Prologue.
Rapid footsteps echoed off the dungeon walls. The heavy armor clanked softly with each movement of its wearer as it quickly descended lower and lower, passing the dead guards of the place. Enemies are close, you need to hurry. A live guard will briefly delay a group of hunters, but time is running out.
Kicking open the door, the wizard ran into his lab.
You need to take everything of value, and what you can't take with you, burn it. The Stendar Lookouts won't be interested in his stuff, but the Altmer group following them will definitely be interested in doing some research.
What a bad time to track him down. Another week "and the enemies would be met by a squad of reinforced flesh golems, and so" they cheerfully burn reanimated zombies in a hurry, partially raised from their number.
The mage cast a weary glance at a large tank of murky red liquid, with the dark shape of something huge visible in the depths.
His best creation. The result of a three-year series of experiments with werewolf blood (how difficult it was to capture him without killing the beast) and the blood of a high vampire (Serana was grateful for killing Harkon, and without much difficulty managed to persuade her to give some of her own blood).
No matter how sorry you are for the effort spent, you need to release the creature when leaving, " this will cool down the ardor of the pursuers.
But the time is getting shorter and shorter, and he can already hear the battle going on on the floor above.
A grin crept across his face. There is already a more serious guard there " his personal guard.
Wights.
Dead leaders of the Nords, collected by him during the year from the tombs of Skyrim.
The strongest warriors of the north, who once fell in battle and know no fear, no pain, no pity.
However, he had no illusions: the enemy was aware of its capabilities, as well as about the loss of bodies from burial mounds. Which meant they had something unpleasant to surprise the necromancer with. I had to hurry.
The man's face returned to its expressionless mask as he hurriedly gathered up his belongings, trying to get the most valuable equipment and ingredients first.
A portable pentagram, a set of blacksmith tools, a set of large soul stones - everything was sent to an immeasurable bag.
The magician had already thanked the gods a thousand times over for this acquisition, which had cost him quite a lot of money. However, the native of High Rock never spared any money for research or tools. Yet the Bretons were very different in their attitude to magic from the rest of Tamriel. They didn't have the arrogance of the Altmer, who see magic as an essential part of life. There was no disdain of the Nords for " farcical tricks unworthy of a true warrior." They accepted the given side of the world as it was, using and comprehending unknown art.
But not all features of this people were worthy in the eyes of other races. Craving for the forbidden, unscrupulousness in means, complete lack of morality as such " this is what people and measures saw in most Breton magicians. And not to say that all this was just rumors and superstitions.
Necromancy.
A means of changing the living and the dead, which can both take life and give it (most often "only a semblance") to the deceased. The most hated form of magic in most of Tamriel.
And so, they came for him. The last time he'd managed to hide for eight years, the Hammerfell guards had ignored the disappearance of small gangs and villages, blaming it all on outlaws and their internecine struggles. During this time, he built a small necropolis on the border of the cliffs and the Alikr Desert. But one day he came across a small caravan, which, as it turned out, was traveling with a Thalmor nobleman. The necromancer didn't really care who went as a test subject. He was more interested at that moment in whether one recipient's soul could be used as fuel to strengthen another's soul.
But the big-eared man's dying screams of "The Direnni will punish you!" came back to him just as the two Dominion battle squads had already arrived. Back then, he wasn't ready, so he had to rush off to Skyrim, leaving everything behind.
(Little did the sorcerer know that there had been a quiet panic in Hammerfell after the discovery of his lair: there were so many corpses, and the Thalmor agents were adding fuel to the fire, yelling at every corner about the almost incarnate Sithis avatar and actively using the fear of the mob to achieve their goals.)
But a second time, he wouldn't make such a mistake and leave no trace.
A gauntleted hand pressed a small lever hidden in an inconspicuous niche , and screams of pain were immediately heard from above. The icy storm encased in the Soul Stone didn't do much for the undead, but it didn't do for Stendar's Patrol. Their icy whirlwind punished the invasion mercilessly, flaying their skin and sapping their strength. In this blizzard, the wights, not feeling the pain of the ice element's rampage, quickly dealt with the followers of the God of Mercy.
