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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
Their expanded group had suddenly become the absolute focal point of the entire Bannered Mare. The remaining patrons cast wide, intimidated glances toward the back corner. A towering, wealthy High Elf mage, a lethal Dark Elf assassin, a massive veteran Captain, two scarred mercenaries, and the most violently unpredictable, heavy armored woman in the city. It was a terrifyingly formidable party, and the sheer concentration of martial power was undeniable.
Satisfied that his new shock trooper was seamlessly integrating into the company culture, Aerion reached into his robes. He pulled out the heavy iron key attached to the wooden block that he had secured from Hulda earlier.
He turned and casually tossed it through the air.
Jenassa caught the key effortlessly with one leather clad hand, her crimson eyes flicking up to meet his.
"Your quarters for the next ten days, Jenassa," Aerion informed her, his voice low and professional. "It is one of the smaller rooms downstairs, just off the main hall to the left. Settle in. Rest. We have much work to do in the coming days."
"Understood, Patron," Jenassa nodded, slipping the heavy iron key into her belt pouch, her eyes already scanning the tavern for any potential threats to her employer's life.
Aerion pulled up a wooden chair, taking a seat among his newly formed, rapidly expanding private army. He ordered a bottle of Alto wine as Sinmir began recounting the story of their recent slaughter of the starving wolf pack to an incredibly eager Uthgerd.
Sinmir, his massive frame taking up a significant portion of the table, leaned forward, a half empty tankard of mead in his calloused hand, his deep voice carrying over the din of the tavern.
"I am telling you, Uthgerd, the pack was massive," Sinmir boomed, his eyes wide with the memory. "Two dozen of the beasts, driven completely mad by the frost and the hunger. They tried to flank the perimeter, looking to tear the farmhands to ribbons. But then there's Aerion..." Sinmir gestured respectfully toward Aerion with his tankard. "His magic is like nothing I have ever seen. He didn't just singe them, he laid down a wall of fire so intense it turned the snow to steam in seconds. He broke their charge entirely on his own."
Uthgerd listened intently, her chin resting on her heavy steel gauntlet. She cast a slightly skeptical, evaluating glance toward the impeccably dressed High Elf. She respected destruction magic, any true warrior respected a weapon that could kill, but in her mind, mages were squishy, fragile scholars who hid behind their spells because they couldn't hold a real line of defense.
"Fire is fine for keeping beasts at bay," Uthgerd noted, taking a long pull from her ale. "But what happens when a heavily armored bandit chief closes the distance? Magic takes time to weave. A greatsword does not."
Torsten Iron-Arm let out a loud, booming laugh, slapping his hand against the table. "That is exactly what we thought, woman! But you should have seen the training rings before the wolves attacked!"
Titus Varr, the scarred Imperial, nodded vigorously in agreement. "It is the gods' honest truth. Aerion joined us in the sparring yard. And he didn't use a single spark of magic."
"He picked up a standard iron sword and went toe to toe with us," Sinmir continued, his tone shifting from boastful to deeply respectful. "He showed absolute, lethal proficiency. One handed, two handed, even drawing a bow. He moves with this terrifying, fluid speed. And more than that... the man can take a hit. Torsten clipped him with a training warhammer, a blow that would have cracked my ribs, and the Elf barely even flinched. He just absorbed the blow with a shield and countered."
Uthgerd's eyes widened significantly at this revelation. The deep skepticism in her gaze melted away, replaced by a sudden, fierce spark of profound interest. She looked at Aerion, truly seeing him for the first time not just as a wealthy patron, but as a fellow warrior. To hear three seasoned mercenaries, men whose lives depended on their ability to judge martial strength, openly acknowledge an Altmer mage as a physical powerhouse was almost unheard of.
A dangerous, eager smile spread across Uthgerd's scarred face. "Is that right? A High Elf who can actually cross steel and take a hit?" She cracked her knuckles, the metal joints of her gauntlets popping loudly. "Well now. Joining this mercenary company has just become vastly more interesting for me."
Sinmir grinned, recognizing the familiar, violent itch in the woman's eyes. "Come to Pelagia Farm tomorrow morning, Uthgerd. I will introduce you to the rest of the company, issue your standard gear, and we can see exactly how well you fit into the shield wall."
