A Necromancer's Mistake

• Posted by Xeelus July 9, 2015 - 1,221 views

  ((This short story uses a character from my collaboration Blog, The Aftermath. It can stand by itself, but would make more sense if you read the main story. At least chapter 5, anyways. Enjoy!))

   

  Lenthil sat on a snow-covered rock, discouraged and frustrated. His freezing hand cradled his bony face as the other laid across his lap. He was hunched over uncomfortably, obviously upset about something. A loud sigh escaped his lungs, creating a cloud of vapor in the air that was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

   

  “Maybe necromancy isn’t for me…” the Altmer mumbled with a frown.

   

  Lenthil looked down at the 4 ancient corpses lying at his feet, still glowing violet with failed resurrection spells. He thought for a moment. No, I’m not going to have this attitude. Though the smell of the debilitated Nord remains made him want to vomit and he didn’t quite know why he wanted to do this in the first place, he was going to resurrect them, no doubts about it. His somber face became a face of determination. Having a pity party will get me nowhere.

   

  The necromancer hopped off of the chunk of rock he was sitting on and rubbed his hands together, perhaps for good luck. Or maybe his hands were just cold.

   

  “Come on, I didn’t defile that ancient Nordic burial crypt for nothing!” he said excitedly as he charged a spell in his hands.

   

  The spell shot out from his grasp the moment he released it. Upon impact with the decrepit, crumbling cadavers, they began radiating a purple aura. Lenthil fidgeted in anticipation. Suddenly, the Draugr’s eyes sparked to life.

   

  “Ha HA! Yes!” the High Elf thrusted his fist triumphantly in the air.

   

  The Draugr were starting to move and growl. Lenthil thought for another moment. Wait, what now? I didn’t plan this far ahead! What do I do with them? He grew worried. What if they turn on me?

   

  The shambling corpses stood up and snarled aggressively in what Lenthil recognized as Dragon Tongue, and turn on him they did. They drew their dulled weapons and lunged towards him, showing off their blackened, rotting gums. Gross. The Altmer panicked and tried to use a Destruction spell, but his hands only popped and cracked weakly, like the Draugr’s old bones. He was out of magicka. The advanced summoning spell had drained all of it. With a loud curse, he started running.

   

  His lungs were burning from all the frigid air he was inhaling, but his legs were fueled by adrenaline. That was all he needed. As he sprinted, he noticed something. Winterhold, the closest city, had an alarmingly humongous smoke cloud rising from it. He also spotted a strange orange tint coming from the hamlet, like it was on fire. So, naturally, he headed that way.

   

  Lucky for him, that was the right choice.