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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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"Indeed," Aerion smiled, feeling a profound sense of satisfaction. The Daedric artifact was secured, the threat was neutralized, and his earthly foundations were rapidly solidifying. "Let us go inspect our investment."
Aerion swung his long legs over the heavy leather saddle, his dark boots hitting the dusty earth with a solid thud. Jenassa dismounted smoothly beside him, rolling her shoulders to stretch the lingering stiffness of the long ride south.
From the front saddlebag of the destrier, a small, cinnamon red head popped out. Lupin scrambled up onto the leather lip of the bag, his large ears twitching wildly as he took in the absolute chaos of the construction site.
The little fox tilted his head to the side, letting out a highly confused, high pitched yip. This was not the quiet, peaceful grassy yard he had left behind, it was loud, dusty, and swarming with heavily armored humans swinging large tools.
"Welcome home, Lupin," Aerion chuckled, reaching out to gently scoop the confused familiar from the saddlebag and setting him down on the dirt.
Leaving the horses ground tied near the hitched post, Aerion and Jenassa walked purposefully toward the center of the chaotic compound.
Sinmir was standing atop a massive pile of raw quarry stone, acting as an elevated command post. The hulking Nord warrior had discarded his heavy steel chest plate, wearing only a sweat stained linen tunic and his armored trousers. He was currently pointing a thick, calloused finger toward a team of three mercenaries struggling to hoist a massive foundational beam into place.
"Put your backs into it, Valdar!" Sinmir's voice boomed over the ambient noise. "Lift with your legs, not your spine, or you'll be useless in a shield wall by tomorrow morning! Guide the left flank, Torsten, it's drifting!"
Aerion approached the pile of stone, crossing his arms over his chest. "A highly effective display of vocal leadership, Captain."
Sinmir snapped his head around at the sound of the smooth, melodic voice. The scowl instantly vanished from the Nord's face, replaced by a wide, genuinely relieved grin. He hopped down from the pile of quarry stone, landing heavily in the dirt, and offered a crisp, highly respectful salute.
"Boss! You have returned," Sinmir greeted, wiping a thick layer of sawdust and sweat from his forehead with the back of his forearm. "And in one piece, I see. How was the excursion to the frozen north?"
"Highly profitable, and profoundly illuminating," Aerion replied smoothly, giving away absolutely nothing about the dead necromancers or the Daedric artifact now resting in his spatial void. He gestured toward the sprawling construction site. "But it appears you have been vastly more industrious in my absence. Give me some reports."
Sinmir puffed out his broad chest, clearly proud of the rapid logistical progress his men had achieved.
"We have been following the schematics in your journal to the absolute letter, boss," Sinmir reported, turning to point toward the western flank of the property. "The foundational stonework for the barracks and the secondary storehouse is completely laid and cured. The framing is up. The way the men are swinging their hammers, I'd wager the roofs will be sealed and the interiors will be fully finished in just a few more days."
Sinmir then turned his massive frame, pointing toward the sprawling, heavily trenched area to the east. A heavy sigh escaped the Nord's lips.
"The beast pens, however, are an entirely different beast," Sinmir admitted, scratching his thick beard. "You drew a massive, sprawling perimeter, boss. It is a staggering amount of acreage to enclose. Driving those heavy pine pylons deep enough into the bedrock so that a charging mammoth can't simply uproot them requires immense, grueling physical manpower. We are making steady progress, but the sheer scale of the trenching is slowing us down."
Aerion nodded slowly, his golden eyes sweeping over the massive palisade wall. He completely understood the logistical bottleneck. Pure physical labor, no matter how strong the mercenaries were, had its limits.
"That is perfectly understandable, Sinmir," Aerion assured the Captain, his tone reassuring. "You have performed exceptionally well with the resources at your disposal. However, now that Jenassa and I have returned, we can directly contribute to the workflow and alleviate the bottleneck."
He glanced sideways at his Dark Elf bodyguard. "Isn't that right, Jenassa?"
Jenassa, who had been quietly evaluating the structural integrity of the newly erected wooden frames, turned to look at her Patron with a perfectly flat, deadpan expression.
"With all due respect, Patron," Jenassa drawled, her gravelly voice dripping with dry, unapologetic honesty. "I am an assassin trained in the shadows of Morrowind. I am a master of stealth, a virtuoso with twin blades, and highly proficient with a bow. I am absolutely, never trained as a carpenter. If you hand me a hammer and ask me to build a load bearing wall, my work will be entirely subpar, and the roof will likely collapse on our heads during the first winter storm."
