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His last boss hadn’t been a good person, Erik accepted, coming to terms with it as he trekked the long walk home from The Rift back to Rorikstead, almost from one end of the country to the other. He’d been dragged around across Skyrim on some half-baked quest for revenge cooked up by a man who had done nothing but insult and make demands of him, a foolish quest to get a stolen heirloom back from a bandit camp that ended in him getting killed instantly by a single arrow to the head, and Erik just barely escaping with his shield held high above his head to avoid the same fate.
On the long journey back on the road, while picking arrows from his shield, he decided that he’d vet his employers better, ask them more questions, not just blindly follow after them wherever they wanted.
He was stumbling over himself in the dark. Between his pack being stuffed with junk, ( useful junk, he insisted. He could always use a pan on the road, and then scrub it out and sell it on later.) the rain and dark obscuring his vision, and the ground being overgrown with gnarled roots, he knew he couldn’t keep going for the night, not when he was starting to shiver and hear howling in the distance. He knew Riften was somewhere nearby, but he couldn’t see past his nose, and he didn’t want to risk wandering off further into the forests and getting eaten, probably by the wolves he could hear howling in the distance.
He stumbled over another tree root and landed on his knees on stone steps. Luckily his armor protected his knees from anything more than a bruise at most, but it was the moment he decided he had to look for shelter for the night and continue on in the morning. He found, to his relief, that the stone steps travelled up a short hill and to an old ruined tower. There were hundreds, maybe even thousands of old Nord towers and castles and forts out in the wilderness, built by his ancestors and still standing strong-ish all these centuries later. He’d had the privilege to see some of the forts up close when he’d gone with employers to clear out the bandits and mages that had taken them over, even started sketching them in his journal whenever he had the chance, and some charcoal handy.
He climbed the stairs, armor clunking with every step, and gave an experimental push to the wooden door. When it opened he entered slowly, peeking around the room and listening out for any noises, and when he deemed it safe and quiet, he entered fully. The door opened into a small, square room, with another door just across. He tossed his pack down first, then started undoing the straps on his shin and armguards, when he heard a faint noise and stopped, fingers still grasping the leather strap of his right shin guard, his left shin and arm guard already on the floor.
He opened the door across from him to a wide, circular room, and a woman violently stabbing another to death.
It was two women, one older, with greying hair, and the other younger, with black hair and dark, heavy eyeshadow. Both were wearing black robes, seemingly plain and worn and nothing like usual college or mage robes, the younger one had a hood pulled up to obscure her face while the elder didn't, her betrayed expression on show.
It was the younger one who was attacking with the dagger, lunging forward to slash the other at the throat. The first slice barely connected, but the second one did, plunging into the woman’s neck and then being ripped out at a speed. The woman is dead before she hits the ground in a puddle of her own blood.
His eyes were wide in horror at the scene, even though he'd killed plenty of people himself already, he was surprised to see someone killing one of their own. He'd once seen an employer of his, a mage from the college on the hunt for an artifact that had somehow ended up in a bandit camp, cast a spell that hit a bandit with a bright red glow, and then the bandit had turned on their own group, slashing through a few before they were put down. That was the first time he'd witnessed such a spell, and he'd been nervous around the mage for the rest of the job, even though he'd been nothing but polite to Erik. It was just the shock and horror of a spell that could completely take over someone's mind.
She looked up, flinching visibly when she saw him watching her.
“It-it’s not what it looks like!” She defended, holding up her hands and dropping the dagger, it clattered loudly on the stone floor.
When she turned to face him, he saw that the robes she wore had a green skull painted onto the front; and he realised he must be face to face with a necromancer.
“You killed that woman!” He pointed his finger at the body on the floor. “How is that not exactly what it looks like?”
“I-I did. But listen first, before you cast your judgement?” She pleaded, clasping her hands in front of her to beg him. He relented, giving her a nod and removing his hand from the sword at his hip, folding his arms too, to give her more reassurance that he wouldn’t attack the second she was unaware.
“This is my home, Darklight Tower. I’ve lived here my whole life, in this coven of witches.”
He visibly shuddered at the reveal, that he was standing in the middle of a coven of witches, he knew mages weren’t inherently evil or out to get him, but he’d fought plenty of mages on the road, and it seemed, to him at least, that the mages who hid themselves away were the hostile ones, necromancers especially were notorious for firing spells at a distance if he got too close, even if he was just passing by on the road.
“I’ve grown up now, and I want to leave, I can’t be a part of this anymore. We've started bringing in sacrifices, communing with hagravens, my mother wants to become one.”
