Aria

I looked at my captor as we scaled the mountain before us. The Necromancer was a very weird person, for a lack of a more appropriate word. He constantly mumbled to himself about his current course of action.

Perhaps the dark magic fried his brain. He also seemed to sometimes mention a person named Abeloth as if they were really around. Distressingly enough, he seemed to actually receive legitimate answers to his questions. Perhaps he wasn't as insane as he appeared to be.

The more I focused on the mystery of the man I was bound to, the more confused I got. He knew so much, yet so little.

Suddenly, my thoughts were interrupted. I felt a strong pull on my mind, something I have grown accustomed to in the last two days. Keeping in mind the fact that trying to resist would be not only futile but painful to boot, I marched forward, my weapon drawn.

In front of our small procession, a group of lightly armored savages stood, bandits most likely. They didn't seem like they wanted to fight us. One glance at the black-haired mage confirmed that we were the aggressors.

I sighed softly. Despite being under his control, I still was able to perform these little acts of defiance. Although, in the end, he didn't even seem to notice.

My attention switched to the frightened combatants in front of me. True, they might have been bandits, but I did pity them. Not being in control of your own actions tends to give you a wider outlook on life.

After all, who said they had any choice in their actions? Perhaps they were just like me, pushed to commit dark deeds by an outside force. As I experienced before, desperation tends to lead to taking drastic measures.

Maybe they had families waiting on them back home, hoping that their loved ones would return with coin that would sustain them for a little bit longer.

I noticed a Redguard woman in thin leathers aiming a bow in my general direction, a look of despair and self-disgust on her features. Considering just how outnumbered and outmatched they were, I did not fault her.

In the end, the bandit Archer didn't have a chance to let the arrow loose as one of those flaming horrors burned a hole in her chest. As she screamed in agony, I felt something inside me dying a slow and painful death. Outwardly, I maintained my stony expression, not being able to show my distress.

The next few seconds went by in a blur. All I remember was flashes of clashing steel and iron. At the end of all that, the snow we were standing on was sullied with the blood of bandits, many among them most likely innocent.

I looked back to my captor. My eyes widened at what I saw. His face was... indifferent. I would have understood sick satisfaction, hell, even his mad cackling would have been better! But no. The Necromancer stood there, his robes billowing in the chilly air of Skyrim, and on his face... complete and utter indifference.

Suddenly, I felt sick right down to my stomach. I wanted to puke so badly, yet my body refused to obey my command once again. If I could, I would be retching, tears most likely streaming down my cheeks! But I couldn't.

I stood there, just another of his many fleshy automatons, ready to see to his will's completion. He walked forward, glancing over the motionless corpses with an appraising eye. When he arrived at the only heavily armored man, he crouched down and reached for the corpse's neck.

From there, he plucked a key from a string around the neck with the experience of someone who has done something like this countless times in the past.

At that uncaring action, I finally understood something. Yes, I did hate this man before me with a burning passion, but there was something else. I could live with his sick glee, but it was at moments like this, when his mood swings happened... I was absolutely terrified of him!

It wasn't normal! He could be laughing with you about a joke the first second, and the next, he could turn around and stab you in the back with the expression of a professional killer. Why did it have to be her of all people to be forced to suffer his presence?

Erato

I twisted the lock with the key I scavenged from the dead bandit chief. As I lifted the lid, I stared at what the chest contained. A pouch filled to the brim with coin, presumably. Besides that, I found a few bottles of well-aged wine that might sell for a bit of coin somewhere.

I grinned at the jiggling sound the pouch produced upon me lifting it from one of the compartments in the box. As a thought appeared in my mind, I tried to swallow the chest into the depths of my inventory.

"I'm afraid I can't take that."

I raised a confused eyebrow at that inconsistent piece of information. "What about that corpse I swallowed earlier?"

"That was categorized as an ingredient, considering your class."

"I see, I will keep that in mind for the future," I noted before letting go of the pouch of coin. Seconds before it made contact with the ground, a ripple in time and space opened up beneath it, taking it away into my hammer space.

Now, with this little detour out of the way, it was time to get that map of dragon burials. Who knows, perhaps with a high enough Necromancer level, I could even raise one of those fire-spewing, flying, overgrown lizards.

With such thoughts accompanying me, we reached the outside portion of the burrow. It wasn't much of an issue betting rid of a few more bandits. Truly, the only moderately factual problem was two archers. Well, most certainly not something a few flaming skulls couldn't fix, eh?

As we stood there before the humongous doors that would lead us into the tomb, here, in this place, I potentially have a chance to gain the power Akatosh has bestowed on the lowly mortals.

