The inn-keeper brightens even with your wavering commitment, and is happy enough to serve up lunch at what seems to still be rather a steep price—or perhaps the standards of travellers on the highway is simply higher than what you're familiar with? It might be basic, but there's nothing to complain about in terms of quality.

This leaves plenty of time to be filled in on what's a rather basic story in excruciating detail. A necromancer's taken up resident in a nearby cave, and the occasional undead are giving the inn a bad reputation. The Mage's Guild should be dealing with it, it's their ban on the practice after all, but the Roxey Inn apparently rates too low to send anybody out in a hurry. With the inn's usual mercs already working for other employers… well, Malene explains, she'd been forced to ask random travellers.

Lannessa seems in oddly high spirits as she leads the way north, pushing through the undergrowth while nonchalantly eating an apple. Why? "Every day you get to kill a necromancer is a good day."

The innkeeper's directions are correct, though, and sure enough there's a small cliff-face with a rather noticeable opening. It doesn't look particularly dangerous or necromantic, just… dark as you stand outside it, although the light at the end of the elf's staff promises that this won't be an issue for long. "So, I think you can handle this one mostly on your own. Small-time necromancer… probably just some skeletons and zombies."

At least the food is good. The price would be kind of much to me just a little while ago, but it's hard to too bothered by something like that after what I've experienced today. So instead, I'm just happy it tastes good and fills me up properly.

This really is something the mage's guild should be dealing with. But they haven't done so. And if they haven't, the least I can do with my newfound freedom and allegiance with one of the most ridiculous mages I've ever seen in my life is try and take care of it while I have the chance, so there's no more risk of anyone getting hurt. Or of more people's bodies being abused after death.

---Lannessa is happy I accepted, at least. I guess it makes sense that she would be.

Wait, but...

"Mostly... on my own?"

I look back towards the cavern. I'm not particularly well-equipped yet. I guess I can do some magic, and it'll probably work plenty well against undead just as well as it does lighting up firewood.

But at the same time---

I take a deep breath.

"Er, really, I... I guess."

I've made it this far, haven't I? The assassins were probably more dangerous than undead would be, so the necromancer themselves is the biggest, most real threat.

"R-right, how to approach this..."

"Front on, would be my recommendation," the utterly straight face the elf has… is this a joke? She does seem to be serious about that, although she gives you another look over. Then a second. And a third. After a pause, she reaches around and unfastens her own sword, offering it over, "I expect this back afterwards, but it should do… better than that dagger."

Another gesture later and you're left feeling… enclosed? It's hard to tell, the shimmering layer of purple sunk into your skin, but it didn't feel… harmful? It's a shield spell, if you ask.

"Now, go put those undead to rest. It's not that big a cave, can't be more than… half-a-dozen?"

That doesn't even seem like a guess…

The weapon in my hands almost completely distracts me from the spell that was just cast over me. It's honestly one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. My instruction in blacksmithing never quite completed properly but I know enough to know what I'm looking at now is basically a treasure.

And I'm being trusted to use it?

Part of me wonders if this is a dream again.

But if it was, I probably wouldn't be having to face down undead. Then again, compared to assassins, they're not going to be as dangerous even if they're going to be a lot less pleasant to look at.

"... R-right."

Six undead, of some sort. That's actually not so bad. Compared to living assassins, for sure. And I'm better defended and better-equipped, now, too.

I volunteered so help, so... so---

I take a deep breath to help still my pounding heart, and step forward.

It's damp. And cooler then it is outside. I haven't exactly made a business of spelunking, but I know more or less what to expect from somewhere like this.

Normally it's not undead.

---!

Speaking of, there's one now!

The scent immediately hits me. I already got a bit of a whiff of it just stepping inside, but now the rotten, fetid odor of a moving corpse is striking me a lot harder. I hadn't even thought about that until now, I almost have to stop myself from gagging.

It's shambling, naked, with skin sloughing off to expose paled muscle tissue and bone, with some organs beneath. I think it was a man, but when it's this poorly-preserved it's not necessarily easy to tell. It's taller then me, too.

I inhale deeply through my mouth and step forward. It's unpleasant, it's grotesque, but it's not nearly as threatening as the living, breathing, assassins.

There's no mind in there. Not an intelligent one, anyway!