But the mage wasn't deluding himself with an easy victory. The main pursuer had just entered his catacombs on the slopes of the Throat of the World. He must hurry, but the ancient Nords might serve him once more…
***
We quickly followed the path that the Sentries had laid out for us. The charge of the ice storm had dried up by then, and only the frost and frozen corpses on the floor were any reminders of it. Oddly, there are no corpse-maker puppets to be seen, and the wounds on these nonentities clearly indicate that not all of them were killed by the spell.
You need to be careful, I don't want to fall into a trap like the last group " but I command you to speed up. The necromancer must not leave.
Five minutes of running through the corridors " and we are in the lab.
Damn it!
Surrounded by the draugr's now-dead bodies, the runic circle faded.
He escaped through a portal.
The leader of the first squad ran up to me:
"The necromancer's trail is lost. What are your orders?"
"Check everything here. Especially carefully portal runes and records. A…
loud crack and then the clink of glass interrupted me. As I whirled around and drew my blade, all I could see was a huge shadow dragging two men into the passageway we'd come from. The link instantly bristled with blades, but it was too late. " The monster disappeared into the underground passages with its first prey.
"Commander, this is…
"Chimera. They love to create these creatures. First department " comb the floor. Don't split up in groups of less than three.
"There is.
Feian, the commander of the second mage squad, came up to me nervously clutching his blade.
"Sir, but three fighters aren't enough to defeat such a thing.
"yeah. But they will be enough to give the signal, and then other groups will arrive in time. "I grin, looking at how he cringes from my answer" You have the same task " to study the runes and check the records. He couldn't have gone far…
"It will be executed.
***
The soldiers quickly rushed to carry out the order, under the watchful gaze of their commander. The mages began sketching out the portal's patterns, careful not to miss a single line. The last time this mage's hideout was opened, the Thalmor Inquisition found a lot of interesting things. What is only one formula for strengthening the magic channels in the fingers, which allowed to increase the output power of the spell almost twice, albeit by increasing the consumption of mana. So, in addition to the punishment for killing the youngest son of the head of the second-most powerful clan in the Dominion, the hunters were given orders to collect all the Breton's records, and recommendations to take him alive, then send him to the capital, where he would be interrogated and tortured, and if lucky, a quick execution. If it wasn't possible, kill him on the spot so that his knowledge wouldn't end up in any of the Empire's magic guilds.
The hunters also had fun playing catch-up with his creation, cursing the Nords "for digging this dungeon so deep, the creature" for moving very fast for its size through its passages, the necromancer "for choosing a place to lair in the deepest cave of the coldest province of Tamriel, and in particular" the commander, It was the third day he had been driving them without stopping,trying to catch the killer before the Sentries.
The chimera, despite its small life experience, seemed to see that they were trying to corner it and instantly went to break through the cordon. She was fast, " the blades only scratched her skin, which was stronger than steel, and the tired Altmer could not stop the beast from delivering a powerful blow, losing more and more fighters in fruitless attempts.
But the creature was doomed: "all the exits from the dungeon were blocked by the arrival of reinforcements from the Thalmor embassy (and it included not only soldiers, but also battle wizards sent to sabotage the most turbulent province of the Empire), and it was only a matter of time before the chimera was caught. In the end, the beast was driven into a medium-sized hall, which used to be a morgue or a freezer " corpses lying on tables alternated with even rows of potion bottles, showing that for a necromancer there was no difference between the first and second, and one could successfully replace the other.
The moonlight coming from a small hole in the ceiling was enough for the hunters to finally get a good look at their target, who bared her fangs and watched the slowly and carefully surrounding fighters.
The steel-gray skin without a single hair, the protruding toothy jaw, and the small, bloodshot eyes on the rather large muzzle of the three-meter-tall monster looked quite impressive. The four-fingered hands, which ended in claws the length of which would have been the envy of any dagger, were also dangerous. Even now, blood dripped from those claws, leaving fast-drying tracks on the stone floor of the morgue. The killing machine in all its grim glory.