He shuddered again, this time at the mental image of a hagraven, a half woman, half bird thing that screeched and clawed and threw spells with reckless abandon. He’d only fought two in his adventures so far, and they were without a doubt a force to be reckoned with, up at the top of a list just below trolls, of which he’d fought five, and dragons, of which he’d once hit one in the eye with an arrow and then ran for the hills.
“ Exactly. ” She nodded in response to his shudder, and then gestured to the woman on the floor. “I’m going to have to kill my mother, and anyone who wants to stop me.”
“Kill your mother?!”
He gaped, eyes as wide as big silver serving platters.
“Look, I don’t really have the time to have this long conversation about everything, but I don’t think I’ll make it up there alone, so, are you in, or out?”
She crossed her arms, mimicking his nervous stance with a much more confident stance, and he flustered.
“O-oh, you want my help? Because you see, I just went through this whole thing about not just blindly accepting jobs from people without vetting them morally first.”
“ Congratulations .” The woman deadpanned. “So that’s a no? I’ll go alone, then. Take care.”
She spun on her heel and started walking away, towards the stairs to climb further up the tower, and Erik shifted on his feet as he watched her leave.
“I mean-” He continued, following her towards the stairs. He reached out to grab her wrist as she started ascending, leading to her looking down at him and him able to see more of her face below the hood. Her skin was pale, her eyes light hazel, and they stood out against the dusty grey of her eyeshadow and the cool black of the strands of hair that hung at each side of her face.
“I just want to know I can trust you. That this isn’t some evil scheme to get me vulnerable so you can explode me with fire and then raise my corpse.” He explained, letting go of her wrist like it would burn him.
“I’m an ice mage, actually. And not a necromancer.”
“Ah.” He clicked his tongue, and an awkward silence settled over them, until she spoke again.
“I’m not going to turn on you, that’s not the kind of person I am. I want to stop my mother from killing anyone else. I'll have to kill her and others along the way, but it's out of necessity , I won't get any joy from it.”
Erik nodded along as she explained her reasoning, and found it acceptable.
“Alright, I'll help you. You want to do something good, and you need help to do it.”
There was still some hesitancy in him, still some distrust towards her, this complete stranger who had apparently grown up with warped ideals, but he would have felt worse if he'd left her to her fate. She seemed surprisingly normal by his standards, she sounded well educated and her voice was clear and polite, and though her expression was stern, she was still pretty under the hood.
“My name’s Erik, by the way.” He offered out his hand for her to shake, and she gave him a withering look at the lack of an arm guard and glove on his left hand.
“Illia.” She took his hand and shook it. Her hand was small, soft, and cold to the touch in his large, calloused, warm palms.
“That’s a lovely name, like… ‘illness’.”
She gave him another withering look, and he hung his head like a scolded dog.
“Sorry.”
The duo fought through the floors, hallways, and rooms of Darklight Tower, being stopped at every turn by witches who seemed to just innately know that Illia and he were ascending the tower for nefarious, non-coven means. He wasn’t sure what tipped them off, maybe Illia’s determined glare as she stormed ahead, or maybe the way he followed after her with his sword and shield drawn, but clearly not after her. Or maybe witches just had a sixth sense for when one of their own had had a change of heart and wanted to destroy them and all the ill they’d caused.
He watched Illia as they fought, how she kept a ward up to avoid thrown magical projectiles, how she was quite graceful and fast in her movements, but her eyes stayed wide, like a frightened deer. She’d pushed her hood down, revealing a hastily tied bun in her long black hair that was quickly becoming undone with each turn and spin she did to avoid being hit by magic, or bit by skeevers. He ran up to her, sliding his foot under an oversized rodent’s underbelly, and used his foot and some well timed momentum to kick the thing into a wall, where it died on impact with a hefty crunch.
“Thanks!” She breathed, firing an icicle at the last hag and winced when it went right through her eye and killed her quite spectacularly, with a splurt and everything. Erik hadn’t realised how plentiful blood was until he’d gotten into the mercenary business.
“Oh, you’ve got a-” She starts, and then slaps him on the shoulder suddenly, causing him to jolt back in surprise.
“It was a little ember.” She reassures, pulling her hand away to show some ash on her palm, visibly steaming.
“Oh.” He breathed out in relief. “Just… a little spark.”
“Yes, just a little spark.”
They looked at each other, and Illia noted that Erik had a farmer’s tan, mostly across the bridge of his nose and the back of his neck. His hair was a bright ginger, tied in braids that she considered asking how he did, and his eyes were a soft green, like still growing wheat.
They continued up the tower, another flight of stairs, another fight with witches.
“Alright, I have a plan.”
She stopped at the very top of the tower, right by the door leading outside. Erik had leaned himself against the wall to take a breather after climbing what must have been at least five flights of stairs.