"I will be there at first light," Uthgerd agreed without hesitation. She then turned her intense, challenging gaze directly onto Aerion. "Will you be there, Elf? Because my sword arm is suddenly itching. I would very much like to try a mock duel with you in the rings."
Sinmir shot a quick, curious glance at his employer, wondering if Aerion would accept the challenge from the Unbroken.
Aerion offered a polite, apologetic smile, shaking his head. "I am afraid I must decline your challenge for tomorrow, Uthgerd. As much as I would enjoy crossing blades with you, I cannot join the company at the farm. I have a rather important appointment within the city walls that requires my undivided attention."
Uthgerd let out a loud, dramatic groan of disappointment, slumping back slightly in her chair. "Bah! What a waste of a good morning. Very well, there is nothing to be done about that." She immediately turned her fierce grin back to the massive captain. "Sinmir, I suppose you will just have to do. I would like to test your skill instead."
Sinmir let out a deep, rumbling laugh, lifting his tankard. "I more than welcome the challenge, Uthgerd. Just try not to dent my shield too badly."
As the Nords returned to their boisterous planning for tomorrow's violence, Jenassa leaned slightly toward Aerion. The shadows of the tavern seemed to cling to her as she dropped her gravelly voice into a low, completely private murmur, imperceptible to the surrounding table.
"What exactly is your schedule for tomorrow, Patron?" Jenassa asked, her crimson eyes remaining entirely focused on the tavern door, constantly scanning for threats.
Aerion leaned in, matching her low, secretive tone. "First thing in the morning, I intend to visit Jorrvaskr to formally terminate my training contract with the Companions. They have served their purpose. After that, I must secure a significant influx of capital. And finally, I have a scheduled business meeting with a local merchant named Ysolda to finalize a rather lucrative deal."
Aerion paused, looking at his bodyguard. "Because the meeting with Ysolda is of a highly sensitive, mercantile nature, I will not need a visible, intimidating shadow looming over my shoulder. It might sour the negotiations. While I attend to that meeting, you are free to remain here in the Bannered Mare. Use the time to rest, maintain your gear, and familiarize yourself with the layout of the city."
Jenassa gave a single, crisp nod of her head, the instructions perfectly clear. "Understood, Patron. And after this meeting?"
"After that... I do not fully know," Aerion admitted softly. "I will see what the board looks like, and what needs to be done next."
As the evening wore on and the tavern grew even more packed, the ambient noise shifted from isolated conversations to a collective, roaring hum. Aerion, nursing his glass of Alto wine, passively tuned his enhanced elven hearing to the various conversations drifting across the room.
A group of traveling merchants and a pair of off duty Whiterun guards were gathered near the bar, speaking in hushed, urgent tones.
"I heard it from a courier riding straight out of Solitude," one of the merchants whispered nervously. "General Tullius is becoming even ore aggressive on his counter atacks. He has ordered several full scale campaigns on more of the Stormcloak positions."
"It's about time," an Whiterun guard muttered into his ale. "Ulfric has had his fun. The Legion is mobilizing at it's full strength and under good leader. They say Tullius is marching a massive contingent south to secure the Falkreath and Rift borders."
Aerion's golden eyes narrowed slightly, his mind racing as he filed that piece of intelligence away. General Tullius was actively marching. That meant the grand, geopolitical set pieces of the game were shifting into motions even closer.
It was only a matter of time, perhaps weeks, perhaps days, before the Imperial ambush at Darkwater Crossing occurred. And once Ulfric was captured and sent to the chopping block at Helgen, Alduin the World Eater would descend from the sky, shattering the time wound and plunging the entire province into an apocalyptic crisis.
'The main story is about to start,' Aerion thought grimly. 'My window for undisturbed preparation is closing rapidly.'
Slowly, the heavy fatigue of the day began to catch up with the mercenaries. Sinmir, Torsten, and Titus finished their final rounds of ale, exchanged respectful farewells with Uthgerd, and took their leave, heading out into the cool night air to return to the barracks at Pelagia Farm.
Uthgerd, looking immensely satisfied with the evening's turn of events, stood up, gave Aerion a firm nod of respect, and departed for her own home in the Wind District.
With the table finally empty, Aerion and Jenassa stood up to retire to their respective rooms.