It's not as if I'm somehow perfect with a sword, but I'm not entirely without self-defense skills. I wouldn't have lasted very long in this situation without them.

I raise the sword, as it raises its arm and lurches forward, swinging it in an arc.

Rotten, soft flesh gives away easily. The bone is pretty brittle, too. The outcome when it comes to a sword of this high quality was clear long before I swung it.

The arm sails into the air first. Then, the blade reaches its neck.

Some kind of foul gunk comes from the moving corpse as I sever its arm and head, something I'd rather not think about.

---I don't think I'm mistaken. When it comes to undead, there's not much of a purpose in attacking anywhere but the most crippling spots. Decapitation is pretty disabling, right?

I step back to avoid the beheaded zombie as it falls forward.

One down.

Lanessa walks in after you, raising a hand in a lazy gesture that scatters gold-tinged illumination throughout the depths of the cave. A casual magical effect, given everything she had displayed so far—but it could hardly be considered unwelcome, even as the zombie totters unsteadily before collapsing, the magic that animated it no longer functional in the face of grievous damage.

And revealing behind it a pair of skeletons. Their bodies seem so much more fragile, yet somehow the animation more complex…? Whereas the zombie was just a shambling mound of flesh, they advance with purpose, dulled weapons clenched in their bony fists and one even sporting an off-kilter helm.

They're not the only ones, you can see another towards the small cavern's rear, just before a hide-covered opening; that one is somehow drawing back a bow…

And your magical support seems to be paying no attention, her eyes drifting towards some minor alcove.

"Ah---!"

I can hear the whizzing of the arrow through the air, even as I move forward. I can feel it disturbing the stillness around me, hurtling just past my head. I don't know if a single arrow could pierce the defenses cast on me, but I really don't feel like finding out.

The zombie I was able to cut through pretty easily. I honestly don't doubt that this incredible piece of work in my hands could do a pretty effective job of cutting through bone, I need to make sure they come apart as much as possible.

The zombie at least had some kind of semblance of needing a head, but I don't think something that's been worn away as much as a skeleton would.

---Not that I know much about undead, but it's just my guess.

Before the first of the nearest skeletons can fully raise its weapon, I push forward, using my weight behind the swing of the blade. I want to use my movement both to knock the skeleton apart as much as I can, but also get past the other and get closer to the one with a bow. I don't know just how many arrows I can take, so surely I should deal with the archer skeleton as fast as possible!

The bow goes off with a distinct creak, the old wood in the skeleton's hand visibly straining – but the shot is wildly off course, at least if you were the target. There's a slight chance that Lanessa would be hit but… no, the shimmering ward she off-handedly tosses up as she pokes in one corner of the cave completely negates the arrow, the projectile dropping harmlessly to the ground. That leaves the archer completely defenceless to being carved apart, the fine sword cleaving through with only the slightest hint of resistance. It doesn't take much for it to collapse utterly, and the pair you rushed through show a similar degree of threat.

That only leaves, as it turns out, a single undead in this portion of the cave, at first nearly indistinguishable from the half-prepared bodies laid out on slabs of rock or tables. A zombie so rotted that its race is barely determinate, its legs wasted away just to stumps.

Not much of a threat.

"Of course a necromancer would fall in with such a foul cult…" the mage says bitterly, waving you over. The alcove contains a small statuette of something vaguely crocodilian, surrounded with trinkets, various herbs and fungi, even a few fragments of unfamiliar crystal. All surrounded by a steadily brightening magical circle. "Molag Bal. Prince of Murder. Lord of Corruption. The Dunmer Tribunal referred to him as the King of Rape on occasion, aptly. As a Daedric Prince, his sphere is domination and enslavement, and as the creator of vampires, he unsurprisingly enjoys some popularity amongst necromancers."

She clenches her fist, and the circle erupts into a pillar of blinding flame, burning brightly for several long seconds before dying out and leaving only a glowing pile of slag. "I say this as a warning. The Princes are not as blindly evil as the Imperial Cult would have you believe, but his followers come close. The Dark One's sphere is wholly inimical to civilisation or even joy, and his plots have been as much a threat to the world as anything else.

"Now, come; the cave's necromancer awaits. I'm sure she's expecting us, her remaining creations await."

Lanessa points to a small curtain, a passage into another room.