Kvaasik - The Shade in Sunlight

1 - The Rise of Thras
2 - The Cold Front
3 - Change in Wardrobe
4 - The Unsinkable City
5 - An Unlikely Patron
6 - The Purring Liar
7 - The Dismantling Dilemma
8 - The Shade in Sunlight
9 - Varen's Folly

Traveling was surprisingly easy as a ghost. I was never bothered by weariness or fatigue, hunger or thirst, so I could simply walk anywhere, or even through objects, unobstructed. Of course, walking is only useful if you have a destination, so I checked the books at the Bards’ College for any mention of artifacts I may be able to use to trap Rajhin. The only novel that caught my eye was one about the towns of Skyrim, especially Winterhold. It is said many mages learned their craft their craft there, so perhaps I could find a strong enough soul gem to hold an immortal spirit, or at least gather further insight of Skyrim’s people.

As I left Solitude, plunging through the city gates like water, I pointed myself eastward and tried to walk in the direction of Winterhold, but I could not. There was a feeling nagging at me, like the needle of a compass, pointing me towards…something. It was too soon to tell what, or who, but it was irresistible. The compass-like sensation dragged me southward, towards what seemed to be a shrine. I floated upwards (I apparently was not bound by gravity) and found the likeness of a less favorable Daedric Prince staring at me. Meridia, deity of light, was rarely invoked by the Sload, for her hatred of all necromancy and undead conflicted with our goals. But I was not called here by Meridia herself, but something within her temple.

I followed the instinct, like a guide, through the door at the base of Meridia’s statue. I could see other undead around me, dark figures wrapped in shadows. They regarded me like one would acknowledge the first raindrop from stormy skies, like a completely expected event and nothing to be terrified of. However, I could also sense that they were not free-roaming, like I was; they were bound to someone else’s will. A necromancer practiced their arts here, in the temple of a necromancy-hating Prince, practically laughing in her face. Perhaps the engrossing feeling results from a reanimation ritual, drawing all nearby ghosts towards the caster; I had never reflected on what necromancy might feel like in the spirit realm.

I considered stopping, but the magicka from the summoning ritual was intoxicating. I followed the captivating aura of the necromancer through the dead halls, with a mixture of curiosity and confusion.

Finally, after several minutes of aimless wandering, I came upon an open chamber. Shades and other necromantic entities were crowded around a dais like the one who controlled their fates was upon it, and that was more or less true. The source of the compass-like feeling, the necromancer, sat upon the raised platform with his hands raised, conducting a powerful spell. He was a Manmer, one of the other races that inhabited Tamriel, but I recognized more intelligence in him than I had in most other specimens. I could also see a mangled corpse at his feet.

I was dragged towards the necromage by his ritual, having lost control of my movement long ago. Before long, I was in front of him; no, at his feet. I was lying there, feeling a very odd sensation along my skin. Skin! I had skin now, and flesh, and bone, but they were not of my own body. It was an impermanent resurrection, since my spirit did not belong to this corpse. I saw why Rajhin favored a permanent link to his host; I felt feeble in this weak form.

I brought myself upright, and the necromancer looked at me. He spoke, “Another minion for my army of…wait. You are different.” This much was true. Where normal reanimated corpses are bound to their conjurer, and must perform their every whim, I felt no obligation to do so. Perhaps this is because I had not died a traditional death; my body was simply repossessed, and had never stopped living. “How is this possible? Unless…” He began to think quietly, leaving me to evaluate my control of this corpse. If a ghost was simply a soul separated from its body, perhaps it could forge a temporary binding to an unoccupied—or even occupied—body, much like how they can be stored in soul gems.

I looked at the necromancer before me. He was thinking so deeply, I could almost see the thoughts on his brow, like a mass of convulsing worms. I was about to do something risky, though it could work in the end. I focused all of my energy on his body, every muscle, every bone. I closed my eyes (or rather, the corpse’s eyes) and felt a rush of air. When I reopened my eyes, I was opposite of where I stood just moments before. I looked down at myself to see dark black robes, stained with necromantic energies, and once more felt what it was like to have a living body again. However, this form would not last long. Soon, I will have to abandon the necromancer’s body, for two souls in a single vessel is too much energy for this form to withstand.

But, for now, I have an army of shades and an entire library’s worth of knowledge in this mage’s head at my disposal.