Chapter Text
So. This is how he dies.
Not crushed by fiery boulders falling from the sky, nor burnt to ash by dragon breath; it was a Talos damned pebble that did him in.
That wasn't to deny it wasn't on brand for his particular kind of luck… The End Times seemed to have begun just as his head touched the chopping block (wrongfully accused and without any trial mind you!), so you'd think it would be the fire that ended his unfortunate life.
Helgen was lying in ruin behind him, yet somehow he was the one that made it out intact. There was not a scratch on his freckled skin but he was too pumped full of adrenaline to pay attention to the balance of fortune. After all, what comes up must eventually come down. When it came to Even's luck, it came down rapidly; like a beggar making a wish for fortune, only to be drowned by its weight in his pockets when it appeared as he bathed in a lake. He should have expected it really; it was his own fault for not watching where he stepped.
But really, how was he supposed to show his face in Atherius like this!? Even mad uncle Angus' death probably got him on the invite list to Sovengarde; having your eyes pecked out by enraged hens was at least half a decent drinking story, Even's was just anti-climatic. Escaping a dragon with his life, only to slip on a stone and crack his skull once the threat was gone? He'd be laughed at for all eternity by his ancestors, he was sure of it.
Of course, even if he did die "a hero's death", there was no changing the fact he was a coward for most of his life. Unlike the rest of his True Nord family, he was a yellow-bellied milk drinker if you asked any one of them.
That is to say, he was not looking forward to leaving the mortal plane just yet. The man groaned as he wallowed in self-pity that his mother would surely scoff at. He crossed his ghostly arms in a self-soothing gesture and stared down at his corpse. The blood seeping out of the head wound stained his hair a deeper red than it was in life, and his glassy blue eyes reminded him of the fish he caught just hours before his arrest.
Divines, it's been only a couple of days since guards burst through his doors but it felt like a lifetime with the state Helgen currently was in. They didn't bother knocking and barely gave any explanation as they grabbed him by the arms and dragged him off into the keep. Only after hours of waiting in a dank cell, smelling of piss and rot was he informed of his supposed crimes.
A necromancer? Him? A necromancer! He wasn't sure whether he wanted to cry or laugh in the moment, so he settled for both, which certainly didn't improve the guards' opinion of his mental stability. Even knew there were rumours of necromancy in the area, he made an effort to stay inside even harder than he usually did to avoid trouble after all! It seemed his precautions had the reverse effect he was hoping for.
He kept his nose clean and didn't bother anyone for all of his twelve years living in the small town; taking enchantment commissions for cheap and sharing his sugar whenever a neighbour asked to borrow some. It seemed to him that he massively underestimated nord superstitions and mistrust surrounding magic. He'd curse the lot of them if it wasn't in bad taste seeing as they were all likely dead. Then again, so was he.
As he stood there and pondered his fate, awaiting whatever it was that happened to a soul before it entered Atherius, a lone khajiit made its way down the road…
Sava'ko would not say she was glad her followers were currently on death's door, but she sure enjoyed the freedom it granted her. It was always "Oh Revered Mistress, you'll dirty your sacred paws in the filth of heretics if you step outside the temple!" this, and "We beg you Dreadbones, Eater of Souls, protect us lowly servants from within the comfort of your Doom-throne!" that. Not that khajiit ever let this stop her; what the simple men and mer could not see, could not harm them. Unless that something was an invisible assassin or disease as was the case.
How was khajiit to know the two-legs would get sick from eating daedra hearts? Her knowledge was endless and her wisdom unquestionable; the mortals were simply too weak for the ritual and as such were punished for reaching too high, too soon. Such is the fate of grovelling worms who follow the whims of a bored khajiit without question. They did last longer than the last batch of uneducated fools that declared her a god, and their lair was far from the usual damp and filthy caves Skyrim's necromancers seemed to favour. One could even say it was cosy if that one had a penchant for ritualistic sacrifice and the smell of rotting flesh.
Nevertheless, she would be loath to find another group of fools as devoted to their belief in her daedric nature as the Undershrine Coven. The 'temple', a generous name for a forgotten burrow, was housed beneath the statue of Talos northwest of Helgen, hence the name. To Sava'ko's knowledge, it likely used to belong to a wealthy house of ancient nords, if she interpreted the carvings on the walls of the ruin correctly. Sometimes she wondered how the previous owners would feel about their resting place being repurposed as living quarters for a necromantic cult. She asked them before of course, but their undead selves didn't have much in the way of sentience or vocal cords to sate her curiosity.
Truthfully, khajiit may have become slightly fond of her servants; they have been little more than jesters to her, but their antics amused her greatly and she might even miss a few of them were they to pass. She could bring them back, but the dead didn't make for very stimulating conversation partners.
In her utter generosity, she decided to procure a cure for the withering ingrates. Khajiit may have leapt out the entrance at the opportunity to wander outside without a blabbering nitwit at her twitching ear, but none in question were conscious enough to see it, and so it did not happen. Oh, to feel the mild breeze stroking her coat as the sun sets on the horizon; to pounce on unsuspecting butterflies fluttering amongst the flowers; to stretch atop a cliffside as flames reach for the sky in the distance… This one sensed something wrong with her statement.
Sava'ko shook off her joyful distraction and focused her golden eyes on the not-so-distant town of Helgen. How tragic. Just as the alfiq-raht wondered what could have caused destruction on such a large scale, the sky itself rumbled in answer. A dark shadow covered the hills at the rising of the obsidian beast; its leathery wings stretched the length of the town walls and its roar thundered in khajiiti ears as if she was mere meters away. With black-white bristling fur and a startled hiss, Sava'ko crouched for cover in the tall grass, waiting for what could only be described as a dragon to pass by.
Khajiit wasn't aware that lizards evolved quite so drastically since she last left her chamber, but she wouldn't be surprised if it was a daedric prank or an out-of-control transmutation spell. Weirder things have happened and will continue to happen. Still, best be cautious until the spell or the Prince's ire passed. It was a shame the apothecary likely burnt down in the process; the next closest potion seller was in Falkreath and Sava'ko did not intend to provoke the Dark Brotherhood by intruding on their territory again so soon. Their fur was still surely ruffled from their disastrous encounter preceding her newest cult leadership. How was Sava'ko to know the pool of shadows in their front yard housed a demon horse? There was no sign to keep off the grass and no fence to mark their property, and she did apologise for biting the elf's nose off, so she felt the assassination attempts were a bit of an overreaction on their part.
If the minions wanted to live, they would have to stay strong and trust in their misplaced faith. She would have to travel to Whiterun; Sava'ko hasn't quite figured out how she will obtain the potions, never mind enter the city, but found that it was no use planning when everything always seemed to fall into place. Khajiit jumped off the rocky cliffside onto the cobblestone path with unearthly grace and set off down the road.
The clouds above looked grey and heavy with rain; the fire would not spread too far and should be safe enough to loot on the way back; one had to be resourceful when living with a group ostracised by common society. The cat gave a wide berth to the town in the meantime. Aside from the smoke obscuring the now rising moons, it was really a beautiful evening for this side of the province. This is what she was talking about: a whole settlement of supplies to pick through, countless new corpses to experiment on and reanimate, and a well-deserved break from the stifling indoors with no one to bother her.
Sava'ko was just rounding the bend at the Guardian Stones when she saw it. As luck would have it before her lay a fresh new corpse gifted right at her paws. Already she felt an idea brewing in her brilliant mind. Yet again, the fates will provide if you only believe…