Aerion threw his head back and let out a rich, genuine laugh that echoed across the yard. The sheer, unabashed pragmatism of the assassin was always refreshing.
"Do not worry your lethal heart, Jenassa. I have absolutely no intention of handing you a hammer," Aerion chuckled, waving a dismissive hand. He turned his golden eyes back to the hulking Nord commander.
"Truthfully, Sinmir, I am equally unsuited for the manual driving of palisades," Aerion admitted, leaning into his aristocratic persona. "However, my mind is specifically tuned for logistical optimization and macro management. Therefore, I will be taking over the direct oversight and coordination of the construction site.
Aerion smiled, a highly amused, slightly wicked glint in his eye. "Which means, Captain Sinmir... you are officially relieved of your comfortable, elevated command post. You may grab a shovel and join Uthgerd and Valdar in the trenches. They desperately require your formidable physical strength."
Sinmir's jaw dropped slightly. He looked from Aerion to the massive, sweaty mercenaries currently grunting under the weight of a massive pine log in the distance.
The burly Nord let out a long, highly dramatic sigh, his shoulders slumping in defeat.
"By Ysmir's beard," Sinmir groaned, rubbing the back of his thick neck. "I knew this comfortable directing job was entirely too good to last. Back to the dirt it is, then."
Resigned to his fate, Sinmir reached into the heavy leather pouch at his belt and pulled out the thick, leather bound journal Aerion had left with him. He handed the architectural blueprints back to the High Elf.
"Before you grab your shovel, Captain," Aerion said, taking the journal and tucking it into his robes. "A minor inquiry. Did we receive any visitors from the city while I was away?"
Sinmir paused, a wide, knowing, and highly amused grin instantly breaking across his bearded face. He crossed his massive arms, leaning back slightly.
"Ah, yes. We did indeed, boss," Sinmir chuckled, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial rumble. "The lovely merchant girl. Ysolda. She rode out here from Whiterun a couple of times while you were gone."
Aerion's expression remained perfectly smooth, though a genuine spark of warmth flared in his chest. "Did she specify a reason for her visits?"
"The first time she rode out, she was mostly just asking where you had gone and when you were expected to return. Seemed a bit anxious, to be honest," Sinmir reported, the amusement clear in his eyes. "The second time she came out, she brought two massive baskets entirely overflowing with fresh baked bread, roasted meats, and several very fine bottles of Honningbrew Mead for the men. Kept us fed like kings for a night."
Sinmir chuckled again, shaking his head. "She hasn't ridden out yet today, but I'd wager my favorite axe she'll be making an appearance soon. She will be incredibly happy to see you've returned, boss. The girl has it bad."
Aerion simply smiled, shaking his head slightly at the Captain's blunt, unrefined romantic commentary.
"Get to the trenches, Sinmir," Aerion commanded mildly.
"Right away, boss!" Sinmir saluted, turning and jogging toward the eastern perimeter, shouting at Valdar to make room on the heavy lifting line.
With the chain of command officially restructured, Aerion immediately set to work optimizing his empire.
He didn't swing an axe or push a cart. He used his monstrous, system enhanced intellect to completely revolutionize the workflow of the compound. He walked the perimeter, identifying the precise logistical bottlenecks that were slowing the mercenaries down.
He instructed Gwaering and Haldir to reposition the primary lumber cutting station, moving it thirty yards closer to the actual construction zone to completely eliminate the wasted transit time.
He reorganized the stone laying teams, pairing the brute strength of Torsten and Uthgerd with the meticulous, disciplined precision of the Imperial veteran, Titus Varr, ensuring the mortar was laid flawlessly and rapidly.
Under Aerion's penetrating, calculating gaze, the chaotic energy of the construction site instantly streamlined into a highly efficient, well oiled machine. The pace of the work practically doubled within the first hour. Jenassa, acting as his secondary enforcer, simply walked the perimeter, her silent, intimidating presence ensuring that no one slacked off on their newly assigned tasks.
Time flowed smoothly. The sun began its slow, inevitable descent toward the jagged western peaks of the Reach, casting long, golden shadows across the active compound.
The rapid, rhythmic striking of hammers began to slow as the mercenaries naturally fatigued in the late afternoon heat.
