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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
With a polite nod, Aerion turned and walked toward the wooden stairs, his mind already calculating the logistics of withdrawing exactly twenty eight thousand septims from the infinite void of his inventory, ensuring the heavy canvas sack looked adequately bulging and legitimate.
Aerion ascended the creaking wooden stairs of the Bannered Mare, his mind already calculating the sheer logistics of the transaction he was about to perform.
He reached the landing and stepped into his private suite, the heavy wooden door clicking securely shut behind him. The room was bathed in the soft, dusty light of the mid-morning sun, completely quiet save for the crackle of the hearth fire he had conjured the night before.
He walked over to the sturdy wooden desk near the window. With a focused thought, he accessed his spatial inventory and manifested a simple, sturdy small sack he had scavenged from a bandit camp days ago. It was made of thick, woven hemp, designed to carry root vegetables or heavy iron ore, but today it would serve a vastly more valuable purpose.
Opening his digital interface, Aerion initiated the massive withdrawal. He mentally segregated exactly twenty eight thousand septims from his vast, accumulated fortune and willed the physical coins to materialize directly inside the rough hemp sack.
Because of the seamless, localized magic of his inventory system, the massive influx of solid gold appeared instantly within the confines of the bag without a single, incriminating clink of metal against metal. The volume of the coins instantly filled the sack to its absolute bursting point.
Aerion gripped the top of the hemp sack and attempted to lift it. His newly enhanced Stamina and reinforced muscle fibers strained significantly against the sheer, undeniable density of the gold. Twenty eight thousand individual coins carried a staggering, profound physical weight.
Realizing the frayed hemp drawstrings would likely snap under the immense pressure, Aerion looked around the room. He stepped over to the washbasin, tore a thick strip of sturdy linen cloth from an unused drying towel, and expertly wrapped it around the neck of the bulging sack, tying it off with a complex, reinforced sailor's knot to ensure it wouldn't burst open in transit.
"Alright," Aerion murmured to himself, hefting the incredibly heavy sack into his arms, resting it against his chest to distribute the weight.
He left his suite, the door locking automatically behind him, and carefully navigated the narrow staircase. As he reached the bottom landing, he found Jenassa waiting exactly where he had expected her to be.
The Dark Elf was leaning casually against the banister at the foot of the stairs, her crimson eyes scanning the tavern floor, acting as an active, lethal deterrent against anyone who might think to ambush her patron in the cramped hallway.
Aerion offered her a brief nod of acknowledgment before walking directly toward the main counter.
Hulda and Ysolda were still standing exactly where he had left them, their heads bent close together as they excitedly whispered about supply lines and mead shipments.
Aerion stepped up to the polished wood and, with a controlled exhale of exertion, placed the massive, bulging sack onto the counter.
THUD.
The sheer, heavy density of the impact made the thick oak planks groan in protest. The sound was dull, but undeniably heavy.
Both Hulda and Ysolda jumped slightly, their eyes going wide as they stared at the unassuming hemp sack. Hulda, her instincts honed by decades of running a tavern in a major trade hub, immediately reached out and placed her hands on the tightly packed fabric. She could feel the unmistakable, rigid outlines of thousands of coins pressing against the hemp.
Panic flashed across the older woman's face. She quickly pulled the heavy sack off the top of the counter, straining under its weight, and shoved it onto the hidden lower shelf by her feet. She shot a paranoid, darting look around the quiet tavern, ensuring none of the solitary patrons nursing their morning hangovers had noticed the massive transfer of wealth.
"By the Nine Divines, Aerion!" Hulda hissed, her voice a sharp, frantic whisper. "How could you literally bring it down right here, right now? In the middle of the common room?!"
Aerion blinked, feigning a look of mild, aristocratic confusion. "Ah. I apologize. Given the enthusiastic nature of our agreement, I thought we were finalizing the payment immediately."
Hulda pressed a hand to her chest, trying to slow her racing heart. "Yes, we have a deal! But I thought you were just going upstairs to prepare it, perhaps to count it out in the safety of your locked room, not to drag a king's ransom through the taproom like a sack of potatoes!"
Aerion let out a soft, highly amused chuckle, offering a charming, entirely unapologetic smile. "It appears we had a slight miscommunication regarding the logistics of the handover. But please, do not worry yourself, Hulda. If anyone were foolish enough to attempt anything untoward, I assure you that my friend standing by the stairs..." He gestured gracefully toward Jenassa, who simply offered a cold, dead eyed stare at nothing in particular. "...will ensure that both you and the gold remain perfectly safe."