“I’m going to present you as the sacrifice, and then attack when her back is turned.”
Erik eyed her warily, giving her a distrusting look, and she sighed.
“I know, I know, you don’t trust me, but this is a good way to get her guard down. She’ll think I’ve changed my mind, and when she turns her back, I’ll strike.”
“And you aren’t going to maybe stand there? Let me get…sacrificed? What does that even entail? Am I going to be… magicked to death?”
“You really don’t know anything about magic, do you?” She asked, putting a hand on her hip like she was dealing with an unruly child. He didn’t think he was acting like that little Britte from home.
“I don’t know anything about magic, or you. ” He corrects.
“Please just… trust me. I don’t want my mother to be a hagraven, or to be one myself, or even to be a powerful mage. I’m enough as I am. I just want a fresh start.”
“Silvia. Mother .”
The older woman turned around, already dressed in traditional hagraven garb that Erik had seen other hagravens wearing before, a leather corset over a long, black skirt made of feathers. It left little to the imagination, in a bad way.
“Illia, I heard you were running away, like the little girl you are.”
Erik saw Illia clench her fists, but she kept her cool.
“Of course not, I bet whoever said that was lying just to take my place.” She waved her hands to present the Nord behind her, him towering over her with a confused expression, playing the part of an unknowing schmuck.
“I found a new test subject for you, he’s eager to help out, aren’t you?” Illia turns to him, and he nods.
“Always happy to assist.” He gave a quick two-fingered salute, and Illia took him by the arm and led him to a chair, positioned suspiciously in front of a large bowl bubbling and steaming with a sickly green substance. When he sat in the chair the fumes blew right into his face and made his eyes water, so he had to lean to the side to watch as the old woman smiled at her daughter and nodded at her, then turned around to a large stone table where other ingredients were laid out, from his angle he could see black feathers, a soul gem split into pieces, a long, gnarled wooden stick with two large claws at the end, and some body parts from various animals, like a skeever tail and an eyeball, hanging in the hag’s hand by the red stringy tendon.
“This is it, Illia, the final one we need.”
Illia approached quietly behind her, pulling out a dagger that he hadn’t noticed her pick up during their climb to the top.
“Mother… we don’t have to work with the hagravens. We’re fine as we are, whatever power they might give us isn’t worth what you’re doing.”
Silvia paused, slamming down the eyeball onto the altar and causing it to burst into red and clear mucus.
“ Illia .” She barked, scolding the girl but barely turned her head to do it, unable to see the dagger.
“I've told you before, you just don't understand.”
“I understand plenty.” Illia argues. “Hagravens are beasts , mother. They take people from their homes, gut the wildlife, and lose their humanity. Do you really want to lose your humanity, and your mind?”
“For Nocturnal’s sake, child, you’re just not capable of understanding this gift! I’m trying to keep this coven strong!”
“There is no coven! They’re all dead! And- and I’m glad they are! We’re monsters , mother! We’ve terrorised The Rift long enough, and I’m putting a stop to it!”
Silvia finally turned around to face her daughter, pure rage on her face, and Erik took the opportunity to finally get up off the chair and slowly approach her from behind, hand reaching for his sword, when Silvia finally snaps.
“You ungrateful little bitch!” She shrieked, sounding already like a hagraven. “I’ve done everything for you, and now you’ve destroyed everything I’ve worked for!”
Silvia spun around on her heel, grabbing the wooden stick from the altar and aiming it directly at Illia with the two claws pointing out, they glow a bright orange, and then from the middle shoots a fireball. It fired fast, fast enough that Erik’s eyes couldn't keep up with it, but Illia's did, using her bare hands to throw up a well timed ward that caused the fireball to dissipate when it hit.
Silvia continued her assault, pointing the staff at the ground to create a wall of fire between herself and her daughter, who stepped back to avoid the bottom of her robes catching aflame. That was when Erik ran in, sword unsheathed again and lunging forward to stab at the hag. He sliced at her body, getting a few deep cuts in that she shrieked at, now focusing her attacks on him as she swung her staff at him and slashed his face with one of the claws at the tip, giving him a gash on his cheek.
With Silvia distracted with Erik, Illia took the chance to run in, jumping over the short wall of flames to rush forward and plunge her dagger into the woman’s back. The scream was a loud, howling cry of pain. Her hands drop the staff quickly, fingers shooting out and twitching, and she tries to reach backwards, but then she dies, quite suddenly. She falls forward, face first into the dirt, and just… dies. No dramatic final words, or a last attempt to crawl away or repent, just dead where she is, dagger plunged between her shoulder blades and blood staining the dirt below her. It’s almost underwhelming.
Illia stood over her, her chest heaving up and down and her fists clenching and unclenching.
