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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He didn't break his stride. He simply closed his eyes for a fraction of a second and mentally engaged his digital system. The massive, golden interface violently flared to life in his peripheral vision, entirely ready to display the astronomical level ups and attribute points he had earned during the fight against the Dragon on the Western Watchtower.
The heavy, iron reinforced wooden doors of Whiterun's main gate closed with a resounding, echoing thud behind them, officially separating the team from the frantic, buzzing political theater of the city.
As they stepped out onto the paved stone ramp leading down toward the stables, the cool, crisp evening air of the tundra washed over them. The sun had completely vanished behind the jagged western mountain ranges, leaving behind a sprawling, breathtaking canvas of deep twilight purple and vibrant, bleeding orange across the Skyrim sky.
The sheer volume of experience he had gained from the apocalyptic siege at the Western Watchtower and his subsequent political maneuvering in Dragonsreach was absolutely staggering.
[Destruction (Fire) (+3) Leveled Up 14 Times! Current Level: 42]
[Destruction (Lightning) (+1) Leveled Up 19 Times! Current Level: 76]
[Destruction (Frost) (+1) Leveled Up 21 Times! Current Level: 41]
Aerion felt a profound, crackling hum of absolute elemental supremacy vibrate deeply within his bones. The sheer, overwhelming thermal resistance of the dragon's scales had forced his transmigrator mind to actively, aggressively compress and manipulate his destruction magic to an unprecedented degree.
Searing the beast's neck with plasma, ripping its magicka away with continuous chain lightning, and shattering its wing joints with absolute zero ice spikes had flooded his arcane powers with raw, unfiltered combat data.
[Restoration (Healing) (+1) Leveled Up 17 Times! Current Level: 31]
The rapid, mid combat triage he had performed on the surviving Whiterun guardsmen, pushing their melted armor aside to knit their ruined flesh back together, had solidified his connection to the restorative arts. His healing auras were now significantly wider and vastly more potent.
[Light Armor Leveled Up 20 Times!]
[Light Armor has reached MAX LEVEL!]
A deep, highly satisfied smirk touched Aerion's lips. The glancing blows from the dragon's massive, spiked tail and the concussive kinetic shockwaves of its roars had battered his physical frame relentlessly. His body had adapted flawlessly to the kinetic trauma.
Without a single moment of hesitation, Aerion engaged the legendary mechanic.
[Confirm Legendary Reset for Skill: Light Armor?]
[Confirmed. Level reset to: 0 (+1)]
A profound sensation of absolute, unburdened weightlessness washed through his muscular structure. The numerical cap was violently stripped away, allowing his physical durability to scale exponentially once more while retaining every single ounce of hard earned muscle memory.
[Persuasion (+1) Leveled Up 23 Times! Current Level: 83]
This specific notification brought a quiet, deeply sociopathic chuckle to Aerion's throat. He hadn't swung a single blade to earn this. He had simply utilized the power of his silver tongue to completely, ruthlessly dismantle Nazeem's social standing and political reputation in front of the entire Cloud District. The system recognized social annihilation just as validly as physical destruction.
And then, the final, overarching culmination of his efforts materialized.
[LEVEL UP DETECTED!]
[You have leveled up 9 times! You are now Level 145!]
[You have gained 9 Attribute Points!]
[Total Unspent Attribute Points: 24]
Twenty four attribute points.
It was a terrifying, incomprehensible reservoir of raw, reality warping biological augmentation. With a mere thought, he could permanently alter the fundamental physics of his own mortal vessel.
Aerion did not hoard them this time. The impending, brutal climb up the Seven Thousand Steps, and the escalating threat of the returning dragons, demanded that his physical and arcane capacities be operating at their absolute, flawless peak.
He decided upon a perfectly balanced, symmetrical distribution.
[Attribute Point Allocated: Health x8 (+80 Points)]
[Attribute Point Allocated: Magicka x8 (+80 Points)]
[Attribute Point Allocated: Stamina x8 (+80 Points)]
The integration was immediate and overwhelmingly powerful.
A deep, searing heat rushed through his cellular structure, hardening his bones and dense muscle tissues to the point where an small dagger would likely shatter against his armor.
