Wrong Summoning

Chapter 1: One avenging summoner

If there was one thing all bandits had in common, besides their half broken and worn out armor, is the fact that there is always a bounty on their heads. Their activities were a serious bother to the denizens of cities and towns. And so, the stewards were ready to pay a certain amount of money for killing them. But this time it wasn't a simple gang. Sure, there was plenty of bandits, but they were led by a master conjurer.

And the one who took the order just had to be a Dovahkiin.

Seriously, how much it takes to kill one damn man? Even if he had, by rumors, the dragon soul inside, he also had the same mortal human body. Every bandit thought the same thing before this same person cut through their stomachs or decapitated them. Wiping the blood from his face, Dovahkiin lowered his sword and shield, before taking a breath. Despite what many people thought, he could get tired. Add to that his lack of sleep for three days, and nonstop tracking of this same gang. Not many could stand against a gang of bandits, who were also supported by skeletons. Not much help, but still, numbers actually meant a lot.

Dovahkiin's eyes started to close, so he slapped himself. "Wake up, wake up," he muttered, shaking his head. "When I kill that idiot, I'll eat a sweetroll and sleep for a week."

After that he moved his sore muscles, lifting his weapons and continued his way through the dungeon. Dragonborn was a Nord male in his early thirties. As the most people of his race, he had blond hair and short beard of the same color, strained by dirt and light blue eyes. He was wearing a studded cuirass, an iron helmet, iron gauntlets, and iron boots. Sure, there were better sets of armor, but Dragonborn found this complect the best compromise between protection and agility.

He hated dungeons. And it seemed like the Divines had a good laugh up there at seeing him spend MOST of his time down there. He will recognize that smell of death and rotten bodies everywhere. And there was the same scenario all the time in every dungeon. Kill the similar looking draugrs, take everything what isn't nailed to the floor and kill the especially tough skinned, that's in case they have skin, undead in the end and take his treasures. Well, at least it was a good extra source of income.

Dragonborn made his way down the stone staircase, putting away his steel sword and taking a torch. Carefully avoiding primitive booby traps, and searching in every chest he found on his way, Dovahkiin came inside one huge room. Because it was well lightened, he was about to put the torch away, when familiar clatter of bones and draugr snarls sounded on distance. Dragonborn turned around and saw three walking corpses with lifeless glowing blue eyes, armed with black one and two-handed swords.

With a neutral expression he threw the torch in the pond of oil in front of him. Immediately it set on fire, catching the undead in infernal trap. They never were famous for intelligence. Suddenly, he heard a whistle, before raising his shield to protect himself from arrows. After the first wave of shots from higher platform, Dovahkiin removed his shield.

"Zun...Hal Viik!" He let out the famous Shout.

The skeletons' bows flew out of their hands. Dragonborn used the opportunity to quickly approach his enemies. He ran up the wooden stairs and attacked. Skeletons were weak, one swing across their spines and they were finished. The only living person picked up a few arrows and put them in quiver, before going down again. He walked down and opened metal doors.

The next room was even bigger hall. It was filled with different lying or standing coffins, which will surely be a handful in a short term future.

In the far end of the room was a stone table, surrounded by fresh bloody corpses.

'I guess those are disappeared citizens,' Dovahkiin said mentally without enthusiasm.

But that's not all details. On the floor around it were strange symbols and figures, drawn with blood. He had never saw such letters. They weren't casual conjuration signs, not that Dovahkiin knew a lot, he wasn't a mage. It wasn't dragons' language, either. All the corpses just screamed that Daedra had something to do with this, it's not like Dagon or Molag Bal, or maybe some other Prince of their type didn't have any followers among mortals. However, there wasn't a single letter on Daedric.