“I murdered her.”
She said, voice quiet and expression shocked and dazed.
“It was self defence.” Erik assured as he sheathed his sword. “She attacked first.”
“ I attacked first when I killed the entire coven. When you found me, I was just… scared. That woman grabbed me, and she was trying to drag me back upstairs, but I was the one who attacked.”
She wrapped her arms around herself in a vain attempt of comfort, but it couldn’t soothe her woes. Of course, Erik thought, he couldn’t even comprehend her; how she’d grown up in a coven, how she watched her mother change over the years, or maybe she’d always been like this and Illia had simply been blind because it was all she’d ever known. Either way, he couldn’t imagine having to murder his father. Maybe clonk him upside the head with the hilt of his sword when he rambled too much, but never harm him.
“I think it was justified. She’d already killed before, and would kill again.” Erik defended, very matter of factly. “And hagravens are evil. They kidnap babies and make Forsworn briarhearts with evil magic.”
Illia didn’t speak again for a while, only motioning with her head and hands to a shovel. She pleaded with her eyes for him to help bury her mother, to allow her a bit of normalcy in a terrible situation, and he complied. They buried her in a small, shallow grave, with a pile of stones balanced as a makeshift marker, and she thanked him quietly, sitting by a small campfire of twigs gathered from the bushes and trees nearby and circled with rocks.
“So, you’ve already seen my home, where are you from?” She asked, far too casually for the situation they’d just been through, but he welcomed it, sitting across from her at the fire as the sun began to set.
“Rorikstead. It’s in Whiterun hold, but closer to Markarth, so sometimes I forget where I live and think it’s part of The Reach.”
She smiled slightly at the admittance. She hadn’t seen much of Skyrim at all, only the small parts of the Rift she’d been allowed out into to collect ingredients from the flora nearby.
“I haven’t heard of it. Is it small?”
“Very small.” He confirmed with a nod. “We’re a little farming village in the middle of nowhere. I spent my whole life trapped there, until father finally let me try my hand at adventuring.”
“Do you think…” Illia started slowly, but then trailed off and shook her head.
“It’s a nice place to live.” He confirmed. “It’s a bit of a walk to Whiterun or Markarth, but there’s plenty of farming space and wildlife to hunt. Good place to settle if you’ve got nowhere else to go.”
“I wouldn’t want to impose.” Illia argued. “Besides, not many places would accept a witch into their home.”
Erik thought about his small village, the people who occupied it. It was a stereotype that Nords especially didn’t react well to mages and magic, and as much as it was wrong to stereotype people of any race or species, he’d seen plenty of Nords be prejudiced towards mages, including his own father. It was fear, sure, but it didn’t mean it was right.
Then he thought about Jouane Manette, the Breton who lived with Rorik and was basically the unofficial steward to his unofficial jarl. How Erik had known the man his entire life, and as a child he’d witnessed the older man do sleight of hand tricks that maybe weren’t just fast reflexes. The coin behind the ear trick was just a gag, but him levitating a mug of ale was a little suspect.
“We’re accepting.” He insisted. “Besides, Riften isn’t a safe place to live, the locals are unfriendly, and it smells like fish.”
“I’m assuming you listed those in order of importance.”
“I really don’t like fish.”
With only a little bit more convincing, Illia finally agreed to go with Erik back to Rorikstead. He handed over his paper map to her while they took a carriage back from Riften back towards Whiterun hold, and she traced her fingers over the thin lines that represented roads and asked questions about the markings he’d made. Some places had little drawings above them; a pickaxe near a mine, a skull to signify danger, a pair of antlers for a good hunting spot; and he told her stories about his journeys. He’d always been the inexperienced one when he talked to other adventurers on the road, he wasn’t aware of every nook and crevice like everyone else seemed to be, but it was almost like Illia was new to Skyrim as a whole, it was cute how she listened with rapt attention as he talked about quick trips into caves just to find a stolen rusty mace and three coins, she even called him ‘brave’ and ‘strong’, usually he just got called ‘milk drinker’.
It took them an entire day to get back to Rorikstead, in the night the carriage driver stopped in an open area and set up a tent for himself, and Erik was about to be chivalrous and offer his own tent and bedroll to Illia, until the driver had pulled a second tent and bedroll from the seat beside him and graciously given her it, and Erik bit his tongue and thanked him.
As they crossed the border to the Whiterun hold, passing Whiterun itself and started finally approaching Rorikstead, Illia started to get cold feet.
“You know, the college would really be a better place for me. I’d have a bed, food, magical resources… it’d be cold, but it wouldn’t be so bad.”
“You could have said that about six hours ago.” Erik playfully scolded. “Just give us a chance, I know you’ll like it here.”
