If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead and more, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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"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."
Adrianne looked down at the massive, incredibly heavy leather pouch of gold resting on her wooden workbench. She reached out, grasping the thick drawstrings, and lifted the purse, testing the staggering weight of the sixteen hundred septims.
A sudden, rough chuckle escaped her lips. The soot stained blacksmith shook her head, a look of profound, wistful longing crossing her features as she looked back at the towering High Elf.
"By the Divines, Aerion," Adrianne sighed, her brown eyes softening as she leaned her hip against the cooling stone of her forge. "Right now I truly wish I could be like you. Making that kind of massive coin, securing your own independence so rapidly... it is incredible. When I was a little girl, before I ever picked up a hammer and fell in love with the singing of hot steel, I desperately longed to be an adventurer. I wanted to delve into those ancient ruins and see the world outside these walls."
She offered a self-deprecating smile, wiping a smudge of grease from her cheek. "I suppose I shall just have to live vicariously through you, my friend. Seeing you walk back into the city with a big ransom after plunging into those terrifying Nordic crypts keeps the dream alive."
Aerion offered a smooth, melodic chuckle, intentionally downplaying the apocalyptic, god like magical violence he had actually employed to secure his wealth.
"I assure you, Adrianne, it is vastly more luck than sheer heroism," Aerion lied flawlessly, spinning his carefully crafted alibi. "Most of the ancient crypts I have encountered simply haven't been thoroughly cleared by the Jarl's men yet. And as for the bandit camps... well, the local highwaymen are not exactly renowned for their mind brilliance. Jenassa and I merely utilize the shadows. We clear them out sneakily, striking before they even realize their perimeter has been breached. It is highly pragmatic, if not entirely glamorous."
Adrianne nodded her head in deep respect, entirely buying the narrative of the stealthy, pragmatic scholar adventurer.
"Well, whatever your methods, they are undeniably effective," Adrianne declared, turning her attention back to her heavy iron tongs and the barrel of quenching water. "I must get back to work. Sourcing the pure steel and the Markarth stone for your masterwork pavilion will take some time. Expect the complete installation to require at least several weeks."
She paused, offering a genuine, neighborly concession. "In the meantime, Aerion, if you need to forge anything urgently, you are more than welcome to use my equipment here at Warmaiden's, entirely free of charge. You simply have to provide your own raw ingots and leather. If you need to dip into my personal supply bin, you'll have to pay the standard market rate."
"A highly generous offer, Adrianne. I shall keep it in mind," Aerion smiled, bowing his head respectfully. "Good evening."
"Safe travels, Aerion."
Aerion and Jenassa turned away from the blazing heat of the forge, walking deeper into the Plains District of the city.
They navigated the winding, tiered cobblestone streets, passing by the sturdy wooden architecture of the local homes. The evening air was crisp, and the scent of woodsmoke and roasting meats drifted heavily from the chimneys.
They walked through the bustling market square, where Carlotta and the others were already beginning to pack away their wares for the day, and headed directly toward the heart of the city's social life.
They pushed open the heavy oak doors of the Bannered Mare and stepped inside.
Instantly, Aerion's hyper vigilant, tactically trained mind registered a massive, jarring anomaly.
The Bannered Mare was the undisputed epicenter of Whiterun's gossip and camaraderie. On any given evening, the taproom should have been a wall of chaotic noise.
Mikael the bard should have been strumming his lute loudly, mercenaries should have been roaring with laughter over spilled ale, and the local merchants should have been loudly haggling over trade routes.
Instead, the atmosphere was suffocatingly tense.
The taproom was packed to the brim with patrons, but the noise level was entirely wrong. It wasn't a roar, it was a collective, paranoid hiss.
Fierce, hushed whispers filled the smoky air. Patrons were huddled tightly together at their tables, their heads leaned in close, casting sharp, highly suspicious glances at anyone who walked past. The Stormcloak sympathizers in the corner looked incredibly angry and anxious, while the Imperial loyalists near the hearth looked smug, yet deeply cautious.
Aerion paused just inside the doorway, his golden brow furrowing in confusion. He glanced sideways at Jenassa.
The Dark Elf assassin's crimson eyes were actively scanning the room, her hand resting casually near the hilt of her dagger.
She caught Aerion's look and offered a subtle shrug of her armored shoulders, silently signaling that she had absolutely no idea what had caused the sudden shift in the city's mood.
They walked purposefully across the tense taproom, heading straight for the main bar counter.