The moment dragged on. The creature was tensely preparing to jump at any movement, but the hunters did not rush forward, knowing that the first one who moves will be the first victim. The monster has already shown that its innate weapon doesn't even notice the elven armor, ripping open the wearer as if he were naked.
But the situation changed when three robed magicians ran noisily into the hall. The creature instantly leapt at the nearest target and bit into its throat, knocking it to the ground and tearing it apart. The rest of the hunters, quickly recovering from their fright, began to shred the monster that was gnawing at their brother, trying to quickly, if not kill, then distract the monster from its prey. But the chimera, intoxicated by the taste of blood, feasted on the Altmer warrior with gusto, not feeling the swords of his comrades with difficulty, but still overcoming her skin, reaching her internal organs.
A jagged ice spike punctured the creature's head and put an end to the confrontation between the newborn monster's hunger and the hunters ' rage. The wizard who created it dusted off the blood that spattered all over his hands in disgust, and said mockingly, " I don't know.:
"You're taking a long time. I thought you'd have her in irons by the time we got here, instead of feeding her on your own flesh."
The dark looks of the fighters eloquently expressed what they thought about this, and who they would like to feed this cute little animal. But no one said anything out loud, since the mages were much higher up in the chain of command, and an open expression of discontent could result in a tribunal or death. However, he didn't wait for an answer, immediately starting to give out orders:
"Pack up the monster carcass and deliver it to Elden Root. The mage grimaced as he looked at what was left of the soldier who was unlucky enough to become the chimera's food, " and yes, take the unfortunate man's body as well. Still a kindred spirit.
"Yes," the soldiers went to work warily, looking back at the fallen beast every now and then, not believing that it had died so quickly. But the monster did not move, being completely dead, pulling off some of the enemies and giving its creator a little more time to escape.
Meanwhile, the mages had finished redrawing the runes from the portal, and were reporting the results to Yanmo. More precisely, about their absence.
Feiyan rubbed his temples nervously under Getfere's dark gaze. The amount of necro-energy found in the draugra that had lain in the mounds since Ysgramor's time was colossal.
Even taking into account the conversion losses, the fugitive could create a portal to any province of Tamriel, as well as to the plane of Oblivion, and the runes were either unknown or inscribed in a circle, which did not make his search any easier. Portal magic was poorly developed in Tamriel, due to the high probability of spraying an object during teleportation. And the hunters were mostly battle mages, not scientists.
"So what you're saying," the squad leader squinted, "is that whoever spent so much time hiding from us, created a magical mutant in the most magically intolerant area of Tamriel, killed a squad of Marines who knew who they were coming for," he continued to list the necromancer's dubious achievements, " spent so much time, effort and the main thing is energy, not to kill us with one spell, but simply to escape?
The skepticism in Yanmo's voice would have been heard even by a completely deaf person, as well as great doubts about the sanity of his subordinate. Altmer just couldn't understand how you could spend so much money with so many resources.
Peacefulness? A necromancer who killed so many people? It's not even funny. Then why didn't he kill them on the way to the dungeon? Hell, with that much power, you could even reach Grachtwood.
"I do not know," the mage replied wearily, "even finding out exactly where the portal leads is almost impossible. The rune chain is clogged with trickery, and the interference from the transition is very annoying."
Feiyan wanted to yawn badly: it was the third day without sleep that affected him, but he couldn't take such liberties with the commander.
"Okay," Yanmo furrowed his brows thoughtfully, "search the dungeon, whatever you find with you, what you can't take away, destroy, we'll send a report to the center in the morning along with the chimera's corpse. And let's hope that it will still show itself.
He was heading for the exit when one of the mages searching the necromancer's desk suddenly ran up to them.
"Sir, we found something."
Getfere started up and looked at him with interest.
"Sir, most of the records were burned, but in the old ashes, we could make out a few words."
"Which ones?"
"Another world…"