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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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Aerion rode back out of the gates, pulling the destrier to a halt. He looked down at the slack jawed, terrified mercenaries standing frozen in the yard. "Captain Sinmir," Aerion called out, his melodic voice completely calm, as if he had just returned from buying cabbages at the market. "Be a good man and lock the gates behind them, would you? We wouldn't want the inventory to wander off."
The casual calm command finally shattered the spell of absolute paralysis that had gripped the mercenary company.
Sinmir violently shook his head, blinking his eyes rapidly as if trying to clear a hallucination. He snapped back into the present reality, the seasoned commander overriding his primal terror.
"Right! By the Gods, close the gates!" Sinmir roared, his voice cracking slightly before returning to its booming baritone. "Uthgerd! Valdar! Get on the crossbeam! Heave!"
The heavy infantry didn't hesitate. They sprinted toward the massive, open timber doors of the mammoth enclosure. Uthgerd and Valdar threw their massive shoulders against the rough pine, their boots digging deep trenches into the dirt as they strained against the immense weight.
With a loud, groaning creak of heavy iron hinges, the massive dual gates swung shut, locking together with an earth shaking THUD. Sinmir personally hauled the massive, reinforced iron crossbar into place, officially sealing the six walking mountains inside the perimeter.
Aerion, sitting calmly atop the black destrier, didn't immediately dismount. He turned Revan so he was facing the towering wooden palisade.
Through the thick, deliberate gaps in the timber designed for viewing and feeding, Aerion locked his golden eyes onto the largest of the six beasts.
It was the alpha bull. The creature was a breathtaking specimen of ancient, raw power. Standing nearly fifteen feet at the shoulder, covered in thick, matted brown fur, its curved ivory tusks were as thick as tree trunks and scarred from decades of defending its herd against sabre cats and dragons.
The massive bull stood near the fence, its small, highly intelligent dark eyes staring directly back at the High Elf.
Aerion closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, tapping deeply into the finalized, maximum tier skill of his Animal Affinity. He didn't project dominance this time, he projected an aura of profound sanctuary, absolute safety, and deep, resonant understanding.
"This is your new territory," Aerion communicated with the alpha, the projection feeling like a warm, steady heartbeat. "You are safe behind these walls. There will be an endless, boundless supply of fresh hay, wheat, and clean water provided to you. You will not hunger. You will not thirst."
The alpha mammoth shifted its massive weight, its trunk curling slightly as it processed the telepathic concepts.
"When the sun rises high," Aerion continued, describing images of the open tundra alongside the feeling of security. "You and your herd will be allowed to wander the open plains outside these walls to graze on the fresh tundra cotton and wild grass. You will not walk on the stone roads where the small ones travel. You will stay in the deep grass. My armored pack will walk with you. They will not harm you. They are your shields. They will protect you from the wolves and the biting cats."
Aerion sent a final, absolute directive.
"But when the sun bleeds orange and begins to fall behind the jagged mountains, you must lead the herd back to this enclosure. Behind these wooden walls, you will sleep safe. No spear will pierce your hide. No giant will strike you. This is your sanctuary."
For a long, tense moment, the silence stretched over the plains.
Then, the massive alpha bull lowered its enormous, domed head. It raised its long, muscular trunk high into the evening air and let out a deep, vibrating, multi tonal trumpet.
It wasn't a roar of anger or distress, it was a rhythmic, resonant sound of absolute acknowledgment. Following the vocalization, the beast lifted its massive right foreleg and brought it down against the earth in two slow, deliberate, earth shaking stomps.
Thud. Thud.
To the terrified mercenaries watching from a distance, it was just the terrifying noise of a monster. To Aerion, fluent in the primal language of the beasts, the translation was crystal clear.
"We understand the pact. We acknowledge the sanctuary. The herd will be guided. The herd will return."
Aerion offered a slow, deeply respectful nod to the alpha. He broke the telepathic connection, letting the Animal Affinity skill fade back into his subconscious.
"Excellent," Aerion murmured to himself, highly satisfied with the seamless acquisition of his new livestock.