As they approached the central staircase, Hulda suddenly stepped out from behind the heavy wooden counter. It was a highly unusual sight, the innkeeper rarely abandoned her post during the busy hours unless there was a brawl to break up.
"Aerion, a moment, if you please," Hulda called out, wiping her hands on her apron.
Aerion paused, turning to face her with a polite smile. "Of course, Hulda. Is there something you wished to discuss? Was the gold for Jenassa's room insufficient?"
"No, no, the coin was more than generous," Hulda smiled, waving a dismissive hand. She lowered her voice slightly. "I just wanted to pass along a message. Ysolda stopped by earlier this evening while you were out. She asked me to remind you that your meeting is set for tomorrow afternoon, and that she is very much looking forward to it."
Aerion's smile widened slightly. The young merchant was eager. "Thank you for the message, Hulda. Please do not worry, I haven't forgotten."
Bidding the innkeeper goodnight, Aerion climbed the creaking wooden stairs to his private suite on the second floor, Lupin trotting faithfully at his heels, while Jenassa turned down the lower hallway to claim her newly rented room.
Aerion entered his suite, locking the heavy wooden door behind him. The room was cold, but a quick, localized burst of fire magic into the stone hearth instantly brought a roaring blaze to life, casting long, dancing shadows across the walls.
He sat down at the sturdy wooden desk near the window. With a thought, he reached into his spatial inventory and withdrew the small leather bound journal he had looted from the charred corpse of Arvel the Swift, along with the glass inkwell and the pristine crow feather quill.
Opening the journal, Aerion stared at the arrogant, rambling entries Arvel had written about manipulating the bandits. With a look of mild disgust, Aerion gripped the pages and violently ripped them all out, tearing them into shreds and tossing them directly into the hearth fire. The parchment curled and burned to ash in seconds.
The journal was now entirely blank. It was his.
He unstoppered the inkwell, dipped the quill, and began to write. He needed to physically organize his thoughts and his overarching strategy for dealing with the impending Dragon Crisis and the inevitable arrival of the true Dragonborn.
He began by documenting his current, highly critical inventory. He wrote down the Dragonstone and the Golden Claw. By possessing these two items, he had completely short circuited the initial questline of the province.
When the Dragonborn finally arrived in Whiterun and was inevitably sent by Farengar Secret-Fire to retrieve the stone from Bleak Falls Barrow, they would find nothing but Aerion's cryptic note.
Aerion tapped the feather against his chin, his mind working through the meta knowledge of the game's progression. If he wanted to truly control the narrative and ensure the Dragonborn didn't accidentally destroy the province in their chaotic rise to power, he needed leverage. He needed to make the hero entirely dependent upon him.
He pressed the quill back to the parchment.
Target One: The Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. If he beat the Dragonborn to the depths of Ustengrav, he would force them to come to him for the relic necessary to prove their worth to the Greybeards. It was exactly what Delphine had done in his past life, and despite his personal distaste for the paranoid Blade, her strategy of forced cooperation was brilliant.
Target Two: The Jagged Crown.
This was the ultimate prize. The legendary crown forged from dragon bone was the single most powerful political symbol in Skyrim. Whichever side possessed the Jagged Crown, the Imperials or the Stormcloaks, would gain massive legitimacy in the civil war. If Aerion held it, he could effectively dictate the outcome of the war, forcing General Tullius and Jarl Ulfric to dance to his tune.
'I will become the ultimate artifact collector,' Aerion wrote, a cold, calculating smile touching his lips. 'I will hold the keys to their destinies.'
After securing his political strategy, he turned to his personal power progression. His magical prowess was devastating, but it was currently entirely focused on Destruction, Restoration, and a rudimentary understanding of Illusion. If he wanted to be truly unassailable, he needed versatility.
Immediate Action: After concluding the business deal with Ysolda tomorrow, he needed to travel to the College of Winterhold. Gaining admission to the prestigious magical academy would grant him access to master level spell tomes, expert tutors, and advanced alchemical laboratories. Furthermore, he desperately needed to officially unlock the Conjuration skill tree. The ability to summon Daedric entities or elemental Atronachs to fight his battles would exponentially increase his survivability in a world filled with dragons.