He smiled at her, a charming, warm smile that made her feel safe.
“Well, Lokir didn’t like it, and he stole that horse and got arrested, and then Helgen got attacked by a dragon and he died…” He said, quieter, and she gave him that same withering look.
When they finally departed the carriage Erik was greeted by some of the villagers, friendly smiles and waves and greetings from farmers and children. His father, Mralki, stepped up, giving his son a tight hug, and then turned to Illia, who froze under his gaze.
“Well well, you’ve brought a girl home, son? It’s about time!”
“Talos no, dad! She’s a friend, she lost her home and family.” Illia felt conflicted about him choosing to tell a little white lie, on one hand it was sweet and entirely his own choice, she hadn’t asked him to lie on her behalf, on the other hand, she was worried it would come back to bite her later, if anyone found out she was a witch who had slaughtered her coven to stop her mother turning into a hagraven… Well, nobody wrote songs about things like that, did they? They wrote stories to scare children into going home when the sun went down.
She’d been raised her whole life to believe that while her magic was nothing to be ashamed of, other people wouldn’t see it the same, that she was in danger from the entire world and needed to hide away from the rest of society. Sure she knew about the College of Winterhold, up in the north, but even they were under scrutiny for maybe causing the entire city to crumble. Whenever something went wrong, it was the best choice to blame the person throwing fireballs from their hands.
Sitting at a table beside Erik and across from Mralki, she thought it looked like a ‘meet the parent’ scenario, like she’d read in romance novels that she had to hide under her bed because they weren’t magical theory books.
“Where’d you say you were from, my dear?” Mralki asked, and Illia swallowed a mouthful of bread and wiped away some drool.
“Riften. My mother and I lived in a cabin just outside the city.”
Her gut twisted with every tiny lie she told, and she didn’t think she sounded very truthful, but the man seemed perfectly happy and accepting.
“It was, um, bandits.” She looked down at the table and focused on her dinner, a heaping true Nord portion of meat, potatoes, and vegetables that she couldn’t possibly finish.
“Well, you’re safe now, and you’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like.” The older Nord reassured, and the younger one nodded eagerly. Illia felt an almost unnerving surge of peace and warmth pass over her as the two men welcomed her into their home, offering her food and shelter and a bed. She insisted on doing some work for her keep, serving food and drink at the inn, helping the farms, and even healing wounds after a couple weeks, when Erik finally encouraged her to, and everyone was happy to have a second mage in the village. Apparently Jouane wasn’t hiding his profession as well as he thought.
“It’s been a month now, how are you settling in?”
Erik asked as they passed through Reldith’s farmland and over a fence into the plains, him carrying a cheap wooden hunting bow and her carrying the bags and skinning knives.
“It’s… different to what I’m used to.” She started off, and then gestured with her hand to stop him before he could interrupt.
“I’m not complaining, I’m just stating a fact. It’s different to where I’ve lived my whole life. But I’m starting to get used to it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, it’s not so bad here. I might even say it’s nice.”
They laid themselves down on a slightly elevated hill, looking out over the flat terrain in front as they waited for a deer to approach. Their shoulders brushed against each other, and so did the shield that Erik kept strapped to his back, just as a precaution, he said.
“That sounds almost like a compliment.”
She scoffed quietly, watching a herd gallop over the fields and settled in a close area. One deer separated itself from the herd, coming closer to their position for a different patch of grass, and that’s when Erik readied his bow.
“Hardly. Just an observation.”
“Septim for your thoughts?”
Erik asked, hands drenched in blood from a shoddy skinning job. She was packing away the cuts of fresh meat and the hide, and even though he was washing his hands in a stream, he still managed to notice that she was pondering something.
“I just… I feel awful, lying to your father. He should know that I’m a murderer and a witch.”
“Oh, he already knows.”
“ What ?!” She raised her voice and jumped to her feet.
“I told him the first night we came back.”
She stared at him, mouth agape.
“Why?”
He shrugged, wiping his hands on his leather cladded thighs.
“I dunno, it seemed like you wanted him to know, but you were worried about how he’d react, so I waited until you went to bed and then I told him the truth.”
As they walked across the plains, following the main road to get back to the village, with the sun setting and creating a soft golden glow, they passed an oddly shaped monument, a tall stone totem with a bird head surrounded by five smaller totems. Erik didn’t have a clue what it was, but mentioned that as a child he’d had nightmares about the giant bird coming to life and swiping him away, which had Illia laughing at him.