He turned Revan away from the main palisade wall. He didn't bother making the men open the massive main gates again. Built directly into the side of the massive wooden perimeter, completely unnoticed by the casual observer, was a much smaller, human sized wood banded door, designed specifically for the farmhands to enter and exit without exposing the main thoroughfare.
Aerion rode the destrier past the smaller gate, guiding the warhorse toward the newly constructed, sprawling wooden stables on the western side of the compound.
He dismounted gracefully, leading Revan into a massive, fresh smelling stall layered with thick, clean straw. He removed the heavy leather saddle and the bridle, giving the exhausted beast a solid, appreciative pat on its muscular neck before filling its trough with fresh oats.
As Aerion stepped out of the stable, brushing a few stray pieces of hay from his immaculate dark robes, he found his entire inner circle waiting for him.
Jenassa stood leaning against a wooden support beam, a faint, highly amused smirk playing on her scarred lips. Beside her stood Captain Sinmir, Gwaering, Uthgerd, Torsten, and Titus Varr. The core leadership of his private mercenary company.
Sinmir stepped forward, practically ripping his steel helmet from his head to run a thick, trembling hand through his sweat drenched hair.
"Boss," Sinmir began, his voice a mixture of profound awe and lingering disbelief. "I have fought in the Legion. I have cleared out bandit camps from Falkreath to Winterhold. I have seen mages burn men to cinders and summon demons from Oblivion. But I have absolutely, fundamentally never expected to see such a thing with my own two eyes."
The Nord gestured wildly toward the massive, silent enclosure in the distance.
"You didn't just lead them here," Sinmir breathed, staring at the High Elf as if he were looking at a living god. "You communicated with them. They were completely docile. They listened to you. Anyone in Skyrim will tell you that domesticating a mammoth is physically, magically, and completely impossible. It simply cannot be done."
Aerion smoothed the front of his robes, his golden eyes sweeping over the awestruck faces of his soldiers. He offered a slow, charismatic smile that radiated absolute, unshakeable confidence.
"Many things in this world are considered impossible, Sinmir," Aerion replied, his melodic voice carrying the weight of absolute authority. "But that is merely because there has not yet been a man with the will, the intellect, and the power who has managed to do it. Until today, it was impossible. I have done it. Therefore, the impossible is merely a retired concept now."
The sheer, staggering arrogance of the statement, backed up by undeniable, mountain sized physical proof, hit the mercenaries like a physical blow.
A low, collective murmur of absolute agreement rippled through the group. Uthgerd the Unbroken nodded her head slowly, her fierce eyes filled with profound respect. Titus Varr, the Imperial tactician, looked at the mammoth pen with a rapidly calculating gaze, instantly recognizing the sheer, astronomical economic leverage his employer had just secured.
The murmurs quickly swelled. The initial shock evaporated, entirely replaced by a surging, overwhelming wave of pure, unfiltered jubilation.
A loud, booming cheer erupted from Torsten Iron-Arm, quickly joined by the rest of the company. They raised their fists into the air, the sound echoing off the newly built storehouses.
They weren't just cheering for the magical spectacle, they were cheering for their own futures.
In the harsh, unforgiving province of Skyrim, a mercenary's life was typically nasty, brutish, and exceedingly short. They died in freezing mud over a handful of septims, or they were discarded by petty nobles the moment their contracts expired.
But as they looked at the towering, golden-skinned mage standing before them, the reality of their situation fully solidified. They had pledged their swords to a man who was not only vastly different from any noble they had ever met, but a man who possessed the power to bend the very laws of nature and economics to his will.
They realized, with absolute certainty, that their Patron's future was impossibly, blindingly bright. And by extension, so was theirs.
The wealth generated by a monopoly on Mammoth Cheese would be astronomical. It meant hazard bonuses. It meant secure, permanent employment. It meant that Gwaering could finally send massive pouches of gold back to his impoverished clan in Valenwood.
It meant that Torsten and Uthgerd, who had lived in rented cots and cheap tavern rooms their entire lives, could afford to purchase real, permanent homes in the Plains District of Whiterun. They could move their families out of the squalor of the outer holds and into the absolute safety of the capital, resting under the permanent, heavily armed umbrella of Aerion's protection.