In moments like this, I truly start to wonder if all this that is happening to me is a part of a dragon break of some kind. And then I remind myself what is truly important. Namely, power, the ultimate kind to be precise.

With that single-minded purpose in mind, I stepped forward. Well, after sending in my armored escort. No sense in getting myself killed by being a prideful idiot because, unlike the rest of my fellow dark Lords, I am wise to the fact that I am, in fact, mortal. For now at least.

Unlike what I am used to, the two bandits at the back of the entrance hall detect our presence right away. You know, I always wondered how the Dragonborn managed to enter this place unnoticed. Add to that the fact that the great iron gate wasn't exactly quiet and I was one befuddled gamer.

Another thing that departed from the game were the NPCs. Case in point, the two bandits seeing just how outnumbered and outgunned they were, decided to flee further into the ancient structure.

As our little parade marched towards the stairs leading down below, I looked over the bandit campsite. With barely a signal to the captain, a few of my soldiers started rifling through the things left by the two fleeing bandits. A few swords, an arrow or two, some gems, and outdated coins were among the loot. Another thing that puzzled me in Skyrim was finding currently used coins in some ancient ruin built a long time ago.

As I took all the loot in, something came to me. They weren't just your run-of-the-mill bandits. They were tomb raiders. That... actually changed absolutely nothing. I would be killing them anyway. Oh, and taking their stuff, no matter what it was.

I had the captain take point once again. We marched down into the depths of the burrow.

To be honest, there wasn't much to speak of that would differ from what you all are probably accustomed to. We didn't encounter anyone or anything up until the bandit killed himself on the turn stone puzzle.

The moment his lifeless, arrow-ridden corpse dropped to the ground, we came into the room. While one of my soldiers turned the stones, I had the rest of the force retreat. In the end, that was a good decision.

I looked in grim fascination as the undead I sent to do the puzzle turned to dust. Looking up, I noticed that the combination had changed from what I remembered from the game. That's certainly a thing to keep in mind. Just because this world is similar to what I am used to doesn't mean it's a carbon copy.

Another one of my puppets stepped forward to solve the puzzle. A rude awakening, but I needed it. It's better to make mistakes now than in a situation when the smallest of mistakes has the potential to see my cold dead body fall.

Aria

As a giant spider webbed down from the roof, I prepared for a tough fight. I looked back with a hidden glare at the Necromancer, hiding behind his little legion of undead.

Ignoring the distressed Dunmer, I swung my two-headed axe, aiming for a leg joint. The leg came off without much of a fuss, but in exchange, the thing tried biting me. Fortunately, just before the thing managed to get to me, a stream of lightning zipped overhead and clipped it right in the eye.

As the creature staggered back, it swiped its mandibles widely, screaming bloody murder. Jumping to the side, I saw one of the undead be torn apart, turning to magical dust, what little armor it had falling to the ground.

I looked up at the sound of a few impacts hitting the spider. Sadly, the arrows bounced right off its hard carapace. Blocking another attack, I tried divining a weak point on the spider's body.

Fortunately, the spider suddenly scuttled back, screeching horribly. As a sound of a sword leaving the soft flesh made its known, I looked to my left. There stood the undead captain brandishing her sword dripping with green blood.

A few seconds later, the dead sack of blood and flesh fell to the ground, unmoving. All the captain did was swipe her sword to the side, making the blood leave the blade's surface.

"Oh, thank the gods-" Before the dark elf could end his sentence, his head was speared by an arrow shot by one of the undead.

Without much of a reaction, the captain strode forward in the direction of the freshly made corpse. I turned to the side, almost jumping out of my skin the moment I realized the necromancer was kneeling mere centimeters from me.

How in Mara's name does he move so quickly yet so stealthily? Putting my surprise aside, I focused on his actions. Namely, the rune he was drawing on the dead spider's forehead. It flickered with green light a few times before seemingly failing and ceasing to glow.

He clicked his tongue and stood up. "Pity." Was all he said as he turned away and started towards the quickly cooling Dunmer body.

A second later, a familiar green glow emanated as the grey-skinned monstrosity stood up. The architect of this blasphemy merely slid an open-palmed hand forward with a barely-there smile on his lips.

As the newly created affront to the gods reached within its pouch, her eyes widened. There, in the abomination's hand, lay a golden claw.

Not giving it a second glance, the Necromancer swallowed it into his pocket dimension. Then he proceeded to walk off into the newly created exit, ignoring the still sizzling remains of the spider webbing dangling from the frame.

He truly was a weird creature.