Ysolda was standing behind the polished wood, nervously wiping a completely clean rag across the surface. When she looked up and saw Aerion and Jenassa approaching, a flash of genuine relief and happiness washed over her beautiful features.
"Aerion! Jenassa! Please, take a seat," Ysolda greeted them in a hushed, urgent tone, gesturing to the empty stools directly in front of her.
Aerion sat down smoothly, folding his long arms across the counter. He completely bypassed the standard pleasantries.
"Ysolda, why exactly does the taproom feel as though a dragon is circling the city?" Aerion asked directly, his golden eyes searching her face. "The atmosphere in here is incredibly volatile tonight."
Ysolda stopped wiping the counter, a look of profound surprise crossing her face. She leaned forward, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
"By the Divines, Aerion, haven't you heard the news?" Ysolda asked, her eyes wide. "The rumour have been swirling itself ragged all afternoon."
Aerion shook his head slowly. "I have heard absolutely nothing. Jenassa and I have been entirely focused on the construction of the homestead for the past week. We have been completely isolated from the city's gossip network."
It was a highly convenient, perfectly logical lie. In truth, Aerion had established an intelligence network. He had previously paid Saadia and the local beggar, Brenuin, to keep him informed of any major political movements inside Whiterun. However, because today he had only just returned to the city moments ago, he hadn't yet had the opportunity to check in with his informants.
"Then brace yourself, because the entire political landscape of the province may have just shifted," Ysolda whispered, leaning even closer, her eyes darting nervously toward the Stormcloak sympathizers in the corner.
"An Imperial courier rode into the city just hours ago," Ysolda reported, the gravity of the situation clear in her voice. "Word is spreading like wildfire from the Jarl's court. General Tullius, the supreme commander of the Imperial Legion in Skyrim, personally led a massive, highly classified contingent of soldiers into the southern holds."
She took a deep breath, the sheer magnitude of the rumor hanging heavily in the air.
"They laid a trap," Ysolda revealed. "General Tullius successfully ambushed the main command column of the Stormcloak rebellion near a settlement called Darkwater Crossing. The rumors say they absolutely decimated the rebel guard. And Aerion... there is massive, highly credible talk that they captured the high level leaders of the rebellion. Some are even whispering that they managed to capture Ulfric Stormcloak himself in the ambush."
Thump.
Aerion's heart violently slammed against his ribs.
His physical expression remained perfectly smooth, a flawless mask of aristocratic surprise, but internally, his hyper analytical transmigrator mind exploded into absolute, catastrophic panic.
Darkwater Crossing. The ambush. The capture of Ulfric Stormcloak.
The lore hit him like a physical blow from a warhammer. He had been so deeply, completely consumed by the logistics of building his private empire, haggling over bulk produce, drawing blueprints, fighting necromancers, and domesticating mammoths, that he had entirely lost track of the macro timeline of the universe.
The game is starting. Right now.
The ambush at Darkwater Crossing was the exact inciting incident of the entire vanilla Skyrim storyline. It was where the player character, the prophesied Dragonborn, was accidentally captured while trying to cross the border.
If General Tullius had already executed the ambush and captured Ulfric, that meant the Imperial wagons were already rolling. They were currently transporting the rebel leader, the horse thief Lokir, Ralof, and potentially the Dragonborn directly to the fortified mountain town of Helgen for immediate execution.
And more importantly... it meant the World-Eater was already descending from the time wound.
Alduin the World-Eater was flying toward Helgen at this exact second to interrupt the execution.
Aerion's mind raced at a million miles an hour. He could not afford to miss Helgen. The entire overarching architecture of his grand, shadow manipulation strategy relied on identifying who the Dragonborn was, assessing their capabilities, and subtly guiding their actions.
If the Dragonborn died on the executioner's block because of an unforeseen butterfly effect caused by Aerion's presence in the timeline, the entire province was doomed. At the very least, he needed to witness the apocalyptic return of the ancient dragon king to calibrate his own magical power scaling.
I need to get to the southern mountains immediately. The wagons will take a few days to navigate the winding mountain passes from Eastmarch to Falkreath, but the window is rapidly closing.
Aerion stood up from the wooden stool so abruptly that the heavy wood scraped loudly against the floorboards, drawing the startled attention of several nearby patrons.
"Aerion?" Ysolda asked, jumping slightly at his sudden movement. "What is wrong? You look as though you've seen a ghost."
"My deepest apologies, Ysolda," Aerion lied rapidly, his melodic voice tight with manufactured urgency. "Your news has just triggered a profound realization. I have completely forgotten to secure a highly volatile, highly dangerous alchemical experiment back at the homestead. It requires my absolute, immediate attention before the reagents stabilize improperly."