Aerion let the cheers wash over him for a few moments, deeply satisfied by the absolute, fanatical loyalty he was actively forging.
Then, he raised a single, elegant hand.
The cheering ceased instantly. The absolute discipline of the unit asserted itself, the mercenaries falling completely silent and snapping to attention, waiting for their orders.
"Enjoy the victory, but do not let it dull your wits," Aerion commanded, his smile fading into the sharp, serious expression of a general. "The beasts are secured, but they are still wild animals. There are strict protocols that must be followed without exception."
He began pacing slowly before the gathered group, his golden eyes locking onto each of them in turn.
"I have utilized my magic to establish a binding pact with the herd," Aerion explained clearly. "They recognize you as their protectors. They will not aggressively attack any member of this company who bears my crest. However, you are to treat them with the utmost caution. Do not make sudden, aggressive movements near their flanks. Do not attempt to strike them, ride them, or purposely incite a reaction."
He pointed a sharp finger toward the eastern gate.
"Your primary duties regarding the herd are twofold," Aerion continued, his voice ringing with uncompromising authority. "First, the logistics. You will ensure the massive feeding troughs inside the pen are constantly filled with the raw wheat and hay we have stockpiled. Second, the security. When the sun is high, you will open the gates and allow the herd to graze on the open tundra. You will deploy a heavily armed perimeter guard to walk with them. You are there to slaughter any sabre cats, frostbite spiders, or wandering bandits that attempt to harass the herd. You will guide them away from the cobblestone trade roads to avoid civilian panic. And at sunset, you will escort them back behind the palisades."
Aerion stopped pacing, crossing his arms. "Other than feeding them and guarding them, you are to leave the beasts entirely alone. You do not harvest the cheese. You do not touch the tusks. Are my directives absolutely clear?"
"Crystal clear, boss!" the mercenaries chorused in perfect, booming unison.
No one possessed the slightest inclination to argue. Getting trampled into a bloody paste by a fifteen foot behemoth was entirely off the agenda. Six mammoths required a coordinated battalion of elite mages and heavy infantry to safely take down in the wild, even a single agitated mammoth could casually wipe out half the company.
Absolute, respectful distance was a highly popular policy.
"Excellent," Aerion nodded. "Sinmir, assign the grazing rotations. I leave the compound in your hands."
With the farm officially operational, Aerion turned to his bodyguard. "Jenassa. We ride for the city."
Jenassa simply nodded, turning on her heel to retrieve her bay horse from the stables.
As Aerion turned to follow her, a blur of cinnamon red shot past his boots.
Lupin the fox had discovered the small, human sized iron door leading into the mammoth pen. Before Aerion could stop him, the tiny magical familiar squeezed under the heavy wood and trotted proudly into the massive enclosure.
Aerion paused, watching through the timber gaps.
Lupin boldly trotted right up to the massive, tree trunk leg of the alpha bull. The tiny fox sat down in the dirt, puffed out his chest, and let out a sharp, highly authoritative yip, asserting his dominance as the senior pet of the household.
The alpha mammoth slowly lowered its massive head, its trunk gently sniffing the tiny, vibrating ball of fur. The mammoth let out a soft, huffing breath of air that ruffled Lupin's coat, entirely unbothered by the tiny creature. The rest of the herd simply ignored the fox, continuing to investigate the empty feeding troughs.
Aerion mounted Revan, who had barely had time to finish his oats, and spurred the destrier out of the compound. Jenassa rode slightly behind his right shoulder, maintaining her flawless, silent overwatch.
They left the bustling, highly motivated construction site behind, riding up the gentle incline to reconnect with the main cobblestone trade road.
The short ride to the capital was uneventful. The late afternoon sun was beginning to cast long, warm shadows across the tundra as they approached the towering stone walls of Whiterun.
They arrived at the Whiterun Stables just as the evening traffic began to slow.
"Welcome back, Aerion!" Skulvar Sable-Hilt greeted enthusiastically, rushing out from the stables to take the heavy leather reins of the destrier.