Having written down his goals and solidified his decisions, Aerion let out a long, satisfied breath. He closed the journal, safely storing it along with the inkwell and quill back into his inventory. He stripped off his heavy, slightly scorched robes, climbed into the soft feather bed, and quickly fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, the rhythmic breathing of Lupin curled at the foot of the bed lulling him to rest.
The next morning, the crisp, golden light of dawn filtered through the wooden shutters of his suite. Aerion awoke feeling completely refreshed, the massive influx of attributes from his recent level-ups keeping his Altmer vessel operating at absolute peak physical condition.
He dressed quickly, making sure his immaculately set of fine of robes.
With Lupin playfully nipping at his boots, Aerion unlocked his door and stepped out into the hallway.
He paused. Leaning casually against the wooden wall directly opposite his door, her arms crossed over her leather chest piece and her crimson eyes perfectly alert, was Jenassa.
Aerion was genuinely surprised. He hadn't heard a single creak of the floorboards or the subtle shift of leather armor to indicate her presence.
Hearing the click of the latch, Jenassa pushed herself off the wall, offering a crisp, professional nod. "Good morning, Patron."
Aerion quickly recovered his aristocratic composure, returning the greeting with a warm smile. "Good morning, Jenassa. You are up early. I trust your accommodations were satisfactory?"
"A locked door, a warm bed, and a roof that doesn't leak. It is a palace compared to the mercenary camps," Jenassa replied simply, falling into step behind him as he moved toward the stairs.
They descended into the quiet, early morning atmosphere of the Bannered Mare. Hulda was quietly sweeping the floor, the tavern completely devoid of the chaotic energy from the night before. Aerion offered her a brief wave, which she returned with a tired smile, before he pushed through the front doors and stepped out into the streets of Whiterun.
The city was just beginning to wake. The air was incredibly crisp, carrying the faint, sharp chill of the surrounding mountains. Merchants were lazily unrolling the canvas awnings of their stalls in the Plains District, and the city guards were executing their morning shift changes with synchronized, clanking precision.
Aerion didn't stop in the market. He led Jenassa and Lupin straight through the central square, turning right to approach the massive, winding stone steps that connected the lower city to the affluent Wind District.
They climbed the long, sweeping staircase, the rushing water of the city's aqueducts echoing loudly around them. Reaching the top, the district opened up to reveal beautifully constructed manors and paved stone walkways.
Looming majestically over the center of the district was the Gildergreen. The ancient, massive tree stood tall and proud, though its branches were currently bare and lifeless, waiting for the blessing of Danica Pure-Spring to bloom once more.
Aerion walked past the sacred tree, turning right to follow the cobblestone path that curved slightly uphill. Looming at the end of the road, looking like a massive, overturned Viking longship perched atop the rocks, was the legendary mead hall of Jorrvaskr.
Instead of walking through the grand front doors, Aerion guided them around the side of the massive structure, taking the dirt path that led to the enclosed back courtyard where the Companions conducted their martial training.
As they rounded the corner, the rhythmic, sharp THWACK of arrows sinking into straw targets filled the air.
Standing in the frost covered courtyard were some of the members of the Inner Circle and one Companion. Vilkas and Farkas were sparring lazily with dull iron greatswords near the weapon racks. Athis, the Dunmer warrior, was sharpening a blade on a grinding stone. And standing near the center of the yard, her fiery red hair catching the morning sun, was Aela the Huntress.
Aela had just drawn back the string of her hunting bow. Hearing the crunch of boots on the gravel, she froze, turning her head slightly. When she saw the tall, impeccably dressed High Elf walking into her training yard, she slowly lowered her weapon, an expression of profound, sarcastic annoyance spreading across her face.
"Well, well. Look who decided to finally crawl back," Aela drawled, her voice dripping with condescension. She turned fully to face him, resting her bow against her hip. "We have been waiting for you for a couple of days now, Elf. You completely failed to show up for your promised training sessions. What happened? Did you finally run out of septims to pay us, and decide to just run away with your tail between your legs?"
Vilkas and Farkas immediately stopped their sparring, leaning against their heavy swords and crossing their arms over their chests, presenting a united, intimidating front alongside the Huntress. Athis paused his grinding, watching the exchange with mild amusement.