Hulda looked from the impeccably dressed, wildly confident High Elf to the heavily scarred, lethal looking Dark Elf assassin holding the perimeter. She let out a long, deeply exasperated sigh, shaking her head.
"I have served mercenaries, nobles, and madmen in this tavern for thirty years," Hulda muttered, a fond but exasperated smile touching her lips. "But I have never met someone quite as wonderfully, terrifyingly eccentric as you, Aerion. Even for an Altmer, you are a breed apart."
Aerion accepted the statement as a high compliment. He turned his attention to Ysolda, who was still staring at the spot where the gold had been with a look of pure, starry eyed disbelief.
"Tomorrow morning, when you bring your twenty seven thousand septims to Hulda, you may formalize the official handover of the property deeds to both of our names," Aerion instructed the young merchant smoothly. "I leave the bureaucratic details in your capable hands, Ysolda. Because, as of this morning, I will be leaving Whiterun."
"Leaving?" Ysolda blinked, her focus snapping back to his face. "For how long? And where are you going?"
"I am traveling to the College of Winterhold. I have a rather pressing matter of business to attend to there, and a desire to expand my arcane repertoire," Aerion explained.
Hearing the destination, both Hulda and Ysolda exchanged a look of deep, ingrained Nordic skepticism.
"Winterhold?" Ysolda asked, her voice laced with genuine concern. "Are you absolutely certain, Aerion? Ever since the Great Collapse threw half the city into the Sea of Ghosts, the College's reputation across Skyrim has been... well, terrible. Most folk believe the mages caused the disaster. They are not exactly welcoming to outsiders, and the Nords there deeply mistrust magic."
"I am well aware of the geopolitical stigma surrounding the institution," Aerion replied dismissively. "However, I wish to see the famous College and the vast repositories of knowledge inside it firsthand. Furthermore, I have a strong desire to interact with the master mages there, particularly the Arch Mage, Savos Aren. He has quite the dubious, fascinating reputation, and I believe a conversation with him will be highly enlightening."
Seeing the absolute, unshakeable resolve in his golden eyes, Ysolda and Hulda realized there was no point in arguing with the eccentric mage.
"Very well," Ysolda nodded, her posture straightening as she accepted her new role as the active managing partner of the Bannered Mare. "We will execute the paperwork exactly as you have requested, Aerion. You have my word."
"Excellent. Then I shall say my goodbyes for now," Aerion smiled. "The ride to Winterhold is incredibly long and treacherous, and starting the journey much sooner in the day is always the wiser choice."
Before turning away, Aerion reached into the small leather satchel resting on his hip. He bypassed the physical interior of the pouch, seamlessly pulling exactly two hundred septims from his digital inventory. He placed the neat stack of gold coins onto the polished wood of the counter.
"This is to pay in advance for ten days of rent for both my suite upstairs and Jenassa's room downstairs," Aerion stated. "I expect to be delayed, but I wish to maintain our lodgings."
Hulda scooped up the coins with a nod. "Do not worry about a thing, Aerion. If your business takes longer than expected and you don't return on time, Ysolda will definitely keep the rooms completely secure for you. Isn't that right, child?"
"Absolutely," Ysolda agreed enthusiastically. "Your rooms will remain untouched."
Aerion smiled warmly, thanking them both for their hospitality and their new partnership. He turned and caught Jenassa's eye. The Dark Elf pushed herself off the wooden pillar, ready to move.
With Lupin trotting happily at their heels, Aerion and Jenassa pushed through the heavy wooden doors and stepped out into the crisp, mid morning air of Whiterun.
They walked with purpose, winding their way through the bustling market square, past the shouting vendors and the clinking hammer of the blacksmith, until they reached the massive, iron reinforced main gates of the city.
They passed unchallenged through the gates, their boots echoing loudly as they crossed the wooden drawbridge spanning the moat. They walked down the sloping, paved switchbacks that led to the lower plains, arriving shortly at the Whiterun Stables.
Skulvar Sable-Hilt, having seen them approaching from the road, already had their horses brushed, saddled, and ready. Aerion paid the stablemaster a modest tip for his excellent care before turning to his massive black steed, Revan.
He gently picked up Lupin, who let out a soft, compliant huff, and tucked the cinnamon fox securely into the thick, fur lined leather saddlebag, leaving just enough room for the familiar's head to pop out and observe the world.
Jenassa swung herself up onto her sturdy brown mount with practiced, fluid ease.