Simultaneously, an absolute, freezing rush of pure arcane energy aggressively expanded the neural pathways in his brain, deepening his internal well of magicka to a terrifying, bottomless ocean. Finally, a massive surge of endless, kinetic endurance flooded his lungs and legs, completely eradicating the lingering fatigue of the day's battles.
[Current Health: 540 / 540]
[Current Magicka: 750 / 750]
[Current Stamina: 560 / 560]
[Inventory Weight Limit Increased by 40 KG. Current Max Weight: 90.90 / 580 KG]
As the euphoric rush of the integration slowly settled into a comfortable, thrumming baseline of supreme power, a final, completely unexpected golden notification gently pulsed at the very bottom of his interface.
[New Unique Skill Acquired via Narrative Milestone!]
[Skill: Dragon Master (MAX LEVEL)]
Aerion's perfectly arched eyebrows shot up in genuine, profound surprise. A unique, narrative locked skill? This was an entirely new systemic variable.
He immediately focused his transmigrator mind upon the glowing text, actively willing the detailed description to expand.
[Dragon Master (MAX LEVEL)]
[Skill Description: Congratulations, Scholar! You have successfully witnessed the true death of a Dovah and survived the subsequent metaphysical fallout. Through sheer proximity and your impossibly dense, hyper analytical brain, you have permanently absorbed the complete Lexicon of the Dovahzul.
You now possess absolute, flawless fluency in the Dragon Language. You can speak it, read it, and hurl insults in it with the ancient, booming resonance of a true Dovah. Furthermore, your tactical database has been updated with the complete, comprehensive anatomical weak points of every single sub species of dragon in existence. You know exactly which scales to pry loose to make it hurt the most.]
[SYSTEMIC DISCLAIMER]: Please temper your megalomania. This skill absolutely does NOT grant you the ability to mind control dragons. It does NOT allow you to ride them into battle like overgrown, scaly ponies. And it certainly does NOT emit a passive, friendly aura that makes them want to be your best friends. They will still actively try to incinerate your face. Stop trying to completely break the geopolitical balance of the continent.
Aerion stopped dead in his tracks for a fraction of a millisecond, a look of profound, deeply irritated disappointment crossing his golden features.
He let out a heavy, internal sigh, aggressively dismissing the interface with a mental flick of his wrist.
'Of course,' Aerion grumbled bitterly within the privacy of his own mind. 'The system deliberately places a hard, unyielding cap on my mythological leverage.'
For a brief, shining moment, his hyper ambitious, Gamer mind had envisioned the ultimate, game breaking scenario. If the skill had granted him actual, tangible influence over the Dovah, the possibilities would have been apocalyptic.
He had imagined himself marching up to the peak of the Throat of the World, casually subduing Alduin the World-Eater, and subjugating the Black Dragon into a personal, world ending mount. He could have taken over the province of Skyrim by Tirdas, and subjugated the entirety of the Tamrielic Empire by the weekend.
'But no,' Aerion mused, shaking his head slightly as he resumed his smooth, even pace. 'The system requires balance. It ensures that I remain undeniably, overwhelmingly overpowered compared to the mortal population, but it still demands that I actively put in the physical work. It still forces me to grind. I suppose instant, effortless godhood would eventually grow terribly boring.'
They passed the familiar, heavy wooden fences of the Whiterun Stables, stepping off the cobblestones and merging onto the packed dirt path that led out onto the sweeping, moonlit tundra.
As they walked, the heavy, rhythmic clanking of Aeloria's Steel Plate armor suddenly sped up as she closed the distance, falling into step directly beside him. The Dragonborn looked up at the High Elf, her bright blue eyes filled with a mixture of nervous anticipation and genuine, deep seated curiosity.
"Aerion," Aeloria began, her voice unusually quiet, entirely lacking its typical, boisterous volume. "Before we reach the homestead... I need to ask you something."
"You may ask me anything, Aeloria," Aerion replied smoothly, turning his head to offer her a warm, attentive smile.