Aela's sharp eyes then flicked past Aerion, landing on the heavily armed, scarred Dunmer standing silently behind him. A cruel, mocking chuckle escaped her lips.
"And who is this?" Aela asked, gesturing to Jenassa with the tip of her bow. "Is this a new 'friend' of yours? Are you training with her now because she goes easier on you than we do?"
Aerion remained perfectly still, his posture exuding a calm, untouchable grace. He didn't rise to the bait of her insults, nor did he allow his pride to dictate his response. He was here to conduct business.
"I apologize for my sudden, unannounced absence, Aela," Aerion began smoothly, his melodic voice completely devoid of hostility. "I was waylaid by some rather urgent, highly personal matters outside the city walls, and in the rush of events, I simply forgot to formally suspend our arrangement. I assure you, it was not out of cowardice, nor because I lack the funds to compensate you."
He gestured slightly to Jenassa, who was currently staring at Aela with a look of absolute, lethal indifference. "And yes, this is my new companion, but she is not the reason I stopped coming to the yard."
Aerion took a slow step forward, addressing the entire group. "I have come here this morning to formally terminate my training contract with the Companions. My immediate schedule no longer allows for the time required to train under your tutelage."
Aela scoffed loudly, crossing her arms. "Terminate the contract? You wasted our time, Elf. We cleared our mornings to beat some sense into you, and you left us standing in the cold."
"I am acutely aware that I have wasted your time over these past few days," Aerion agreed reasonably, completely disarming her anger with logic. "And I am a man who believes in paying his debts."
Aerion reached into the inner pocket of his robes. Channeling his spatial inventory, he materialized a heavy, tightly drawn leather pouch that he had specifically prepared the night before.
He pulled the pouch free and stepped forward, extending his hand toward the Huntress.
"For the inconvenience of holding my appointment, and for the valuable time you lost waiting for me," Aerion stated clearly, his voice carrying an undeniable, heavy weight. "I am compensating you. Two hundred and fifty septims for each of the four of you who trained me. One thousand septims total."
Aela blinked, her sarcastic sneer completely evaporating into sheer shock. She looked from Aerion's perfectly calm face down to the heavy leather pouch in his outstretched hand. One thousand septims was an absolute fortune.
It was more coin than the Companions made on three medium bounty contracts combined. And the High Elf was simply handing it over as an apology fee for missing a few sparring sessions. The sheer, staggering flex of overwhelming wealth completely silenced the courtyard.
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[Main Panel] Name: Aerion Race: High Elf (Altmer) Health: 320/320 Stamina: 310/310 Magicka: 450/450 Level: 65
Skills: Animal Affinity (MAX LEVEL), Fast Skill Levelling (MAX LEVEL), Fast Magic Mastery (MAX LEVEL), Instant Shout (MAX LEVEL), Destruction (Fire/Lightning) (Level MAX/62), Persuasion (Level 77), Smithing (Level 22), Sneak (Level 26), One Handed (Level 67), Restoration (Healing) (Level 37), Two Handed (Level 65), Lockpicking (Level 23), Archery (Level 72), Alteration (Level 4), Enchanting (Level 19), Light Armor (Level 53), Block (Level 60), Illusion (Level 6), Pickpocket (Level 8)
Shouts: Fus (Force)
[Inventory Panel]
1x Steel Dagger, Small Sack, Poacher's Axe, Mammoth Tusk, Iron Shield, Steel Mace, Steel Warhammer, the Golden Claw, Calm Spellbook, Arvel's Journal, Inkwell & Quill, Thief Book, Scroll Of Summoning (Wolf), Scroll Of Healing, Steel Dagger of Minor Souls, Weak Potion of Paralysis, Ancient Nord Bow, Dragonstone, Ancient Nord Battleaxe Of Blaze, & Potion of Minor Pickpocketing
2x Iron Mace, Steel Axe, Steel Greatsword, & Lockpicks
3x Iron Greatsword, Steel Sword, Scroll Of Fireball, Glowing Mushrooms, & Potions of Minor Stamina
4x Potions of Minor Magicka & Spider Eggs
5x Lesser Soul Gem
8x Iron Arrows & Ancient Nord Arrows
9x Potions Of Minor Healing
Weight: 109.07 KG / 455 KG
Septims = 55,302