Then they approached another farm. It was just down the road from Rorikstead, a small, disheveled little shack, the porch rotting away and the fences half fallen down. The farms in the village were warm and teeming with plantlife and insects, but this one had clearly been abandoned for a while. It wasn’t a shocking sight to come across, all over Skyrim Erik had seen buildings long abandoned, or shacks half burned down. Most of the time it was a dragon, but once he’d seen the aftermath of a mage trying out a scroll beyond their skill level and the mess they’d left behind. The walls crumbling into still hot ashes and the smell of burning flesh still lingered in the back of his mind and nose.
He reached out and took Illia’s hand as she began to approach, pulling her back onto the road.
“That’s Goldenhills, it’s haunted.”
He warned, pointing a finger out towards the farm.
“Lots of places are haunted in Skyrim.” Illia pointed out, still walking along the road, but not taking her eyes off the farmhouse as they got closer and closer, able to see it much clearer the more they approached. Moss and vines trailed up the wooden supports that held up the balcony to the porch, and it was clear that they were starting to decay and sag, it looked like any day now the balcony would collapse under the columns. “What makes that place so special?”
“The ghosts will attack anyone who gets too close.” Erik warned again.
“Ghosts linger because they have unfinished business, why don’t you just figure out what they want and do it? Surely they just want you to grow a carrot or something simple.”
She easily slipped from his grip, he hadn't been holding her firmly enough, and took off for the farm, following a little dirt path that had been made by carriage wheels, two thin streaks cutting through the grass to reveal light brown dirt underneath. He chased after her, grumbling under his breath about how stubborn she could be.
“What if it’s not so simple? What if they were… I don’t know- cannibals ?”
She smiled up at him as they arrived in the middle of the farm and she surveyed the area.
“You read too many scary stories.” She shook her head at him, but she was very endeared by the ideas he came up with on a whim. She continued searching the simple farmhouse, peeking through the dirty, cracked windows but unable to see much of anything. She tried the door, but found it was locked, or maybe just stuck, when she pulled on the handle, then pushed, and the door didn’t budge an inch.
“I’m not seeing any-”
She was cut off suddenly by a strangled noise from Erik and a whooshing sound she couldn’t place. Before she could even turn her head to look at him, he’d pulled his shield up to her and held it over their faces, and then there was a loud thunk and the crack of splintering wood, his arm shook under the weight of whatever had hit his shield, but the only thing Illia could focus on was how he’d protected her from almost certain death. And how hot his breath was against hers.
“I told you they attack anyone who gets too close.” He breathed, and then tossed his shield to the side, where she could finally see that what had hit it was an axe, a full blown wood chopping axe. It had splintered the shield right down the middle.
Illia finally turned her head to look out over the farm again, and this time a ghost, a transparent blue balding man dressed in simple farming clothes, ran towards them. Erik was about to charge, but Illia had finally come to her senses and fired a jet of ice shards out with both hands, and it impaled the ghost and caused it to dissipate with a ghostly moan.
“You saved my life… again.”
She reached up to clutch the robes around her chest, feeling a warm sensation run through her. She hadn’t felt warm in a long time, since before she’d shown prowess as an ice mage and began studying it. Fire mages tended to be warm bodied people.
“The door’s open.” Erik either hadn’t heard her, or didn’t feel the need to answer, instead he was pointing towards the farmhouse porch again, the only change was that the door was now wide open, beckoning them inside the pitch black home.
“That’s… creepy. We should go.” She said, suddenly as eager to leave as she was eager to come in the first place.
“No, you were right, there’s unfinished business here and when it’s done, the ghosts will leave. We should help.”
He stalked ahead of her, into the house, and she followed so she wasn’t alone outside on a creepy haunted farm, she at least wanted to be inside the creepy haunted farm with her friend, when they were inevitably murdered by the vengeful ghosts.
The inside of the farmhouse was just as rotten and decayed as the outside, they couldn’t help but smell it in the air as they entered into the house, Erik had to duck his head under the doorframe to avoid hitting his forehead, and Illia lit up a candlelight spell, a glowing blue orb that hovered over her and lit the room up fully, for them to see the full state of the first room.
It was a small rectangle, and the furniture was sparse, just a brick fireplace on the far wall and a dining table on the near wall, beside the front door. There were cloth scraps that used to be a rug, but it was barely one anymore, and there were remnants of food on the table that were so rotten they couldn’t identify what they used to be, just black, slimy mush.
Erik stepped forward and then squeaked, not unlike a mouse, as his foot came into contact with something hollow that rolled across the floor. They both looked down and were visibly startled when the rolling object was revealed as a human skull, the rest of the skeleton around their feet, a ribcage half under the dining table, a hand by her left foot, still clutching an empty bottle of ale, and the skull still rolling away, towards an open door that lead to a set of stairs going down. Clunk, clunk, clunk, the skull hit the wooden steps and landed at the bottom, where it disappeared in the darkness, and Erik shuddered, fully and bodily.