They rode out from the stables, but instead of immediately turning north toward the Pale, Aerion directed them south, following the winding dirt road toward the sprawling, neatly tilled cabbage fields of Pelagia Farm.
He needed to check in on his newly formed mercenary company before abandoning the hold.
As they rode up to the large, repurposed storage barn that now served as the private army's barracks, they found the yard bustling with activity. Torsten Iron-Arm and Titus Varr were actively sparring in a makeshift dirt ring, the sharp clack of wooden training swords echoing in the morning air.
Standing near the perimeter, watching the spar with a highly critical, analyzing eye, was Captain Sinmir. Beside him, fully clad in her imposing steel plate armor, was Uthgerd the Unbroken.
Sinmir looked up as the two riders approached, raising a hand in greeting. Aerion brought Revan to a halt and smoothly dismounted.
"Morning, Boss," Sinmir greeted, his booming voice carrying over the sound of the sparring mercenaries. "Everything in order within the city?"
"Everything is perfectly in order, Captain," Aerion replied, stepping into the training yard. "I have come to inform you that I will be leaving for Winterhold shortly. I anticipate that I will be absent from Whiterun for at least several days, perhaps longer depending on the nature of the arcane studies I intend to pursue."
Sinmir raised a bushy eyebrow, clearly surprised by the sudden departure. "Winterhold? That is a rough, freezing ride, Boss. The roads north through the Pale are crawling with frost trolls and desperate men. But you know your own business."
Sinmir then gestured toward the heavily armored woman standing beside him with a proud grin. "Oh, and do not worry about the perimeter here. Uthgerd has officially agreed to join the company. We ran her through a few mock duels this morning. She hits like a falling mammoth. Since she's on the payroll, I went ahead and told her the truth about the chain of command, who the real Boss and benefactor of this entire operation is."
Hearing this, Aerion turned his golden eyes to Uthgerd.
The Unbroken crossed her heavy steel arms over her breastplate, looking at the High Elf with a mixture of profound skepticism and lingering curiosity. The revelation that the eccentric, polite mage who had bailed her out of the tavern brawl was actually the strategic mastermind funding a private army had completely thrown her off balance.
"I will admit, I didn't expect it," Uthgerd said, her voice brash and direct as always. "When the Captain told me that the Altmer mage from the tavern was the one who founded and funded this entire company, I thought he had taken one too many blows to the head. I wanted to know what your true purpose was in creating an armed force outside the Jarl's walls. And I still want to know if you have some hidden, political agenda, Elf."
She narrowed her eyes, the ingrained Nordic distrust of the Aldmeri Dominion bleeding through her tone. "After all, you are a High Elf."
Sinmir opened his mouth to defend his employer, but Aerion simply let out a loud, genuine laugh that completely broke the tension in the yard.
"I assure you, Uthgerd, I have absolutely no hidden political agenda, nor do I harbor any secret allegiance to the Thalmor," Aerion smiled, his tone disarming and completely sincere. "My purpose here is entirely selfish and straightforward. I simply wish to prepare for any danger that might come toward me, and toward the city that has so graciously accepted my presence. Skyrim is growing more dangerous by the day. I prefer to face that danger with a wall of heavy steel standing between me and the threat. At least, for now."
Uthgerd studied his face for a long moment, searching for any hint of deception. Finding none, and having already been convinced by the sheer camaraderie and martial respect of the other mercenaries, she let out a loud snort and offered a sharp nod.
"Fair enough, Boss," Uthgerd conceded, testing out the new title. "You pay the coin, I swing the sword. It's a simple enough arrangement."
"And a highly effective one," Aerion praised. He turned back to his horse, grabbing the reins. "Now, since Uthgerd has officially joined our ranks, which is excellent news, I leave the defense of the hold in your highly capable hands, Captain. I do not have much daylight to burn. Goodbye, everyone. Train hard."
"Safe travels, Aerion!" Sinmir called out as the High Elf swung up into the saddle. Torsten and Titus paused their sparring to offer respectful salutes with their wooden swords.
With a sharp click of his tongue, Aerion turned Revan around. He and Jenassa spurred their horses, riding out of Pelagia Farm and hitting the main cobblestone artery of the Whiterun plains.
As the horses settled into a steady, ground eating trot, Aerion opened his mental system map. A glowing, ethereal projection of Skyrim's topography overlaid his vision, highlighting the most efficient routes north.
They followed the main road eastward for a short distance, arriving at a major four way intersection. Taking the left fork, they began their journey straight north. The landscape around them was beautiful and vibrant, the golden tundra grass swaying in the crisp morning breeze.