"Ensure he gets a double portion of apples, Skulvar. He has carried me far today," Aerion instructed, tossing five septim to the man.
"Right away, no need to be worried!"
Aerion and Jenassa walked up the winding, sloping stone path toward the massive, heavily fortified main gates of the city. The guards, recognizing the Jarl's favored guest and the lethal Dark Elf assassin, immediately pulled the heavy iron levers, swinging the gate open.
They stepped into the bustling, noisy, smoke filled atmosphere of the Plains District.
Aerion didn't head toward the market square or the Bannered Mare. He turned immediately to his right, following the sharp, rhythmic ringing of a blacksmith's hammer.
Sitting directly beside the city gates was Warmaiden's. The massive, open air forge was blazing hot, filling the immediate area with the smell of burning coal, hot steel, and sweat.
Standing before the glowing anvil, her muscular, soot-stained arms bringing a heavy iron hammer down on a glowing steel ingot, was Adrianne Avenicci.
CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.
Aerion waited politely for her to finish the sequence of strikes. As she lowered the hammer and used a pair of heavy iron tongs to plunge the cooling steel into a barrel of water, a loud, hissing cloud of steam erupted into the air.
"Good evening, Adrianne," Aerion called out smoothly, his voice easily cutting through the hissing steam.
Adrianne wiped a heavy smear of soot from her forehead with the back of her leather glove. She turned her head, offering a weary but genuine smile as she recognized the wealthy High Elf.
"Aerion. Good evening to you," Adrianne returned the greeting, leaning her heavy hammer against the side of the anvil. She grabbed a rag to wipe the grease from her hands.
"To what do I owe the pleasure today? I was visited by someone hired by you to completely clear out my reserve stock of iron fittings last week. Are you here to buy me completely out of steel ingots as well?"
"Nothing so mundane today, Adrianne," Aerion replied, stepping closer to the radiant heat of the forge. "I have come to secure your expertise for a significantly larger, far more complex commission. I wish to hire you to construct a complete, professional grade blacksmithing pavilion for my estate."
Adrianne paused her wiping. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she mentally categorized the request.
"A complete setup?" Adrianne asked, her professional curiosity instantly piqued. "What exactly are we talking about?"
"The absolute works," Aerion specified, his tone serious and demanding the highest quality. "I require a heavy, deep bellied stone forge with a high capacity bellows system. I need a massive, reinforced smelting oven capable of reducing raw ore to ingots efficiently. I need a master crafted steel anvil, a heavy duty workbench equipped with leatherworking tools, and a large, continuously lubricated grindstone for sharpening."
He paused, ensuring she understood the location. "And I require all of it to be built, transported, and installed at my new homestead, located out in the tundra just beyond the river."
Adrianne stopped wiping her hands entirely. The dirty rag fell onto the wooden table beside her. She turned her body to fully face the High Elf, her brown eyes wide with absolute, unadulterated surprise.
"A homestead?" Adrianne repeated, her voice laced with genuine shock. "You have an entire estate out in the tundra? Outside the city walls?"
Aerion nodded his head, recognizing the subtle, underlying tension in her question. In the current political climate of Skyrim, land ownership was a deeply contested, highly bureaucratic nightmare.
"I do indeed," Aerion confirmed smoothly, immediately moving to assuage any fears of illicit activity. "I assure you, Adrianne, it was acquired entirely above board. I purchased the deed directly from the Jarl, facilitated through your father, Steward Proventus. All the taxes are paid, and the zoning permits are signed. It is a completely legitimate, legal purchase. Constructing the forge will not entangle Warmaiden's in any suspicious dealings or criminal activity."
Adrianne let out a sudden, rough chuckle, waving her soot stained hand dismissively.
"Oh, by the Divines, Aerion, I'm not worried about you running a bandit smuggling ring," Adrianne laughed, shaking her head. "I know my father wouldn't sign a deed for a criminal. It's not the legality that surprised me. It's the sheer, impossible politics of it."
She leaned against the heavy stone of her forge, looking at him with a mixture of profound respect and deep curiosity.