Aerion was standing near the apiary, inspecting the newly constructed wooden frames for the beehives, when the unmistakable, rhythmic sound of approaching hooves drew his attention toward the main road.
Riding down the packed dirt path leading from the Whiterun cobblestones was a sturdy, dappled gray horse.
Seated in the saddle, wearing a practical, beautiful deep blue dress perfectly suited for riding, was Ysolda. Balanced carefully across the front of her saddle was an absolutely massive, woven wicker basket covered with a checkered linen cloth.
As she crested the ridge and rode into the active compound, her bright blue eyes immediately scanned the dusty, sweating laborers. The moment her gaze locked onto the towering, immaculate figure of the High Elf standing near the apiary, her entire face lit up.
A brilliant, radiant smile broke across her features, completely dispelling the fatigue of her ride.
"Aerion!" Ysolda called out, her voice ringing clearly over the ambient noise of the site.
Aerion turned around, the calculating, serious demeanor of the site overseer instantly melting away. He offered a warm, highly genuine smile, walking purposefully across the dusty yard to meet her.
"Good afternoon, Ysolda," Aerion greeted, his melodic voice smooth and welcoming as he approached the dappled gray horse.
He reached up without hesitation, his large hands easily grasping the handles of the massive, heavy wicker basket resting on the saddle. He lifted it with effortless grace, swinging it down and setting it gently onto the dirt near his boots. The basket smelled distinctly of warm, savory spices, roasted garlic, and sweet baked apples.
With the cargo secured, Aerion turned his attention back to the rider.
He stepped close to the flank of the horse, reaching up and offering his hands. Ysolda didn't hesitate. She slipped her boots from the iron stirrups and leaned forward, placing her hands firmly on his broad shoulders. Aerion grasped her gently but firmly by the waist, effortlessly lifting her from the saddle and lowering her to the ground.
He held her waist for just a fraction of a second longer than strictly necessary, enjoying the close proximity before stepping back to give her space.
"A rented mount?" Aerion inquired politely, gesturing toward the unfamiliar gray horse. "I hope Skulvar did not overcharge you for the afternoon."
"Oh, I practically had to threaten to stop buying his ale at the Mare to get him to lend me his gentlest mare," Ysolda laughed, smoothing the front of her blue dress, her cheeks flushed with a delicate, pretty pink hue from the ride and the close contact.
She looked up into his golden eyes, her own shining with profound relief.
"When did you return?" Ysolda asked, her voice softening. "I was at the market all morning, and I didn't see you pass through the gates."
"We arrived mere hours ago," Aerion answered, his tone warm. "We bypassed the city entirely to immediately begin assessing the construction progress. And I must say, I am incredibly grateful for your arrival. Sinmir informed me of your previous visits. Thank you, Ysolda, for bringing provisions for the men. It is an incredibly kind, thoughtful gesture."
Ysolda's blush deepened slightly, and she shook her head, a modest smile playing on her lips.
"It is exactly what I should do," Ysolda murmured softly, her eyes holding his. "You are building something magnificent out here, Aerion. The least I can do is ensure your laborers don't collapse from hunger while you are away."
She finally tore her gaze away from him, looking around the sprawling, dramatically altered landscape of the Tundra Homestead.
The late afternoon sun bathed the construction site in a warm, golden glow. The massive framing of the storehouses was impressive, but Ysolda's sharp, merchant trained eyes were instantly drawn toward the south eastern flank of the property.
She stared at the sprawling, multi acre trench, the massive, sharpened pine pylons driven into the earth, and the sheer, staggering scale of the enclosed area. It was vastly larger than any standard horse pasture or cattle pen she had ever seen.
Her brow furrowed in genuine, calculating confusion.
"Aerion..." Ysolda began, pointing a slender finger toward the massive palisade wall currently being erected by Uthgerd and Torsten. "What in the name of the Divines are you constructing over there? That pen is absolutely massive. You could house a small army inside that perimeter. Are you planning on breeding an entire herd of warhorses?"
Aerion paused. He looked at the massive pen, and then down at the brilliant, ambitious woman standing before him.
He had intended to keep the specific nature of his livestock a secret until the beasts were actually physically contained within the walls. But he was actively pursuing a partnership with her, both romantically and economically. She was a merchant. She would find out eventually, and offering her the insider knowledge now would be a massive display of trust.
"Not warhorses, Ysolda," Aerion replied softly, taking a step closer to her. He lowered his voice, ensuring the wandering mercenaries nearby couldn't eavesdrop. "I am building an enclosure large enough, and secure enough, to house a fully operational, commercial Mammoth farm."