"The Greybeards," Aeloria said, gesturing vaguely toward the towering, snow capped silhouette of the Throat of the World looming in the southern distance. "What exactly do you know about them? Everything I know is just fragmented bedtime stories my grandparents used to tell me. They said they were ancient, powerful monks who lived in the clouds, but... not much else. Are they dangerous?"
Aerion nodded slowly, completely understanding her apprehension. She was walking blindly into a mythological summons.
"I cannot claim to possess firsthand knowledge of their daily routines, Aeloria," Aerion began, smoothly laying the groundwork for his deception. "But I have conducted incredibly extensive, meticulous research regarding the ancient history of the Thu'um and the religious orders of Skyrim. The Greybeards are an absolutely fascinating, deeply complex subject."
He seamlessly tapped into the vast, encyclopedic lore he had memorized from the wikis and the game in his past life, presenting it with the flawless, engaging cadence of a master university professor.
"To understand the Greybeards, you must understand their founder, Jurgen Windcaller," Aerion lectured, his voice carrying clearly over the quiet plains. "Thousands of years ago, during the First Era, the Nords wielded the Voice not as an instrument of peace, but as a devastating weapon of war. They used the Thu'um to conquer massive swaths of Tamriel. But their unyielding hubris finally met its match at the Battle of Red Mountain."
Aeloria listened with absolute, rapt attention, drinking in the history of her own people. Jenassa, walking on the flank, also tilted her head slightly, quietly interested in the lore.
"The Nordic armies were utterly, disastrously defeated at Red Mountain," Aerion continued. "Jurgen Windcaller, who was the most powerful Tongue of his era, was broken by the loss. He meditated in absolute silence for seven long years, seeking to understand how the gods could have allowed them to fail. When he finally spoke, he concluded that the gods had punished the Nords for their arrogance. He realized that the Thu'um was a divine gift meant for the worship and glorification of the gods, not for the petty, bloody conquests of mortal men."
Aerion gestured toward the distant peak of High Hrothgar.
"And thus, he founded the Way of the Voice," Aerion explained. "The Greybeards are his direct, unbroken lineage. They are complete pacifists. They seclude themselves at the highest peak in Skyrim to meditate on the words of power, entirely removing themselves from the politics, the wars, and the daily struggles of the province. They speak only in whispers, because the sheer, accumulated power of their Voice is so overwhelmingly dense that a single, casually spoken word could literally shatter the bones of a normal man."
Aeloria's eyes widened in profound, respectful awe.
"So... they aren't going to attack me," Aeloria reasoned, processing the deep lore. "They are monks."
"Exactly," Aerion nodded. "They are scholars of the soul. From the looks of it, they are an incredibly interesting, deeply spiritual bunch. They are summoning you not to fight you, but to guide you. You possess the raw power of the dragon, but they possess the refined, ancient wisdom of the Voice. I suspect they wish to teach you how to control the storm within your chest."
Aeloria let out a massive, heavily relieved sigh, a genuine, eager smile finally returning to her face.
"By the Eight, that is a relief," Aeloria chuckled, shaking her head. "I was half expecting to have to fight my way up the mountain. If they just want to teach me, then I honestly cannot wait to meet them tomorrow. There is so much I haven't known about my own heritage."
Aerion offered a sympathetic, deeply pragmatic smile, deciding to ground her excitement with a heavy dose of physical reality.
"It will be an incredibly enlightening experience, I assure you," Aerion agreed. "However, before we can sit cross legged and discuss the metaphysical nature of the universe with the monks... we actually have to reach them."
He gave her heavy steel breastplate a light, mocking tap.
"We have to climb the Seven Thousand Steps, Aeloria," Aerion reminded her dryly. "It is a relentless, brutal, near vertical ascent through freezing blizzards, treacherous ice, and hostile wildlife. And you, my dear vanguard, are currently hauling around sixty pounds of solid steel. It is going to be a crazy, agonizingly tiring endeavor."
Aeloria's eager smile instantly froze, her face falling slightly as the sheer, exhausting physical reality of the pilgrimage crashed down upon her. She looked down at her heavy steel sabatons, suddenly acutely aware of their massive weight.
She let out a long, highly exaggerated, deeply wry sigh.