"I don't just mean the massive pile of septims you clearly had to drop to buy prime tundra real estate," Adrianne explained, lowering her voice slightly. "Getting the Jarl to sign over a large tract of land to a High Elf... especially right now, with the civil war raging, the Stormcloaks screaming about Elven supremacy, and the Thalmor breathing down everyone's necks... it is practically unheard of. Jarl Balgruuf is incredibly protective of the hold's borders. You must possess the silver tongue of Dibella herself to have convinced him."
Aerion smiled, a knowing, slightly arrogant expression. "I have my ways of presenting highly convincing, mutually beneficial arguments to the Jarl. The permission was secured."
"And the coin?" Adrianne asked, raising an eyebrow. "A massive estate, a private mercenary crew buying bulk iron, and now a master crafted forge? You must have stumbled over a dragon's hoard."
"Something akin to it," Aerion replied vaguely, spinning his standard adventurer alibi. "I have spent the past several weeks delving into the deepest, most heavily infested ancient Nordic crypts and clearing out entrenched bandit strongholds across the hold. The danger is exceptionally high, but the resulting wealth and the recovery of lost, valuable artifacts easily covers the cost of my investments."
Adrianne nodded slowly, accepting the explanation. It was the only logical way a wandering mage could acquire such sudden, massive wealth in Skyrim.
"Well," Adrianne sighed, pulling a small charcoal stick and a scrap of thick parchment from her apron pocket. She immediately shifted from the surprised citizen back to the ruthless, calculating businesswoman. "I can certainly take the project. But you need to understand, Aerion, this isn't like forging a dozen iron swords. Building a smelter requires specific, heat resistant bricks from Markarth. The anvil has to be cast from pure, imported steel. It is going to take a significant amount of time to source the materials, construct the pieces, and haul them all the way out to your estate."
"I am in no immediate rush, Adrianne," Aerion assured her calmly. "Take the time necessary to ensure the craftsmanship is flawless. Do not cut corners. What is the estimated cost for the complete installation?"
Adrianne began scratching rapidly on the parchment with the charcoal. She mumbled to herself as she calculated the accurate logistical nightmare of building a heavy industry site in the wilderness.
"Alright," Adrianne muttered, her eyes scanning her rapid calculations. "The heat resistant stone and the heavy clay for the smelter and the forge bed... that's highly specialized, plus the cost of the heavy carts to move it. One thousand septims. The bellows require thick, treated mammoth or bear leather to prevent cracking near the heat... around eight hundred."
She tapped the charcoal against the parchment. "The workbench and the grindstone are relatively simple carpentry and masonry, but the grinding wheel needs a solid iron axle. Let's say five hundred hundred for both."
She looked up, her expression turning serious. "The true cost is the anvil, Aerion. You want a master crafted block that won't chip when you're hammering ebony or glass. That requires nearly four hundred pounds of pure, refined steel, cast perfectly. That alone is going to cost you two thousand septims."
She drew a hard line under her numbers, adding it all up.
"Add in the heavy labor costs, the transportation fees for the carts, and my personal time away from Warmaiden's to oversee the installation..." Adrianne looked up, meeting his golden eyes squarely. "The total cost for the complete, professional blacksmithing pavilion will be five thousand, two hundred septims. Half upfront to secure the raw materials, half upon final installation."
Aerion didn't blink. He didn't deploy his Persuasion skill to haggle. He respected the sheer competence and the honest pricing of the Whiterun smith.
"Five thousand, two hundred is a perfectly acceptable price for masterwork craftsmanship," Aerion agreed without a second thought.
He reached into his satchel, accessing the vast, digital wealth of his spatial void. He mentally isolated the required funds, pulling a massive, incredibly heavy leather pouch into his physical grasp
He placed the bulging purse onto the wooden table beside the anvil. The sheer weight of the gold made the wood groan loudly.
[Septims Deducted: 2,600. Current Septims: 77,581]
"Here is the twenty six hundred septims for the initial deposit," Aerion stated smoothly. "I hope you can begin to buy the materials as soon as possible, Adrianne. I eagerly await when it is time for forge and the others to be installed."
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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: 77,581