He offered a swift, highly distracted bow. "I must return to the estate immediately. I promise I will return later to discuss this news further."
Before Ysolda could utter a single word of protest or confusion, Aerion had already turned on his heel.
"Jenassa. We are leaving. Now," Aerion commanded, his voice a low, cracking whip of absolute authority.
Jenassa didn't ask questions in the taproom. She instantly stood up, her hand resting on her dagger, and followed her Patron as he practically sprinted out of the Bannered Mare, leaving a highly confused Ysolda staring after them.
The moment they pushed through the heavy tavern doors and hit the cool evening air of the market square, Aerion engaged his massive 430 point Stamina pool.
He didn't run, preserving his aristocratic dignity, but he power walked with terrifying, ground eating strides, his long legs carrying him rapidly down the tiered streets toward the main gates.
Jenassa, possessing the shorter strides of a Dark Elf, was forced into a brisk, highly uncomfortable half jog just to keep pace with his towering frame.
"Patron!" Jenassa hissed quietly, her gravelly voice tight with exertion as they passed the city well. "Why are we in such an incredible hurry? I have never seen you lose your composure like this. What experiment?"
"There is no experiment, Jenassa. Just follow me," Aerion replied sharply, his golden eyes locked dead ahead on the massive iron portcullis of the city gates. "We need to ride south. Now."
Jenassa frowned deeply, her crimson eyes darting around the darkening streets.
"But why the sudden panic?" Jenassa pressed, her pragmatic mercenary logic failing to grasp his reaction to the political gossip. "If the rumors Ysolda shared are true, is that not a profound victory for stability? If General Tullius has actually captured Ulfric Stormcloak and cuts off his head, the rebellion will instantly fracture. The civil war might end by the end of the week. That is good news for trade and construction."
"I am well aware of the political implications, Jenassa. And on paper, it is indeed excellent news," Aerion nodded tightly, not slowing his rapid pace as they bypassed the guards and stepped out into the descending twilight of the Whiterun plains.
"But..." Aerion continued, his voice dropping into a dark, ominous register, fabricating a mystical excuse for his meta knowledge. "I have a terrifyingly dark feeling in the pit of my stomach regarding this ambush. When you corner a wounded wolf, it lashes out. When you attempt to execute a king... the very earth tends to violently object. A storm is coming, Jenassa. And I intend to be in position to observe where the lightning strikes."
Jenassa felt a cold shiver run down her spine. When a High Elf mage who could summon entire armies of Daedra claimed to have a "bad feeling," a smart mercenary checked her armor straps and prepared for the apocalypse.
They practically sprinted down the winding stone path to the Whiterun Stables.
Skulvar Sable-Hilt was just finishing bolting the heavy wooden doors of the barn when the High Elf and the Dark Elf descended upon him.
"Aerion? You're leaving already?" Skulvar stammered, deeply confused. "But you only just arrived!"
"Saddle the horses, Skulvar. Immediately," Aerion commanded.
Within two minutes, Aerion and Jenassa were mounted. They spurred Revan and the bay horse into a heavy, thundering gallop, tearing down the cobblestone road toward the Tundra Homestead.
They reached the fortified compound just as the last light of the sun vanished, plunging the tundra into a deep, starry night. The massive campfires of the mercenary company were blazing brightly.
Captain Sinmir looked up from a bowl of stew as Aerion brought the massive black destrier to a sliding, dust kicking halt in the center of the yard.
"Boss?" Sinmir asked, standing up quickly. "Is there trouble in the city?"
"I am leaving, Captain," Aerion announced, his voice projecting over the crackling fire. "Jenassa and I are riding out immediately. We will be gone for several days. We are heading into the southern holds."
Sinmir's brow furrowed in genuine surprise. The Patron had literally just returned from a multi day expedition to the northern coast a week ago. To immediately turn around and ride south in the dead of night after construction was fully finished was highly erratic behavior.
"Heading south?" Sinmir repeated. "Into Falkreath? Boss, the mountain passes are crawling with bandits and wild beasts at night. Where exactly are you going?"
"I have urgent, highly sensitive business to handle," Aerion deflected smoothly, refusing to provide specific tactical details. "There is absolutely no need for concern. Your orders remain identical. Hold the fort. Guard the herd. I will return when the business is concluded."
"Understood, boss. Ride safe," Sinmir saluted, recognizing the tone of absolute finality.
Aerion swung down from the saddle for just a brief moment. He walked briskly toward the massive, heavily fortified palisade walls of the mammoth pen.