"Right. The stairs," Aeloria muttered, rubbing the back of her neck. She looked up at Aerion, offering a highly hopeful, pleading grin. "Well... we can definitely take it slowly, right? Lots of breaks? Maybe a few sweetrolls along the way?"
"We shall see," Aerion chuckled, entirely unsympathetic to her plight.
They continued their banter, the comfortable camaraderie washing away the lingering darkness of the barrows, until the massive, familiar, heavy wooden palisades of the Aerion Estate finally loomed out of the darkness ahead.
The homestead had expanded significantly since their last departure. The heavy, spiked wooden walls had been reinforced, and the massive, reinforced iron gate stood securely locked. From the towering wooden guard towers situated at the corners of the compound, the bright, flickering light of heavy iron braziers cut through the night.
The deep, rumbling, incredibly comforting sounds of the massive domesticated mammoths shifting in their heavy wooden pens drifted over the walls.
Standing securely in front of the main gate, illuminated by the torchlight, were two heavily armored figures.
Sinmir, the towering, battle scarred Nord mercenary captain, stood with his arms crossed over his heavy steel armor, a massive battleaxe resting securely against his shoulder.
Standing beside him was Thorsten, who was fiercely alert sellsword holding a heavy wooden crossbow.
As the strike team approached the gate, Sinmir's sharp eyes immediately recognized the towering silhouette of the High Elf.
The mercenary captain quickly stood at attention, offering a sharp, deeply respectful salute.
"Boss! It is incredibly great to see that you have finally returned!" Sinmir greeted him loudly, his booming voice filled with genuine relief. "We've been keeping a strict perimeter, but the roads have been a complete mess all day."
"It is good to be back, Captain," Aerion replied smoothly, coming to a halt before the gates. "Has the estate experienced any issues during my absence?"
"None at all, Boss. The mammoths are calm, and the perimeter is secure," Sinmir reported crisply. He then lowered his voice slightly, leaning forward with a look of serious, grim concern. "But we have heard the rumors flowing down from the passing travelers on the main road. They said a massive, black dragon attacked the Western Watchtower this afternoon. Dropped right out of the sky and started melting the stone. Every single merchant and traveler has been avoiding that entire area like the plague, running back to the city in a panic."
Aerion offered a calm, completely unbothered nod. "I am well aware of the rumors, Sinmir. You have no need to worry. The situation at the Watchtower has been entirely, permanently handled."
Sinmir's eyes widened in profound, genuine shock. He looked at the High Elf, and then at the heavily armed women standing beside him, noticing the fresh soot and minor scorch marks on their armor that he had missed in the dim light.
"Truly, Boss?" Sinmir asked, his voice thick with disbelief. "Who handled it? The Jarl's men?"
The mercenary captain let out a heavy, highly frustrated sigh, shaking his head.
"I mean, don't get me wrong, I am glad the beast is dead," Sinmir admitted, his mercenary pride warring with his pragmatism. "When the news first hit the road, the men and women of the company were practically chomping at the bit. We wanted to march out there and take the contract ourselves. Slaying a dragon... winning that battle would bring an unimaginable amount of honor and prestige to the Silver-Blood... er, the Aerion Company. But we all knew how incredibly dangerous it was. We didn't have your explicit orders, so I held the men back. We stayed on the walls."
Aerion smiled, a deep, highly approving expression. The captain possessed the perfect balance of martial ambition and strict, operational discipline.
"You made the absolute correct tactical decision, Captain," Aerion praised him smoothly. "Marching an untested mercenary company against a dragon without proper magical support would have resulted in an absolute, unnecessary slaughter. I commend your restraint."
Aerion paused, his golden eyes glittering with a subtle, highly charismatic amusement. "As for exactly who handled the beast... I will gladly recount the entire tale for the company at a later, more appropriate time. It is quite the story."
Sinmir nodded, accepting the deferral without question. "Looking forward to it, Boss."
"Now, onto operational matters," Aerion shifted gears seamlessly, returning to the business of the estate. "I allocated a significant budget for expansion before my departure. Tell me, Sinmir. How many viable recruits have you managed to secure for the company while I was away?"