“By Talos, I almost-”
He’s stopped by a wail, and the sound of footsteps ascending the stairs. Another ghost, this one a woman, with long flowing hair and a dress, ran towards them with a dagger clutched in her hand, held high above her head as she darted at them, and Illia reacted quickly again, another blast of ice shards piercing her body. She wailed again, and her body dispersed into mist.
They looked at each other, Erik pale faced and pupils like pinpricks, and Illia slightly rattled.
“We need to find out what happened here.”
“-pissed myself.”
They said at the same time, and Illia gave him a baffled look.
“What?”
“No, no, I didn’t . I mean, I almost did. I was finishing my sentence.” Erik insisted, face red, and she gave him a slightly concerned look.
“ Right . I’ll look upstairs for any clues, you look down here.” She pointed towards a set of stairs leading up to a second floor, and then started to climb them before he could argue, so he was left in the main room to search for… something. She hadn’t really explained what exactly a clue was, so he decided to simply scour the main room for anything interesting, and when he found nothing but rotten food and a single wooden chair, he moved on to the stairs down to the basement, where the skull had rolled down.
“Illia.” He called up to her, and she came halfway down the stairs. “It’s dark.” He pointed his finger down at the basement stairs.
She smiled at him, and raised her hand to cast a spell at him. A glowing blue orb hit him and hovered above his own head.
“I found some clothes in the wardrobe up here, in case you need to change.”
“I didn’t piss myself!” He insisted, storming off down the stairs so she couldn’t see his blush, but he heard her laughing anyway.
“Damn witch.” He grumbled, not really hugely embarrassed, he was really just feeling unseasonably warm at the sound of her laugh. “Making me search a creepy basement. We should get a dog.”
He stepped into a small basement, barrels full of the same rotting food surrounding him, and a single, large wooden wall shelf in front. It was entirely bare as he searched through the drawers, but there was something off about the room. There was an echo for such a small, cramped space, and a slight light coming from a crack in the wood. He took another look around, and found a single round button half hidden behind a barrel. When he pushed the button the shelf suddenly slid out and to the side, revealing a hidden room.
“Jinkies.” He said, in awe at the secret he’d discovered. He wasn’t usually great at reading a room or noticing the little details, and he was sure finding the button had been a fluke.
Behind the cupboard was an alchemy lab, a round metal desk that held an alembic set and sat in the right corner. The light he’d seen through the crack was a planter full of glowing mushrooms that had outgrown its pot and was climbing up a shelf full of other ingredients. He didn't know anything about alchemy, but he didn’t have any bias towards it like he did with mage covens and necromancers; alchemy made helpful potions that he would willingly take, even if some were horrendously bitter.
On the other hand, the other table in the room did not make him feel at ease. In the left corner was an arcane enchanter, another metal table, this one in the shape of a pentagon and made of some dark black metal, adorned with the symbols of the schools of magic and headed by a trolls’ skull with goat horns and a glowing green orb. Even worse, a skeleton was by it, sprawled out on the floor.
Sitting in the middle of the enchanter was a leather bound journal, he slowly reached out to it and snatched it up quickly, before the skull could come to life and bite him. It was a very real possibility and not just a silly nightmare he’d had once, he’d argued with Illia once.
He flipped through the journal, written by a woman named Jonquil, presumably the woman who’d just run at them with a knife, and the probable skeleton in the room with him. The skull was facing him and he wasn’t quite sure if it had been when he looked at it the first time, so he skimmed through the journal as quickly as he could and tried to find anything useful. A woman named Jonquil, her husband Urval, their son Rin. They were a little happy family on the farm, just trying to get by. The wife was the alchemist, but she had to hide her talents away behind the shelf because her husband was a stereotypical magic fearing nord.
Only eight months later, and Rin, their young boy, had gone missing suddenly. Erik was surprised by the sudden turn, and as he read on he saw how it had all ended for the poor woman. She pinned the disappearance on her husband and had poisoned him, but he’d clearly gotten her, too. There were dried dark brown splatters on the wall by the skeleton that must have been bloodstains.
He closed the journal, and was about to call out to Illia when she was suddenly behind him, grabbing his shoulder, and he shrieked.
“Divines’ sake, woman!” He clutched at his chest and turned to her, to find her holding up a journal of her own.
“Their son disappeared and the husband found out his wife was a witch.”
“I know, I found her journal.”
“Oh.” She took the journal from him and handed over the one she’d found. “So Urval killed Jonquil, and she poisoned him, but where’s Rin?”