Ysolda froze.
Her breath hitched in her throat. She stared at him, her bright blue eyes wide with absolute, unadulterated shock. She looked from his calm, serious face back to the massive, reinforced pine logs, the reality of the architecture suddenly making terrifying, logical sense.
"A... a mammoth farm?" Ysolda stammered, entirely abandoning her usual composed, professional merchant cadence.
She took a step toward him, her hands fluttering in disbelief. "Aerion, that is... that is madness! You are talking about corralling walking siege engines! Dozens of wealthy clan patriarchs and ambitious lords have tried to domesticate those beasts over the centuries. They have all failed miserably. The mammoths either crush the fences to splinters, trample the farmhands to death, or attract the absolute, violent fury of the Giants who herd them. How could you possibly hope to contain them?"
She paused, a secondary, highly political realization hitting her. "And the Jarl! Balgruuf would never, ever agree to allow a herd of aggressive, untethered siege beasts to be housed this close to the main trade roads! The threat to passing caravans would be astronomical!"
Aerion let her completely vent her highly logical, historically accurate concerns before responding. He offered a smooth, deeply confident smile.
"I have heard the historical failures cited to me repeatedly, Ysolda," Aerion countered, his melodic voice ringing with absolute certainty. "But those lords and patriarchs relied on whips, chains, and iron bars to break the beasts. They did not possess what I possess."
He tapped the side of his temple. "During my extensive travels across Tamriel, before I arrived in Skyrim, I devoted years to the deep, esoteric study of primal resonance. I have successfully managed to synthesize a highly unique, proprietary form of magic. I possess the ability to actively, telepathically communicate with the beasts. I do not need to break them. I simply ask them to stay, and they obey."
He was, of course, smoothly lying about the origin of his Animal Affinity system skill, but the result was identical.
"As for Jarl Balgruuf," Aerion continued smoothly, pulling a crisp, heavily folded piece of official parchment from his inner robes. He held it up, displaying the wax seal of Dragonsreach. "I assure you, the political logistics have been entirely resolved. I presented my magical methodologies to the Steward, Proventus Avenicci, and the Court Wizard, Farengar. They were highly skeptical, but ultimately convinced. The Jarl has officially signed a localized zoning contract, legally permitting the enclosure."
Ysolda stared at the official wax seal, her mind racing at a million miles an hour.
"But... why?" Ysolda asked, her voice breathless as the sheer scale of the endeavor began to dawn on her. "Why go through all of this immense effort and expense just to pen a few mammoths?"
"Because, Ysolda," Aerion smiled, his eyes gleaming with sheer, unadulterated economic ambition. "Within the month, I will be the sole, exclusive, and entirely monopolistic producer of domesticated Mammoth Cheese in the entire province of Skyrim."
The words hit Ysolda's merchant brain like a physical shockwave.
Mammoth cheese. It was an incredibly potent, highly sought after delicacy. The distinct, pungent flavor and the alchemical properties of the cheese made it a massive status symbol among the bloated nobility of Cyrodiil, the wealthy merchant lords of High Rock, and the elite class of Skyrim.
Currently, the only way to acquire it was to hire suicidal, heavily armed mercenaries to sneak into Giant camps in the dead of night and steal it from the massive, carved mammoth tusk bowls. It was a trade written in blood, which made the retail price astronomically, obscenely high.
If Aerion could safely, reliably, and continuously produce the cheese on a mass, commercial scale without the interference of Giants... he would essentially be printing his own minted gold.
Ysolda's shock instantly transformed into a burning, brilliant, overwhelming wave of pure, unfiltered economic excitement. Her breathing quickened, and her eyes practically turned into shining golden septims.
She took a sudden step forward, closing the distance between them, her hands reaching out to excitedly grasp the dark fabric of his sleeves.
"Aerion," Ysolda breathed, her voice trembling with the sheer magnitude of the opportunity. "The market potential for a stable supply of that cheese is... it is practically infinite. The East Empire Company would pay fortunes for shipping rights. The nobles in Solitude would fight each other in the streets for a guaranteed weekly delivery."
She looked up into his eyes, her ambition blazing brightly, completely eclipsing her earlier romantic shyness.