Sinmir's face instantly brightened, proud of his logistical success.
"We had a highly productive week, Boss," Sinmir reported, puffing out his chest. "I managed to heavily vet and officially recruit five new, highly capable swords to the roster. Three seasoned veterans who were tired of working for pennies guarding caravans, and two younger, hungry fighters with excellent potential. They are settling into the barracks as we speak."
Sinmir quickly leaned in closer, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial, highly professional whisper.
"And don't worry, Boss," Sinmir assured him smoothly. "I followed your operational security protocols to the letter. I inducted them into the 'company,' and I have told them to kept your true identity as the absolute owner and primary financier a complete secret. Make it so that everyone outside think they are working for a silent benefactor."
Aerion offered a slow, deeply satisfied nod. The compartmentalization of his assets was proceeding flawlessly.
"Exceptional work, Captain," Aerion praised him genuinely. "Absolute operational security is paramount to our long term survival in this province. You have done well."
Aerion stepped past the mercenary, gesturing gracefully toward the heavy iron gates of the compound. "Come, Sinmir," Aerion instructed smoothly. "Open the gates. I would like you to personally introduce me to these five new members of our growing family. Let us see the quality of the steel you have purchased."
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[Main Panel]
Name: Aerion
Race: High Elf (Altmer)
Health: 540/540 Stamina: 560/560 Magicka: 750/750
Level: 136 ➝ 145
Skills: Animal Affinity (MAX LEVEL), Fast Skill Levelling (MAX LEVEL), Fast Magic Mastery (MAX LEVEL), Instant Shout (MAX LEVEL), Dragon Master (MAX LEVEL), Destruction (Fire(+3)/Lightning(+1)/Frost(+1)) (Level 42/76/41), Restoration (Healing(+1)/Purify(+2)) (Level 31/25), Alteration (Level 35), Illusion (Level 50), Conjuration (Necromancy/Summoning(+1)) (Level 37/26), Persuasion(+1) (Level 83), Smithing (Level 22), Sneak (Level 87), One Handed(+1) (Level 72), Two Handed (Level 81), Lockpicking (Level 35), Archery (Level 72), Enchanting (Level 66), Light Armor(+1) (Level 0), Block (Level 70), & Pickpocket (Level 8)
Shouts: Fus Roh (Force Balance), Tiid (Time), Krii (Kill), Feim Zii (Fade Spirit), & 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, Golden Staff of Flames, Parchment Rolls Of Mammoths Farm And Loan, Ebony Claw, Orcish Dagger, Jagged Crown, The Mirror, Ring of Pure Mixtures, Grand Soul Gem (Filled), Reanimate Corpse Tome, Staff of Lightning, Deed to Tundra Homestead, Sapphire, Ruby, Dawnbreaker, Traveling Backpack (Supplies), Potion of Minor Magicka, Vampire Armor, Vampire Boots, Movarth's Golden Ash (Unique), Dwarven Sword, Hide Boots Of Sneak, Gold Ruby Ring of Fortify Magicka, Iron Garnet Ring of Fortify Conjuration & Magicka Regen, Elven Dagger, Potion of Healing, Honed Ancient Nord Sword of Sparks, Gold Emerald Circlet, & Scroll of Fire Storm, Ring of Archery,Hide Boots of Stamina, Ancient Nord Sword of Absorbing, Iron Garnet Circlet, & Iron Sapphire Circlet
2x Common Soul Gem (Empty), Black Soul Gem (Empty), Elven Sword, Amethysts, Potions of Plentiful Magicka, Scroll of Conjure Familiar, & Scroll of Magelight
3x Glowing Mushrooms, Potions of Minor Stamina, Flawless Sapphires, Gold Necklace, Iron Necklace, Petty Soul Gem (Filled), & Potions of Minor Magicka
4x Spider Eggs, Garnets, & Common Soul Gem (Filled)
5x Lesser Soul Gem (Filled)
7x Vampires Dust
8x Iron Arrows & Ancient Nord Arrows
9x Potions Of Minor Healing
12x Black Soul Gem (Filled)
Weight: 90.20 KG / 580 KG
Septims: 82,357