There was a sudden chill in the air, and a door creaked. They rushed up the stairs with the same thought in mind, that the front door was closed and had trapped them inside, but instead they found the front door still wide open, though now the moon was out. Instead the noise had come from a door off from the main room that they were both completely and utterly sure hadn’t existed before. Erik was certainly sure because he’d scoured every inch of the main room before he’d gone down into the basement.
The new room was a child’s room, a single small bed and a shelf for a small stack of books. On the bed was a knitted doll and a journal, and Illia picked it up and read it. It was Rin’s, and it was a sad little look into the family, how Urval and Jonquil would argue over their struggling farm and the alchemy, and how Rin wanted nothing more than to be a soldier, an idealistic view of fighting bad guys and his cape swaying in the breeze. He wanted to go to a nearby well and fight a wolf, and the pair looked at each other with a sad, haunted look in their eyes.
“A well.”
Erik echoed.
“We’ll probably find him there.”
He offered his hand out to Illia, a small comfort as she seemed shaken up by the reveal. She took it and they left the house, spotting the well just up a hill across from the land.
They walked through the farm and towards the hill the well sat on, when they heard the ghostly moans again, and they turned to see both parents chasing after them, dagger and axe in hand. Erik readied himself with a simple small dagger, prepared to fight, but Illia pulled him just a few feet further, and suddenly the ghosts stopped completely, standing there with vacant eyes. He was taken off guard.
“We’re over the threshold of the farm.” Illia explained, pointing him to a few single fence posts, and then she demonstrated what she meant by stepping past them, and the ghosts started advancing at her. When she stepped back again past the fence the ghosts stopped.
“Their bodies are here, so this is all their spirits know. Once we leave the farm they can’t see us.”
“Does that mean…”
Erik turned, just at the foot of the hill to the well, and his eyes widened at the ghostly apparition sitting on top of it.
“Hi, my name’s Rin.” He greeted them both as they approached. “I died here a long time ago, and I can’t sleep because my ma and pa are looking for me.”
“Wait, why are you speaking to us normally and your parents are trying to attack us?”
“Erik, stop questioning things and start picking up these bones, please.” Illia interrupted him, picking up some of the small bones that sat around the well. Rin seemed perfectly happy as he followed them back to the fence, where they stepped over together and he was finally home. His parents rushed towards him and pulled him into a really satisfyingly warm looking hug, and Erik was overcome by the moment and had to put his arm around Illia’s shoulders.
“Thank you for showing us the truth.” Urval spoke, looking up at the pair.
“For bringing our son back to us.” Jonquil added, and then the trio dissipated again, hopefully finding peace in Sovngarde.
A silence fell over Goldenhills, a peaceful silence that hadn’t been heard in a long, long time, and a silence Erik was all too happy to hear.
“Illia-” He turned to her, not even sure what he wanted to say, just wanting to break the silence, but she surprised him by doing it himself by reaching up with both hands to grab his cheeks and pull him down for a kiss. Her lips were warm and soft against his as they melded together, and after a second of standing there frozen with shock he snapped out of it and started kissing her back, his arms winding around her.
“Shouldn’t we discuss this?” Erik squeaked after a full minute of kissing left him breathless.
“This isn’t some fluffy romance novel, shut up and kiss me again.”
He complied.
Dinner the next day wasn’t as awkward as they thought it would be, sitting at the table with Mralki across from them as he served whatever he had nearby, slapping a cut of salmon onto Erik’s plate and missing the overexaggerated grimace on his son’s face as he picked it up and swapped with Illia for her steak.
“You both slept right through the morning there.” Mralki gave them both a look, and they looked away from him.
“Goldenhills isn’t haunted anymore. We fixed it.” Erik explained, glancing at Illia, who was shovelling in her food like a starved dog.
“Oh, that wasn’t what I was expecting, and where’s the deer I sent you to hunt?”
Erik groaned in realisation.
“Probably back at the farm.”
Illia swallowed her mouthful.
“We can go back and get it.” She reassured. “And then we’re going to take a proper look around, see if it’s salvageable.”
“Oh right, that too. Father, Illia and I are going to try and renovate the old farm, and then move into it.”
Erik said casually and matter of factly, without even a thought to his poor old man’s heart.
“Divines, boy, have a thought for your poor old man’s heart!” He choked on his grilled leeks and had to chug his milk.
“Sorry. But to confirm you heard right, Illia and I are hopefully going to fix up the farmhouse and move in. It’s already got an alchemy lab for her, and I can still do all my adventuring.”
He took her hand in his on the table, giving it a squeeze, and she smiled at him and squeezed back.
“So we both got our way after all, you’re still a farmhand, still nearby, and you’re going to live with your lady friend?”
Erik nodded, and Mralki beamed.
“Well, isn’t this just a perfectly happy ending?”