He didn't need to open the gate. He simply called him out. "Lupin! Come here!"
Inside the enclosure, a sharp, happy yip echoed in the darkness. A tiny, vibrating blur of cinnamon red fur scrambled rapidly up the thick, rough bark of the pine logs, effortlessly scaling the massive palisade wall with his bizarre, gravity defying magical agility.
Lupin hopped over the top of the fence, dropping gracefully into Aerion's waiting arms.
"I cannot leave you to terrorize the herd, my friend. We have a long ride ahead," Aerion murmured, striding back to the black destrier.
He tucked the highly agreeable fox securely into the padded front saddlebag, ensuring the familiar was protected from the biting wind, before swinging his long frame back into the heavy leather saddle.
"We ride," Aerion commanded Jenassa.
They wheeled their horses around, leaving the bright fires of the Tundra Homestead behind them. They spurred their mounts onto the packed dirt road, heading south.
The journey through the night was a grueling, tense test of endurance.
They followed the primary southern trade route, the hooves of their horses thundering rhythmically against the stone.
They rode past the massive, silent Honningbrew Meadery, crossing the sturdy stone bridge over the White River.
The topography of the land began to shift dramatically as they left the open, golden plains of Whiterun behind.
The road began a steady, steep incline, winding its way into the towering, densely packed, ancient alpine forests that defined the borders of the Falkreath Hold. The air grew significantly colder, thick with the scent of damp earth, pine sap, and rushing water.
They rode hard for over an hour, navigating the winding, shadowed forest path.
Eventually, the dense tree line broke, revealing a small, deeply isolated lumber town nestled in a picturesque valley. The massive, churning wooden wheel of the lumber mill groaned loudly against the rushing currents of the White River.
It was Riverwood.
Aerion did not stop. The town was completely dark albeit Whiterun guards who was on patrol, the residents fast asleep in their timber homes. He pulled the reins, guiding Revan to the left, crossing the sturdy stone bridge that spanned the roaring rapids.
They rode straight through the center of the sleeping village, the heavy clopping of their horses echoing off the wooden storefronts of the Riverwood Trader and the Sleeping Giant Inn.
They left the small town behind, continuing their relentless ride south.
The road narrowed significantly, hugging the steep, rocky banks of the river. The ancient pine trees towered above them like silent, watchful sentinels, completely blocking out the moonlight and plunging the path into absolute, suffocating darkness.
Aerion relied entirely on Revan's superior night vision and his own glowing systemic map to navigate the treacherous terrain.
They rode for another hour, the exhaustion beginning to gnaw at their muscles.
Suddenly, the dense, claustrophobic forest opened up entirely.
The rushing, white water rapids of the river slowed, spilling out into a vast, breathtakingly massive body of deep, dark water that stretched endlessly toward the southern horizon.
They had reached the northern shores of Lake Ilinalta.
And standing tall on a rocky promontory overlooking the vast, starlit lake, surrounded by a ring of ancient, weathered Nordic pillars, were three massive, intricately carved monoliths.
The Guardian Stones. The ancient magical markers of The Warrior, The Mage, and The Thief.
Aerion felt a sudden, profound, vibrating resonance echo deep within his neural pathways. The systemic interface bound to his transmigrated soul was actively reacting to the ancient, localized magic of the world, like it was signalling something.
Aerion pulled the reins, bringing the massive black destrier to a halt at the base of the rocky promontory.
"Whoa," Aerion commanded softly.
Jenassa pulled her bay horse to a stop beside him, her crimson eyes scanning the dark, surrounding tree line for ambushes before looking up at the towering monoliths.
"Patron?" Jenassa asked, her gravelly voice filled with genuine confusion. "Why are we stopping here? If time is of the absolute essence regarding your 'bad feeling' about the rebellion, should we not press on toward wherever you decide?"
Aerion swung his long legs over the saddle, dropping his boots onto the damp earth.
"Time is indeed critical, Jenassa," Aerion agreed, his golden eyes locked onto the glowing, magical runes carved into the face of the Mage Stone. "But efficiency in combat is equally vital. I have read extensive, highly esoteric texts regarding the localized magical resonance of these ancient monuments. Before we plunge into whatever apocalyptic chaos is brewing in the southern mountains, I want to see exactly what these stones can offer."
Aerion left Revan ground tied, walking slowly up the rocky incline toward the towering monoliths, his transmigrator mind burning with intense, highly analytical curiosity to see how the ancient magic of Nirn would interact with his chest of a system, will it gave him another one of his mods list or not.
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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