat, so I just ran over to the vacant side of the graveyard and made use of an old bucket.
Nelacar walked over after a short while and patted me on the back, "This is definitely the work of a Necromancer, not a normal one either. This is old magic, flesh magic. Can't you feel the wild power in the air?"
"Yes. I feel it." I croaked out. "We need to find whoever did this." I was shaking, I had a bad feeling in my gut. That dark power. That wild power. I had to know what they were doing. I had to know how they were doing it, and most importantly, why?