To their left, they passed the sprawling, prosperous fields of Chillfurrow Farm, the workers already bent over the soil. Shortly after, the massive, fortified walls of the Battle-Born Farm loomed on their left flank, a testament to the immense wealth of Whiterun's oldest clan.
As they continued riding, a distinct, incredibly beautiful homestead appeared on their right. It was nestled perfectly into the rolling hills, featuring a large main house, a stable, and fertile planting plots.
Aerion recognized the structure instantly. It was the Tundra Homestead. It wasn't part of the base game, it was a premium addition from the Creation Club content, magically integrated into the reality of his new world. It was a flawless, fully upgraded piece of real estate just sitting empty on the plains.
'I will definitely have to speak with Proventus Avenicci and Jarl Balgruuf when I return,' Aerion thought to himself, making a mental note. 'Purchasing that homestead would serve as a vastly superior, private base of operations compared to a rented room at the Mare.'
They pressed onward, the sun climbing toward its zenith. The landscape began to shift subtly. The golden grass grew sparser, and the air took on a sharper, biting edge. They rode past the towering, crumbling stone structure of Whitewatch Tower, the city guards stationed there watching them pass with bored indifference.
Further north, they passed Loreius Farm, the final bastion of civilization in the central plains.
Following the winding dirt road, Aerion's system map indicated that they were currently bypassing the massive, ancient Nordic ruin of Korvanjund. It was located far off to their right, hidden deep within a snowy mountain ravine, entirely out of sight from the main road. Aerion knew the Jagged Crown rested within its depths, but that was a prize for another day.
Slowly, inevitably, the climate changed. The vibrant greens and golds of the Whiterun hold were violently swallowed by the harsh, unforgiving reality of the Pale. The temperature plummeted rapidly.
The dirt road hardened into permafrost, and a thick, unbroken blanket of pristine white snow covered the jagged rocks and sparse pine trees. The wind howled through the canyons, biting at any exposed skin.
They reached a distinct three way intersection marked by a frozen, weathered signpost. Following the digital line of his map, Aerion led them down the right fork, plunging deeper into the snowy wilderness.
Hours bled away in the saddle. They rode past the dark, ominous cavern entrance of Silverdrift Lair, giving the bandit infested ruin a wide berth as they prioritized speed over unnecessary combat.
Finally, as the afternoon sun began to dip heavily toward the jagged western peaks, casting long, purple shadows across the snowdrifts and signaling the rapid approach of freezing dusk, salvation appeared on the horizon.
Nestled near the edge of a frozen, expansive lake was a large, sturdy wooden building, its windows glowing with warm, inviting orange light.
It was the Nightgate Inn.
Aerion pulled back on Revan's reins, bringing the massive black horse to a weary halt. Jenassa pulled up beside him, her horse breathing heavily, plumes of white mist erupting from its nostrils.
The beasts were exhausted from the grueling, high altitude climb through the snow, and the riders were shivering from the relentless exposure to the freezing wind of the Pale.
"We stop here," Aerion declared, his voice slightly hoarse from the cold air. "The horses are entirely spent, and navigating these mountain roads in the dark is an invitation to an ambush. We will rest for the night."
Jenassa, pulling her thick leather cloak tighter around her shoulders, offered a firm nod of agreement. "A wise decision, Patron. My fingers are growing numb. I cannot draw a bow string effectively if I cannot feel the wood."
They rode up to the front of the inn and dismounted. The freezing wind immediately bit through Aerion's fine robes, making him deeply appreciative of the hidden light armor keeping his core insulated. They hitched the exhausted horses to the sturdy wooden posts near the entrance, ensuring they were out of the direct path of the wind.
Aerion unbuckled the saddlebag. Lupin, eager to escape the freezing confinement, scrambled out under his own power, shaking the snow from his thick cinnamon fur and letting out a sharp, happy yip at the prospect of a warm hearth.
Aerion looked up at the wooden sign swinging violently in the wind. He remembered the Nightgate Inn perfectly from his past life.
It was an incredibly isolated waypoint, famous for being a crucial rest stop for travelers braving the road between Dawnstar and Windhelm, and infamous for being the location of several highly sensitive, lethal missions for the Dark Brotherhood. With Lupin weaving through his boots, Aerion pushed open the heavy wooden door, leaving the freezing, howling wasteland of the Pale behind as they stepped into the warm, smelling sanctuary of the inn.
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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 = 55,002