"Please," Ysolda requested, her voice entirely serious. "Can I be a part of this venture? You are a scholar and a mage, and you will be busy managing the herd and the production. You will desperately need a dedicated, highly experienced distributor to manage the logistics of moving the cheese across the province and beyond. I already possess deeply established, lucrative connections with Ri'saad and the Khajiit trade caravans, and I know the primary buyers in every major city in Skyrim. Let me handle the distribution."
Aerion looked down at the beautiful, fiercely ambitious woman gripping his sleeves. He couldn't help it. He threw his head back and let out a loud, rich, joyous laugh that completely shattered his usual, composed aristocratic mask.
She wasn't intimidated by the danger, she was completely intoxicated by the profit. It was absolutely brilliant.
"Of course you can, Ysolda," Aerion agreed warmly, placing his hands over hers where they gripped his sleeves. "In fact, I had already planned on bringing you into the fold. You are the only merchant in this entire province that I implicitly, absolutely trust to manage the external logistics of this empire."
He leaned in slightly, a teasing, highly amused smirk touching the corner of his lips. "Though, considering our deeply personal relationship... I will naturally expect a significantly discounted commission rate on the transport taxes."
Ysolda let out a bright, melodic laugh, entirely thrilled by the banter and the solidified partnership.
"We shall negotiate the exact percentages over dinner, my lord," Ysolda smiled, her heart soaring. Not only had the man she have feeling with returned safely, but he had just elevated their partnership to a level of wealth she had only ever dreamed of. She felt an incredibly warm, profound sense of closeness to him.
Aerion released her hands, turning his attention to the massive, heavy wicker basket resting in the dirt.
He cupped his hands around his mouth, projecting his voice across the sprawling, dusty construction site.
"Sinmir! Gwaering! Everyone, lay down your tools!" Aerion bellowed, the command echoing clearly off the newly erected wooden framing. "The workday is concluded! Wash the dust from your hands and gather round! Lady Ysolda has brought us a feast!"
A loud, booming, unified cheer erupted from the weary mercenaries across the yard. Tools were immediately dropped, and the heavy, armored laborers began jogging eagerly toward the center of the compound, the promise of fresh food and cold mead completely overriding their exhaustion.
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[Main Panel]
Name: Aerion
Race: High Elf (Altmer)
Health: 430/430 Stamina: 430/430 Magicka: 600/600
Level: 106
Skills: Animal Affinity (MAX LEVEL), Fast Skill Levelling (MAX LEVEL), Fast Magic Mastery (MAX LEVEL), Instant Shout (MAX LEVEL), Destruction (Fire(+2)/Lightning(+1)/Frost) (Level 62/41/98), Restoration (Healing/Purify(+1)) (Level 83/56), Alteration (Level 35), Alteration (Level 20), Illusion (Level 42), Conjuration (Necromancy/Summoning(+1)) (Level 37/10), Persuasion(+1) (Level 30), Smithing (Level 22), Sneak (Level 41), One Handed (Level 85), Two Handed (Level 65), Lockpicking (Level 35), Archery (Level 72), Enchanting (Level 66), Light Armor (Level 53), Block (Level 70), & Pickpocket (Level 8)
Shouts: Fus (Force), Tiid (Time), Krii (Kill), Feim (Fade), & Su (Air)
[Inventory Panel]
1x Small Sack, Poacher's Axe, Mammoth Tusk, the Golden Claw, Calm Spellbook, Arvel's Journal, Inkwell & Quill, Thief Book, Scroll Of Summoning (Wolf), Scroll Of Healing, Weak Potion of Paralysis, Dragonstone, Golden Staff of Flames, Parchment Rolls Of Mammoths Farm And Loan, Ebony Claw, Orcish Dagger, Jagged Crown, The Mirror, Glass Sword, Ring of Pure Mixtures, Grand Soul Gem (Filled), Reanimate Corpse Tome, Staff of Lightning, Deed to Tundra Homestead, Garnet, Sapphire, Ruby, & Dawnbreaker
2x Potion Of Ultimate Magicka, Common Soul Gem (Empty), Black Soul Gem (Empty), & Elven Sword
3x Glowing Mushrooms, Potions of Minor Stamina, & Common Soul Gem (Filled)
4x Potions of Minor Magicka, Spider Eggs, & Lesser Soul Gem (Filled)
5x Lesser Soul Gem (Filled)
8x Iron Arrows, Ancient Nord Arrows, & Black Soul Gems (Filled)
9x Potions Of Minor Healing
Weight: 74.92 KG / 515 KG
Septims: 80,181